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Time Management for Mercenaries Time Management for Mercenaries ~ Author: Dai Alanye Designer: A F Donley © Copyright 2012 by Dai Alanye Aardbassett Books ~ Time Management for Mercenaries is an original work of fiction, book I of a series. Except for historical events, persons or places, all other characters, locations, things and incidents are creations of the writer's imagination. Resemblances to actual happenings or individuals other than the historical, or to contemporary persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The book is offered free for your enjoyment and to promote interest in my other works. Feel free to share You'll See! with other readers, but don't alter anything. After all, why meddle with perfection? ~ Chapter 00 ~ Valkyries Pierce lay on his side dreaming of peace, his view of the slaughter-field blocked by ranks of spearmen. He'd run the gamut of emotions today — fear, irrational calm, anger, exhilaration, apprehension, and fear again as battle waxed and waned. Near an hour had passed since the last attack. The sun lowered, half hidden in banks of mist. A light breeze blew from the south, wafting serried clouds high overhead. Buttermilk sky. How queer the name in this bloody place. Better imagine those sun-glinting drifts Valkyries come to carry the slain to a Saxon Valhalla, there to feast and fight and be made whole again until Gotterdammerung. The swan-maidens would have heavy work this gore-soaked day. In him they awaited a reluctant fighter a millennium out of time. What sense to travel so many years and miles to seek an early death? He felt a brief unreasoning anger at the man who'd brought him here. Unreasoning... for none but Brian Pierce was ultimately to blame. ~ Chapter 01 ~ The Right Man In the study of a fine old home — two walls lined with books, plank floor dark and lustrous — sat a brawny strong-featured man, his dark hair streaked with gray. The Southern California sun, barely restrained by filmy curtains, beat in through tall windows as he spoke into the phone, his voice husky. "Yes, I understand, and I hope you— No, no hard feelings. You have your— Well, thank— thank you for your— No, my discretion is— Certainly not, Colonel." As a larger man entered, he turned to glower in disgust before returning to the phone. "Absolutely. Under the circumstances you've pointed out— You've convinced— No— No, I simply have to give up this project. Yes— yes— Right." He hung up, leaning back and giving a huge sigh. "Colonel Radabaugh again, Mister Cam?" Dimarico turned weary eyes toward the doorway. "Who else? Hard to get a word in edgewise." "You say you're quitting?" "To shut him up. I'll never quit — you know that." "He chicken out?" "Wouldn't touch this deal with a barge pole. Concerned for his reputation if it became known he even talked to me... Yet he looked so good, Saipele — credentials and 2 in person, too." Dimarico’s voice hardened. "But it seems there's a difference between a good man and the right man. And now... Now only one left, my friend. The least impressive of the entire bunch, with a questionable record to boot." "Maybe not-so-good record better. He don't have to always worry about his rep — how he looks to other officers." "I wonder..." Dimarico and the big man studied one another. "We're running so short of time I'm ready to consider anyone with fewer than three heads. And I am not going to drop it, regardless of what Radabaugh thinks he's talked me into." "Look up the Marine?" Saipele sat before the desktop and started mousing. After several clicks, he said, "Maybe at that range today." "What times?" "Starts ten-hundred." Dimarico looked at the clock and came to a decision, energy returning in a rush. "It's late but... let's move!" "I was working. I should—" "Only a clean shirt. Go, man!" * * * Swann's final shaft cleft a stunningly blue sky to the zenith before arcing down toward its goal ninety meters distant... only to strike in the black, contemptibly far from essential gold. Failure! As if he needed more of it. Family lost, profession gone — now even his hobby letting him down. A wave of petulance hit him — disgust, anger, frustration with the entire sport of archery... And with plenty more. He longed to walk away, not even retrieving his arrows — to leave this useless, time-wasting piddle forever behind. But no. Trained his whole life to act the part of a man, he'd not change now — not give way because of one more paltry setback. He unstrung his bow, resigned to playing a civil role a while longer. Among bleak dry California