Carnifex. Part 51

In any case, Abdul Aziz's tall and lanky frame was well matched to Khalifa's shorter and much more well rounded one. Though for all that, she was not a short woman at a meter, seventy. That height came from her pure Bedu Bedu ancestry. Along with it, she had inherited large, well shaped, not-quite-almond eyes, full lips and high cheekbones. Her husband, she knew, was as pleased with her appearance as she was with his. At least, in the five years they had been together his ardor had never flagged nor had it shown any signs that it ever would. This was a pleasure to the girl, and in more than her body. ancestry. Along with it, she had inherited large, well shaped, not-quite-almond eyes, full lips and high cheekbones. Her husband, she knew, was as pleased with her appearance as she was with his. At least, in the five years they had been together his ardor had never flagged nor had it shown any signs that it ever would. This was a pleasure to the girl, and in more than her body.

Her two children were a boy, four, and a girl, two. She'd been disappointed in herself for failing to deliver a second boy. But her husband-wonderful man!-had shushed her apologies and told her, in all seriousness, that it was the women who would deliver this world to the sons of Allah. She should be proud, he'd said, as proud of her as he was. How could she not love such a man?

Khalifa knew a little, but only a little, of the outside. She knew she and her sisters were pitied by the women of the industrialized world who believed them to be little more than chattels. She could not for the life of her understand that. Oh, yes, there were men, even Salafi men, who abused their wives. But didn't those "modern" women understand that every Salafi girl had a father and brothers who loved them so long as they were worthy? A father and brothers, uncles and cousins, too, who would not only take a very dim view of their female relatives being abused but were very likely to abuse right back? Salafis who mistreated their wives tended to wind up dead. Fortunately, her her parents had chosen well. parents had chosen well. Her Her husband cherished her. husband cherished her.

It was with that thought; that, and the warm glow still remaining from the night before, reinforced by antic.i.p.ation of the night to come, that Khalifa ground the beans for the morning's coffee happily and with a smile.

"Well, you check out," an unsmiling Noorzad announced to Bashir, alone, over the morning coffee. The rest of the company had already eaten and drunk and was back at work on the cavern.

"You are remembered both at the camp from which the lost column set out and in your home area. But I have some very bad news..." the grizzled old fighter hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Your family has been taken by the infidels."

Bashir had to feign shock. He inhaled sharply, then allowed himself to exhale as his chin sank down upon his chest. "Have they been..."

"No," Noorzad answered. "No word of a trial. None of any murders, either. They're just being held, apparently for questioning."

"How...?"

"The infidels have their ways," Noorzad answered. "They can find your whole life story and family tree from the smell of your camel's three-day-old fart, so say some. If they took your brother, or even the smallest part of his body, they can find out where he came from."

"The crusaders will know I am missing," Bashir wailed. That, too, had taken practice. "They'll torture my parents to tell them where I am."

"No matter," Noorzad answered with a shrug. "Your parents don't know. Nothing they can say can hurt the cause. Besides, the infidels rarely bother to torture, no matter what we might say to the contrary, unless they have some particular reason to justify the effort."

Bashir restrained himself from saying, They'll beat the c.r.a.p out of you for the slightest lie, or the merest failure to come clean, if they've got an interest. They'll beat the c.r.a.p out of you for the slightest lie, or the merest failure to come clean, if they've got an interest. After all, he wasn't supposed to personally know that. After all, he wasn't supposed to personally know that.

But I really want to know, need to know, what the h.e.l.l is supposed to fit into that huge cavern we're excavating. Unfortunately, I can't ask you you about it, just like I can't ask you about...or maybe I can. about it, just like I can't ask you about...or maybe I can.

"Will Mustafa want to speak to me again do you think?"

Noorzad shook his head. "Not this week. Maybe next. He often commiserates with those who either have given, or may soon give, much for the struggle."

"Okay...well, if he won't need me any time soon, I'd just as soon join the rest of the company at work."

"Good lad," Noorzad answered with a personable and friendly slap to Bashir's shoulder.

28/7/469 AC, Camp San Lorenzo, Jalala Province, Pashtia No matter how closely or how much Carrera stared at the model of the Salafi base, he found no solution. It's logistically impossible. Impossible! It's logistically impossible. Impossible!

