America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 5: Insurgency by Walter Knight

involved detaining
anyone riding a dirt bike. Also, dirt bike sales and repair shops
would be watched. It had not gone unnoticed that insurgents were
using the mobility of dirt bikes to evade checkpoints and to escape
capture after terrorist attacks. Dirt bike motorcycles were perfect
for their new brand of hit-and-run tactics.
    Captain Lopez and a squad of legionnaires sat
in an armored car down the block from a motorcycle shop. As he
watched customers through binoculars, three Hell’s Angels
approached.
    “Why are you spying on us?” asked the biker
leader. “We haven’t done anything to draw heat from the
Legion.”
    “I’m not interested in you,” replied Captain
Lopez. “I’m looking for insurgents on dirt bikes. I have reason to
believe some of your customers may be insurgents. Have you seen any
dirt-bikers come in recently, flush with cash?”
    “Hey man, I’m not going to narc anyone off,”
said the biker leader. “You are bad for business. You need to
leave, now.”
    Captain Lopez swiveled the machine gun turret
and fired a volley into the motorcycle shop. A small fire started
as customers fled the store.
    “Now your customers have something to be
afraid of,” said Captain Lopez. “I am not the cops. I am the
Foreign Legion. You do not give me attitude, and you do not tell me
to move on!”
    “Whoa!” said the biker leader, backing away
from the armored car. “I didn’t mean to upset you! I just meant I
wish you would come inside and talk a bit. We have donuts and
coffee. Cops like donuts; how about you? I’ll tell you if I see any
insurgents. Can’t we all just get along? It just looks bad and
makes me nervous for you to be eyeballing us all day long. Some of
our customers might have open traffic warrants and unpaid parking
violations.”
    Captain Lopez showed the bikers photos of
David Torres and Desert Claw. “Have any of you seen these two in
your shop?”
    “It’s wrong for you to ask us to narc on
fellow bikers,” commented the biker leader.
    “These are not righteous bikers,” advised
Captain Lopez. “And I am not a narc.”
    “You look like a narc,” commented one of the
bikers. “No offense. Are you wearing a wire?”
    Private Wayne emerged from the armored car.
Being that Wayne still rode with the Hell’s Angels on weekends, he
was instantly recognized.
    “Did one of you call us narcs?” asked Private
Wayne, drawing his large jagged combat knife. “Which one of you
said that?”
    “All we’re saying is we can’t narc on our
fellow bikers,” said the biker leader nervously. “It’s a violation
of our code. You know that. It’s a matter of ethics.”
    “You heard Captain Lopez,” said Private
Wayne. “Those scumbag insurgents aren’t righteous bikers. They’re
terrorists who bomb women and children. If you know anything about
Torres and Desert Claw, you had better tell us.”
    “They bought dirt bikes here about a week
ago,” blurted out the biker leader. “When they come in for their
thirty-day limited warranty check and oil change, I’ll give you a
call. I promise.”
    “You do that,” said Private Wayne. “Sorry
about the damage to your shop.”
     
    * * * * *
     
    “Did you see the news on TV Channel Five?”
asked David Torres. “Phil Coen says we could make big money
offering protection to Mafia drug traffickers.”
    “The Mob does not need our protection,”
commented Desert Claw. “They have the Hell’s Angels on the
payroll.”
    “Maybe the Mob needs our protection, and they
don’t know it yet,” said Torres. “The New Gobi is a dangerous
place. We can cover more area than the Hell’s Angels, and have
bigger and better guns. Plus, we practically own the DMZ, and
travel freely on both sides of the MDL.”
    “Drug addiction is a disgusting human
weakness, an affliction I do not want to have anything to do with,”
advised Desert Claw. “Even your children fry their minds on blue
powder. Have your species no morals or common