"Lieutenant Booth! Cease fire! Cease fire!"
The lieutenant turned to see a soldier running toward him waving his arms.
"Cease fire!" he barked at his men, and the cry was echoed down the line.
The sergeant who had hailed him ran up, ashen-faced and out of breath.
"What is it, Sergeant?" Booth was aware of the nearby teams listening in curiously.
"Lieutenant, that's not...we saw them...it's not..."
"Spit it out, Sergeant!"
"It's not the mercenaries. We're shelling our own troops!"
"What?"
"Sommers climbed a tree with binoculars to watch the show! Those are our men down there!"
"But the smoke flare..."
Realization struck him like a slap in the face. It was the mercenaries. They had given him a fake radio call and a fake smoke flare.
He suddenly was aware of his men moving. They were abandoning their equipment and walking back toward the base. Their eyes were glazed and some of them were crying. He knew he should call to them, order them, console them. He knew that he should, but he couldn't.
"...Now look, Yamada. We're through playing around. You've got fifteen minutes to make up your mind. Either you and your playmates call off your dogs or we'll have a few assassinations of our own here and now!"
Yamada considered them levelly.
"Gentlemen, you seem to have missed the point completely. First, holding us hostage will gain you nothing. Terrorist groups have been kidnapping corporation executives for over twenty-five years now, asking either for money or special considerations. In all that time, the corporations' policy for dealing with them has not changed. We don't make deals, and the executive threatened is on his own."
He crossed his arms and continued.
"Secondly, you assume that you can threaten us into selling out our forces in exchange for our lives. We are as dedicated to our cause as any soldier and as such, are ready to sacrifice our lives if need be. I do not expect you gentlemen to believe this on the strength of my words-it must be demonstrated."
He raised his right hand and pointed to his left bicep.
"In the lining of my coat was an ampule of poison. As I crossed my arms, I injected it into my bloodstream. I am neither afraid to die nor am I willing to serve as your hostage."
He blinked as if trying to clear his focus.
"Mr. Becker, I fear you will have to..."
His face hit the table, but he didn't feel it. The other two corporation men did not look at his body, but continued staring down the table at the military men who were sitting in stunned silence.
"I feel Mr. Yamada has stated our position adequately," Becker intoned. "And I for one do not feel like continuing this discussion."
He rose, Wilson following suit.
"We're leaving now, gentlemen. Shoot if you feel it will do any good."
23
"This still seems strange."
"What does?" Judy turned from gazing out the taxi window to direct her attention to him.
"Dictating terms to the government. It's weird. I mean, as long as I've been working, the corporations have bitched about government controls and chafed under the rules. Sometimes we bought our way into some favorable legislation and sometimes we just moved our operations to a more favorable climate. But just telling them...that's weird."
"Look at it like the Magna Carta."
"The which?"
"History...medieval Europe. A bunch of the lorded barons, the fat cats of the era, got together and forced the king to sign a document giving them a voice in government."
"Is that what we're doing?"
"In a manner of speaking. Look, love, any system of government involves voluntary acceptance of that authority. Once the populace decides they don't want to play along, the Lord High Muckity-Mucks are out of luck."
"Except in a communist police state."
"Including a communist police state. If the people aren't happy or at least content, they're going to take things into their own hands and trample you."
"But if anyone mouths off you can just take them out and shoot them."
"If enough people are upset, you're in trouble. You can't shoot them all. And who's going to do the shooting? If things are out of hand, odds are the military won't follow your lead either."
"It still seems unnatural."
"It's the most natural thing in the world. Ignore governments for a minute. look at any power structure. Look at the beginning of the unions. The fat cats had all the cards. It was their football. But when conditions got bad enough, the workers damn well dealt themselves in whether the fat cats liked it or not."
"But the unions are only a minor power now."
"Right, because they're no longer necessary. Business finally wised up to the fact that keeping the workers happy is the key to success. The conditions that caused the unions to form and justified their existence disappeared, and people started wondering what they were paying their dues for. Just like the corporations are asking what they're paying taxes for. You can't force a loyalty to any system. It's either there or it isn't. Inertia maintains the status quo, but once the tide turns there is no stopping it."
"You make this sound liked take-over."
"Effectively it is. The only reason the governments still exist today is because they do a lot of scut work the corporations don't want to dirty their hands with. But anything we want, we've got. They tried to assert their authority and proved that they don't have any."
"So where do we go from here?"
"We go in there." She pointed through the window at the large steel and glass building as the taxi pulled over to the curb. "As delegates to the First United Negotiations Council, the most powerful assemblage the free world has ever seen-every major corporation and industrial group gathered to decide how we want the world to run."
As they started up the stairs, she drew close to him.
"Stay close to me, huh;"
"Nervous? After that talk in the car, I thought you were ready to take on anyone in the council."
"It's not the council, it's them."
She nodded at the mercenaries lounging around the lobby, their hard eyes betraying the casual manner with which they checked the delegates' ID's.
