The War for Profit Series Omnibus

by Gideon Fleisher

  Spike and Tad joined him on the river bank. Galen skipped a rock. His friends also skipped rocks. None of them spoke, just sat there skipping rocks. Finally Tad stood and walked away. Galen skipped another rock.

  “Later,” said Spike, standing to walk away.

  “Later,” said Galen.

  Spike walked away. Galen skipped another rock. It splashed only twice.

  ***

  At eight o’clock in the evening local time, Galen was standing in the commander’s hatch of the same APC he had commanded during his ride from the welcome center to the company headquarters. The engine growled and the tracks rumbled as the vehicle pushed through the forest north of the factory. Galen heard Mortinson’s voice over his personal communicator. Mortinson was commanding the first vehicle and leading the heavy weapons squad.

  “When we burst from the tree line, we’ll be fifty meters from the prison fence. Drivers, be prepared to flip on your headlights, on high beam, when I give the command.”

  Galen ducked to avoid a low tree branch. Suddenly his vehicle was tearing across open ground at full speed. Two APCs were on line to his left, the other was twenty five meters to his right. The driver kept the vehicle at full speed as it approached the outer fence of the prison. The chain link fence was five meters high and topped by a triple row of razor wire. Two meters inside that fence was a lower chain link fence with a single roll of razor wire along its top edge.

  The track on Galen’s right side fired a burst of twenty millimeter rounds into the nearest guard tower. Galen sent a stream of bullets just over the top of the flat prison roof, aiming a meter above it to discourage enemy gunmen from showing their faces. Galen ducked into his vehicle to avoid being injured by the fence as his APC crashed through. Just as the vehicles hit the fence, Galen noticed a muzzle flash from a first-floor prison window. The track to his left, immediately after hitting the second fence, fired a six-round burst into the window. Tad was a good shot.

  “Headlights on!” ordered Mortinson.

  As Galen’s vehicle tore through the second fence, the prison yard was lit up by the headlamp high-beams of the four APCs. Galen’s night vision goggles compensated for the brightness. Twenty five meters closer to the prison building’s wall, and fifty meters to go.

  “Headlights off!” ordered Mortinson.

  Galen’s goggles dimmed for a moment, and then brightened. He knew the rebels wouldn’t get their night vision back so quickly, they didn’t have night vision goggles. Galen waited anxiously until the last possible moment. When the vehicle was as close to the wall as good judgment would allow Galen said, “Hard right and stop, driver.”

  He held on to the rim of the hatch with his left hand and gripped the handle of the heavy machine gun with his right. The APC made a ninety degree turn and slid sideways about a meter, coming to a stop by slamming into the prison wall. “Ramp down! Dismounts post!”

  The driver let the assault ramp free-fall. The troops of Galen’s squad sprang out. The first troop blew out the nearest window with a small gob of plastic explosive. The second mercenary tossed a concussion grenade into the room. Galen stood under the window, his back to the wall and his hands cupped to form a stirrup. One by one his troops stepped into his hands and Galen launched them into the room. Galen looked back to make sure the driver was behind the APC’s machine gun, and then jumped up and climbed through the prison window himself.

  He heard a few air-hissing pops, the sound of suppressor-equipped tranq guns firing. One troop waited for Galen in the room. The rest were spreading out through the prison. The troop, a new replacement, gave Galen a thumbs-up. Galen waved his gun at the open door and they ran through, turning right in the corridor. Troops were standing in doorways, giving the thumbs-up to show their rooms were clear. The mercenaries held their positions, waiting for the Chief to ask for reports. Galen looked in all the rooms. He counted sixteen incapacitated rebels. All of them had been armed with some sort of weapon. Most had knives, one had a sword and two had pistols. They were the type of pistol a prison guard might use. Galen removed his goggles. It was pitch-dark in the prison, so he put them back on.

