The War for Profit Series Omnibus

by Gideon Fleisher

  Galen looked at the golden bullet. “I’m sure you’ll have no problem doing that.”

  Sevin said, “What are your plans for the next couple of years?”

  “I’ll be getting this Brigade back up to strength. Between our current combat losses and giving you a third of my force now and normal attrition from retirements, it’ll take me a year. Then I’ll start looking at contract bids.”

  “One last thing. Those Ajax tanks?”

  “Sorry, old friend. You’re not getting my Ajax.”

  “Had to ask.”

  They went back into the dome and the commanders and staff spent the rest of the day sorting things out. Before the week was over, the Legion and the bulk of the Brigade was on their way home and Sevin was installed as the Military Governor of Batista City.

  ***

  General Rea walked with a purpose. He was one of the thousands of men walking along, the badges and insignia and decorations removed, cut away or ripped from his shirt. He wore a straw peasant’s hat he found by the road to protect his head from the sun. His gun belt held his rapid-fire 5.7 mm rocket ball side arm in the holster. The other men turned off the main road to the left, went into Batista City to seek refuge and sustenance and employment as private citizens, from private citizens. General Rea had a higher purpose. He took the road to the north. Slept a few meters off the road at night, concealed in the brush. Refilled his canteen from water puddles, found and ate berries and bugs and grubs and stems and shoots, walked for several days. His boots now made flapping sounds, the soles starting to separate.

  Finally he arrived. He climbed over the wall concealed with undergrowth and then found the door, hidden in the side of the mountain, made to match the living rock around it. It was screened from view by low, scrubby trees. He tapped the door with the butt of his sidearm and then holstered the weapon and waited. The door opened. General Rea was met by an alert Corporal who said, “He’s been expecting you. Follow me.”

  Rea followed, walked down the entrance tunnel and then along the hallway to the right. The Corporal opened the door to a room and Theil was there, sitting behind a desk. His shirt was off, a bandage around his chest, his left arm in a sling. Theil said to the Corporal, “Leave us.” The Corporal left and closed the door on the way out.

  Rea tried to speak but only croaked. He took a drink from his canteen and cleared his throat. He hadn’t spoken a word aloud for several days. Maybe a week? Ten Days? He wasn’t sure.

  Theil said, “Old friend, your loyalty will be rewarded. We need to get me to a proper hospital, the pain from my wounds are unbearable.”

  Rea said, “Sir.” He said that only to see if his voice were working again. He then drew his sidearm as quickly as he could and aimed carefully with both hands at the left center of Theil’s chest and fired one round and it tore a hole twenty centimeters across where his heart had been. Rea holstered his side arm and the Corporal returned.

  The Corporal stood in the doorway and said, “General, why did you do that?”

  General Rea said, “When he came to Batista five years ago, this country was superior to the Northern Republic and was stronger and larger than any other country on this planet. Under his brilliant leadership, Batista became less than one third of its original size. My country has been humiliated and defeated in ways I never thought possible. Now our once great country kneels at the feet of the Republic and begs for scraps. All of that because of this man and his stupid ambitions.”

  The Corporal said, “What now, General?”

  “Bring a sheet of plastic to lay him on; don’t want to make more of a mess. We’ll drag his body outside for the wild animals to eat so that he is not entirely useless.”

  Against the Odds: War for Profit Part Six

  by

  Gideon Fleisher

  Copyright © 2013 Gideon Fleisher

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved.

  Chapter One

  “They’re here.”

  “What?” Galen sat up.

  Karen pointed at the screen opposite the foot of the bed and said, “I’ll replay it.” A space fleet emerged from a jump point. A battle ship, three full battle cruisers, nine destroyers and a dozen light cruisers, more than a dozen fully-laden transports. More than enough; too much. Behind, the jump point winked again and a second fleet emerged. A carrier was at its center.

  Galen stared. “We need to get out of here.”

