The War for Profit Series Omnibus

by Gideon Fleisher

  Today they found the flank of a Stallion tank a lucrative target. They came around that hill and attacked Charlie’s left rear and flank. Charlie 11 took six rounds in its left side simultaneously; its turret flew up and spun away. The rest of Charlie’s first platoon faced left and traded blows with the light tanks, turning them into scrap in short order. But the Indig dismounts closed on them and swarmed them. They shifted to a diamond formation and used their rail guns to scratch each other’s backs, spun their turrets to knock off dismounts with the main gun. Gates ordered his infantry to mount up and then withdrew his forces to the base of hill one.

  Alpha made another charge to get back up on hill three. A surprisingly large number of Indigs emerged from the village to charge hill three again, this time with a dozen light tanks as support. Alpha was right back into the same situation as before, but worse. Indig light tanks came to the edge of the village and began lobbing chemically-propelled high-explosive shells onto the top of the hill. The Stallion tanks had to come to the edge of the flat-topped hill to return fire, had to bring their guns to charge five to get a kill on the Indig tanks. A relatively slow process. By the time the Indig tanks were eliminated, a large force of Indig dismounts had reached the top of the hill and were ready to charge. The dismounted Alpha infantry repulsed the first attack, and the second. But Indigs were still coming, free to run across open ground to the base of the hill, the tanks busy looking for Indig tanks and mortars, picking them off whenever they fired. But not preventing the massed infiltration. The infantry were dug in, waiting for the next charge.

  Bravo was cut off and unable to form its skirmish line. Bravo withdrew and got back up on top of hill one and established a solid defense. Charlie was beat back and went around hill one and then moved up on top to join Bravo’s defensive lines. From my position I could see the front slope of hill three at a flat angle. Parks was zoomed in and was firing at charge one, taking out an Indig every so often. Not bad, considering we were twenty klicks away. Very hard to indentify targets in the tall grass, so he shot at anything that looked like movement.

  A platoon from Bravo moved toward hill two but was in danger of being swamped by powered Indigs. Another Indig light tank company came out of the village to charge the platoon’s flank so they swung right and got back up on hill one. I looked and saw that the area, the Indigs all over the place, would be a perfect target for an artillery unit, a Redleg’s wet dream. I called the mortars. “Registration. Azimuth four nine hundred, range two four thousand.”

  They fired. Eight smoke rounds. They landed beyond the village. “Right two hundred, drop two thousand.”

  The smoke landed in the southeast corner of the village. I was about to make another correction when I heard Six on the comms. “Stop it! Stop shooting that shit! We got this, I don’t need no mortars. We’ll finish today and head on back to Mandarin tomorrow!”

  I said, “Check fire, end of mission, mortars.”

  A double-click over comms from the mortar chief.

  Comms got squirrely again, worse than before. An Indig drone circled over the battlefield, obviously jamming transmissions. An infantry fighting vehicle gunner on hill one took it down with rail gun fire and comms improved. The BN HQ tanks made a run at hill two, wanting to provide supporting fire for Alpha. They had to send the cargo trucks to hill one, and Charlie and Bravo had to take the logpac for themselves. All of the medical supplies and ammunition, anyway. They left the chow alone.

  The BN HQ lost two tanks, blown to bits by antitank rockets fired at their ass ends by Indig dismounts. The three remaining tanks got inside the Bravo/Charlie perimeter and joined the defensive battle there.

  I saw a charge of Indigs sweep halfway across the top of hill one before they were stopped. I called the mortars. “Hey, fire HE. Give it to them, right three hundred.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it.”

  “But Stallion Six himself, he said…”

  I was getting pissed off. “Just fucking do it. If he don’t like it he’ll call again and tell you to stop.”

  “This won’t be just your responsibility. I’ll get canned right along with you.”

  “Just fire the rounds. Please?” I switched to a husky, seductive voice. “I’ll suck your dick if you want.”

  There was a long pause. Mortar rounds landed near hill three. Then the mortar Chief said, “Eat me, fag.”

