The War for Profit Series Omnibus

by Gideon Fleisher

  Galen now realized that when Sevin left he probably sent the lift back up and then turned it off, just to annoy Tad. He also knew that Polar knew how to turn the lift back on. The sound of the lift was barely audible, and by concentrating, Galen could hear it run and then stop at the bottom of the tower. Sevin could be a real pain in the ass when he wanted. And a real asset, when it mattered.

  Karen looked out the window as she held the electronic clipboard. “So who loads first?”

  Galen stood on her right side and pointed toward the marshalling yard. “The Brigade headquarters company. That’s the Hercules heavy tank company, your Administration and Logistics command post carrier, and the Tactical Operations Center command post carrier.”

  “I’m familiar with the ALOC and TOC tracks. What are Hercules tanks like?”

  Tad spoke, “They are the badest tanks ever made. Fifty six metric tons of pure combat muscle, fusion-powered battle-winning machines.”

  “Well,” said Galen, “the Hercules has reached the limit of crew protection, meaning it can withstand a blow stronger than the crew inside can survive. And its oversized fusion power pack provides an excess amount of electrical power for the vehicle’s engines, weapons systems, communications and crew sustainment. The sealed crew areas can sustain the crew in anything from a complete vacuum to a crushing depth below a thousand meters of water pressure at standard G. The coaxial and cupola Gauss machine guns are twenty millimeter, capable of riddling the armor of lighter vehicles and some medium tanks, as well as all but the most rigid combat suits. And its armor, it’s the best. Right now we have heat-absorbing ceramic tiles bolted on over composite inertia-absorbing alloys, with the basic armored core under that, a lead and steel alloy designed to block radiation, and it can also be polarized to enhance its ability to block other types of energy, such as the plasma of particle cannons. But the main gun, that’s the best part. It carries a heavy laser, fired from a laser module in the breach. But the laser can be easily removed, even in a combat environment, and the 150mm smooth bore cannon can then accept a variety of conventional, chemically propelled rounds. Comparatively slower than other tanks, its cross-country top speed of 120KPH is still impressive.”

  Karen smiled. “Wonderful. Only fifty six tons.”

  “Combat loaded, yes. There are fourteen of them. My command tank and Spike’s, for the HQ. Then three platoons of four tanks each to round out the company.”

  Tad swiveled his chair to face Karen. “Each platoon fits on a single drop boat, and my tank goes on a drop boat with the ALOC and TOC tracks, and Galen’s tank goes on the command drop ship, with Galen.”

  Karen looked back out the window. “Tell me about those other tanks.”

  Tad stood next to her. “That’s a battalion of Hellcat medium tanks. Seventeen tanks in each of its three companies, with five more tanks in the battalion headquarters. Designed for use on habitable worlds, the Hellcat uses organic fuel, preferably vegetable oil, to power the turbine engine. They use conventional cased ammunition for their 20mm coaxial and cupola machine guns, and their rifled 90mm main gun uses liquid propellant to fire kinetic rounds. And the liquid propellant comes right out of the same fuel cell that feeds fuel to the engine. But the rounds themselves are composites, which mean they are constructed as armor-piercing sabot. Once the round is in the chamber the gunner can choose to compress the round to cause the projectile to fuse into a solid mass, then relax the chamber to allow the projectile to fire as a single high-explosive/antitank slug. Also, the main gun can be used to fire artillery shells over distances up to forty kilometers. The armor can withstand a direct hit from any handheld weapon. But most importantly, the Hellcat has redundant mechanical control systems for everything but commo, so that it’s still functional after being hit by an electro-magnetic pulse. Although manual gunnery ain’t easy, it’s better than nothing.”

  “Yeah, cave-man tanks. They’ll need a lot of logistical support,” said Karen.

  Galen said, “Our support battalion is bringing enough organic fuel to sustain up to six days of combat operations. Which is enough to sustain training operations for the whole year we’ll be there, if we don’t have to fight anybody. Otherwise we’ll figure something out when we get there; the terraforming sky factories have to be producing some sort of byproduct we can use.”

