Patriots and Profits: The Prelude to For One's Own Cause



  Patriots and Profits

  The Prelude to For One’s Own Cause

  J. W. Rolfe

  Copyright 2013

  Harare, Zimbabwe: Several centuries from now

  “They’re closing on our left flank!” cried Capt. Keith Ridgely, laying down suppressing fire, but it was little use. The insurgents had outsmarted them yet again and were threatening to split his battalion. Retaking the capital was supposed to be easy. At least, that’s what Colonel Winthrop had said during the briefing. What a load of shit that was.

  Nothing had gone right since his forces had captured Mbasa Park. As soon as they had established a perimeter, his officers began reporting stiff resistance. Now, it looked like the enemy had broken through. “Rutledge!” he shouted, calling for his second.

  “Sir.”

  “Contact Baker company and tell them to train their smart guns on that hole in the line.”

  “They already tried that, sir.” Rutledge replied. “The fuckers are using that damn jamming signal again.”

  Ridgely’s grimace tightened. He didn’t have another solution. Smart guns should have been more than adequate to deal with these ragtag amateurs. Just another example of how someone was smuggling high-tech weapons to them. Only two powers had jammers at their disposal, and one of them was the U.S., the other was the Pan-Asians. “Fallback to the Rhodes memorial and call Pershing Station.”

  “On it, Captain.” Rutledge answered.

  As his troops retreated, the insurgents held their positions. If they had dared to venture forward, Ridgely’s Americans could use their plasma launchers and vaporize them. It really didn’t matter. Once Pershing Station knew of the problem, its crew would bounce a signal identifying the enemy’s positions. That was the advantage of having a manned satellite in orbit during combat.

  “I’ve alerted Pershing, sir. Stand by.”

  Seconds later, the insurgents began to emit an orange glow. Not only did the station’s signal identify the enemy’s positions, it irradiated anyone who had been handling chemical propellants, particularly potassium carbonate. Ridgely’s men, who relied on a different compound, weren’t affected.

  With the insurgents marked, the battle turned into a turkey shoot as the Americans picked them off one by one. Even the ones hiding behind thick walls were fucked when the sensors detected the radiation, highlighting their positions. This was no longer war. It was a slaughter.

  Ridgely wasn’t a soldier who enjoyed using his high-tech advantages. If anything, he was a bit of a romantic when it came to fighting. He relished an honorable struggle that required bravery and guile to win. Contacting Pershing Station had removed any sense of a challenge or satisfaction he might have had just then.

  “Sir, got a message from Winthrop’s command.” Rutledge said. “There’s another breach at the university. He wants us to proceed immediately.”

  “Alright, have Charlie company take lead with Able and Baker in support.” answered Ridgely, loading a fresh magazine into his rifle.

  Reaching the university wasn’t too difficult. The only resistance was a low-grade plasma battery that kept them pinned for a few minutes, and that was the time it took to deploy the smart guns. Ridgely smirked with satisfaction as the nanotech-enhanced bullets homed in on their targets, shredding them instantly.

  The scene awaiting them was much worse. Before the attack, Col. Winthrop had provided the battalions with a couple of light tanks. Both of which had been needed at the university. What the Americans hadn’t anticipated was discovering that the insurgents had a new anti-armor gun, one of those modern bastards that pierced quadracine plating. It had destroyed both tanks.

  By the time Ridgely’s battalion arrived, one company had been surrounded and another was being pushed toward the city limits. None of this bothered the captain. He had wanted a challenge since this war (if one wanted to call it that) started. “Lt. Rutledge, tell Able to train their plasma launchers on the building across the quad.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Once it’s rubble, I want Baker and Charlie to breakthrough to that cutoff company.”

  “Already on it.” said Rutledge.

  Crouching behind a shattered statue, Ridgely watched his men fan out through tall grass and burned-out vehicles, each bearing his rifle down against the enemy. No one fired until all was set, and then an explosive torrent was unleashed as red-hot plasma hurtled toward the insurgents. The building collapsed and its occupants were vaporized. “That should take some pressure off, but we need to re-establish the line. In the meantime, Baker and Charlie can connect with that company.”

  “Understood,” Rutledge answered. “Do you want to contact Pershing? See what’s coming our way.”

  Ridgely grimaced again. He didn’t want to do it. “Go ahead.”

  Rutledge nodded and started speaking into his headset. “Pershing, this is BN34. Can you give us a proximity scan on our position?”

  Exhaling a deep breath, Ridgely stroked the stubble on his cheeks. The battle had calmed somewhat with the only sounds being distant gun pops. That was good, he needed some time to reflect. Using orbital support was the right call, regardless of his yearning for a fairer fight. He wouldn’t be able to justify unnecessary casualties if his decisions proved reckless.

