The War for Profit Series Omnibus

by Gideon Fleisher

  “Canteen’s empty, rifle ammo is on the wrong side, your pistol isn’t loaded, rifle sling’s too tight, and chin strap of your helmet’s not fastened.”

  “What?”

  “You’re all fouled up, snapper Sergeant, but I guess you don’t know better. Are you left-handed?”

  “No.”

  “Well I am. So I’m the mirror image of how you should look. Pistol on your right hip, with your rifle ammo pouches behind it going on around to your butt pack. You can reach them while lying on your stomach that way. Pistol ammo pouches on you left hip, your canteen right behind them, and snug up against your butt pack. Everything is reversed for left handed troops. Lock and load and put the safety on both of your weapons, fasten your chin strap and fill up that canteen and we’ll be squared away. Oh, and that bayonet goes on your left, in front of your pistol ammo, to make sure you can get to it from the prone position.”

  “Fine. I’ll break ranks and square that away now.”

  “Pushups first. Not my idea, it is unit SOP. Ten pushups for each gig. Knock ‘em out then go square yourself away.”

  Galen did sixty pushups and then dashed off to fill his canteen with water. He stood with Tad and Spike, the three men helping each other reassemble their gear in accordance with the Corporal’s demands.

  “Is this for real?” asked Spike.

  “If he’s bluffing I’ll mess him up good,” said Tad.

  Galen said, “I’ll talk to his boss about this whole incident. They knew three Sergeants were coming. They should have a Chief in charge. Also, all the troops were squared away. No gigs on them.”

  “That Corporal in the welcome center set us up, forgot to tell us some minor details,” said Spike.

  “Aw, listen to us,” said Tad. “We sound like crybabies. Let’s just write the whole thing off as experience. Hell, most Sergeants have five or ten years experience under their belts. They expect us to know things without being told. With rank comes responsibility. We can’t expect to just walk right in with this rank and be Sergeants. We got to get a little experience. Until then, I plan to bluff it.”

  “How?”

  “Like just now, when the Corporal was checking out his troops, we could have been checking him out, arranging our gear like his, and double-checking it against the troops.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” said Spike.

  “Right. We had standards to follow at the academy. No reason this place should be any different.”

  The Corporal came over to them. “All squared away now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Here’s your radio codes. Zero seven one two niner. That’s for the channel between you and me, freq two.”

  “Got it.”

  “Next, five five one six. That’s the channel between you and your troops. Second, use freq three. Third, use freq one. Fourth, use freq five.”

  “And command voice?” said Tad, bluffing a veteran status.

  “Nine nine six eight, channel one,” said the Corporal.

  They punched the codes into their personal communicators. Galen was pleased at how smoothly the commo briefing went. They could play this by ear after all, using common sense and remembering their basic training.

  “Get your troops mounted up, we leave in two minutes.” The Corporal gestured at the vehicles. The drivers started their engines.

  The convoy was under way and Galen stood tall in the commander’s hatch of the second APC. He held on to the grips of the heavy machine gun, swiveling it experimentally from one place to another. The ammo can had five hundred rounds of twenty millimeter shells ready to rock ‘n roll. More ammo was handy just inside the lip of the hatch. One can was marked “Incendiary” another was marked “Armor Piercing” and the third one was labeled “Trail Mix.”

  They rolled out of the compound main gate, headlights blazing on high beam. On the broad concrete highway leading out of town they accelerated to sixty kilometers an hour. The wind felt good in Galen’s face, cooling his body in contrast to the muggy feeling he had before. Civilian cars and busses and all sorts of other vehicles passed the convoy, most drivers beeping their horns and waving as they went by. An older but well-preserved woman driving an expensive hover car convertible with the top down blew Galen a kiss as she went by. Soon they exited the highway and rolled down a two-lane road. It wound and curved around low hills and generally paralleled the path of a creek bed. They slowed their speed to thirty five KPH, negotiating the back road very well. The track drivers were experienced, the best drivers Galen had ever seen.