hills, backed by bleaker California mountains, a few level acres of hilltop had been fenced, and a wide swath of brush cleared and groomed as an archery range. At the front of this plot beside a narrow asphalt road stood a green shed. Eighty or so men and women congregated there, next to a carpark. A young man hailed Swann — Brian Pierce. "Jack! How'd it go?" Elbowing through a crowd around the scoreboard, Swann grimaced. "You saw it." "Sixth ain't bad." 3 "Not bad! Worse — it's pitiful. Time to move on, I think." "C'mon, man. Next year you'll be swimming in medals." "Too old for this kid stuff, Brian, and I'm bored. Time to look for another hobby — shuffleboard, maybe." "What's this too old baloney?" A tall girl with striking looks strolled up to them. "Sheila!" Pierce exclaimed. "How'd you do?" Swann asked. "The usual," she said, smiling as she reached to brush at his collar. "Tell him," Pierce said. "Nothing to be ashamed of with sixth." "Hope you beat the boy here, at least," she said to Swann, ignoring Pierce. "He got third." She glanced at Pierce. "Luck still pays off, huh? But hey, I gotta run. See you next month, Maje." Giving a wink, she turned and strode off. Swann sketched a wave, but Brian called, "So long, Diana!" She made no acknowledgment. Pierce gazed after her. "I don't get it! Women don't usually hate me, but she acts like I'm not even here." Swann shrugged as they walked off — Brian's lovesick act was getting old. Despite a clean-cut appearance, intelligence and a great deal of persistence, the girl showed no inclination toward him — had, if anything, become cold. Too bad, perhaps, but Swann had his own predicaments to think of. "She acts as if she's interested in you, Jack, even though, er..." "Go on — old enough to be her father, right?" "Naw," Pierce protested. "Well, you're close. I have a sixteen-year-old, and she's what?" "Twenty-three, I think, and so gawd-awful beautiful! But I can't even get her to tolerate me, much less go out." "Golden goddess of the range, old buddy." "She's almost tall as you, Jack. What's your height?" "Oh, near six on a sunny day. Five-eleven and a skosh." "Think I'm too short?" Pierce whined. Swann laughed. "You're the most negative... You're as tall as I am!" "Yeah, but if she wore heels?" "Get yourself cowboy boots, doofus." They stopped at Swann's vehicle, nodding and waving as shooters and spectators straggled past. "Boris has finally decided to bring up her transfer to the men's divvy." "Yeah, I heard, Brian." "So how do you stand on it? She's been nagging forever." 4 "More reason to quit. I'd be seventh with her in there." "C'mon, man. She's not that strong to handle another twenty meters." "Maybe, maybe not." A rawboned figure passed by. "Hey Jack! Brian!" "Early-bird!" Swann replied. "Ya see what I did? Almost caught ya, old man." "Might have to break a couple of your fingers, Earl." "Beatcha next time, huh, Jack?" As the man drew away, Pierce muttered, "What a jerk!" "He's OK — just rather basic social skills. Shirt off his back, though." "I can't stand him, and nobody else can either." "He only bothers the snobs." "Like me, you mean?" "Well... think it over." Pierce sighed. "But Sheila, Jack — I can't get over her. I love that build. Maybe I'm weird to go for a girl who's so muscular." Swann snorted. "Huh! You'd better check her again — she's got all the right equipment. Plenty of bone and muscle, though. Could've used her in the Corps." * * * -------------------------------------------------------------------- Northern Tehachapi Primitive Archery and Boozing Club. Contests shall consist of 18 arrows from each of the following distances, shot in this order: 30, 50, 60, 70 meters for Women 30, 50, 70, 90 meters for Men Women and men shall shoot alternately at each distance. 122cm target face shall be used for 90, 70, & 60m distances 80cm face shall be used for 50 & 30m distances. "Abandon recurve, all ye who enter here." --------------------------------------------------------------------- ~ "There!" Dimarico shouted. "That sign — turn there! They're leaving. Get in the— 5 OK, OK. Right here by the gate." "We catch him at home if he—" "Who knows if he's going home? Out and look!" They jumped out and climbed the bumpers. "See it?" "Lots of silver vans. Maybe— Look there, Mister Cam! He's talking to somebody." "Run quick! I'll grab the keys. Don't get hit!" But Saipele was already gone, sprinting between the exiting vehicles. * * * As Pierce laughed and turned away, Swann stored his gear, thinking this might be the last time.
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