Carnifex. Part 39

"Open you eyes, children, open dem up and I tells you what you goan do. You goan reach deep inside youself, to where all you little fears and nightmares be. You goan think about callin de white Christ to save you a.s.s. And you calls but you gets de busy signal. So dere you be, one little Balboan boy feelin' all alone in de desert wit' twenty tanks coming to kill you and no G.o.d to help.

"And you looks over at de gunner, you eyes wide like saucers in you head, and you asks him, 'What kind of load we be carryin, gunner?'

"And de gunner, he answers, 'Eight ronds HE, t'irty two ronds anti-tank.' And den you knows what you do?"

All the cadets looked up at the instructor with considerable interest. No, they didn't know what to do. And the instructor's face lit up with something that looked like religious devotion. Lifting his arms to the sky as if in prayer, the instructor said, in a voice that thundered across the shed: "I tell you what you goan do. You goan call on de great Voodoo G.o.d: SABOT!" The instructor reached out and deftly pulled the black cloth away to reveal a small gla.s.s tray and a brightly polished round of tank ammunition, a sabot round, long alloy penetrating rod surrounded by a plastic sabot, or shoe. When fired, the rod would discard the sabot, cutting down wind resistance greatly, but more importantly putting all its kinetic energy against the very small portion of the target's armor struck by the point of the rod. Penetration of the armor, and death of the crew-a hideous, flesh melting, burning death-usually followed.

To this sabot round, however, anthropomorphic features had been added by a crude hand. The instructor lit a cigar and placed it on the tray in front of the round, pretending to make a small obeisance to it. "Say it wit' me now boys. Sabot!"

And the cadets answered "SABOT!"

"Sabot!"

"SABOT!".

"But de Voodoo G.o.d, he no hear you. And den you knows you needs anudder voice to pray wit' you. So you calls on you gunner to pray, too. You says 'Gunner-'"

"GUNNER!" the boys answered.

"Sabot!"

"SABOT!".

"Tank!"

"TANK!".

"Pray wit' me, boys! Gunner, sabot, tank!"

"GUNNER, SABOT, TANK!".

"Gunner, sabot, tank!"

"GUNNER, SABOT, TANK!".

"Louder so de great Voodoo G.o.d hear you!"

"GUNNER, SABOT, TANK! GUNNER, SABOT, TANK! GUNNER, SABOT, TANK!".

As the cadets turned the "prayer" into a chant the instructor stuck his right arm straight out, fist clenched, as if it were the barrel of a tank's main gun, and rotated his upper body like a turret. Between each rendition of the chant he pulled his fist straight back to his shoulder as if it were a recoiling tank cannon. The cadets joined him, sticking their own arms out, rotating them, then pulling them back for recoil, all the time laughing their heads off.

Soon, some of the boys thought, or perhaps merely felt, that a recoil should be accompanied by an explosion. The chant gradually changed to "GUNNER, SABOT, TANK, BOOM!"

"GUNNER, SABOT, TANK, BOOM! GUNNER, SABOT, TANK, BOOM! GUNNER, SABOT, TANK, BOOM!".

The instructor let the chant go on for some minutes before raising his arms to quiet the cadets again. When he was satisfied that he had whipped the boys into enough of a chanting and laughing frenzy to carry them through the unavoidably boring mechanical training to follow, he lowered his arms and said "De great G.o.d Sabot be pleased by you devotion. Five minute break. Den fall in on de tanks outside."

On his break Diaz took the time to finish his letter: "But, as hard as this is sometimes, it can also be a lot of fun-and very funny, too-but I'd still rather be home.

Love, Julio"

1/6/468 AC, Casa Linda, Balboa One of the peculiarities of Balboan democracy was that elections were set for the most densely miserable part of the wet season. Whether or not it really had been the theory behind this date that fewer of the wretchedly poor would vote if the price for voting were to be standing in a long line in the middle of a deluge, that was clearly the effect. It was, even so, hard to credit Balboa's moneyed cla.s.s with that kind of foresight.

"And it's going to hurt us," Parilla said, staring out into the downpour from the covered back terrace of the casa casa, the one that looked north towards the Isla Real. The sun was up, but only just, to his right as he faced. Soon enough the entire country would be a dutch oven, with a combination of about one hundred percent humidity and over one hundred degrees, Fahrenheit, of temperature.

Ruiz sipped at his coffee and shrugged. "It will and it won't. Sure, some of the very poor who might otherwise vote will stay home. But the legionaries could care less about a little rain or heat or sun. And they'll all vote. And if one in a hundred of them votes for someone besides you I'd be very, very surprised."