  Radio silence was finally broken by the Corporal leading the convoy. “Roger, Chief,” was all he said. Galen could only hear half the conversation. The commo net was set up that way, each leader in the chain of command listening to and talking to his immediate subordinates and superiors only. Galen could hear everything said by the Corporal and the three fire team leaders in his squad, and they could all hear him. The drawback was he heard only half the conversation between the team leaders and their two troops, and between the Corporal and the other two squad leaders as well as the platoon Chief.

  “What’s up, Corporal?” asked Galen.

  “Squad leaders, this is platoon leader. Get ready for some action. We have to hit some snipers and street punks in the town about six clicks up the road.”

  While still a kilometer from the town, the Corporal’s track veered left and skirted the edge of a stand of trees. The other three tracks followed. Then they turned right and plunged into the woods.

  “Diamond formation. Two, on my left. Three, on my right. Four, behind me.”

  “Check,” said Galen’s driver. It made sense for the drivers to be on the same channel as the track commander, to cut down the lag time of their response. Galen marveled at how easily the boxy APCs moved through the woods, snapping off saplings and flattening undergrowth as they went. He had to hunker down in the TC hatch to avoid getting smacked in the face by tree branches. He peered through the dark woods and saw the edge of the tree line, the town just at the edge of the woods.

  “Team leaders, get ready. We’re going to hit ‘em soon,” said Galen.

  “Right, Sergeant. Ready.”

  The Corporal came on again and said, “Okay, we’ll come out of the trees and bust into town from the side. I’ll skirt the perimeter of the objective, drop a machine gun crew at three corners of the block and park my vehicle at the fourth. I’ll have the area sealed in. Two, you got the bank. Park at the entrance and drop your ramp. Your fire teams will dismount and enter the building and fight their way to the top. Three, you got the school house. Do the same as I told two. Four, you got the library. There are heavy weapons on top of it, so just crash into the lobby and then stop. Dismount your troops and send them to take the roof. But your vehicle stays in the building until the attack is over.”

  “Good copy,” said Galen.

  They burst from the tree line and roared into town at full speed. The Corporal cut hard to the right and waved Galen forward. Track one stopped and three troops jumped out and set up their portable machine gun. Then track one sped off to employ three more troops and a machine gun at the next corner of the objective.

  Galen urged his driver on, guiding him to the bank. The track did a sideways power-slide, then backed snug up against the front door. The driver dropped his ramp right through the entrance, smashing the building’s door open so the troops could dismount under cover.

  “Fight your way to the roof and take the NVGs with you, first team,” ordered Galen. “Let’s go clear the street, driver.”

  Track two circled the bank, Galen firing a burst of heavy machine gun fire at a group of twenty hatchet and axe wielding street punks as he rounded the first corner. Half of them fell, the rest scattered. The driver ran over some of the bodies as he sped along the side street to reach the next corner. Behind it was a hothead with a submachine gun, firing as the vehicle approached. Galen ducked down in the hatch to avoid being shot, then stood up and looked behind. T
he enemy shooter was a bloody pulp, run over by the APC.

  The next street was clear but after his track pulled into the alley behind the bank, Galen saw an enemy machine gun crew set up about two hundred meters away. They were hastily turning their weapon to bear on his track. Galen fired, working his stream of bullets into the target. He continued firing even after the three enemy troops fell. He scored two dozen hits on their machine gun, ruining it. A sudden wash of heat spread across his left side, then a jarring shudder as his track was pushed sideways half a meter. Galen looked left and saw a shadowy figure scurrying off, carrying a missile launcher. Galen chased him with machine gun fire but just missed.

  “Fire teams, you up yet?”

  “Check.” An affirmative response.

  “Punk with a missile launcher, south of you. Talk me in.”

  “Roger, switching to infrared.”

  “Park it driver, I’m going to get that punk,” said Galen.

  “Good luck.” The driver left his seat and climbed behind the heavy machine gun. Galen dismounted and drew his pistol, headed to where he last saw the missile gunner.

