The War for Profit Series Omnibus

by Gideon Fleisher

  ***

  Galen stood next to Tad in the extension of the S-3 track and watched the main status screen. The first rounds of the Ajax tanks lobbed in high, hit their intended target. After a couple of minutes the coastal defense gun erupted, the energy stored in its capacitors released in a blue ball of electric discharge that burst into a single lightning bolt that shot out sideways to strike a tall building across the street behind it. The building caught fire.

  Inside the city, a set of horizontal blast doors slid open. A single space laser popped up and fired into the sky. Galen said, “What was the point of that?”

  Tad said, “They shot down a Northern Republic satellite. Do you want to adjust fire to take it out?”

  Galen thought for a moment. “No. Their power is cut off. That gun likely shot from its reserve power and won’t be able to fire again. Best to ignore it.”

  Tad nodded. The Ajax tanks came down from their firing pads and started reloading ammo at the base of the hill. Tad pointed at the battle map. “Seven more coastal defense guns to take out.”

  “Six,” said Galen. “The Navy has an unmanned ship they want to send within range so the defenders can shoot it, so the Bastards can feel like they did something. It’s supposed to make them feel better about surrendering.”

  Tad said, “Sure. After it fires, that gun will be out of power and useless.”

  “Right.”

  They watched. A Northern Republic destroyer made its way closer to Bristol. The defenders fired one laser bolt, missed. Then they fired their six remaining guns, hit the ship and it exploded, flames fifty meters high. Its remaining bulk rolled onto its side and it sank in less than half a minute. Tad said, “Well I didn’t expect that. All their coastal defense guns are now useless.”

  Another space defense gun popped up, a plasma cannon. It fired into space and destroyed a Northern Republic geostationary satellite. Galen said, “Now that’s just annoying.”

  Tad said, “Really. The space guns in Hillsboro and Batista City can also range those targets, so firing these guns makes no sense.”

  “They should have tried to shunt power over to their coastal guns.” Galen pulled up a folding chair and sat. “We’re fighting idiots.”

  Tad sat. “They should surrender. There’s nothing they can do here to affect the outcome of this war.”

  “They’re buying time.”

  Tad said, “That’s a bad idea too. Their politics are unstable. The longer it takes us to get to their capitol, the less popular their President will be.”

  Galen said, “Regardless, we need to get in there. I want to minimize civilian casualties.”

  The main part of the Northern Republic fleet closed on Bristol and lobbed projectiles at a slow but steady rate, targeted on the remaining space guns. Bristol’s artillery and mortars fired back and gave away their positions. The Navy swatted the incoming projectiles from the air with defensive lasers. Pescador had the bulk of the Brigade’s mortars and howitzers assigned to counter fire and they managed to knock out Bristol’s artillery in short order. The space guns in Bristol were well protected but the constant bombardment from the Navy made it unwise to roll back their blast doors.

  Galen stood and went into the track and grabbed a hand mike and told the Sergeant, “I need to call the Navy commander.”

  The Sergeant pressed a couple of buttons, “Yessir.”

  Galen said, “Admiral Scott, this is Colonel Raper.”

  After a long pause he heard, “Galen, how have you been?”

  “Better than expected. In light of recent events, I’d like to begin my ground attack today.”

  “How much time do you need to get started?”

  Galen looked toward Tad, “How long, Tad?”

  “Forty five…no, make that ninety minutes.”

  Galen keyed the hand mike. “Admiral, ninety minutes should be enough.”

  “Very well. I’ll cease bombardment in ninety minutes. Time hack.”

  The Sergeant set a countdown on his display panel to count down from ninety minutes.

  Galen said, “Send it.”

  “Mark in ten….five, four, three, two, one, mark, five nine, five eight, five seven. How copy?”

  Galen looked at the countdown and said, “Five five, five four, five three. Over.”

  The Admiral said, “Good copy. Best of luck.”

  “Thank you, sir. Jasmine Six out.”

