The War for Profit Series Omnibus (8 page)

“Twenty meters, hiding behind a stack of boxes along the back wall.”

“Good.”

Galen ascended another step. He could see the top of the far wall now. He concentrated, focusing his thoughts. Then he crouched, easing up the steps. When he could creep no further, he charged. The enemy reacted quickly, aiming his missile launcher at the charging mercenary. Before his enemy’s brain could cause his finger to press the fire button, Galen veered right. Galen continued running, spun left and leaped over the stack of boxes the enemy stood behind. He put a boot right in the man’s chest, knocking him flat on his back. The launcher flew out of his hands and clattered on the floor. Galen straddled the man, shoving a knee into each of his biceps.

“You shot my track, you punk!”

The enemy stared at Galen in terror, his face distorted and ugly. Wide eyes and a silent scream. Galen hated him for being such a pitiful creature.

“You ain’t such a bad ass now, face to face, are you, punk?” Galen cocked his left hand all the way back and punched him in the face. The blow knocked the punk senseless. Galen paused, stood and dusted himself off, brushing away the dirty feeling that came from touching such a pitiful and cowardly creature. After his rage subsided and his breathing slowed to normal, Galen called his troops, “All secure. Team three, come get this EPW and put him in the track.”

Team one leader came on and said, “I still don’t see why you didn’t let me bag him.”

“He shot my track, so I want him to explain to our interrogators where he got the missile launcher. A fate worse than death.”

Galen waited for his troops to collect the prisoner and then called the Corporal, “All done with my objective. Can we go now?”

“I got to get clearance from higher, then wait for the cops to relieve us. We’ll be on our way in half an hour. What’s your ACE?”

“Ammunition, we used about one clip of ammo per troop and I fired about two hundred rounds of trail mix. Casualties, I have one troop in team two with a broken arm. Also, twenty seven enemy dead bodies. Equipment, we have it all plus a captured missile launcher. The track is damaged but drivable. We also have a prisoner.”

“Good job. Keep your sector clear until the cops get here,” said the Corporal.

Galen liked getting praise from his commander, even if he was just a Corporal. That Corporal knew what he was doing, leading a successful assault to reclaim an unruly town taken over by trouble makers. Galen was also pleased with himself. His combat training from the academy taught him skills that worked in battle. It gave him confidence not only in the skills had just used, but in everything else he knew about war fighting. His leadership training let him know it was time to pass on some praise to his troops.

“Team leaders, good job. Best troops I ever led in combat,” The only troops he ever led in combat, but they didn’t know that. He holstered his pistol and climbed back into the APC and took his position behind the twenty millimeter machine gun. The driver got back in his seat and the mercenaries waited for the Mandarin police to arrive.

They came, riding rickety cargo trucks driven by skinny, scruffy little men. The police were a motley crew, wearing civilian clothes mixed with their uniforms. It took nearly two hundred of them to secure the same area held by the thirty mercenaries. Their leader, the only cop dressed in a complete uniform, approached the Corporal.

“We understand you have a prisoner.”

“A prisoner of war taken under fire during combat operations. He’s a POW, not a criminal,” said the Corporal.

“Understood. I just want to see him, maybe I know him.”

“Okay, but no pictures and no talking. Just look.”

The police chief glanced into track two and saw the prisoner sitting with his left wrist handcuffed to his right ankle and his right wrist handcuffed to his left ankle.

“He’s quite a catch. An off-planet revolutionary terrorists. Should get you mercs quite a ransom.”

“Oh, we don’t expect much out of his people,” said the Corporal.

“I mean the Confederation. They’ll want to make a public spectacle of his trial and execution.”

“But that’s none of our business. We’ll just do our job, follow our orders.”

“Yes,” said the police chief. “That’s all it is to you mercenaries, just a job. Policemen actually care about right and wrong, about law and justice.”

“See you around, officer,” said the Corporal. “Panzer Grenadiers, mount up!”

The eastern sky was starting to glow with the same orange color of yesterday’s sunset. The sun was full in the sky when the convoy reached its destination, the combined-arms company headquarters. Galen checked his wrist, his personal communicator strapped to it: six twenty two in the morning. The men dismounted and the Corporal was met by the company commander, a Lieutenant.

“Good job out there.”

“Not a problem, sir. These snappers can fight! I think them three snapper Sergeants made a difference, that tall one took an EPW with his bare hands.”

“So you’re the one? Let me shake your hand.”

Galen extended his hand. The Lieutenant pumped it vigorously, talking the whole time. “Why, you’ll get a nice chunk of money for this. We’ll cut you in for ten percent of the ransom. Just don’t forget to spread the money around with the men who helped you. Divide half of your cut amongst the nine troops you led.”