He tried picturing the attack under the most promising scenario developed to date. The Cazadors jump in by NA-32s-d.a.m.n the broken ankles-and get by with nothing but air for fire support until the artillery is in range and ready. The helicopters move in the whole artillery cohort, except for the rocket launchers, which can move themselves, then go back for an infantry cohort. By the time they come back with an infantry cohort the enemy is completely ready. Any guests they may have-and Mustafa-are long gone. So we keep shuttling in the troops until we can reduce the place, get in a war with Kashmir, and after we take it we pull out, fight a border war while the diplo-s.h.i.ts try to patch up a peace...and do it all over again in a year or two. The Cazadors jump in by NA-32s-d.a.m.n the broken ankles-and get by with nothing but air for fire support until the artillery is in range and ready. The helicopters move in the whole artillery cohort, except for the rocket launchers, which can move themselves, then go back for an infantry cohort. By the time they come back with an infantry cohort the enemy is completely ready. Any guests they may have-and Mustafa-are long gone. So we keep shuttling in the troops until we can reduce the place, get in a war with Kashmir, and after we take it we pull out, fight a border war while the diplo-s.h.i.ts try to patch up a peace...and do it all over again in a year or two.

f.u.c.k! f.u.c.k! f.u.c.k! Maybe if I wasn't so f.u.c.king tired all the time...

All right...lets start at the beginning. What do I want for an end state? I want to kill or capture every Salafi in the area, and especially their leaders, destroy the base, and pull out before it becomes a Kashmir-Legion ground war. That means I need an infantry cohort in the center, two more plus the artillery to make a breach and peel the edges, and Cazadors and Pashtun scouts to seal it off.

Ok...the Pashtun scouts could go in over a period of days by air. Some might even just cross the border on horseback. Let's see...eighteen Crickets of which fifteen work at any given time. Each carries three Pashtun. Do it over a period of days? No...not a chance. The longer they're out there the more certain it tips my hand, alerts the enemy and warns Kashmir. And they could be there for f.u.c.king weeks weeks before we get word that the leadership will be there. Skip that idea. before we get word that the leadership will be there. Skip that idea.

Again he glared down at the terrain model, willing willing it to provide answers. Obstinately, the model refused. it to provide answers. Obstinately, the model refused.

Make a major effort to clear the area up to the border before we strike? That way we could march most of the way and cut the amount of lift needed. But...no...that will tip off the Salafis and Kashmir just as much as a bunch of my Pashtun wandering in their territory will. If only the base was in Farsia there'd be no problem; they're an open and avowed enemy and I can cross their border at will. If only Kashmir wasn't so completely in the Salafis' pockets while pretending to be a part of the alliance against the Salafis...

Wandering in their territory? In their pockets? Pretending? And....nukes. Carrera held the thought for a moment, searching for an answer that was almost at his fingertips. Carrera held the thought for a moment, searching for an answer that was almost at his fingertips. My G.o.d, could it be that simple? My G.o.d, could it be that simple?

His hand reached for the intercom. "Get me Subadar Masood and Tribune Cano from the Pashtun Scouts. And Jimenez....and Fernandez."

29/7/469 AC, The Base, Kashmir Tribal Trust Lands "But what the h.e.l.l is this d.a.m.ned thing for? for?" Bashir asked plaintively of no one in particular. The work crew had hit a particularly tough section of rock. No one thought his question particularly out of place.

"You don't know?"

"No, I don't know," he answered, resting on the sledge hammer he'd been using to drive wedges into the stone. "And I don't suppose I need to. But this s.h.i.t is tough! tough!"

"Well," his comrade began, conspiratorially, "I heard that the chief of the Old Earth infidels is coming for a visit. All very hush-hush, mind you? This cave is to hide his shuttle...the little ship that usually carries him between the UE Peace Fleet and their base on Atlantis Island...from prying eyes." The comrade's eyes went up and he made a sign as if to ward off either the Old Earthers or the Columbian's spies in the sky.

"All this trouble for one Old Earth infidel? Makes no sense," was Bashir's judgment.

"Nor to me, brother. Perhaps Mustafa thinks to wheedle some help. Allah knows, we could use it."

