Carnifex. Part 4

"History and Moral Philosophy, Duque. There is a need for such a book, a need all over this planet. Balboa needs it as much as anyone."

Ohhhh, so that's that's his idea. Not bad. Can I tell myself with a straight face that I am doing this, if I do, for one of my soldiers and not for a man married to my wife's cousin? For my adoptive country and not for a relative? For the world and not for nepotism? That would help. his idea. Not bad. Can I tell myself with a straight face that I am doing this, if I do, for one of my soldiers and not for a man married to my wife's cousin? For my adoptive country and not for a relative? For the world and not for nepotism? That would help.

"And you want to write this book, Candidate Mendoza?"

"I do...but it will take time. That, and more education than a baccalaureate."

"In English," Carrera said, "PhD stands for 'piled higher and deeper.' Still, I see your point."

Carrera then went silent for a while, unconsciously leaving the Mendozas to squirm. If I do support this will I be breaking my own principles? No, I am doing it for one of my troops which is absolutely consistent with my principles. But...even worse, maybe I'll If I do support this will I be breaking my own principles? No, I am doing it for one of my troops which is absolutely consistent with my principles. But...even worse, maybe I'll look look like I'm breaking my own principles. But what if... like I'm breaking my own principles. But what if...

He smiled broadly. It's It's such such a joy when the answer just jumps out at you. a joy when the answer just jumps out at you. "Candidate Mendoza...Mrs. Mendoza. I think your idea is a fine one, especially if you broaden it to the question of which one should place first, family or nation or civilization or religion." "Candidate Mendoza...Mrs. Mendoza. I think your idea is a fine one, especially if you broaden it to the question of which one should place first, family or nation or civilization or religion." It's a question to which I need an answer myself. It's a question to which I need an answer myself. "There is a new program for the Legion." "There is a new program for the Legion." d.a.m.ned straight it's new since I just thought of it. d.a.m.ned straight it's new since I just thought of it. "It's so new we haven't even had a chance to advertise it yet. Actually, we haven't even yet worked out the application procedures. But we are going to offer, annually, a half a dozen scholarships for higher education to deserving veterans of the Legion. There will be a battle- or service-connected disability preference." "It's so new we haven't even had a chance to advertise it yet. Actually, we haven't even yet worked out the application procedures. But we are going to offer, annually, a half a dozen scholarships for higher education to deserving veterans of the Legion. There will be a battle- or service-connected disability preference."

Am I quick on my feet or what?

"You'll have to apply and be interviewed by either myself or Duque Duque Parilla and a board we will designate. At that board you will have to make a presentation of your intended project. The first board will meet in about six months. I suggest you have your presentation ready by then," he finished, standing to indicate the interview was over. Parilla and a board we will designate. At that board you will have to make a presentation of your intended project. The first board will meet in about six months. I suggest you have your presentation ready by then," he finished, standing to indicate the interview was over.

Marqueli, too, stood, followed by Jorge once he felt her lift from the couch.

"Thank you, sir," Mendoza said. Until Marqueli nudged his right arm he was uncertain as to whether to offer his hand to a superior and could not see that Carrera had thrust his own out. At the nudge he did offer his hand, which Carrera took and shook warmly enough.

The tiny Marqueli waited until the handshake was done, then launched herself at Carrera, wrapping her arms around his torso and pressing her lovely head to his chest.

"Thank you, Duque Duque," she said, tears of grat.i.tude shining in her eyes for the favor she was certain had just been done her husband. "Thank you."

15/9/466 AC, Ninewa Province, Sumer The farmer plowing his field waved at the pa.s.sing column of legionary infantry. Newly promoted centurion, junior grade, Ricardo Cruz, taking up the rear, waved back. Curiously, the farmer kept waving, even after Cruz had returned it. Cruz's eyes narrowed and he looked more carefully at the farmer. Yes, the man's wave was definitely exaggerated.

"Thank you muchly, Mister Farmer," he muttered.

"Platoon leader," he said into the earpiece-c.u.m-microphone he wore. It was a minor modification to a civilian system, a short-range wireless that ran through a longer ranged one. The Legion had adopted the communication system, or Comsys, it because it was cheap, effective, and available almost immediately.

Almost immediately a voice answered, "Centurion Arredondo. What is it, Cruz?"

"That farmer we just pa.s.sed. I think he's trying to give us a warning, boss."

"Maybe," Arredondo answered. It was even likely. As time had pa.s.sed and the insurgency weakened, more and more civilians had proved willing to help both the Legion and the Sumeri National Forces to flush out more of the enemy. As more of the enemy had been flushed out, more civilians had become willing to help. The guerillas were really on the ropes over most of the country. Worse, they knew it and so did the civilians among whom they tried to operate.

