Carnifex. Part 53

"Daddy!" Arbeit's young daughter, Lucretia, screamed as he came through the double front door. The girl launched herself at her father, wrapping him in a tight hug. She then took his hand and led him out to a patio overlooking the garden.

"I supervised the cooks making dinner myself, Daddy," Lucretia announced, proudly. "Though I had to beat one for being naughty."

"Good girl, Lucretia," he father congratulated. "I hope you didn't damage her."

Lucretia hung her head slightly. "Not much, I didn't, Father. I will need a new riding crop, though," she added, brightly.

"That's my girl."

Chapter Twenty-two.

And although it appears that the World has become effeminate and Heaven disarmed, yet this arises without doubt more from the baseness of men who have interpreted our Religion in accordance with Indolence and not in accordance with Virtu. For if they were to consider that it (our Religion) permits the exaltation and defense of the country, they would see that it desires that we love and honor her (our country), and that we prepare ourselves so that we can be able to defend her.-Machiavelli, The Discourses The Discourses, Book Two, Chapter II

10/8/469 AC, The Base, Kashmir As he usually did, Bashir lay down for the night with his yellow radio's earpiece in his ear. Also, as usual, he punched in the code, hoping against hope that tonight there'd be an answer. There had been none since those five poor devils had been taken and crucified.

The coded message he sent out was simple: "tonight...tomorrow...tonight...tomorrow." He punched it in and pressed the key to transmit in a burst. This message This message must must get through or my family is dead get through or my family is dead, he thought. Closing his eyes after the message went out Bashir was almost shocked to hear in the earpiece, "Message received. Thank you."

11/8/469 AC, Camp San Lorenzo, Pashtia The chill early morning breeze raised dust across the regularly laid out encampment. By the airfield, in the tall, sandbagged control tower, Carrera scanned past the high earthen walls.

There were eyes on the camp. There were always always eyes on the camp. You couldn't stop them from seeing. You couldn't stop their owners from reporting. The trick, then, was to make them think they saw something different, to make the unusual look normal and even the normal unusual. eyes on the camp. You couldn't stop them from seeing. You couldn't stop their owners from reporting. The trick, then, was to make them think they saw something different, to make the unusual look normal and even the normal unusual.

The Legion had since its arrival kept at least one cohort operating along the Kashmir-Pashtia border. That could remain there. Indeed, moving them without replacing them would have been inherently suspicious. Also, there were always at least four Pashtun Scout maniples and two to three Cazador maniples operating somewhere in the Balboan Zone of Responsibility, or BZOR. Few units operated without being in range of some kind of artillery or heavy mortar support.

Both Pashtun Scouts and Cazadors operated further from camp than line infantry, and were much more likely to rely on air support than artillery or mortar fire if they found themselves in a jam.

Leaving one infantry cohort and the bulk of the service and support troops to guard the camp, Carrera had sent out one infantry cohort to replace the Cazadors and part of the Scouts. This was done slowly, over a period of days, so as to incite no comment. The infantry flew out with the morning supplies; the Scouts and Cazadors flew back, hidden in the IM-71s closed, almost windowless, cargo bays.

At the camp's own airfield the Scouts had spent a mere day being partially briefed and fitted with civilian clothing suitable for travel. They were issued pa.s.sports with visas. They'd then transshipped onward , some via the Legion's AN-21s and 23s for the major airport at Chobolo, the capital of Pashtia, still others on civilian buses to cross the border. Still others left openly on horseback. Clothing for the foot scouts had been easy, since the one-size-fits-almost-all robe was common dress where the Scouts were headed.

For the most part, for those who flew out, this was Sumer, where Sada's closest followers arranged further onward movement through Yithrab for some, directly to Peshtwa, Kashmir for others.

The long range patrol that had served as retrans for the Legion's spy in the enemy base was not replaced. Instead, a very quiet remotely piloted vehicle took up station within range and circled expectantly.

11/8/469 AC, Peshtwa International Airport, Kashmir Subadar Masood spoke Urdu, the primary language of Kashmir, flawlessly and with a proper Peshtwa accent. He waited impatiently for a group of twenty-one of his scouts, all in civilian dress, to debark from the plane. With these, four legionary officers including Jimenez, and those men who had arrived previously, he would have a force of fifty-one men in the capital. This was just large enough to minimally man the vehicles he had purchased for cash over the preceding weeks, and also just few enough to excite no real comment in bustling Peshtwa.

