The War for Profit Series Omnibus (26 page)

Galen walked through the office and the conference room, up the steps and out the door with only one thought on his mind. He was about to realize his dream of commanding a Hercules heavy tank in combat, about to personally deliver the final blow to end the battle. He climbed up over the glacis plate, the gun mantle, onto the turret and lowered his body into the cupola with a hand on either side of the open hatch, careful to not let his boots touch the seat. The cushion was not soft, but rugged, meant to prevent injury more than provide comfort. He slipped on the commo helmet and adjusted the chin strap. The smell of its previous owner’s scalp filled Galen’s nostrils. No time for that, he’d get a brand new helmet for himself after this contract was over. He connected the tightly coiled spaghetti cord, connected the thick, heavy clothing clip to the opposite end of the connector cable to ensure it wouldn’t come apart by accident.

Galen blew into his mike then said, “You got me, driver?”

“Yessir.”

“Gunner, you up?”

“Yessir.”

Galen wanted to repeat the old NCO saying of ‘don’t call me sir because I work for a living,’ but held back. He wanted his crew focused on the job at hand, acting on long-practiced training that had become instinct. Forcing them to use some part of their brains to worry about calling him the wrong thing would just throw a monkey wrench into their minds.

“Move out, driver. We’re going to the beach.”

The tank moved down the narrow street lined with tin shacks. Then it took a right and moved toward the Mosh-infested beach with the large concrete warehouses alongside the air strip blocking them from the enemy’s fire. Galen could see the very tops of some of the drop boat tail section rudders above the buildings. He closed his hatch and said, “Gunner, be ready for targets to the right and then the front. Driver, full speed to the beach and then power slide to face right down the beach and halt.”

The acceleration shoved Galen back in his seat and then he was jerked sideways by the sudden turn and halt. The main gun sent a bolt of heavy laser right down the beach, burning holes through countless warriors. And again, and again. Galen fired his cupola rail gun and then looked for targets for it, walked the rounds into various groups of crouched and prone warriors. Some fired back, some fled for the relative safety of the drop boats and others chose to take their chances with charging into the nearest buildings. The gunner opened his breach and removed the laser module, put in a chemically-propelled high-explosive round and used it to destroy a drop boat. Then another and a third one. The Mosh in the remaining boats fled from their death traps, ran across the beach and into the buildings.

Galen mowed down many of the Mosh who tried to run across the beach but most of them made it into one building or another. There they were met with defenders inside who made short work of them before retreating to other good defensive positions. Galen keyed his transmitter, “Hey Tad, what’s the status?”

“That was ugly. There can’t be more than a hundred of them left. But be careful going down that beach, don’t outrun your dismounts.”

The gunner let fly a ten second burst from his coaxial rail gun, an automatic, practiced response to hearing the word “dismount.”

“Okay driver, ahead slow. Gunner, watch your lane.”

The gunner put the laser module back into the breach of the main gun. The tank crept along, a squad of Panzer Grenadiers falling in behind as it passed their defensive position. The Mosh tried to fight back but the tank’s rail gun fire was quick and deadly. After clearing the beach, Galen rode the tank over to the civilian administrative building. The Mandarin office workers came out to greet him, so he opened the hatch and stood tall. They were back to wearing men’s clothes and very grateful to the mercenaries for rescuing them. As the tank rolled around the corner of the building, Galen saw half a dozen captured Mosh sitting on the ground cross-legged, hands bound behind them. Two mercenaries stood guard. He recognized the Mosh leader who had been in charge of trying to transform the Mandarin men into drinky girls.

“Halt, driver.”

The tank stopped. Galen saw the cattle prod lying on the ground and picked it up and turned it on. Then he went up to the Mosh leader and poked him with it.

“Guard, untie this one.”

The guard helped the prisoner to his feet and then used his bayonet to cut the disposable handcuffs from his wrists.

Galen poked him again. Black spandex clothing littered the ground along with several pairs of high-heeled shoes. “Pick that trash up and bring it here.”

