The War for Profit Series Omnibus

by Gideon Fleisher

  Galen said, “All right, Cav, you have thirty minutes to close out that objective.”

  The Cav commander said, “Garry Owen!”

  The Cav vehicles lurched forward, dashing ahead in a full charge. All the Mosh fixed guns and automated defenses were down. Again, it made sense. Lighter vehicles should not have been able to get past the guns covering the swamp, so the defenses of the compound itself were meant to destroy much heavier units. But with the plug pulled, the final Mosh defenses weren’t fit to stop a squad of toddlers.

  Galen pulled alongside Spike’s tank, right behind the heavy tank platoon. He called them. “Charlie three six, mission, police call.”

  “Roger.” The platoon pulled forward and moved along the same route the Cav battalion had taken, but slowly, looking for any threats the Cav might have bypassed.

  The Gun Chief called. “Jasmine six, fire for effect?”

  Galen said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nice view up here, sir. Lots of interesting targets.”

  “Go for it, redleg. Tactical targets only. Have fun.” Before Galen was done answering a particle bolt ripped across the sky, a secondary explosion showing the target had indeed been interesting. Galen looked at his tactical display and realized a Mosh 240mm gun emplacement had just been destroyed. Another particle beam ripped thorough the sky, another interesting target taken out.

  Galen called back, “Hey redleg, leave their space lasers and particle cannons alone. We’ll nee those for defense after we capture the facility.”

  “Roger, six.” Galen saw the guns move on his map and was about to call them, but redleg called again, “We’re backing down off this hill, incoming, mortars.”

  Galen said, “Go on back and get inside the TOC perimeter. Your work here is done. Nice shot, by the way.”

  “Roger, six. En route. Redleg out.”

  Galen was about to open his hatch but the situation map showed that his tank was also targeted by mortars. Small mortars, the sort Mosh light infantry companies would have. The rounds exploded near by, a couple hit the tank, harmless to the Hercules’ armor but loud enough to be an annoying noise to the crew inside.

  Spike called, “Six, this is XO. I’m going to put a stop to these mortars so we can enjoy our dinner outside, peaceably.”

  “Right behind you, XO.” Then to his driver Galen said, “Follow that tank.”

  The mortar fire was coming from the left and Spike turned toward its source. Galen got his tank in to Spike’s left, ten meters away, half a tank length back. Soon they came to a boulder sunk half in the gravely ground, much like the stone hills all around but only fifteen meters high and twenty meters wide. The battle map showed that the mortars had been fired from the other side of that rock. Galen said, “Spike, you go right and I’ll go left.”

  Spike broke right and went around the rock at the same time as Galen went around to the left. Two Mosh armored air cars were parked, empty. Galen’s gunner shot the first one midway from ground to top, toward the back. The laser bolt burned right through it and set its metal on fire. Its flames grew. Spikes’ gunner shot his target more towards the front and ruptured its diode pack and power distribution module. It burst into a thousand pieces. Galen swept left with his 10mm cupola rail gun but hit nothing so he swung to his right, careful to keep his point of aim down to avoid hitting Spike’s tank. Then he heard loud thumps on the side of his turret. Three Mosh soldiers knelt at the base of the rock and fired light anti-armor rockets. Their penetrator rods stuck out of the side of Galen’s turret. Galen fired a burst of rail gun fire into each of them in turn, center of mass. The rounds went right through them but the hydrostatic pressure turned their insides to jelly. They fell with gouts of blood in their mouths. Galen swept left again, saw nothing. Then more noise, a whooshing sound. He swung his cupola to the rear but couldn’t see over the tank’s rear deck. What he did see was flames. Flames fired by Mosh soldiers. He checked his heat gauge and it was slowly rising, the heat sinks of his fusion engine unable to deal with that much heat at once. He adjusted the ATCS knob to raise the front of the tank, lowering the rear of the tank. He managed to shoot one Mosh. The other two ducked and kept flaming his tank. He turned off the ATCS and then looked back at the heat gauge. Not much longer to automatic shutdown.

  “Back up, driver.”

