Carnifex. Part 54

The Base Oh, Annan, yes, thought Arbeit, thought Arbeit, this is exciting. this is exciting.

The bomb sat to one side of the deep cavern. Mustafa ran his hands over it lovingly. Lost in his visions of an entire infidel city turned to a smoking charnel house, he barely heard the words of the High Admiral.

"Broadly speaking," Robinson said, "if you continue to carry on the way you are, you are going to lose. Moreover, you'll lose in the worst possible way from both both our points of view." Unconsciously, the High Admiral reached up to stroke his right breast pocket. our points of view." Unconsciously, the High Admiral reached up to stroke his right breast pocket. Yes, the detonation device is still there. The way Mustafa is looking at that bomb it's a d.a.m.ned good thing, too. Yes, the detonation device is still there. The way Mustafa is looking at that bomb it's a d.a.m.ned good thing, too.

He spoke in a dimly lit cavern attached to a deep tunnel by a narrow, roughly hewn rock side tunnel. This far below the ground no sound penetrated from above. The air was uncomfortably cool and, despite an attempt to pump in fresh air, rather stuffy.

Nur al-Deen objected, "Every day new fighters, some in groups, come to join the struggle. Our strength is growing, not weakening. The enemy, the Great Demon called the Federated States, is weakening!"

"Not enough," Robinson countered. "Their use of mercenaries is not only keeping the financial costs of their war down, it is keeping the casualties down below critical ma.s.s as well. And there does not appear to be a practical limit to how many mercenaries they can field.

"Alternatively," he continued, "the mercenaries' unproven but obvious penchant for targeting families even in the Yithrabi Peninsula, Southern Uhuru, Taurus and the Federated States, itself, has slowly reduced your available recruiting pool to the ignorant children of your madra.s.sas. Their murders of sympathetic media types hurt you as badly. You are losing You are losing.

"That is why I want you to use one of the weapons I have brought here on Balboa. That's the breeding and training ground for the Legion. Rather, I want you to emplace one there, in order to threaten the Legion out of any further cooperation with the FSC."

"And that's another thing," al-Deen objected. "You have brought us twelve nuclear weapons. This is enough to do incredible damage to the FS, damage from which they will never recover."

Robinson scoffed. "On the contrary, they will will recover. Look at Taurus and Yamato and the number of cities they saw erased during the Great Global War. You can't even tell anymore that the war happened. On the other hand, if you use these weapons more than once the FSC will recover. Look at Taurus and Yamato and the number of cities they saw erased during the Great Global War. You can't even tell anymore that the war happened. On the other hand, if you use these weapons more than once the FSC will obliterate obliterate you and your religion. You are the most urbanized population on this planet. The contents of just you and your religion. You are the most urbanized population on this planet. The contents of just one one of their nuclear missile carrying submarines would be sufficient to kill one third of you outright, and leave another third to die slowly of starvation and disease. And they would probably not stop there. Don't you recall what they did in the GGW when we hit two of their cities to stop their use of nuclear weapons against Yamato? They imposed a blockade that killed a third of that country's people by slow starvation. They would hate you more and do more to you." Robinson left unsaid, of their nuclear missile carrying submarines would be sufficient to kill one third of you outright, and leave another third to die slowly of starvation and disease. And they would probably not stop there. Don't you recall what they did in the GGW when we hit two of their cities to stop their use of nuclear weapons against Yamato? They imposed a blockade that killed a third of that country's people by slow starvation. They would hate you more and do more to you." Robinson left unsaid, and they're quite likely to obliterate my fleet while they're at it, if I even suggested trying to prevent it. and they're quite likely to obliterate my fleet while they're at it, if I even suggested trying to prevent it.

Mustafa stood back from the bomb, removing his caressing hands with regret, and paced the cavern for a few moments, head outthrust and hands clasped behind his back. "Sadly," he said, pointing at Robinson, "this infidel is right. But that doesn't mean he is completely right. The Blue Jinn and his people must pay."

"I want the control of three bombs."

"One," the High Admiral answered.

"Three," Mustafa insisted. "One in the FS which will be used. One on Balboa which will be used. And one on Anglia with another in reserve."

Robinson considered this. One used and one threatened knocks Balboa and the mercenaries out of the war. Two in Anglia, one used and one as a threat, probably prevents them from retaliating. That leaves eight for the FS, one used and seven threatened. Maybe... One used and one threatened knocks Balboa and the mercenaries out of the war. Two in Anglia, one used and one as a threat, probably prevents them from retaliating. That leaves eight for the FS, one used and seven threatened. Maybe...