The Mosh didn’t move so Galen shocked him again. The Mosh slowly picked up all the items and dropped them at Galen’s feet. Galen shocked him again then told the guard, “Bind him.”

The guard put a new set of disposable handcuffs on the Mosh and forced him back into a sitting position. Galen squatted down in front of the Mosh leader, locked eyes and said, “You are the most disgusting man I have ever met.” Galen stood, shocked the Mosh one more time and laid the cattle prod on the ground right in front of the tank’s track. “Here is what I’d like to do to you.” He signaled for the driver to pull forward a half meter. The cattle prod was crushed. Galen climbed back up into the cupola and called Tad.

“We clear yet?”

“Roger. Come on back.”

The driver turned and drove toward the TOC.

Galen sank deep into his seat, relaxed. “What about the boarding parties, to capture the transports?”

“The slave crews already rebelled and surrendered the transport ships. Fleet wants to buy them and the drop boats. Oh, and Mandarin’s defense minister sent a message asking if there is anything we need from them.”

Galen thought for a moment. “Tell them to send more Mosh.”

***

Galen sat in the command chair of the TOC and the key leaders sat around the conference table. He looked at the fleet Commander and asked, “Now what?”

“Well, this is unusual. Right now your unit is the only one with no commissioned officers. First order of business is you need to be laterally promoted to Command Sergeant Major and your new job title is Commandant. An enlisted commander.”

“Okay, can you help me with that?”

“Sure. I’ll run it up through the bonding commission to make it official.”

Command Sergeant Major Galen Raper then said, “Civil Affairs, what’s the deal with you?”

“Well, Commandant, we have eighteen Mosh prisoners to deal with, and Mr. Theil.”

“And what is your plan?”

“The prisoners can’t go home because they’re disgraced from being defeated in battle. I suppose we could drop them off on Hobart with the little ex-pat Mosh enclave there. As for the Mosh commander, we need to take him to Ostreich along with Mr. Theil, as a witness for the trial.”

“That’s fine. Make it happen. Master Sergeant Sevin, anything from you?”

Sevin leaned back in his chair. “Well, I can hold down the fort here while you’re gone to take care of business but I’d like to get relieved in six months or less. Also, we need two battle cruisers here to control both jump points.”

“All right, I’ll see what I can do. Foreman?” Galen addressed the senior builder of the Mandarin construction company.

“Yes. We’ll repair the damage and finish the construction in about three months. That is a firm estimate so I’ve already signaled for Myung Jin to begin operations from their end; it will take them about four months to get everything here, up and running.”

“Very well. Anything else?”

Tad said, “The jump ship is done downloading. We can leave as early as tomorrow.”

“Good. We’ll go to Ostreich for the trial of Mr. Theil and then I’ll get back to Mandarin and settle in as the commander of this Brigade. Anything else? Anyone?”

Silence. Galen stood and the key leaders stood and Galen went into the TOC’s office and sat at his desk.

Six months later, Galen sat at his desk in his office at the welcoming center on Mandarin and went over the numbers again. He was able to re-structure all of the unit’s short-term, high interest debts into low-interest long-term debt by selling thirty year corporate bonds. With all seventeen of the commissioned officers across the Brigade buying back their contracts, plus their resignations, it meant not only revenue from the buy-back but the termination of financial obligations as well. The Brigade no longer had to pay them salary, and no longer had to factor in the long-term obligation of their pensions because they forfeited that when they resigned. Mandarin renewed the contract for the defense of Alamo for another year. Galen negotiated a higher rate and bargained with Fleet to base two battle cruisers there to keep the space around it clear.

Mr. Theil was found guilty of treachery by the bonding commission, which stripped him of his rank and banned him from any form of military service. However, he was free to walk away, although disgraced, with the Mosh gold. No doubt, some of that gold found its way into the pockets of the bonding commission members who adjudicated his case.

