The War for Profit Series Omnibus

by Gideon Fleisher

  I stood. “Governor, I would like to cede the floor to Representative Coyote until such time as Major Deskavich returns.”

  The Governor looked confused. “Who is Coyote?”

  Coyote stood. “Governor, I think he means me.”

  The Governor said, “Very well. The floor is ceded to Representative Kolah, Chief of the Kolah Clan.”

  Coyote smiled from ear to ear, stared right at me and winked. Asshole.

  He walked all the way back around and stood in front of my table, back to me, facing the Frogs. I reached under my jacket for my side arm and undid the snap, loud enough for him to hear it. I then clicked the safety off and on, then put the snap back on. He looked back at me over his shoulder. I whispered, “Don’t you dare fart on me.”

  He faced the Frogs again and said, “I will tell the story of the incident that first led Acadia to hire the Mercenaries, the attack on the pressure valve construction site. I was there, and since then I have had the opportunity to research the events faithfully, so what I tell you now I know to be true.”

  The Governor nodded. “Continue. Your remarks are part of the official record.”

  “Thank you, Governor. I was out with a planting party. We’d been growing for three months and were away from our base camp to harvest the last of our fruits and vegetables. We would soon cross the dust to re-join our clan.”

  The Adversary held up his hand. “I have a question.”

  Coyote nodded.

  “You say you were harvesting, on the other side of the wasteland from your Clan?”

  “Yes. When summer comes at the equator and the ice recedes, the clans move toward the equator to begin the summer hunt. A small group goes the other way, across the wasteland, and plows some frozen ground so that it dries faster, then plants seeds as the area warms up. Then harvest, and cross the now-barren hot zone to bring the fruits and vegetables to the clan.”

  “Hmm. Why not just plant at the other edge of the grassy zone?”

  Coyote looked down, sighed, looked up. “The frozen ground is sterile, no molds or disease or pests or weeds to deal with. The opposite edge of the grass, it’s hard to control what happens to the plants. They could be trampled by a herd.”

  The Governor said, “There will be no more interruptions.”

  Coyote said, “We returned with our last load and found our base camp razed to the ground, everyone there killed. Twenty six of my people. Boys and girls who were brought along to learn how to grow crops, and an elder to supervise, and the mothers of the children. I learned later that it was Acadia’s security team, more than a hundred trained and well-armed men. They were lost, looking for the pressure valve construction site, low on food and water and facing death in the wasteland. They stumbled across the base camp and took as much food and water for themselves as they could carry and then destroyed the rest. Killed my people. Then they proceed to the pressure valve site.

  “We followed their tracks. We found them, protected behind the high walls of the construction site of the pressure valve. They shot at us. We backed off and put on our powered battle armor and then came back after dark to attack. Just twenty eight of us. We scaled the walls, killed all the security personnel, all the technicians and engineers and construction workers and the scientists as well. Then we wrecked the equipment and set fire to what we could. Eleven of us survived the battle and took what few fruits and vegetables we had left to our clan. Soon after, my Chief died and I won the challenge for the job and took over the Kolah Clan myself. That is when Acadia came to us to negotiate, and records show that is also when Acadia began seeking Mercenary contract bids.”

  The Major entered and took his seat beside me, gave me a look that said What?

  I whispered to Coyote, “Wrap it up, Chief.”

  Coyote said, “The Mercenaries did not receive a detailed account of this battle, something that surely would have influenced the terms of their contract with Acadia.”

  The Governor said, “Thank you. The floor goes back to Major Deskavich.”

  Coyote walked around the room back to his seat.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Major Deskavich said, “Now that we have laid the groundwork for our argument that deceit on the part of your military liaison led to thousands of needless deaths—”

  The Adversary stood, “Nonsense! The fortunes of war carry great risks, there—”

  The Governor banged his gavel. “Sit down! Do not interrupt!”

  Major Deskavich paced in front of the Frogs, then said, “I have a response to that. Lieutenant Colonel Camacho knew his business. He wanted to immediately shock the hostile clan into submission, make them surrender and then escort them into the safe zone. To end the conflict quickly, to minimize the loss of life for all. Now back to my presentation. We will now examine a few of the lives lost, to put a human face on the…what you call the fortunes of war?”

