The War for Profit Series Omnibus (78 page)

Galen stood at the bow and leaned on the forward rail of the Northern Republic Fleet’s flag ship and peered at the dark coast ahead. It was still dark but the sun was about to rise behind him. His personal communicator buzzed and he answered. It was a call from Tad.

“Hey, sir. The Legion reports all secure. I’m ordering the Brigade to start its landing now.”

“Thank you. Any problems, you call me. All right?”

“You got it, boss.” Tad paused.

“Jasmine Six out.” Galen ended the call.

He was alone, wanted to be alone. All his staff and subordinate commanders had things to do, were busy elsewhere. But they knew what to do. Every detail was worked out, to include alternate courses of action. Nothing for Galen to do but watch.

A crusty shellback walked up from behind and stood on Galen’s left and held a flotation vest out at arms length. “Put this on, sir, if you want to lean on my rail.”

Galen stared for a moment and then took the vest and put it on. The sailor was lean and wiry, a crusty shellback indeed. Chevrons and rockers and service stripes polluted most of the left sleeve of his uniform.

He winked at Galen. “Thankee, sir.” He then leaned on the rail and spit into the sea, stood straight and offered his hand. “Master Chief Jones at your service.”

Galen shook his hand. The hilltops beyond the coast line brightened as sunlight struck them first. The Master Chief turned and climbed a ladder well up to the ship’s bridge. Galen watched the landing craft leave the transport ships.

They were hovercraft and they each carried full armored platoons all the way up the beach to where the beach met the woods and they stopped to let the vehicles drive off. Then they went back down the beach and moved back to the transport sips to pick up more Brigade units. It would take seven trips in all, shuttling back and forth from ship to shore. The recon company and the light infantry battalion piggybacked with the light tank battalion on the first load. Always good to get the dismounted infantry out there early. The second trip, the Cav squadron. The Mechanized Infantry battalion took two trips, elements of the Brigade support battalion mixed in with it. The fifth trip was the Stallion tank battalion, followed by the Hercules heavy tank battalion.

A landing craft loaded with Galen’s command tank and one of the Ajax tanks pulled along side the flag ship. The Master Chief dropped a rope ladder over the side and Galen stepped over the rail and climbed down. Once aboard the landing craft, Galen removed the flotation vest and tossed it back up to the Master Chief. He caught it, set it aside, gave a proper hand salute and hauled the ladder back up.

Galen climbed up on his tank, popped the hatch of the cupola and sank into the seat. He then lowered the seat and closed the hatch and put on his Combat Vehicle Crewmember helmet.

He spoke into the mike, “Wine, Bier, y’all miss me?”

“Nossir.”

Galen said, “Not much longer. We’ll be on dry land soon enough. How’s your seal, Bier?”

“Water tight, sir.”

“Corporal Wine. Guns up?”

“Not yet, sir. We’re in ‘hold fire’ until we’re off this landing craft.”

“Good answer.” Galen checked his status screens. Little blue symbols showed the disposition of every platoon of the Brigade and the Legion as well. No surprises, no need to call anyone just yet. The Legion’s report was impressive. No losses, eighty four enemy killed, no prisoners taken.

Galen felt the front tilt up a bit and knew the landing craft had reached the beach. It moved up to where the sand met the woods and set down. Galen popped his hatch and stood. “Let’s go, driver.”

Bier drove off the craft and into the woods and stopped on the right side of Spike, the Brigade XO, and his tank. Galen looked back and saw the Ajax creep off the landing craft, saw four more of them roll off four other landing craft. They were big. The commanders standing in their cupolas looked tiny, the forty millimeter flak guns in the cupola longer than the commanders were tall. The coaxial ten millimeter Gauss machine guns in the cupolas were hardly noticeable. The five Ajax tanks formed into a column and drove into the woods, deep into the woods to conceal themselves.

The landing craft left, back to the transport ships. The fleet would leave soon.

Galen climbed out of his tank and climbed up on Spike’s tank. Spike raised his seat and engaged the external audio pickups of his commo helmet. “What’s up?”