"Them? C'mon, sweetheart, those are our heroes; without them, where would we be now?"
"I still don't like them; they're animals."
She quickened her step, and Fred had to hurry to keep up.
"How about that?"
"What?" Tidwell drifted over to the mezzanine railing to see what Clancy was ogling.
"That little bit of fluff with the old geezer-rough life, huh?"
"Nice to know what our fighting is for, isn't it-so some fat cat can bring his chippie along to meetings with him."
"Don't short-sell them, Steve. They fight as hard as we do. Just in different ways."
"I suppose." Tidwell turned away and lit another cigarette, leaning back against the railing.
"What's eating you today, Steve? You seem kinda on edge?"
"I dunno. I keep getting the feeling something's about to happen."
"What?"
"I dunno. Maybe it's just nerves. I'm not used to just standing around."
"Just the wind-down after being in the field so long. You'll get over it."
They stood in silence for a few moments. Then Tidwell eased off the railing, and ground out his cigarette in an ashtray.
"Clancy, what do you know about samurai?"
"Not much. They were bad-ass fighters as individuals, but not much as an army."
"Do you know what happened to them?"
"No. Outmoded when gunpowder came in, I guess."
"Wrong-they got done in by a change in the system."
"How's that?"
"Well, they were professional bodyguards when Japan was essentially a bunch of small countries each lorded over by a warlord. Anyone who was wealthy and landed maintained a brace of samurai to keep his neighbors f
rom taking it all away from him. The constant raiding and feuds kept them busy for quite a few generations. Then the country became united under one emperor who extended his protection over the whole shebang. All of a sudden the samurai were unnecessary and expensive, the clans were disbanded, and they were reduced to beggars and outlaws."
"And you're worried about that happening to us?"
"It's a possibility."
"There are other options."
"Such as?"
"Well, for openers..."
"Wait a minute." Tidwell was suddenly alert and moving along the railing. A group of some twenty mercenaries had just entered and were standing just inside the glass doors.
"Who are those men?" Tidwell leaned on the railing and craned his neck, trying to see a familiar face in the group.
"They're our relief."
"Relief? What relief? We're supposed to be on guard for another..." He stopped abruptly.
Clancy was holding his favorite derringer leveled at him, the bore immense when viewed from the front.
"What's this?"
"It'll all be clear in a few minutes. In the meantime, just take my word that those men are here with peaceful intentions."
"Who are they?"
"Some of the guys from my old outfit."
"Your old outfit? You mean during..."
"During the Russo-Chinese War, right. The C-Block is about to break their communications silence, and we're delivering the message."
"Since when did you work for the C-Block?"
"Never stopped."
"I see. Well, now what?"
"Now you tell the guards they're relieved. Tell 'em it's bonus time off or something, but make it sound natural. My men have been briefed on you and your team and will be watching for anything out of line."
"I thought you said this was peaceful."
"It is, but we don't want anyone going off halfcocked before we have our say."
"So all I have to do is dismiss the men."
"Right. But stick around. I think you'll find this kinda interesting."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world."
If Fred had not been already bored with the opening comments from the chairman pro tem, he probably would not have noticed the mercenaries entering the auditorium, but curiosity made him watch first leisurely, then with growing interest as the patterns formed. Four of them spreading quietly along the back walkway. Three more appearing in the balcony. Fred straightened slightly. Were the two by the door holding weapons on the stone-faced mercenary leaning against the back wall?
Something was up. What was it? Had an assassin been infiltrated into the meeting? A bomb threat?
Fred's eyes scanned the assemblage uneasily. His eyes met those of the stone-faced mercenary in the back who arched one eyebrow in surprise, then slowly and solemnly winked at him.
What was up? Oh, well, they'd know soon enough. One of the mercenaries flanked by two others was approaching the podium. The chairman noted their approach and interrupted his speech. He stepped down and spoke briefly with the center mercenary. The delegates took advantage of the interruption to converse and shift back and forth. Fred watched the conversation. It seemed to be growing more heated. Suddenly the chairman broke away shaking his head angrily and started back for the podium. The mercenary he had been talking to gestured to one of his flankers. The man stepped in behind the chairman and chopped him across the back of the neck with his hand. The chairman crumpled to the floor.
Jesus Christ! What was going on? The delegates recoiled in horror as the mercenary dragged the chairman to a vacant seat where they deposited him in an unceremonious heap, then turned to face the assemblage. As their apparent leader took over the podium, the audience sank into silence.
"Well, folks, it looks like I'm going to have to do this without an introduction."
He paused as if expecting a laugh. There was only silence as the delegates watched him coldly.
"Some of you may recognize me as one of your mercenaries. We have a proposal to put before the council and..."
"What the hell is this?"
A voice rang out from the audience, which was quickly echoed by several other indignant delegates. Clancy raised his hand, and suddenly the other mercenaries were moving into position along the edge of the room, drawing their weapons as they went. The assemblage suddenly submerged into silence once more.
