With that done, Hawkwood ordered the company to the unit’s assembly hall for a briefing concerning their contract.
“We have some basic information. The battleground specifics have yet to be determined. As you already know, we are bound for the Fallasta region. This region is in a temperate zone and is in early summer. Lovely weather for a fight. Our opponents are going to be the Keen Steel Heavy Mechanized Legion augmented by the Telestran Rifle Company. In addition to us, our effort consists of the Carmag and Savon light infantry companies along with the Barnett Rifles. The former two are traditional light infantry with armored truck transport and mortar support. Barnett is a typical rifle company with wheeled and tracked armored personnel carriers. The numbers work out to give us a slight edge in the amount of personnel as Keen Steel is a little understrength for a legion, but with heavy walkers, battle tanks, and exosuit infantry, they possess considerable striking power. They also utilize a considerable force of armored personnel carriers and conventional infantry. As the aggressors, they likely have at least some combat engineer support given the makeup of the battlefield.”
An image of an overhead representation appeared on the high wall behind Hawkwood.
“This is the general area where we will fight, but the red zone has yet to be determined. It appears to be a mixture of open ground and dense forest. We know there is a river not far from the production facility and I would hazard a guess it will feature in the field. We will know the final details once we arrive on Valenz.”
“Is the facility in question on the battlefield?” Captain Posey asked.
“It is not. The parties involved do not want to end up with a pile of rubble in exchange for the spent coin. A victory point will be designated prior to the commencement of operations.”
“Do we know who will oversee the combat and designate the red zone, sir?” Senior Sergeant Mitchell asked.
“The Arbiters Federation.”
Senior Sergeant Forrester stood. “What are the restrictions?”
“Fairly close to standard given the moderate scale of the conflict,” Hawkwood replied. “No satellite or surveillance drone uplinks allowed. No airpower other than vertibirds. Projectile weapons on vehicles are limited to one hundred and twenty millimeters. Energy weapons are limited to vehicles, defensive stations, and exosuits and have a power limit as well. Tube and rocket artillery is a no-go. Mortars are allowed, but limited to no larger than eighty-five millimeters. Land—”
A groan from the mortar personnel drew a look from most of their company mates.
“Eighty-five, that’s the limit,” Hawkwood said. “Don’t be surprised if there are geographical limits as to where they may be used as well. Before you groan again know this, there is a hard cap on the amount of mortar and main gun rounds and vehicle generator fuels. Land mines of all forms are forbidden. Atomic and biological weapons are forbidden. Chemical weapons are as well including riot agents and irritants. Incendigel and other incendiary weapons are no-go. Smoke is permissible. Most counter sensor means are allowed including those that negate night, thermal, and any other visual detection or enhancement devices; those that counter scent or ammonia detectors are a go; acoustic maskers, and all com jammers are in play so long as they do not interfere with medical, treaty, and umpire bands. We will receive the finalized rules and restrictions once in field barracks on Valenz.”
“What sort of casualty reporting are we going to have?” Sergeant Jackson asked.
“Full medical and prisoner reporting by unit,” Hawkwood said. “Red Light casualties will only be known to the Red Light, local medical personnel, and the arbiters. Prisoner reporting will occur once the information is received and relayed by the arbiters. Prisoners, of course, will be known to opposing forces as will be wounded or dead left behind and encountered by opposing force personnel.”
“What is the likelihood there may be some major alteration to the restrictions?” a young soldier asked.
“I would say none,” Hawkwood replied. “The Arbiters Federation runs a very sound field. They monitor all aspects of battles very closely and document them thoroughly. They also vigorously pursue cases of Accords and contract violations plus battlefield rules infractions. Generally speaking, major issues are rare when they oversee things.” Pausing to see if anyone else had any questions, he saw no one did. “Lift day commences at the crack of dawn four days from today. Transport to the shuttles will be here and woe unto those that miss them. You all know the consequences if you do. I will suggest you be sober prior to departure, but if you enjoy suffering, well, that’s your business. That said, enjoy your pass and be ready to fight upon your return.”
. . .
With the company released on pass until lift day, the majority of the unit members left the barracks though most of the greeners stayed on, a lack of funds the main reason. To their surprise, a great many veteran troopers remained in the barracks as well.
With time on their hands and knowing they would be separated and at risk once deployed, the seven friends from Carthage Infantry Institute discussed what their next move should be.
“There’s a chance one or more of us doesn’t see this place again,” Fran said.
“Aren’t we optimistic,” Paulino replied. “If that’s the case, let’s do something those of us that survive might remember the fallen by.”
“Like what?” Vincent asked.
“How about something like we did when we had passes from CII? That’s how we became close,” Sam said.
“Some off-campus food and some kind of entertainment?” Fran asked. She shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”
“Then the question is where,” Vincent said.
“Mercenary Square,” Briggs said. “We can hoof it there easy. I’d like to see it at least once before I die.”
The Red Light Company was one of many mercenary units that had barracks within close proximity to one another. Other than a few units that had ceased to exist and ceded their facilities to newer organizations, all of those in the area were free companies that dated back to the earliest days of the Accords.