Galen said, “This was too easy. We overestimated enemy capability.”

Spike said, “I’m not complaining.”

Galen said, “We need to talk. Get Sevin and Tad, meet in front of my tank.”

“Yessir.” Spike dropped back down in his tank. Galen climbed off and went to stand in front of his vehicle. He removed his helmet and rubbed his head. Spike joined him and then Tad walked up.

Tad said, “What’s up?”

“Waiting for Sevin. We need to talk.”

Tad and Spike removed their helmets. Tad pulled a power bar from his pocket and ate it. Spike drank iced tea from his canteen. Galen stood, arms folded across his chest. A Hornet light tank pulled up and Sevin climbed out. He stood in front of Galen and removed his helmet and said, “What’s up, sir?”

Galen said, “Your feint to the northwest. I want to cancel that. Your thoughts?”

Sevin shrugged. “You’re the boss. But I’ll need something else to do.”

Spike said, “It’s part of the plan. Cancelling it is disruptive.”

Tad said, “It’s doable. I can get the orders out in time.”

Galen said, “Spike. Your objections. Explain further.”

Spike said, “It’s the enemy’s job to disrupt our operations and cause confusion. Changing the plan ourselves just makes their job easier.”

Galen said, “Here’s my take on it. We overestimated the enemy here for this landing, which means our assumptions were inaccurate. As our plan moves into more complex operations, every miscalculation becomes more important. The feint to the northwest by the Cav squadron and Light tank battalion, led by the recon company, was meant to draw out any forces the enemy had available for counterattack.”

Sevin said, “The feint was to attack and neutralize any air defense sites to the northwest, to make them think we were trying to open up an air corridor to make the capitol city of
Batista vulnerable to air attack. And we have the forces to do just that. But from what I’ve seen so far, I don’t think our enemy is smart enough to figure that out. We’d have to actually follow that attack all the way through and actually bomb their capitol before they’d realize it.”

Galen said, “My concern exactly. We’ll not divide our forces. We’ll push out from here, move southwest to attack and seize the
port of Bristol. Punch a few holes in its walls and neutralize its air and space defenses, and then the Northern Republic surface fleet can move in and provide fire support while we take the city.”

Sevin said, “So my task force will be the rear guard?”

Galen nodded. “Nope. You’ll be out front as the vanguard. Also, we’ll slow the pace. We’ll take four days moving down to attack Bristol.”

Tad said, “Why so slow?”

Galen smiled. “I want any enemy forces available for counterattack to attack us. Whittle down their numbers. Leave them weak and demoralized before we even begin our march toward Batista City.”

Sevin grinned. “With any luck, they’ll get between us and
Bristol.”

Spike nodded.

Galen said, “Any other concerns?”

They stood silent.

“Dismissed.” Galen put his helmet back on and climbed up on his tank and sank into his seat and lowered it, set the alarm timer to ninety minutes, closed the hatch and drifted off to sleep.

Three days later the Brigade paused its advance toward Bristol for a short rest. The Brigade S-2 and S-3 and S-4 command post carriers were parked in a horseshoe and Galen stood with his back to the S-3 track and faced his staff. Sevin was the last to arrive, his skimmer parked to partially block off the open end. Galen removed his helmet and said, “You’re probably wondering why I called you here.”

Tad said, “You’re the boss.”

Karen smiled, “I think you’re bored. It’s been three days and no real contact.”

Koa said, “That’s right. Nothing but tiny outposts. We’ve been running both air and ground drones, nothing. It’s like they’re ignoring us.”

Sevin said, “So far all we’ve done is sneak up on sleepy detachments. We’ve stopped killing them, started taking prisoners instead. More challenging; but that’s getting boring too.”

Galen said, “Well I’m probably overestimating the enemy again, but I think they would like very much to catch us in a hammer and anvil maneuver. The walled city of
Bristol with its fortifications and shielding and artillery emplacements would be an excellent anvil and a large force able to move in behind us would be a great hammer. We’d be in a difficult position.”