"I do apologize for the unorthodox nature of this presentation, but I'll have to ask that you hear me out before any questions are raised. What is more, I'll have to ask you to listen quietly and not make any sudden outbursts or movements. The boys are a little jumpy and we wouldn't want them to think you were getting hostile when you really weren't."
Fred shot a glance back at the stern-faced mercenary who shrugged as if to say he didn't know what was happening either.
"Now, as I was starting to say, we are a coalition of mercenaries. Our current employers are the people you refer to as the C-Block."
Fred felt his flesh turn cold. Commies! They were being held at gunpoint by a pack of Commies!
"We are relaying a proposal to you from our employers. What we are offering you is a lasting world peace. Now let me elaborate on that before everyone panics. In the past, when someone offers world peace, it's usually on their terms. 'Do things my way and nobody will get hurt!' Well, this isn't what we're saying. We aren't saying the free world should convert to communism, or that the Communists should go imperialistic. We are proposing a method by which both ideals can be left free to pattern their lives according to the dictates of their conscience and traditions."
Neat trick if you can do it. Fred was nonetheless interested.
"One of the purposes of this Council is to determine how much support you feel you should give the governments in the way of taxes. Part and parcel with this is an appraisal of how much they really need. We would suggest that the governments of the world can cut a major portion of their expense by disbanding their armed forces."
A murmur rippled through the delegates which quickly subsided as they remembered they were under the guns.
"What we propose to replace the multitude of individual armies with is one worldwide army of hard-core professionals, mercenaries if you will, paid equally by the corporations and the C-Block. It would be their job to maintain world peace, moving to block any country or group who attempted a forceful infringement on their neighbors. This was tried unsuccessfully once by the United Nations. It failed for two reasons. First, the nations still kept their armed forces, giving them a capacity for attacking each other; and second, the UN forces were not given adequate power to do their job. May I assure the assemblage that if we say we will stop a conflict, it will be stopped."
He smiled grimly at them. Not a person in the room doubted him.
"Now, there are several automatic objections which would be raised to such a force. The most obvious is the fear of a military takeover. In reply, I would point out that right now we could kill everyone in this room. The question is why? Any such army which abused its power would rapidly be confronted by several things. The first would be an armed uprising of the general populace. If every time we killed someone, five other people got upset and we had to kill them, eventually there would be no one left in the world but soldiers. We are not that kind of madmen. By definition, we are soldiers, not farmers or storekeepers. We are dependent on you for our livelihood. You don't kill the goose that lays the golden egg, and a sane man doesn't shoot his boss."
He paused. There was a thoughtful silence in the room.
"It might be pointed out that we have been operating in the C-Block for a number of years now in this capacity. They needed all available manpower for their rebuilding, so they cannibalized the army and turned the job of security over to us. It was a desperation move, but it's worked. The arrangement has proven beneficial to all concerned. I might add that to date there have been no attempted military takeovers. The only lingering fear is of a takeover attempt from outside the C-Bl
ock, which is why we are here. We offer you a cheap and lasting peace by subscribing to our services. There is no threat of invasion if there is no armed, organized invasion force."
His words hung in the air. Fred found himself trying to imagine a world without a threat of war.
"There is another, less pleasant objection which might be raised to this plan. I'm sure that as businessmen, it has occurred to you. War is good business. It can provide a vital shot in the arm to a sagging economy. Do we really want to eliminate war?
"Before I answer that question, let me point out another problem. How do we keep in training? If we are successful, if war becomes obsolete, if there is no enemy for us to train for, what is to keep us from becoming fat, lazy, and useless leeches?"
He smiled at the room.
"You in this room have given us an answer to both problems. For the last two years in the C-Block, we have been using your kill-suits in our training. Our main purpose was to provide hard training for our troops, but it had a surprising side product. Military maneuvers in kill-suits have emerged as a spectator sport of astounding popularity. We have developed various categories of competition and regular teams have formed, each with their followers and fans. Apparently, once the populace becomes accustomed to the fact that no real injuries or deaths are incurred, they find it far more enjoyable than movies or television. Certain of our mercenaries have become minor celebrities and occasionally have to be guarded from autograph-seeking fans."
There was a low buzz of conversation going as he continued.
"Now this means that not only does the military industry continue, but that there is an unexpected windfall of a new spectator sport. I am sure I do not have to elaborate for this assemblage the profits latent in proper handling of a spectator sport."
This time he actually got a low ripple of laughter in response to his joke. Even Fred found himself chortling. Don't teach your grandmother to steal sheep, sonny.
"Well, I feel I have used up enough of your time on the proposal. I'd ask that you discuss it among yourselves and with your superiors. We will be back in a week, at which time we will be ready to answer any and all questions you might have. I would like to apologize for the tactic of holding you at gunpoint, but we were not certain what your initial reaction would be to our appearance. I will pay you the compliment of telling you the guns are loaded. We are more than slightly afraid of you. You are dangerous men. Thank you."
The Cold Cash War Page 14