  The tank rolled back. More thumps on the side of the turret, the right side. And more flames. The tank shut down. Galen popped his hatch and lifted his submachine gun out first and then stood on his cupola’s seat. He fired half a clip at the Mosh firing the flame thrower and caused the flame thrower to burst into a ball of flame. Galen started to feel the heat through the thick material of his combat suit. Then he looked around for more targets. A light anti-armor rocket struck Galen in his left side, the penetrator rod stuck in the flank of his combat suit, the rod stuck in far enough to go ten centimeters into Galen’s side as well, right into the ribs and a little beyond. The blow caused Galen to drop the submachine gun. Then Galen’s gunner ejected. His seat lifted him sixty meters into the air and deployed a parachute. Galen slumped forward, half out of his cupola hatch. The driver crawled out of the escape hatch in the belly of the tank and used his submachine gun to kill the Mosh with the rocket launcher. He crawled backward to crouch in front of the tank, shot one more Mosh and then lumbered off, encumbered by the heavy combat suit, to get behind the rock. His combat suit saved him from a Mosh rifle shot that hit him square in the back. Galen climbed out of his hatch and tried to stand. His foot slipped and he found him self straddling the mantle of the main gun. He reached for his side arm but with the bulky combat suit on it was hard to feel around. Fumbling, he turned his head and looked at the holster and reached down and undid the snap and drew the weapon.

  He felt a sharp pain in his left thigh and looked. A Mosh soldier, an old one with gold Commander wreaths inlaid around the crown of his ground troop helmet, stared Galen right in the eyes. The Mosh held a dagger with a vibrating blade that gradually made its way into the material of Galen’s combat suit, and Galen felt the tip of the blade going into his flesh. Galen brought his side arm around and stuck it right into the side of the Mosh’s neck. The Mosh grinned and shoved the dagger even harder. Galen fired his side arm. At that range, the weapon popped the Mosh’s head right off. Flecks of blood and skin spattered Galen’s face piece. Spike had his gunner and driver and Galen’s driver rallied behind the rock and came around and killed the remaining two Mosh attackers.

  Galen took off his helmet and it slipped from his hands and rolled over to where his submachine gun had fallen. He slumped forward on the gun, looking left, the right side of his face pressed against the main gun. With the stabilization system powered down, Galen’s shift in weight caused the barrel to slowly tilt until its muzzle touched the ground.

  Spike climbed up to check on him. “You all right, Colonel?”

  “I’ve been better.” Galen saw the dagger sticking out of his thigh and could feel fluid building up in his left lung. “Who were those guys?”

  Spike said, “The training cadre from the facility.”

  Galen coughed up blood. “So that’s the last of them.”

  Spike said, “Yes. End of the contract.”

  The last thing Galen noticed before passing out was the head of the Mosh commander, its eyes still glaring at him and still wearing its gold-wreathed helmet, lying on the ground in front of half a dozen Mosh bodies.

  Chapter Eleven

  Galen woke in a hospital room, which confused him. The Brigade had a mobile surgical tent, but… The room was old-fashioned. The flat screen bolted to the wall in front of him seemed out of place. The bed was a little short, his feet pressing the foot board, the back of his head against the headboard, propped up on a pillow stuffed with some sort of organic material. He sneezed; feathers!

  Pain raced up his side, the tight bandage around his chest making it hard to breathe deep. He knew to breathe shallow, to take it easy, and the pain
would go away. It seemed funny and he laughed, the laughing causing more pain. And that struck him as funny, and he laughed harder, and the more it hurt the funnier it was and Galen laughed more. An attendant of some sort, a short young man wearing an aqua smock, came and stuck an old-fashioned needle in an old-fashioned tube and injected some clear liquid. The plastic tube ran from a suspended glass bottle to Galen’s right forearm, inserted under the skin and held in place with white tape. Galen wanted to pull the thing out, but instead he drifted off, unconscious.

  ***

  “Hey.”

  Galen looked to his right. Spike sat in a chair.

  Galen said, “Hey yourself.”

  “I heard you were feeling better.” Spike leaned back.

