The War for Profit Series Omnibus

by Gideon Fleisher

  “Order Arms.” We dropped our salutes.

  The firers stacked arms and marched back, three on each side of the coffin. With practiced precision, they reached down to grip the edge of the Guidon and lifted it with a snap so that it was a perfectly flat suspended plane. They then folded it lengthwise in half by bringing the edges together, the three Troops on one side holding on, the three on the other side lowering their hands to grip the fold. Then they pulled it level with a snap, folded lengthwise again. Then starting at the feet, the troops folded the Guideon into a triangle, passing the task on to the next and then to the end, where a five centimeter flip remained. Colonel Raper reached into his pocket and pulled out three expended shotgun waddings brought back from Tumbler, Hill Three. He shoved them deep into the folds of the Guidon and then made the final fold, pushing the last flap of cloth into the tight triangle the folds had formed. He rotated the Guidon and inspected each corner for tightness, looked to see that only blue showed, that no part of the red, no part of the white embroidered white crossed sabers showed. He then nodded to the pall bearers and they marched off to retrieve their weapons.

  Colonel Raper turned to the sister and knelt, said to her in a low voice, “This Guidon is presented, on behalf of a grateful organization, as a token of appreciation for the honorable and faithful service of your brother.”

  He handed her the Guidon. She hugged it to her chest. Colonel Raper stood, took a step back, gave a solid three-second salute, came to the position of attention and tripped the lever of the lowering device with his left foot. The coffin began its slow two meter descent into the grave. He then stepped off to his right as in marching and walked off to board the skimmer with the pall bearers and the Chaplain.

  And that’s the last I saw of Stallion Six.

  Fairgotten

  by

  Gideon Fleisher

  Copyright © 2013 Gideon Fleisher

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved.

  Prologue

  The commander of the light tank company left his outpost at sunset on a mission to scout for military units of the neighboring country. His column of seventeen tanks was led by a local guide familiar with the area. The disputed area, the boundary unclear, the border recognized as the river further south by his government, the river further north by the other. His orders were to recon the area in force to determine if the foreign army had crossed the river.

  He called a halt and waited for sunrise. Time enough to take a nap and eat breakfast and then they moved out again with the sun at their backs. To look for the enemy. Not the enemy yet, possibly never. He believed the country to the south had not sent its military north of the river, that they had no desire to claim the land. The fact that so much of its claimed territory had become independent from it proved the country to the south didn’t have the resources to control the area under the best of circumstances. Certainly they would be foolish to start a war with the country to the north.

  Although more than three hundred kilometers wide, this patch of arid and sparsely inhabited land between the rivers was hardly worth a fight. The road they followed was gravel for the most part, a dirt trail in places. They came to a bridge spanning a gully. The guide drove across in his farm truck but the tanks were too heavy for the bridge and crossed at the ford site a hundred meters away. No sign of anything yet.

  They came to a trading post. The owner and the three customers seemed to think an army from the south was in the area. They’d seen tracks. Couldn’t confirm the type of tracks; they were obscured by brush dragged behind the vehicles. None could honestly say they’d seen the army from the south but they all said they’d heard someone else say they’d seen them. The guide would not go any further despite the pleas of the commander. The guide refused every inducement; he turned back.

  The light tank company continued another hundred kilometers to a compound. It had high reinforced walls on three sides, the fourth side the bank of the river. The wall opposite the river had a gate in the middle and the gate stood open. The commander entered, his tanks following in column. To the right were some tin shacks and a processing plant and a grain silo and an administrative building. The commander ordered the other tanks to disperse and then his tank parked in front of the administrative building and he dismounted and knocked on the door and an old man came out.

  He said he was the only person there and that the compound was essentially abandoned until next harvest season. The commander climbed back in his tank and prepared to leave. Behind the light tank company, tanks of the army from the south poured through the gate. He ordered his tanks to charge the gate, to get out, to not get trapped inside. He led the charge and his tank was blasted first. His ejection seat tossed him into the air and enemy machine guns tore at his body in short bursts. The executive officer’s tank suffered a similar fate, surprised and overwhelmed.

  First platoon halted on line and tried to slug it out with the attackers and destroyed three of them but that effort was futile. The sheer number of enemy tanks overwhelmed them. First platoon’s tanks became burning scrap metal. The burning tanks provided screening for second and third platoon and gave them a few moments to organize. The leader of third platoon took charge and they made a run for the wall to the right and blasted at it but their guns had little effect on the solid wall. They were taking enemy fire from the flank. They then turned toward the river, desperate to get away. They made it to the bank of the river.

  They went down the bank to lower ground to break line of sight with the army from the south. There they bogged down in the muck by the river and were stuck. They turned turrets to the rear and awaited their fate. Some tanks had taken damage; main gun or coax inoperable, or cupola blown off, and one was missing its entire turret. But they waited defiant, prepared to fight. Tank drivers dismounted and held their weapons at the ready.

