The War for Profit Series Omnibus

by Gideon Fleisher

  General Rea said, “It’s a lot to take in all at once.”

  “Certainly. Let’s talk. What bothers you the most?”

  “The up-ending of the social order. That is very disruptive. To have Formers serving as senior non-commissioned officers, to have the working class serve as field grade officers, to allow advanced promotion to General without the requisite education at elite universities, it strikes at the very core of the foundation of Bastian society.”

  Theil stood, moved a chair and sat directly in front of General Rea. “Get comfortable, General. I’m about to tell you a very long story.”

  “I’m at your disposal, President General.”

  “I once commanded a mercenary brigade. I followed all the social norms and etiquettes. The officers came from the highest levels, the cream of the crop of society, the richest and most powerful families. The backbone of the unit, the non-commissioned officers, they came from the best of the working class. Families that had master craftsmen at their heads, born and bred to perform the important work of providing training and supervision to the troops. And the troops, they all came from Ostreich itself, the home world of the Mercenary industry. On paper it looked perfect. Couldn’t lose. Best of the best at all levels. I was prepared to lead that brigade into history! Do you understand, General Rea?”

  “Yes sir.” Rea nodded.

  “But it didn’t work. The unit’s battlefield performance and reputation were mediocre at best. The officers were socialites, good only for attending or hosting parties. I was nearing the end of my career and the unit was going bankrupt. I was destined to retire poor and broken, forgotten. In the eyes of history, no more important than a common household insect.”

  General Rea frowned. “That would be horrible, sir. What did you do?”

  “I instituted reforms. I let attrition relieve me of the burden of substandard officers. I replaced them with senior non-commissioned officers. I instituted a policy of enlisted equivalency, where a Master Sergeant equals a Captain and outranks a Lieutenant. And promotions were based exclusively on demonstrated leadership potential. I expanded recruitment to off-planet locations; I also recruited cadets from two-year academies and made them serve a year as enlisted before offering them a commission. I upgraded equipment, I…”

  Theil leaned forward and held his head in his hands. “It was too little, too late. The reforms cost money and the unit was going bankrupt.”

  “What did you do?”

  Theil sat up and said, “I made a deal with the Mosh to sell my own troops into slavery.”

  “Sir?” Rea frowned.

  “It didn’t work. One of my prize recruits rose up and mutinied, took my command from me, defeated the Mosh against long odds and then he hauled me off to a court’s martial.”

  “You must be bitter.”

  Theil said, “Not really. After I had year to think about it, I felt proud of them. Like a father whose son is finally able to beat him at something. And do you know what my old mercenary unit is doing right now?”

  “If I had to guess, President General, I’d say it fell apart and disbanded without your leadership.”

  Theil grinned. “No, General Rea. It’s the Jasmine Panzer Brigade, and it’s kicking our asses right now.”

  General Rea’s eyes widened. “That presents a conflict of interest for you, sir!”

  Theil stood. “Hardly. I’ll take what I learned from reforming that brigade and apply it to Batista as a whole. We will become the mightiest nation on Fairgotten!”

  “Sir?”

  “General, destroying my old brigade is a necessary sacrifice. Don’t you see? I made them what they are, I can take them apart. And one day soon, Fairgotten will be brought under one government. My government.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “You have your orders, General.”

  General Rea stood, buttoned his coat, put on his hat and saluted.

  President General Theil returned the salute, “Dismissed.”

  General Rea executed an about-face and left the room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Munifex Stovall accepted his new job of driver. Not a big change, it just meant he was number four in first fire team instead of number four in second fire team, and last to dismount instead of first. Second team dismounted first to establish security, then the squad leader and his assistant, then the three soldiers of first fire team dismounted and the driver—Stovall—would dismount and join first fire. Not a big deal.

  The casualty replacements were okay, no worse than the other squad. Stovall hadn’t known them well anyway, he’d only been with them for a couple of weeks. He was still junior to all but one of the replacements, but they showed him respect, deferred to the fact his battle armor had dings and scratches that showed through its fresh coat of paint while theirs did not.

  His assigned battle buddy was the only one with less time in the Legion. His name was Box. He tried to make friends with Stovall but Stovall wished to remain distant. Stovall believed it was that distance, that lack of concern, which allowed him to continue to function when the rest of his squad had been wiped out. He wanted to keep it that way.

  Morning call came after breakfast and the squad leader lined them up along side their battle car and paced in front of them. He said, “Congratulations, gentlemen. It’s been three long weeks but we finally passed Table Eight and we’re eligible for a three day pass and those three days begin today. When I fall you out I want you to load up on the car and we’ll ride to the stand-down area and move through the MWR transition point. Fall out!”

  They boarded the vehicle. Stovall saw the route and destination data on his dashboard and drove toward Bristol, through the city’s West Gate and along the MSR to the port. At the docks, he parked just outside a warehouse and the squad dismounted and entered the warehouse through a side door. Once inside, a liaison from the mercenary brigade met them and walked them through the process of stowing their war gear, moving through body cleaners, and selecting civilian clothes. Semi-formal with light jackets over open collars, for the most part. Some chose street clothes. Stovall wore a tan leather sport jacket over a blue chambray shirt, tan slacks and loafers. After changing clothes, the Soldiers stood as a squad in a larger formation that included three other squads dressed in civilian clothes.

