The War for Profit Series Omnibus (62 page)

She looked over the choices, stored them on her communicator and changed the wall screen to a movie. “That was easy. Watch a vid?”

“Sure.”

The opening scene was a large mansion on a hill.

I said, “What’s your name?”

“Sergeant Emily Dickenson. My feet are killing me.” She took off her boots.

“Emily.” I took off my boots. The vid’s scene panned around a productive farm. Grain poured from the pipe boom of a harvester into the bed of the cargo truck that followed it across a golden field.

She put her arm around my waist. “These coveralls itch.”

I stood slowly, she stood and faced me. I hugged her and leaned in for a kiss but she stepped back and took off her coveralls. Nude tone panties to match her T-shirt. She sat on the bed. I removed my coveralls and sat next to her. The scene of the movie changed to the farm owner at his desk going over reports, his wife massaging his shoulders. I turned to Emily and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She turned to me and gripped my head in her hands and kissed me full on the mouth for a full minute. I broke away just long enough to dim the lights and then put my left hand behind her neck and leaned forward and kissed her again.

After stand-to and chow I was in the rec room standing at the back near the door, leaning against the wall. The tables and chairs and game tables and everything else were bolted down, of course, but most of my company found a way to face the front of the room. A ship security crew member with plenty of attitude to go with the ton of stripes on her sleeves and badges on her chest stood there with a civilian man who held some sort of long gun, nearly as long as his arm. I never could figure out fleet rank, just knew that more meant more. Likely, the sturdy brunette outranked everyone else in the room.

The civilian spoke, “Listen up, troopers. I’m here to tell you about your primary personal weapon for this contract.” The civilian wore a gray hunting vest over his tan coveralls. His close-cropped gray hair and mustache and goatee beard gave away his status as retired from military service. Part of the new equipment fielding team. “Your likely opponents for this contract make extensive use of powered battle armor. What you need is something that can punch through it, taking that advantage away from them. I present to you the BlackStripe Arms Eliminator.”

He held the weapon up over his head in his left hand.

A trooper said, “A shotgun!”

The fleet security woman said, “Silence! Until you leave my spacecraft, you will call this weapon the Eliminator.”

The various monitors all around the rec area began showing a live feed of the civilian as he spoke, “This is a twenty millimeter smooth bore that is specifically designed to fire armor piercing rockets sufficient to destroy the powered body armor used by the indigenous population of Tumbler.” He held the weapon in both hands as though at port arms. It was just under a meter long, its hand grip part of the stock held in his right hand, the foregrip held in his left hand. He pulled back on the foregrip. “It’s a pump action, completely mechanical, rugged and reliable with no electronical doo dads to go out on you. The sight is a V in the back and a blade in the front. The rounds go in here,” he indicated an opening below the chamber, just in front of the trigger housing, “and come out here.” He aimed the weapon right at the recorder. I looked at the nearest monitor and saw the gaping maw of the weapon taking most of its viewing area.

He picked up a round. “This is a dummy round for the purpose of demonstration. It represents the primary ammunition for the Eliminator.” It was a caseless round, a projectile with a disk of solid propellant at is base, a primer imbedded in the center of the base. He pushed the round into the loading feed. Then he put in two more. “The tube magazine located under the barrel holds three rounds.” He then pumped the foregrip. “I just put one in the pipe and now I’ll put one more round in the magazine to bring the total load to four.” He did.

The fleet security rep said, “Okay, while that information soaks into your heads, I want you all to file out into the hallway, then on your way back in we’ll issue you your weapon and four dummy rounds and you’ll stay here and practice until you can do everything you just saw him do. When I give the command of ‘do it’ I want you all to get the hell out of here, then turn right back around and get your new weapon on the way back in and we’ll get back to training. Do it!”

I managed to get out of there first and dawdled along the hallway effectively enough to be the last one back in. The civilian stood just inside to the right of the entrance and reached to the weapon rack behind him and handed me an Eliminator and four dummy rounds. I re-occupied my spot just to the left of the door. The civilian went back to the front of the room.