  “Just heard back from Pershing.” announced Rutledge. “This area’s clear, but they’re advancing with something heavy.”

  “Heavy? Like what, tanks?”

  “They didn’t say. It didn’t sound like tanks to me, probably light armor.”

  “And all we got is small arms.” lamented Ridgely. “Alright, let’s fortify these positions. I have no intention of falling back.”

  “Right, I’ll have the men block that oncoming road and take positions on the rooftops.” Rutledge said, already directing the troops.

  A little street fighting, now that could prove interesting. His soldiers’ plasma launchers likely didn’t pack enough of a punch to pierce even light armor, though that shouldn’t be the goal. If they could force the insurgents’ vehicles to stop for 15 seconds, then Pershing Station could use its laser on them. It was the easy way out but still enough of a challenge.

  Needing a panoramic view, Ridgely climbed to the top of the social sciences building. As he checked his equipment, he could see two grey shapes rolling his way. There wasn’t much time. Grabbing his radio, he called to his men. “We’ve got a couple of Andropovs half a click from us. Try not to engage them and wait for my signal. We’re going with the Jack of Diamonds.”

  This should work. The real trick was keeping hidden from the Andropovs, and that wouldn’t be hard, considering they were fossils of warfare anyway. They could pack a punch. He’d give them that. What they lacked was advanced scanners, which put them at a disadvantage to their American counterpart, the APV.

  His strategy felt sound and was one they’d trained for. The other alternative would have been the Ten of Clubs. That pretty much meant battering the enemy with plasma rounds until they were destroyed. Given that the Andropovs boasted quadracine plating, that wouldn’t have been prudent.

  “They’re within range, Captain.” Sgt. Dade of Baker said over the com.

  “Remember the plan and hold your fire.” Rutledge responded.

  “Shut up, both of you.” Ridgely barked. Didn’t they know to wait for the damn signal. With his men positioned in buildings and rooftops, the Andropovs’ rockets and concussion shells could bury them forever in a heap of concrete. They just needed to wait until the first vehicle moved past the social science building.

  Keeping out of sight, Ridgely
watched the two grey hulks pass by. Both looked battle-worn with new plates being used to patch holes in the armor, and one didn’t even have its rocket launcher. Maybe the Ten of Clubs could work. No, just stick to the plan. “Attention all units, Joker. I say again, Joker.” Ridgely spoke into his radio.

  With the signal given, plasma rounds poured out of the surrounding buildings. A few hit the Andropovs’ weapons, but most ploughed into the road’s surface, making craters. Within seconds, the first vehicle plunged nose-first into a hole. Its hatches flung open as its occupants tried to escape only to be mown down instantly.

  The second vehicle fared better, managing to launch a couple of shells into one of the buildings before rolling into a pit. Its crew was also killed as they attempted to climb out. His men should have been faster. Giving the enemy a chance to return fire wasn’t part of the plan.

  A couple flashes of white light ended the engagement as Pershing’s laser finished off the Andropovs. From the firing of the first shots to the space station’s intervention, only 32 seconds had transpired. Wanting to make sure the encounter was over, Ridgely checked his scanner, all clear, at least from what he could tell. “All personnel, check in. I want a casualty report.” he ordered over the com.

  “Everyone’s okay, except for a couple of wounded. Shoulder and leg, they should be fine.” responded Rutledge.

  “Alright, get them patched up and call for evac.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Two casualties, that wasn’t so bad. He had expected worse when those shells had pulverized that building. Sipping from his canteen, Ridgely wanted to know how the battle was transpiring in the other zones. As far as he knew, his battalion had received no new orders. That was good. It meant they weren’t needed elsewhere.

  “Attention all units, this is command.” a voice blurted over the com, probably one of Winthrop’s staffers. “Hold your present positions, and the CO needs to see the commanders of BNs 34 and 36.”

  That meant him but why. His unit was mostly there for support. The honor of taking out the insurgents’ HQ went to the company of Rangers. It didn’t matter. If the colonel wanted to see him, then the colonel wanted to see him.

  Arriving at base camp a few minutes later, Ridgely proceeded past the security staff and walked straight into the ops center. The battle was barely over and people were already acting like nothing had happened. One technician was reading a magazine on his tablet while another made a sandwich.

  “Ridgely, good to see you.” Col. Winthrop said, standing over a map table. “Give me a minute, then we can talk.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Pershing’s identified another Andropov. We’re trying to take it out.” he muttered, focusing on the charts before him.

  As far as commanding officers went, Brooks Winthrop wasn’t too bad. He was a competent soldier and solid tactician. However, his lack of political acumen pretty much guaranteed that he would never earn that coveted star.