It could easily have gone the other way, had certain things not come to pa.s.s some years before.

"Did he give you any specific indicators?" Arredondo asked, then continued, "...Ah...never mind. The pooch's already alerted. They're in the wheat growing to our left front."

Cruz couldn't see the attached scout dog from his position in the back of the platoon, but did see the men sinking to their bellies along the dirt road that led between the irrigated fields. He joined them.

"Artillery?" he asked Arredondo over the Comsys.

"No...no. I don't want to f.u.c.k up the farmer's crop; be a d.a.m.ned poor way to repay him for trying to help. What's available for air?"

Air support was well out of the range of the Comsys, which were, by design, limited to no more than a mile in range. Cruz turned to the chief of the forward observer team, bellying down beside him. Cruz turned to the chief of the forward observer team, bellying down beside him.

"What can we get from the air?" Cruz asked.

The corporal made an inquiry over his longer ranged radio. A few minutes later he answered, "We can have a brace of Turbo-Finch Avengers"-crop dusters reconfigured for the close air support role-"in about twenty minutes, or there's an armed Cricket recon bird we can have in five. The Avengers are carrying some flechette rockets and a gun pod each. Mostly they're carrying bombs though."

"Can we have both?" Cruz asked. After all, we don't necessarily After all, we don't necessarily have have to use the bombs. to use the bombs.

"Don't see why not."

"Get 'em both. We'll let the Cricket flush them and use the Avengers to help us pursue. Rockets and machine guns only though." He pa.s.sed the same on to Arredondo via the Comsys.

"That's fine, Cruz," Arredondo answered. Cruz then heard him say, "O Group," or orders group. All four squad leaders immediately answered with their ordinal numbers, "First...Second...Third...Fourth." Fourth was also known as the weapons squad.

Cruz himself announced only his name, and that only to let the squad leaders know he was there and listening.

"Here's the deal," Arrodendo announced. "I think we've got a group of guerillas up ahead in the wheat to the left. They probably know they've been spotted by the fact we took cover. That's ok. We're going to kill them anyway."

"We've got air inbound in five...no, about four now...minutes. Once that's overhead, we're going to start moving forward by bounds, by squad. Second Squad will bound first. Once we take fire we'll return it and develop the situation a bit. I want to flush them into the open where the air can kill them. Questions?"

"First, negative...Second, no questions, Centurion...Third, roger, out...Weapons, no sweat."

"Centurion, this is Cruz. The machine guns can range the wood from the road and can see it, too."

After a short pause to think, Arredondo said, "Right...keep weapons by the road, Cruz. You stay with them to control the air. Now, good hunting, gentlemen. The war's been dull of late. This should give the boys a little much-needed excitement."

The Cricket was heavily m.u.f.fled. Cruz didn't see or hear it until the pilot came up on the radio to announce he'd arrived.

"Keep out of light missile range," Cruz cautioned. "We're going to try to flush them out of cover."

"Wilco," answered the pilot. "Hey, Cruz, that you?"

"Montoya?" Cruz asked in return.

"'Oh, Cazador Buddy,'" Montoya answered.

"I didn't know you were going to flight school."

Montoya sighed over the radio. "I didn't do well enough in school"-he meant Cazador School, a miserable exercise in starvation, sleep deprivation, danger and sheer hard work; it was also the Legion's sine qua non sine qua non for leader selection-"for them to actually trust me as an officer or centurion. So I hung around the for leader selection-"for them to actually trust me as an officer or centurion. So I hung around the Cazador Tercio Cazador Tercio until someone came to talk to me about becoming a pilot. So it's Flight Warrant Officer Montoya now." until someone came to talk to me about becoming a pilot. So it's Flight Warrant Officer Montoya now."

"Good job," Cruz answered, and meant it. Unlike most armed forces the air component of the Legion was a part and parcel of the whole; treated like c.r.a.p the same as everyone else, rather than as spoiled children with too many privileges. There was, therefore, quite a bit more affection between ground and air than was true of most armed forces. The air loved the ground because they were the honorable edge of battle. The ground loved the air because there was none of this "our pilots are too precious to risk" and "but we need our crew rest" nonsense and because they'd always be there when needed, even at the cost of pilots' lives.

"Yeah," Montoya agreed. "Besides, I'm a better pilot than I was a grunt. I'll be standing by and watching," he concluded.