"Well, at least that explains why we have to dig this thing. But what's the hurry?"

"I heard from my cousin who works in headquarters that it's set for two weeks from today."

"Two weeks? Two f.u.c.king more weeks in this hole!" muttered Sevilla. "s.h.i.t!"

"Never mind, Sergeant," the signifer said. "Just advise headquarters. Meanwhile, I'm going to take Somoza out tonight after the moon goes down and have a look around."

"Bad, bad idea, sir."

Interlude United Earth Organization Resolution 5417 (proposed) Resolution 5417 (2131) Proposed before the Consensus on its 16728th meeting, meeting, On 13 June, 2131 The Consensus (formerly known as the "Security Council"), Maintaining the spirit implicit in the n.o.blemaire Principle for the remuneration and reward of its professional personnel, the spirit implicit in the n.o.blemaire Principle for the remuneration and reward of its professional personnel, Realizing that stability is no less important to peace, prosperity and freedom than is progress, that stability is no less important to peace, prosperity and freedom than is progress, Recognizing that equality among persons is necessary to peace and progress, that equality among persons is necessary to peace and progress, Acknowledging the custom that has arisen of enfoeffment of certain offices and positions among the progressive cla.s.s, the custom that has arisen of enfoeffment of certain offices and positions among the progressive cla.s.s, Reiterating in the strongest possible terms that progress is dependent upon the actions and authority of members of that cla.s.s, supported by the peoples of Earth, as represented by this Consensus and the General a.s.sembly, in the strongest possible terms that progress is dependent upon the actions and authority of members of that cla.s.s, supported by the peoples of Earth, as represented by this Consensus and the General a.s.sembly, Stressing that the Organization, and its affiliates and subsidiaries, must remain one "open to talents," that the Organization, and its affiliates and subsidiaries, must remain one "open to talents,"

Welcoming the support for this measure given by such organizations as Amnesty, Interplanetary, Doctors Across Worlds, the Interplanetary a.s.sociation for Progressive News Reporting, Food is a Human Right, Inc., various transnational corporations, the European Union, the Organization of African Unity, The Chinese Hegemony, etc., the support for this measure given by such organizations as Amnesty, Interplanetary, Doctors Across Worlds, the Interplanetary a.s.sociation for Progressive News Reporting, Food is a Human Right, Inc., various transnational corporations, the European Union, the Organization of African Unity, The Chinese Hegemony, etc., Expressing its delight at the trust and confidence shown by the peoples of Earth and by their progressive representatives, its delight at the trust and confidence shown by the peoples of Earth and by their progressive representatives, Determining that the peoples of Earth cry out with one voice for a cla.s.s to lead them into a bright future, that the peoples of Earth cry out with one voice for a cla.s.s to lead them into a bright future, 1) Confers Confers upon its own officers honorary t.i.tles in accordance with the schedule at table one, attached, upon its own officers honorary t.i.tles in accordance with the schedule at table one, attached, 2) Confers Confers upon the chief officers of those organizations listed in table two, attached, similar honors as shown in that table, upon the chief officers of those organizations listed in table two, attached, similar honors as shown in that table, 3) Reiterates Reiterates that such honors shall be open to whosoever shall arise to such positions, in perpetuity, that such honors shall be open to whosoever shall arise to such positions, in perpetuity, 4) Directs Directs that the t.i.tle of "Secretary General" shall be the highest such honor, and that the t.i.tle of "Secretary General" shall be the highest such honor, and 5) Declares Declares that such honors, that they may be open to the peoples of the Earth, shall be hereditary, also in perpetuity. that such honors, that they may be open to the peoples of the Earth, shall be hereditary, also in perpetuity.

Chapter Twenty-one.

When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains And the women come out to cut up what remains-Kipling, The Young British Soldier

5/8/469 AC, UEPF Spirit of Peace It was only partly the playmates the fleet could make available to her in essentially unlimited numbers , and without any wagging tongues, that had kept Lucretia Arbeit, Marchioness of Amnesty and Inspector General of the UEPF, from going back home to Earth. Far more important was that this was exciting exciting, as nothing on Old Earth could be exciting anymore, while still being safe. Oh, yes, the continuous pressure of the barbarians from the reverted areas could be exciting, but that was decidedly unsafe. (And even the gladiatorial combats that the Duke of the International Solidarity Movement staged, for special occasions, grew dull after a while.) Arbeit, after all, was a Domme, not a sub. And the barbs back home had some odd and unpleasant ceremonies they were said to engage in whenever they got a representative from the Consensus in their hands.

