Alpha Contracts Read online

  He thought about how he’d figured out where the base was, and his scouts had traced the flexible hoses being dragged by the dinosaurs. Pretty creative, the Besquith. Of course, Hoona was in on it, for a percentage. He just hadn’t known he was expendable. A couple extra million in bonuses for the Cavaliers had made sure Jim hadn’t sent a message to the guild about how the other companies were being set up. The opSha was rather grateful for being rescued after the Besquith he’d been employing decided they didn’t need him anymore. “Even with better guns, tanks, and stuff, we need protection for the troopers, the boots on the ground.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Ted asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Jim admitted, “but something will come to me.” The two mercs exchanged knowing grins.

  * * * * *

  Avenging Angels - 1

  Message Transmission – Lecata System Stargate

  Public Encryption Key – Iota-7-7-8

  Origination – Tolo Arm / Gresht Region / T’dan 5 Stargate

  Destination – Tolo Arm / Gresht Region / Republic of Earth / United States / Virginia / Virginia Beach / Dianne Pike

  Information Guild ID P-334-1333-M5-1

 

  Message Begins:

  Dearest Dianne,

  I’m told this message will reach you, so I wanted to let you know we survived our contract. Although our survival may seem like a pretty big deal, it really wasn’t much of an achievement. We were supposed to provide combat search and rescue for two companies of Russian paratroopers while they conducted a high-altitude night insertion with some high-tech galactic dropships they had bought. We found out later that they were state-of-the-art…about 300 years ago.

  Needless to say, the Russians didn’t make it. Half their dropships were destroyed before they even got to the drop zone. The rest of them? I’ll just say they didn’t make it. The rest of the equipment the Russians bought was 100-year-old surplus crap, too. Most of the missiles they had to suppress the enemy radars didn’t work. It was awful to watch—all of them were killed on the way down. Not a single one made it to the planet.

  It sucked for them, but was good for us—since the Russians were all dead, they didn’t need our services, and we didn’t get called in to evacuate anyone. It was a good thing for us, too! We found out later the equipment we had was crap, too. If we’d been called in, we’d have been wiped out just like the Russians.

  The colonel was pissed, but when he re-read the bill of sale, the aliens that sold them to us hadn’t lied about them—we were just too naïve and didn’t ask the right questions.

  That’s the other reason I’m sending this letter. Although the good news is I’m still alive, the bad news is I don’t know when I’ll be back. The colonel assumed that the MinSha who hired us as subcontractors would bring us back to Earth when the contract was up. We found out that, apparently, you shouldn’t assume anything with galactic contracts beyond what is written on the page. There are absolutely no implied warrantees or guarantees implicit to the agreement. The deal is what is written…and nothing else.

  The MinSha collected the pay for contract fulfillment, paid us our fees, and dumped us at the closest merc pit. They didn’t even give us the Russians’ fees—they kept that for themselves! Since the Russians were wiped out, they got the fees as the prime contractor. The colonel’s pretty sure that was their plan all along—they expected both groups to get wiped out so they could keep all of the contract fulfillment fees. Even though the MinSha didn’t “win,” they never had to put themselves in harm’s way—they were just using us all along so that they could collect the fees!

  The Russians screwed up their plans, though, by dying so fast, and the MinSha were pissed off that we didn’t die as expected, and they had to pay us! They tried not to, but the colonel found a merc guild mediator who ruled that we had completed our portion of the contract, and they had to pay us. I think they actually lost money on the contract. Serves them right.

  In any event, they dumped us at this merc pit—I don’t even know where it is—and we’re going to have to find a new contract to get us home. If nothing else, though, we did get paid for our first contract, so we were able to upgrade our equipment. We’re now the proud owners of two MinSha Series 3 dropships. I’ll make sure I use mine to get me home to you as soon as I can.

