Carnifex. Part 11

"It might be impossible impossible," Robinson agreed, "but we must try."

"Yes. We must also try to get rid of those mercenaries."

"This is especially true," Robinson added, "since they have begun to develop a fleet which just may be aimed at the Xamari and Nicobars. For now, though, they appear to be unemployed and out of the war."

The High Admiral continued, "Within Pashtia the first p.r.o.ng of our strategy will be to ensure control of the opium crop and that there will be a crop. This not only helps finance your movement, the crop ultimately helps to undermine the FSC. The second p.r.o.ng will be to go after the Pashtian collaborators who a.s.sist the FSC's coalition and terrorize them into supporting you while at the same time engaging and driving away the FSC's lesser and unwilling allies like Tuscany and Gaul. The third will be to drive out of the war the FSCs willing allies, Anglia and Secordia, by engaging their forces and driving their casualties up to politically unacceptable levels."

Mustafa, who had better intelligence on the Anglians and Secordians than Robinson did, commented, "Their troops always seem willing enough to fight."

"No matter, their politicians and most of their people really want out. Kill enough and they will leave. Moreover, while random terror has not worked with the FSC or Anglia, it has worked with Castille, appears to be working in Gaul and may well work to drive Sachsen out of the war."

"I agree about the others, but with the Anglians there is a problem even if it did work," the Salafi objected. "Without the Anglians and the Secordians, the Federated States might just rehire the mercenaries and they have proved much much more effective." more effective."

Robinson shook his head. "Not for four years, at least, and possibly not for eight or more. As long as the Progressives are in power, the mercenaries are not likely to be hired." Robinson believed he had this on the very best authority. That said; the Khans were not nearly as certain.

The High Admiral continued, "After the Anglians and Secordians are gone, and Pashtia has seen the last of the other allies in the coalition, you will begin actively seeking fights with the FSC troops."

"There is something else you can help with," Mustafa said.

Robinson gave the Salafi a quizzical look.

"They rule the air. They can find us from the air. They attack us from..."

"I can't do anything to interfere with that."

"I'm not asking you to. But you can balance things out. From s.p.a.ce, surely, you can also tell us where they they are, no?" are, no?"

The High Admiral went silent for a moment, scrunching his eyes in thought.

After several long moments he answered, "I can get you something to allow you to see our view from over Terra Nova, a direct feed from the fleet's sensors. What you do with that would be up to you."

"That would be sufficient."

"Maybe not quite sufficient," Robinson countered. "If you started sending real-time intelligence to your guerillas, it would be traced to the Peace Fleet. Let me see what I can do about providing you some limited secure communications."

5/3/467 AC, Village of Jameer, Pashtia Noorzad had understood immediately what Mustafa's message meant when he had received it, two days prior. During the Volgan imperial incursion, while Mustafa had been off collecting money and volunteers and living the good life in Kashmir, Noorzad had been at the bleeding edge, putting the theory of resistance warfare to the practical test. He had learned much in that time.

"And about b.l.o.o.d.y time, too," Noorzad said, to no one in particular.

Still, Malakzay, trudging along nearby, had heard. "What was that?"

"About b.l.o.o.d.y time," the one-eyed bandit chieftain repeated. "About b.l.o.o.d.y time Mustafa began to direct and control the jihad. About b.l.o.o.d.y time we got a.s.signed some missions with a point greater than, 'survive and fight.' About b.l.o.o.d.y time every little band of mujahadin was not in the war alone. And about b.l.o.o.d.y time we had a concerted plan to take care of the collaborators."

"I've heard of no plan," Malakzay objected.

"It's suggested by the message Mustafa sent; that, and by this mission and by the device the messenger brought."

Malakzay thought upon that. He had to admit that if anyone was likely to be able to tie disparate bits of information together to make a coherent whole, Noorzad was that man.

"Any word from reconnaissance?" Malakzay asked.

"Yes, the village appears effectively disarmed."