On the heels of the free companies setting up shop, the central area within the cluster of barracks soon filled with a plethora of businesses that catered to the thousands of soldiers who served in the mercenary units. Competition and a large customer base made volume and good prices a must which in turn kept mercs as return customers. Restaurants, entertainments from mild to wild, bawdy houses, places of worship, insurance agencies, gear and weaponry dealers, and a host of others were within easy walking distance.
With far more choice than was available near CII, the seven wandered and saw the sights. Once hunger took hold, they sought an eatery. As they walked and argued good-naturedly among themselves as to where they should go, they came across a place dubbed, BRUNO’S BRAWL & GRILL. Universally agreeing Bruno’s was not for them, they soon saw their decision was a sound one when a drunken fight between uniformed members of three different mercenary units spilled from the front doors onto the sidewalk and into the street. A crowd quickly gathered to watch, followed closely by the arrival of Nelson City law enforcement personnel who swiftly ended the spectacle.
Once the enforcers secured the brawlers and placed them in vehicles, the crowd began to break up.
Seeing the greeners looking on, a rough-looking old trooper standing near them pointed at the bar. “New to Merc Square, huh?” With a fine-lined scar that traced a course down the side of his head bisecting his left ear the most impressive of several remnants of old wounds, it was obvious the man had been in the business for some time and had survived some hard knocks. “Most of the places here are ‘what you see is what you get’ joints. Troopers looking for scrapes go to places like that. Hell it’s right there in neoglow lights. Troopers like that will fight for fighting’s sake. For nothing. They’re just wired wrong.”
“What happens to them after they’re arrested?” Sam asked.
“They’re not usually arrested. The enfo
rcers drag’em off to their units provided nobody got seriously hurt. Likely they’ll end up restricted to barracks for awhile,” the veteran trooper said. “You must be from the Red Light. Seen a lot of them out tonight so I’d guess you’ll be off in a few. Valenz I heard.”
“That’s right.”
“Good luck to you. Oh, and if you’re looking to foul with your brain before you haul out, get your drinking or drugging done now and be stone cold sober before you shuttle out.”
“We keep hearing that,” Sam said. “I’m thinking it’s advice we’ll follow. Can you recommend a decent place to eat?”
“Marta’s. Up and take the next left. Your coin goes a long way there.”
“What sort of fare do they serve?” Brennan said.
“You name it and I’d wager they have it or something damned near to it. Belter grub to Old Earth standards to Valenzian delicacies to traditional Novarian dishes. I been eatin’ there for a good decade and never got sick once.”
Thanking the OCT, the seven decided to follow the man’s advice. A fine meal that left them stuffed followed by a live comedy show made for a fine evening before they returned to the Red Light’s barracks.
They found Senior Sergeant Forrester in the day room and Carl Paulino introduced Sam, Vincent, and Myles to the platoon leader. While not a particularly cordial man, the four greeners in his platoon found him approachable.
“Classmates?” Forrester asked.
“That’s right, sergeant. These guys took cushy jobs,” ‘Lino joked.
Forrester nodded. “Sniper team and loader. I heard. Each of those pursuits have their hazards. You’re all staying in the barracks until departure?”
“We went out for awhile,” Fran said, “but none of us know Nelson City well.”
“Didn’t want to miss departure either,” Brennan said.
“Staying in the barracks is the smart move. Good to see.”
“We don’t have that much money, senior sergeant,” Paulino said. “More poor than smart I think.”
Forrester smiled. “You will have coin at some point. When you do, conduct yourself as if you don’t. A lack of discipline can bite you on or off a battlefield.”
“Savings, right?” Fran replied.
“A smart trooper saves for retirement, pads their pension fund, or buys more life insurance instead of drinking it, buying flesh, or some other thing that sends your coin off with the breezes. You don’t know what’s going to happen. You might die next deployment or live to see a fat retirement. Prepare for both. Leave something for someone you care about or be set for your days as an ex-trooper. It’s a job so treat it like one. You don’t want to end up trading in your rifle for a beggar’s cup. Pity those old soldiers that survive and all they have to show for it are tired stories and scars.”
. . .
The day of departure came sooner than some wanted. Most of the greeners felt the pressure of knowing they were headed for combat while other soldiers were still feeling the lingering effects of inebriant fueled revelry. Some pushed their luck to the point of arriving just minutes before boarding commenced.
“You’ll wish you were dead once the trip starts,” said a soldier aiding a staggering comrade aboard the transit vehicle that would take them to the shuttleport.
“I’ll be better ‘fore that happens,” the comrade said in a slurred voice.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
“I—I’ll be fine. My skin isn’t bl-blue anymore.”
“It never was blue. You just thought it was.”
“No. I saw it. Blue.”
The soldier rolled his eyes as he eased his comrade into a seat. “You best sleep it off, pal.”
“I’ll try, but you gotta watch for the lizards. They’ll find us again.”