  We’re really happy to have the new ships. Based on the conversations I’ve had with some of the—admittedly few—Human mercenaries I’ve seen here, if we Humans learned nothing else when we came out here, it was not to take the aliens too lightly. I guess that’s pretty obvious in hindsight—don’t look down on the races that have space travel when you don’t—but I think nearly all of us fell prey to it, at least a little bit. I mean, we were part of a standing army from the most powerful nation on Earth, and we were just going out to fight some mercenaries, right? You would think regular army would kick the mercenary companies’ butts. Right?

  Not so much.

  What we forgot, and what is so painfully obvious now, is that the mercenary companies all fight for money. If they aren’t any good, they either get dead, fast, or they go out of business. Usually the former. Either way, the companies that are still in existence are the ones who have withstood the test of time—they are the ones that are well-led, well-disciplined, and well-armed.

  We only had one of those qualities—we were as well-disciplined as the alien forces, but that’s where the similarities ended. Our leaders were good enough on Earth (they may even have been “great”), but they were unprepared for war in the stars. They didn’t do enough preparation to know and understand the enemy prior to engaging them, and then they weren’t able to keep up with the speed at which battles move here.

  What was worse, though, was the difference in equipment. It’s not just that theirs is better—don’t get me wrong, it is—what’s worse is that most of them are naturally better armed and armored than us. We saw the Asbaran Solutions guys here last week, and this is something they said they knew all along. When the MinSha attacked their country, a lot of the bullets and shells the Iranians—now the New Persians, I guess—shot at the MinSha bounced off. And that was before they added on armor! Our bodies are awfully squishy in comparison.

  And the teeth and claws some of those races have? I won’t get into them until I’m home safe and sound, but there is a race called the Besquith, and they all look like the wolf that ate grandma in Little Red Riding Hood. The colonel has said we won’t be fighting any of them, though, so you (thankfully) don’t have to worry about that.

  That’s it for now—we just got recalled to the ship, so we probably have a new mission. Hopefully, this one will bring me back home to you!

  I love you!

  Captain John Pike,

  Avenging Angels

  * * * * *

  Letter Home from Sandy - 1

  Message Transmission – Lecata System Stargate

  Public Encryption Key – Iota-7-7-8

  Origination – Tolo Arm / Gresht Region / T’dan 5 Stargate

  Destination – Tolo Arm / Gresht Region / Earth / Republic of Earth / United States / Georgia / Atlanta / Patricia Mize

  Information Guild ID P-334-1333-M7-1

  Dear Patricia,

  I really wanted to send this before we left Earth, but it all happened so damned fast. I’m sure you’ve seen the nonstop news about the aliens and everything, especially since Iran got plastered (wow, what a show that was). But since we left in such a hurry, I just didn’t have the chance. I’m sorry, please explain to mom?

  You know I haven’t been happy since I left the army. I miss the thrill. Sure, I admit it; I became a bit of an adrenaline junky. It’s hard not to! Between the thrill of being shot at, and the satisfaction of saving a soldier’s life, it’s better than any drug could be. At least that’s what I hear. When John Pike, someone I knew from the army, came to me and as
ked me to join the company he was a part of, I just couldn’t say no.

  John’s colonel had formed the company with funding from his father’s estate. The colonel met with these aliens, elSha if I remember, and we bought six vehicles called Apoocas. They’re these super-advanced VTOLs that look like giant quadcopter drones! They’re majorly fast and maneuverable. We’re going on a contract to provide CSAR, you know, combat search and rescue! Just like I did back in The Stan. John said it pays like a million credits, and from what I saw on the internet, credits are trading for about $30,000 to one! Even after we pay back the money for startup, we’ll get like $10,000,000 each! The colonel’s calling the outfit the Avenging Angels.

  Unfortunately, our first mission was a dud. The Russians we were supposed to support crashed and burned. Some of the best there were, and none made it to the planet. Ouch. I’m afraid of how the rest of Humanity is doing.