  Karen straightened. “Well I’ve already looked into it. The locals use organic fuel. There’s plenty, and it’s cheap. Not a problem. Now what are all those other vehicles in the yard?”

  Galen said, “Oh. Those are the light tanks of the light tank battalion, and more light tanks and infantry fighting vehicles for the cavalry squadron and scout troop. They all use fusion engines, to give them the ability to stay in the field with minimal support for extended periods of time. Also, we have a battery of ground-mobile quad 40mm rail guns for air defense and direct support. They can go a month between logpacs, with a special logpac for Gauss and small arms ammo right after they get in a fight. And prisoner and casualty evacuation…”

  Karen said, “I understand all that. And I know my cargo vehicles and Armored Personnel Carriers depend on organic fuel. But like I said, that won’t be a problem.”

  “Uh, don’t get too attached to that support battalion. Chief Polar thinks it’s hers, and I do too. You need to focus on Brigade logistics, let her run that unit.”

  “I see.” Karen scrolled down the page of the clipboard, went back a few pages. “These drop boats. They seem non-standard, able to take on slightly larger loads than normal.”

  Galen smiled. “We captured them from the Mosh when their invasion of Alamo failed. We also own two of their transport ships. But we still depend on fleet contracts for jump ship support.”

  “Okay, I’ll study up. You’ve made it clear that this is more my level of responsibility. Now, how are you getting to Juventud?”

  “I’ll ride in the command drop ship, the one parked right out there.” Galen pointed out the window, downward, to the base of the tower.

  Karen leaned forward to see it. “It looks like a drop boat.”

  “It’s a drop ship. The size of the jump engine takes up most of space inside but there is enough room left for the command tank, its crew, the flight crew, me, and maybe you, if you want to ride it.”

  Karen looked straight at Galen. Her face was blank.

  Galen said, “I’m pretty sure the board of directors wants you to keep an eye on me and give regular reports back to them. I don’t care. You have free and unfettered access to me and anything else that might be your business. As long as your actions don’t interfere with the unit’s mission, we’ll get along just fine.”

  “We won’t have a problem; it’s not what you think.” Karen turned to stare out the window.

  Galen turned toward the door and said over his shoulder, “See you at shift change.”

  “Wait! What are all those vehicles parked in the back?”

  Galen faced her, and then looked to where he finger pointed. “Oh, that’s the mechanized infantry battalion. Fusion powered infantry fighting vehicles, self-propelled 120mm mortars, towed guns, an engineer platoon, and a battery of infantry support assault guns. Plus a few other things. Six hundred and sixty mercenaries, highly skilled infantry, every last one of them. They load here last because they’ll be the first ones in to secure the landing area for the rest of us.”

  “Oh.” Karen looked at the electronic clipboard, scrolled to the last page.

  “Anything else?” Galen paused a moment.

  Karen shook her head side to side. Galen left.

  Polar had left the lift at the bottom of the tower, so he’d have to wait a couple of minutes for it to come up, which meant Karen or Tad would have a chance to ask him something before he could get away. Galen decided to take the stairs down to the bottom of the forty meter high tower, grateful for the exercise. Once outside he looked both ways, checked the clearance lamps, removed his garrison cap and then strode across the tarmac and entered the marsh
alling yard.

  As he walked past the line of Hercules tanks he heard a familiar voice.

  “Hey Sergeant Major!” Master Sergeant Ross.

  Galen slowed his pace so Ross could catch up and walk along side. “So how’s it going, garrison ops daddy?”

  Ross smiled. “Not too bad. Recruiting is up, our school slots are filled. Even the officer courses, the Mandarin regulars and other mercenary units are sending their people here. I’m starting to turn some away, and put others on waiting lists.”

  “Guess that battle on Alamo impressed a lot of people.” Galen put his garrison cap back on.

  “Yes. Anyway, have you made your mind up about those transports and drop boats? I need to know if I should set up ship’s crew and boat pilot training.”