The last statement was spoken in the tone of an order. The officer squeezed Galen’s hand hard to drive home his point. Galen looked him in the eye and said, “Yes sir, I’ll do exactly that.”

“You’ll do just fine here,” said the Lieutenant, switching back to a jovial tone. “You’ll be in charge of first squad in the anti-armor platoon. The other two Sergeants with you will be in charge of the two other squads. Chief Mortinson will be your boss. Oh, and hand-pick nine replacement troops for the anti-armor platoon from these snappers. I’d suggest you take the same nine guys you just led in your first battle.”

“Understood, sir, I’ll do that,” said Galen.

“I like you,” said the officer as he walked off, “You know how to take a hint.”

Galen gathered up his troops and Spike and Tad joined the group. The twelve men stood in a cluster and waited for more instructions. The Lieutenant came back and spoke to them. “You guys won’t regret your decision to volunteer for anti-armor duty.”

The troops shrugged, looked at one another for some clue of what the officer meant. They shifted into a formation, an automatic reaction to being addressed by an officer. The Lieutenant didn’t seem to care what they did, as long as they listened.

“I’m holding up two fingers. Does any one of you people know what that means?” No one did, they just thought the officer was stupid. “It means two subsistence paychecks. One for normal pay and another for hazardous duty.”

“Sir?” asked Galen.

“Now don’t you worry. Mortinson is a good Chief, just do what he tells you and you’ll be fine. Now I want you all to get on that helo for a ride out to your platoon headquarters.”

“Yes sir,” said Galen. He could think of nothing else to say. The Lieutenant seemed so aloof, so out of touch. The officer walked away, wandering off to do some more Lieutenant stuff somewhere else.

Galen was glad to see him go. “All right, mount up. Let’s ride.”

As the helo lifted him into the air, Galen looked down and watched the company headquarters disperse. The APCs were already gone and seven heavy-duty trucks left the meadow and pulled onto the dirt road leading to the west. The last vehicle to leave was the company commander’s skimmer, driven by a Troop. A Corporal manned the laser cannon mounted on its rear cargo deck. The Lieutenant sat in the passenger seat, studying an electronic clipboard. The helo pilot seemed eager to spill his human cargo but the mercenaries outsmarted him by strapping themselves in with safety harnesses. Galen looked at the mercenary with the broken arm.

“You going to be okay?”

“Check, Sergeant.”

“First thing when we land, have the medic exchange that pneumatic splint for a cast. I’ll tell the Chief to put you in a job that doesn’t require two arms.”

“Check, Sergeant.”

The helo flew at nap-of-the-earth altitude, staying low and following the terrain. After ten minutes of flying without dumping any of his passengers, the pilot gave up and hovered half a meter high over a field. The tree line fifty meters away was populated with grunts, and they came running out as soon as the helo’s skids tapped the ground. Galen and his troops debarked. They looked dirty and tired because they hadn’t slept for a couple of days and had carried out an assault the night before. However, the troops sprinting from the tree line were more tired and much dirtier. Camouflage face paint covered their exposed skin. Strips of torn burlap and discarded uniforms were tied to their bodies and equipment. The overall effect, when they ran across the open ground, made them look like a herd of charging bushes. Galen ordered his troops to run into the trees where the other troops had just come from. He waited for them to run past, counting them to make sure he had everybody. Then he turned to take a final look at the helo. The Sergeant in the passenger bay of the aircraft shouted, “See you later, snapper.”

Galen made a rude hand gesture at him while the helo flew away, then ran to the trees and joined his group.

“Raper, where you at?”

“Right here Chief,” said Galen. Chief Mortinson was a big man of girth, and almost two meters tall. His camouflage uniform looked like a sniper’s suit, covered with cloth strips and synthetic leaves to help him blend into his surroundings. It made the sturdy man look fat, but Galen knew he wasn’t to be trifled with. Mortinson moved with a casual grace and agility.

“Who’s my new assistant?”

“Hurston. His arm’s broken so he needs light duty for about four weeks,” said Galen.

“No, dumbass, I asked which of you three Sergeants will be my assistant, to run the platoon when I’m asleep.”

“Oh, that would be me, I’m senior here.”

“No, dumbass. I want the junior Sergeant.”

“Spike, you’re his assistant.”

“Thanks, dumbass. Now you’ll be in charge of second squad. That other Sergeant, what’s his name?”

“Tad Miller.”

“Miller, you’re in charge of third squad,” said the Chief.

“About Hurston--”

“Come here, you broke-dick troop.” Hurston came over. “You’ll work with my two band aids and help them out at the medic station. There’s two other broke-dicks there, so don’t feel bad.”

“Check, Chief.”

“Okay, all y’all. Follow me ranger file on down the trail to the platoon center. Big guy, take up the rear.”