  He returned to his seat. Emily put her presentation on the screens. A picture of a troop with her family, a husband a three children. Video of them at a park flying kites on a summer day. A biography showing pictures and vids of her as she grew from a child into a beautiful woman, her graduation, her wedding. Another troop, a young man from the destitute area of a forgotten backwater world, his enlistment in the Brigade, his graduation from basic combat training, his award of Top Gunner, his marriage to a Mandarin woman, his four kids playing, his achievement of earning a high school diploma, and a vid of him sending his last message home, the day before he died. A picture of a corpse, gutted and sexually mutilated, its head bashed in.

  Emily said, “This is what he looks like now.”

  Then a picture of Stallion Six in full dress uniform. Emily stood and moved in front of the table to face the Frogs. “Lieutenant Guillermo Camacho was born on the planet Tobago, fifth child among fourteen in a subsistence farming family a hundred klicks from the nearest city. He ran away from home and enlisted in the Tobago home guard but was unsatisfied with the dull routine. He finished his two-year term with them and then reached for the stars, booking passage on a jump ship to Ostreich, where he enlisted in the Jasmine Panzer Brigade based on Mandarin. During his first five year enlistment he accumulated enough education to earn an associate’s degree and applied for a commission as an officer but was denied. During a two-year break in service he attended a military academy on Ostreich and returned to Mandarin and was granted a commission in the Brigade as a Captain.

  “That is when he sent for his family, all his brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and his parents, and the several spouses of his married siblings, and a few of his cousins as well. He lived frugally, much of his income spent supporting his family on Mandarin until they could find employment of their own. His career languished during that time, spending almost ten years as a Captain. Finally he went on a contract that paid well and was able to focus on his career more than his family and was promoted to Major and then Lieutenant Colonel in less than a year.

  “He distinguished himself during a critical phase of the battle on the planet Grinder and was awarded the Medal of Valor by the Bonding Commission itself. Then he became engaged to the lovely Annette Fiaco, the Commander of Alpha Company, Stallion Battalion, Jasmine Panzer Brigade. They both died on that hilltop, fighting an overwhelming force. May they find love in the next life.”

  The picture changed to Captain Fiaco and Lieutenant Colonel Camacho posed together, wearing their full dress military uniforms. The picture slowly faded to black.

  A minute later the Major said, “We will now take your questions.”

  The Adversary stood. “I fail to understand the problem here. Your brigade failed to gather accurate information before entering into a contract. That is a failure on your part.”

  The Advocate stood. “I’m no expert at linguistics, but I fail to find a question anywhere in your remarks, your Honorable—”

  The Adversary interrupted, “The battlefield performance—”

  The Advocate raised his voice,
“I’m sorry, did the middle of my sentence interrupt the beginning of yours?”

  The Governor quickly banged his gavel a dozen times. “Both of you, out! Get out!”

  They turned and left, the Advocate through the back door, the Adversary around the room to the front doors.

  The Governor said, “Very well. We will now take questions from the representatives.”

  A woman with a loose-fitting smock stood and said, “This is clearly upsetting to us all. If it were possible, what would Acadia have to do, in order to make this up to your Brigade?”

  “Madam,” said the Major, “I think a quadrupling of the total price of the contract is in order, plus an increase in payment for each Mercenary life lost. As well as an expansion of the size of the safe zone itself, and more generous provisions for the Indigs. That part, of course, intended to make enforcing the terms of the contract less challenging. That, and seeing that the military liaison that deceived us is held accountable for his treason.”

  She sat, poked at her desktop. Made notes, probably. I couldn’t see what her hands were doing.

  A man to the right stood. “You charge treason, but that does not make sense. The liaison was representing Acadia’s best interest, not yours. How is it treason?”

  “Sir,” said the Major, “When Acadia hired us we became representatives, employees of Acadia. Treachery against us is treachery against you. All of you.”

  “Good answer.” He sat.