"A wash then, you think?" Parilla asked.

"About that."

Indistinct in the thickened air, a helicopter-Parilla recognized the sound of a Legion Legion IM-62-churned its way eastward toward Ciudad Cervantes, carrying several hundred legionaries to their home town to vote. On the return trip the chopper would take a like number of already-voted reservists, with their arms, to guard the island. Still other reservists had a.s.sembled at the polls before sunrise, leaving their arms nearby and under guard. These would later march to the borders of the Tauran controlled areas around the Transitway and the pro-Rocaberti enclaves of Ciudad Balboa. IM-62-churned its way eastward toward Ciudad Cervantes, carrying several hundred legionaries to their home town to vote. On the return trip the chopper would take a like number of already-voted reservists, with their arms, to guard the island. Still other reservists had a.s.sembled at the polls before sunrise, leaving their arms nearby and under guard. These would later march to the borders of the Tauran controlled areas around the Transitway and the pro-Rocaberti enclaves of Ciudad Balboa.

Whether they would be needed remained to be seen. Observation posts in the towns by the Vera Cruz training area, overlooking the old FSAF base at Bruja Bruja Point, reported a Tauran Union aircraft landing every forty minutes, not counting combat aircraft. Some carried troops; some carried supplies. One and all, though, they suggested that neither the Tauran Union nor the corrupt government it backed by backing Gaul was going to acquiesce lightly in any election that turned over control to Parilla and his mercenaries. Point, reported a Tauran Union aircraft landing every forty minutes, not counting combat aircraft. Some carried troops; some carried supplies. One and all, though, they suggested that neither the Tauran Union nor the corrupt government it backed by backing Gaul was going to acquiesce lightly in any election that turned over control to Parilla and his mercenaries.

Both Parilla and Ruiz looked skyward at the sound of what had to have been a very large jet making a leisurely turn to the west. "What's Patricio doing about this over in Pashtia?" Ruiz asked.

"He's kept one legion to interdict the border, just as our contract calls for," Parilla answered. "The other two, while on their way home, he's maneuvered into position to crush the Tauran Union forces in Pashtia. The Taurans appear to know it, too."

"They've got to be s.h.i.+tting bricks," Ruiz chuckled. "He's holding their people there hostage for the good behavior of their people here."

Parilla smiled, saying, "Well...Patricio learned about taking hostages from the main enemy. And we've all seen how the TU reacts when someone is holding Tauran's hostage. The only problem is that the FSC can see what we're doing and is really p.i.s.sed about it."

Ruiz disagreed. "I don't think they're p.i.s.sed so much as they're worried. A war here shuts down the Transitway. That hurts them nearly as much as it hurts us. After all, about seventy percent of the cargo pa.s.sing through here either starts in the FSC, ends there, or both. And then if fighting breaks out here, they have to know Patricio will hit the enemy wherever he finds him and in the most destructive way he can. That would make a shambles of an already pretty shaky alliance in Pashtia. And then..."

"Yes?" Parilla prompted.

"Well...emotionally the FSC doesn't really give a s.h.i.+t about us. If anything, the ruling Progressive Party resents us because Wozniak lost his presidency, at least in part, over the Transitway. And their current government just adores the Taurans, and especially the b.l.o.o.d.y perfidious Gauls. Even though we're much, much more valuable to them, I don't think that emotionally they can do anything but but take the Frogs' side of things." take the Frogs' side of things."

"Idiots to go with their hearts rather than their heads," Parilla said.

"Idiots to set their hearts on the Taurans," Ruiz amended.

Pans.h.i.+r Base, Pashtia The sh.e.l.l holes were long since filled in. The troops were well fed and had even been able to put on a little fat. All the ruined tents had been replaced. Even so, the Ligurini Brigade of Claudio Marciano was digging in frantically, entrenching, filling sandbags, breaking down ammunition.

They had reason to. Lightly armed as they were, they didn't stand a chance if the legion surrounding them should attack. That it should have come to this, and so quickly...

Seating in a canvas folding camp chair, deep in his bunker, Marciano sighed even more deeply. "I don't know what the idiot Gauls' game is, Patricio. They're playing their cards awfully close to their chests this time."

Carrera looked up at the roof of the bunker. Pretty solid. Won't stop a 160mm though Pretty solid. Won't stop a 160mm though. He looked at Marciano's altogether Roman face and asked, "What are your government's instructions if it comes to a fight between us and the Frogs? I mean...if you can tell me, that is."