No, no, she thought, sitting on a couch in High Admiral Martin Robinson's quarters. Much better here. Much Much better here. Much safer safer here. here.

The ship wherein Arbeit sat orbited peacefully, from below looking like nothing more than a silvery crescent in the shadow cast by Terra Nova and the local sun. Inside it was not so peaceful, however.

"You're not seriously going to give those maniacs nukes, are you, Martin?"

Wallenstein, the speaker, was agitated and plainly upset. She'd gone along so far for the possibility of jumping a step in caste among the elite of Old Earth. She'd been willing to overlook a lot-even to do do quite a lot, frankly-to advance that worthy goal. Turning nuclear weapons over to religious fanatics was pushing the boundary of cooperation and aid. Even the months that had pa.s.sed since Robinson first broached the idea had not made it a bit more comfortable or acceptable. quite a lot, frankly-to advance that worthy goal. Turning nuclear weapons over to religious fanatics was pushing the boundary of cooperation and aid. Even the months that had pa.s.sed since Robinson first broached the idea had not made it a bit more comfortable or acceptable.

"I don't see what has you upset, Marguerite," Robinson answered calmly, turning away from his computer monitor. "We've shunted the Salafis money, arranged for arms and explosives, used our contacts and supporters down below to serve as hostages to get more Salafis freed and to shunt them even more money. Nukes are just a matter of scale and degree."

"No they're not not just a matter of scale or degree. Nukes kill whole cities! " she practically screamed. "Don't you realize the Feds down below will just a matter of scale or degree. Nukes kill whole cities! " she practically screamed. "Don't you realize the Feds down below will f.u.c.king nuke us f.u.c.king nuke us to gas if one of their cities goes up in a mushroom cloud?" to gas if one of their cities goes up in a mushroom cloud?"

That got Arbeit's attention. got Arbeit's attention.

Ignoring the sudden look of concern on Arbeit's face, Robinson shrugged. "I considered that, of course, my dear. But these will be Volgan, Hangkuk, and Kashmiri, hence not traceable to us. So...what difference?"

"Millions of dead people," she insisted. "Millions! Doesn't that mean anything to you?" Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"If you will the end, Marguerite, you will the means. Would you rather millions of dead barbarians and lowers here or millions of dead elites back on Earth?"

Now it was the High Admiral's turn to become heated. "You've seen the projections yourself, Captain. In one hundred years the barbarians below will be beyond control. In one hundred years this fleet will have fallen apart around us. For the sake of the Holy Office of the Secretary General don't you realize why I had to buy local nukes? Ours Ours can't even be relied on anymore. Like this d.a.m.ned ship, like this d.a.m.ned fleet. It's all coming apart and can't even be relied on anymore. Like this d.a.m.ned ship, like this d.a.m.ned fleet. It's all coming apart and it isn't going to get any better. Ever! it isn't going to get any better. Ever! We break the independent nations down there to our ways or they come out and break us." We break the independent nations down there to our ways or they come out and break us."

"Just picture it, Marguerite: their soldiers marching through the Louvre, and our own proles pointing out the more valuable artworks for them. Our cla.s.s reduced to servitude. Earth groaning once again under an unsustainable population and the proles proles put in charge." put in charge."

"But nukes?"

The Marchioness of Amnesty interrupted. "Marguerite, it has to be nukes. Martin is right; Mustafa and the Salafis are losing, slowly but surely. I've seen enough to know that. They need to hit back. We need them to hit back to break the will of the Federated States and its allies. Once that is done the local World League can become a real government just like the UN did back home. Then the Columbians, the Anglians and even the stinking Balboans will slowly but surely be forced into the fold. With the World League running Terra Nova and ourselves running the World League their population can be cropped, their industry and scientific base can be crippled. Their foolish insistence on popular rule can be thwarted. Most importantly, they can be disarmed. It has has to be nukes...the Salafi have no other hope...and we have no hope but them." to be nukes...the Salafi have no other hope...and we have no hope but them."