Shaking his head the trooper grimaced. “I will. Remind me to ask you what you imbibed.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
The transport took them to the same lift field where they took the company vehicles and other transportables. Boarding shuttles, the members of the Red Light were soon aboard the SCL Jubilee Star Maru, an interplanetary transport vehicle. Bulkhead displays throughout the passages read, WELCOME ABOARD, RED LIGHT COMPANY. STAR CROSS LINE WISHES YOU A PLEASANT TRANSIT AND SUCCESSFUL ENDEAVOR.
Veteran troopers moved in the microgravity environment with practiced ease while those new or little used to the experience fumbled their way to the berthing bays and claimed convertible bunks that also served as secure positions during maneuvers and emergencies. Most of the platoons, sections, and teams were berthed intact with the smaller elements sharing bays with others.
Virtually every service school graduate received testing for transit suitability: sensitivity to weightless and microgravity environments and the ability to deal with heavy acceleration chief among these. For the rare few mercenaries that could not adapt naturally or with pharmaceuticals, such individuals were restricted to service on their place of origin.
Pushing for Valenz at one G of acceleration, the journey was not a difficult one. This was generally the case for such transits, but on occasion haste was necessary and such passages could be trying, even brutal.
As one trooper in Senior Sergeant Forrester’s platoon explained it to the greeners, “I was part of a rapid deployment once. A big payday rush job out on the Plovis Moon on a high-powered military bird. Two point five Gs for most of the trip, sometimes more or so they said. Spent nearly all of it in the bunk set in recliner position. The fight was over by the time we got there. Good thing too, we weren’t worth spit when we arrived.”
“Did it pay well?” someone asked.
“Sure… in knowledge but not coin. We learned extended Gs above human norms are a bad thing. I’m not sure how much coin it would take to convince me to do it again.”
Arrival over the vast world of Valenz brought about the reversal of the unit’s actions in departure: shuttles to the planet surface and transport to temporary barracks to await the heavy-lift platform that would deliver the bulk of their gear.
Once settled into barracks, Hawkwood called the company to a briefing in a small auditorium at one end of the barracks there for that very purpose.
Not bothering to have the seated troopers called to attention, Hawkwood simply walked in and took his place at the lectern. Behind him was a large wall screen.
“Pipe down. I have news… some good, some not. The not good news first. The Barnett Rifles violated their contract and will not be part of our force.”
A murmur came from the gathered company.
“The Telestran Rifle Company will also not take part. Apparently the party hiring them balked at the transit costs and have withdrawn their portion of the dispute. That leaves three free companies opposing an understrength heavy mech legion. The raw numbers are close, but three companies that are primarily light infantry backed by light armor cannot go nose-to-nose with heavy armor. Fortunately, we don’t need to. We are defending. Even so, we will need to be smarter and better than our opponent. I expect the Red Light to be precisely both.
“Medevac for the seriously wounded will be provided by local forces via vertibird and ground ambulances. They will not affect transport in areas where active combat is occurring. The battle will be overseen by Arbiters Federation umpires.
Hawkwood paused to key something on the lectern. Behind him the image changed to an overhead view representing the area where the fight would take place.
“This is a dispute between local concerns. Local problems dictate a local field as stated in the Accords. Does anyone wish to know the particulars of this dispute?”
Other than a few expletive laden negatives, there were no takers.
“Good,” Hawkwood said. “I don’t fully know them myself. There is no cause involved. There are no good guys or bad guys, just us and them and a job to do.”
Gesturing over his shoulder at the map, he continued. “This is the red zone. Our marshalling areas will be n
orth of the red zone and Keen Steel’s a similar distance south. All unit personnel and vehicles must be in the marshalling area twelve hours prior to commencement of operations.
“You’ll find the same image plus maps are available on your data-receivers. The field has never seen battle before. That favors us if the wooded areas are represented accurately. The red zone is fairly small, slightly over forty-eight square klicks. The perimeter is a hard line. Once in, we don’t exit until the fight is over. Any unit or individual crossing out during the battle may not return and forfeits their pay plus any bonus the parent unit may gain, but may suffer penalties if their side loses. Facing death, crossing may be worth it. Artillery and aircraft limits are as stated prior to our deployment.
“The red zone is nearly six and a half klicks wide, but considering the number of troops we have, it won’t be easy to keep surveillance on that much territory. That is why the river is key and though they didn’t say so, why the Arbiters Federation put the large bridge smack dab in the middle of the zone. From what we know, the river is not terribly wide, but deep enough and wide enough to prevent tanks from crossing. The current is swift enough to make crossing with amphibious vehicles an adventure if it’s possible at all. Until we lay eyes on it, the jury is out on whether or not walkers can manage it.
“Outside of the red zone and well north of the northeast portion of the field is the production facility and power station that supplies it. That is the objective, a prize the principals on both sides seek to control. To acquire it for their principals Keen Steel Legion must destroy their opponents or compel them to surrender and occupy the victory point marked on the edge of the red zone. Simple occupation is not enough. So long as credible resistance is evident, the battle continues whether they hold the ground or not.
Free Company- Red Zone Page 10