"I can't tell you, exactly, Patricio, buuut, if you think about it..."

There are no Tuscan troops in Balboa, Carrera thought. So fighting there need not spread here as far as they're concerned. But, as far as I'm concerned an attack there by the Frogs means general war and I won't be held back from destroying their forces here.

"I'm going after them here, Claudio. If it's war then it's war to the knife and the knife to the hilt...wherever they may be. I'd leave your boys out of it, if I could, but I can't leave a strong enough force to guard you here. I'll have to destroy you so that I can redeploy that legion to take on Haarlem, Sachsen, Anglia, Secordia and the rest." He actually had a hard time accepting that "the rest" might include the FSC troops in country. they may be. I'd leave your boys out of it, if I could, but I can't leave a strong enough force to guard you here. I'll have to destroy you so that I can redeploy that legion to take on Haarlem, Sachsen, Anglia, Secordia and the rest." He actually had a hard time accepting that "the rest" might include the FSC troops in country.

"And we have mutual defense treaties with them," Marciano said. "Mine is an honorable country, even if not all our allies are honorable."

Carrera thought, "And Romans in Rome's quarrels...spared neither land nor gold...nor son nor wife nor limb nor life...in the brave days of old." And Claudio, here, is a true Roman. I wouldn't insult him or his men by suggesting surrender.

"You've got good troops here, Claudio, but...you know it won't take a full legion more than a few hours to overrun this base. Please, tell your government that. Explain to them that the stakes are much higher than the Frogs are suggesting."

"I have. They find it hard to believe."

War Department, Hamilton, FD, FSC It hurt, deep inside, for Malcolm to admit it. "Okay, Rivers, I'm convinced. I'm a believer. If we don't intervene to keep fighting from breaking out in Balboa then Pashtia is lost." And with it, my chance to become president. And with it, my chance to become president. "I've got a meeting set up with the President and the secretary of state. I will do what I can to convince them." "I've got a meeting set up with the President and the secretary of state. I will do what I can to convince them."

"Convince them of what?" Rivers asked.

"Of the danger," Malcolm answered. "Of the need for mediation. Of the need to throw our weight against against whoever fires the first shot." whoever fires the first shot."

"Then you had best hurry, Mr. Secretary," Rivers said. "The Frogs"-Oh, how I love saying "Frogs" to this puke who so loves the Frogs-"are flying in major numbers of troops and the Legion's regulars and reservists are falling in on a.s.sembly areas on both sides and both ends of the Transitway area. The news is full of enough accusations of violence, corruption and fraud in the election process that either side can claim to have 'won.' If nothing changes, I predict a blood bath starting by midnight."

The Trapezoid, Executive Mansion, Hamilton, FD, Federated States of Columbia, "Then why not just threaten the stinking mercenaries if trouble breaks out?" thundered the secretary of state, Mary Darkling, a woman short, shrill, and seriously overweight. "We all know know they're trying to steal the election down there. Wozniak is convinced of it. The global press insists upon it. Our allies, the Gauls, are certain of it. By taking the side of the mercenaries against our they're trying to steal the election down there. Wozniak is convinced of it. The global press insists upon it. Our allies, the Gauls, are certain of it. By taking the side of the mercenaries against our real real allies we're undercutting the tradition and understanding of allies we're undercutting the tradition and understanding of decades. decades. It's absurd!" It's absurd!"

Malcolm shook his head. Inside he felt precisely what Darkling openly insisted upon...but, "I'm with you in this, morally, Mary. But the practicalities are such that we just can't can't let this thing spiral out of control. I adore Gaul as much as you do. I want to help them, to induce them to help us. I want to try to overcome the suspicion and hostility that built up under the previous administration. But... let this thing spiral out of control. I adore Gaul as much as you do. I want to help them, to induce them to help us. I want to try to overcome the suspicion and hostility that built up under the previous administration. But... we're dealing with a maniac here! we're dealing with a maniac here! The leader of the mercenaries is not susceptible to reason. He won't even take bribes at this point. I believe that, were he capable, he'd destroy the entire planet before backing down an inch. He's got an army and he's The leader of the mercenaries is not susceptible to reason. He won't even take bribes at this point. I believe that, were he capable, he'd destroy the entire planet before backing down an inch. He's got an army and he's going going to have a country...or he's going to fight to take one." to have a country...or he's going to fight to take one."