Weapons, too, had been purchased. Masood smiled to think that he was buying from the very same men who made their livelihood selling to his enemies. Since he he knew what he was about and the Salafis rarely did, he was confident, at least, of having obtained superior products. knew what he was about and the Salafis rarely did, he was confident, at least, of having obtained superior products.

Such purchases, on such a scale, would have excited comment almost anywhere else on Terra Nova; one man buying nearly six hundred rifles and machine guns, plus several tons of explosives and ammunition. In the decentralized ways of the Salafi movement, with no one really in charge (though Mustafa was still working on bringing some of the disparate submovements to heel) and its leaders more inspirational than operational, it was merely routine.

The only interest shown in the transactions by the government or any of its agents were requests for bribes, or baksheesh baksheesh. Masood paid, of course; this was the price of doing business. He took some small satisfaction in haggling the bribes demanded down from the obscene-which would would have excited interest, if paid- to the reasonable. have excited interest, if paid- to the reasonable.

With weapons, ammunition and explosives excess to immediate needs all safely stowed in the cargo compartments of the buses, Masood directed the drivers and co-drivers to mount up. Without fanfare the column moved south to its rendezvous with the rest of the maniples committed to the attack.

11/8/469 AC, The Base, Kashmir TTL The Admiral's launch from the Spirit of Peace Spirit of Peace didn't need a landing strip, except as a convenience. The price to be paid for not having one was expenditure of fuel. Mustafa had promised fuel and Robinson had believed him. didn't need a landing strip, except as a convenience. The price to be paid for not having one was expenditure of fuel. Mustafa had promised fuel and Robinson had believed him.

I was told this area was safe, Robinson thought, doubtfully, as he looked out the window to see a long line of what looked like bomb craters. Robinson thought, doubtfully, as he looked out the window to see a long line of what looked like bomb craters. Guess not. Guess not.

Robinson had been a bit skeptical when the Salafi sheik had promised a cavern big enough to shelter his launch. Looking out his portside window, however, he had to admit that the excavation revealed as dozens of men pulled aside its camouflaging curtain was indeed impressive, easily as large as the VIP docking bay of the Spirit of Peace. Spirit of Peace.

The pilot hovered briefly until he was certain that the concealing curtain was pulled far enough away to permit his shuttle easy entrance. Then with a few gentle adjustments of the horizontal thrusters the launch began to slide left, into the cavern. The Salafis replaced the curtain as efficiently as they had removed it.

There was no Marine band for this landing, no purple carpet and no salon-like terminal. The security was just as tight, though, as on Atlantis base, if not so formal.

Mustafa was curt when Robinson stepped off the shuttle door with a burkha-clad Arbeit. Robinson turned to help the marchioness to step down to the cave floor. "You have brought the weapons?" Mustafa asked.

"I have brought the weapons. The keys to activate them I retain," Robinson answered, tapping his forehead.

Mustafa smiled suddenly and brilliantly. "This is to be expected. We will emplace them where they will do the most good. You will detonate them. We will take the credit. The infidel will be destroyed."

Robinson refrained from pointing out that it would take more than a dozen wrecked cities to destroy the Federated States. Likewise he refrained from mentioning that the Federated States were very likely to launch a genocidal nuclear war against any place which so much as might might harbor a Salafi if a dozen of its cities were nuked. Instead, Robinson intended to detonate only one of the bombs. This would leave the rest in place and hidden, in other words left as a threat, to force the Feds to pull back within their boundaries. harbor a Salafi if a dozen of its cities were nuked. Instead, Robinson intended to detonate only one of the bombs. This would leave the rest in place and hidden, in other words left as a threat, to force the Feds to pull back within their boundaries. That That would leave the rest of Terra Nova to the either the would leave the rest of Terra Nova to the either the Ikhwan Ikhwan or Tauran Union, the World League and their puppet master, himself. or Tauran Union, the World League and their puppet master, himself.

