The War for Profit Series Omnibus (10 page)

“I’ll squash you, you grunt!” yelled the old Corporal. A soldier lying prone fired his rifle, squeezing off a round every two seconds, not shifting his aim. The old Corporal ordered his driver to run over the grunt. The tank ran over the rifle-firing soldier and squashed him under the left tread. A bone-jarring explosion rocked the tank, blowing its track off. The same track which had just squashed the soldier. The Wasp tipped sideways and landed on its right side. Its turret turned to the left to protect its laser cannon from damage. The old Corporal was trying to say something that sounded like “Boo-” when he was knocked senseless by the fall. The tank’s driver was dead.

“Get ‘em!” yelled Ching, “We don’t have to take this from a bunch of grunts!”

Another tank gunner hit his mark, scorching an enemy firing position with a laser cannon blast. The tank approached the target area and the commander saw a pitiful sight. One grunt was missing both his legs, and his loyal buddy, missing an arm, gripped his comrade’s collar. Both were face down and covered with blood. The one-armed grunt was vainly trying to drag his buddy away, kicking his legs in an effort to crawl. The Wasp driver pivoted his tank and brought the right tread on line to crush the grunts. When he drove over them, they exploded. The force of the explosion blasted the front of the light tank into the air and flipped its turret away. The tank continued to flip, landed upside down. The turret splashed into the river.

Three more explosions went off before Ching realized what was going on. “Stay on the road, there’s bombs, or mines or something. Stay on the road and return fire.” He checked his HUD display, franticly sorting through menus a more experienced commander would have found useful. Still seven Wasps up and fighting. It would be enough to slug it out with the ambushing grunts. Seven tanks were enough to take Chon Gok Op.

Chief Mortinson said, “Told you it would work. Those dumbasses always fall for it.” The Chief and his nine flamer-bearing companions emerged from under the bridge and stood on line across the road.

“Yeah, but who would have thought of stuffing high explosives into the chests of first-aid training mannequins?” said Galen.

“You got to be flexible, Sergeant.”

The ten mercenaries fired on the back of the nearest Wasp, not more than fifty meters away. The heat singed Galen’s eyebrows. The NVGs he wore compensated for the bright fire of the flames, allowing him to continue to watch the tank. It swiveled its turret and started to pivot-steer its chassis towards them. Galen watched the tank’s rear hull start to glow brighter, heat from the flamers affecting its fusion engine. A split second before the awful machine’s laser cannon came to bear on the mercenaries, Mortinson ordered them to fire again. They did. The heat was too much for the Wasp’s heat sinks. The engine was too hot, registering high enough for the automatic controls to shut it down. The tank’s main gun sagged. The mercenaries ran to its side—not too close, it was hot--to seek cover. From the tank ahead of it on the road.

“Look at this dumbass.” Mortinson pointed at the cupola’s viewport. The tank commander was inside, beating on the transparent armor and making rude hand gestures at the mercenaries. His face was red with rage and he was screaming at the top of his lungs, but his screams couldn’t be heard through the turret’s armor.

“Tad, get him out of there.”

“Yes, Chief.”

Tad laid down his flamer and pulled his entrenching tool from his butt pack. He stuck the edge of the pick end into the edge of the hatch seal, the way he saw the troop doing it in the picture at the armory. He grunted, pulled hard and then POP, the hatch came open. Two Corporals pulled the screaming commander out and ripped off his commo helmet and flak vest. Two more mercenaries slipped disposable handcuffs around his wrists and ankles. Then they slipped another disposable handcuff between the first two, hog-tying the prisoner.

“Leave him lay, he ain’t going nowhere. Let’s go get the next dumbass.”

Tad said, “Chief, I’m a tanker. Should I get control of this machine?’

“Suit yourself, dumbass. Get that driver out. Haas, you drive. How long before you can have it up and running?”

“Two minutes,” said Tad as he put on the helmet and flak vest. He climbed into the turret and examined the heat gauge, “Make that twenty seconds. I’ll be ready in twenty seconds.”

The skimmers arrived. They stayed at maximum range, scoring hit after hit on the tank closest to them. The Wasp’s armor collapsed, melted in on itself from the heat of the skimmer’s laser cannon fire. The skimmers eased forward thirty meters and started taking apart the next tank.

The commander of their next victim was a good shot. It was Lance Sergeant Ching. He fired both his heavy machine guns and his laser cannon, hitting a skimmer. The light vehicle was smashed and burst into flames. All three mercenaries on board were killed instantly. The destroyed skimmer listed to its side and then cartwheeled, sent skittering by the force of the blows it took. The other two skimmers backed off, just out of range of the expert gunner.