Darkling shot an accusatory glare at the President. It's It's your your fault for keeping us in that utterly illegal war in Pashtia. fault for keeping us in that utterly illegal war in Pashtia.

Schumann, the President, understood the glare. He smiled and said, "The one thing keeping us from losing the center again and being run out of office, Mary, my dear, is that we promised to win in Pashtia. For that, for reasons largely logistic, we need the mercenaries. For reasons entirely political, we need them to bleed rather than ourselves. When I asked you for a diplomatic solution to Pashtia you gave me a blank stare. I'm a Progressive, Mary; I'm not an idiot. We must must win in Pashtia or we must win in Pashtia or we must lose lose here." here."

Turning to Malcolm, Schumann said, "We need to force a delay until Pashtia is won and we can dispense with the mercenaries. So...I want you ready a major expeditionary force to Balboa. Sail them, post haste." He s.h.i.+fted his attention to Darkling and said, "Here's what I want you to tell our amba.s.sador..."

1/6/468 AC, Emba.s.sy of the Federated States, Ciudad Balboa Had it not been for the position of the Legion within Balboa, Amba.s.sador Thomas Wallis would have been most unlikely ever to see the lofty rank he held. Medium height, medium build, nonpatrician, he had none of the connections within the Federated States' diplomatic service that were normally an absolute requirement for admission to the inner circle.

He had had one greatly redeeming feature, as far as the previous, Federalist, administration had been concerned. Wallis had spent many years in the armed forces before retiring and entering the diplomatic corps. He was, thus, a natural for dealing with that part of Balboa most of interest to the Federated States, the Legion. He considered it only a matter of time, though, before the Progressives booted him. The fact that I'm ex-military is enough to make me suspect to the Progs. The fact that I'm ex-military is enough to make me suspect to the Progs.

Interesting, thought the amba.s.sador, that Munoz-Infantes is sitting on the Balboan side of the conference table. that Munoz-Infantes is sitting on the Balboan side of the conference table. Very Very interesting. I wonder what's going on there. interesting. I wonder what's going on there. Wallis looked at Janier. Wallis looked at Janier. The Frog looks ready to s.h.i.+t himself. The Frog looks ready to s.h.i.+t himself.

Is that Castilian b.a.s.t.a.r.d trying to tell me something? wondered Janier, for the nonce without his imperial marshal's uniform or laurel wreath.

How far is the Castilian willing to go to support us? wondered Parilla. wondered Parilla.

"Gentlemen," began the amba.s.sador, softly and genially. With the utterance of the word he was immediately greeted by a storm of swears and accusation from both sides of the conference table. Conspicuously, Munoz-Infantes kept quiet.

Soft and genial won't cut it, I see.

Wallis injected steel into his voice. "GENTLEMEN! Be quiet!"

Those present shut up, not always with good grace. Wallis continued, "I am advised by the President, speaking through the secretary of state, to inform you that two carrier battle groups are en route here. Moreover, two reinforced regiments of Federated States Marines are, even as we speak, boarding s.h.i.+p to come here. One division of paratroopers is likewise being readied. Their orders are-consistent with Federated States policy with regard to the Transitway, and also consistent with our treaties-to engage whichever side shall first initiate hostilities in or around the Transitway area."

The amba.s.sador raised his nose at an underling. Immediately, a map of the Transitway appeared on a wall mounted plasma screen. On it could be seen two bright red lines, delineating boundaries. They corresponded closely enough to the old Federated States boundaries, with the exception that they also ran though Ciudad Ciudad Balboa, chopping off the Old Cuira.s.s district, wherein lay the presidential palace, from the rest of the city. Balboa, chopping off the Old Cuira.s.s district, wherein lay the presidential palace, from the rest of the city.

Understanding the implications, both Rocaberti's party and Parilla's once again burst into open argument. Janier's group of diplomats and officers, however, remained silent. The boundaries drawn would, for the time being, suit.

"Gentlemen, quiet!" the amba.s.sador repeated. "These are not subject to argument. This is is where you will maintain your forces and your political control until some more amicable settlement can be reached." where you will maintain your forces and your political control until some more amicable settlement can be reached."

Infuriated, Rocaberti shouted, "Your own ex-president has said those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds stole the election!"

"He never met a governmental thief he didn't love," retorted Parilla.

"None of that matters matters," insisted the amba.s.sador. "What matters is that this is what we, the Federated States, have commanded. Gentlemen, in this 'our voice is imperial imperial.' What matters is that two carrier battle groups and two regiments of Marines are on their way here to enforce our commands, and a division of paratroopers stands ready to reinforce them."