  Another woman stood. She looked a lot like my grandmother. “I can see that actions taken to deceive you after the contract was signed could be treason, but not any part of the negotiations before hand. Is that correct?”

  The Major took a deep breath. “Before negotiations began, there was an agreement to bargain in good faith. That agreement was with the Bonding Commission itself, required before soliciting contract bids through their agency. Certainly, deceit at that time is not treason against the Brigade. But be forewarned, the Bonding Commission does not take deceit against itself lightly. Acadia could be ostracized from the rest of the galaxy, left to fend for itself outside the rule of interstellar law, unable to hire mercenaries certainly. You would become a plumb ripe for the picking by anyone who cared to conquer you for their own benefit. There are some nasty people out there looking for easy wealth. Particularly, the barbaric Mosh raiders. I assure you, no Acadian would want them to show up.”

  Another man stood. “Major, in the event we can not meet some, or all, of your demands, what actions are you prepared to take?” He sat down, smiling.

  The Major said, “I assure you all, I have made no demands. I’ve simply stated my feelings in this matter, gave the facts as completely as I possibly could, and answered your questions honestly. In the event our dispute cannot be resolved between us before the remaining five months of the contract come to pass, we will leave and refer the matter to the Bonding Commission for resolution. That is all.”

  The Governor said, “These questions are becoming frivolous. Does anyone else care to ask a question of the mercenaries before I dismiss them from the Chamber?” He looked around. “No? Very well. Major Deskavich, you have provided us with considerable information about the laws and rules and procedures concerning the Bonding Commission and its authority. We will all review it thoroughly and see if we can work things out between us. But be patient with us. English is our second language, and Standard its cousin. It may take us a while. I thank you for your time. You are dismissed.”

  We stood and left the government building and went back to our hotel for lunch. I spent the afternoon catching up on my sleep. In a bed. Tomorrow morning we were going back down to the dirt.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Next morning after breakfast we left the hotel wearing combat coveralls. Victor escorted us to the elevator, walking beside the Major. Me and Emily walked behind them on the sidewalk. We decided to not ride the tourist shuttle truck, wanting to stretch our legs. And the habitat was pretty nice; walking around there was not bad at all.

  The Major asked him, “The plan for terraforming Tumbler. Can you explain it?”

  “A rough outline, of course, but I’ll do my best.”

  “I’m sure that will be sufficient.”

  Victor said, “The first step is to get a series of drill holes and pressure valves installed, to help regulate the rotation. To help keep the crust as near the rotation of the core as possible. And tap into geothermal to power that system as well as balance the gasses of the atmosphere. When the magnetic field weakens, the atmosphere’s composition at the highest levels will have to offer more protection against solar radiation.”

  The Major said, “Ambitious.”

  “Certainly. But the biggest part of the project is to bring a planetoid in to slow the rotation, speed the orbit and tilt the axis.”

  The Major stopped, eyebrow raised. “Really?”

  “Certainly. We’re already bringing a planetoid from the outer edge of the star system, set on a near-collision course with Tumbler at such an angle, its gravity will do all the work. An elliptical orbit with several close passes at first, then eventually the planetoid will be nudged into a stable orbit around Tumbler. It’s all been worked out with models. It will work.”

  The Major started walking again. “Won’t that take a while?”

  “Sixteen hundred years. We’ll live here on Acadia, the population growing, preparing for the day we inhabit Tumbler.” Victor pressed his hand onto the pad by the elevator. The door opened.

  We three stepped inside. The Major looked back. “Aren’t you re-naming Tumbler?”

  Victor shook his head side to side. “No. This habitat, this generation ship, is the Acadia. The planet is Tumbler, and will always be. Have a safe trip.”

  The elevator doors closed. It rose to the platform and we stepped out in one-tenth G and began climbing the long, tall ladder. At the top, two Frogs helped us through the round doorway. Our drop boat was there, parked facing out, magnetically held down to the landing bay floor, its cargo ramp lowered. I looked up at the ceiling and realized it wasn’t the ceiling at all. I was looking at the underbelly of a very large spacecraft; the ceiling was at least four hundred meters above that. I shoved off first and floated into the cargo area of the drop boat. Two pallets of ammunition and a pallet of rations were strapped down there. The boxes of food had French words printed on them. I looked back and watched the Major and Emily enter the drop boat cargo area and then followed them up to take seats in the cockpit behind the pilot and co-pilot.

