Carnifex. Part 20

The other potential spot, the Furiocentro Furiocentro convention center, was not as scenic and was also in an area a bit too built up for safety. After all, that CCC warrant was still hanging around out there. The real advantage of the convention center, was not as scenic and was also in an area a bit too built up for safety. After all, that CCC warrant was still hanging around out there. The real advantage of the Furiocentro Furiocentro, that it was easily reachable by public transportation, could not outweigh that disadvantage.

There was no sense in running for President once the country was already plunged into a civil war. One way to prevent civil war, or rather to prevent a skirmish with the Taurans that might degenerate into foreign invasion and perhaps then civil war, was to present a threat too great for the Taurans lightly to risk confronting it. That way came in the form of one hundred and sixty-four helicopters, a mix of IM-71s and heavy-lift IM-62s, carrying three full cohorts, two infantry and one Cazador, to the Hipodromo's Hipodromo's parking lots just at dawn. These landed and disgorged their roughly three thousand troops, then lifted off to various points around the country from which they would bring in about five thousand prominent supporters of the legions, and avowed Balboan nationalists, to help fill the racetrack's stands. parking lots just at dawn. These landed and disgorged their roughly three thousand troops, then lifted off to various points around the country from which they would bring in about five thousand prominent supporters of the legions, and avowed Balboan nationalists, to help fill the racetrack's stands.

Some of the Legion's naval a.s.sets, in particular the dozen large Volgan hovercraft used to transport recruits to the island for initial training and legionaries to the mainland for R and R and leave, were set to bringing in campesinos campesinos from outlying provinces. Still others would meet any of the several hundred buses chartered by the Legion at various spots within the city and the Transitway Zone. Fixed-wing aircraft, as well, were sent to pick up supporters from outlying airfields. from outlying provinces. Still others would meet any of the several hundred buses chartered by the Legion at various spots within the city and the Transitway Zone. Fixed-wing aircraft, as well, were sent to pick up supporters from outlying airfields.

Just to cover all bases, the Legion had further paid to have on hand thirty-four hundred off-duty police to help with crowd control. It never hurts to have the cops on one's side.

By ten a.m. the troops and police had a cordon around the area, one tercio was formed up inside to parade, the stands were filled past capacity, and the television studios had their news and camera crews waiting for Parilla to emerge.

Carrera and McNamara sat in the private room in the Hippodrome while Parilla went through his paces calmly.

"You're not the least bit nervous, are you, Raul?" Carrera marveled.

"Nervous about what?"

Parilla really didn't understand the question. There was a crowd; he was going to speak to it. He'd done it a thousand times before. h.e.l.l, he'd been dictator in all but name before. What was to worry about making a speech?

Carrera smiled and shook his head. Some people had the political bug and the talent to pull it off. He didn't. Though he liked to teach, he hated making speeches and rarely finished one, on the few occasions he had, when he didn't feel like a fool. Even when he had to talk to troops-and those were the only crowds he was remotely comfortable with-he kept his words short and to the point, the better to get off stage as quickly as possible.

Then Parilla understood. "G.o.d doesn't give everything to one man, my friend. You're a soldier, unquestionably the finest I've ever known. I'm not half the soldier you are and I never could have been. But politics? Parilla understood. "G.o.d doesn't give everything to one man, my friend. You're a soldier, unquestionably the finest I've ever known. I'm not half the soldier you are and I never could have been. But politics? That That I can do." I can do."

I'm glad one of us can, Raul, Carrera thought. Carrera thought.

Turning to McNamara, Carrera said, "Sergeant Major, let's take our place outside so the future President of the republic can make a proper grand entrance."

Meanwhile, the opening show was beginning.

She was as black and as glowing as high quality anthracite. Her color was made the more remarkably and beautifully striking by the large red blossom she wore in her wavy, midnight hair and the long dress that matched the flower. With huge brown eyes, high cheekbones, a body to die for and a smile that made one think of Heaven; she was Miss Balboa, 466. Today was the day she repaid the Legion for funding her win of the national crown and her almost successful attempt at the Miss Terra Nova t.i.tle.

Artemisia Jimenez, legionary Legate Xavier Jimenez's niece, was going to repay her debt by her presence, her speech and her singing, today. She would add her support later on and throughout the campaign. Her voice, clear and sweet, had been her talent for the beauty pageants.

Professor's Ruiz propaganda department had come up with the song. It was not new, by any means, but had, like many others in the legionary repertoire, been scavenged from the history of Old Earth. In its translated form it was called "Manana Sera Mejor," Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better.