  Galen hung the hand mike on the side of the communicator and stepped back into the extension. Tad said, “The Legion is moving into position to take the lead and I’ve tasked the Stallion tank battalion to provide close fire support.”

  Galen nodded. “Plan B?”

  “I’ve got the helos moving in to co-locate with the light infantry battalion, ready to drop them in if we need reinforcement. I’ll have our Interceptors behind the Navy, circling just below the firing arc of Bristol’s space guns. I can bring them in to provide enough additional firepower to break contact if we need to retreat.”

  “Good.” Galen sat, looked around. “You have any chow in here?”

  Tad left for a minute, returned with two field rations, handed one to Galen. They ripped them open and watched the status screen as they ate.

  ***

  Munifex Stovall saw the message on his visor, “March order.”

  He shook his battle buddy’s shoulder to wake him, got no response. Stood, kicked his shoulder. He sat up. Stovall said, “March order.”

  His battle buddy unloaded the machine gun and closed the lid of the ammo can, unlocked the pintle of the tripod, folded up the tripod and hung it on his back, slung the machine gun over his shoulder, squatted part way and picked up the ammo cans with his left hand. At the same time, Stovall deactivated the mines by the road and put them in a bandolier across his chest. He then took down the barbed wire and pulled it to the side of the road.

  The battle car came and picked them up and moved back up the road, formed up with the rest of the Century and moved toward the front line of troops, past the Mechanized infantry battalion’s line and halted. The Legion soldiers dismounted and took cover behind large rocks not more than a hundred meters from the city’s wall. Stovall’s squad knelt around its squad leader and they took off their helmets.

  He stood and said, “Soon the Navy bombardment will lift and shift and we’ll go forward and execute a movement to contact. We’ll move out single file and close on a gap in the city wall. First and third squad will be on either side of the gap and fourth squad will be right behind us, waiting on our call to bring them forward to relive us once we get inside and establish a secure position. And so far that’s it.”

  He looked around. No confused looks on any faces. It was a simple, straightforward mission. The explosions inside the city stopped. He put his helmet back on and stepped toward the walled city and broke into a full sprint. The squad followed.

  The gap in the wall was much wider than a gap; it was a breach fifty meters wide. The Ajax tanks had blasted most of it to dust and debris in their efforts to clear their lane of fire to finally destroy Bristol’s main power coupling. And they did, and they also destroyed a reinforced bunker just inside the wall. Deep gashes in the ground led into craters ten meters deep. Stovall’s squad leader dashed forward of the craters and took cover behind the low wall that was all that remained of the bunker. All that remained of its foundation, a broken wall not more than a meter high in places. The squad was stacking up behind its leader. Stovall was last, his designated place in line. He’d not reached the wall yet. His visor went haywire, its screen showing a spread of digital scramble. He flipped it up so that he could see.

  A spray of anti-aircraft fire came from a ground-mobile flak gun concealed somewhere to the right. Its rounds came in low at first, skipped off the ground. Then a little higher. The squad leader and the rest of the squad were ripped to pieces. Stovall dodged right and rolled down into a crater. Racket filled his comms. Jamming and scrambling by the enemy. He removed his helmet,
shut off the comms, put the helmet back on with the visor up. He looked back. Best thing to do was run back and report to the platoon leader; he needed to know what happened here, and soon.

  Stovall heard voices, enemy soldiers. They were close.

  “What the fuck are these, fucking robots?”

  The second one said, “No. They bleed. See? Some kind of powered body armor.”

  Stovall heard rustling and scraping, pops and cracks. The enemy was messing with the fallen Legion soldiers.

  “Huh. They don’t carry any money on them. I like their guns though.”

  “Check this out!” The second enemy soldier fired a burst of rocket ball ammo from a Legion rifle into the air.

  Stovall took the bandolier of mines off his chest and hooked it around his foot. He then low-crawled up the side of the crater toward the enemy soldiers. He stopped just sort of the edge and listened. About five or six voices, all commenting on the Legion equipment they were salvaging. Stovall set the mines to three second delay, motion detect, and tossed the whole bandolier of four mines toward the voices.

