“What kind of rockets does it shoot?”
“The launcher shoots both thermobaric and anti-tank munitions,” Jasur replied. “He wants to know what we are trying to kill with it.”
“The fuck if I know,” Borte said. “Tell him aliens—we don’t know what type.”
The translation process took longer this time as Jasur went back and forth with the soldier several times. “What is he saying?” Borte finally asked. “This is taking too long.”
“He said it will depend on the alien. If it is a hard shell, then the anti-tank rocket. If it is something squishy, use the thermobaric round.” The Russian said something else. “I told him we were going to space and were fighting on another planet. He said that he’ll train us how to use them if we will bring him along.”
“Will he show us what to bring?”
“Absolutely.”
“What’s his name?”
“Senior Sergeant Alexander Sokolov.”
“Tell him we’re working for a merc company, and he’s just been hired.”
The color returned, and a smile grew across the Russian’s face. “He said to bring what he points at.”
With the Russian showing them what they needed, the loading process went much faster. In no time, the large truck was full of RPG launchers in their boxes and dozens of rockets for them, additional non-rocket grenades—both handheld and for the 40mm rifle-mounted launchers—and a number of mines.
As the men started buttoning up the truck, the Russian came and tapped Borte on the shoulder—the non-injured side—and gestured frantically to some of the other large boxes on the shelves in the main passage. “Igla!” he said, over and over, pointing at the box and then at the truck.
“What the hell’s an Igla?” Borte asked, holding up both hands and shrugging his shoulders.
The soldier pantomimed an airplane with one hand and something coming from below to blow it up.
“Surface-to-air missiles?” Borte asked. The man’s face was blank—he didn’t understand Uzbek. “Sky above! Yes, I want some of those!” Borte exclaimed, nodding. He turned to his loaders. “Get some of those things on the damn truck, too!”
* * * * *
The Golden Horde - 7
“I don’t know what our rank structure is going to be,” Borte said to the combined group in Altan’s house once the group made it back, “but I’m glad we picked up the Russian. I know he’s not one of our original members, but we will need his skills to operate the weaponry we picked up. We need to put him into the command structure somewhere…especially since he’s the only one with any real military experience.”
“Do you think he is trustworthy?” Altan asked.
“Absolutely,” Borte replied. “When he found out we were going to the stars, he got excited and asked to join us. Apparently, he was a big science fiction nut, and this was his dream come true. One thing is certain; we wouldn’t have come out of there as well-equipped without him.”
“Oh?”
“Not only did he help us load explosives, but he showed us where the rest of the stuff we needed was. For example, I knew we were supposed to find uniforms to meet the contract, but aside from the guards we killed, we couldn’t find any. He showed us where the warehouse holding them was.”
“So you got them?”
“Not only did we get them,” Borte said, “we got much, much more! Did you know there was more to a combat uniform than just a uniform?”
“No, I didn’t,” Altan admitted.
“There is so much more,” Borte gushed, “and we’ve got it! There is a whole battle suit—Sokolov called it the ‘Ratnik’ system. There’s a whole pile of gear that goes into it. There’s a helmet with an infrared eyepiece, body armor with webbing, and a load bearing vest with a ton of pouches, and every soldier has their own telephone-sized tactical computer they can send info back and forth on. The system also comes with a survival knife and an AK-12, which is an improved AK-74. We also picked up some machine guns, a few sniper rifles, and a bunch of under-barrel grenade launchers for our AK-12s.”
“In that case,” Altan said, “rather than making him part of the command structure, I think I will put him outside of it completely and make him our ‘military advisor.’ That way, he can act more freely to train everyone.”
“Can you tell us what the command structure is?” Borte asked.
“Torkan?”
Torkan adjusted his glasses as he flipped through the mercenary guild contract rules. “We’ve been contracted for two companies, so the overall force has to be led by no less than a major and no more than a colonel, with a designated executive officer to run the force when the commander is indisposed or outside of communications.”