  I made corrections to the fire, got it danger close to Alpha. Half their armored vehicles were already burning, obscuring my view of the top of the hill. More Indigs came. They had a harder time crawling up the hill with mortars landing there, but they kept it up. The numbers, they were overwhelming. There were only supposed to be three thousand Indig warriors, but we’d already killed more than that. And I could personally see what had to be three thousand more still active on the battlefield.

  The mortar chief called me. “Rounds complete.”

  “Damn.”

  “We’re out of ammo, packing up our gear and transitioning to mounted infantry.”

  I said, “Thanks for your support.”

  “Roger. And you can keep that blowjob. I have better things to do with my free time. Mortars out.”

  It was getting dark. The Indigs made their final charge across the top of hill three. I saw what I thought was Stallion Six standing in the cupola of his tank firing his pistol. Then it was dark, the fires of the burning vehicles too bright to allow my night vision scope to see what was going on.

  And that’s when it happened. I saw the text from the Mechanized Infantry Battalion Commander, Major Delagiacoma, go up. It went through my comms to the ship in orbit.

  Our attack failed. Employer lied about enemy strength. Contract in dispute. I am assuming command and Brigade-level arbitration authority.

  I slumped forward in my seat. My face piece clacked against the main status screen.

  Chapter Eight

  Sporadic fire continued through four hours of darkness. In the dark, two platoons of infantry from Bravo, dismounted and escorting a tank and two fighting vehicles loaded with ammunition, managed to move to hill two and establish a defense. When the sun came up they looked to hill three and saw Indig women and children stripping bodies and bashing their heads with clubs, mutilating the bodies with knives. Killing the wounded with blows to the head.

  The Indigs no longer had the numbers to continue their attacks and put hill one and hill two under siege. I had just roused Caldwell and put her in charge of comms so I could grab a nap when Major Delagiacoma called me on my personal communicator.

  “That you, Slaughter?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Dismount, bring your gunner. Meet the mechanics at the bottom of your hill.”

  “Yessir.”

  I grabbed Parks and we picked our way down the steep slope of the hill. At the bottom, the Motor Officer was there with a recovery vehicle and two ground-mobile anti-aircraft guns.

  She said, “Sergeant Slaughter, got a little mission for you.”

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  She handed me a snatch block, handed the end of the cable of the recovery vehicle’s wench to Parks. “You know what to do with this?”

  I said, “If I had to guess, you want me to hook the snatch block to my tank, run the cable through it and bring the end back down to you.”

  She winked. “You’re smart. The rest of the story is we’ll wench these two flak guns up top, they’ll take your place and you’ll bring your tank on down here. Understand?”

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  That snatch block was heavy, but no worse than that cable Parks was tugging on. By the time I was back up top I was smoked and so was Parks. Caldwell attached the snatch block and ran the cable through and walked its end back down to the bottom. The two flak guns were in place in half an hour. My tank and crew and I slid on back down the hill, parked near the TOC and I dismounted and went to report to Major Delagiacoma.

  He was in the TOC dome and looked over his left sh
oulder at me. “Come with me.”

  I followed him outside. He mounted his skimmer and pointed to indicate he wanted me to follow in my tank. I noticed that Emily was driving the skimmer and the soldier behind the laser gun in the back was wearing blue mechanic’s coveralls. The flak guns wasted no time finding targets. They poured fire into the Indigs with impunity. For them, their crews trained to swat aerospace fighters from the sky, twenty klicks was point-blank range and Indigs were very slow moving targets. I followed Major D to what I knew was hill three. Attack from the Indigs was still a real possibility, but the flack guns must have convinced the Indigs it was best to leave us alone. Up the back side of the hill I noticed about a dozen stripped and mangled bodies in a deep washout leading to the river below. Perhaps a hasty retreat or a platoon maneuver to get in position for a dismounted counterattack. We’ll never know.