  He heard, “What the Fu—”

  BOOM

  More flack gun fire swept the area. Stovall raised his head to peek at the action. Nothing but a thick cloud of dust. His ears were ringing, useless for now. He rolled back down the crater and crawled up the right side. He peeked and saw a thin stream of white smoke coming from a window not more than a hundred meters away. Likely, the position of the flak gun. He raised his rifle, engaged the grenade launcher and lobbed a thirty millimeter round right into the window. He slid back down to the bottom of the crater, faced the gash that led from it back to the breach in the wall, took a few deep breaths and ran like hell.

  He kept running until he reached the rock where the charge began. Fourth squad was there along with the platoon leader and the heavy weapons section. The platoon leader stood with his left hand up chest high, palm forward. “Halt.”

  Stovall stopped in front of him and removed his helmet.

  The platoon leader looked at him and said, “I see no fear in your eyes. Why did you run?”

  “Sir,” Stovall said, “My entire squad has been killed.”

  “Report.”

  “The enemy had a flak gun concealed on the right and tore into the squad from the flank. Had the enemy held fire a moment longer, I too would be dead.”

  The platoon leader asked, “Why did you not call me?”

  “Jammed, scrambled. My visor went haywire and I couldn’t see. I dropped and rolled into the crater. It happened right before they opened fire.”

  The squad leader took Stovall’s helmet and handed it to another soldier. That soldier connected a communicator and said, “Sir, we have the frequencies. We can adjust and shield our comms but we need the Centurion’s approval.”

  “Get permission.” The platoon leader then said to Stovall, “What happened after that?”

  Stovall said, “I tossed four mines at enemy soldiers who were pilfering the bodies of my fallen squad and then I launched a grenade into a window about a hundred meters to the right, where I suspected the flak gun was hidden. Then I knew I had to report back to you in person.”

  The platoon leader handed Stovall’s helmet back to him. “Can you drive?”

  Stovall had a couple of hours of battle car driver’s training in the simulator, as part of his basic training. “Yes sir, but not very well.”

  The platoon leader said, “Good enough. You did well, Munifex Stovall. You can be proud. Get in your car and await further orders.”

  “Yessir.” Stovall put his helmet back on and walked to his battle car and sat in the driver’s seat.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Centurion arrived in his command skimmer and dismounted, met by the two platoon leaders of his Century. They briefed him and then five Stallion medium tanks arrived. The tank platoon leader dismounted and joined the Legion officers.

  She removed her helmet and said, “Sir, Chief Brock, Second Platoon of Bravo Company, Stallion Tank Battalion.” Her bob of red hair was matted to her head with sweat.

  “Welcome,” said the Centurion. He stood a full two heads taller than her. “We can certainly use your help.”

  She looked up as she spoke. The Centurion was taller and wider than his platoon leaders, and they were taller and wider than the squad leaders who stood nearby, hovering just close enough to listen in on the conversation. “Certainly. Have you worked with armored support before?”

  “No.”

  She ran the fingers of her left hand through her hair and shook it out, wondered if Legion rank was based mostly on height and width. “Okay. It’s basically your show. Use us for mobile cover and point out targets you want destroyed. And as a favor to me and my crews, try to protect our flanks and rears from enemy antitank weapons when possible.”

  “Certainly. The enemy has demonstrated the ability to scramble comms. Do you have a solution for that?”

  “Our armor shields our electronics from interference on the inside, but to talk with the outside we have a comms box at the rear of our tanks. It’s a speaker/microphone. Just push the big button at its base and we’ll be able to talk to you that way.”

  “I’ll spread the word.” The Centurion then checked his chronometer. “Almost time. Will two squads per tank be enough support?”

  She nodded. “Yes. But remember, we’re supporting you. What they taught me in armor school is when tanks support infantry, you’re winning. When the infantry has to support the tanks, it’s time to reconsider your strategy.”

  The Centurion said, “I’m not sure I understand.”