“That would be me as commander,” Altan said. “And I think I like the title of ‘Colonel.’ Yes, Colonel Altan Enkh. And Borte will be my executive officer. While we are on mission, you can refer to him as Lieutenant Colonel Borte Enkh. What else?”
“Each company needs a commander, each platoon needs a leader, and each squad needs a leader.”
“Torkan and Yisu are the company commanders; they will both be captains.”
“Wait!” Rashid Karimov said. “Boss, I have been in the organization longer than anyone. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to have someone in the command structure whose last name isn’t Enkh? That way, other people we recruit can see that they have a chance of moving up in the organization?”
“That’s fine with me,” Torkan said. “I really don’t know much about military things, besides what I’ve read in all of this mess.” He held up the Merc Guild rules. “All things considered, I’d rather just be part of your staff, Boss. There are some provisions for that.”
“Fine,” Altan said. “You are now my staff advisor, and Rashid is the Alpha Company commander. Rashid and Yisu, you can pick the members of your respective companies and place them where needed. If you have any disagreements, bring them to Borte, and he will decide who goes to which group.” He turned to Torkan. “What else do we need to do?”
“We need to get all of our equipment and supplies out to the starport—we’re being picked up in two days. Getting all of the things we stole from the Russians there will be easy since it’s all still in the trucks. We can just run it out to the starport, drop it off, and then come get more. It’s going to take several trips to get all of our things and people to the starport, though; we will need people to stay with it at the starport so no one tries to steal it.”
“That makes sense.” Altan turned to Borte. “XO, I have packing and other things to take care of. Please see to it that everything gets out to where it needs to go.”
* * *
“They’re late,” Borte said, looking at his watch. He stood alongside Altan at the edge of Tashkent Starport’s Pad #5, with the rest of the Golden Horde spread out behind them. Their gear waited in piles just off the pad.
“No, they’re not,” Altan replied, looking at his own golden timepiece. “They still have five minutes.”
“Well, they said they’d be here at 3:00, and I don’t see them.”
Altan clucked his tongue. “This is not an airplane we are waiting for,” he chided; “it’s a spaceship. When they want it to be here, it will be. It doesn’t have to land and taxi; it will just land.”
“Four minutes now,” Borte grumbled.
“Look!” someone shouted from behind them. “They’re coming!”
Altan turned around and looked where the man was pointing. After a few seconds, he saw a speck in the sky that was rapidly growing in size. “See?” he asked. “Nothing to worry about.”
Borte cleared his throat, and Altan wondered what his subordinate would complain about next, knowing that was his method of dealing with stress.
“Well, should we…I don’t know…line up in some sort of formation?” Borte finally asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Like a military formation,” Borte replied. “Our employers may be on
board, and we will want to impress them.”
“Good point,” Altan said. “Bring the company to…attention, I think it is called.”
Borte turned to face the assembled group of career criminals. “Attention,” he said in a voice lacking authority.
Several of the recent graduates from Sister Mary Margaret’s school looked at him curiously, but the rest continued what they were doing—mostly smoking and bullshitting with each other. “Perhaps we need to institute some military training in the school,” Altan noted.
“Attention!” Borte yelled louder. The greater volume and authority had an immediate effect—one of the men turned and gave him the finger.
The Russian trooper ambled over. “You’re doing it all wrong,” he said, the translation pendants around Borte’s and Altan’s necks easily rendering his speech into Uzbek.
“What do you suggest?” Borte asked.
Unfortunately, the pendant was only one-way, and the Russian looked confused as he tried to figure out what Borte had said. Borte hunched his shoulders and pointed at the group.
“Are you asking what I’d do?” Senior Sergeant Sokolov asked.
“Yes,” Borte agreed, nodding his head for emphasis.
Sokolov glanced quickly up at the shuttle; it was nearly to them. “Do I have your permission to break some heads, if necessary?”