  Karen stood by the bed and said, “Time stamp says it happened about an hour ago, plus the four hours it took for the image to reach our sensors.”

  Galen rolled out of bed and went to the closet and dug out his combat coveralls, dressed, put on his full war gear. He then pressed the power button of the screen, turned it off. “We’ll get better info in the TOC.”

  Karen said, “I agree. I’ll stay with the boys. You call me, okay?”

  “Sure,” said Galen, “as soon as I can.” He kissed Karen and left the lake house and jumped in his skimmer and drove three kilometers to the Jasmine Panzer Brigade compound. The guards had the gates wide open and waved a four-vehicle-wide lane of traffic through the entrance, the exit lanes made into entrance lanes as well. The guards glanced at the troops in the vehicles as they went by. One saluted as Galen drove past.

  He drove up the road and turned into the street that led to the parking lot of his HQ, saw that it was filling up fast. He bumped over the curb and skimmed across the lush lawn of the quadrangle and parked by the door of his commander’s entrance.

  He dismounted and looked back across the parade field at the Brigade’s museum building and saw three cargo trucks and a moving crew loading out relics and displays. The Chairman of the Board was there supervising, accompanied by a couple of board members and the museum curator as well. Galen turned away and entered his office.

  The coffee table between the couches had a sheen of dust; the desk top as well. The office had gone disused for nearly a year. The unit had been rebuilding and was back up to full strength. Unit collective training for the battalions had been underway all quarter and next quarter was set aside for Brigade maneuvers. There would be maneuvers at Brigade level certainly, but not for training.

  Galen exited his office through the hallway door and walked past the vacant conference room, kept walking down the hall to the operations center. The Brigade XO, Lieutenant Colonel Marion Spike, met him at the door, “Sir, we’re at N+5. Really moving along.”

  Galen said, “That’s quick, it’s only been two hours since the alert was called.”

  Lieutenant Colonel Tad Miller, the Brigade S-3, looked up from the battle table. It had a hologram of the compound and the surrounding terrain projected on it. “Sir, we scratched some of the deployment events from the timeline since we’re not leaving Mandarin.”

  “We’ll stay and fight,” Galen nodded, “in accordance with our charter and our obligations to our host planet.”

  Tad frowned. “We might get our asses kicked this time.”

  “I know, but we’ll make damn sure they knew they were in a fight. Anything urgent right now?”

  “Nope.” Tad looked back at the battle table.

  Spike said, “N+6 brief will lay it all out. We should give Tad some space and not make him repeat himself.”

  “I agree. You eat yet?”

  “No. Chow hall?”

  Galen said, “Why not. Let the troops see me, build some confidence.”

  “Sure.” They left the HQ building and walked across the quadrangle past the museum. The cargo trucks were gone and the museum was locked up.

  Galen said, “Not taking any chances. Where’d you send them?”

  “Juventud.”

  Galen nodded. “Good. NEO too?”

  “Yessir. Noncombatant Evacuation Operations is taking it all to Juventud.”

  They entered the chow hall. The Mess Chief saw them and yelled, “At Ease!”

  Galen said, “Carry on!” and took a tray and flatware and joined the en
d of the serving line. Spike followed him. Eggs and bacon and French toast.

  They sat near the exit. Galen had milk in a coffee mug. Didn’t want coffee souring his stomach but did want to look like a coffee drinker. He gave nods and smiles and an occasional thumb up to troops that walked by on their way out of the chow hall, was pleased with their confident responses.

  Spike’s communicator buzzed. He looked up at Galen and said, “N+6 brief in five minutes.”

  Galen said, “Wouldn’t want to miss that.” He crammed a spoonful of eggs into his mouth and stood, took his tray to the return and paused outside for Spike to catch up. They walked together to the HQ building and strode down the hallway to the conference room and took their seats, Galen at the head of the table and Spike in the seat to his left. Eight battalion commanders sat around the table and the Brigade staff section heads and three key leaders from specialized support sections sat in chairs along the walls either side of the table.

