Carnifex cl-2

by Tom Kratman

  All went silent then, even Khadijah who was known to be something of a shrew.

  "We should have more expert assistance with this problem," said Abdullah.

  "My eldest boy has a son with the army," offered Bakr. "Perhaps we should invite him. Yes, let us invite him. But let us also begin to set up a secure base, here, and call the clan home from their travels."

  "It would cost much gold," observed Yeslam.

  Bakr nodded, but said, "Much good the gold of this world will do us if we're killed."

  35/7/467 AC, First Landing Harbor

  The deal had been complex in certain particulars. Malcolm, knowing how annoyed Carrera was with him, didn't fully trust him to go through on the deal once the gold was delivered. Carrera, for his part, absolutely didn't trust Malcolm to deliver the gold once his own troops were committed. It had led to a week-long impasse until Virgil Rivers had suggested a compromise.

  "Send it in a carrier," he'd suggested. "Send the carrier with a full battalion of Marines to guard it. Carrera has enough firepower to make sure the carrier can't run off with the gold. The carrier, along with the Marines, has enough firepower to make sure that Carrera can't take the gold and then refuse to deploy. Given that his troops will be expecting to fight, he'll fight."

  That had seemed fairly reasonable to both sides, though it had taken another week to hammer out a schedule to transfer the yellow bricks. In that week the nuclear aircraft carrier, FSS Sarah Jay, and its escorts had sailed to First Landing, where the bulk of the FSC's gold was stored, from its base in the state of Dominion.

  The gold arrived at portside in something over five hundred trucks escorted by a full motorized infantry brigade. There were possibly even more members of the press there at the dock than there were Soldiers, Sailors and Marines, combined. Along with the press had come a small brigade of protestors. What the protestors wanted was anyone's guess, based on the signs they carried. Perhaps it was fairest to say that what they really wanted was publicity. Since the press was there . . .

  1/8/467 AC, BdL Wappen von Bremen

  There was no press in attendance. Neither Jaquie nor Marta had anyone they wanted to impress back home. Indeed, both had, for very different reasons, excellent cause not to want anyone at all to know where they were or what they were doing.

  Fosa had helicoptered over, along with Rodriguez's platoon of Cazadors and most of Chu's boat crew. Some of the men still sported bandages and casts. Jaquie looked for the machine gunner whose face had been burned but didn't see him. Presumably he'd been evacuated for the superior medical care available back home, ashore.

  The captain of the von Bremen had had cleared a large open area on the ship's mess deck. Into it had filed the two honorees, the four other girls who'd volunteered to sail aboard the sadly sunken Suzy Q, most of the rest of the hookers, some of the sailors and Cazadors whose turn it was for R&R aboard Fosa's Fornication Frigate, plus Fosa himself and Rodriguez's and Chu's boys. There was room, if barely.

  "Attention to orders," ordered the captain of the von Bremen, once everyone was assembled.

  The sailors and Cazadors present stiffened to attention. The girls really didn't know what to do, but took their cue from the military men and stood a little straighter. All talk ceased.

  Fosa walked forward to where Jaquie and Marta stood, flanked by Chu and Rodriguez. "Publish the orders," Fosa ordered.

  Von Bremen's captain read off, "Award is made of the Cruz de Coraje, in Steel, to civilian auxiliaries Jaquelina Gonzalez"—Fosa hung a ribboned cross around Jaquie's neck—" and Marta Bugatti"—he stepped right and did the same with Marta—" for gallantry in action in support of Legion objectives, aboard the auxiliary motor vessel, Suzy Q, on the 9th day of September, 467, off the coast of Xamar. On that day, aboard that vessel, the awardees, noticing that a critical weapon station had been knocked out, of their own accord, and having no duty to do so, moved to restore it to action, manning it until forced to abandon it by the sinking of the ship. In the course of their action, one auxiliary, Jaquelina Gonzalez, suffered grievous bodily wounds but continued to fire until forced away by rising water, while the other, Marta Bugatti, saved both Gonzalez and . . . "

  "I didn't do anything," Marta whispered to Fosa.

  "You did enough," he answered. "Now shut up."

  " . . . Cazador Barros, by that point incapacitated by wounds, from drowning . . . "

  "But I . . . "

  "Shut up," repeated Fosa. He glanced over at Jaquie and saw she was crying.

  "Are you all right, Miss Gonzalez?" he asked.

  She just nodded her head, sniffling.

  * * *

  Later, Fosa, Rodriguez and Chu sat with the two girls at a table in an isolated part of the mess deck. Fosa pulled two envelopes from his uniform jacket and placed one in front of each girl. Jaquie was still sniffling and paid no attention.

  Marta took hers and opened it. Her eyes flew wide and she said, "This is a mistake. Our bonus for going on that boat was already paid and is in our accounts. This is . . . "

  "It's a gift," Rodriguez said. "We took up a collection among my boys and Chu's. Quite a few of the others in the maniples, boats and ships chipped in, too. The skipper, here, matched half of what we raised from his discretionary funds."