Borte looked at Altan, who nodded. “Yes,” Borte repeated, again nodding his head.
The Russian pulled his pistol from his holster. Unlike the others, his was in full sight, not hidden in a pocket or waistband as was customary for the rest of the group. He fired the pistol into the air, aiming somewhere over the plains, and when the group stopped and looked at him, he yelled something in Russian and pointed to a spot next to him.
“He says the Alpha Company commander is to stand here,” Jasur translated.
“Tell him to fuck off,” Rashid said. He took another puff on his cigarette and blew out the smoke. “I’m busy.”
Jasur translated what had been said and Sokolov marched over to Rashid, his face turning bright red as he screamed at the company commander.
“What’s he saying,” Rashid asked, his tone bored.
“Mostly comments on your parentage,” Jasur replied, “and several things you’d have to be pretty flexible to accomplish.”
Most of the assembled criminals laughed, which only served to make Sokolov’s face turn purple. He stopped in front of Rashid and yelled a question at the squad leader while pointing at where he had said for him to stand. Rashid responded by flicking his cigarette at the trooper. “Did you tell him to fuck off yet?” Rashid asked.
Before Jasur could reply, Sokolov kicked him in the shin, hard, and Altan could hear the bone crack from 50 feet away. Rashid went down in a heap, screaming. His right hand went into a pocket and came out with a pistol. Sokolov kicked it out of his hand and then stepped on Rashid’s fingers as he tried to retrieve it, grinding them under his heel. More bones snapped, and Rashid screamed again.
Sokolov looked at the crowd. No one moved to help Rashid; most of them appeared stunned. Sokolov asked a question.
“He wants to know who is willing to take over the company commander’s position vacated by the worthless sack of shit lying on the ground.”
Rashid screamed again, but it was a more feral scream of anger this time. With his left hand, he reached for his boot.
“Look out!” Jochi yelled.
Sokolov’s Makarov pistol seemed to leap into his hand of its own accord, and he shot Rashid through the left eye before the hideout pistol cleared his boot.
Sokolov looked at Jochi and said something, then pointed back to the company commander’s position. “He says thanks for the warning,” Jasur translated, “and that you are now the Alpha Company commander. He asks whether you will take the position, or if another example must be made.”
“I think we’ve had enough examples today,” Jochi said with a nod. “I’m probably the best person for it, anyway.” He walked over to the spot Sokolov had indicated and assumed a position of almost-attention.
The Russian followed Jochi to his post, then pointed at another member of the group and a spot behind Jochi, and said something brief.
“First Squad leader stands here,” Jasur said.
The man Sokolov pointed at pursed his lips as if going to say something, and Sokolov’s hand went back his holster. “I’m coming,” the man said, holding up a hand to forestall any further action on the Russian’s part. The rest of First Squad was filled out in a similar manner.
By the time Sokolov got to Second Squad, everyone just did what they were told. Bravo Company was placed even faster than Alpha Company had been.
Sokolov marched up to stand two paces behind Altan and waved Jasur over to stand next to him. He asked the young man something, then about-faced to look at the men in ranks. “Attention!” he yelled in Uzbek. Everyone stiffened somewhat. Sokolov scanned the ranks and sighed, appearing to accept the disorder in front of him, at least for now. He about-faced back to Altan and saluted.
“The battalion is formed,” Sokolov reported. “One malcontent was disciplined, and the rest of the force is ready to continue on-mission.” Sokolov force-whispered “Attention” to Jasur and he stiffened.
Sokolov continued speaking. “You need a senior enlisted leader to instill some discipline into this band of cutthroats and thieves,” he said, “or it is likely we will all die nasty deaths. With your permission, I just promoted myself to First Sergeant.”
Altan eyebrows went up. “That was discipline?” he asked for Jasur to translate.
“Yes,” Sokolov said with a minute nod. “Unfortunately, an example had to be made, or they would never have listened.” He paused a second and then added, “I believe I have made my point.”