The Taurans had an interesting approach to individually owned firearms; they banned them. No one had a right to arms except governments; that was the almost universal Tauran view. Still, they were reasonable. They banned the weapons and then paid for a buyback program. Since the buyback program paid slightly more than replacement cost (and normal Volgan firearms were frightfully cheap), there was no real bar to the local Pashtians selling their, generally poorly-maintained, rifles to the Taurans operating in the south of the country and then buying newer ones.

The downside, though, was that once the Taurans had banned rifles and bought them "all" back, they presumed that anyone with a rifle was breaking the law and attempted to arrest them. These arrests usually fell out in one of two ways. If the potential arrestee was a mujahad mujahad, there would be a firefight which the Taurans were usually barred by their national governments from engaging in. If the arrestee was a simple otherwise harmless civilian, he would submit to arrest and the confiscation of the firearm. Since, however, the civilians did not not want to give up their arms, they hid them. Sometimes they hid them too well. want to give up their arms, they hid them. Sometimes they hid them too well.

The guerilla band entered the village in the dead of night, silent as a plague. In two to three man teams, they kicked in the doors and burst into each house on a prearranged signal, a shrill blast of a whistle. Men and women, boys and girls, were herded out into the dusty central square at bayonet point. The women were only just given the chance to cover themselves with whatever was to hand. Stumbling in the darkness, men cursed and the women and children either wept or stood in shocked silence as the mood took them.

Only one of the villagers had had his rifle near to hand. That one was shot as soon as he appeared.

Noorzad left them alone, but guarded, as the bulk of his band went through the village with a fine tooth comb looking for anything that might be of use. They found little; a couple of donkeys to add to the train, some food, a little ammunition. They also found some kerosene and wood.

The guerilla leader left the villagers alone, that is, until the sun had arisen. He wanted them to see clearly what was about to transpire.

"Who is the headman of this village," he demanded, his one eye glaring in the sun.

Hesitantly, an older man, his beard long and half-gray, raised a hand.

"Where is your family?"

Several other hands were raised, two of them from women with small children cl.u.s.tered around. At a nod from the chief, a half dozen guerillas prodded the rest of the populace away from the headman's family until they stood alone in a distinct cl.u.s.ter.

At another nod, four guerillas seized the village head and dragged him to a wall. He was certain he was going to be shot and begged for the intervention of Allah. He would have been happier had his G.o.d intervened and caused the guerillas to shoot him.

First they beat the headman, but only enough to break his will so he would not resist. Still, the guerilla's hardened fists and booted feet bruised him, broke small bones, cut the skin over his skull.

When they were sure enough he would not resist even what was coming, one of them raised the headman's left arm to the wall. A second took a long iron spike with a broad head and held it, point first, to the villager's wrist. A third drove the spike through the wrist and into the wall.

The headman screamed like a lost soul when the cold iron tip drove through the nexus of nerves in his wrist. Unimaginable agony shot through that entire side of his body. The second nail elicited even greater screams.

Unmanned, ashamed, the village headman hung his head and wept.

Then, with the headman quietly weeping and his people in shock, Noorzad began to speak.

"You call yourselves Moslems. Yet I see a school built by the infidels to educate your youth away from the faith of your fathers. You call yourselves Moslem, yet I see that rather than trusting to Allah you have let the infidels dig a well for you." He glanced at the small clinic. "I see you have more faith in infidel medicine than in your G.o.d."

"You may keep none of this. Before we take them from you though, see what the price is that your headman will pay for his impiety."

"Bring out the headman's women."

Roughly, the guerillas parted the mothers from their children and forced them to the center of the group. Then they uncovered and took those of the girls who looked to be past the age of nine, forcing these too, into the circle. The first two of the brothers to object, one eleven and one thirteen, were beaten, stunned, dragged to the wall and-shrieking in agony-nailed up beside their father. The others stayed quiet or, like the women, wept as the mood and their age took them.

There were about one hundred guerillas and seven women and girls. The rape went on for a very long time, guerillas taking turns guarding and violating. When they were done, and even had seconds, the guerillas forced the men and boys of the village old enough to sprout a beard to likewise violate the headman's females. By the time they were done, even the youngest girl, a nine-year-old, had ceased to weep.