  Lieutenant Colonel Tad Miller stood near the foot of the table and pointed at the display screen. “Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to direct your attention to our presentation.”

  Major Koa, the Brigade S-2, was seated at the display controller table and pressed a key. The Brigade logo filled the screen, then a view of starry space. A jump point flickered and a scout ship emerged.

  Tad said, “About six hours ago, an invasion fleet emerged from a distant jump point into Mandarin space and we have positively identified it as Mosh.”

  A fleet emerged, and then a second fleet, followed by a third. The leaders in the room took deep breaths or groaned, then became stony-faced and sat up straight.

  Tad said, “It’s big. The first group has a battleship with it, the second a carrier and the third group has no capital ship but does have twenty four troop transports. But we’re not alone. Mandarin’s space force will challenge them and additional ships from the Capellan Confederation are expected to arrive later. Much later, most likely after the initial space battle has been decided.”

  The Cav squadron commander asked, “How long?”

  “Not long. They could be here in less than four days if they travel unopposed. I have no idea what Mandarin’s fleet will do but I suspect they’ll try to slow them down and then coordinate their best efforts with this planet’s ground-based defensive fires. I’d like to think they would target the landing forces as their highest priority but we have no way of knowing that. Major Koa?”

  Major Koa stood and said, “I won’t try to polish this turd. Mandarin’s space force is no match for the invasion fleet, not even close. The recalled Capellan fleet, even if it were here already, combined with the Mandarin space force, would still be a joke. So don’t expect a whole lot out of them.”

  The Light tank battalion commander said, “Any good news?”

  Koa sat back down.

  Tad said, “Mandarin has excellent space defenses protecting our primary areas of operations. The space shield of Mandarin City extends out far enough to cover our compound and we have a smaller space shield of our own along with our own four-gun battery of particle cannons.” Tad pointed at the screen which now showed a globe, the planet Mandarin. “Because of the relative weakness of Mandarin’s space defenses in the general area of the Western Ocean, I expect a landing far to our west and then a large-scale land offensive of strategic proportions.”

  “Wow.” The Hercules battalion commander blinked.

  Tad said, “We’ve received a warning order from the Mandarin High Command that indicates we will be held in strategic reserve, likely used for a counterattack or to reinforce a successful defense if the Mandarins can hold their line. Otherwise, our primary concern for the next two days is NEO and prep for tactical movement. You want good news, here it is. The Mosh made their own jump point but it is very far away. I’ve recalled the interceptor wing from Juventud and the governor of Juventud has sent his Hellcat medium tank battalion to help us, along with his best wishes.”

  The Stallion tank battalion commander smiled.

  Tad said, “They will be here tomorrow morning early. We’ll have NEO load up on the same drop boats that brought the Hellcat tanks, so have all your evacuees standing by the airstrip no later than 0400 hours. Any later than that and they stand the risk of being attacked by Mosh scout ships or fighters. And that’s all I have.”

  Galen stood. “Thank you. Good brief. Gentlemen, Ladies, you’re dismissed.”

  The commanders and staff stood and made their way out of the conference room. Galen sank into his chair, looked around. He was alone. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, head in his hands. He stared at the blank display screen and said, “Crap.”

  Chapter Two

  Galen wore his full field gear and stood just inside the gate of the marshalling yard and watched as the drop boats from Juventud landed. He ran to the front of their line and observed as the first boat dropped its cargo ramp and the Hellcat battalion command tank rolled out. Three command post carriers came out as well, with a cargo truck laden with ammo. Galen walked up the ramp and made his way to the cockpit and sat behind the pilot and co-pilot. They turned to look at him.

  Galen smiled and said, “Good morning, gentlemen.”

  The pilot said, “Sir, you really should not be here because we’re leaving soon.”

  Galen said, “I’m staying right here until all my NEO is loaded.”

  The pilot said, “NEO? First I’ve heard of it.”

  Galen folded his arms. “You are contracted to return to Juventud, correct?”