11/8/469 AC, Hoti, Kashmir The town was one of the central points for the support of the insurgency in Pashtia, much as it had been during the earlier Volgan-Pashtian war. There were still refugees from that earlier war, hundreds of thousands of them, rotting in tent cities in the barren hills to the southwest. Hundreds of humanitarian workers made a fat enough living through dispensing the charity that kept those refugees rooted to the area.

To the northeast of the town was a fertile plain the produce of which, along with the retail arms trade and the fat pickings from foreign aid, made Hoti the pleasant and prosperous burg it was.

The town was also large enough, the dress similar enough, and the language common enough that something over four hundred and fifty newly arrived Pashtians made little impression on it or its people. There were always guerilla bands traipsing through Hoti or, at least, there had always been for the last thirty-three years.

The buses, four-wheel-drive sedans, and light trucks under Jimenez's and Masood's command waited by the town's outskirts. By twenties and thirties the rest of the party, those who had openly entered Kashmir across the common border as "refugees," met the vehicles. There weapons and-for vehicle leaders, radios- were issued and, in some cases, mounted.

"I almost can't believe we're getting away with this s.h.i.t," Jimenez told Masood.

"The ways of Allah are inscrutable," the subadar subadar answered, with a sardonic smile. "His mercy is infinite. What's more, sir, we're nothing unusual, not even for size. We're not even forming up in any particularly remarkable way. The mujahadin have been doing this for over three decades, and almost without pause. I, myself, joined a guerilla column to fight the Volgans not two miles from here thirty years ago. Purely routine." answered, with a sardonic smile. "His mercy is infinite. What's more, sir, we're nothing unusual, not even for size. We're not even forming up in any particularly remarkable way. The mujahadin have been doing this for over three decades, and almost without pause. I, myself, joined a guerilla column to fight the Volgans not two miles from here thirty years ago. Purely routine."

Jimenez commented, "But it still seems too easy."

"Wait until we reach the Salafi base, sir. We'll pay there for any ease we've had here. Then, too, this is the last last and only time we'll ever get away with this." and only time we'll ever get away with this."

"How are the vehicles holding up?" Jimenez asked.

"Not bad. We should lose no more than, say...a third of them. Yes, about a third, over the next portion of our journey. Less if Allah is especially merciful."

Jimenez consulted his watch. "Fortes Fortuna adiuvat."

"Yes, sir," Masood agreed. "She does. Great writer, Terence."

"You understand Latin?" The legate was flabbergasted. "Latin?"

"School in Anglia, sir. Every proper proper gentleman there studies Latin." gentleman there studies Latin."

Jimenez couldn't help laughing with surprise. "Load 'em up, Subadar Subadar. 'Fortune favors the bold' and and the timely. We have a group of cavalry to link up with." the timely. We have a group of cavalry to link up with."

11/8/469 AC, Chabolo, Pashtia A military headquarters in a theater of war is rarely precisely quiet. The Coalition headquarters here, in the capital of Pashtia, rocked with fury.

Virgil Rivers was as angry as the three stars on his collar allowed and encouraged him to be. "How dare that b.a.s.t.a.r.d? How dare dare he present me this...this....this f.u.c.king he present me this...this....this f.u.c.king ultimatum. ultimatum."

"It's not an ultimatum, Virg," Ridenhour supplied calmly. Following his retirement from the FSA, he'd taken Carrera's shilling. "And please keep your voice down. It's an advis.e.m.e.nt. He has information that there will be a nuke or nukes at the Salafis' main base in Kashmir...today. He is acting on that. He is asking you to keep the Kashmir Air Force off his back while he does so. If you don't, and he and his force are destroyed, or the nuke gets away...on your head be it."

"John," Rivers answered, forcing himself to calm, "we both know that b.a.s.t.a.r.d and we both know it's an ultimatum....a f.u.c.king order. To me. me. Doesn't the son of a b.i.t.c.h know he Doesn't the son of a b.i.t.c.h know he works works for me?" for me?"

Ridenhour gave a meaningful smile before answering, "The 'son of a b.i.t.c.h' works for n.o.body but himself. You know that. He did advise me to tell you that a similar message is going to President Baraka in Kashmir, but that it will be delayed a few hours until the attack is well underway. That message will say this attack is with FSC authorization and support. Baraka's no fool, if he doesn't get reports that you have scrambled your own fighters for air cover, he'll draw the obvious conclusion."