  “Well, if they can lure it past this junction, then Pershing can take it out. If not, 33rd battalion will have to wait for one of our APVs to finish it off.” the colonel said. “Meanwhile, we can talk. Step into my office, Keith.”

  Ridgely followed and grabbed a chair. Winthrop’s workspace was spartan at best with no other adornments than a couple of maps of the region. Pretty much what one would expect at a field HQ.

  “I’m glad your unit pulled through with few casualties.” the colonel started. “Those black ties at Langley mentioned nothing about Andropovs in their dossier.”

  “Nothing we couldn’t handle, sir.”

  “Oh, I know. I’m just frustrated with having to deal with outdated intelligence.”

  “Fog of war, expect the unexpected, all that stuff they teach you at West Point. I‘ve grown accustomed to it.” Ridgely said, not really caring about having destroyed a pair of dilapidated vehicles.

  “I think we all have. Anyway, that’s not why I brought you here.” Winthrop continued. “I want to talk about your career. You’ve been a captain now for what, six years?”

  “Actually, it’s seven.” he answered.

  “Yeah, far too long for an officer of your ability. And with the rebellion coming to a close, I wanted to get you and a few others promoted.”

  “Why the urgency, sir?” Ridgely asked, feeling a tinge of excitement at getting his oak leaves.

  “I’m retiring after this campaign, Keith.” Winthrop said. His voice filled with regret. “The Pentagon’s never going to give me a star, although I think that’s public knowledge by now. The least I can do is take care of my own before someone else wrecks your careers to help their cronies.”

  “I appreciate it, sir.”

  “Whether you do or not doesn’t matter. You’ve earned it. Congratulations, Major.” the colonel said, handing him a small blue box.

  “Thank you.” Ridgely replied, standing up and saluting.

  Being promoted, that was a surprise. He thought after leaving the colonel’s office. Things like that usually took a couple of months, and most officers knew well in advance too. Winthrop probably had had it in the works for some time and decided that the victory was the right occasion. Of course, this meant being transferred. Ridgely couldn’t think of anyone who stayed with the same unit after entering the army’s higher echelons.

  That news wouldn’t come until weeks later. By then, the newly appointed major had returned to the states and was enjoying some much needed leave in California. He had always wanted to visit Coronado’s beaches outside of San Diego and finally had the time to do it. Given that it was one of the few beaches that was encased in a bio-dome, the tickets were pricey and reservations hard to come by. Thank God for his military status, but this place would have been worth it anyway.

  Rolling blue seas, white sands, and a crystal clear sky, it was like a page from the history books. Most coastal waters had turned into a grungy brown centuries ago, and clean beaches could only be found in the South Pacific nowadays. These bio-domes helped bring some of that back.

  Sitting at a Tiki bar and sipping a beer, Ridgely thumbed through the news on his tablet. Nothing interesting was occurring for once, and he was about to put it away until a last second message caught his attention. It was from Winthrop, must be the transfer orders.

  Skimming over the message, Ridgely was right. He was being reassigned but to where? His destination should be at the bottom. There it was, New Albany. What the fuck! Why the hell would they send him there? This was ludicrous.

  Getting assigned there pretty much meant his career was over. New Albany was a deep space colony orbiting one of Rigel’s gas giants, or maybe it was Alpha Centauri? He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that such an assignment provided no opportunities for advancement. You more or less were a desk jockey that handled garrison deployments throughout the star colony network. He couldn’t go there.

  A stint at one of those space outposts wouldn’t have been a problem back when he was a lieutenant. Junior officers routinely received crappy assignments, but Ridgely was aiming for flag rank. That meant staying with a combat unit or duty at the Pentagon. Why would Winthrop let this happen?

  Staring at the bikini-clad blonde at the other side of the bar distracted him from his career. He hadn’t been with a woman since before his deployment to Zimbabwe. She was attractive for sure with sumptuous curves and rounded breasts. Time for him to work his game. Anything to take his mind off the bad news would help. Moving in her direction, he asked the bartender to mix a couple of mojitos. He’d let his muscular physique do the rest of the work.

  The next morning found him in bed with his prize. What was her name again? Cici, Cecilia? He didn’t know. All Ridgely could remember was her occupation, hairdresser. To lay her, he used one of his old Purple Heart stories. They were total bullshit. He’d never actually been wounded. Not that it ever mattered, none of his conquests had ever asked for proof.

  With his fling over and head cleared, he didn’t devote anymor
e time to thinking about New Albany. That decision had been made the moment the assignment arrived, leaving just one more thing to do, resign.

