The War for Profit Series Omnibus

by Gideon Fleisher

  Galen said, “They lost fifteen percent at least.”

  Mandarin artillery fired over the mountains. Many of the shells were swept from the sky by Mosh anti-aircraft guns but some rounds got through, killed some more Mosh. But it was just a nuisance at that point of the battle. The landing area and the western slope of the southern half of the mountain range was secured by the Mosh. More landing boats came, disgorged more tanks and support vehicles, artillery and flak guns. The bombers made another run and took out the Mandarin artillery that had been harassing the landing area. The Mosh had achieved a firm foothold. A Mosh engineering unit set to the task of establishing a temporary space port.

  Galen said, “I don’t think the High Command will commit three armored divisions to attacking them across the desert now.”

  Tad said, “That would be a futile gesture.”

  Koa said, “Kind of like taking out their battleship?”

  Tad said, “It’s been fun but I need to get back to work. Their choice of a landing area means I have to re-work most of our assumptions. Plans section will be busy tonight.”

  Koa said, “I’m sure there’s tons of intelligence for me to sort through now.”

  Galen stood, “I’ll leave you to it.” He stepped out of the operations track extension and made his way over to the chuck wagon, took a plate of meatloaf and sat on the turret of this tank and ate and watched the sun set.

  Chapter Eight

  Capellan Marine Captain Scott sat to the right of the pilot of the assault boat and watched the navigation screen, glanced out the transparent armored windscreen, looked back over his shoulder at the Marines of his company’s heavy weapons platoon. This mission was all his. He briefed it up the chain and got approval to take his company into the mountains and show the Mosh what it’s like to fight with Marines.

  Three more assault boats followed, carrying a rifle platoon each. The entirety of India Company, third bat of second brigade, CapMarForMan. Best of the best, as far as Captain Scott was concerned. First to fight. So far all they’d done since being attached to the Panzer mercenaries was sit and spit. They could have fled with the fleet; there is no dishonor in choosing not to get involved in a useless fight. But the Capellan Marines decided to drop in and fight. There had been peace, a lot of it, and it was rare for any Capellan Marines to get any action during their careers. They were reduced to bragging about how a grandfather or other distant relative had been in combat.

  But today that would end for the Marines of Captain Scott’s India Company. They would endure the ultimate crucible. They would join the ranks of those who risked their lives, took lives, in combat. Captain Scott tapped the navigation display. “Right there. Set ‘em down and stand by.”

  “Roger.” The pilot slowed and eased to the ground. The assault boats had vertical takeoff and landing capability, as well as a pair of forward-facing medium lasers in the nose and a bubble turret in the top with a pair of 40mm rail guns. Otherwise, they were not too different from regular drop boats. They landed in a tight diamond formation in a gravelly level spot off to the right side of the mountain road.

  Captain Scott checked the charge on his battle armor: 97%. While the assault boat was flying, it didn’t have much juice left over for charging suits. Captain Scott waited until his armor was charged to 100% and disconnected the cord. Then he waited another minute, to ensure his Marines had a chance to get a full charge as well. The suit was good for 12 hours of continuous operations under normal conditions, could last up to twenty hours if the wearer sat perfectly still, but rigorous combat could drain the suit’s power in as little as four hours. Even faster if the Marine used the laser weapon built into the forearm.

  Captain Scott climbed out of the assault boat and raised his right hand and moved it in a circle. The platoons formed up on the road, a column of twos along each side. Captain Scott began jogging up the middle of the road and the Marines kept pace with him. After two kilometers he stopped and went to the right, walked up in a draw and then climbed up the slope to the top of the spur. First platoon moved a hundred meters ahead on the left side of the road and went to ground about two hundred meters back from the road. Second platoon stayed five hundred meters back from first platoon and bunched up behind a spur on the left, the curve of the road hiding them from the road itself.