  Chief Brock rolled her shoulders. “Sir, you go in like you’re doing the same thing as if there were no tanks, and then use the tanks to make that job easier, faster. Does that make sense?”

  His face brightened. “That does make sense.”

  She added, “When a squad wants to breach a wall to clear a building, they can have a tank blast a hole so they can get in from an unexpected angle. Or they can have us park next to a building so they can climb up and get onto the roof or into the second floor more easily. If that’s what you want to do, I mean. Totally up to you. Not saying how you should do your job.”

  “And me yours.” The Centurion said.

  She winked, put on her helmet. “But you should. We’re here for you.”

  “In that case, I want your platoon to go in first and establish a secure area. There was flak gun fire from the right and I need to be sure that is neutralized first. My Century will then move in and push ahead and stay ahead of you from there on out.”

  She gave a thumbs-up.

  He returned the gesture, looked around and checked his chronometer. “Move out.”

  She turned away and climbed back into her tank. The Legion platoon and squad leaders jogged away separately, each to his platoon and the Centurion got back in his command skimmer.

  Chief Brock connected her helmet to comms and said, “One Two, Two Two, Three Two, Four Two, this is Two Zero, over.”

  “One Two.”

  “Two Two.”

  “Three Two.”

  “Four Two.”

  She said, “Roger. This is how it looks right now. We’re going into the craters, then up the other side. Neutralize a threat to the right, and then forward another fifty meters and stand by for the infantry to come up behind us. From there, it’s their show.”

  A series of double-clicks from the comms of the other tank commanders.

  “Move out.”

  The tank platoon pulled forward, down into the gashes leading into the three biggest craters. The tank on the right flank raised its sensor mast, pulled up to the edge of the crater rim and waited. Then Chief Brock analyzed the images from the tank on her right flank and moved ahead, in front of her platoon, laser cannon turned to the right and brought up to its maximum charge of twelve. Then her tank drove forward, gun laid on the window where the suspected flak gun was concealed. Her gunner fired, blasted
a two meter wide hole, larger than the window opening it had just destroyed. The driver backed up immediately, back down into the crater.

  A secondary explosion rocked the building, debris spraying out from the hole in the wall. Orange flames inside, black smoke billowing out. The front of the four story building collapsed, its insides revealed. The tanks leapt forward, the two on the right spraying the building with coax and cupola machine gun fire. Enemy soldiers inside the building were like ants in a farm, the spray of bullets putting them down. A few, half a dozen maybe, jumped and ran and got away. The two tanks in the center held back to watch the backs of the other three, and the tank on the left flank pivoted left and kept its gun swinging left to right, looking for targets that never appeared. Its commander stood in his cupola for a moment and looked for threats, then dropped back down and closed his hatch.

  The Legion soldiers came forward and huddled behind the tanks for cover. The tanks crept forward. Then Brock’s gunner sent a charge eight laser bolt into the alley-side wall of the ground floor of a sturdy brick two-story building on the left. It blasted a meter-wide hole near the center of the first floor, half a meter above street level. The tank on the left pulled forward and gave cover so that the Legion soldiers could safely come forward and enter the hole. Inside, the Legion troops made short work of the stunned defenders. The Legion soldiers fought their way to the roof and set up a machine gun and began firing on the three story building across the street.

  The tank on the right flank turned its turret to the rear and moved forward and crashed through the main entrance doors of the building and then backed out. A second tank moved past the opening to provide cover. Legion troops swarmed into the building. After a couple of minutes, Legion troops were on the roof. One tossed a grenade down into the alley behind the building; a fire team shot their assault rifles down into the alley and killed a squad of Batistian soldiers huddled there. Then Chief Brock’s tank moved up the street and rubbed its left flank against a one-story building that was part of a row of shops. Legion troops climbed up on her tank and onto the roof. They punched a hole in the flat roof with a breaching charge and dropped down inside. A Batistian soldier ran into the street and Brock’s gunner gave him a back full of coax rounds, cut him in half. He fell in two pieces.