The band played a medley of legionary tunes as Artemisia mounted the dais. The selections included small excerpts from Juventud Adelante Juventud Adelante and and Canto al Aquila Canto al Aquila, the Hymno Nacional Hymno Nacional and and El Valle de las Lunas. El Valle de las Lunas. The tune from The tune from Manana Sera Mejor Manana Sera Mejor was interwoven with the others to accustom the audience to it and, with the program sheets that had also been pa.s.sed out, make it easier for them to follow along and join in. was interwoven with the others to accustom the audience to it and, with the program sheets that had also been pa.s.sed out, make it easier for them to follow along and join in.

Artemisia gracefully removed the light shawl she wore and draped it over a microphone stand after she removed the microphone. As she did she saw two uniformed men emerge from a side door and enter the stand. Her breath caught in her throat.

The crowd hushed; even at a distance her flesh exuded an aura of untouchable, ultimate femininity that one could only admire, desire, or aspire to.

Stealing sidelong glances in the general direction of the men in uniform, Artemisia began to speak an introduction for Raul Parilla that either came from the heart or was a first-cla.s.s imitation. She could have been reading the menu from any given restaurant and the people listening would have been as rapt.

"That f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.d," President Rocaberti fumed at his short, pudgy nephew. "That miserable f.u.c.king peasant piece of low cla.s.s s.h.i.+t. The filthy swine."

The President's nephew, Arnulfo, another Rocaberti and cousin of that same Manuel Rocaberti who had been shot for cowardice in Sumer six years before, answered, "s.e.x sells, Uncle. And Artemisia Jimenez is about as s.e.xy as it gets. Clever of them to use her. Cleverer of them to have supported her ambitions early on. Why didn't we we think of that, Uncle?" think of that, Uncle?"

"We didn't think of it, Arnulfo, because politics in this country had always been the province of the good families, of those with the dignity of position and wealth. Who ever thought we'd actually have to fight fight an election rather than simply coming up with an agreement among those who mattered as to which clan would have the honors this time around?" an election rather than simply coming up with an agreement among those who mattered as to which clan would have the honors this time around?"

"Parilla and his pet gringo thought so," Arnulfo answered. "Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to have brought in the Taurans, after all. I doubt that either of them, Parilla or Carrera-"

"And that's another d.a.m.ned thing," the President interrupted. "What G.o.dd.a.m.ned business is it of this f.u.c.king imported maniac how we run our country? He's not even a citizen."

Arnulfo shrugged. At heart he was an honest and fair-minded sort, or as honest and fair-minded as someone raised to care for family above all could hope to be. "His blood's buried here, whatever could be found of it. He's remarried back into us. All his friends are here. Nearly everything he owns, and apparently he owns a lot lot, Uncle, is here. As I was about to say, when you brought in the Taurans, you threatened all that."

"Spilled milk," the President retorted. "And you don't know that we wouldn't have had to face an election, anyway, a real real election. Parilla has wanted to be President for decades and was only kept from the office by the machinations of Pina. Besides, all the money they have gained using election. Parilla has wanted to be President for decades and was only kept from the office by the machinations of Pina. Besides, all the money they have gained using our our citizens as cannon fodder is rightfully ours." citizens as cannon fodder is rightfully ours."

"They seem to have redistributed quite a bit of that money, Uncle, a lot more than we would have in their shoes. Have you any idea how much they've plowed back in to the Republic? It's in the billions; schools, clinics, factories, banks, parks, job training. The list goes on. They even put some into producing a real compet.i.tor for Miss Terra Nova, and, let me tell you, that that earned them a lot more in good will than they paid for it." earned them a lot more in good will than they paid for it."

"And how many sons were lost in earning that money, would you tell me that?" the President asked, huffily.

"It seems that a hundred-thousand-drachma death gratuity and lifetime pension and care for wives and parents, plus education for younger siblings and children, go a long way toward stifling resentment for lost sons, Uncle. Especially when our families are large, and jobs and farmland quite limited."

The President bit back an answer, then sighed. His face a.s.sumed a hopeless look. "You mean we are going to lose the election, don't you?"

"As things stand now, Uncle? Stinking. We haven't a prayer. We'll lose the presidency. We'll lose the legislature; both houses, mind you. And a few months after that we'll lose the Supreme Court. And right after that, you can be sure the investigations will start."

"Investigations?"

Arnulfo pointed at the television against one wall. "Listen for yourself, Uncle."

Parilla scowled and pointed directly into the battery of TV camera's facing the stand. "Tell us where, Presidente Presidente Rocaberti, tell us where. Where is the money from the cable television deal? Tell us Rocaberti, tell us where. Where is the money from the cable television deal? Tell us where where."

Led by legionaries scattered among them and dressed in mufti, the crowd chanted, "TELL US WHERRRE."