  “How long have I been out?” Galen looked to his left. In the bed to the left was the Stallion battalion commander, sitting up, eating. His legs were gone from the knees down.

  Spike said, “Three days.”

  Galen said, “Where am I?”

  “Mosh hospital. We’ve occupied the Mosh compound.”

  Galen scratched his head. “Fill me in.”

  Spike said, “The Tuha senior leadership on Grinder ran away and jumped back to Tuha, believing the Mosh would wipe us out. When the fighting ended, we stepped in and provided leadership, management, and all that other stuff for all the Tuha forces left behind. As you know, we soundly defeated the Mosh here. Word of this victory got back to the Tuha supreme council, which promptly held show trials for the Tuha leaders who fled. Their Generals were hanged on the news. Then the Tuha supreme council sent a hoard of troops and a massive fleet here to occupy and secure this planet for them selves.”

  “Naturally,” said Galen.

  “We’re slated to get out of here tomorrow. I negotiated an end to our obligations. Our contract paid in full, plus ten percent bounty for captured equipment and facilities. Of course they skimped, and the valuations are way off, but still it’s more than eight times the original contract amount so I took it.”

  “Have the funds been delivered?”

  “Yes. I confirmed delivery to our bank on Mandarin before I scheduled departure, just like we learned in our academy business classes.”

  Galen tried to sit up, and then lay back down. “Good job. What did it cost us?”

  Spike stood and drew his personal communicator and looked at it. “Sixty seven troops killed. Eighty three troops too disabled to return to duty, ever. Eighteen tanks and nine lighter vehicles completely lost. That’s a five per cent loss for personnel, six per cent loss for equipment.”

  Galen started to say ‘not bad’ but then realized he didn’t want to say that. He looked over at Stallion six. “What’s your status?”

  “Hundred per cent!”

  “You’re missing both legs.”

  Stallion six smiled. “They found my legs and they’re getting knit back together by the docs as we speak. When we get back to Mandarin, they’ll splice them back onto my body. And I’ll have brand new titanium knee joints, better than before. Sir, I’ll be a hundred and ten per cent.”

  Galen said, “We need to discuss your reporting style when we get back.” Galen looked toward Spike. “Can the Tuha manage this facility without us?”

  Spike sat. “Well sir, the Mosh were taking prisoners from the Tuha front lines these past six years and pressing them into service as workers, as slaves and servants. Most of the people running this facility are Tuha. But that presents another problem.”

  Galen sighed. “What’s that?”

  “Normally we’d take workers liberated from the Mosh with us as refugees, if they so desired. But with these guys, it’s a problem.”

  “How so?”

  Spike said, “This explains it better.” Spike went to the flat screen bolted to the wall and pressed a few buttons and adjusted it to the ‘Awareness Chanel’ and sat back down. He then used the remote to scroll through and find a particular story.

  A Tuha man wearing greasy green coveralls stood and said, “I’m what they call a volunteer soldier. That means I was tried and convicted of a crime and sentenced to death, with the choice to volunteer for military service or get hanged. But my case was not fair at all. Three years ago I was at a bar with my girlfriend when this annoying little man kept pestering her. Well after an hour of this nonsense, we decided to leave the bar. I was walking my girlfriend home and this little guy followed us. I was concerned for her safety, I didn’t want that pest to know where she lived so I insisted he quit following us. He became belligerent, I defended my self and knocked him to the ground and walked away. He got up and kept following us, so I hit him in the jaw as hard as I could and knocked him out and went on home and thought nothing of it.

  “A week later I was arrested. Turns out, that guy was an off-duty policeman. I was charged with every crime they could think of. Assaulting a police officer, wasting police time, interference with an official investigation, attempted murder, sedition, you name it. A tribunal found me guilty of everything and sentenced me to hanging. I volunteered for military service and was sent here, stuck out on the front line to live like an animal and die, either from the neglect of the Tuha army or at the hands of the Mosh. The Mosh came, attacked, and took me prisoner. They treated me well, gave me skill training and education, and I worked at the armored air car factory as a welder and machine tool operator. I worked hard, twelve hour shifts four days in a row with every fifth day off. Good food, an apartment of my own and unlimited advancement potential within the framework of Mosh servant society. And I’m married to a hospital nurse and have a daughter. The only thing they wouldn’t allow me to achieve here was warrior status, which I never wanted in the first place. It was good, to serve the Mosh. Now that the Mosh are gone, I don’t know where my next meal is coming from. I don’t know how I’ll take care of my family. I’m pretty sure the Tuha government will arrest me again, for getting married without a license.” He spat to his left.