  Tad’s voice broke radio silence. “Third squad needs a band-aid. One troop has a belly full of buckshot and five rebels injured by a concussion grenade.”

  “Roger,” came a medic’s voice. “On my way.”

  “Reports,” Mortinson’s voice.

  “First, all clear”

  “Second, all clear,” said Galen.

  “Third, one room to go. Stubborn rebels holed up in an office,” said Tad.

  Mortinson said, “Stay put third, I’ll bring in my squad and talk them out. First and second, secure your prisoners and bring them to third’s position.”

  “Drag ‘em out in the hall and tie them up,” Galen ordered his troops.

  The mercenaries dragged the prisoners into the hallway and tied them to each other in a line with disposable handcuffs. Two troops gathered up the weapons and piled them in the broom closet. After gagging them, they lifted the prisoners to their feet and led them along the hallway. Galen’s squad arrived at the office where the holdouts were just as the men from Mortinson’s squad finished setting up a heavy machine gun. They had it pointed at the solid steel office door at the end of the hallway. Soon there were about thirty troops lining the walls of the hallway, their tranq guns at the ready. Mortinson stood beside the machine gun with his hands on his hips and his feet planted firmly, more than shoulder width apart. The Chief switched off his personal communicator and yelled at the solid steel office door.

  “Come out of there and surrender!”

  “No! Go to hell!” said a heavily accented voice. It came from the intercom speaker beside the door.

  “Come out or I will kill you,” said Mortinson.

  “If we come out, promise you won’t hurt us. Promise we’ll get a pardon from the planetary council and free passage off this planet on the next ship leaving.”

  “I’m going to kick your ass. Come out and I’ll beat you senseless and shoot you in the ass with a tranq rifle. But you’ll probably survive.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Listen, dumbass. I’m not a police officer, I’m a professional mercenary. Come out or I will kill you.”

  A buzzer sounded and the door swung outward, opened by electric motors inside the wall. The interior of the office was dimly lit by an emergency-power light. One rebel came out slowly. Fear showed in his dark eyes. Stress lines distorted his face. He held his hands high over his head. Another appeared behind the first.

  “One at a time only! Second dumbass, get back in there!”

  The second rebel ducked back into the office.

  Mortinson pointed at the first rebel, “Come here, you!”

  The prisoner approached him. Mortinson grabbed him by the shirt collar and punched him in the stomach, causing the prisoner to double over. Mortinson threw him to the floor and said, “Tie him up. Tranq bullets cost the unit money, so don’t shoot him.”

  Two troops drug the prisoner off to third squad’s line of prisoners and tied him to the rest.

  “Next!” called Mortinson. The Chief simply slapped the second prisoner across the face and had him tied up like the others.

  “Next.” The third prisoner was tied without being abused.

  “Next!” A buzzer sounded and the steel door slammed shut. The same voice as before came over the intercom. “No way! Come in and get us!”

  “Pistols at the ready,” ordered Mortinson.

  The troops drew their pistols and slung their tranq rifles. The sound of pistol safeties being disengaged clicked with the rhythm of popcorn. Mortinson turned on his personal communicator and switched it to another channel. “Haller? Good. I want you to kill the emergency power… yeah, the warden’s office. Thanks.”

  He turned the communicator off and yelled at the door. “Now I have to kill you. Don’t try to come out, you dumbass.”

  Mortinson reached into his combat
vest pocket and pulled out a small explosive device. He walked forward and pressed it firmly in place, stuck at the bottom center of the door. He armed the device. “Clear the hallway.”

  The troops ducked into the rooms, the heavy machine gun crew taking the weapon with them. Mortinson pressed a button on the device and then darted toward the nearest open room. He stopped, drew his pistol and turned, aiming the weapon at the steel door. He waited another moment, and then pulled a small radio transmitter from his left shoulder pocket. He stepped sideways into the nearest room and pressed the red button on the side of the transmitter.