The enemy opened fire first, at a range somewhat long for the rifles and light machine guns they carried. From the road, about twelve hundred meters away from the wood, the legionaries had no trouble returning fire with their excellent .34 caliber machine guns. Three medium guns, belting out three to four hundred rounds per minute, sustained, between them, and coupled with return fire from the infantry squads closer in, were more than the insurgents really felt up to dealing with. They began to run.

"Cruz, Montoya; I see them and I'm on it."

"Get some, Montoya."

For the first time that day Cruz heard the thrummm thrummm of the Cricket's engine as Montoya gunned it to close to range. Then, mere moments later, he heard the steady sound of cloth ripping as the dual machine gun mounted to side-fire from the Cricket opened up. He couldn't see if they hit anything, as the enemy was running away. He could see the rest of the platoon rise to their feet and begin to run forward, firing from the hip, urged on by Arredondo's wide-carrying shout. of the Cricket's engine as Montoya gunned it to close to range. Then, mere moments later, he heard the steady sound of cloth ripping as the dual machine gun mounted to side-fire from the Cricket opened up. He couldn't see if they hit anything, as the enemy was running away. He could see the rest of the platoon rise to their feet and begin to run forward, firing from the hip, urged on by Arredondo's wide-carrying shout.

"Cease fire! Cease fire!" Cruz ordered the weapons squad and then began to trot low from gun to gun, making sure the crews had heard.

Idly, Cruz wondered if there would be prisoners. Hopefully so; this is enough excitement for the day. Hopefully so; this is enough excitement for the day.

Then the brace of Turbo-Finch Avengers swooped in like eager hound dogs. "Where you want it?" they panted. Their lives had been a bit short of excitement over the last year, too, and it showed.

"Save it," Cruz answered, "but thanks for stopping by. This party's about over."

"f.u.c.k!"

Over the radio Cruz heard Montoya laugh. "What? You guys think me and my my Cazador Cazador Compadre Compadre are going to leave anything for the likes of you." are going to leave anything for the likes of you."

"Tell 'em, Montoya," Cruz added, with a snicker.

"Hey, Cruz, I got a postcard from Khalid in Taurus a few months back. Nothing too personal but he says he's doing well."

"Good old Khalid," said Cruz.

21/9/466 AC, Westminster, Anglia, Tauran Union The small bra.s.s placard above the mailbox said, "Mahrous ibn Mohamed ibn Salah, min Sa'ana." That name and address matched his briefing packet was no particular surprise to Khalid. This was his fifth hit in two years and, so far, there had never been a mistake in ident.i.ty. What he would do if he ever was called upon to make a hit that turned out to be a mistake, Khalid didn't know. At this point, he suspected, he'd probably yawn, then go to a cafe and read the paper. He'd grown a steel sh.e.l.l, had Khalid, these last five years.

Unlike the previous four, this target was "hardened." This is to say that his house was detached, with broad lawns around it and a wall around them, that his sedan-sedans, rather; Mahrous kept four Phaetons-was armored. He had bodyguards, mostly veterans of the Royal Anglian Army's Special Operations Directorate, or SOD. He was believed to wear body armor of the very highest caliber, religiously. Moreover, Mahrous rarely traveled the same way from his home twice in a week.

If the swine wasn't so paranoid, thought Khalid, thought Khalid, I'd have offed his a.s.s months ago. I'd have offed his a.s.s months ago.

For those months Khalid had considered and discarded one option after another. Shoot him from a distance? No way; nothing elevated hereabouts and no really good firing positions. Besides, I'm a good long range shot, but not a great one. We Arabs rarely are; I don't know why. No way; nothing elevated hereabouts and no really good firing positions. Besides, I'm a good long range shot, but not a great one. We Arabs rarely are; I don't know why. Shoot him close up? Shoot him close up? I'd never get through the bodyguards who are, let's admit it, first rate men. I'd never get through the bodyguards who are, let's admit it, first rate men. Bomb the house? Bomb the house? No way to get close enough with enough material. No way to get close enough with enough material. Bomb the office? Bomb the office? Similar problem. Similar problem. Bomb the Phaetons? Bomb the Phaetons? Which one. How do I get to it? No way. Which one. How do I get to it? No way.

He'd even considered leaving a small bomb with a chemical agent in it but... It wouldn't surprise me a bit if those SOD types carry atropine and nerve agent antidote. It wouldn't surprise me a bit if those SOD types carry atropine and nerve agent antidote.

In the end, Khalid had gone for something simple. There was a sewer that ran the length of the street Mahrous lived on. That sewer had one manhole cover not far from the driveway to Mahrous' residence. Khalid had simply made a radio control detonator from parts obtained at a local hobby store, then manufactured-as he had been trained to do in Volga-about fifteen pounds of PETN, pentaerythritol tetranitrate, in his apartment in the city. "Factor P for plenty plenty," the Volgan instructor had said. Fifteen pounds of PETN was more than plenty. An electric blasting cap he lifted from a poorly-guarded construction site.