The Eliminator was just under a meter long, maybe two kilograms in mass. The stock was dark brown, solid plastiform, like a hunting rifle more than a tactical weapon, the hand grip not like a pistol grip but part of the stock. The receiver and barrel and tube magazine were metal, a short of sheen to it but not dull or reflective either. The rear sight was a V notch a centimeter high, the front sight a blade nearly two millimeters wide. I looked down the twenty millimeter bore. The inside was chromed, or at least it looked like chrome, shiny as a mirror. I then held the weapon at the ready and pulled back on the foregrip. The action was smooth as silk and made an impressive ‘chunk’ sound. I pushed the foregrip forward and it locked with another ‘chunk’ sound. So far, so good.

“Don’t get ahead of me!” the civilian was at the front of the room, pointing and glaring at me. The security woman also glared at me. I smiled.

The civilian said, “Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, we will perform a function check. Grip the stock by the hand grip of the stock with your firing hand. Now grip the foregrip with your other hand and hold the weapon at the ready.” He glanced around to ensure the troopers were caught up. “Pull the foregrip all the way back. Now push it forward until it clicks. Good. At his time, move your firing hand thumb until it is centered on the stock and press down on the nub until you feel it click and it should stay down. Good. Everyone good? Okay. Now use your firing hand index finger to pull back on the trigger. Nothing should happen, the weapon safety is engaged. Now use your thumb to press the safety again, the nub should click and then rise back up to its previous position. Now pull the trigger.”

Solid, certain staccato of clicks came from the weapons all around the room.

“Now pull the foregrip back and push it forward again. Good. Now pull the trigger. You have just performed your first function check. Now do that ten more times on your own and hold your Eliminator at port arms so I’ll know you’re done.”

I did six function checks and held my weapon at port arms. Ten times seemed excessive to me. I suppose the rest of the troops felt the same way, since I was nearly the last one done. A couple more troops stopped after another check, likely not doing all ten but not wanting to be too far out of tolerance with the group.

The civilian said, “Bullshit. Whatever, okay we’ll move on to loading. Take three dummy rounds and shove them into the tube magazine. Insert the tip of the round into the opening in front of the trigger guard. Work the action to chamber a round, engage the safety and then insert the fourth dummy round.”

We did.

“Good. You troopers are pretty smart. As you may be aware, this weapon employs caseless rounds so there is no ejection port. To remove the dummy rounds, aim the weapon at the floor, release the safety and pull the trigger; the entire dummy round should slide out onto the floor.”

The troopers hesitated. Nearly all of them were combat veterans and were accustomed to having the pulling of a trigger of a loaded weapon to result in a loud noise and great destruction and grievous bodily harm. And they were in an enclosed environment with no legitimate targets.

The ship security woman said, “Don’t be scared, it’s just dummy rounds. Point the weapon at the floor, release the safety and pull the trigger. Then jack the other three dummy rounds through the cycle. It’s too easy. Do this now!”

I did. The rounds fell to the floor and tried to roll away but I stepped on them. I felt very uncomfortable, dry-firing a weapon that was pointed at my feet. But I did it, and picked up my dummy rounds and was finished about halfway before everyone else. Then a couple of minutes of troops picking up and passing around dummy rounds until they all had four again.

The security woman and the civilian were talking quietly during this process. Then she raised her voice and said, “All right. Dump the dummy rounds into the box on your left as you exit this room. Keep your weapon and bring it with you to all other training sessions. Dismissed.”

I ducked out the door and made my way toward the lounge. A group was in there still getting training on the Eliminator, so I doubled back toward the lift. As I passed by the rec center, I saw another group heading in.

“Sergeant Slaughter!”

I spun around. It was Corporal Parks. “What’s up?”

“Not much to do with all the common areas locked for training.”

I nodded. “I’m headed to my room. Gonna watch a vid or something.”

Parks said, “Have you been to the observation blister? I think its open.”

I shrugged. “Why not?”

Parks led the way. We got on the lift and went up four levels, then up a hallway toward the front of the ship. He pushed on double doors on sprung hinges and entered the observation blister. It was a domed area about thirty meters across and ten meters high. The dome was clear, allowing a view of the stars and the space between them. The nearest stars, if I stared long enough, I could tell they were moving. The area was not being used for training and only a half dozen troops were there, gazing out.

