Read Online The War for Profit Series Omnibus by Gideon Fleisher - Free Book Online Page A

for yourself.”
    They went to the armory first. It was a low, sturdy building made of reinforced concrete, and its one small door was flanked by two armed guards.
    “Halt! State your business.”
    “Here to get our basic issue,” said Galen.
    “I.D. please.”
    They showed their assignment orders and contracts.
    “Go on in, snappers. Just don’t forget to stop by admin to have your I.D. cards made before you leave.”
    “What’s a snapper?” asked Tad.
    The guards were bored, working a slow night. They took the time to explain. The guard on the left said, “A snapper is a new arrival. Statistics show that most new guys snap from the stress within three months, if they’re going to snap at all.”
    “No,” said the other guard, “a snapper is a snapper because it takes about a year for him to travel from in-processing to out-processing, moving slow like a snapping turtle.”
    “One year here? But we’re contracted for five,” said Galen.
    “Oh, you’re in the Brigade for five years but your first year is spent here, garrisoning this rock. Gives you time to get in tune with the brigade’s way of doing things, the SOP and the jargon, and you also get a chance to show what you’re made of. Build up a file to let the people in the head shed know where to put you. Some guys like it here and keep extending their time on Mandarin. I know a Sergeant who has been here eighteen years. He claims he’ll do another two here and then retire and open a bar just outside this compound’s main gate.”
    “Sounds like he’s a shammer,” said Tad.
    The guards grinned. “Snapper!”
    The first thing Galen saw inside the armory was a sign saying, “Browsing limit five minutes. Cash purchases not allowed; warrior accounts only. Move only in the direction of the arrows. All sales are final.” He noticed the red duck-tape arrows stuck on the floor and followed them as they guided him in a zigzag through the diagonal aisles of the armory. Display racks held environmental suits, field uniforms, pistols of every make and style, a wide variety of rifles, crates of grenades, plus an assortment of war gear and battlefield cutlery. The display case for entrenching tools had pictures of grunts digging foxholes, pounding tent pegs and prying open tank hatches. One photo showed a grunt in close combat, using his entrenching tool to chop off an enemy’s head.
    Tad pulled one from the display rack and said, “This is cool, I’m buying it!”
    “No, wait until we get our basic issue. There might be one in it,” said Spike.
    They hurried, winding through all the aisles, following the arrows on the floor. Finally they reached the check-out counter. A middle-aged civilian, rotund and balding and dressed in a lightweight set of khaki coveralls, greeted them. “So what can I do you for, gentlemen?”
    “Basic issue, please.”
    “Show me your orders.”
    They placed the documents on the counter. The clerk glanced at the paperwork. “Standard stuff.”
    He went to the back room for about five minutes and then returned pushing a heavy-duty cart loaded with military gear. “This stuff’s on the house, courtesy of the Brigade. Anything else you want, you pay for. But this standard issue should suit you just fine on Mandarin. I don’t expect to see you again until you get ready to leave.”
    “So what do we get?” asked Tad.
    “Basic field kit: Bayonet, automatic pistol, three sets of combat coveralls, and your choice of either a rifle or a submachine gun.”
    Spike and Galen chose rifles.
    “I want a submachine gun,” said Tad.
    “Sign here on the hand receipt.”
    They did and then the clerk stapled copies of the receipts to their orders and handed them back. “Take those uniforms to the tailor so he can sew on your rank, name tapes and patches.”
    They thanked the man and carried their gear outside.
    “Wait here,” said Tad. “I’m going back to get that shovel.”
    “What do you think of all this, Spike?” said