A visit to the local courthouse had given Khalid the map for the sewer system. A couple of visits to three different uniform shops had given him a fair simulacrum of a sewer worker's uniform and accoutrements. A used automobile dealer provided the van and a paint shop changed the van's color to green to match those used by the public works authority. A few telephonic complaints to the PWA had given him, after a bit of figuring, a schedule and therefore a time frame in which there would be no sewer workers down below.

Making a package of the PETN, descending into the sewers-Blech, that stank!-and finding the right manhole cover had been easy.

And so, now, Khalid waited and watched the road and the manhole from a cafe not far from the manhole cover. He'd been waiting for four days. If Mahrous didn't soon use the road that led by the bomb, Khalid would have to think of something else. You just couldn't leave a bomb lying around indefinitely. And if it was found, if Mahrous or his bodyguards got wind of it, their paranoia level would go, oh, way way up. up.

"Which would be saying something," Khalid muttered, as he sipped his coffee.

As Khalid put down the cup, he spied a long, black Phaeton easing out of the barred and guarded gate that fronted the driveway from Mahrous' house. He didn't tense; he seen the same thing three times already, since planting his bomb, and three times the Phaeton had gone in a different direction.

Ah, but Allah smiles upon those who wait, Khalid thought, with a smile of his own. Now let's see if the wretch doesn't turn off before he reaches the manhole. And.....bingo. They might stop outright, but there are no good turns before the bomb. Now let's see if the wretch doesn't turn off before he reaches the manhole. And.....bingo. They might stop outright, but there are no good turns before the bomb.

Judging the speed of the Phaeton, Khalid carefully timed his reach into the side pocket of the jacket he wore. His hand curled around a small transmitter, his finger caressing the detonator b.u.t.ton. At precisely the right moment, he pushed that b.u.t.ton and smiled.

The explosion went off directly under Mahrous' ample posterior. Besides cracking the street around the manhole cover, sending chunks of asphalt, concrete and rebar flying, it lifted the cover strait up at an amazing rate of speed. The cover cut right through the Phaeton's transmission and then cover and transmission together mashed Mahrous' a.n.u.s into his brain, forcing the resulting mix right through and out of the Phaeton's armored roof.

The blast was also sufficient to kill the ex-SOD driver and guard, both seated in front, as well as Mahrous' eldest son, sitting beside him.

Knocked over by the blast, as was nearly everyone else within two hundred feet, Khalid stood up, forcing an artificial expression of shocked disbelief onto his face. Like other people, he ran forward to try to help the injured. Khalid, however, merely wanted to confirm results.

He saw that all four tires had been blasted off the torn and twisted wreckage of the Phaeton, and that it was burning merrily. Since there were no screams coming from inside, despite the fire, he was reasonably confident that his. .h.i.t had been a success. Once a sufficient crowd had gathered to cover his withdrawal, Khalid simply melted through it and was away.

I love love my job my job, he thought. Where else could I get both revenge and excitement in these quant.i.ties and to these qualities. Where else could I get both revenge and excitement in these quant.i.ties and to these qualities.

29/9/466 AC, War Department, Hamilton, FD, Federated States of Columbia f.u.c.k, this sort of "excitement" I can live without, mused Virgil Rivers, waiting impatiently, and even nervously, at the office of the secretary of war for the Federated States. River, a tall, slender, cafe-au-lait colored general officer could not be said to be handsome. He had, however, a friendly manner and infectious grin that most women found very attractive. He'd married well as a result of it. mused Virgil Rivers, waiting impatiently, and even nervously, at the office of the secretary of war for the Federated States. River, a tall, slender, cafe-au-lait colored general officer could not be said to be handsome. He had, however, a friendly manner and infectious grin that most women found very attractive. He'd married well as a result of it.