Robinson looked at Arbeit. Although only her eyes showed through the burkha her head nodded deeply. "Done," he answered.

Hoti-Chobolo Highway, Kashmir, 12/8/469 The road which had been smooth from Hoti turned into a kidney-pounding washboard five minutes after turning off toward the enemy base. Speed dropped, out of sheer necessity to maintain health, to under ten miles an hour.

The convoy traveled with lights on. Anything else would have been suspicious. Even so, a suspicious group of tribesmen did stop the lead vehicle carrying Jimenez and Masood.

"What you here for?" a rifle bearing brigand demanded, once Masood had stopped and dismounted.

Bold b.a.s.t.a.r.d isn't he? Masood observed to himself. Masood observed to himself. Bet there are half a dozen machine guns covering us right now or he wouldn't be nearly so bold. Bet there are half a dozen machine guns covering us right now or he wouldn't be nearly so bold.

"We come to join the great Prince Mustafa," Subadar Masood answered which was, after a fas.h.i.+on, true enough.

The suspicious tribesman ignored the answer, or seemed to. Instead, he went to the vehicle and looked over the pa.s.sengers. He reached in and pulled away the scarf Jimenez had pulled across his face. Jimenez white eyes shone against his coal-black skin even in the darkness.

"What this one?"

"He's from among the faithful of Uhuru, come all this way to fight for Allah."

The tribesman asked a question of Jimenez, who stared pleadingly at Masood.

"He doesn't speak our language," the Subadar said. "Do you, perchance, know any of the Arabic dialects of Southern Uhuru?"

Scowling, the tribesman answered, "Not even know where this Uhuru Uhuru place is. How speak language?" he asked, rhetorically. place is. How speak language?" he asked, rhetorically.

Masood shrugged.

"Mustafa great man," the tribesman announced. "Give my people many gifts. You give gifts?"

"As the Prophet, peace be upon him, said, 'Give gifts to each other and love each other and hatred will disappear.' We would be happy to share our blessings with our brothers," Masood answered.

"Prophet, PBUH, he say that?"

"Indeed he did. We are brothers brothers in our faith, are we not?" the Subadar asked. in our faith, are we not?" the Subadar asked.

"Not know nothing about no brothers. You give gifts?"

"Would money do?"

"Money do fine," the tribesman answered. "You give...one hundred rupees per man."

Two drachma, near enough, per man? About a thousand in all? Sounds very reasonable to me.

Masood reached into a pocket. "Can you accept FSD?"

"FSD good."

12/8/469 AC, The Base Robinson had slept in better places. Indeed it was hard to remember ever having slept in a worse.

Oh, the Salafis had tried tried to make him comfortable. They'd laid out for him and the marchioness a bedroll of stacked rugs and provided blankets. They'd even made provision of a slave girl-Volgan, Robinson thought-to warm the bed and entertain their guests. to make him comfortable. They'd laid out for him and the marchioness a bedroll of stacked rugs and provided blankets. They'd even made provision of a slave girl-Volgan, Robinson thought-to warm the bed and entertain their guests.

She might have been more entertaining but for the whip marks Arbeit had added to her bare back; the girl already had a fair collection. Robinson had to turn off the light to keep the disturbing image of the girl's criss-crossed back out of his view.

The girl spoke no English. Neither did Robinson speak Arabic or Volgan. He'd had to make do with pointing and signs. She seemed to understand those well enough. In any case, she cooperated, albeit without any noticeable enthusiasm.

Which is perfect, thought the High Admiral, drifting off to sleep with the detonation device clasped in his hand under his pillow. The more of this world chained to these dolts the less of this world that will be a threat to The more of this world chained to these dolts the less of this world that will be a threat to mine. mine.

His sleeping arrangements were considerably less luxurious than the High Admiral's. Bas.h.i.+r made do as best he could against the cold and rocky ground with a couple of blankets and his pack for a pillow.

Having sent his message and-wonder of wonders-received an answer, Bas.h.i.+r was more than certain that an attack was imminent. This had its good sides and bad.

I've done my job; done everything they asked. My family should be safe now. But what about me me? When they attack they're going to see that their men have been crucified. They'll kill everything moving. Allah knows, I I would. s.h.i.+t. would. s.h.i.+t.

So how do I keep them from killing me, too?

He hadn't come up with an answer before sleep took him. As he nodded off, Bas.h.i.+r wondered if he'd see the next sunrise or if a bomb would kill him while he slept.