The combat loss of fifty-four enlisted personnel was a double-edged sword. Short term, it saved money. An outside agency paid the death benefits of their life insurance, but life insurance costs for the Brigade would go up. Plus the costs of having to recruit and train replacements…the human cost, the death of comrades. No amount of money could make up for that, but enough money could help the Brigade live on and honor their service.

Galen then started sorting through a list of possible unit contracts.

Lord Master Governor General: War for Profit Part Two

by

Gideon Fleisher

Copyright 2012 Gideon Fleisher

Kindle Edition

All rights reserved.

The Jasmine Panzer Brigade:
“When you care enough to send the very best…”

Command Sergeant Major Galen Raper, Commandant of the Jasmine Panzer Brigade, wore suede dress shoes, a light brown suit, and a silk tie over a plain white shirt as he sat on the couch outside the board room and thought about the events which had brought him to this place. The previous Brigade commander had actually been doing a very good job of taking the Brigade from being a mediocre collection of gunslingers and transforming it into a fairly respectable unit.

During the past five years, the program of in-house officer selection, training and commissioning was well on its way to replacing the Brigade’s self-absorbed socialite officers with real military professionals. That stage was set by recruiting academy graduates who would have to serve as enlisted personnel for an entire year before being considered for officer rank. Also the unit had made capital improvements in equipment as well as training, developing a high degree of combat skill amongst the soldiers of the Brigade. And the pay, the enlisted pay, was the same for everyone regardless of rank. The idea being, soldiers bearing less responsibility faced greater personal risk. Higher rank became primarily a matter of greater responsibility, not higher pay or privilege. This meant those soldiers better suited for leadership were leading, those better at fighting were doing most of the fighting, not the least bit concerned about having less rank; the pay was the same. Fair enough.

Then there came the breaking point for the Colonel. His reforms cost money, but the unit was not yet realizing greater revenue. That would only come after the unit’s reputation for battlefield excellence was realized. The unit was on its way to bankruptcy. At the very end, looking out for his own best interest, the Colonel accepted bribes from the enemy, Mosh invaders, who wanted to take the soldiers of the Brigade as slaves. But Galen got wind of the plot and relieved the Colonel of command. The officers of the Brigade, due to the nature of their commissions, had to buy back their contracts and resign en-masse. That left Galen as the commandant, taking command in the midst of a battle. And as luck would have it, the Brigade, although outnumbered more than ten to one, defeated the invading Mosh. Most likely the success was due to the fact the Mosh were expecting no resistance, because they had pre-arranged easy victory with the Colonel ahead of time. Regardless, that victory against an overwhelming force put a big gold star on the Brigade’s reputation.

Today Galen would face the Brigade’s board of directors. He checked his wrist chronometer and realized he had been kept waiting for nearly two hours. A junior executive, a slender woman in a dark blue business suit, opened the sturdy double doors of the board room and said, “The Board will see you now.”

Galen stood to his full two point one meter height and looked inside. The heavy wood table of the board room was flanked by four comfortable chairs down each side, an investor seated in each. A flimsy metal folding chair was empty, at the end nearest Galen. At the head of the table the chairman of the board sat in a taller chair, his palms down on the table, leaning forward, grimacing, his gaze fixed on Galen. His dark blue pinstripe suit, his heavy features in an aged face, the fake black hair, the white teeth. The upper canine teeth were a bit longer than they should have been.

Galen said, “I’ll be right back.” He executed an about face and strode away, turned a corner and checked his wrist chronometer. They liked making him wait, so he’d return the favor.

The junior executive caught up to him. Her straight platinum hair, cut Cleopatra style, contrasted sharply with her dark complexion, her black eyelashes and eyebrows, her coal-black eyes. “They are ready for you now. This is very unusual.”

“Really. And is that hair your idea?”

She raised her left hand and tugged at her hair for a moment, then looked back at Galen. “Please, just come back to the board room. Their time is valuable.”

“So is mine.” Galen’s wrist chronometer vibrated for a moment, then showed a text message from his agent, Mr. Burwell
. Just get in there
.

“Okay. Lead the way, neat hair lady.”