Sevin said, “I can hang back, get dug in and quiet. If they get in behind you when you reach the city, I’ll be right behind them. That will put them in a difficult position.”

Galen nodded. “All right. Tonight you’ll break right, to our northwest, and go to ground. Tribunus?”

“Yessir?”

“You’ll take over as vanguard.”

“Roger, got it.” Tribunus Tribula looked at Sevin. “Zero two?”

Sevin said, “Sure, why not. Get up behind me and halt, I’ll get my troops out of your way and then you call me and we’ll complete the handoff.”

Tribula nodded and smiled.

A Sergeant stuck his head out of the S-2 track, “Sir, you need to see this.”

Koa said, “Can it wait?”

“A minute, maybe. I think the Colonel wants to see it too.”

Galen said, “We all straight?”

“Yessir,” in unison.

“Dismissed, clear out.”

Karen and Tad got back in their vehicles and the S-3 track and the S-4 track and the skimmer left the area. Tribula jogged off toward his battle car and left the area on a cushion of air.

Galen and Koa walked up the assault ramp of the S-2 track and the Sergeant pointed at the monitor. “A call from General Theil on ULF, keeps requesting a connection every thirty seconds.”

Galen said, “Get me Pescador.”

The Sergeant handed him a headset and punched a button on the comms console and gave a thumbs-up. Galen put on the headset and said, “Hey Chief, this is Jasmine Six. Fire mission.”

The sound of a throat being cleared. “Sent it, over.”

Galen swiped at the map display and scrolled past
Batista City a few klicks to a mansion on a mountaintop overlooking the city. He tapped it, boxed it. Labeled it Target GR00001, sent it through tacfire. “You good with that, Chief?”

“Roger. You want it suppressed, neutralized or destroyed?”

“Destroyed, at my command. I might decide to EOM. So stand by to blast it off the map, or not.”

Chief Pescador said, “Roger. We’re in position ready to fire.”

Galen switched the headset to receive only and said to the Sergeant, “Okay, take the call.”

The Sergeant acknowledged the call. Comms went up to a
Northern Republic satellite through a laser beam, converted to ULF by the satellite to make the connection with Theil. There was incoming video and the Sergeant put it on the tac screen. General Theil, the self-appointed President of Batista, sat in an overstuffed chair in an ornate grand sitting room sipping a glass of whisky from a tumbler. He wore his full ceremonial uniform and behind him stood half a dozen officers in their dress uniforms. Galen recognized a couple of the faces as former Panzer Brigade officers.

General Theil said, “Hello. I want to thank you for accepting my call. No video? I’m disappointed. How will I know with whom I’m speaking?”

Galen nodded at the Sergeant.

Theil then said, “Ah, much better. Looks like you could do with a long and relaxing soak in a tub, my old friend.”

Galen said, “I see you have a retinue of your loyal officers still following you around. I hope you pay them well.”

Theil said, “Well enough. Loyalty is priceless.”

Galen said, “You wanted to talk?”

“Yes,” Theil sipped his whisky. “You see, there is no reason for us to fight. You could simply maneuver around my country for a few months, collect your pay and then leave when your contract expires. I’ll certainly make it look good from my end, many great maneuvers here and there, our armies caught in a dance of a grand maneuver battle without ever reaching a decisive point, without ever engaging at all.”

Galen said, “Pardon my back, I have an awful cough.” He turned away from the screen, coughed, switched the headset to Receive/Transmit and whispered, “Fire,” and coughed again.

He heard Chief Pescador say, “Shot, over.”

Galen coughed again and faced back toward the screen. “My troops are eager to prove themselves in battle. This dance you propose could cause a mutiny.”

Theil said, “I suppose I could give them some militia to gnaw on. But not too much. I’ll still need my army to face the
Northern Republic after you leave. I do intend to defeat them, after all.”

Behind Theil, a messenger scurried into the room and handed a note to the junior officer present, a Lieutenant. He saw the note and his eyes went wide and he handed the note off to the Captain next to him.

Galen said, “I do have concerns about my unit’s reputation. I can’t have word get out I’m willing to overlook the best interests of my employer for the sake of an old friend.”