  “Building ahead, second floor. He’s alone. Should I take him out from here?” asked the first team leader, “I’d only be shooting through a single pane of glass and a curtain.”

  Galen considered for a moment, “No, he’s mine. If I get whacked he’s all yours. Keep me covered.”

  Galen entered the first floor of the drugstore, found the stairs and started to climb. “Talk to me, can he hit me at the top of the stairwell?”

  “Yes. Let me bag him, Sergeant. If he nails you with a missile it’ll make a nasty mess. Probably set the drugstore on fire.”

  “You have your orders. Let me do this.” Galen came to the halfway point of the steps. He could see the ceiling of the next floor. Not a sound came from inside. His eyes were just starting to get adjusted to the dark and street lamps outside shined light through the windows lining the walls along the left and right sides of the building. “How far is he from the top of the stairs?”

  “Twenty meters, hiding behind a stack of boxes along the back wall.”

  “Good.”

  Galen ascended another step. He could see the top of the far wall now. He concentrated, focusing his thoughts. Then he crouched, easing up the steps. When he could creep no further, he charged. The enemy reacted quickly, aiming his missile launcher at the charging mercenary. Before his enemy’s brain could cause his finger to press the fire button, Galen veered right. Galen continued running, spun left and leaped over the stack of boxes the enemy stood behind. He put a boot right in the man’s chest, knocking him flat on his back. The launcher flew out of his hands and clattered on the floor. Galen straddled the man, shoving a knee into each of his biceps.

  “You shot my track, you punk!”

  The enemy stared at Galen in terror, his face distorted and ugly. Wide eyes and a silent scream. Galen hated him for being such a pitiful creature.

  “You ain’t such a bad ass now, face to face, are you, punk?” Galen cocked his left hand all the way back and punched him in the face. The blow knocked the punk senseless. Galen paused, stood and dusted himself off, brushing away the dirty feeling that came from touching such a pitiful and cowardly creature. After his rage subsided and his breathing slowed to normal, Galen called his troops, “All secure. Team three, come get this EPW and put him in the track.”

  Team one leader came on and said, “I still don’t see why you didn’t let me bag him.”

  “He shot my track, so I want him to explain to our interrogators where he got the missile launcher. A fate worse than death.”

  Galen waited for his troops to collect the prisoner and then called the Corporal, “All done with my objective. Can we go now?”

  “I got to get clearance from higher, then wait for the cops to relieve us. We’ll be on our way in half an hour. What’s your ACE?”

  “Ammunition, we used about one clip of ammo per troop and I fired about two hundred rounds of trail mix. Casualties, I have one troop in team two with a broken arm. Also, twenty seven enemy dead bodies. Equipment, we have it all plus a captured missile launcher. The track is damaged but drivable. We also have a prisoner.”

  “Good job. Keep your sector clear until the cops get here,” said the Corporal.

  Galen liked getting praise from his commander, even if he was just a Corporal. That Corporal knew what he was doing, leading a successful assault to reclaim an unruly town taken over by trouble makers. Galen was also pleased with himself. His combat training from the academy taught him skills that worked in battle. It gave him confidence not only in the skills had just used, but in everything else he knew about war fighting. His leadership training let him know it was time to pass on some praise to his troops.

  “Team leaders, good job. Best troops I ever led in combat,” The only troops he ever led in combat, but they didn’t know that. He holstered his pistol and climbed back into the APC and took his position behind the twenty millimeter machine gun. The driver got back in his seat and the mercenaries waited for the Mandarin police to arrive.

  Chapter Six

  They came, riding rickety cargo trucks driven by skinny, scruffy little men. The police were a motley crew, wearing civilian clothes mixed with their uniforms. It took nearly two hundred of them to secure the same area held by the thirty mercenaries. Their leader, the only cop dressed in a complete uniform, approached the Corporal.

  “We understand you have a prisoner.”

  “A prisoner of war taken under fire during combat operations. He’s a POW, not a criminal,” said the Corporal.