  The pilot looked back, a smile on her broad face. Her brown pony tail floated. “Major Deskavich, how was it?”

  He clipped his seat belt. “I could live there. Sweet air, good food.”

  She closed the cargo ramp and watched the exterior pressure gauge. “Maybe I’ll get a chance to check it out. I’m due for a vacation.”

  “Certainly,” said the Major, “but you’ll have to work that out with your ship’s Captain.”

  The co-pilot confirmed the seal of the drop boat and sent a departure request to the Frogs. The pressure in the bay dropped slowly but steadily, the Frogs drawing the air out, storing it for re-use. The pilot said, “This takes a while.”

  “They need to save their air. They’re in this for the long haul.”

  The bay door opened and the pilot released the magnetic hold downs and eased the boat out of the bay. She then retracted the landing gear and rotated the boat to face Tumbler and raised the thrust to one G.

  She circled Tumbler once before entering the atmosphere and then angled down sharply, leveled off at ten kilometers and slowed to landing speed. After a rough landing at the improvised landing field she taxied to the edged of the air field and stopped right by the entry control point and dropped the cargo ramp. We left the drop boat. The Major headed directly for the TOC dome. Me and Emily went to the maintenance bay for a look around. My gear was still in the locker and I put it on, grabbed my bag.

  The Motor Officer met me and said,
“Sergeant Slaughter, say hello to your new vehicle.” She pointed at a skimmer, bumper number MH-6. Mechanized Infantry Battalion, Headquarters Six. Major Delagiacoma’s command vehicle, the one Emily drove.

  “Ma’am, where’s my tank?”

  “All fixed up good as new. Corporal Parks is in the hatch and they got a gunner from one of the IFVs we converted to flak panzers. You’re assigned as the gunner for this thing. Might as well put your gear away. MH-6 just entered services and there’s plenty of crew-level work on the check list.”

  “But—”

  Captain Blythe tapped me on the shoulder. I whirled to face him.

  He said, “Nothing personal, Sergeant Slaughter. It takes time to develop a good Schools NCO with the right attitude to do the job effectively. The Stallion Battalion will rebuild when we get back and you’re one of its key leaders. I’d be selfish if I kept you under me. I let you go for the good of the unit.”

  “Yessir.” I put my bag back in my locker. He turned and walked away.

  Emily said, “Good. Now we can be together.”

  “Sure.” I doffed my war gear and dug out my mechanic’s coveralls. Sure, I liked Emily. But I loved my tank. Sure, standing up behind the gun of the task force command skimmer. Sure, Major D spent most of his time in his command post carrier and I’d spend the rest of this contract following it closely, eating its dust, just in case Major D decided to jump out of his command track and jump in this skimmer. It’s an honor and a privilege to be selected as the gunner of the Task Force Command Skimmer. Whatever.

  Services included making modifications to the ten millimeter rail gun in the weapons station of the skimmer. The medium laser had already been removed, proven unreliable due to the environment. Reduced the rate of fire and changed out the wire mesh feed tube for a flat guide rail for the new style ammunition. The old ammo was just steel balls that fed into the gun, pulled in by the magnetism. Then the magnetic fields that pulsed down the length of the barrel propelled the steel ball down range toward the target. The new ammo was four centimeters long, one centimeter wide. Each projectile had a pointed tip at the business end, tapered at the back, with three stabilizing fins to make the round rotate as it travelled to its target. The tip was copper, the jacket steel, with depleted uranium at its core to add kinetic energy. Nasty little armor-piercing bullets purpose-built to defeat Indig powered battle armor. I performed a function check and then attached the guide rail and connected a canister of ammo, then powered down the weapon. Couldn’t wait to try it out. I climbed down and stood back and looked up at the turret.