  Heavy Weapons platoon set up their four mortars in the draw on the right and the laser gun crew set up its weapon on the crest of the spur fifty meters to the right of Captain Scott. They also sent their heavy machine gun crews forward, two with first platoon and three with second platoon. Third platoon moved in to provide security for the mortar crews.

  The laser gun had four batteries available, meaning it could fire four times before the juice ran out. The laser gun crew had used up 30% of their battle armor’s charge carrying the heavy weapon and its batteries, so Captain Scott sent them back to the assault boat to recharge. He checked his tactical overlay; plenty of time.

  He wondered how his Marines would do. Sure, they were trained and disciplined and well-equipped. Certainly there was no lack of courage. But none of them had any combat experience. Captain Scott had met with Colonel Baek and Colonel Raper the day before and they sat with him and talked about it, the need for courage to overcome fear and that brief period of time between the fear and then the courage. And it wasn’t predictable. A fighter might perform well and then suddenly freeze up, the fear finally coming after the courage wore off. And the ones who run their first time out. There is no way to understand their thought process because they don’t understand it either. Just try to collect them up afterwards and assure them they’ll do better next time.

  It was tacit jealousy on the part of the Capellan Marines, their resentment of the Mercenaries and their combat experience. Nearly all of the mercenaries had faced the real likelihood of death, had killed in cold blood, had survived combat. But man for man, the Mercenaries were no match for the Marines, on paper. Hell, a full third of the mercenaries were women! The Marines had a broader base of individual combat skills. But there was a point where the specialization of the mercenaries began to multiply combat power. The tipping point, determined by Colonels Baek and Raper, was at the company level. Any one Marine company could reasonably expect to defeat any mercenary company, but beyond that, with a battalion-sized unit on each side, the mercenaries would wipe the floor with the Marines.

  And Captain Scott liked that. He commanded a company. He also appreciated the privilege of taking his unit out to face the Mosh with no Mercenary support. The lessons learned from this experience would resonate and raise morale for all the Marines. He just hoped they wouldn’t embarrass themselves. That little problem with each and every Marine under his command having to face that part of their humanity that made them not want to kill other people, that basic survival instinct that made them want to avoid danger, flee, that was the real enemy.

  The first Mosh arrived, three medium tanks. Over-confident, they drove along at thirty kilometers per hour, right into the kill zone of the ambush. The laser gun crew fired at the second tank and caught it right in the base of the turret, right in the bullet trap below the gun mantle. The laser shot burned through and the hatches on the top of the turret blew off and black smoke billowed, but the tank kept driving along in formation. The laser gun’s second shot caught the lead tank in its right track and it ran into the ditch on the left side of the road. Its turret swung and its coax machine gun swept the area near the laser gun.

  The Mosh tank commander popped his hatch and stood behind his machine gun and fired to the right, looking for targets. The Marine laser gun fired again, hit that tank in the side of the turret. The tank exploded. The damaged second tank moved beside it and used it for cover. The third tank moved off the right side of the road and snuggled down in the ditch to reduce its exposure. Its main gun drew a bead on the Marine laser gun and fired. The gun and its crew were blown to bits. Captain Scott was fifty meters away but was blown another twenty meters sideways
by the blast, his medium powered armor pelted with high-velocity debris.

  His face piece was scratched and his right arm immobilized. His XO ordered the mortars to fire. They finished off the first two tanks and were bracketing the third tank. Then Mosh artillery landed on the Marine mortars and turned their position into a smoldering crater. Captain Scott stood and looked toward the Mosh tank that remained, fully functional. The company’s First Sergeant gripped Captain Scott by the shoulders and pulled him back, tossed him to the ground. “Stay down!”

  More Mosh artillery came, landed all along the back slope of the spur where Captain Scott lay. More Mosh came, carried on trucks. The trucks stopped outside the kill zone and the Mosh warriors dismounted. Captain Scott crawled up and looked ahead, saw that the Mosh wore conventional body armor and carried assault rifles. No match for Marines in powered armor, certainly. The Mosh dropped and crawled forward slowly, using individual movement techniques at times. Then they stopped. Mosh mortar fire landed in the general vicinity of first platoon.