"How much was the bribe to your family that turned management of the Transitway over to the Zhong? Presidente Presidente Rocaberti, tell us how much." Rocaberti, tell us how much."

"HOW MUUUCHCHCH?".

"Where are the donatives the boys of the Legion del Cid Legion del Cid earned and turned over to the government, Mr. President?" earned and turned over to the government, Mr. President?"

"WHERRRE?".

"How much have the Taurans paid you to let us become their colony?"

"HOW MUUUCHCHCH?".

Parilla stopped speaking briefly, to allow the crowd to compose itself. After all, this was a speech to announce candidacy, not an incitement to riot.

He smiled broadly, then joked, "For the answers to these and a hundred other questions on how the old families have robbed the Republic and the people, stay tuned for election night results, my friends, because today, now, this minute, I, Raul Parilla, am announcing my candidacy for the office of Presidente de le Republica Presidente de le Republica. And I promise you that when I am elected we SHALL HAVE ANSWERS. I promise you, as well, a better, a more honest, tomorrow. So help me, G.o.d."

That was the cue for both the band and Artemisia. After a drum roll, and the playing of the first bars, she began to sing,

"El sol del verano Es renacido Libre es el bosque Por mi...

"O' Patria, Patria, ensena nos; Tus hijos esperan por ti.

El dia viene quando se levantas Manana sera mejor!"

The President's hand lanced to the remote, to cut off the images shown on the screen as the camera panned along the galleries. They were all singing, all fifty thousand plus of them.

His nephew stopped him. "No, Uncle, we need to see this."

"O Patria, Patria, ensena nos; Tus hijos esperan por ti."

"We're screwed," he said.

"We're screwed without some desperate measures," Arnulfo agreed. He didn't add, but thought, Though sometimes desperate measures might include just coming clean and giving back some of what we've stolen. Though sometimes desperate measures might include just coming clean and giving back some of what we've stolen.

"Manana sera, Manana sera, Manana sera mejor!"

32/6/467 AC, Pans.h.i.+r Base, Pashtia Every day got a little worse. What had begun with directed terrorism and the distant siege of ambush of roads and blowing of bridges had grown to the point that most of the Tauran Union troops were confined to their bases, under frequent if not quite constant mortar and rocket attack. The Anglians and Secordians fought to keep the roads open, to rebuild the bridges, even to combat the terrorism on behalf of the TU troops that were forbidden by their governments from actively seeking battle.

In the larger sense, though, those English-speaking men and women were fighting to let the Progressive administration in Hamilton keeps it promise not to commit further Federated States troops to the war, but to rely on their "allies." In the largest sense, they were all fighting to prevent what their governments considered the ultimate disaster.

That ultimate disaster? It was not that the Salafis should regain control of Pashtia, nor even that they might use it for further attacks. No; the TU leaders.h.i.+p-though many around the globe considered that expression to the ultimate oxymoron-lived in desperate fear that the fickle populace of the Federated States might once again elect an administration that quite simply considered the TU, indeed the rest of the world, to be largely voiceless and irrelevant.

"And even that's that's not enough to get the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds to let us not enough to get the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds to let us fight fight," fumed Claudio Marciano, as a large caliber mortar round detonated inside his camp, a few hundred meters to the east of his sandbagged command post. Following on the heels of the explosion he heard the cry "Medic!" and the scream of an ambulance siren.

"'Fighting never settled anything,' Generale Generale," quoted Stefano del Collea, his eyes turned Heavenward in mock piety.

"Tell it to the city fathers of Carthage," Marciano retorted. "You know what bugs me about it, Stefano?"

"No, sir. I mean, other than the unnerving blasts, the wounded troopers, the sheer frustration of being here and not allowed to do our f.u.c.king jobs, sir, what could possibly be troublesome?"

Barely, Marciano restrained the urge to slap his cynical aide with his helmet. Instead, he said, "What bothers me is that they're able to keep this up at all. I mean, without the roads-which our masters made us give away-we can still get enough to eat. Our enemies are not only apparently eating; they've got the logistic wherewithal to bring in sh.e.l.ls by the ton-load."

Del Collea sighed. "I know, sir."

About five thousand meters to the southwest, in a small village the Tauran command had made into a no-fire zone, Noorzad looked on approvingly as one of his newer recruits, Ashraf al Islamiya, strained to carry forty kilograms worth of heavy mortar sh.e.l.ls to the guns. He ported them-two at a time, one over each shoulder-from a small cave in which they had been painstakingly secreted over the last several months, to the firing position in the town square. There, two 120mm mortars chunked out their twenty-kilogram cargos toward the infidel base.