  "Besides," added Chu, "we know that Jaquelina wasn't able to work for the last few weeks. And that you lost time nursing her. Think of it, too, as recompense."

  "But . . . "

  "Shut up, Marta," Fosa said.

  "Yes, sir."

  "I made a call back home, to Carrera," Fosa continued. "He said he's got another yacht—this one purpose built—headed our way to replace the Suzy Q. He also agreed that I can form a permanent unit of women to serve as bait and to otherwise help out. It will have room for two corporals. You don't have to give us an answer right away, but if you two want in . . . "

  11/8/467 AC, Isla Real

  The Sarah Jay stood in the harbor, surrounded by her escorts. From time to time, an elevator arose onto the flight deck bearing a small chest full of gold. On deck, the container was met by a mixed group of FSN and legionary officers. These jointly opened the chests. The contents were then weighed and inventoried before the chests were resealed with legion-marked seals. The pile stayed under the watchful eyes of both sides as it was loaded aboard one of the Sarah's helicopters. Once loaded, one officer from each service boarded the chopper and accompanied it to a portion of the airstrip that was under guard so tight ants crept between them nervously and on tiptoes.

  From the strip, a chest or two at a time, the gold was taken to an old Federated States Army coastal artillery bunker. It was the most secure thing available.

  "Screw that," Carrera muttered, watching the gold being trundled off. "We need something a lot more secure." For this, and for the nukes, too.

  "Sir?" Sergeant Major McNamara asked.

  "It's just not enough, Top," he answered. "We need something like the Federated States Reserve Bank in First Landing."

  "Dunno, sir," McNamara answered. "I t'ink wit' maybe t'ree or four divisions worth of troops we got plenty o' security as is."

  "Not that many for much longer, Top. Maybe the equivalent of one left after we deploy."

  "And t'at's anot'er t'ing," Mac scowled. "It ain't right, you taking off and leavin' me behind."

  Carrera nodded, then sighed. "Tell me how many other people I can trust absolutely, Top. Parilla gone to politics. Kuralski back in Volga and he's going to link up with us just before we go into Pashtia. Kennison? Gone. Some of the rest of our original group gone and the rest in critical positions. Most of the first rate Balboans commanding cohorts, tercios and legions. Who have I got left I can trust absolutely, would you tell me that?"

  "Miss Lourdes?" McNamara offered. "Oh . . . you meant people you can trust t'at can watch out for t'e Legion and Lourdes, didn't you? You one son of a bitch, you know t'at, boss?"

  Carrera nodded. He didn't add, And this promises to be one misera
ble hard fight and I don't want to lose you, too, old timer. I've lost too much already.

  McNamara sighed. "Well, t'en, if I can go to t'e fucking war at least I can kick some hiney to get t'e boys out on time."

  And with that Mac turned away and began to stride toward what was called "the Green Ramp"—though it wasn't a ramp at all—where a maniple of troops from Third Cohort, Second Tercio was preparing to board an aircraft heading for Thermopolis, just south of Pashtia.

  14/8/467 AC, Presidential Palace, Ciudad Balboa

  The meeting was conducted in French as Janier still didn't deign to speak Spanish. In a way, it was comforting to President Rocaberti that the Gauls were so firmly arrogant. It boded well for the prospects of himself and his clan that the new masters he was trying to bring in would be likely to prove much more amenable, and give little more than lip service to concepts popular among the world's progressive circles.

  The problem with the FSC, the President thought, is that they really believe their own propaganda. They not only believe it, they honestly expect people to fall in with their program. The Frogs are more practical. Indeed, while claiming to be in the forefront of cosmopolitan progressivism one can't help but note that they gave up their colonies in Uhuru only in name, and still retain control and economic dominance. Moreover, their servants, the presidents and prime ministers in those colonies, manage to do quite well, graft wise. There's no reason the Gauls won't continue that fine tradition here, once they're in charge.

  Even the fact that Janier sat at the presidential desk didn't upset Rocaberti, though his nephew Arnulfo was plainly annoyed but it. It just went to prove that the Gauls could be counted on to rule.

  Malcoeur conducted the briefing for the very small number of people allowed to attend. These consisted of the President, his nephew, one of his two Vice-Presidents, the ambassador from the TU, the ambassador from United Earth, the minister of police, and Janier and Malcoeur themselves.

  "What the general has in mind," Malcoeur was saying, "is that we shall bring in election monitors from all over that part of the world sympathetic to our aims—our Uhuran colo . . . I mean, allies, the Tauran Union, United Earth, some of the more progressive-minded politicians and ex-politicians from the FSC, and perhaps a few of the more pliable non-governmental organizations as well."

  Janier nodded and said, "I think we can count on these people to reject even the possibility that a party of militaristic fascist beasts could actually be elected, so they'll instinctively insist the election was tampered with, fixed. We can even arrange a few incidents to take place under the eyes of the monitors and the press, if necessary."

  "That would be my department," said the minister of police.

  "Even so," agreed Janier, casually stubbing out an awful-smelling cigarette. "It is extremely important that the Tauran Union appear neutral, if the rest of the plan is to work. Is it not possible, Mr. President, for your party to add to the turmoil?"

