Gideon Fleisher: The War for Profit Series Omnibus

The four Cadets put their glasses down at the same time, gripped their trays, stood in unison and marched with their trays and laid them on the conveyor of the dish return. Outside, the group of four heard the Cadet working the door yell, “Give me four!”

The group marched to the barracks and halted in front of it and then fell out of formation. The three friends walked inside the barracks toward their room, a squad bay with bunks and wall lockers and study desks for eight Cadets.

Spike said, “I can’t wait to graduate.”

Tad tugged at the grey material of his Cadet uniform. “I’m getting some new clothes. Tired of looking like everyone else.”

“Formation to march over to Convocation is in thirty minutes,” said Spike. “Then an hour of boring speeches, and then we’re free.”

Galen said, “Dinner at home with my mom then a nap and then it’s party time!”

Tad said, “We’ll be there. Kind of weird, though, partying at the same bar where your mom works. For you, I mean. Won’t bother me one bit.”

Galen said, “She paid my way through the Academy. It’s the least I can do, go to the graduation party she planned for me.” He stretched out on the bare mattress of his bunk. That morning they had turned in their linins. He turned in all the Academy property and now only owned the uniform he wore and a personal bag containing hygiene gear and a set of civilian clothes. The same clothes he wore when he checked in at the Academy, and had only worn once, on his one and only overnight pass. All Seniors got an overnight pass soon before graduation, a chance to make arrangements for after…

“Wake up!” Spike shook Galen’s shoulder.

They ran outside and fell in to formation. The Senior Instructor called them to attention and faced them toward the coliseum. Then, “Forward, March!”

The senior instructor called cadence, “left, left, left right left,” for most of the march until they neared the coliseum then said, “I’m gonna count down and then you’re gonna sing your class song.”

The class song. Galen thought it was great, two years ago. The class came up with the lyrics during week zero and week one of training. The class sang it when they marched non-tactical as a group around the Academy grounds. But now Galen didn’t like the song at all. He thought it was tasteless and wondered why the training cadre didn’t make them change it a long time ago. The first rank of Cadets entered the coliseum.

“Four, three, two, one!”

The Cadets clapped their hands in time with each left step and sang in cadence to their marching.

Singing, the class marched past the locker rooms and filed in to stand marking time until the song ended, each in front of a folding chair set up on the playing field. The chairs were lined up facing the stage and podium at the end, a gap four meters wide left down the middle of the chairs. Galen was relieved when the song ended. They stood at attention until the Senior Instructor took the steps up onto the stage and used the podium sound system to give the command, “Take Seats.”

They sat.

In the bleachers all around were the rest of the Cadets, family members, instructors and staff, veterans, alumni and anyone else interested in attending the graduation ceremony. The coliseum was packed. Some spectators had to stand. The applause began as soon as the Graduating Class took their seats.

The Senior Instructor stepped away from the podium. The Academy President stepped up and spoke, “I’m very proud of all the students, the graduating seniors especially. It is no small task to complete the rigorous training program of the Ostwind Armor Academy. It is amazing, I must say, that four hundred and thirty two of you made it all the way through to graduation. That is a surprisingly high number. I am proud of each and every one of you.”

She raised her left hand, the signal for the guest speaker to make his entrance.

By this time the Academy Commandant and the senior faculty and the alumni board members were lined up at the end of the coliseum opposite the stage, behind the Guest Speaker and his wife in a column of twos. He stepped off with his left foot and kept the pace slow. His well-dressed wife looped her right arm through his left, giving a clear signal they were a happy couple. His dress uniform was a dark blue coat over light blue pants tucked into riding boots with ornamental chromed single-lug spurs. He wore tan leather gloves that came halfway up his forearms. A saber hung in its scabbard on his left hip, a sidearm was holstered on his right thigh and he wore a black cowboy-style hat, a pair of gold tassels resting on the front of its brim. Clearly, a Cavalry officer.

The academy president announced, “Ladies and Gentlemen, the Iron Horse Brigade Commander, Colonel Joseph Johnston!”

He angled to the left of the stage and climbed the six steps to get up on the stage and then took his place to stand at the lectern. A double row of seats were set up and his wife took the second one, leaving the first for him. He watched over his shoulder as the rest of the retinue filled in the remaining seats. Then he looked forward and surveyed the crowd. He looked right to left, slowly, mechanically. The coliseum became quiet, almost silent. He took a deep breath and looked at the word machine that projected his speech in front of him.

Finally he spoke, “It’s great to be here in the coliseum of the Ostwind Armor Academy, and the first thing I want to say is, Hell on Wheels!”

“Hell on Wheels!” the crowd roared back.

After the crowd quieted down, Colonel Johnston began reading his prepared speech.

“Good afternoon President Ross, Commandant Bolar, the Alumni Board of Directors, instructors, faculty, parents, family and friends, cadets and the graduating class seated in the field before me. Congratulations on your graduation, and thank you for allowing me the honor to be a part of it. Let me also acknowledge your planetary governor, Eric Fisher, your city’s mayor, Thomas Rea, and all the members of the Bonding Commission who are here with us today.

“Mercenary work is important work. Mercenary units make peace where there was war. The suffering of combat is greatly reduced by the professionalism of mercenaries. Nations enjoy greater social development when mercenaries fight their wars for them.

“When a government decides it is time for war, they have to weigh the cost. They have to sacrifice something near and dear to them personally, and that is their money. That fact alone has prevented more than one war over the past two thousand years. Before professional mercenaries came to dominate warfare, governments would sacrifice millions of their own citizens, and their citizen’s money, to go to war for frivolous reasons. Often times they’d start a war just to get more money and power in their own pockets. The existence of mercenary units takes all that away. Civil governments devote more of their time and resources to social development. Human life has more value, and when populations get too large they have incentive to take to the stars and find new homes for their people. The choice of starting a war to whittle down the numbers is no longer an option. The population can hire mercenaries to fight back, and no government troops can match our skill or professionalism.