"Why couldn't Pat have come to me with this sooner?"

"So you could buck it to Hamilton? So the Foreign Affairs p.u.s.s.ies in Hamilton could press for a 'diplomatic solution?' So the nuke or nukes could get away? Be serious, Virg, he's doing exactly the right thing."

"And another thing," Rivers continued, "how the h.e.l.l does he know know this? I've had not a word." this? I've had not a word."

Ridenhour sighed. "Virgil...you boys give us a lot of technical intelligence. How often is it both right and timely timely, hmmm? The Legion gives you you a great deal of intel from...other....sources. How often is it untimely or a great deal of intel from...other....sources. How often is it untimely or wrong? wrong?"

That was troubling. Indeed, everyone suspected the ways the Legion obtained its information. No one on the same side, however, was willing to ask because no one wanted wanted to know. The progressives never asked anymore because they were already certain that they did know. to know. The progressives never asked anymore because they were already certain that they did know.

"Why is it," Rivers asked, throwing his hands in the air, "that every time he does 'the right thing' it tends to be really f.u.c.king inconvenient for everyone around him?"

"It's more than a trick, I've discovered, Virgil," Ridenhour answered. "It's a genuine knack."

Camp San Lorenzo, Pashtia Not a man of the Cazadors thought they'd been pulled in early for a break. Excitement was in the air, along with deepest interest and a considerable flavoring of dread. That one side of the hangar had what looked to be six hundred main parachutes, harnesses and other air items but no no reserve 'chutes added to the dread. More mysterious, and dreadful, another wall was lined with crates of foam padding, wooden sticks, and duct tape. The men talked and muttered among themselves, sitting on the cold floor of the hangar, until someone announced, "The reserve 'chutes added to the dread. More mysterious, and dreadful, another wall was lined with crates of foam padding, wooden sticks, and duct tape. The men talked and muttered among themselves, sitting on the cold floor of the hangar, until someone announced, "The Duque Duque, commanding."

The nearly six hundred Cazadors a.s.sembled jumped to their feet and stood at attention as Carrera walked up to a low rostrum at one end of the hangar. A white sheet was hung behind him. "At ease," he called. "Seats."

Jesus, doesn't the boss look old and worn and thin? Man needs a break.

"Let's begin by asking a question," he began. "Does anyone here have a problem jumping at less than five hundred feet over ground without a reserve parachute? Come on now," Carrera insisted. "if you don't think you can or just don't want to try, stand up, report to Tribune Salinas of the Military Police there in the back. You'll be kept in isolation but no charges will be pressed. No hard feelings, either, at least from me. But if you can't do this we need to know now. now."

There was a stirring in the ma.s.s of troops. Most of them didn't didn't want to jump that low. None of them were willing to admit as much. Carrera gave them a few minutes to settle down. want to jump that low. None of them were willing to admit as much. Carrera gave them a few minutes to settle down.

"All right then. I won't bother asking if you've got issues with doing an incursion into another country. It's a given that you don't or you wouldn't be here at all. Lights," he commanded.

Once the hangar had dimmed enough for a projector to work Carrera called, "Map." Instantly, a large map of the Kashmir-Pashtia border region appeared behind him. All the men recognized it, despite the distortion caused by the slight waving of the sheet.

Carrera pulled a laser pointer from his pocket, flicked it on and laid a red point of light onto the Jalala area. "We are here." The red point shifted across the sheet until coming to rest on a fortress symbol on the other side of the border. "We are going there. Next map."

The previous, large scale map disappeared to be replaced by one of the same scale but a smaller area, side by side with a small scale map of the objective area.