The nine-year-old didn't weep either, when two of Noorzad's band began to beat her with iron bars, smashing the little bones and pulping her skin, finally spilling out her brain in a shower of splintered bone and blood. She did scream, though. After all, they'd started at her feet.

When they were done with the nine-year-old, the other women were likewise beaten to death. In the end there were just seven piles of blood and bone and ragged sc.r.a.ps of skin.

After that, Noorzad had the villagers tear down their school and their clinic. He also made them pile the firewood at the feet of the headman and his two nailed-up sons.

Then he poured a measure of kerosene and lit the wood. The screams of personal agony which had lessened under the shock of watching their mothers and sisters, wives and daughters, raped and bludgeoned began anew and rose to a crescendo as the flames ate away skin and set subcutaneous fat alight.

As the chief and his sons burned down to greasy ash, Noorzad went around the circle of villagers, choosing from each family group one son to be trained as a fighter and to serve as a hostage. Lastly, he blew up the well.

Noorzad's parting words were, "Now you see the price of cooperating with the infidel. Now you see the price of forsaking your faith. Do not forget. Also do not forget that there are those among you who are also with us. us."

With that, Noorzad's band trekked into the night.

Interlude

Yasukuni-Jinja , Tokyo, j.a.pan, 14 August 2080 At night, the scene would have been lit well enough to read a book by the garish neon of the city. In the day things were better. One might even imagine oneself back in a purer, truer time. One could, that is, if not for the large groups on immigrants, many of them recent and few of them much a.s.similated, who came to the shrine to, in all too many cases, gawk and sneer.

The immigrants were not the only ones capable of sneering. Watanabe Ishihara, for example, sneered at two groups in alternation. The first was Chinese, immigrants from the mainland. The second was Korean, and conversed in Korean, by the simple and elegant torii torii, or Shinto gate, that led to the shrine.

His companion, Shintaro Soichi, caught the sneers and corrected, "Despise the Chinese if you want, Ish. After all, they despise us as much as we despise them, and perhaps more. But the Koreans are a different story. There are almost twenty-two thousand of them here, our our ill.u.s.trious fallen ill.u.s.trious fallen eirei, eirei, our heroic spirits, as much as our heroic spirits, as much as theirs theirs. They have an arguable right to be here. Maybe they have an in inarguable right to be here."

Watanabe looked down, shamefacedly. Of course Soichi was right. It was just that, "I resent that we have lost, that we are dying out, that everything for which our ancestors strove will belong to those who come to replace us. But, the Koreans, at least, are welcome. Mostly."

"And the Taiwanese?" the Taiwanese?"

"Oh, all right. right. Them, too." Them, too."

Like the rest of the industrialized world, and, to a lesser degree, even much of the non-industrialized world, j.a.pan had seen a precipitous drop in population coupled with a frightening increase in the age of that population and a terrifying decrease in the percentage of that population still working.

Things were never as bad as the doom mongers had predicted, of course. Things never could could become as bad as they predicted. Even so, they were bad enough. What helped j.a.pan out more than anything was that their old folks were, generally speaking, willing to work until they were carried feet first out of their offices and factories. become as bad as they predicted. Even so, they were bad enough. What helped j.a.pan out more than anything was that their old folks were, generally speaking, willing to work until they were carried feet first out of their offices and factories.

This, however, only delayed the inevitable. There came a time when, despite the best will in the world, the older ones simply couldn't work anymore and had to be supported. And with so few young being born, the burden became too great. j.a.pan, like Europe, had had no choice but to permit large-scale immigration. Too, like Europe, j.a.pan couldn't a.s.similate them.

"We must take it all with us, when we leave," Soichi said, his gaze sweeping across the expanse of the shrine. "There will be none left behind to pray to the spirits of our eirei eirei."

"In principle, I agree, Watanabe shrugged. 'But we can fit five thousand colonists? Ten thousand? Maybe twenty thousand, for all this weight of wood and stone and bronze."