  “We’ll sell the boats and ships. The crews are on loan from fleet anyway. Besides, the board wants their dividends. If we keep those assets we’ll be paying to keep them idle most of the time. Better to let fleet deal with that. As soon as we debark on Juventud, the drop boats and the transport ships become fleet property. But we’re keeping the command drop ship, of course.”

  “Of course. We’re getting a lot of academy graduates as enlistees, but we’re also getting plenty of raw recruits. I’m going to emphasize skill training over leadership training, for the next two years. That does a better job of filling our projected vacancies.”

  They walked past the mechanized infantry battalion’s vehicles. Galen admired the new Infantry Fighting Vehicles, built on the same chassis as the Brigade’s Hornet light tanks. The IFV had a smaller turret that mounted twin 20mm rail guns, and had an assault ramp on the back of a troop compartment that could hold six combat-laden soldiers.

  “The officer slots have to be filled too, in about sixteen months.”

  Ross chuckled then said, “Well I suspect we’ll promote from within. Although this Brigade has become a real magnet for enlisted personnel, officers are a little shy about taking a commission here. They’re afraid they’ll end up like me.”

  Galen stopped at the back gate of the marshalling yard, turned to Ross and said, “Well I hope you get your rank back, or even, I’d think you’d be a good Colonel. But…”

  “But what?”

  “After this I’m done. All I wanted was one enlistment, and now I’m serving sixteen months past that.”

  Ross stood with his hands on his hips. “You really need to give this some thought. It’s not as easy to quit as you think. I’ve met all my life goals and here I am, still serving. Something to think about.”

  “I’ll give it some thought.” Galen stepped through the gate and walked toward his office, still four hundred meters away. Ross stayed inside the marshalling yard.

  Chapter Three

  As he approached his office, Galen noticed a corporate-suited man waiting on the sidewalk outside the commander’s entrance door. Not too tall, sloped shoulders, a skinny neck, the pads of his expensive jacket a necessity to make him look normal. An expensive hair treatment, shocking white spiked straight up about two centimeters, a flattop held in place with styling spray.

  The waiting man spoke, “Hello, Sergeant Major.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m the liaison from EugeneX.”

  “Good for you.” Galen stopped and stood right in front of the man. He didn’t want him in the office and decided to talk outside. “You have a name?”

  “Pedimore, John D.” He extended his hand.

  Galen ignored the hand and folded his arms. “Okay. After we secure the area, and after the construction company puts in a class ‘C’ spaceport, and after the training and troop housing facilities are built, we’ll have something to talk about. That won’t be for another three months.”

  “But I was sent to accompany you now.”

  “Well there’s nothing in my unit contract about it. It clearly states that liaison starts after construction reaches the stage of completion I just described.”

  Pedimore frowned and looked down. “What am I supposed to do until then?”

  Galen shrugged. “I don’t care, as long as it doesn’t cost me money or interfere with my unit’s operations or missions.”

  “I see. Then what would you suggest?”

  Galen had a very vulgar, insulting suggestion for Pedimore on the tip of his tongue, but decided to use tact. “You can stay in our warrior hotel at Visitor discount rates, and you can coordinate with our public affairs office, they can give you official information for your reports back to your boss. But don’t abuse the privilege; don’t mistake my kindness for weakness.”

  “Very well.” Pedimore turned and walked away.

  Galen’s instinct made him want to put his boot square in Pedimore’s backside, incensed that the little geek had turned his back and walked away without being dismissed. But he knew civilians were like that, undisciplined little punks. Instead, Galen counted to ten inside his head and then entered his office.

  He sat at his desk and turned on his flat screen and read a message from his mother. “I’m so proud of you, and I hope to see you soon. There is always a place in my heart and a room in my house for you. I’m looking forward to the day you can settle down and really enjoy the best things life has to offer.”

  Galen stared at the message for a few minutes and then sent his reply, a reply that he knew would take a week at least to reach its destination. “I have extended my enlistment for an additional sixteen months. I can’t disclose details at this time, but rest assured I won’t be in any real danger. If I don’t send another message before then, Happy Birthday.”