"Your mission," Carrera continued, pointing at the objective map, "is to seal this off from escape. Before you do that, just just before, other forces will infiltrate and attack the center of the Salafi fortress. Still another force, Pashtun Cavalry that left some time ago, will seal the ends of the valley. Heavy infantry and artillery will move by helicopter to crack its sh.e.l.l and peel it. The mechanized cohort will cross the border here," again the point of light shifted to mark the major pa.s.s between Kashmir and Pashtia, "and take up a blocking position before, other forces will infiltrate and attack the center of the Salafi fortress. Still another force, Pashtun Cavalry that left some time ago, will seal the ends of the valley. Heavy infantry and artillery will move by helicopter to crack its sh.e.l.l and peel it. The mechanized cohort will cross the border here," again the point of light shifted to mark the major pa.s.s between Kashmir and Pashtia, "and take up a blocking position here here," the light rested a bit further north. "The Federated States Air Force will provide air cover at a distance. Our own Air Ala Ala will be in either the transport, the recon, or the close support mode." will be in either the transport, the recon, or the close support mode."

"There's been no time to rehea.r.s.e this, nor will there be except by back brief. For that matter, if we tried to rehea.r.s.e it, it would just tip off the enemy. Nonetheless, we've been planning this operation for weeks. Your commanders have the plan. Cohort commander?"

"Sir!"

"Take charge of your men. And good luck to you all. Kick their a.s.ses."

Pickup Zone Papa Echo (Principe Eugenio), Pashtia Every infantry cohort in the Legion carried enough landing lights, sometimes called "beanbag lights," to set up a pickup zone for helicopter movement. These were color-coded, different colors marking different spots and different functions on the chosen field.

Cruz's platoon had drawn the duty of setting up the PZ. Pulled at the last possible minute from their patrolling, they'd filled the beanbags of the lights with dirt and rocks to keep the rotor wash from blowing them away. They'd then placed them on the ground in the proper positions. With the duty of setting up the PZ had come the duty of running it. This meant not only arranging the rest of the maniple for pickup, but taking charge of the dozen 160mm mortars that were to fly out ahead of the infantry to take up a firing position in range of the objective and a couple of miles across the border.

The mortars and their ammunition had been dragged up by their integral trucks, the trucks having to make two or three trips each for the full load of projectiles. The sh.e.l.ls were palletized, piled in nets that would be slung by hooks underneath the helicopters. The guns would be manhandled inside by their crews. The trucks would remain behind on the PZ; there were no roads or even trafficable trails where the guns were heading.

Cruz removed his helmet and wiped a hand across his brow; helping the mortar maggots to move that ammunition from truck to pallet by hand had been a backbreaking task.

"What now, Centurion?" Optio Garcia asked.

"Now we wait for a bit."

Camp San Lorenzo Three of the deployed Legion's twenty Turbo-Finches were down for maintenance, housed in hangars. Likewise was one of its four ANA-23 gunships. The remainder stood in their concrete floored and revetted, steel-covered bunkers. There were hinged steel walls in front of the bunkers, proof against heavy shrapnel and lowerable on their hinges to allow the aircraft to leave and enter. Only enough of the doors were lowered to allow ordnance crews, supplemented by nearly every clerk and cook in the camp, to trundle in, jack up, and load the bombs, rocket and machine gun pods, and napalm canisters required for the attack.

The gunships received a different load, mostly machine gun and cannon ammunition for their fixed, side-firing guns, plus a dozen each five hundred pound GLS-guided thermobaric bombs which would be dropped from alt.i.tude out the rear ramps to strike certain key targets.

While the ordnance crews strained and sweated, mechanics and avionics repairmen poured over the planes, checking status and making necessary repairs. There was to be no waiting for parts; Carrera had decreed they could strip the other, non-flyable aircraft down to the ground to make sure the minimum necessary were fit for flight and fit to fight.

Miguel Lanza, much older and a legate III himself now, watched the progress intently from outside. No sense in getting under the feet of men who sure as h.e.l.l know their business well by now No sense in getting under the feet of men who sure as h.e.l.l know their business well by now, he thought.

A voice came unexpectedly from behind. It was Carrera.

"Your boys going to be ready on time, Lanza?" he asked, wearily.

Lanza nodded in the semi-darkness. "No problem."

"What are you planning to fly, Miguel?"

"Gunship," Lanza answered. "Lets me in on the action and gives me a copilot so I can control the operation. Also gives me the best commo and sensor suite of any plane we have. Besides, I'm really not up to CAS anymore." Lanza sighed at the injustice of aging.

"Good choice. Carry on."

Lanza watched Carrera amble away like a man ten years older then he was.