  The leader of the third platoon climbed out of her tank and crawled up the river bank to have a peek at the enemy. They were lined up facing the river, a battalion of tanks and a regiment of infantry on foot to support the tanks. She ordered her soldiers to sell their lives dearly with fierce resistance if she couldn’t come to terms. She removed her helmet and lay down her rifle and pistol and then stood and walked toward the enemy with hands raised, desperate to negotiate terms.

  She came back with the enemy commander at her side. The enemy commander said they fought well and had no reason to be ashamed and they would be treated well. He said the blame lay entirely with the commander who led them into this trap. The soldiers of the light tank company climbed out of their tanks and lay down their weapons and became prisoners of a war that had not yet started, officially.

  Chapter One

  Colonel Galen Raper stood two hundred and ten centimeters tall in his green combat coveralls and strode down the hall toward the Brigade conference room. He checked that the snap of his sidearm holster was secure and brushed his hand across the scalp of his close-cropped light brown hair and entered. The Brigade Executive Officer announced, “Ladies and Gentlemen, the Brigade Commander!”

  The assembled commanders and staff members stood at attention.

  Colonel Raper took his place at the head of the conference table and said, “Take your seats,” and sat along with them. “We have ourselves a contract. The entire Jasmine Panzer Brigade plus I hired a legion from Langston for additional infantry support. S-2, the floor is yours.”

  The Brigade S-2 officer was Major Koa, a Polynesian man in his late thirties. He stood and turned on the briefing screen and it showed a world rotating slowly against a background of starry space. It had a deep blue ocean, white polar caps and two continents joined by an isthmus. The upper continent fanned out from the fifty kilometer wide isthmus to become nearly five thousand kilometers wide where it met the ice cap in the north. The lower continent began as a bulge on the equator that tapered to a point in the south and ended five hundred kilometers short of reaching the southern ice cap.

  Major Koa sai
d, “The planet Fairgotten, named by its first corporate owners because it was gotten fair and square in accordance with corporate rules. What we have here is a planet terraformed and then abandoned when the Terran Empire collapsed. Later it was made accessible to more worlds through more recently established jump points and those worlds used this planet as a dumping ground for undesirables, or excess population, or overly talented individuals, or ambitious people who would otherwise seek and obtain wealth and power on their home worlds.

  “Fairgotten was used as a relief valve for other societies, to protect their old established order. A place to send people the established worlds would rather forget about. On the southern continent there were also some greedy opportunists who came to control and exploit the relatively primitive inhabitants, the descendants of the original terraforming pioneers. But that’s outside our area of operations, so never mind them.

  “In every case, each colony became its own country by severing ties with their home world. In each case, through force of arms in land combat. In each case the home worlds could have crushed the rebellions but didn’t think it worth the effort. Now these new countries fight one another from time to time. The one to the north is growing, expanding. It was settled by the unemployed and dispossessed and led by the non-inheriting third and fourth sons and daughters from privileged families. They seek land ownership and industry, peace and prosperity. For their citizens, at least.

  “And the country to the north put in a contract bid and Colonel Galen Raper sent me with a survey team to size up the situation. He took the contract for nine hundred kilograms of gold. Not an equivalent in other metals or economic instruments, not payment in kind through goods or services or land grants; they are paying nine hundred kilograms of gold bouillon. Ten percent up front, the rest in nine more equal monthly payments.”

  The assembled group smiled and nodded. Koa continued his brief, “The employer is the Northern Republic and so far it has been conducting successful combat operations against their neighbor to their south, the country of Batista. The Republic has annexed the territories that have broken away from Batista and is well on its way to conquering the three northern provinces of Batista at this time.”

  An Infantry Major raised her hand. “So what do they need us for?”

  “I’m glad you asked,” Koa wasn’t glad. It was operationally sensitive information. “They are over-extended and vulnerable to a counterattack if they push any farther. Our strategy is…well, we’ll talk about that later. What you all need to know is we assemble and—”

  The Colonel stood. “Be ready to blast out of here in three days, no later than twelve noon Standard time. Any questions?” silence. “Dismissed.”

  The commanders stood and filed out, their conversations creating a low mummer down the hallway. The Brigade staff and the commander of the Legion remained. Major Koa closed the door to the conference room and sat back down. The Legion commander said, “I have a few questions.”

  Colonel Raper said, “About what?”

  “Our compensation, for starters.”

  “Tribunus Tribula,” said Colonel Raper, “Your compensation is determined by your unit’s board of directors. I bid a contract with them; I pay them and they pay you.”

  “But I’m sure they had no idea what this contract was paying when they came to that agreement.”

  “They could have looked at the bid offered by my employer; they had access to that information.” Colonel Raper stood. “I made the bid in good faith and it was accepted.”

  “I see,” said Tribunus Tribula. “But…”

  “But you see yourself as my equal; you see your Legion as equal to my Brigade. Well let me straighten that out right now. I hired you as support for my Brigade. I put you on the same level as my battalion commanders, subordinate to me and my Brigade staff. If you can’t handle that I’ll dismiss you now and attach your Centuries directly to my battalions.”

