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his pocket and sat hunched over, head in his hands , for half a minute.
    Then he stood and walked toward the hiring hall.



First Contract: War for Profit Part One
    by
    Gideon Fleisher
    Copyright © 2012 Gideon Fleisher
    Kindle Edition
    All rights reserved.
     

Chapter One
    Galen would be a mercenary, as soon as he signed his first contract. He wanted to be successful enough to make his mother proud. She raised him and paid his way through the Ostwind Military Academy as she worked as a barmaid at the warrior base on Ostreich.
    Galen didn’t know his deceased father, but knew he had been a mercenary in the Foreign Corps; that’s why Galen was two hundred and ten centimeters tall. His mother, she raised Galen to be a mighty and successful warrior. Galen had just graduated from the Ostwind Military Academy Armor School and it was time for him to do his part.
    He sat at the bench on the sidewalk, hunched over, staring at his size fourteen combat boots and rubbed his large hands over his close-cropped brown hair. The mild headache was a reminder of last night’s graduation party. He stood to his full height, stretched, buttoned his grey full-length wool coat, stuffed his hands into his pockets--he could do that now, outside the Academy--and started walking toward the largest building in the city. It was where he would meet two of his academy classmates, to join the same unit with them.
    He stopped fifty meters away from the steps of the building and scanned the three dozen or so groups of job-seeking warriors. When he picked out his two friends he stood watching them for a minute. Tad was almost two meters tall, of average build but not to be ignored. His scalp showed through his close-cropped academy haircut and added a slight touch of pink to his bright orange hair. He wore a rescue-yellow windbreaker and green-blue plaid parachute pants and gestured vigorously as he spoke to Spike.
    Spike seemed to be leaning on something invisible, standing in his knee-high leather boots, dark blue pants tucked into them, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his black leather waist-length jacket. His conservative haircut was probably the longest allowed by the academy, and his hair’s blackness was made even darker by styling spray. With his thick moustache, the short and stocky Spike resembled an ancient fighter pilot.
    Galen walked up to them and said, “Spike, Tad, how’s it going? Find us a job yet?”
    “Sure!” said Tad, “as soon as the agent bothers to show up to work. We’ve been standing here through lunch, haven’t seen him yet. He’s supposed to poke his face out that door and wave us in, any time now. I’m tired of waiting. I want some action. I can’t stand all this waiting around!”
    “Just cool it,” said Spike, “you know that being a soldier means doing a lot of waiting, standing around. I’ve developed the skill of waiting to a fine art. I can wait as long as necessary for the right opportunity.”
    “Right,” said Galen, “Not many units would agree to take three green academy grads together, so let’s play the waiting game. We should be grateful they even had us wait on them.”
    Tad squirmed inside his clothes and said, “Yeah I know, but who ever heard of the Jasmine Panzer Brigade?”
    “We have. The academy wouldn’t have listed them in our employment prospectus if they weren’t any good,” said Spike.
    “Hey, there’s that old man! He’s waving to us, wants us to come in!” said Tad.
    The three friends climbed the rest of the steps and entered the hiring hall through the door held open by the agent. He led them halfway down the hall to an interior stairwell and down three flights of steps and into a small, windowless office. The three warriors had to stand because there was only a desk, a computer terminal and a chair behind it. The portly old man, wearing a black business smock and soft-soled dress shoes, sank into the chair and pressed a key on the computer. As soon as a barely