America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 3: Silent Invasion by Walter Knight Page A

your
Hell’s Angels.”
    “No way,” said Private Wayne. “You
cannot.”
    “Why not?” asked Tiny, clenching his fists.
“Is the Hell’s Angels for spiders only? I checked the database. It
said the Hell’s Angels were founded by veterans. I’m a vet.”
    “No, it is not that,” said Private Wayne.
“You do not understand. I just came in here to pick a fight.”
    “Please,” said Tiny. “You have to let me
join. I quit the Legion because the fighting and war never seemed
to stop. The war just keeps on going in my head. It sometimes
drives me crazy, like you. I’ll fight you if that’s what you want,
if that’s what I need to do to get into the Hell’s Angels.”
    “No!” said Private Wayne. “I do not want to
fight you. Not anymore.”
    Other customers crowded around. “I want to
join the Hell’s Angels, too.” said a small man who had been
drinking too much. “I’m a vet. I fought in the tunnels back when
you spiders first nuked New Colorado.”
    “I am the only Hell’s Angel,” said Private
Wayne. “That is why you cannot join!”
    The bar patrons drifted away. A few staggered
out to admire Private Wayne’s chopped motorcycle.
    “It doesn’t seem fair,” said Tiny. “If we
want to be Hell’s Angels, we should be able to be Hell’s Angels.
This is America. It’s a free country.”
    “Fine!” said Private Wayne in frustration.
“You can turn this place into a biker bar, and you all can show up
next Saturday on your choppers and be Hell’s Angels. See if I
care!”
     
    * * * * *
     
    A week later, Private Wayne rode his
motorcycle back to The Longshoreman Tavern. There were five chopped
motorcycles set in a row out front, parked in the handicapped
space. The ‘No Spiders Allowed’ sign was missing. Several customers
wore sleeveless Legion jackets with Hell’s Angels patches on the
backs. Even some females sported Hell’s Angels patches. Biker
babes? Private Wayne had read about them on the database, too.
There were even spiders in the tavern now.
    As Private Wayne entered, everyone cheered
and held up their beers. Tiny gave him a big bear hug. Free drinks
were pushed at him. When all the celebrating died down, one of the
few spiders in the tavern came over and sat down next to Private
Wayne. He wanted to talk.
    “You are a legionnaire?” asked the
spider.
    “Yes,” said Private Wayne, sensing hostility.
“What is it to you?”
    “Nothing,” said the spider. “Before you
turned traitor, what were you then?”
    “I will kill you for that,” said Private
Wayne, reaching for his knives and gun.
    “I apologize,” said the spider. “I did not
mean anything by that. I was just speaking from habit. What were
you before the Legion?”
    “I was an insurgent leader. Before that I was
a Special Forces marine commander,” said Private Wayne. “I have
never told that to anyone. I do not know why I told you.”
    “I am a special forces team leader that got
stranded on a secret mission here in New Memphis,” said the team
leader. “I joined the Longshoreman’s Union as a disguise, waiting
for the chance to escape New Memphis and to get back to my own
lines.”
    “Why are you telling me this?” asked Private
Wayne. “I will not help you join your old unit. In fact, I may kill
you.”
    “Working on the docks, I heard about you and
your Hell’s Angels,” said the team leader. “Everyone is talking
about you. I want to join.”
    “Join so you can escape to the North on a
motorcycle?” asked Private Wayne. “That will not work.”
    “No, you do not get it!” said the team
leader. “I want to join the Hell’s Angels.”
    “It is you who does not get it,” said Private
Wayne. “There is no Hell’s Angels.”
    “But I bought a motorcycle,” said the team
leader, pointing to the parking lot. “It looks so fine. See how I
had it fixed up? I made Hell’s Angels patches and everything. I am
ready to ride!”
    With that exclamation, the crowd turned and
cheered