  We got paid, and then dumped at a backwater planet (turns out no free ride home). The colonel got us another job, though, and while we’re here, I could send this message and even learn a little alien language. The transport was crewed by Cochkala (big badgers), and their language is pretty easy to pick up. The colonel thinks I’m nuts; he bought us all translators when he was getting the new ships. The alien captain mentioned Cartwright’s Cavaliers, that’s another Earth merc unit. He said they were fine. Good to hear someone else is okay.

  Oh, one of our mechanics is dead too. He saw a huge purple bear and started singing the Barney song? Yeah, they’re called Oogar, and he’s dead now. Man, the galaxy sucks.

  We’re on to the next contract soon. I was able to send a few hundred credits. It isn’t much for us, but I bet it will help there. Even after the banks take their share. Don’t worry, I’m fine and learning about alien medicine. You won’t believe what I’ll be able to do when we get back!

  Gotta go, the boss wants to look at the new ships!

  XXOO - Sandy

  * * * * *

  Asbaran Solutions - 1

  “That’s probably the last of them, General,” Colonel Kuru Shirazi said, looking north through his binoculars along Shahid Rigi Boulevard. A group of 12 survivors staggered into the checkpoint five kilometers north of Chabahar in southeastern Iran. They looked like the walking dead, shambling along with only the personal belongings they could carry. “I don’t think many more will be coming.”

  The soldiers at the checkpoint searched them for weapons and then waved them through. Shirazi didn’t think they could have put up much of a fight even if they wanted to—it looked like they’d been traveling for several days. They’d probably started south right after the MinSha nuclear attack that had wiped out most of the country. If they’d taken three days to arrive at the southern port city of Chabahar, they’d probably been fairly close to either the county capital of Nik Shahr to the north or the tiny fishing village of Goriyan to the west; anything further would have put them too close to the blasts at Iranshahr or Bandar-e-Jask.

  “Muhammad is quoted as saying ‘Allah will bring the people out from the Fire and admit them into Paradise,’” Rastam Turhani replied. As Imam Jomeh, or Prayer Leader, he ran the town council that ruled Chabahar. “We may not be living in Paradise, but we can give them shelter and water. It is our duty.”

  “Yes, Imam,” the colonel replied, as the imam jomeh turned and walked back to his car, having seen enough. His chauffeur put the car in gear, and it sped off to the south.

  “Has the…other group…returned yet?” Brigadier General Ashkan Pahlavi asked.

  The general seemed lost in thought, contemplating something in the overcast sky to the north, but Colonel Shirazi knew he was laser-focused on the question. “Yes, General,” he replied. “The Quds returned almost an hour ago. Their leader, Captain Khorram, seemed most pleased with their mission and its results.” He tried to keep the distaste from his tone, but was only partially successful. The Captain had several blood spots on his uniform; apparently, he had joined his men in carrying out the mission.

  “You disagreed with the tasking?” the general asked. He had been the one who had ordered Shirazi to perform the mission—eliminating the few prominent Shiite clerics in Chabahar—in the first place.

  “No, General,” Shirazi said after a few moments. “The country of Iran no longer exists as an entity. Although there may be pockets of survivors, the infrastructure to support our nation no longer exists. The only area left—Chabahar and the area to the east of us—will have to come together to act as one if we are to survive, and the Shiites would have caused dissent.”

  Shirazi shrugged and then added. “It was necessary.”

  “You are okay with it, then?” the general asked, pressing further. “I know you are a Persian.” Although the population of the area was mostly Baluch, who were Sunni Muslims, there was a relatively large minority, the Sistani Persians, who were usually Shiite.

  “My family is Persian, yes,” Shirazi replied, “but I was raised as a Zoroastrian. The Sunni-Shiite divide isn’t a problem for me. I’m more worried about Truth and maintaining control of the area.” He shrugged again. “What I am most worried about, though, is what the Imam would say…or will say, when he finds out.”