Any further conversation was cut off as the dropship landed in a massive cloud of dust that caused the assembled members of the Golden Horde to turn their heads and protect their eyes.
“Attention!” Borte commanded as the dust settled. Those that didn’t do it at Borte’s command stiffened when Sokolov looked back at them over his shoulder.
The dust cleared, the engines shut down, and the dropship’s back ramp came down. Altan could feel Borte stiffen next to him—riding it down was a giant millipede that stood almost four feet tall. “What in the Blue Sky is that?” Borte asked under his breath.
“That’s a Jeha,” Altan said. “It must be a part of the ship’s crew; their race isn’t a merc race.”
The creature’s eyes scanned the formation, several of its claws opening and shutting, and then it yelled back into the craft, “You’ve got to see this!”
A few moments later, it was joined by two large aliens who looked like oversize ants.
“I don’t know whether to salute or get a can of insecticide,” someone stage-whispered from Bravo Company, and several people laughed. Altan turned to tell them to shut up, but Sokolov had already turned to glare at them, and they froze back into their positions of almost-attention.
The three aliens talked among themselves, periodically pointing toward the Humans, but they weren’t close enough for Altan’s pendant to pick it up. Whatever the Jeha said at the end of the conversation must have been funny, though, because the pendant translated the outburst that followed as laughter. Altan could feel Borte bristle alongside him, and he felt similarly. The aliens are going to come to our planet and make fun of us?
Before Altan could decide on a course of action that didn’t involve killing his employers and voiding his contract, the joke ended, and the giant ants—Altar, if he remembered correctly—turned around and went back into the shuttle, while the Jeha approached the formation.
“I’m looking for Colonel Altan Enkh of the Golden Horde,” the alien said.
“That’s me,” Altan said, saluting as he had seen military personnel do in the movies.
“I am unfamiliar with Human communication,” the Jeha said. “Is that hand gesture signif
icant to your communication?”
“Yes, I am saluting.”
The alien laughed. “You don’t need to salute me,” it said. “First of all, I’m not even military. I’m just a hired engineer onboard the Altar ship. The pilot had something wrong with his dropship he wanted me to check out. Second, you’re a colonel, so most of the military forces ought to be saluting you, not the other way around. It does confirm one thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“It confirms that you guys are the worst mercenaries ever.”
“What?” Borte asked. Altan also heard several, more pithy, comments from both companies behind him.
“Why do you say that?” Altan asked in the low voice he used when he was really angry.
“You have to be the worst mercenaries ever for a number of reasons. One, you have no standards. Although you are dressed the same, even I can tell you don’t look like a military group just from the way you stand and hold yourselves. There is no discipline in your formation. It also doesn’t look like most of you have any weapons with you for deployment—most mercenaries would go on deployment armed to the teeth. And finally—and this is what we find to be the funniest thing we’ve ever seen—you appear to have had a casualty before you were even picked up for movement to your contract site.” It started laughing again.
Sokolov stalked past Altan. “I’ve got this,” he growled. A half-second later, Jasur joined him. The Russian stopped in front of the Jeha and stared into the depths of the alien’s eyes for several seconds, until it flinched back away from him. “Colonel,” Sokolov said over his shoulder without breaking eye contact with the Jeha, “would you like me to teach this off-world piece of shit some manners? We may not be the best mercenaries, yet, but this fuckhead is greatly mistaken if he thinks that means we aren’t good killers.” His hand went to his holster with enough movement to attract the Jeha’s eyes to where his hand rested.
The alien’s laughs ceased, and its eyes met Sokolov’s again. Whatever it saw in the Russian caused it to drop its flippant attitude. “That won’t be necessary,” the giant millipede said. “Come, Colonel, and show me what you are transporting up, while your troops begin loading aboard.” It gestured with a pincer for Sokolov to go to the dropship.
Alpha Contracts Page 28