Ron Campos was gone as SecWar, gone with the outgoing Federalist administration. Truth be told, n.o.body much missed him. That is, n.o.body missed him yet. yet. Virgil Rivers suspected a lot of people were Virgil Rivers suspected a lot of people were going going to miss him, to miss him badly and soon. The new SecWar, James K. Malcolm, Progressive, was Campos' match in arrogance, in Rivers' opinion, but lacked both the former SecWar's patriotism and his determination. Indeed, it was widely believed that, given a choice between advancing the interests of the Federated States, or looking out for the interests of his childhood summer home, the Gallic Republic, Malcolm would always choose Gaul. Nonetheless, Malcolm was one of a very few Progressives with any military background at all. Thus, he had been a seeming natural for secretary of war in the new administration. to miss him, to miss him badly and soon. The new SecWar, James K. Malcolm, Progressive, was Campos' match in arrogance, in Rivers' opinion, but lacked both the former SecWar's patriotism and his determination. Indeed, it was widely believed that, given a choice between advancing the interests of the Federated States, or looking out for the interests of his childhood summer home, the Gallic Republic, Malcolm would always choose Gaul. Nonetheless, Malcolm was one of a very few Progressives with any military background at all. Thus, he had been a seeming natural for secretary of war in the new administration.

He's a natural buffoon, Rivers thought, Rivers thought, a natural gigolo, a natural panderer and an a natural gigolo, a natural panderer and an un unnatural citizen. On the other hand, his G.o.dd.a.m.ned tan is just a little too orange to be natural. Well, what can one expect from a natural fake.

Rivers' collar sported the two stars of a major general now. He'd always known he'd rise at least this high, even as a little boy. Thank you, Daddy, for training me as well as you did. Thank you, Daddy, for training me as well as you did. The only question was would he rise any higher. He considered it no better than even money that he would. Rather, he The only question was would he rise any higher. He considered it no better than even money that he would. Rather, he had had considered it no better than even money. With Malcolm as SecWar, he would now have given long odds against. considered it no better than even money. With Malcolm as SecWar, he would now have given long odds against.

Still, I've had a good run, a d.a.m.ned d.a.m.ned good run for someone who's great-grandpappy retired as a master sergeant in the horse cavalry. good run for someone who's great-grandpappy retired as a master sergeant in the horse cavalry.

Rivers ported a laptop under his left arm. It contained the SecWar's daily briefing on the ongoing war. Briefing the secretary was so unpleasant, however, that it had quickly become a rotating duty. Today was River's day and he was not looking forward to it. He'd already been kept standing in front of the secretary's desk, rudely ignored, for almost ten minutes while Malcolm pretended to be busy with a file. It was another five minutes before the secretary closed the file and looked up. He didn't bother to rise or offer to shake hands.

Just as well; I'm p.i.s.sed enough right now that if he did I'd probably do or say something that would move my chances of another star from dismal to none.

"Have a seat, Rivers," Malcolm ordered.

Rivers sat next to the desk, opened the laptop and faced it toward the secretary. The outside of the computer's top had a smaller screen that showed the same images as the main one. Rivers controlled the images with a small device he retrieved from his shirt pocket. He pressed a b.u.t.ton on the device. A color map of the Republic of Sumer, highly annotated, appeared on both screens.

Malcolm looked the map over briefly. There wasn't much to see; the war in Sumer had been steadily winding down for two years. While the first three and a half years had cost the Federated States an average of just under one hundred men a month, killed, this had dropped down into the low double and occasionally single digits.

Rivers had been told not to offer commentary; that the secretary, being a lawyer, liked to direct the briefings like cross examinations in court.

"I see the Balboan sector has almost no incidents, General. To what do you attribute that?"

"They started off well and were able to enlist a great deal of Sumeri help early on," Rivers answered. He did not add, though he considered adding, and they're so ruthless almost n.o.body in their sector is willing to cross them. and they're so ruthless almost n.o.body in their sector is willing to cross them.

"And we're paying for that?"

"Yes, Mr. Secretary. Under your predecessor we had an arrangement whereby the Balboans fielded, or sponsored the fielding of, combat capable forces, for a price that was originally about fifty-five percent of what the same force would have cost us. In addition, we had to provide medical care equivalent to what we give our own, but in Balboa. The price has slowly crept up as the cost of living rose in Balboa in response to all the money they earned from us. Right now it's about two thirds of our equivalent cost. That's still a bargain, since the blood is theirs, not ours."

Malcolm frowned. He'd known about the Balboans and had mostly negative feelings. Many of these feelings stemmed from rumors. He'd heard the Balboans used torture with gleeful abandon, though no one had ever provided proof. It was said they were conducting an international campaign of terror and a.s.sa.s.sination against both the common enemy, the Salafi Ikhwan, Ikhwan, and any critics of their Legion; though, here too, they covered their tracks well. In a sense, it didn't even matter if the charges were true; the international and progressivist press believed they were true and acted accordingly. There was very little criticism of the Balboan force in the newspapers or on television. and any critics of their Legion; though, here too, they covered their tracks well. In a sense, it didn't even matter if the charges were true; the international and progressivist press believed they were true and acted accordingly. There was very little criticism of the Balboan force in the newspapers or on television.