  Captain Scott called, “Fist Platoon, you better do something.”

  The Marines of first platoon moved forward to attack. Some had flamethrowers, some had missile launchers, but half of them had anti-personnel rifles and all of them had vibro-blade swords as secondary weapons. The Mosh had secondary weapons as well, rocket launchers of their own, specifically designed to destroy powered body armor. Scott ordered second platoon forward as well.

  First platoon lost half its strength but did mange to render the Mosh company of dismounts combat ineffective. Second platoon ran through and finished off the Mosh and began caring for casualties. Some Marines had gone the wrong way, had run from the fight. But they stopped and were collected up by third platoon.

  The Mosh tank was still there in the ditch, fully functional. Soon that tank commander would figure out that all his comrades were dead and that he should begin firing into the Marines. The third platoon leader moved with his platoon and closed within rocket firing range of the Mosh tank. More Mosh artillery landed in third platoon’s old position and Mosh mortar rounds were landing behind second and first platoon, a clear signal that the Mosh tank commander was about to make things real ugly for the Marines.

  The third platoon leader grabbed his XO and First Sergeant and the first squad leader and said, “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to capture that tank and swing it around to cover the road.”

  “Hooah,” in unison.

  A Marine with a rocket launcher rolled into the ditch right in front of the tank and fired a rocket that knocked off its right track. The tank returned fire with its main gun and blew the Marine to bits. A second Marine used a flame thrower on the tank from the side, a short blast of flame followed by a second; just enough to let the crew of the tank know he meant business.

  The third platoon leader stood in front of the tank with a rocket shoved right down the barrel of the main gun. He yelled, “Come out or die!”

  The coaxial machine gun of the Mosh tank pelted the third platoon leader with rounds, the aggregate force of the rounds pushing him back a step. As soon as the rocket was out of the muzzle the main gun fired. The third platoon leader’s body armor took the round right in the center of the chest. The round left a clean 100mm hole right through him. The third platoon leader looked down at the hole, the last thing he ever saw, and then fell dead on his back.

  A Marine fired a rocket into the side of the Mosh tank and the Marine with the flame thrower bathed the tank in fire. The tank rocked and popped and burned. Mosh mortar fire landed all around the Mosh tank and across the road ahead of it. Another platoon of Mosh tanks was approaching. Captain Scott ordered a retreat back to the assault boats. His company boarded them and was lifted out of the area, back to the camp near Cherry Fork. A full third of the Capellan Marines of India Company died that day.

  Chapter Nine

  An armored Mosh command car came from the Skeleton Desert and stopped just outside a town in the foothills of the mountains. A checkpoint of eight Mosh warriors blocked the road. The senior occupant of the command car opened his door and leaned out and said, “Merkismathr!”

  A Mosh officer wearing gray chain mail looked toward the command car, walked up to it. “Yes, Stallari.”

  “Have you taken bondsmen?”

  The Merkismathr said, “I do not think these peasants we fight are worthy of such an honor.”

  The Stallari dismounted. “I have misspoken. Do you have prisoners?”

  “I do. The orders for how to dispose of them are unclear, so I’ve kept them locked up.”

  “I have been sent to teach you. Bring them, I will show you. Then you can demonstrate this to your subordinate commanders and all will be well.”

  The Merkismathr made a call and a few minutes later a column of two dozen captured Mandarin regular soldiers were led out of the town past the checkpoint.

  The Stallari said, “Bring them shovels, one for each.”

  Another delay while Mosh warriors handed their entrenching tools to the prisoners. The assembled Mosh detachment now numbered more than thirty, standing to one side of the line of prisoners.

  The Stallari said, “Prisoners, dig. All of you, to make one big pit.”

  They dug. The Stallari supervised, pointing out the edge of the pit, the depth, where to toss the dirt. The hole was done, about a meter and a half deep, a meter wide and three meters long. The Stallari looked up at the midday sun and wiped sweat from his brow. He then told the prisoners, “Give the tools back to my warriors.”