The junior executive gave a crooked, closed-mouth smile and turned and walked back to the board room. Galen followed five steps behind.

After Galen entered the board room, the junior executive closed the doors behind him and took a seat at a small school-type desk in the corner to the left, and turned her attention to the noteputer laying on it.

The chairman said, “Have a seat, relax.”

Galen picked up the folding chair and set it to the side, then took another step forward to lean against the table, palms down on its surface, and locked eyes with the chairman. “It this some kind of joke?”

“Considering the reason we called you here-”

Galen raised his hands, formed into claws, quivering at either side of his face. “Chairman, I asked for this meeting five weeks ago and you kept blowing me off.” He put his hands down. “But suddenly you found time for me, when I suspended the quarterly dividend; that got your attention.”

The chairman leaned back in his chair and smirked. “Your continued service as the commander of the Jasmine Panzer Brigade is tenuous at best.”

Galen stood up straight and placed his hands on his hips as he spoke. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear. My enlistment in the Brigade expires in less than two months. If you wish to retain my services as Commandant, there are a few things we need to work out.”

“Such as?”

“You strongly suggest I take the Haden contract, which is a pre-staged battle between evenly matched forces, fought primarily for the amusement of spectators. I want nothing to do with it.”

The chairman waved his left hand as though he were shooing away gnats. “That’s a serious charge, and very hard to prove. Besides, it pays very well.”

“But it’s true none the less. I take my killing very seriously; I do not fight for fun. And one more thing you need to know about me. I have more money than I will ever need.” Galen reflected on that statement and realized it was true. He used about a third of his savings to purchase the bar where his mother worked, then deeded it to her. And still he had enough to live what he considered a comfortable life, just from the interest on what remained of his savings. Saved during the past five years while in the employ of the Brigade.

The chairman was now standing. “Sergeant! Are you listening to me? I asked what contract you would prefer since you don’t want to take the Haden contract.”

“I’m a Command Sergeant Major,” corrected Galen. “I want the Fuente de la Juventud contract.”

A board member on the left snickered. Galen looked at him. Fat, old, scraggly grey eyebrows, a pencil-thin mustache and a severe overbite that suggested his chin may have been blown off by a laser bolt. Galen realized the man was born that way and almost felt sorry for him.

The board member spoke, “That’s with EugeneX Corporation. Better get paid up front.”

Galen cleared his throat. “It’s a one-year contract to set up a city’s defense infrastructure and establish and train a police and defense force for a new settlement, built from the ground up as settlers arrive. They want to establish new research facilities on Juventud.” Galen looked back at the chairman. “It pays just as much as Haden, and gives the Brigade a chance to train up new recruits, fill critical leadership slots and develop stronger bonds within the unit structure.”

“Okay, that’s settled. Take the Fuente de la Juventud contract if you want. I can’t stop you anyway. Now, about our dividends.”

“I suspended dividends last quarter to make payroll, hire and train replacements and make capital improvements to the units defending Alamo. Specifically, hiring a second battle cruiser and purchasing eight Interceptors to replace the ones we’d lost.”

The chairman folded his arms across his chest, which made his belly look bigger. “Sergeant Major, those costs are less than half what the Brigade will realize as income from the sale of captured enemy equipment. Your suspension of the dividend was vindictive, and completely unnecessary.”

“That income has not yet been realized. I would have had to borrow money in order to make the dividend payment, which clearly would reduce the Brigade’s profits over time. The expense of unnecessary borrowing is not justified, in my estimation.”

“As I said before, your position as commander is tenuous at best.”

Galen didn’t want to, but he smiled. “Look, gentlemen, and lady,” he looked at the junior executive in the corner, then back to the chairman. “The Brigade would suffer a brief period of unemployability while a new commander takes over. You’d have to find a Colonel, or a senior Lieutenant Colonel at least, and hire all his staff officers and any other old friends, commissioned officers most likely, that he wants to bring with him. Or her, depending on who you hire. The short-term costs would be enormous.”