Ching’s tactical status screen showed that he was down to four tanks. He considered his situation and made a decision. “Break contact, men. This is just a distraction; we must get to our objective. Disengage and follow me.” His driver turned west and shoved the accelerator pedal to the floor. A rocket fired by a mercenary hit the tank square in the back, followed by two flamer shots. Ching’s tank lurched but then continued to accelerate. Three tanks followed him. He didn’t know the last one was commanded by Tad.

Mortinson and his companions were still flaming a tank, catching it before it could get away. It behaved much like the first one, except it took longer to shut down. A soldier on the firing line shot a rocket at the overheated Wasp, hitting it on the right side of the turret. The force of the blow caused the turret lift off, spinning slowly in the air to land on its base beside the tank. Peering into the cupola view port, Galen saw not an angry rebel but a bloody mess instead. The tank commander’s smashed face was pressed by the fall into the view port. The enemy stared at Galen with dull, lifeless eyes.

“Too much for you, dumbass?”

Galen said, “I’ll be okay. So what’s the status? Battle over?”

“For us, yes. Two of them Hornets got away, followed by Tad. The mechanized infantry platoon is waiting for them in Chicago. We did enough damage to them dumbasses; third platoon should be able to fix the rest of them. Also the two skimmers are chasing them, taking pop shots.”

“Chicago?”

“Oh, that’s what we call Chon Gok Op, the port town where this river meets the sea. Revolting slaves wanted to take it so the Mandarin army would have to come in from the other direction. Would have taken them about a month longer; by then this whole area would have been a rebellious district, a real armed camp of rebel militants.”

“Why so?” asked Galen.

“Because, dumbass, these people are repressed. Give them even the faintest glimmer of hope, show them you can actually last more than a couple of weeks defying the government, and they’ll support you to the death.”

The company commander rode up in his skimmer. He leaped out just before it stopped moving, causing him to jog up to Mortinson and Galen. The driver parked the vehicle and leaned back in the seat. The exhausted laser cannon gunner slumped over his weapon but kept his eyes open.

“Morning, Gentlemen.”

“Good morning, sir.” Galen and Mortinson gave the Lieutenant a proper hand salute and held it until the officer returned the gesture.

“Sniper check? Means the area is secure. What’s your ACE, Chief?”

“Fourteen broke dicks who’ll heal and return to duty. Two broke dicks who’ll have to find another line of work. Two troops turned into dog meat.”

“Damn I hate losing troops.” The officer’s face went slack for a moment.

Galen decided to walk off and check his squad. He heard the Chief and the Lieutenant continue their conversation, the words fading as he got further away.

Galen chose a flat spot of grass beside the road. “Second squad, over here!”

Seven troops ambled up.

“Who we missing?”

“Trooper Kronenberger from first team. Dead,” said Lotus.

“Is that all? I’m missing two bodies.”

“Tushar from third team,” said Corporal Clay. “He’s injured but he’ll return to duty, just got hit in the guts by fragments from a rocket. He’s with the medics.”

“Okay, we’re lucky. We just fought a whole tank company. The platoon lost half its strength. Let’s get some rest while we’re waiting for the Chief to think up some more stupid things to do.” Galen stretched out on the ground and went right to sleep.

***

“Sergeant Raper.”

Galen heard the voice but closed his eyes tighter. Maybe the pest would go away.

“Wake up. We got stand-to in twenty minutes.”

“Okay Lotus, I’m tired. What time is it?”

“Nine thirty. Stand-to is at ten. The rest of the squad is up and getting ready. This is the fourth time I tried to wake you.”

“Thanks. You’re a good leader, Corporal Lotus,” Galen sat up and rubbed his eyes. It was muggy down by the river. The bright sun was burning away the last of the morning fog. The damaged tanks lay strewn about the sides of the road. The troops around Galen were washing their faces and hands in the river and using electric razors to shave. Galen decided to do the same.

His face was burned, like sunburn, except for where the goggles had protected the skin around his eyes from the flamer’s heat. His lips were dry and chapped and the front of his uniform was singed. His hair and his uniform were stiff with the dried blood from the dead tanker he pulled from a wreck. Galen felt and looked and smelled awful, but so did the rest of the troops. He brushed most of the filth from his coveralls by hand and then waded waist-deep into the river and rinsed his face, hair and hands. After stretching to loosen his sore muscles, he shaved his beard and cleaned his rifle.