  An officer from the Panzer Brigade, an older man, a Lieutenant Colonel with a goatee beard and moustache and long graying black hair pulled back in a pony tail, stood in front of the formation.

  He said, “Stand easy and listen up, here’s the deal. You’ll be right back here no later than high noon, three days from now, on the fourteenth. On your way out you will be handed some local currency, several bills that add up to two hundred and fifty pieces. That’s what they call it because one hundred pieces adds up to the approximate value of one gram of gold. Don’t worry; it’s not coming out of your pay. It represents a month’s take-home pay for most of the people here in the fine city of Bristol. Keep that in mind when you’re out spending it. Don’t get ripped off and try to make it last three days. When you return in three days, any local currency you have left over will be taken back. You can’t keep it. Do I make myself clear?”

  The soldiers nodded.

  He said, “Okay, come to the position of attention. Face to your right. File from the left and form a single line to the cash table and then move on out that door.”

  When Stovall passed by the money table a Troop handed him a money clip that held two hundred and fifty pieces. He shoved it into his left front pants pocket and stepped outside. Across the street was a restaurant, a nice one with polished granite steps leading up to the entrance doors, the doors open. It was still a little early for lunch but Stovall went there anyway. His new battle buddy, Munifex Box, tagged along.

  They were met at the door by a Batistian man in a white suit. “Welcome. Two for lunch?”

  A breeze came through the door carrying the scent of delicious food. Box smiled. “Yes.”

  �
�Balcony or dining room?”

  Stovall saw that the back wall was floor to ceiling windows, most of them slid open. He saw umbrella tables with the sea visible beyond. “Outside.”

  “Follow me.”

  He led them through the dining area past tables with white cloths and highly shined silverware and ornate chairs. Above the center of the room hung a chandelier, a large one with dozens of large crystals reflecting natural light, little spectrums showing up here and there around the room. Outside, they sat in wrought iron chars with comfortable cushions. The umbrella table had a glass top nearly a centimeter thick.

  Stovall looked out at the sea, every shade of blue blending from light near the beach to dark, to nearly purple at the horizon. The sand of the beach was white as processed sugar, the shore less than fifty meters way. A fresh breeze from across the water filled his lungs with cool air, just a point or two below room temperature. Tanned and fit people walked up and down the beach in swimwear. Some others lounged in chairs or lay on towels. There were people playing in the surf, some swimming. And most were women.

  “Nice,” said Box.

  The waitress came. Dark brown pony tail, round face, a white blouse and a black skirt, sensible shoes. “Hello, my name is Kathy. What will you have to drink?”

  “Sweet tea,” said Box.

  “Hello, Kathy. Sweet tea for me too.”

  She said, “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

  Box watched her walk away. “Um!”

  Stovall pointed out at the beach. “Double Um!”

  Box tapped the table and the glass became opaque and showed the menu. “What’s cut lunch?”

  Stovall said, “Sandwiches.”

  “Oh.”

  Kathy returned. “You ready to order?”

  Stovall said, “Open faced roast beef with extra gravy.”

  Box said, “Me too.”

  “Okay.” She turned and walked away.

  Box tapped the glass again and it became clear, tapped it a couple more times and watched it change.

  “Stop that,” said Stovall.

  Box looked out at the beach. “No black women.”

  Stovall shrugged. “So what?”

  “Just sayin’.”

  Stovall peered off into the distance, pointed down the beach. “I think they’re naked.”

  Box turned and looked. “Damn! We need to get a closer look at that.”

  “After we eat.”

  Their food came. They ate, saw the bill.

  Box took it, pulled out his money clip and handed a two piece bill to Kathy. “Keep the change.”

  She smiled and said, “Thank you,” and left.

  Stovall said, “How much was it?”

  Box said, “One piece forty, for all of it.”

  “Huh. We’ll have a hard time spending it all.”

  “Speak for yourself.” He noticed steps leading from the balcony down to the beach. “Care for a stroll?”

  “Yeah. A stroll on the beach.”

  They went down the steps and made their way to the nudist end. But it wasn’t really nudists, just topless. The lower garments of the women were so small they weren’t visible from a distance. They stood and watched.

  “Box.”

  “Yes?”

  “We should buy some trunks, get a hotel room and change, and come back.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Stovall gripped Box’s arm and turned him away from the topless beach area and led him along for a few meters before releasing him. They soon found a hotel facing the beach and went up its steps into its open-air lobby. It had a gift shop where they bought trunks and Stovall paid for them; one piece thirty for the pair.

  They approached the front desk where a handsome woman in a business suit greeted them, “Hello, welcome to the Imperial Hotel. My name is Markie. How may I help you?”

  Stovall liked her, smiled. She was tall and sturdy, with brown hair and deep blue eyes. “We’d like a room.”

  “We have several rooms open right now. Individual rooms with a city view are five pieces a night, ocean view is seven pieces, and we still have a top-floor two bedroom ocean view suite available for twenty five pieces a night.”