  The explosive charge detonated. Galen felt a shock wave pass through his body. The noise was intense and deafened him. He looked into the hallway and saw Mortinson charging into the office. The steel door was lying flat, distorted and ripped from its hinges. Galen followed Mortinson, signaling by hand for first squad to follow. To Galen’s deafened ears, the sound of Mortinson’s pistol fire sounded like plastic bubble wrap being popped. When Galen caught up to Mortinson, four bodies with gunshot wounds to their foreheads were laying on the floor at the Chief’s feet. A ringing started in Galen’s ears, his hearing starting to come back. Mortinson said something but Galen couldn’t hear. He was sure whatever the Chief said included the word “dumbasses.”

  Two hours later the Mandarin police came with their trucks to haul away the prisoners. Galen noticed that the police officer in charge was the same one he saw at the small town the mercenaries had liberated a few days earlier. The police chief was looking at each prisoner, deciding which ones would be released on the spot, which ones would be trucked away and which ones would go right back in the prison. This time he had a noteputer and two assistants. There was also a team of local medics. They were working on some wounded rebels.

  “So what do you think?” asked Spike. “Did we knock this mission right out or what?”

  Galen said, “I think I need a big meal, a hot bath, a bottle of ale and a full body massage.”

  “I hear you. I could use a break myself.”

  Galen grabbed at the front of his coveralls, pinching a fold of the fabric on his chest with the fingers of his left hand, “Yeah, but you don’t stink of river water and dried blood. I need a new uniform and maybe a new line of work.”

  “This is our chosen profession. We’re mercenaries.”

  “We’ve only been at this for a week and we’ve already seen more dead bodies than most people see in a lifetime. If we keep up at this rate, Mandarin will be de-populated before we finish our year of training.”

  “Mortinson told me this isn’t normal. This much action doesn’t come around very often. He said he’d never seen this much happen on Mandarin before, and he’s been here the past five years.”

  “Five years?”

  “Yes. He did his first contract and then applied for permanent assignment on Mandarin. He does field duty between cycles.”

  “Cycles?” asked Galen.

  “Training cycles. He’s a drill instructor and trains brand new troops for basic training. He does three months of busting in raw recruits, three months off, three more months of training and then three months of field duty. That’s his annual cycle as a Brigade school instructor.”

  “I’ll just be glad when this field cycle is over for us. I think that being a student at the Panzer Brigade Platoon Leader School will suit me just fine.”

  “The PBS,” said Spike.

  “The what?”

  “The Panzer Brigade School.”

  “The PBS. Got it.”

  The last of the prisoners were processed. The Mandarin truck drivers started their engines and began pulling away. A final prisoner, still hog-tied and unconscious, was thrown into the bed of the last truck by two unkempt policemen. The vehicle immediately drove off.

  “All right, dumbasses! Mount up! We’re leaving!”

  The mercenaries boarded their APCs and rode in convoy for three hours before reaching the Panzer Brigade compound. They parked in a motor pool near the welcome center. All the other vehicles Galen had seen that afternoon were parked in the compound and Galen noticed three more motor pools filled with wheeled and tracked vehicles. Mortinson was standing in front of the vehicles.

  “Fall in, anti-armor platoon.” The mercenaries lined up facing their Chief.

  “You guys that ain’t been here before, follow the guys that have. Talk to the broke-dick on duty at the barracks front desk and he’ll assign you a bunk. Sleep well. Battalion formation is in front of the barracks at zero nine thirty. Take a shower and wear a clean uniform. Any questions, ask your buddy. I’m going to bed. Dismissed!”

  Galen raised his left wrist and checked his communicator. Seven hours of rest was better than nothing. The next morning the weather was clear and refreshingly cool. Galen felt much better after a night in a real bunk. Being clean and fresh felt good. The company was massed, not broken down by platoon but formed up in a block of a hundred and twenty mercenaries. The other two companies of the mechanized infantry battalion were also formed up on the parade field. At zero nine thirty the battalion commander marched out front, turned to the companies and ordered, “Bring your units to attention.”