The Captain read the note and his jaw fell. His mouth agape, he handed the note to the Major standing in front of him.

Theil said, “Don’t worry about that. Our maneuvers, they will provide you with ample opportunity to explain your own brilliant maneuvers. Any expert analysis of our confrontations will exonerate you for not making contact. It may even gain you some personal recognition from the Bonding Commission itself. I do still have a friend or two working there. I could put in a good word.”

The Major’s face was grim as he skipped the Lieutenant Colonel, reached across him to hand the note directly to the Colonel standing on Theil’s left. The Colonel read the note.

Galen put on his headset. “Splash?”

Chief Pescador said, “In sixteen seconds.”

Theil said, “Splash? I don’t understand.” The Colonel handed the note to Theil. He read it and stood and said, “Now that’s just rude!” He whirled to face his staff. “To the bunker!”

The screen showed the officers scrambling to leave the room. Then pieces of the roof fell, the room shook, filled with dust. An explosion and then the video feed cut out. The transmission ended.

Galen said, “Chief, you’re spot-on. Keep up the fires for as long as prudent.”

“Roger. Rounds complete. Displacing now. Moving to RP.”

Galen said, “Good shooting. Jasmine Six out.” He removed the headset and handed it back to the Sergeant, placed his hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Koa said, “You might want to get out of here, I’m displacing.”

Galen stepped out of the S-2 track and the ramp raised and closed behind him. The track pulled away and Galen jogged back to his tank. Spike stood in his tank’s hatch and yelled, “What was that all about?”

Galen climbed up on his tank and yelled back to Spike, “We just blew up Theil’s house.”

Spike frowned. “We can do that?”

Galen said, “He called me from there. He was in uniform and everything, with his whole staff standing behind him. Obviously he was using it for military purposes. That put it on the battle map and made it a legitimate target.”

Spike smiled. “But it was such a nice house.”

“Well it looks more like an infiltration training course now.” Galen sank into his seat and connected his helmet. “Let’s go, driver.”

***

Chief Pescador rode with his hatch closed. It was the first time the
Ajax tanks had fired in combat and he was proud. Because he’d been bored earlier, waiting for a fire mission to come down, he’d already done a terrain to target analysis for firing on Batista City, looking for known and probable air defense weapons that could knock his rounds out of the air. Shifting to the palace was simple. Sent slug rounds to draw fire, some chaff rounds along the way to block air defense sensors, the penetrator rounds to get underground before exploding, the high explosive rounds set to go off on impact, the shrapnel rounds set to air burst over the target, with incendiary rounds to finish off the target and hamper rescue efforts.

The prep for the firing, watching the autoloader put the first round in the breach of the gun, the magnetic field suspending it and spinning it up to the proper rotational speed for ballistic stability, the magnetic field pulsing up the length of the gun tube to send the round down range…and the gun raising, the loader pushing in the rounds in rapid succession, the fires at various velocities and arcs so the rounds would come in at nearly the same time, delayed a moment here and there to avoid hitting each other. The fires coordinated with the other four
Ajax tanks. It was beautiful.

It was a lot, but not really enough. Battle Damage Assessment by satellite wasn’t all that great but it looked like the structure was certainly leveled. Most likely, personnel in a bunker would have survived. The penetrator rounds were a little off. It was a long shot, after all. The target was three hundred and forty two kilometers away.

The tanks stopped at the reload point. They’d fired nearly all their artillery rounds. Pescador climbed out of his cupola and watched as the ammo bin blowout panel opened, watched as the ammo truck driver used the truck’s crane to set a pallet of rounds on the turret. Pescador and his gunner busted the straps and removed the packing material and placed the rounds into their racks for the autoloader, checking each time to ensure the right type of round went into the correct rack. They then opened the box of fuses and slid them into their respective racks. Satisfied, Pescador piled the ammo residue on the pallet and used the now-loose straps to tie the material to the pallet and hooked it to the crane so the ammo crew could lift it away.

He then got back into his cupola and led his
Ajax platoon to occupy a new hide area.