"But you can't can't split the City like this," Rocaberti pleaded. "It's...obscene." split the City like this," Rocaberti pleaded. "It's...obscene."

The amba.s.sador sighed. "Mr. President you are missing the point. That point is that hostilities must not break out. The boundary as drawn separates out the Tauran Union forces from what we believe to be over twenty thousand Balboan reserve legionaries. Crossing over it will cause those legionaries to fight"-G.o.dd.a.m.n right, thought Parilla. And it's closer to thirty-five thousand. And it's closer to thirty-five thousand.-"and causing causing that will be taken as initiation of hostilities." that will be taken as initiation of hostilities."

"But you're putting them in control of three quarters of the population!"

"More like seven eighths. President Rocaberti. Let there be no bulls.h.i.+t between us," the amba.s.sador continued. "There is good reason to believe that that is close to the true percentage of the areas where a majority of the voting populace went for Legate Parilla. Yes, quite despite ex-President Wozniak's claims. Be grateful, Mr. President, that we have left you with a safe enclave where President Parilla President Parilla cannot prosecute you." cannot prosecute you."

2/6/468 AC, Nicobar Straits There is no safe harbor except in silence, thought thought al Naquib al Naquib, watching out over the polluted waters of the Straits and coughing from the smoky haze that dominated it. There is no safe harbor when the enemy can listen in on every word spoken on a phone or a radio, not when our ranks contain informers and spies. There is no safe harbor when the enemy can listen in on every word spoken on a phone or a radio, not when our ranks contain informers and spies.

The down side of silence, though, is coordination. Everything, everything, everything, depends on getting the word at the proper time from a s.h.i.+p's captain I have never laid eyes on nor even spoken to. And to add to the uncertainty, half my force is on this side of the straits, half on the other. depends on getting the word at the proper time from a s.h.i.+p's captain I have never laid eyes on nor even spoken to. And to add to the uncertainty, half my force is on this side of the straits, half on the other.

Worries, worries...my life is worries. What if my boats are spotted? What if the conexes with the missiles are spotted? What if the Hoogaboom Hoogaboom has a delay. What if; what if, what if? has a delay. What if; what if, what if?

Al Naquib pulled out a compa.s.s and oriented himself toward Makkah al Jedidah. Prostrating himself, he prayed, pulled out a compa.s.s and oriented himself toward Makkah al Jedidah. Prostrating himself, he prayed, I have done what I can, Lord, all that is in my power to do. It is in Your hands now. My men will do their duty. They are among the best of the faithful. My machines have been cared for, as the new learning says they must be. So, Beneficent One, I ask...I plead...I beg for Your favor tomorrow as my men go into battle. And, Lord, even if you withhold your favor from our undertaking, I ask that you see to the souls of my men who serve you. I have done what I can, Lord, all that is in my power to do. It is in Your hands now. My men will do their duty. They are among the best of the faithful. My machines have been cared for, as the new learning says they must be. So, Beneficent One, I ask...I plead...I beg for Your favor tomorrow as my men go into battle. And, Lord, even if you withhold your favor from our undertaking, I ask that you see to the souls of my men who serve you.

Interlude

1/8/48 AC, Ciudad Balboa, Balboa Colony, Terra Nova Warrant Officer Bourguet, seated in a metal folding chair, smiled down at the half-starved, eleven-year-old girl kneeling between his legs. She had tears in her eyes. Bourguet neither knew nor cared whether they were caused by shame or by the little brown wretch choking on his p.e.n.i.s. The tears, themselves, pleased him almost as much as the girl's mouth.

There had been a short period of time when the hungry girls had stopped coming to the camp to provide service for food. After a little inquiry, Bourguet had discovered that the b.l.o.o.d.y Belgian commandos down the road had begun to offer more, to drive up the price. Neo-colonialist b.a.s.t.a.r.ds Neo-colonialist b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.

The solution to the shortage was elegant in its simplicity. Bourguet had simply dispatched two soldiers to lie in wait for one of the colonial girls to approach the Belgian camp. When, the next morning, a small group of different girls had found a head and a pair of hands mounted on a stick beside the trail, they'd immediately turned around and gone to the OAU camp in search of something to eat.

Bourguet laughed aloud. Then he twisted the girl's hair in his fingers, pulled her head away and slapped her face to make sure she was paying attention.

"You," he said. "All fours. Like dog."