  "Surely, mon General."

  Malcoeur waited until his chief seemed satisfied with that answer before continuing, "With the support of an international community outraged at the fraud and violence in the elections, the President will be in a good position to refuse to abide by the results. At that point, the mercenaries are placed in the unenviable position of acquiescing or of starting a war. We believe, if the scale of the current deployment is as large as it seems, that they will feel they're in a very poor position to commence a war. Acquiescence, therefore, seems assured."

  The minister of police harrumphed and said, "If you're wrong about that, Major Malcoeur, I feel I ought to tell you that my police are heavily infiltrated with ex-legionaries. I can only rely on a few of my units and all of those are in the city. The countryside, to include my own police, is heavily in favor of Parilla."

  "The general understands that," Malcoeur reassured the policeman. "Those units of yours which are reliable will be critical to the eventual arrest of the mercenary leadership to break the impasse. We will, of course, back you up in that. And as for the countryside, does it really matter? The Transitway and the two terminal cities do not depend on the countryside nearly so much as the countryside depends on them. With those remaining under our control, the countryside will feel the pain."

  "Which is all well and good," the policeman agreed, "except for one thing. Those mercenaries going to Pashtia are not going to stay there. They will return."

  Before Malcoeur could answer, Janier said, "I'm counting on it, Mr. Minister."

  15/8/467 AC, Wappen von Bremen

  Girls will sleep with girls. Oftentimes, even most often, sex has nothing to do with it. Instead, they seek only the comfort of a warm body nearby.

  For Marta and Jaquie, however, it was about sex, at least in good part. After years of sex with altogether too many men, it wouldn't be too far off to state that neither of the girls cared for men anymore as sexual partners. That didn't eliminate the desire for sex, of course, and like many prostitutes they'd turned to women or, more specifically, turned toward each other.

  In the warm aftermath, still entwined in each others arms, Marta suddenly burst out with, "I think we should do it."

  Jaquie smiled and answered, "In case you weren't paying attention, love, I think we just did."

  "I meant . . . "

  "Shush. I know what you meant. I talked to Rodriguez about it . . . well, indirectly I talked to him about it. There's one big problem. If the Legion caught us in bed together while we were members they'd put us both against a wall and shoot us."

  "They'd what? Just for making love? That's insane! Or is it because we're both girls?"

  "No . . . the way Rodriguez explained it, it not only isn't insane it's the only sane policy. If we're having sex then there's a dangerously good chance we're in love . . . or will be. If we're in love with each other, personally, there's an also dangerously good chance either one of us would put the welfare of the other ahead of the Legion's or the mission's. Rodriguez said he'd never heard of a regulation against girls being with girls or boys being with boys, but there's an expansive rule against mutiny, and we'd fall under it."

  "I wouldn't want to give you up," Marta sighed.

  "Well . . . I've been thinking about it, too. Four years and the Legion would pay for us to go to school. We could learn business . . . or nursing . . . pretty much anything. We'd never have to sell our asses again. We could be together, free and clear."

  Jaquie and Marta both went quiet at that, laying on their backs and thinking hard. After what seemed a long time, Marta rolled over and put her face between Jaquelina's breasts, careful not to press too hard where Jaquie had been wounded. As she slipped one hand down between Jaquie's legs, Marta said, "If we're going to have to stop this, for a while, let's enjoy what we can, now."

  16/8/467 AC, Kirov Tank Factory, St. Nicholasberg, Volgan Republic,

  Khudenko and Kuralski clashed glasses full of vodka. "Vashe Zdorovie,"

  The Volgan said. Your health.

  The glasses were considerably larger than the usual fifty-milliliter jobs. Indeed, it took Kuralski several gulp to empty his though Khudenko managed with two. Practice tells.

  "So your boss got the contract he wanted, did he?" Khudenko asked.

  Kuralski grinned. "He did. He always knew he would. It goes well with you, Victor? With the plant?"

  The Volgan put down his glass and extended his hand, palm down and fingers slightly spread. These he wriggled. So, so.

  In explanation, he said, "We've never managed to acquire a second customer as good as the Legion, though we've made some sales to the oil wogs and a few in Uhuru, Colombia del Norte, and western Taurania. Right now we're operating at less than full capacity though, and it hurts."

  Dan Kuralski reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a list he'd prepared in Cyrillic. "I think this can keep you fully employed for a while longer."

  Khudenko scanned down the list quickly. "We can provide about half the armor from on hand stocks," he said. "T
he rest will take . . . say . . . five weeks. Is that soon enough?"

  "It is if you can get it to the railhead at Thermopolis within three weeks after that."

  "This, I think, we can do. But I'll need to hire a lot of guards for the trains. I think I can get a regiment from the army for not too much."

  "We've already got a Volgan regiment for that. Don't sweat it."

  Khudenko nodded. He knew about Samsonov's group and its relationship with the Legion. "We don't make the rest of what's on this list. You know that, right?"

  "We don't want you to produce the other material, of course, but to acquire and ship forward," Kuralski answered. "I'm here for the next two months to assist in that."