  Giving up the army didn’t bother him too much. Ridgely had only planned on staying four years when he first enlisted in college. The only reason why he kept renewing his commission was that the job was interesting and he enjoyed the occasional melee. Now, all that was over.

  He had a few leads for jobs, so finding work wouldn’t be a problem. Over the years, industry reps had approached him about becoming a security consultant. The money was much nicer than a soldier’s salary, but there was no excitement. All you did was protect installations and offices from industrial espionage, boring. Nevertheless, he would be able to live comfortably and have more time for leisure. Two things a soldier’s career couldn’t provide.

  Who was that recruiter he had met last year? Some guy from Energex had tried talking him into working at a quadracine lab in the Yukon. The company had apparently had a few leaks. Flipping through his tablet’s contacts list, Ridgely remembered having jotted the name down. Ah, there it was, Carson A. Scott. He fired off a quick message and headed for the beach. At the moment, enjoying vacation meant more than work.

  The chill of the sea invigorated him. Ridgely loved the cooler temperatures of the Pacific, a totally different experience from the warmer waters of the Caribbean. After riding his third wave into shore, he spotted one of the resort’s staffers waving at him.

  “Mr. Ridgely!” the cabana boy shouted. “Someone’s here to see you, says it’s very important.”

  Nodding his head, Ridgely waved his acknowledgement and sauntered toward his lounge chair to towel off. Who was it that wanted to see him right now, probably somebody from one of the bases nearby. Given that the Harare crisis could flare up again at any moment, he wasn’t surprised that he could be sought out.

  After getting dry, he walked over to the Tiki bar. Everyone sitting there was dressed in Hawaiian shirts and Panama Jack hats, everyone that is except for one person. A man wearing a gray suit and carrying a brief case was sipping a beer. That had to be the person. “Were you the one who wanted to see me?” he asked.

  “You’re Keith Ridgely, right.” the man answered.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Ah, a pleasure to see you again.” the man said. “The name’s Carson Scott. I know it’s been a while.”

  “Shit, now I recognize you. Well, I mean… I sent you that message three hours ago.”

  “I’ve been in San Diego on business and thought I’d look you up during lunch. Have you eaten?” Scott said.

  “Not yet.”

  “We could grab a table here, or I can wait for you to change and then head into town.”

  “Here’s fine.”

  “Good, then I’ll get us seated.”

  The two ended up sitting at a table at the far end of the bar on a floor half covered with sand. Ridgely flipped through the menu, deciding between yellow fin tuna and mahi mahi. Scott, who appeared more interested in bikini-clad women than food, stared out across the beach.

  “I’m glad you contacted me.” Scott said, not averting his gaze. “I actually need someone with your abilities now more than ever.”

  “Industrial espionage getting that bad?” replied Ridgely, putting down his menu.

  “No, something else.” he said, still staring. “Have you read much about the space piracies going on?”

  “Some, but I thought the air force was on top of that?”

  “They’ve been doing the best they can.” Scott answered, focusing back on Ridgely. “Their orbital interceptors have done well at escorting our ships past the asteroid belt. However, that’s not the problem.”

  “Then what is?”

  “It’s their damn sponsors. The Sri Lankan government has been providing them with ships and weapons for years.”

  “Now hold on a second.” Ridgely interjected. “I’m well aware that the Pan-Asian countries have zero interest in seeing our space colonization efforts succeed but to accuse one of their satellite nations of funding pirates. That just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Yes it does.” Scott answered tersely. “The Rajapaksa regime is seeking to breakaway from the Pan-Asians. Having not been awarded member status in the coalition has finally alienated them to the point of separation.”

  “Shouldn’t that be a good thing, at least from our standpoint?”

  “To the U.S. and NATO, maybe, but to my company, no.”

  “Okay, I get it.” Ridgely started. “Their piracies are hurting your profit margins too much.”

  “Precisely, Rajapaksa is trying to accumulate as much quadracine as he can before he splits, and it’s taking a toll on our shipping.”

  “So where do I come in?”

  “I want you to take him out.” Scott replied.

  “Whoa, you know I can’t do that.” Ridgely said, shocked by the request. “First of all, I’m a soldier, not an assassin. Second, I don’t have the training to do what you’re asking.”

  Scott hesitated before responding and munched away on a piece of bread. “Listen Keith. I know what you can and can’t do, alright. I’ve seen your file for Christ’s sake. What I need is an adviser, someone who can recruit and help coordinate a team. Can you do that?”

  Before Ridgely had a chance to answer, Scott had scribbled something on a napkin and passed it to him. Sure enough, it was a number. If he agreed to do this, he would receive six years’ worth of a major’s pay. “Okay, I’m in.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear. More details will follow, though for now I want you on the first flight to Bozeman, Montana. Time is not exactly on our side here.”