Galen fell to the back of the column of mercenaries. They walked about four kilometers before they came to the platoon center. It was little more than a primitive camp. The only tent was an environmental bubble set up for the aid station.

“All right everybody, fall in!” said the Chief.

Camouflaged troops melted from the trees and formed up in a loose formation. Galen took his place at the head of second squad and the new troops filled in the spaces on the left. There were three ranks of twelve mercenaries each.

“We got our fresh guys, but they’re tired. They had a firefight last night. Welcome them to the platoon and make them feel at home.”

The camouflaged troops milled around, shaking hands and introducing themselves. The new arrivals followed suit and started mingling and talking as well.

“I’m Corporal Lotus, your first fire team leader.”

“Galen Raper. Glad to meet you.”

“So, how do you want to disperse the three fresh troops in the squad? I’ve seen them split up or all put in the same team. Seems to work just as well either way.”

“Well,” said Galen. “I’d like to keep them together so we don’t bust up the two teams already here, and won’t have to bust up any teams at the next rotation.”

“Okay. You got two Corporals now, so you’ll have to pick one of the fresh guys to be the leader in third team.”

“Good. You and me and the second team leader will talk to each of them and pick a leader together, kind of like a promotion board.”

“Good idea.”

“Fall back in,” said the Chief.

The platoon reassembled in tighter ranks this time. The Chief paced the length of the platoon a couple of times, took off his helmet and wiped his face with a strip of cloth hanging from his forearm. “Camouflage, gentlemen. It’s summer now and getting hotter every day. Should we cut back on how much junk we’re wearing or should we drive on with what we got?”

“I say we get rid of most of this garbage,” said Lotus.

“No way! We’ll get spotted, picked off for sure!” someone in the back.

“Okay: Galen, Sparks. You fall out into the woods twenty meters and conceal yourselves,” said the Chief.

They did.

“Now can anybody see either of them?”

“Yeah, I see Sparks. His camouflage is too dark.”

“Exactly. Our basic uniform matches the summer undergrowth. Strip that junk off. And don’t anybody accuse me of making you a naked target. Now we’ll put on a little face paint and use a little cloth on the weapons, but use it sparingly.”

Galen and Sparks came back in. The camouflaged troops stripped off most of their camouflage and the fresh guys tied some of the discarded cloth to their pistol belts and weapons. They also put on some face paint offered by the other guys and put pieces of synthetic leaves in the elastic bands of their helmets. Now no one could tell by just looking who the new arrivals were.

“Sergeants, meeting. Everybody else dismissed. Sleep plan.”

The troops wandered back to their places in the forest. The Chief sat down and leaned against a tree and the squad leaders followed suit. Spike joined them.

“What do you all want to be called? By me, I mean.”

“Anything but ‘dumbass,’” said the first squad leader.

“Not you, dumbass. You already know I can’t help it. I just say it without thinking. I’ve tried to kick the habit, even talked to a psychologist about it. That dumbass said I had some kind of battle fatigue post stress syndrome. So just bear with me. It ain’t much to ask.”

“I’m Haas,” said the first squad leader, for the benefit of the newly arrived Sergeants.

“Spike.”

“Galen.”

“Tad.”

The Chief closed his eyes tightly for a second, opened them wide, looked at the Sergeants in turn and then said, “Got it.”

“Are we going to keep the same structure, or do like you mentioned the other day?” said Haas.

“Oh, whatever you guys think. The way we are now, each squad has everything: one suppression team, one rocket team and one machine gun team. It might be better to have all the suppression in one squad, all the rockets in one squad, and all the machine guns in one squad.”

“Well,” said Tad, “I like it the way it is now. Each squad can lay an ambush to take out one tank.”

“But what if there’s more than one? Then you die,” said Haas.

“Then we go out together,” said Tad.

“Okay, what my real question is, do you want to work directly under me with the whole platoon functioning as a single group, or do you want me to delegate authority. In the tactical argument, we can deploy to suit the situation when it comes up.”

“A compromise,” said Galen. “Keep the platoon together. I like to have a higher-up right where I can talk to him. Also I’m new at this infantry thing and want plenty of examples to learn from. However, we should keep the squads the way they are, to make it easier for us to disperse our deployment if the situation calls for it.”

“All in favor?” said Mortinson.

The four Sergeants raised their hands.

“Good. I like you, dumbass. I mean, Galen. Now go to your squads and get some sleep. We won’t move until day after tomorrow, zero three hundred. I’ll brief you then.”

They left. Galen found his squad sitting in their entrenched fighting positions. Each foxhole held a team, two troops asleep and one awake. Lotus met Galen when he entered the area.

“You been outvoted, Sergeant. Me and Corporal Dees agreed on Clay for the new fire team leader. He was in the Norguard for six years as a rocket gunner and was a Sergeant for two years. The other two are good troops but just haven’t been in the military before.”