America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 4: Demilitarized Zone by Walter Knight Page A

wound on his head. That human pestilence would pay
for that with his life. He looked in the mirror. The stitches were
healing nicely. Headquarters had denied the spider commander’s
request to declare the injuries as combat related. The medal of
valor would have looked good in his file. He was convinced the
governor did have it in for him. First, the governor exiled him to
this godforsaken place. Then, he denied him any chance for glory.
The spider commander fumed at the incompetence of the governor. The
human pestilence were getting a stronger foothold every day, and
all the governor did was send him a few worthless Air Wing
pilots.
    Today the spider commander went to his newest
tunnel to inspect progress for himself. A good commander gets
his hands dirty, he told himself. This tunnel went deeper and
farther than the others to avoid Legion detection. The spider
commander gloated about being ahead of schedule. The engineers were
using the newest state-of-the-art tunnel boring equipment. The
spider commander talked to his chief engineer deep down in the
bowels of the tunnel. Most certainly they were across the MDL. As
they talked, water dripped onto the spider commander’s head.
    “Is it possible we have finally discovered a
water source?” asked the spider commander. He reached up to the
ceiling and put a finger over the crack to plug the leak. Water
dripped out a couple of inches away. The spider commander plugged
that drip too. The crack spread, and more water dripped into his
face.
    “Fix that,” ordered the spider commander,
giving up and walking on. “Water is too precious to waste.”
    The chief engineer lagged behind, studying
the drip. He spit out some chewing gum and applied it to the crack.
The leak sealed. The chief engineer then followed the spider
commander back up to the surface. Once topside, they could hear a
deep rumble from below. Excited reports of a cave-in blared over
the engineer’s radio. Water burst through the tunnel entrance,
washing both spiders into a newly formed lake where a rock quarry
used to be. After they dragged themselves onto dry land, the
commander turned to the chief engineer and said, “Back on
Arthropoda we have plumbers that can fix this sort of thing.”
     
    * * * * *
     
    Word got out quickly that there was water and
fertile land in the New Gobi Desert. At least one million colonists
lined up in a semi-circle around the desert’s edge for a chance at
the unassigned lands. Each section of the New Gobi had been marked
by the USGF Geological Survey. All the markers were part of a vast
global positioning system. When a colonist touched his
identification card to any marker, his claim was automatically
recorded in a central computer.
    It would be a race to the best claims.
Colonists lined up for a thousand miles, waiting for the signal
boom from the cannons. At precisely noon as planned, Legion
howitzers fired in unison. The ‘Boomers’ raced across the sagebrush
in dune buggies, trucks, cars, motorcycles, bikes, tractors, mobile
homes, ultra-light fliers, on horseback, and on foot. From a
distance, the spectacle looked like a New Gobi dust storm.
Legionnaires stationed in front of the crowds for supervision ran
for their lives to keep from being trampled.
    Some canal survey work had already been
started. Colonists staked claims to these areas first. Of course,
Captain Lopez and I had already claimed many prime sites. The
Boomers pressed closer to the DMZ as available claim sites were
quickly snapped up. The colonists were told they could not enter
the DMZ. Flags marked prohibited areas. However, for many there was
no turning back. The choice land behind them was already claimed.
The promise of free land in the DMZ was too much to resist. Not
finding GPS markers, the Boomers piled rocks to post their claims
and mark boundaries. Still there was not enough land to satisfy
everyone. About one hundred thousand colonists crossed the MDL and
staked claims on the Arthropodan side.