  “Understood. I just want to see him, maybe I know him.”

  “Okay, but no pictures and no talking. Just look.”

  The police chief glanced into track two and saw the prisoner sitting with his left wrist handcuffed to his right ankle and his right wrist handcuffed to his left ankle.

  “He’s quite a catch. An off-planet revolutionary terrorists. Should get you mercs quite a ransom.”

  “Oh, we don’t expect much out of his people,” said the Corporal.

  “I mean the Confederation. They’ll want to make a public spectacle of his trial and execution.”

  “But that’s none of our business. We’ll just do our job, follow our orders.”

  “Yes,” said the police chief. “That’s all it is to you mercenaries, just a job. Policemen actually care about right and wrong, about law and justice.”

  “See you around, officer,” said the Corporal. “Panzer Grenadiers, mount up!”

  The eastern sky was starting to glow with the same orange color of yesterday’s sunset. The sun was full in the sky when the convoy reached its destination, the combined-arms company headquarters. Galen checked his wrist, his personal communicator strapped to it: six twenty two in the morning. The men dismounted and the Corporal was met by the company commander, a Lieutenant.

  “Good job out there.”

  “Not a problem, sir. These snappers can fight! I think them three snapper Sergeants made a difference, that tall one took an EPW with his bare hands.”

  “So you’re the one? Let me shake your hand.”

  Galen extended his hand. The Lieutenant pumped it vigorously, talking the whole time. “Why, you’ll get a nice chunk of money for this. We’ll cut you in for ten percent of the ransom. Just don’t forget to spread the money around with the men who helped you. Divide half of your cut amongst the nine troops you led.”

  The last statement was spoken in the tone of an order. The officer squeezed Galen’s hand hard to drive home his point. Galen looked him in the eye and said, “Yes sir, I’ll do exactly that.”

  “You’ll do just fine here,” said the Lieutenant, switching back to a jovial tone. “You’ll be in charge of first squad in the anti-armor platoon. The other two Sergeants with you will be in charge of the two other squads. Chief Mortinson will be your boss. Oh, and hand-pick nine replacement troops for the anti-armor platoon from
these snappers. I’d suggest you take the same nine guys you just led in your first battle.”

  “Understood, sir, I’ll do that,” said Galen.

  “I like you,” said the officer as he walked off, “You know how to take a hint.”

  Galen gathered up his troops and Spike and Tad joined the group. The twelve men stood in a cluster and waited for more instructions. The Lieutenant came back and spoke to them. “You guys won’t regret your decision to volunteer for anti-armor duty.”

  The troops shrugged, looked at one another for some clue of what the officer meant. They shifted into a formation, an automatic reaction to being addressed by an officer. The Lieutenant didn’t seem to care what they did, as long as they listened.

  “I’m holding up two fingers. Does any one of you people know what that means?” No one did, they just thought the officer was stupid. “It means two subsistence paychecks. One for normal pay and another for hazardous duty.”

  “Sir?” asked Galen.

  “Now don’t you worry. Mortinson is a good Chief, just do what he tells you and you’ll be fine. Now I want you all to get on that helo for a ride out to your platoon headquarters.”

  “Yes sir,” said Galen. He could think of nothing else to say. The Lieutenant seemed so aloof, so out of touch. The officer walked away, wandering off to do some more Lieutenant stuff somewhere else.

  Galen was glad to see him go. “All right, mount up. Let’s ride.”

  As the helo lifted him into the air, Galen looked down and watched the company headquarters disperse. The APCs were already gone and seven heavy-duty trucks left the meadow and pulled onto the dirt road leading to the west. The last vehicle to leave was the company commander’s skimmer, driven by a Troop. A Corporal manned the laser cannon mounted on its rear cargo deck. The Lieutenant sat in the passenger seat, studying an electronic clipboard. The helo pilot seemed eager to spill his human cargo but the mercenaries outsmarted him by strapping themselves in with safety harnesses. Galen looked at the mercenary with the broken arm.