  The Mosh came forward and took back their entrenching tools. The Stallari paced in front of the line of prisoners. He looked toward the Merkismathr and said, “Mark my words. You will have to repeat them.” The Merkismathr activated a recording device, video and audio, handed the device to his immediate subordinate.

  The Stallari faced the prisoners and said, “We are warriors. It is our tradition to accept warriors that surrender to us in battle as our bondsmen, but you are not worthy. You are not warriors.”

  The prisoners simply stared at the pit in front of them. The Stallari said, “We come to conquer, to become the new rulers of this planet. The people will be our servants, certainly, and it is good, to serve the Mosh. What you do not understand, and will not understand until our conquest is complete, is that we are liberating you from the cruel tyranny of lies and deceit. We Mosh, our word is our bond and we are men of honor.”

  A prisoner snorted a suppressed laugh. The Stallari pointed at him and said, “Silence!”

  A Mosh warrior moved in behind the prisoner, sword drawn. The Stallari waved him back, signaled “Stand down.” The Stallari then said, “Your rulers, they send you to die for their sake. On this world of over two billion souls, they chose barely a million citizens to sacrifice. And then they leave you ill-equipped and poorly trained, no match for the Mosh, no match indeed. Your greatest efforts merely insult us. I shall demonstrate.”

  The Stallari went back to his command car and came back with a captured Mandarin Army weapon, a standard-issue assault rifle. “They know we wear body armor and they send you to fight us with this? You might as well wave pointy sticks at us.” He handed the weapon to the Merkismathr and said, “Shoot me in the chest with this.”

  The Merkismathr took three steps back and aimed, fired a three round burst. The bullets stuck to the chain mail and the Stallari brushed them away. “That alone should make you eager to serve the Mosh. But you have surrendered to the Mosh and you are not worthy to become bondsmen, so your life is forfeit. But I offer you a new life, a rebirth. Now, take off your clothes and toss them in the pit.”

  The prisoners removed their shirts, shoes and pants, tossed them in. The Stallari said, “All of your clothes. You are being reborn so you will be as naked as the last time you were born.” They complied, stood nude.

  The Stallari said, “The rulers, the tiny minority of elites who hold wealth and power, they have sent you to this fate. When the Mosh con
quest is complete, life will return to normal for most of the people of Mandarin. The only ones who will suffer will be the approximately five hundred individuals who now hold real wealth and power. We will take that from them and rule this planet honestly. We will not tease you with the lie that some day you might also ascend to great wealth and power. We tell you truly, we are in power, and only because we said so. Not because we are better than you or smarter than you or anything else. We will not tell you your poverty is your own fault, because it is not. When our conquest is complete, when we rule, every person on Mandarin will have adequate food, clothing and shelter.”

  The Stallari then pointed toward the town. “Now for the easy part. You walk from here as a newborn, dependant on the kindness of strangers for your very lives. Turn around and walk into town and beg the good citizens for clothing, sustenance, for employment. There is much work to do for the people of the town, serving the Mosh.” The Stallari drew his laser pistol and pointed it at the pit and used it to set the clothes on fire. “Go!”

  The prisoners walked away, into the town. The Stallari said to the Merkismathr, “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Stallari.”

  “Train your subordinates. This is what we do with soldiers who surrender. Now there is another matter to discuss.”

  “Yes?”

  “Tactics. One of our lead elements met with unusual resistance yesterday. They were ambushed in the mountains and stopped in their tracks and lost a platoon of tanks and a company of infantry. This can not happen again. All lead elements will exercise extreme caution, will recon ahead by a distance of no less than five kilometers. They will not move forward until fire support has been reserved. You understand this I am sure.”

  “Yes, Stallari. It will slow us down considerably but will reduce our losses.”

  “Indeed.” The Stallari climbed back into his command car and rode away to brief the next detachment.