  Stovall said, “We’ll take the ocean view suite.”

  Something about her looked familiar. She said, “For how long?”

  Box said, “Three nights.”

  “Okay. Five piece discount for staying three nights. Seventy pieces, in advance.”

  “Sure.” Stovall pulled out his money clip and handed over the seventy pieces.

  Box pulled out his clip too and peeled off thirty five pieces and gave the notes to Stovall. “My half.”

  She handed them two keys, flat magnetic bars a centimeter wide and two centimeters long. A solid synthetic string hung from them. “Most guests hang them around their necks. If you care to leave a deposit, you can use the keys to pay for anything all around town, and it gets charged to your room.”

  “Sure.” Stovall peeled off a hundred pieces and handed the money to her. Box did the same.

  “Okay, two hundred pieces credit. The elevator is just around to your right. Use your key to press the button for the fourteenth floor and when it stops, it will open directly in front of your suite.”

  Box raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

  Markie said, “Yes, really. Enjoy your stay.”

  They went up to their suite and looked around at the decorations, the couches, the vid display, the windows that went from floor to ceiling, the view of the ocean that went for hundreds of kilometers on one side, overlooked the city of Bristol on the other, the broad coastal plain ending in rugged mountains beyond. To either side were the doors to the bedrooms. Box said, “Magnificent!”

  “Sweet suite.” Stovall opened a bedroom door. “Huge bed.”

  Box looked in the other room. “Mine too.”

  Stovall stepped back and then sat on the couch facing the vid player, picked up the remote. “Box, you notice anything familiar about Markie? I feel like I saw her somewhere before.”

  Box sat on the other couch, kicked off his shoes and stretched out on his back. “Clones.”

  “What?”

  Box cleared his throat. “When I was in Replacement, they gave us classes to keep us from getting bored. One was the sociology of Batista.”

  “I say again, what?”

  “There’s three kinds of people in Batista.”

  Stovall said, “Us, and who else?”

  “Okay, four.” Box sat up. “Us, and there are the Formers, who are the descendants of the original terraformers. Then there is the ruling elite, descended from off-world royalty who seized control over everything and now own all the land. Then there are the working class clones, the descendants of the original clone workers who were brought here to build cities and work in the mines and factories. Markie is a clone descendant. They all look similar, even though they’re descended from the clones that came here more than three hundred years ago. They mostly have straight brown hair and blue eyes, and they look enough alike to all be cousins.”

  “What do the Formers look like?”

  “Dirt farmers, mostly from the three provinces to the north. They make up most of the low-ranking soldiers in the Batistian army.”

  Stovall said, “I saw them. Red or blonde hair for the most part, short and stocky, square faces. Didn’t notice their eye color so much.”

  “Green. Mostly they have green eyes.” Box lay back down. “Anything good on the vid?”

  “I guess.” Stovall turned it on. The default setting was recessed 3-D, like peering out an open window.

  Box said, “That thing do holograms?”

  Stovall said, “I hate holograms.”

  “Why?”

  “Because unless I view it from the intended angle, I don’t catch the show the way it was meant to be viewed. All the action facing away from me or to the side, staring at the back of people’s heads when they talk, or from the side, that suc
ks.”

  “Gotcha.” Box adjusted the couch pillow under his head.

  Stovall said, “Recessed 3-D is like watching a live stage play. That was the original 3-D.”

  Box said, “I’m tired as hell. Wake me up for supper?”

  “Sure.”

  Box began snoring. Stovall turned off the vid and went to his room to take a nap.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Two weeks later at zero dark thirty, the Jasmine Panzer Brigade was on the move westward along the National Road, the capitol city of Batista its long-range objective. The recon company was out front, ahead of the main body by five kilometers. The Cavalry squadron and the Light Tank battalion were next, ready to provide a quick response to any threat. Next was the Stallion tank battalion. The helos rode a hundred meters above, moving slowly up and down the length of the armored column. The Legion and its battle cars were intermixed with the vehicles of the Brigade Support Battalion, its cargo trucks and support vehicles nearly as numerous as the Legion itself. In the middle of the column were the Ajax tanks, the Mechanized Infantry in front of them. The Hercules tank battalion was at the rear.

  The wide open terrain gradually sloped upward for two hundred kilometers, a piedmont that met the foothills of the higher ground beyond. There, the National Road passed through a canyon into a broad mountain valley that led another two hundred and fifty kilometers into Batista City. The column halted and the recon company went forward into the canyon. Recon managed to get through the canyon and then began sensing enemy units. The enemy began firing on the recon company.

  Two recon tanks and a modified infantry fighting vehicle burst into a thousand pieces, overwhelmed by fires from Batistian guns. The recon company’s first platoon leader dismounted and ran forward to place ground sensors and detected the position of the firing elements. Another volley of fires from the enemy, and the lead platoon of the recon company was destroyed, not one vehicle or troop left alive. The recon second platoon eased forward, sensors scanning. They discovered the positions of enemy units, weapons, artillery. A force three times the size of the Jasmine Panzer Brigade was there, set up to destroy anything coming through that canyon. Second platoon recon lost two vehicles and pulled back.