  The vehicles were either burned or blown apart or both. The ground was littered with buckshot wading, first stage igniters, broken knives, a few damaged weapons. Anything worth picking up had been taken by the Indigs. Major D motioned me over. I dismounted and he handed me a recorder, a medical data device. We examined each body, took a picture of the ears if there still were any. Pressed fingerprints against the screen, if there were fingers. And dental x-rays of what teeth remained. The bodies were all stripped naked, mutilated too. Heads bashed in. The chests cut open and the hearts removed. Some, the belly was slit from crotch to sternum, the guts strung out. The males, their genitals were cut off and nowhere to be found. We continued our grim task, the skimmer and the tank pulling security. Except for an occasional grunt or hand signal, Major D didn’t speak.

  I noticed one tank that looked okay, heard the low hum of electronics still functioning. I had Parks get in the driver’s seat and check the systems. He gave a thumbs-up. Major D waved his skimmer’s gunner to get up in the hatch. Finally we made our way down the gully and got identification for all those bodies as well. Eighteen of them. The way they fell, head up hill, I guessed they were on their way back up. I found busted ammo crates among them, the ammo long gone. They died bringing up more rounds for the defenders up top.

  Up top I noticed one body in particular, lying on the ground next to a tank. I looked at the right rear corner and the bumper number was HQ-6. The body, Lieutenant Colonel Guillermo Camacho. He’d taken a round right through the left side of his chest, a hole big enough to drop an apple through. There was a bullet hole in the left temple of his head but no blood, and besides, he was right handed. So somebody shot him in the head after he was dead, wanted it to look like a suicide. Since his was the only head not smashed in, somebody was trying to make him look like a coward.

  Major D looked. “That’s it.”

  And that’s all he said. I had no idea what he meant by that. I heard Major D on comms, the command net. “All company commanders and above, I want you in my TOC within the hour. Out.” We left, the recovered tank between me and the skimmer. We went back to the TOC area. I noticed that the Indigs had given up their siege of hill one and two, withdrawn back into their village. The flak guns fired infrequently now.

  Three skimmers were parked outside the TOC, the various leaders sharing rides in them. Major D waved for me to follow him inside. The screen at the front was blank. I called, “At Ease.” The leaders in the TOC stood.

  Major D walked to the front and said, “Take your seats, Ladies and Gentlemen.” He sat at the screen terminal and displayed the unit contract. He then stood. “Okay, we just got our asses kicked. Real bad. We’ve lost half our troops, a third of our vehicles, and it is terrible. But this fight isn’t over. It’s only half time and this is where we change the strategy so we can win this thing in the end.”

  He displayed the unit contract’s first page. “Right here. It says we will engage in combat operations with any indigenous personnel found West of longitude twenty eight West and east of longitude forty one East. The only exception being the Scouts we choose to assist us. That’s it in a nutshell. Our mission.”

  He sat. The leaders mumbled amongst themselves. Major D stood again.

  “Listen up. Stallion Six was a fine commander, a man of honor and drive and ambition. He was also a tactical genius. His plan was to shock the Indigs into submission with an immediate display of naked aggression. He wanted to round them up and escort them back to where the French wanted them. Get it done fast, short and sweet, to minimize casualties for both sides. He was a compassionate man who loved life, all life.”

  Major D looked away, wiped his eyes on his left forearm. He looked up and glared at the back of the dome, raised his voice. “But not me. I’m a dumbass and I don’t give a shit about any Indig lives. My plan is simple. From here on out, the only good Indig is a dead Indig.” He smashed his right fist into his left hand. “They killed Stallion Six, and that was their mistake. He was the best friend they had on this planet and look where that got him. Dead. You Scouts, get out of here. Your services are no longer desired.”

  The four surviving Scouts left without a word. Major D waited until he heard the sound of their trikes driving away. Then he spoke, “The Frogs screwed us. The French, they eat frogs so I call them Frogs. You are what you eat, right?”

  The attempt at levity made the group more sullen.