“Sergeants, meeting,” called Mortinson.

Galen wandered over to where Spike, Tad and Haas were waiting to meet with the Chief.

“You all sleep well?”

“No.”

“Good. We got more work ahead of us. The whole company is coming out here for formation so the commander can brief us. TRAINS is coming out to collect up our weapons and issue tranquillizer rifles. Don’t worry, you’ll keep your side arms and the troops will also get pistols. But the side arms are backup weapons only.”

“What’s going on?” asked Galen.

“Something different, that’s all I know. The commander will fill us in on the details of the mission. Get your troops ready for the change.”

“Another question: we lost half our strength last night. Where did all these other troops come from?” asked Galen.

“We reconstituted. If you didn’t sleep so hard, you’d know that.”

“I mean, who are the new troops and where did they come from?”

“Schooling. Look, dumbass, the primary mission of this battalion is to get you snappers ready to go out into the fleet. Half your time is spent in the field, half in the schools. Three months in the field, three months in garrison training up to the next skill level.”

Galen felt confused.

Mortinson continued to explain, “You’re a Sergeant now. When you rotate back in to garrison, you go to the platoon leader’s course and they try to make a Chief or Lieutenant out of you. Then you come back out to the field and use what you learned for three months. Then you go back in and get more training, where they get you ready for your assignment out in the fleet. Since you’re an Academy graduate, your last three months on Mandarin will probably be spent getting trained for the type of tank platoon you’ll be assigned to command. This make sense to you?”

“Yes, but where did all the casualty replacements come from?”

“The schools, dumbass. All that training is suspended until this worker’s rebellion is stopped. Vehicles have been running in and out of here all night, bringing out troops and taking back the injured. Any more questions, Galen?”

“Meeting over, Chief?”

“Yes.”

Galen went back to his squad and led them over to stand in a loose formation in front of Mortinson. First and third squads joined them and Mortinson took charge.

“Fall in, dumbasses. Close interval.” They did. “All right, at ease and listen up. Ground your gear and go get all the heavy weapons and put them in a neat row beside the road. When the trucks from battalion trains get here, put the heavy weapons on the trucks and down load the tranquilizer guns. You troops will be issued pistols as well as tranq guns. Then turn in your rifles. With that accomplished, fall back in over here for the company formation. Any questions?”

“Yes,” asked a troop, “What’s going on?’

“The company commander will brief us. Now fall out and do what I told you. Fall out!”

The antitank platoon did as Mortinson ordered. The convoy of heavy-duty trucks from headquarters company came out and picked up the sniper rifles, the flamers, the rocket launchers and the machine guns. Finally Galen was ready to hand over his rifle.

“ID card, Sergeant,” said the supply clerk as Galen handed him his rifle.”

“Sure, but why?”

“We credit the value of the rifle to your account, and then deduct the cost of the tranquilizer rifle. Of course, ammunition is free.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Galen walked back to his platoon area and checked the troops of his squad.

“Sergeant, what’s with the pistols and the tranquilizer rifles?”

“It seems our mission has changed a bit. Chief says the pistols are back-up weapons, and the tranq guns are the primary weapon. Looks like we don’t want to hurt nobody.”

The mercenaries chuckled. “Like I really care,” said one.

Two helos arrived and landed behind the formation. The pilots shut down the engines and dismounted, making their way over to the formation area. They were accompanied by half a dozen snappers. Two skimmers turned off the road and parked next to the helos, hulls to the ground with their blowers shut off. Six troops climbed out of each and joined the pilot’s group. Soon they were in a loose formation, standing twenty meters to the right of the antitank platoon.

“Who’s that?” asked a troop in third squad.

“Headquarters platoon,” said Mortinson.

Three more skimmers arrived, followed by the four APCs Galen remembered from the welcome center convoy. The vehicles parked behind the formation and the crew members dismounted to form a platoon between the headquarters platoon and the antitank platoon.

“Combined maneuver platoon,” announced Mortinson, not waiting to be asked. Five fusion-powered Infantry Fighting Vehicles arrived, their nickel alloy treads groaning and thumping as the tracked vehicles rumbled down the road. They passed in front of the formation before turning off. Galen noticed the small turret on top of each IFV had a light laser cannon protruding from it, and guided missile launchers were mounted facing forward on the sides of their glacis plates. The IFVs turned smoothly and came to a halt just off the road. The vehicles dropped their assault ramps and the crews and infantry squads dismounted and formed a platoon to the left of the antitank platoon.