Camp San Lorenzo The eastern sky was just beginning to glow red when the first of the guns.h.i.+ps began its roll down the runway. Heavily laden as they were, the birds needed nearly every foot of runway s.p.a.ce before they achieved liftoff.

Once the first one, Miguel Lanza at the helm, was up and had gained some alt.i.tude, the next began its take off run. A few minutes later, with the last of the guns.h.i.+ps airborne and circling overhead, the first of the nine Turbo-Finches in this attack wave likewise rolled down the hardened strip. These took off in half minute intervals and a.s.sembled at an alt.i.tude just below that of the guns.h.i.+ps.

Even before the last of the 'Finches was airborne, Lanza looked out his c.o.c.kpit window and saw Crickets lining up below, ready to join the others. Behind the Crickets came the heavier but much faster NA-21s and the Cazador-laden NA-23s.

Still in Lanza's view, the forty-one working helicopters of the Ala Ala lifted almost as one, then turned to the north. It was an awesome and thrilling sight. lifted almost as one, then turned to the north. It was an awesome and thrilling sight.

This, Lanza thought, this is why I joined. this is why I joined.

Carrera watched the aerial armada a.s.semble overhead from the railed walkway that ran three hundred and sixty degrees around the airfield's control tower. A warmed up Cricket stood idling near the base of the tower, its wings and fuselage bearing the legend "4-15." It had had installed a bank of radios and a map board. One pilot would fly its pa.s.sengers, Carrera and two radio operators.

On the floor beneath the tower a temporary command post was set up. This would provide back up control until another command post was set up near the objective. In the interim, Carrera was capable of running the entire thing in his head with only minimal a.s.sistance. Even bone weary, complex operations bothered him not a whit. It was creative thought that had become hard; that, and judgment. And he had Jimenez to help with judgment.

Looking to his right, Carrera saw that the heavily laden Cazadors were struggling into the Nabakovs' cargo bays, one man above pulling while two below pushed to get them up on the ramps.

There hadn't been time to get rough terrain jump suits for the Cazadors. Instead, they'd made their own, after a fas.h.i.+on, using duct tape to attach wooden leg braces and substantial foam padding. If they normally looked like waddling ducks before a jump, now they looked like children so insulated from winter cold they could barely move.

Even over the roar of engines, one could make out the singing as the men loaded aboard:

Thundering motors leave each man alone.

He thinks one more time of his loved ones back home.

Then come mis compadres mis compadres to spring on command to spring on command To jump and to die for our legion and land.

And from our airplanes, and from our airplanes, Compadre there's no going back, there's no going back, Except in victory or fee-eet first.

Now make ready to jump. Attack!

The speaker radio in the control tower crackled. "Checkpoint Zulu Omega." That meant that Jimenez and the Scouts had sent the burst signal that they were at the bridge that served as the checkpoint for "two hours out." That was also where the cavalry would link up with them.

With a head motion to beckon his radio operators Carrera left the control tower, pa.s.sed quietly through the crowded command post below, and walked out to board the waiting Cricket.

12/8/469 AC, Pickup Zone Papa Echo "Incoming aircraft, Centurion!"

Hurriedly Cruz closed his wallet to put away the picture of his wife and children. I've done this before; I can do it again. I've done this before; I can do it again.

"Stand by your loads," he shouted to the mortar men who were already standing by. "Guide parties, a.s.sume guidance as soon as you have a bird."

Because they were under radio silence, the detailed operational control was a bit odd. There was a cross marked out off to one side of the PZ. The lead helicopter made for that, followed by another dozen in trail behind it. When the lead was about forty meters out it stopped and a.s.sumed a hover. The first of the guides stood up and pointed directly at himself and then at the helicopter pilot, who nodded his recognition. Then the guide made the hand and arm signal for "a.s.suming guidance," two arms with flattened palms thrust straight up and parallel to each other, palms inward. He lowered his arms, turned, and began to run toward the first load. The helicopter followed slowly.

At that first load the guide turned and again made the "a.s.suming guidance" signal. With more hand and arm signals he brought the IM-71 down to a soft landing. Immediately the clamsh.e.l.l door on the back opened up. A second helicopter was just setting down as this happened.

It was no easy matter for eight men to manhandle a 160mm mortar across rough ground and into the helicopter's cargo bay. Cruz had detached a couple of men from his platoon to a.s.sist with each. This was barely enough. Indeed, it might have proven impossible but for the fact that over the last ten years there had been plenty of opportunity to practice.