"That's one possibility, Lucretia," Robinson said. "It's also possible, and for us much better, that the Salafis should dominate the planet."

Arbeit shrugged. To her, it really didn't matter.

"When?" Wallenstein asked, weakly.

"A couple of weeks," Robinson answered. "The Salafis are making a place where we can shelter a shuttle for the delivery. Making it by hand hand, as a matter of fact, the yokels," Robinson sneered. "They'll all be better off once we're in charge. Only the Cla.s.s Ones have the wisdom to run a world properly, let alone two of them."

Reminded, she began to ask, hesitantly, "Have you..."

"Have I put you up for Cla.s.s One yet?"

"Yes, that."

"Of course. Speaking of which, Marguerite, I'll want you personally to see to my security down there." Robinson smiled and continued, "In the interim, I have other uses for you. Get your uniform off and get on all fours."

"And get your lovely head over here," Arbeit ordered, sliding her posterior toward the edge of her seat.

Afterwards, Wallenstein lay on her side in the High Admiral's bed, sandwiched between the two of them. She kept two knuckles in her mouth on which she bit down. Normally, Robinson was content to use her mouth or v.a.g.i.n.a. This time he'd wanted her a.s.s and it had hurt. It still hurt.

It will all be worth it, she consoled herself, she consoled herself, when he and Lucretia sponsor me for Cla.s.s One. Everything will be worth it then. All the perks...all the lower castes having to kowtow to me rather than me to the high caste. The best living arrangements. Servants. Proles to use as I've been used all my life. Respect. when he and Lucretia sponsor me for Cla.s.s One. Everything will be worth it then. All the perks...all the lower castes having to kowtow to me rather than me to the high caste. The best living arrangements. Servants. Proles to use as I've been used all my life. Respect.

Arbeit slept silently. The High Admiral snored. He'd fallen asleep as soon as he'd finished using her body, she thought, but the snore meant he was truly asleep. Still naked, she gently slithered out from between them and over to the computer the High Admiral had inadvertently left running while he'd turned his attention to her.

Must see how their recommendation reads.

A captain had access to everything in his or her ship's computer files, ordinarily. She knew the Admiral had sequestered some files concerning the operations to influence the planet below. Hopefully he would not have thought to sequester the report on her.

She typed carefully, quietly. There it was, in the recent files section, a report labeled "Wallenstein." She pulled up the file and began to read.

As an officer Marguerite Wallenstein is adequate, but no more than that, she read. Skipping ahead, feeling nauseous, she saw further, she read. Skipping ahead, feeling nauseous, she saw further, While she has a obsession with reaching Cla.s.s One status, nothing in her background and breeding suggests she would be a suitable candidate. She has too many lower caste and even prole att.i.tudes to entrust any portion of the direction of a world to her marginal capabilities. On the plus side, she uses her mouth well and will gladly and even eagerly do anything in bed her superiors direct her to do. I earnestly recommend a tour as military aid to a high ranking Cla.s.s One, male or female as the captain does not discriminate, followed by retirement as soon as she becomes tiresome. While she has a obsession with reaching Cla.s.s One status, nothing in her background and breeding suggests she would be a suitable candidate. She has too many lower caste and even prole att.i.tudes to entrust any portion of the direction of a world to her marginal capabilities. On the plus side, she uses her mouth well and will gladly and even eagerly do anything in bed her superiors direct her to do. I earnestly recommend a tour as military aid to a high ranking Cla.s.s One, male or female as the captain does not discriminate, followed by retirement as soon as she becomes tiresome.

The report was countersigned by the IG, Arbeit.

Feeling wounded, wounded, as near to raped as she ever had in her life, Wallenstein returned to bed. as near to raped as she ever had in her life, Wallenstein returned to bed.

By the next morning Wallenstein had herself under full control. She awakened before either of her partners from the night before, then showered, dressed, and went to her own cabin prior to ascending to the bridge. On the bridge she took the morning report and gave a few orders to the bridge crew. After that, she turned control over to her executive officer and withdrew to her day cabin.