  The Tribunus stood. “This is not a problem for me. It’s a matter of perception. My significantly more skilled soldiers will be paid less for performing more dangerous duties.”

  Colonel Raper sat down and laughed. “Your skill. I concede the point that your soldiers are more skilled in the areas in which you chose to train them. It’s as though you taught your soldiers to hammer nails with their bare hands and I’ve bought hammers and taught my troops how to use them to hammer nails. Your point is invalid.”

  “Invalid?”

  Colonel Raper said, “Look. Langston’s military is a public-private partnership. You are essentially government troops. Your government allows some Legion units to go out on mercenary contracts from time to time so that they can gain a certain amount of combat experience, to bolster the capability of its defense forces. Your compensation is something we will debate no farther.”

  Tribunus Tribula sat down. “Well I had to try. How will you use us?”

  “Infantry support. You use light powered body armor and your hovercraft battle cars give you excellent mobility. We’re up against a numerically superior force. Even with your support we’ll be at a three to one disadvantage at best. Excuse me for saying so, but your greater numbers interest me more than your combat power. Your technological level is on par with many of our opponents’ units.”

  “I do have twelve hundred Munifex. Ten Centuries of a hundred each plus my Legion headquarters with its combat support units.”

  “Yes I know. You have mortars and air defense with your headquarters and ten battle cars in each Century to haul around squads of ten soldiers each. I read the unit description. I need to know that I can count on you during this contract. Do I have your loyalty?”

  “Certainly, Colonel. As I understand it, there are no Negros where we are going.”

  Colonel Raper said, “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Langston is a black planet. Every one of my soldiers are at least a quarter black and more than half of them are pure-blood Negro. You can see how that could make us unlikely to side with an enemy that’s not black at all.” He looked at Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell, her dark complexion and thick lips showing her part-Negro heritage.

  She stood. “I got this.”

  Colonel Raper nodded.

  She said, “It’s not my fault you’re black. That’s something you’ll have to discuss with your parents if you don’t like it. Now let me introduce my two beautiful sons, twins who are eighteen months old.” She angled her communicator at the wall and projected a picture of them. Frizzy black hair and grey eyes, pug noses and olive skin. “Now let me introduce you to my husband, Colonel Galen Raper.” She pointed at the Colonel.

  Tribunus Tribula tossed his head back and laughed. He pointed his communicator at the wall and projected a picture of two mulatto boys about three years old flanking a woman with red hair and porcelain skin and blue eyes. “My wife and twin boys. I think we’ll get along just fine.”

  Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell said, “You may have heard of my father. He was a Centurion in the Eighth Legion. He died on Langston fighting a Mosh raid.”

  Tribula said, “Certainly. He was a man of honor. If you don’t mind me asking, why did you not take your husband’s name upon marriage?”

  She said, “It’s the custom here on Mandarin for the children to take the father’s name but the wife keeps her own name. My grandfather is Mandarin.”

  Tribula nodded. “I see. Thank you for that information.”

  Colonel Raper stood, they all stood. The Colonel said, “Welcome to our team, Tribunus.” He extended his hand to Tribula and he shook it.

  Chapter Two

  Lieutenant Colonel Karen Mitchell was the Brigade Logistics officer and stood behind her desk staring at the man before her. He was Chief Pescador, the Chief of Artillery for the Brigade. At a hundred and seventy centimeters tall he was the same height as Karen but his thin frame made it difficult for him to intimidate anyone and he rarely tried. He was all business and stuck with the facts, very technical-minded.
/>
  Karen said, “Do we really need to bring the Ajax gun section? Those things are huge. They each need a drop boat all their own.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “You… why do you wear glasses?”

  “To correct my vision.”

  Karen exhaled heavily. “I mean, you could get your vision corrected surgically just like everyone else. Cheaper than it costs to have glasses made.”

  “Oh.” Chief Pescador removed his glasses and looked them over. “It’s because I like having eye protection at all times. Have to wear goggles or safety glasses or a visor most of the time at work anyway. This makes it automatic.” He put his glasses back on.

  “And I suppose you have prescription safety glasses and dust goggles and tactical visors and night vision and everything else.”

  “Yes ma’am. The night vision—”

  “I know, they’re adjustable. Stop changing the subject. Tell me why we need all five Ajax tanks for this contract.”

  “Ma’am, we’ve already sold off our heavy guns. We don’t have time to get them back and wouldn’t have time to re-train the crews. The Ajax, it covers all the gaps in other supporting fires of our battlefield doctrine and the crews are trained to a high level of expertise right now. We need them.”

  Karen sat. “Their mass is ninety five tons. Fleet has to bring in modified drop boats just to carry them and we won’t be able to skid-drop them. They’re a pain in the ass.”

  “They’ll be more of a pain in the ass for the enemy. They have a two hundred and eight millimeter rail gun, the same gun used on Fleet destroyers. That is significant.”

  “I thought they were two hundred millimeter.”

  Chief Pescador puffed his chest. “They fire a two hundred millimeter projectile but there are four millimeters of space left around the projectile; the inner diameter of the gun tube is two hundred and eight millimeters.”