Once the heavy mortar and its eight crewmen, to which could be added one or two men from the mortar maniple headquarters, were aboard, the guide again took control of the helicopter, directing the pilot to s.h.i.+ft left to where a large bundle of mortar ammunition awaited, the ammunition being bound up in a cargo net. As soon as the chopper was directly over the net, the guide thrust both arms directly out to his sides, parallel to the ground: "Hover."

Underneath, one of the two men who had a.s.sisted in loading the gun climbed atop the ammunition. In his hand he held a plastic handled screwdriver from which wire led downward. That wire was connected to another screwdriver, stuck into the ground a few feet away. Electricity arced from the hook underneath the helicopter to screwdriver. The wire carried the static charge to the ground, harmlessly. Then the legionary picked up a "donut roll"-a multi-layer thick circle of strap material, held together by a metal shackle-and attempted to slip it onto the hook. He missed. He tried and missed again. Cursing, on the third try he caught the s.h.i.+fting hook and pulled back on the donut roll to make sure it was firmly attached and the hook working properly. He jumped off of the ammunition and gave a thumbs up to the guide.

The guide then whirled one arm over his head and pointed into the direction of the wind. With a sound of straining engines, the helicopter lifted up, shuddered a bit at the load once the straps connecting the donut roll and the ammunition pallet lost their slack, then pulled the net off of the ground and began to move forward, gaining alt.i.tude and leaving a whirlwind of dust, rocks and vegetation behind.

The Base Dust spurted from each of the wheels as the column moved up the winding pa.s.s. Some had broken down on the way and been abandoned, their pa.s.sengers can cargo being stuffed into the other vehicles as time and s.p.a.ce permitted. Cavalry rode to either side with Cano on the left and his brother-in-law, Rachman, leading the right. For this mission, both for her own safety and the intelligence insight she could provide, Alena was back at the Camp San Lorenzo.

Jimenez, riding in front with Masood, recognized from aerial photographs taken by the RPVs of the Legion the steep sided pa.s.s that led into the enemy fortress.

The trucks and buses were adorned with white banners painted in black and green. "There is no G.o.d but G.o.d," said some. "Mohammad is the Prophet of G.o.d," proclaimed others. More than a few carried the message, "The sword is the key to Heaven and h.e.l.l." Still others proclaimed, "Death to the infidel."

"The horns, do you think?" asked Jimenez. "Really? Isn't that overkill?"

Masood shook his head in the negative. "If we were what we proclaim ourselves to be, we would announce our presence among friends fearlessly. That means, yes, sir, the horns and the cavalry firing their rifles into the air."

Swallowing, Jimenez then said, "The horns then. Let them know we're coming so they won't guess who we are."

Interlude

4 July, 2206, Cygnus House, Chelsea, London, European Governing Region, Earth It had once been something of a day of mourning, in London, the anniversary of the Declaration that had utterly screwed up the proper ordering of the world. It was a happy day, now. And why not? The United States of America had ceased to be decades prior. It was now split among four governing regions, each with its own UE-appointed archduke to rule them. The world celebrated the Fourth of July now in memory of what wasn't wasn't.

Lucretia seemed to her father even more jubilant than the day called for.

Louis Arbeit, the Marquis, had barely aged in all those years since he'd first a.s.sumed the mantle of leaders.h.i.+p for Amnesty, Interplanetary. He'd spent those years well, moving the company from the relatively unremunerative hara.s.sment of unfriendly governments to more solid, sounder, and infinitely more profitable business arrangements. If there were political prisoners languis.h.i.+ng in prisons and psychiatric facilities now, and there were, they were unenlightened, anti-progressive opponents of the UE. Amnesty had no interest in such.

One would hardly know that Lucretia was, herself, well along in years. She, too, had had the best anti-agathics available. She could, and did, pa.s.s for twenty-two or -three, regularly. She bounced out to her father's favorite patio, bearing with her their morning coffee. The coffee came from the highlands of Panama where High Judge Nyere maintained extensive holdings farmed by the serfs that had been made of the locals. That land included what had once been the ranch of Belisario Carrera. It was worked by, among others, Belisario's collateral descendants, laboring under the lash.

"I made it especially for you, Father," Lucretia announced. They were still a very close family, even though Louis had stopped f.u.c.king his daughter decades ago.

He smiled, picked up and sipped at the coffee. Ah, just right. Ah, just right.

Lucretia's lips smiled around her own cup. She, too, sipped, then said, "The world really is wonderful now, for people of our cla.s.s, isn't it, Father?"