Bill, the Galactic Hero's Happy Holiday

Words cannot reveal the terrors they faced that day. The close encounters of a fourth kind, the skin of their teeth well flayed, the cliff-hangers well hung. It was only minutes but it seemed like hours before they stumbled through one last door and into the rain outside. Singed, scalded, bent and more than a little mutilated, Bill patted the sparks from his trousers while the robot raised its one remaining arm to open the plate in its head. It clanged limply to the ground as the Chinger jumped free.

“Unharumph,” Mgr said. “And, if possible, let us not do that again. Now, if you can stop clattering your teeth together in that disgusting manner, you can look about and tell me where we are.”

“In the rain….”

“Brilliant. The entire human race to pick from and Bgr sends me one with the intellect of a brain-dead mouse. Listen, stupid, you are human and I, as is obvious, am not. So look about and let me know where we are.”

“I’ve never been here before.”

“I know that. But bulge your eyes, make a guess. All I know about humans is what I read in reports. I may be head of the CIA, Chinger Intelligence Assessment, but I have never been on a human planet before. What’s that?”

“The town garbage dump. So you’re pretty high up, huh?”

“Nobody higher. I run the war and have been doing a damn fine job of it. And if you try to tell anybody who I am you’ll be dead before the first word leaves your lips.

“What is garbage?”

“Things people throw out.”

“Good. Let’s take a look.”

They skulked rapidly through the rain, from one place of concealment to the other. Finally hiding behind a heap of broken cogwheels as a rumbling sound grew louder, coming towards them.

“Peek out and look,” Mgr ordered. “What is it?”

“A garbage truck. What else did you expect to find in a garbage dump?”

“How many humans in it?”

“None. It’s a robot garbage truck.”

“You have just made my day, simple human. Let’s climb aboard.”

Sodden and weary they climbed up the cab and slammed the door shut behind them.

“No humans allowed,” the robot driver grated out.

“Against law, me no like, krrkkk-‘ It krrkked its last as Mgr tore its head off and pushed it aside.

“Drive,” he said to Bill. “That is I assume you can operate this vehicle?”

“A truck’s a truck,” Bill said sanguinely, kicking it into gear, revving the engine — and plowing backwards into a mountain of garbage. “Though sometimes, ha-ha, it takes a second or two to work out the controls.”

“Well take a second or four and try not to do that again. We Chingers have most delicate senses of smell.”

Bill fiddled with the controls and finally got them working. Put the thing into forward and rumbled out of the garbage dump. The rain was letting up and they could see the fortress behind them, green fields off to the side. Mgr peeked out of a hole he had punched in the door.

“That way-towards the jungle.”

“Those are farms.”

“Spare me the linguistic lesson and head for the hills. I want to be as far away from the troops as we can get before calling for help.”

They rumbled on and Bill began to master the controls.

When a squad of tanks came their way he stopped and, using the extensible arms, he actually emptied some garbage cans so as not to arouse suspicion.

“Pretty good,” he said proudly as the tanks vanished with a great slurping of churned-up mud.

“Would have been a lot better,” Mgr sneered, “if you had got the garbage into the hole on top instead of dumping it into the street.”

“It’s not that easy,” Bill sulked. “Do you think you could do better?”

“Drive,” the Chinger said wearily. “Never let it be known that I have debated the merits of garbage dumping with a renegade human.”

It was dusk before they reached a spot that suited Mgr’s needs. A rocky patch in the hills, far from human habitation. While Bill was driving he had dismantled the driving robot and used some of its spare parts to build two complicated electronic devices. He plugged one in the cigar lighter socket and waved it around.

“What’s that?” Bill asked.

“Detector detector for detecting detectors.”

“What does it do?”

“I have always been nice to little Chingers and have helped old Chingers across the street — so what have I done to deserve you? Since you must know I am trying to find out if I can send my signal without the enemy knowing about it. And I can — so I plug this device in.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Calling home obviously. There; the signal has gone out and we should get some results pretty soon ….

“It was sooner than that. His words were drowned out in the roar of landing jets as a hulking black craft dropped out of the sky and set down next to the truck. Mgr was on the ground in a single bound with Bill right behind him.

The airlock started to open and a microphone dropped out on a cord.

“Bgr I presume,” Mgr enthused into the microphone.

A squad of combat marines dropped out of the bottom of the ship, blast rifles aimed. The door opened and a General with seven stars on his shoulders came smiling forth.

“Not Bgr,” he said. “But General Saddam, head of Military Intelligence.”