"We must take..."

"All," Watanabe supplied. "I suppose you're right there, too. And the sakura sakura?"

"Cuttings, and perhaps a few trees. And then there are the living national treasures..."

"A fair sampling will come," Watanabe said, "As will a prospective Son of Heaven."

"Who?" Soichi asked, "Higashikuni..."

"Oh, d.a.m.n. Not that that branch." branch."

"Best I could do. Besides, what difference that his multi-great grandfather was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g some French wh.o.r.e?"

Chapter Five.

"Show me just what Muhammad brought that was new and there you will find things only evil and inhuman, such as his command to spread by the sword the faith he preached."-Emperor Manual II Palaiologos

6/3/467 AC, Village of Jameer, Pashtia The bodies, or what was left of the bodies, were still there when the Tauran, specifically the Tuscan, column arrived, about midday. Flies cl.u.s.tered on those of the women and girls in thick, black, buzzing clouds. Even the nine-year-old, legs splayed, appeared to have grown p.u.b.es, so thick were the blood-lapping flies.

Tuscan Brigadier General Claudio Marciano stepped from his vehicle, took one look, and promptly threw up.

"Animals," he muttered as he wiped traces of vomit from his lips and face. "Only animals could do something like this."

Marciano's aide de camp, Capitano Capitano Stefano del Collea, didn't answer. Instead, standing next to the vehicle, he simply went pale and shook with hate. Stefano del Collea, didn't answer. Instead, standing next to the vehicle, he simply went pale and shook with hate.

The two were mountain troopers, Ligurini Ligurini, members of an elite corps. They were the best infantry Tuscany on Terra Nova produced and some of the best in the world. Other mountain troopers from Marciano's command, the Brigada Julio Caesare, worked their way cautiously through the town.

There was no firing as the Ligurini Ligurini swept through, only sullen glares from the villagers. swept through, only sullen glares from the villagers. You promised what you could not deliver. You failed us. You promised what you could not deliver. You failed us. So the villager's eyes seemed to accuse. So the villager's eyes seemed to accuse.

"What the f.u.c.k f.u.c.k can we do, Stefano? With three battalions of infantry here in our sector I don't have enough to put even half a squad in every little village. I don't have enough even to put in a single man." can we do, Stefano? With three battalions of infantry here in our sector I don't have enough to put even half a squad in every little village. I don't have enough even to put in a single man."

"We could go hunting," del Collea suggested. "We're better men than they are. They may know these these mountains but we know mountains but we know mountains. mountains."

"It's the only way," Marciano agreed, "The only way and I am forbidden to do it." The general smashed a fist into his palm in sheer frustration. "Forbidden to so much as fire a shot except in point self-defense. 'No offensive operations,' the government says, Stefano. 'Don't risk casualties.' Tell me, Stefano, what the f.u.c.k f.u.c.k is the purpose of even having soldiers if it isn't to risk casualties?" is the purpose of even having soldiers if it isn't to risk casualties?"

The captain just shrugged. He was as helplessly frustrated in this as his commander.

Marciano took off his green, feathered hat and wiped his brow. This was just a demonstration of frightfulness. But the word will get out. By this time tomorrow, day after at the latest, every school and clinic we've built, every well my sappers have dug, will be torn down or filled in. No one will risk this kind of obscenity just to have a nicer building to be sick in or a western style school desk. All the good we've thought we'd accomplished will be undone. This was just a demonstration of frightfulness. But the word will get out. By this time tomorrow, day after at the latest, every school and clinic we've built, every well my sappers have dug, will be torn down or filled in. No one will risk this kind of obscenity just to have a nicer building to be sick in or a western style school desk. All the good we've thought we'd accomplished will be undone.

"If I could transfer my commission," del Collea said, "I'd join the FS Army. They, at least, are allowed to fight."

"If I could transfer my commission," Marciano rejoined, "I might join the Balboan mercenaries and take the entire brigade with me. They go out of their way to fight."