  Spike said, “He’s typical. Most of the people we liberated aren’t too thrilled about it, but they are Tuha citizens so we can’t take them with us.”

  Galen groaned. “We’re mercenaries. Take the money and run.”

  Spike said, “There are about sixty non-Tuha refugees who want to get out of here. We’ll move them to Juventud.”

  “So, all those Tuha front-line troops were convicted criminals, sentenced to death. That explains a lot.”

  Spike selected another story. “Here’s the Tuha side of the story.”

  A woman, a full-figured twenty-something brunet in a dark brown Tuha army dress uniform topped off by a light brown beret faced away and waved traffic control flags in each hand, seeming to direct traffic. Tuha military vehicles rolled by, armored vehicles for the most part, an occasional staff car as well. Galen recognized most of the vehicle designs and decided that in sufficient quantity, if they had a three to one numerical advantage, they could be effective against the Mosh. But the Tuha now had a Mosh factory complex that could produce more than three hundred Mosh-style armored vehicles a month. That would be a real boost to their combat capability. The woman on the screen turned to face the viewer and said, “This is a great victory for the Supreme Council. Defeating the Mosh here was a big step toward ending the Mosh tyranny that threatens the home world of the Tuha people.” She turned back to the traffic and waved more vehicles on. Not that it mattered; when she turned away from the traffic to speak to the audience, the vehicles rolled by anyway. She turned to speak again. “Our forces are unstoppable. Together, victory is certain!”

  Spike turned it off. “There’s hours of that kind of crap. They landed three divisions already and have nine more on the way.”

  “Propaganda. Well, so much for toppling the tyrannical Tuha government.”

  A hospital worker came in and put a tray of food on the small table next to Galen’s bed. “Enjoy.”

  Galen said, “Thank you.”

  The worker left.

  A voice came from the hallway,
“Make way for the Field Marshall!”

  A stomping of boots, many boots. The door to Galen’s hospital room swung open and two soldiers entered and stood at attention on either side of the door. Their uniforms were clean and pressed, boots highly shined, their weapons shiny with gun oil, their fresh faces cleanly shaven, their hair trimmed short. Through the doorway, Galen could see the better part of a squad lining the far wall. From the sound of boots, he figured there was at least a platoon out there. A Tuha soldier with a vid recorder stepped in and stood in the corner near the window, faced the door and began recording.

  A moment later a Tuha Field Marshal entered, wearing full dress uniform. Ribbons and a sash and a chest full of medals. He stepped to Galen’s bedside and said, “I am Field Marshall Csazar, theater commander of the planet Kreinbaur and the Kreinbaur star system. Colonel Raper, on behalf of a grateful nation, I thank you for the honorable and faithful service of the Jasmine Panzer Brigade. On behalf of the Supreme Council and the Supreme Leader, I present this token of appreciation.”

  A soldier opened a small box and handed it to the Field Marshall. The Field Marshall took a medal out of the box and laid it on Galen’s chest, over his heart. The Field Marshall took one step back and saluted, then turned to the door and left. His soldiers followed him out, the stomping of boots in the hallway getting quieter. As quick as they had come, the Tuha soldiers were gone.

  Galen picked up the medal and looked at it. A fifty gram gold medallion suspended from a green and red striped ribbon. The back was blank. On the front was the image of a Tuha soldier in field uniform, leaning forward on one knee, looking back over his shoulder, his rifle held in his left hand, its butt on the ground, his right arm held high, palm forward. Below that, ‘VICTORY.’

  Galen handed the medal to Spike and said, “Hey, we just got a victory medal.”

  Spike said, “Cute,” and handed the medal to Stallion six. He looked it over and laid it on the table by his bed.