Noorzad had chosen this firing position precisely because it was an absolute no-fire zone, a place where all fire, even in self defense, was forbidden to the Taurans. Had some other village in range been a no-fire zone he'd have used that. If there had been no no-fire zones, he'd have forced all the villagers to squat around the mortars anyway. That, he had learned, would stop the Taurans from shooting back no matter what what he did. he did.

Still, the patent idiocy of the Taurans was not Noorzad's reason for approval. Rather, it was the spirited way in which Ashraf put his whole body and will into carrying the sh.e.l.ls. It showed Noorzad the power and the truth of Islam. It reinforced in a most satisfying way that of which he was convinced anyway; that his way of life, his religion, and his his truth-which was the eternal truth-would triumph. truth-which was the eternal truth-would triumph.

With a grunt, Ashraf flipped one sh.e.l.l off his shoulder to be caught by an a.s.sistant gunner. The a.s.sistant likewise grunted as he took the sh.e.l.l, but paused to pat Ashraf lightly on the arm and smile encouragement. Then the a.s.sistant turned, took the sh.e.l.l in both hands, and eased the finned base of the thing into the mortar tube. He released it to slide down, ducking while covering his ears with his hands.

When he turned back to Ashraf, he saw that the new man was shaken with the muzzle blast. The a.s.sistant tapped him, still lightly, on the face and twisted to show him how to deal with the blast while carrying a sh.e.l.l. This involved hunching one shoulder and pressing the ear on that side into it, while reaching across the head with the free arm to place a hand over the other ear.

The a.s.sistant took the next sh.e.l.l from Ashraf, who trotted back to the mouth of the small storage cave to get more. As Ashraf took the next pair he realized that he felt... What an odd sensation. I am...more than pleased What an odd sensation. I am...more than pleased ... ... perhaps, even, I'm a bit happy. Why? Well...that someone had cared enough to show me even this one tiny thread of the ropes that went into serving a mortar. Whatever I was told about the Salafis was a lie; once you are one of them you perhaps, even, I'm a bit happy. Why? Well...that someone had cared enough to show me even this one tiny thread of the ropes that went into serving a mortar. Whatever I was told about the Salafis was a lie; once you are one of them you are are one of them. one of them.

He could not remember a time in the army of Haarlem when any of his then comrades had really cared much.

The sh.e.l.ls were expended and the mortar crew breaking their gun down to hide it in the cave from which it had been drawn. They would camouflage it just before splitting up and pulling out. Ashraf, once known as Verdonk, helped with the disa.s.sembly, insofar as he could. Mostly, he was in the way of an otherwise expert crew.

"Ashraf," Noorzad called out in the English he shared with ex-Haarlemer. "Stop for a few minutes and come over here." He then said much the same thing in Pashtun, "Send the new one over."

The a.s.sistant gestured with his hands and his face, Go to the leader. We'll make do without your help for a bit. Go to the leader. We'll make do without your help for a bit. He was careful not to add, by voice, gesture or expression, He was careful not to add, by voice, gesture or expression, Besides, you're just in the way. Besides, you're just in the way.

What the h.e.l.l; the ex-infidel kid is trying.

Ashraf turned and walked to Noorzad, who gestured for him to sit.

Feeling distinctly uneasy-after all, it was not so long ago he'd been given the choice of accepting Islam or having his throat cut-Ashraf sat.

"You're learning your duties well, Ashraf," the guerilla chief said. "All your fellow mujahadin mujahadin say so." say so."

The former Haarlemer breathed a small sigh of relief. Apparently this little meeting was not not to announce that leaving his throat unslashed had been a fixable mistake. to announce that leaving his throat unslashed had been a fixable mistake.

"Thank you, Noorzad. I've tried."

"Yes, yes," Noorzad agreed. "You've tried very hard and succeeded rather well. Soon you will be a fine crewman for the mortars. It's not enough though."

Ashraf almost felt the bite of a razor's keen blade drawing across his throat. He stiffened. "Not enough?"

Noorzad effected not to notice the nervousness in Ashraf's body's stiffening and in the convert's wavering voice.

"We are simple fighting men. To fight we can teach you. But the reason why we fight, the advancement of G.o.d's way? This we are not really quite up to."

"No?" The Haarlemer had never met such a bunch of religious fanatics in his life. He'd never even imagined such. They They weren't up to his religious instruction? weren't up to his religious instruction?

"No," Noorzad said. "I am sending you and your other Haarlemer reverts"-"reverts" because one did not convert to the natural faith of Islam; one reverted to it-"on to a madra.s.sa madra.s.sa, a school, in Kashmir. It is safe there and there you will receive more and better instruction in the faith."