Parks said, “Check this out.” He went all the way to the back and leaned against the wall and looked up and pointed. “Look.”

I stood next to him and just above the skin of the ship was the crest of a yellow orb, the corona of the sun of Tumbler. Headed straight for it. “Awesome.”

“Sometimes you can make out the planet. Depends on the time. When we get closer…”

“I’ll be back.”

Trooper
Caldwell came in. “What are you two doing?”

I pointed up. She looked. “Cool.” She stepped back to the wall to see just a little more.

More troops came in. I decided to leave. Looked to me like Parks and Caldwell would finally hook up and I didn’t want to be in the way. In the hallway I met Emily. She carried her Eliminator. “Hello.”

She said, “Hi.”

I took her hand and led her into the dome and pointed out the sun.

There were about thirty people there now, competing for space at the back wall. One said, “Look! To the far left.”

To the far left was a bright, shining disk, tiny but brilliant. A planet certainly.

Voices amongst the crowd, “Tumbler?”

“Maybe.”

“No, it’s the second planet.”

“Maybe.”

“I like it.”

I took Emily’s hand again. “To my room?”

“Sure, why not.”

We left, down the hall, down the lift, down another hall and to my room at the end. I turned on the vid and picked a mindless comedy show about teens producing their own show. I muted the audio.

“Got any food?” she said.

“Yup. Watch your feet.” I opened the big single drawer under the bed and pulled out two field rations. “Spag or Ham Loaf?”

“Spag.” She grabbed the spaghetti pack. I lifted the panel just below the vid screen to level and pushed it back about three centimeters. It was a fold-away desk that took me about two hours to find and figure out the first time. Its far end came to the very edge of the door opening. Under there was also nestled a fold-up chair. I pulled it out and set it up. “Sit here if you want.”

“Okay. Heat this up?” She handed me the spaghetti pack from the opened ration. I pulled the heat tab. The pack expanded a bit, then was hot to the touch. I set it on the desk for her. Then I pulled two water bottles from the underbed drawer and handed her one before I sat on the bed to eat.

She said, “You ever think about after, when you leave the service?”

“Nope.” I chewed the ham loaf.

“How long you been in?”

“Twelve years.”

She spooned spaghetti into her mouth, eyes smiling at me.

“I’m on my first hitch. Probably get out after this.”

I swallowed, “Then do what?” I took another bite.

“Hmm. Nothing. I have enough money to go home and live okay for the rest of my life.”

“Hmm. Me too. But I don’t want too. This is a good life. Can’t see myself as a civilian.”

She drank, opened the peaches cup, sipped away the juice. “Yes. Maybe…”

“The poet said, ‘You can never go home again.’ ”

She chewed a peach slice. A fleck of yellow was at the corner of her mouth. “You don’t know me at all. What if we…”

I shrugged. “You’re a Battalion Training, Tasking, Schools and Movement NCO, just like me. Everybody hates you but has to be nice to you, and you have no friends. Just like me.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

“Yep.” I reached out and picked the peach speck from the corner of her mouth and licked it off my finger. “Taste good, too.”

She stuffed the lunch litter into its original bag and rolled the top down and tucked it in tightly. I did the same with my trash, took her bag and along with mine took it into the bathroom and shoved it into the recycle chute. Then I sat back down on the bed. She put away the chair and desk and changed the vid to a movie about some steam-age epic about a country that had gone to war with itself. Large land armies marching on foot, some on horses, used black-powder weapons. Some handheld, some bigger ones hauled around on two-wheeled carriages behind horses. Sometimes a soldier had a saber to hack at enemies… but mostly it was dialogue and romance, civilians doing their thing behind the lines. I fell asleep after an hour, snuggled up with Emily.

The vid was over when the alarm went off and I changed into Physical Training clothes and grabbed my Eliminator and made my way to the fitness center. Captain Thews was at the entrance.

She pointed at my Eliminator, “You too, Sergeant? I thought you’d know better.”

“The instructor said to bring it to all training sessions, Ma’am.”

“I know. Their training sessions, not my PT. Go ahead and start, thirty minutes cardio and you’re done for today.”