  With that, Galen stretched out on the left-side couch and took a nap.

  ***

  Galen woke with only a few minutes to spare. He pulled his boots on, checked his personal communicator for messages, found none and then left his office. Entering the marshalling yard through the walk-through gate he saw that most of the vehicles were gone. The recon troop was moving toward the tarmac gate, and the mechanized infantry battalion’s vehicles bristled with troops standing on them, climbing around securing gear. Hundreds of troops also milled around the narrow spaces between the vehicles, awaiting the order to mount up.

  As he neared the head of the far left column of IFVs, Galen heard Master Sergeant Sevin’s voice. “Hey Smaj!”

  Galen saw him and walked over to where he stood in front of his command vehicle. “So Sevin, what’s up?”

  “I just want to thank you for giving me command of the mechanized battalion.”

  “Well, somebody has to do it.” Galen noticed that the last vehicle of the scout troop was nearing the edge of the tarmac. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

  “First in, last out. That’s the way to do it!” Master Sergeant Sevin climbed into the commander’s hatch of his IFV and put on his commo helmet. Soon, all the other troops mounted their vehicles as well.

  Galen checked his wrist chronometer and stepped off quickly and took up a light jog until he reached the control tower. He rode the lift to the top and entered the control room. Tad and Karen stood looking out the floor to ceiling windows at the vehicles and drop boats. A technician and a sergeant from the movement control team sat at the desk, studying the flat screen. Chief Polar stood behind them, making notes on the electronic clipboard.

  “Hey Tad,” said Galen.

  Karen and Tad turned to face him. Tad jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the window. “Not much longer.”

  “Right. You two can head on out.”

  Polar turned toward Galen. “Me too. I can monitor the manifest from my drop boat.”

  “All right.” Galen peered out of the control tower windows and saw the long line of drop boats along the tarmac, canted an eighth of a turn, or eight hundred mils, their assault ramps lowered to make it possible for the vehicles to drive on and tie down inside. He heard the door of the control room close and looked back. Polar, Tad and Karen were gone. The immenseness of the unit was impressive. To transport the un
it for this contract required seventy eight drop boats in all, each nearly a hundred and twenty meters long. They made a line that began at the gate of the marshalling yard and faded into the distance, the furthest drop boat barely perceptible as a spec. The drop boats, their retractable wings showing silver at the joints, the area not exposed to supersonic flight, the rest of their exteriors burnished to a dull grey with long black streaks caused by numerous high-velocity atmospheric re-entries on dozens of worlds. The tail sections, the high rudders, the twin engines mounted either side right at the back of the fuselage, the tail flaps protruding from the engine nacelles.

  Galen took the lift down and stepped out of the base of the tower and turned left and walked a hundred meters to reach the command drop ship. He entered through the cargo ramp, gave the loadmaster a thumbs up and watched as the cargo ramp lifted to close against the overhead, made his way around the skid-loaded command tank, opened the door to his cabin to peek inside, saw that his gear was secure, closed the cabin door and climbed the ladder up to the second level and moved down the gangway that ran across the length of the jump engine to the cockpit. He entered and took the seat behind the pilot and fastened his seat belt. Karen was already in the seat to his right.

  “Ready, Smaj?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Karen said, “I heard you were a sleeper.”

  “I am.” Galen patted the left breast pocket of his combat coveralls. “I got injectors.”

  The pilot said, “I’ve heard about sleepers, but I never met one before. What’s it like?”

  The loadmaster entered and sat in the co-pilot seat and fastened his seat belt. “All secure down there.”

  Galen spoke. “You don’t want to know.”

  The loadmaster-turned-co-pilot said, “Don’t want to know what?”

  Karen said, “What it’s like to be a sleeper.”

  “Oh,” said the co-pilot. “I’ve heard of that. Some sort of jump space syndrome where you spend an eternity in complete darkness and wake up crazy.”