  “Yessir.”

  “With empty boats? I don’t think so.”

  The co-pilot faced forward and slowly moved his right hand off his lap.

  Galen moved his right hand to his side arm and undid the snap of the holster. Loud, so that they could hear it. “Won’t take long. My S-2 assures me the space corridor will remain clear for another two days at least. You have plenty enough time to get my noncombatants out of here.”

  The pilot said, “Certainly. We’ll wait.” He then keyed comms, “Eighth flight, this is flight one. Stand by and load passengers.”

  He saw affirmative responses on his status screen, gave Galen a thumb up.

  The co-pilot put his hand back in his lap. “Those Mosh invaders, that’s the biggest fleet I’ve ever seen.”

  The pilot said, “It is. Five full battle groups came through the point, so far.”

  Galen said, “You’ll get out of here safely, don’t worry.”

  The co-pilot said, “Your people are moving up the tarmac now.”

  “Good.” Galen sat and waited. Less than forty minutes later, sooner than he expected, the noncombatants were on board the drop boats. Galen stood and said, “I’ll be leaving now. You gentlemen have a nice flight.”

  “Certainly.” The co-pilot followed Galen to the cargo ramp and checked the load, the civilians seated all around the cargo area of the drop boat. The load master had already brought the passenger seats up and strapped the people into them. Galen looked back from the tarmac as the cargo ramp rose into the overhead. Then he took a knee and leaned into the high wind caused by the drop boat’s atmospheric thrusters as it turned and taxied away.

  He waited until all the drops boats took off, crossed his chest and prayed they have a safe trip. Then he made his way over to the cargo ramp of his command drop ship. Much of its cargo area was taken up by the jump point generator. It was essentially a drop boat that had been modified to serve as a jump ship. Master Sergeant Pescador was there, sitting on a row of reinforced cargo pods. He stood and saluted Galen.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  Galen returned the salute, “Yes it is. Are all the lifters here?”

  “Yessir. I pulled them out of the Ajax tanks last night. Hard work.”

  Galen said, “I thank you.”

  Pescador said, “Removing the lifters has significantly degraded the capabilities of the Ajax. They now suffer all the drawbacks of every other super tank design in history. V
ery heavy, limited mobility, incapable of cross-country maneuver or travel up more than a twenty percent slope. I really don’t recommend this.”

  Galen said, “You don’t have to like my orders, you just have to follow them.”

  “Yessir, my orders: send these lifters to Sevin on Fairgotten.”

  “Do you have selective hearing, Master Sergeant?”

  Pescador smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I want the lifters delivered to General Sevin personally. He will need considerable assistance with the installation of these lifter devices, and considerable assistance with designing super tanks that can make the best use of the lifter technology. You will travel with the lifters and report to General Sevin, and you will stay there until he no longer needs your assistance.”

  Pescador sighed. “Yessir.”

  “That means you work for him until you have fielded the tanks and trained the crews to a high degree of expertise. That should keep you busy right up to your retirement date.”

  “I’d much rather stay here and fight it out with the Mosh.”

  Galen stood close and looked directly into Pescador’s eyes. “This lifter technology will not fall into Mosh hands.”

  After a moment Pescador looked away. “Yessir.”

  Galen stepped back and turned toward the cargo ramp. He saw Karen approaching, their five year old twin boys following closely. They wore backpacks and carried suit cases. Karen had two more bags, one for each boy. Galen stepped back inside and opened the door to the crew cabin. The boys noticed him and rushed toward him. “Daddy!”

  “Boys, put your bags in here.” He took the suitcases from Karen and handed them into the cabin. The boys shrugged off their packs and set to the task of putting their gear in the compartments under the bunks.

  Karen said, “They really don’t understand, but I think they’ll be fine.”

  Galen said, “No bag for you?”

  She said, “I decided to stay. I’ll need a commission from the Brigade; otherwise I might be recalled by the Mandarin military. I am a graduate of their academy.”