  “Imam Turhani?” The general laughed. “I doubt he will complain, as he is the person who suggested it.

  Shirazi twitched back, his eyes opening wide.

  The general chuckled again at his subordinate’s reaction. “Oh, yes, it was his request that we take care of that. ‘Inshallah,’ the imam said. ‘It is as God wills it. The Shiites have been found wanting and have been cast into His fires. From here forward, the Sunni will rule in Iran.’”

  Shirazi looked back to the north. Although the mushroom clouds from the MinSha bombardment had cleared—dumping their poison on Pakistan and Afghanistan to the east—the area to the north of Chabahar wouldn’t be livable again for a while, and the people who hadn’t made it out by now would all probably die slow deaths from radiation. God’s fires, indeed.

  “I must go inspect the eastern defenses,” the general said. “With Tehran in ashes, the Pakistanis may well try to take the rest of Balochistan from us.” The general raised a hand to stop the protest he saw coming from Shirazi. “Yes, I know they have their own issues with radiation poisoning they should be attending to; however, the opportunity to gobble up the rest of what was once Iran may be too tempting to them, and we need to ensure our defenses do not invite them to make the attempt.”

  Colonel Shirazi nodded. “That makes sense, sir,” he said, smiling as the general turned to go. Although it hadn’t seemed so at the time, it was lucky that the general had come down from the regimental headquarters in Zahedan on an unannounced inspection tour of the units in the Chabahar area—a mechanized infantry battalion, a tank battalion, and a company of the army’s Qud special forces—the day prior to the MinSha attack.

  If the general hadn’t been there, the colonel would have been the person left in charge when the Iranian military was decapitated. In the last three days, the general had been everywhere, raising morale and strengthening their defenses, which had left the myriad of search and rescue operations and the requirement to figure out the area’s logistics issues to Colonel Shirazi. Personally, he thought he’d gotten the short end of that stick, but the general’s presence had been very welcome, and they would need all of the help they could get over the next weeks and months as they tried to figure out what they were going to do without the rest of the country.

  The general stopped halfway to his car and turned around. “Don’t forget,” he called, “there is a staff meeting tonight at 1800. Please have all your plans on PowerPoint so the imam can see them.” The general cast him a quick smile, then turned and left.

  Although Kuru Shirazi generally believed that fire was holy, due to his Zoroastrian roots, he hoped there was a special place in hell for the person who had first created the computer program. It seemed like that was all the generals and above wanted to see anymore. �
��There must be a presentation to accompany your brief.’ Maybe it wasn’t so lucky the general hadn’t died in the MinSha attack, after all.

  * * * * *

  Asbaran Solutions - 2

  “Well that’s odd.” Airman Omid looked up from his radar scope in the control tower of Chabahar’s Konarak airfield. “I think we have a problem.”

  “What have you done now?” Master Sergeant Basir asked, his voice a growl as he moved to stand next to the airman. Not only had the trainee been a notoriously slow learner, but every time he sat down at a console, the radar seemed to have...issues. They were never the same, and they always went away when the airman left, but while he was at the console...issues. That was why he’d been assigned the southeastern sector, watching out over the Gulf of Oman and into the Indian Ocean, rather than the chaotic area to the west around the Straits of Hormuz. Nothing ever happened to the southeast.

  “I haven’t done anything,” Airman Omid replied in a whine. Of all of Omid’s traits, Basir hated the whine most of all. “I just have a weird contact, that’s all. It just popped up about 80 kilometers to the south, and it’s coming straight at us.”

  “It must have been someone flying low to the water. Probably the Americans, trying to bait us or test our readiness.” Since the aliens had nuked the rest of the country, it seemed like everyone had been probing the Chabahar region. The military chain of command expected someone would assault them, or in some other way to try to take advantage of them, and tensions were high. “Still, we can’t not respond to the provocation. Launch the alert section of MiG-29s. and direct them to intercept.”