Read Online The War for Profit Series Omnibus by Gideon Fleisher - Free Book Online
Authors: Gideon Fleisher
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Do you know who I am?”
“No.” Probably some of the old duds we’re here to replace, or a bunch of clerking jerk rear echelon bums, thought Galen.
“My name is Colonel Norbert Theil. This is my executive officer, my logistics officer, and my training/tactical officer.”
Galen looked around the office. The back wall was covered with military decorations and certificates. A shield and crossed sabers, a sniper rifle, a tattered and dirty Regimental standard, a diploma from a military academy, a framed certificate awarding a high order of valor to… Captain Norbert Theil, dated about ten years earlier.
“Sorry, sir. I didn’t realize…”
“You have two seconds to get out of my office. In-processing is handled by the other end of the building. Move it!”
They darted out of the room and raced to the entrance at the other end of the building. This time they passed through double-doors into a well-lit corridor. Barring their way was a counter attended by an alert Corporal.
“Greetings, gentlemen. What may I help you with?”
“We’re here to in-process.”
“Good. Put your contracts on the counter, go get your bags and put them by the coat rack, then wait here.”
“We don’t have bags.”
“Where are your clean clothes, your toothbrushes?”
“Well, we put our clothes in the cleaner when we shower, and use the water pick on our teeth. No need for excess baggage. You’d learn that, if you went to an academy,” said Tad.
“We do things differently here. You’ll learn. The tech level at this garrison is primitive. Use what you learned about field hygiene at your academy.”
“What do you mean?” Galen hung his coat on the rack and thought about leaving it there.
“I mean, we have old running-water showers, laundry ladies wash our clothes in a sink, and you’ll need a toothbrush or your teeth will rot out of your head. But we do live better here than in the field.”
“Oh.” They laid their paperwork on the counter. The Corporal hit a buzzer and a Troop came out and collected the paperwork. The three new mercenaries stood waiting for him to return.
“So Corporal,” said Spike, “any idea where we’re going?”
“Probably up north. Been some trouble up there lately.”
“How long will we be here?”
“About two hours. The next convoy should leave at zero two hundred, provided they don’t foul up your paperwork, or if nobody decides to keep you here. If you waited five more days to come, you might’ve got my job. That’s when I’m due to rotate out.”
Tad said, “No thanks, we’re not here to hang around garrison. We want action.”
Spike shrugged. Despite the sultry weather, Tad and Spike still wore their jackets. Tad began pacing, his red-orange hair brighter than ever, longer than Galen had ever seen it at the academy. Spike’s hair was the same, as though it never grew and was never out of place. His moustache was getting longer at the ends, starting to grow into handlebars. The Red Baron, remembered Galen. That’s who Spike looked like, the Bloody Red Baron.
“Hey, you all can go out and move around the compound and get your war gear ready. Just don’t wander off too far, like stay within a couple hundred meters. Come back when you hear the convoy.”
“What’s the convoy supposed to sound like?” asked Tad.
“Don’t worry; you’ll know it when you hear it.”
“And where are we supposed to go at this late hour?” asked Galen.
“Oh, this is the welcome center. We deal with a lot of transient troops processing in and out of the Brigade. Twenty four hour operations on everything. Maybe you want to visit the exchange, pick up some field essentials. Also open an account at the armory, pick up your basic issue plus whatever extra armaments you think you’ll need.”
“Basic issue?”
“I don’t know who you pissed off, but in a couple of hours you’re going from here straight out to the field. You’ll need full war gear. You just go check it out
“No.” Probably some of the old duds we’re here to replace, or a bunch of clerking jerk rear echelon bums, thought Galen.
“My name is Colonel Norbert Theil. This is my executive officer, my logistics officer, and my training/tactical officer.”
Galen looked around the office. The back wall was covered with military decorations and certificates. A shield and crossed sabers, a sniper rifle, a tattered and dirty Regimental standard, a diploma from a military academy, a framed certificate awarding a high order of valor to… Captain Norbert Theil, dated about ten years earlier.
“Sorry, sir. I didn’t realize…”
“You have two seconds to get out of my office. In-processing is handled by the other end of the building. Move it!”
They darted out of the room and raced to the entrance at the other end of the building. This time they passed through double-doors into a well-lit corridor. Barring their way was a counter attended by an alert Corporal.
“Greetings, gentlemen. What may I help you with?”
“We’re here to in-process.”
“Good. Put your contracts on the counter, go get your bags and put them by the coat rack, then wait here.”
“We don’t have bags.”
“Where are your clean clothes, your toothbrushes?”
“Well, we put our clothes in the cleaner when we shower, and use the water pick on our teeth. No need for excess baggage. You’d learn that, if you went to an academy,” said Tad.
“We do things differently here. You’ll learn. The tech level at this garrison is primitive. Use what you learned about field hygiene at your academy.”
“What do you mean?” Galen hung his coat on the rack and thought about leaving it there.
“I mean, we have old running-water showers, laundry ladies wash our clothes in a sink, and you’ll need a toothbrush or your teeth will rot out of your head. But we do live better here than in the field.”
“Oh.” They laid their paperwork on the counter. The Corporal hit a buzzer and a Troop came out and collected the paperwork. The three new mercenaries stood waiting for him to return.
“So Corporal,” said Spike, “any idea where we’re going?”
“Probably up north. Been some trouble up there lately.”
“How long will we be here?”
“About two hours. The next convoy should leave at zero two hundred, provided they don’t foul up your paperwork, or if nobody decides to keep you here. If you waited five more days to come, you might’ve got my job. That’s when I’m due to rotate out.”
Tad said, “No thanks, we’re not here to hang around garrison. We want action.”
Spike shrugged. Despite the sultry weather, Tad and Spike still wore their jackets. Tad began pacing, his red-orange hair brighter than ever, longer than Galen had ever seen it at the academy. Spike’s hair was the same, as though it never grew and was never out of place. His moustache was getting longer at the ends, starting to grow into handlebars. The Red Baron, remembered Galen. That’s who Spike looked like, the Bloody Red Baron.
“Hey, you all can go out and move around the compound and get your war gear ready. Just don’t wander off too far, like stay within a couple hundred meters. Come back when you hear the convoy.”
“What’s the convoy supposed to sound like?” asked Tad.
“Don’t worry; you’ll know it when you hear it.”
“And where are we supposed to go at this late hour?” asked Galen.
“Oh, this is the welcome center. We deal with a lot of transient troops processing in and out of the Brigade. Twenty four hour operations on everything. Maybe you want to visit the exchange, pick up some field essentials. Also open an account at the armory, pick up your basic issue plus whatever extra armaments you think you’ll need.”
“Basic issue?”
“I don’t know who you pissed off, but in a couple of hours you’re going from here straight out to the field. You’ll need full war gear. You just go check it out
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