When Robinson showed up, she greeted him with her usual sweet smile and said, "I have had a complete sensor search done of the Salafi base area and there is nothing unusual to report, Martin. I've also put your personal shuttle into maintenance to make sure it is ready."

This was all true. It was even the whole truth...so far.

6/8/469 AC, The Base, Kashmir Tribal Trust Lands The truth was that the Salafis were fairly rotten soldiers, as the term "soldier" was understood over most of the globe. Hopeless marksmen, most of them, their rifles were ordinarily little more than noisemakers. Hopeless, they were too, on the battle line. A culture that values family above all things in this life cannot produce military units where nonblood-related men must generally trust in, even love, one another enough to make them risk death for their comrades. And it took a very rare leader-Mohammad had been one such; to a lesser degree Sada, back in Sumer, was another-to get them to rise above that.

On the other hand, unlike any number of military skills and values, patrolling was something that did come more or less naturally to most of the Salafis. Oh, the softly raised city boys of Kashmir and Yithrab were fairly hopeless, at first (even they they could be taught, eventually, though). But the desert could be taught, eventually, though). But the desert Bedu Bedu and the hill runners of Pashtia? and the hill runners of Pashtia? They They grew up with the possibility of having their little encampments raided at any time for livestock and women. grew up with the possibility of having their little encampments raided at any time for livestock and women. They They grew up, from earliest boyhood, with the idea of walking around outside their camp's perimeter at night to catch any such raid, or scouts for a raid. grew up, from earliest boyhood, with the idea of walking around outside their camp's perimeter at night to catch any such raid, or scouts for a raid.

Those Salafis went out every night through gaps in the wire and mines around the camp to make sure there were no unfriendly strangers waiting in the darkness. Some of them even stayed out days at a time, carefully and nervously walking the hills and valleys around the base. Salafis went out every night through gaps in the wire and mines around the camp to make sure there were no unfriendly strangers waiting in the darkness. Some of them even stayed out days at a time, carefully and nervously walking the hills and valleys around the base.

Perhaps they'd grown a little slack, what with all the months and years in the Base and never a sign of the enemy nearby. But a "little slack," for a Bedu Bedu or a Pashtun securing his immediate home, wasn't really all that slack. It might have been slack enough, for example, to miss a small hide, well camouflaged, on a hillside. To miss men entering and exiting that hide? To miss men exiting that hide or a Pashtun securing his immediate home, wasn't really all that slack. It might have been slack enough, for example, to miss a small hide, well camouflaged, on a hillside. To miss men entering and exiting that hide? To miss men exiting that hide every night? every night?

Sevilla was both furious and frightened. The idiot signifer was out again, having taken three men with him this time. What the young fool expected to find out there was beyond the sergeant. Briefly, he considered sending a burst message to higher to get someone to order the signifer to stay put. This seemed disloyal, though, and the Legion stressed loyalty to immediate higher authority.

The sergeant stiffened when he heard the rustle of rock below. Hands tightening on his rifle, a standard model, he flipped down his monocle and used the rifle to peer out from the hide. He relaxed again, as much as one could relax on a long range detached mission in enemy territory with an idjit idjit for a leader, anyway, when he made out Somoza's familiar shape in the darkness. for a leader, anyway, when he made out Somoza's familiar shape in the darkness.

Muttering a curse under his breath, Sevilla lifted the overhead net carefully and only enough to allow the patrol to re-enter the hide. In a whisper the signifer pa.s.sed on what they had found. This was, as the sergeant expected, precisely nothing.

I'm getting too old for this s.h.i.t, thought the twenty-seven year old Sevilla. Maybe it's time to go back to my home Maybe it's time to go back to my home tercio tercio, the Third Infantry. They might-probably would- would-stick me in the recon platoon and have me doing the same basic s.h.i.t, but at least I wouldn't be out here eighty f.u.c.king miles from help. Besides, line cohort recon platoons are almost always led by centurions. Better, way way better, than having my b.a.l.l.s in a shavetail's hands. better, than having my b.a.l.l.s in a shavetail's hands.

The overhead net rustled suddenly as something hit it from above. Sevilla looked up for an instant, saw a glowing spark, and pulled his head down under his protecting hands while shouting, "Grenade!"