  The company commanders faced their units and ordered them to attention starting with the company on the right and ending with Galen’s company. The company commanders then faced the battalion commander.

  “Report!” demanded the battalion commander.

  “Rifle Company, all fit for duty present.”

  “Mechanized Company, all fit tor duty present.”

  “Cavalry Company, all fit for duty present.”

  “At ease. I’m Captain Vought, your battalion commander. I’ll be a Major soon enough. I’m here to train up for promotion just like the rest of you. But that’s neither here nor there. What I’m here to tell you is, you did a great job. Everything I asked you to do, you got it done. I love you guys. What we pulled off yesterday and last night was nothing short of a miracle. I hate to play favorites but the cavalry troop deserves special praise. I also have to single out the anti-armor platoon. Their actions were critical to setting the stage for the opportunity we took advantage of last night. They defeated a full company of tanks. Not many grunt platoons can pull that off and live to tell about it. Let’s have a big round of applause for the anti-armor platoon.”

  To Galen’s surprise, the rest of the battalion cheered. The cheering and applauses sounded genuine, not the false sort of clapping and hooraying he heard so often at the military academy back on Ostreich. A real unit, with a real mission. Real applause.

  “I know you’re mercenaries, so I’ll add a little cash value to the praise. Cav Troop gets a bonus of two weeks pay. Anti-armor platoon gets an additional week’s pay on top of that.” The mercenaries of the other companies cheered again, this time without any prompting from the Captain. Galen wondered how much money he would get. Judging from the murmured comments of the seasoned mercenaries around him, it would be a decent wad of money.

  “Now for the good news. Everybody gets an extra half month’s pay bonus for quelling the riot. Not only do you get the money, you get the time to spend it. I cut a deal with the Mandarins. A crack unit from their regular space marines will watch our sector for the next two weeks. So our sector should still be clear when we get back. I will see you right here in this formation, at zero seven thirty, thirteen days from now. Until then…”

  The Captain paused for a full five seconds, “Dismissed!”

  Galen, Tad and Spike walked away from the formation area, talked as they went.

  “What now?” asked Tad.

  Galen shrugged, “Follow the Captain’s orders and go goof off for a couple of weeks.”

  “What’s there to do on this rock?”

  “I’m sure our money’s good enough for some locals to find ways to entertain us.”

  “We could hit the ‘ville and party right outside the gate for a couple of weeks. Those people know what we like, some better than u
s,” said Spike.

  “That’s a good way to spend a couple of days. Any complaints, Tad?”

  “No.”

  “Good. We’ll change into civvies and hit the ‘ville.”

  Chapter Ten

  The three friends, dressed in civilian clothes, approached the bank machine. Galen placed his right hand on the screen, waited, then stared with confusion at the teller machine.

  “Just shove your ID card into the slot,” said Spike.

  “Oh how primitive.” Galen pushed his Jasmine Panzer Brigade ID card into the slot beside the screen. The machine sucked the card inside.

  “Enter your code,” said the machine.

  “Last five digits from your contract number,” said Tad.

  “What?”

  “Don’t you have a copy of your contract with you?”

  “Enter your code,” the machine said.

  “No, I left it in the barracks.”

  “If you lose it, maybe the unit will conveniently lose their copy,” said Spike.

  “Wait here while I go get it.”

  “Your contract number is one less than mine and one more than Spike’s. They’re sequential.”

  “Enter your code,” said the machine. Tad punched in the number for Galen.

  “Audio on or off, Sergeant Raper?”

  “Off.”

  “Audio on or off, Sergeant Raper?”

  Tad reached over and pushed the ‘Off’ key. “You got to press the keys, Galen. These machines can’t hear.”

  “Okay, I got it now.” He pushed the keys, responding to the prompts and questions printed on the machine’s monitor. “What’s a credit worth?”