Free The War for Profit Series Omnibus by Gideon Fleisher Page A

insignia because it helps us to work with them. The liaison thought up the idea when the Panzers first came to Mandarin space. But we go by different tittles, ones that fit our TO&E. I’m a Troop. We drop the ‘lance’ from Corporal and Sergeant, ‘Gunny’ is called ‘Chief’, and he’s in charge of a platoon. ‘Master Gunny’ is called ‘Master Sergeant,’ and he’s in charge of a company,” She paused for breath, “and a ‘sub commander’ is called ‘Sergeant Major.’”
    “And officer rank?”
    “Who cares? We just call them all ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ anyway. Don’t see a lot of officers here in the infantry. I think your company is led by a Lieutenant, and the battalion is led by a Captain right now.”
    “Next!” said Tad, stepping out of the booth.
    Galen stepped in and shut the door. A red indicator light went out, an electronic buzzing sound came from the holo camera, and then a green indicator light came on. All finished, Galen stepped back out and noticed that Trooper Harover was bent over a workbench attached to the booth. He admired her haunches while she prepared the I.D. cards. She shifted her body’s orientation to give Galen a direct view of her behind. Whether the action was deliberate or not, he wasn’t sure. She stood and turned around, handing each warrior his new card. She saved Galen’s for last, gazing into his eyes as she handed it to him. “Look them over for any mistakes, then come to my desk and sign for them.”
    Her eyes were blue, a deep, clear blue with no flecks or speckles of any other color. She must have been wearing makeup, but Galen didn’t notice any. Just good, clear skin. He examined his I.D. card. The holo picture seemed to stand out of the card half a centimeter. On the front was his name, rank and the expiration date, one year away. On the back was a magnetic data strip as well as printed information about Galen’s height, weight, blood type and date of birth. “My card’s perfect, Harover.”
    “Then sign here. When you rotate out to the fleet, come see me again for your new card.”
    “I’m looking forward to it. But I’d like to see you again sooner than that, though. Socially?”
    “That suits me fine. When you rotate in for pass, look me up. I stay in building three six oh nine. Buzz the main door and ask for Inger.”
    “You can count on it. See you in about three months.”
    She smiled and waved at him as he left to join Spike and Tad outside. The rumbling of the approaching armor column was louder, closer. The purr and churn of the internal combustion engines was audible over the clank, pop and squeak of the tracks. Suddenly an armored personnel carrier rounded the corner of the in-processing building and lurched to a halt. Three more came and parked on line, dress-right-dress with the first one.

Chapter Five
    “What the hell is that?” said Tad.
    Spike answered his question, “Those are fully tracked vehicles powered by turbine engines using liquid organic fuel. They’re armed only with a machine gun mounted on a traversing ring in the track commander’s hatch. They’re impervious to small arms fire, can take a direct hit one time from most handheld missiles, but are a sitting duck for automatic cannon fire. Their purpose is to serve as basic transportation for infantry in tactical situations.”
    “Please don’t quote the entire mounted infantry manual,” said Galen.
    “Organic fuel,” said Tad. “I hate that stuff. A fireball waiting to happen, that’s all it is.”
    “Well, maybe. But it helps us earn our pay. I just hope I’m not in one of those cans when it takes a hit from a thermal round,” said Spike.
    Troops, clean and fresh, emerged from nearly every building and converged on the vehicles. Tired and dirty troops dismounted from the Armored Personnel Carriers and walked into the welcome center. A Corporal dismounted from the top hatch of the first APC and stood about ten meters in front of his