  “We got our asses handed to us because the Frogs said there were only eight thousand Indigs, just three thousand warriors among them, but there were more than forty thousand indigs, more than half of them warriors, renegades who defied the Frogs. And the Indigs killed the wounded and mutilated the bodies of our fallen brothers and sisters, to send us a message and teach us a lesson.

  “So okay, here’s the deal: we will switch to simple, conventional, straightforward tactics. My goal is to hunt down and kill every last one of those Indigs. And we will do this without losing any more troops. Not a one. The Indigs will soon break camp and leave this area headed South, in several groups. I identified elements from at least three different clans and they will go their separate ways. I’m not the least bit interested in sending any messages or teaching any lessons. My aim is to kill each and every one of them; one by one by God damned one.”

  He sat, rubbed the top of his head, stood back up. “I sent word to Brigade. It will take about four months to reach them, and another four months for a response. I expect the Brigade will send a dispute representative. It’s obvious the frogs screwed us and they owe us, big time. Until then, we’re at least five months out from extraction.”

  An Infantry Captain stood. “Sir, I’m not being disloyal, but I have to ask. We could extract right now, we have our own transport ship with drop boats available.”

  “Right. I’m glad you brought that up. If we leave before receiving just compensation with a dispute still on the table, we essentially waive our right to bitch. We will stay and continue to execute the terms of the contract, to the letter. Kill any Indigs outside their designated area. All of them. Slowly, carefully, over time, as long as it takes. We all clear on that?”

  He looked around. Silence.

  “Dismissed.”

  They stood and filed out of the TOC dome.

  Chapter Nine

  Six hours later I was five hundred meters North of the TOC, in my tank with a column of four IFVs behind me, another column a hundred meters to my left, a skimmer followed by four more IFVs. We halted in the field. A drop boat came from behind and skid-dropped eight pallets between the columns. The IFVs each backed up to a pallet, hooked on and then drug the pallets to the TOC area. The skimmer took the lead and I followed, my turret faced to the rear. Two pallets were High Explosive rounds for the mortars. There were two pallets of 10mm steel rounds for the Gauss machine guns of the tanks and IFVS, and a pallet of 20mm rounds for the flak guns, and one pallet of rounds for the Eliminator shotguns. Troops, most of them from the mortar teams, fell to the task of breaking the ammo down for distribution, loading box after box on cargo trucks.

  Caldwell parked the tank facing out and dismoun
ted and went to the shower trailer. I put Parks on watch and then I stretched out on the flat area behind the turret for a much-needed nap. I had just dozed off when I felt a boot nudge my shoulder.

  The intruder said, “Hey cock sucker.”

  I kept my eyes closed. “You say ‘cock sucker’ like it’s a bad thing and then wonder why nobody wants to suck your cock.”

  “I don’t have a cock.”

  I looked up at the crotch of my tormentor, the combat coveralls snug up against it. A woman, no doubt, but very sturdy, with a solid, deep voice. I sat up. “What do you want?”

  “Data from our fires yesterday, for registration. You still have it?”

  I stood. “Sure. So you’re the Mortar Chief?”

  “Yeah.” She handed me a data stick. “Put it on here.”

  I climbed in my cupola and pulled the information from the buffer and then climbed back out and handed the data stick to her. “Time stamp is spot-on.”

  “Thanks.” She climbed off my tank and I lay back down.

  Caldwell returned. “Shower’s open, Sergeant Slaughter.”

  I sat up. “You saying I stink?”

  “Yes. Go take a shower, you’ll feel better.”

  “All right.” I stood, removed my war gear, grabbed my hygiene bag and trotted over to the shower trailer. I tossed my clothes into the laundry machine. My beard was long and clogged the razor on each swipe, the rotating blades jamming and pulling the hair. I dug out the old disposable razor and scraped at my face the old-fashioned way. Then I stepped into the body cleaner and let the hot soapy water do its work, then raised the heat a bit for the rinse cycle. The air dryer felt a bit chilly but not enough to complain about. My clothes were done, the undergarments machine-folded. I dressed and jogged back to my tank. I felt a hundred percent better.