“Good job out there.”
“Not a problem, sir. These snappers can fight! I think them three snapper Sergeants made a difference, that tall one took an EPW with his bare hands.”
“So you’re the one? Let me shake your hand.”
Galen extended his hand. The Lieutenant pumped it vigorously, talking the whole time. “Why, you’ll get a nice chunk of money for this. We’ll cut you in for ten percent of the ransom. Just don’t forget to spread the money around with the men who helped you. Divide half of your cut amongst the nine troops you led.”
The last statement was spoken in the tone of an order. The officer squeezed Galen’s hand hard to drive home his point. Galen looked him in the eye and said, “Yes sir, I’ll do exactly that.”
“You’ll do just fine here,” said the Lieutenant, switching back to a jovial tone. “You’ll be in charge of first squad in the anti-armor platoon. The other two Sergeants with you will be in charge of the two other squads. Chief Mortinson will be your boss. Oh, and hand-pick nine replacement troops for the anti-armor platoon from these snappers. I’d suggest you take the same nine guys you just led in your first battle.”
“Understood, sir, I’ll do that,” said Galen.
“I like you,” said the officer as he walked off, “You know how to take a hint.”
Galen gathered up his troops and Spike and Tad joined the group. The twelve men stood in a cluster and waited for more instructions. The Lieutenant came back and spoke to them. “You guys won’t regret your decision to volunteer for anti-armor duty.”
The troops shrugged, looked at one another for some clue of what the officer meant. They shifted into a formation, an automatic reaction to being addressed by an officer. The Lieutenant didn’t seem to care what they did, as long as they listened.
“I’m holding up two fingers. Does any one of you people know what that means?” No one did, they just thought the officer was stupid. “It means two subsistence paychecks. One for normal pay and another for hazardous duty.”
“Sir?” asked Galen.
“Now don’t you worry. Mortinson is a good Chief, just do what he tells you and you’ll be fine. Now I want you all to get on that helo for a ride out to your platoon headquarters.”
“Yes sir,” said Galen. He could think of nothing else to say. The Lieutenant seemed so aloof, so out of touch. The officer walked away, wandering off to do some more Lieutenant stuff somewhere else.
Galen was glad to see him go. “All right, mount up. Let’s ride.”
As the helo lifted him into the air, Galen looked down and watched the company headquarters disperse. The APCs were already gone and seven heavy-duty trucks left the meadow and pulled onto the dirt road leading to the west. The last vehicle to leave was the company commander’s skimmer, driven by a Troop. A Corporal manned the laser cannon mounted on its rear cargo deck. The Lieutenant sat in the passenger seat, studying an electronic clipboard. The helo pilot seemed eager to spill his human cargo but the mercenaries outsmarted him by strapping themselves in with safety harnesses. Galen looked at the mercenary with the broken arm.
“You going to be okay?”
“Check, Sergeant.”
“First thing when we land, have the medic exchange that pneumatic splint for a cast. I’ll tell the Chief to put you in a job that doesn’t require two arms.”
“Check, Sergeant.”
The helo flew at nap-of-the-earth altitude, staying low and following the terrain. After ten minutes of flying without dumping any of his passengers, the pilot gave up and hovered half a meter high over a field. The tree line fifty meters away was populated with grunts, and they came running out as soon as the helo’s skids tapped the ground. Galen and his troops debarked. They looked dirty and tired because they hadn’t slept for a couple of days and had carried out an assault the night before. However, the troops sprinting from the tree line were more tired and much dirtier. Camouflage face paint covered their exposed skin. Strips of torn burlap and discarded uniforms were tied to their bodies and equipment. The overall effect, when they ran across the open ground, made them look like a herd of charging bushes. Galen ordered his troops to run into the trees where the other troops had just come from. He waited for them to run past, counting them to make sure he had everybody. Then he turned to take a final look at the helo. The Sergeant in the passenger bay of the aircraft shouted, “See you later, snapper.”
Galen made a rude hand gesture at him while the helo flew away, then ran to the trees and joined his group.
“Raper, where you at?”
“Right here Chief,” said Galen. Chief Mortinson was a big man of girth, and almost two meters tall. His camouflage uniform looked like a sniper’s suit, covered with cloth strips and synthetic leaves to help him blend into his surroundings. It made the sturdy man look fat, but Galen knew he wasn’t to be trifled with. Mortinson moved with a casual grace and agility.
“Who’s my new assistant?”
“Hurston. His arm’s broken so he needs light duty for about four weeks,” said Galen.
“No, dumbass, I asked which of you three Sergeants will be my assistant, to run the platoon when I’m asleep.”
“Oh, that would be me, I’m senior here.”
“No, dumbass. I want the junior Sergeant.”
“Spike, you’re his assistant.”
“Thanks, dumbass. Now you’ll be in charge of second squad. That other Sergeant, what’s his name?”
“Tad Miller.”
“Miller, you’re in charge of third squad,” said the Chief.
“About Hurston—”
“Come here, you broke-dick troop.” Hurston came over. “You’ll work with my two band aids and help them out at the medic station. There’s two other broke-dicks there, so don’t feel bad.”
“Check, Chief.”
“Okay, all y’all. Follow me ranger file on down the trail to the platoon center. Big guy, take up the rear.”
Galen fell to the back of the column of mercenaries. They walked about four kilometers before they came to the platoon center. It was little more than a primitive camp. The only tent was an environmental bubble set up for the aid station.
“All right everybody, fall in!” said the Chief.
Camouflaged troops melted from the trees and formed up in a loose formation. Galen took his place at the head of second squad and the new troops filled in the spaces on the left. There were three ranks of twelve mercenaries each.
“We got our fresh guys, but they’re tired. They had a firefight last night. Welcome them to the platoon and make them feel at home.”
The camouflaged troops milled around, shaking hands and introducing themselves. The new arrivals followed suit and started mingling and talking as well.
“I’m Corporal Lotus, your first fire team leader.”
“Galen Raper. Glad to meet you.”
“So, how do you want to disperse the three fresh troops in the squad? I’ve seen them split up or all put in the same team. Seems to work just as well either way.”
“Well,” said Galen. “I’d like to keep them together so we don’t bust up the two teams already here, and won’t have to bust up any teams at the next rotation.”
“Okay. You got two Corporals now, so you’ll have to pick one of the fresh guys to be the leader in third team.”
“Good. You and me and the second team leader will talk to each of them and pick a leader together, kind of like a promotion board.”
“Good idea.”
“Fall back in,” said the Chief.
The platoon reassembled in tighter ranks this time. The Chief paced the length of the platoon a couple of times, took off his helmet and wiped his face with a strip of cloth hanging from his forearm. “Camouflage, gentlemen. It’s summer now and getting hotter every day. Should we cut back on how much junk we’re wearing or should we drive on with what we got?”