The chairman said, “The possibility of winding down this Brigade, disbanding the soldiers, selling off its property, is on the table.”

“As it stands now, as long as I am the Commandant, because I assumed command in response to an act of treachery by the previous commander, the Bonding Commission has granted this Brigade an exception to policy that allows the Brigade to continue to function as a licensed and bonded unit, for up to sixteen more months, with no commissioned officers. But the moment I cease to be the Commandant, that loophole slams shut.” The board members all knew this. Galen wanted to make it clear he knew it too.

The board member on the left said, “Will we get our dividend next quarter, or will something else come up?”

Galen looked at the chairman and said, “Approve my request to extend my enlistment as Commandant for the next sixteen months, and I’ll see what I can do about paying dividends next quarter.”

The chairman said, “Very well, that will be all, Sergeant Major. You may go now.”

Galen gave an audible half-cough. “I have one more point to make.”

The chairman stared, blinked once, sat down.

“Good.” Galen looked around the room, then back at the chairman. “Now that I have your attention… I do recognize that each and every shareholder in this room has retired from mercenary service, and I respect that. Your money is invested and you want a return, a dividend. I invite each and every one of you to make use of your prior military experience and your social connections to add value to this Brigade. I ask that this board construct a plan for refilling the commissioned officer positions of the Brigade with capable men and women who will have the best interest of the Brigade foremost in their minds. I’m sacrificing more than a year of my life so you can have the time you need to do it right. I trust you to make the most of it.”

Galen then stood at attention and waited.

“Dismissed,” said the chairman.

Galen executed an about-face and walked out of the board room.

He walked past the elevators and took the stairs instead, down three flights to the first floor of the Jasmine Panzer Brigade business headquarters building. He left through the back entrance and walked across the lush grass of the quadrangle and kept walking until he came to the exterior door of his office, his Commander’s Entrance. He entered and sat at his desk. There were two couches, one either side of a sturdy coffee table, where four men sat waiting. Mr. Burwell, an aging businessman, was employed as the Brigade’s designated agent to recruit new members and handle personnel management; Sergeant Major Tad Miller, the Brigade’s operations non-commissioned officer, Sergeant Major Marion Spike, the executive non-commissioned officer, and Master Sergeant Sevin, the Brigade’s troubleshooter, for lack of a definable job description.

Galen drummed his fingers on the desk. “Well, don’t talk all at once.”

Sevin took his biker-booted feet off the coffee table and leaned forward and looked to his left toward Galen. He wore faded jeans and a plain white t-shirt under an epauletted brown leather jacket hung on broad shoulders. Long black hair pulled back in a ponytail, the goatee beard and mustache showing some grey. “You just came from the meeting, you tell us.”

Galen said, “Fair enough. We’re taking the Juventud contract, and I’ll be Commandant for the next sixteen months. The board will coordinate with Burwell to get our officer slots filled, a process that will be finalized some time next year. Until then, we will continue to function as-is.”

“Just like I wanted,” said Tad. His red hair was still cropped short, academy style. Multi-colored reflective running shoes, bright orange cargo pants and a light jacket, lime-green. Today he also wore oversized mirrored bronze-lens sunglasses with bright yellow plastic framing. And a tie-dyed t-shirt under the jacket, a counter-clockwise swirl pattern starting at the midpoint between his belly button and chest.

Spike said, “Any air assets for this contract?” He wore knee-high boots, dark blue wool trousers tucked into them, a brown flannel shirt under a black bomber jacket. His handlebar mustache and conservative haircut seemed almost plastic, held in place with styling spray.

Galen nodded. “Nope. The air on Juventud is too thin for effective use of Helos. We’re taking everybody but the year-one troops and the training and admin staff. And Alamo, that’s a separate contract, and it ties up all our Interceptors.”

Mr. Burwell chuckled. His white hair and dark grey business smock and soft-soled shoes made him the most respectable looking man in the room. With fingers interlaced, hands held with palms on his belly he said, “Well somebody will be busy, overseeing operations here on Mandarin.”