by Tom Kratman
There was an ice cream shop and delicatessen not far away. When we went in the owner blanched. I suppose of all the people he ever expected to see enter his establishment, Carrera was probably the last.
He bought Alma a sandwich and then an ice cream cone. When I tried to refuse anything he insisted that I at least have a sandwich. He, himself, settled for coffee. Patting his stomach he said to me, “My wife overfeeds me. And I don’t get out as much as I used to. If I didn’t watch myself, I’d get fat.”
The memory of Piedras fresh in my mind, I assumed Carrera just wanted to bend me over a desk, too. I kept my eyes down on the plate while I ate.
I was wrong, by the way.
Carrera asked me a little bit about myself. I told him as little as possible, but I think—no, I’m sure—that he saw right through me. I mean, I really think he saw everything; maybe to include Piedras or someone just like him.
He thanked me for joining him for lunch. He said he almost never had a chance anymore to just sit down with someone and talk. He asked me about my work.
“Well…I’m sort of between jobs right now,” I answered.
He asked me about my hopes for the future, but I didn’t have any beyond seeing Alma grow up to a better life. Since I rather doubted that would happen, I told him I had no hope for the future.
After a while, I ventured a question of my own. “Sir,” I asked, “why did you and Presidente Parilla exterminate the opposition government?”
He put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, his eyes staring into space. At length he answered, “Self-defense, I suppose; they were trying to exterminate us.”
Seeing I didn’t understand, he elaborated, “The old, rump government tried to get rid of us on some trumped up drug charges. Many of my friends were killed; my new family threatened. My wife, Lourdes…” He stopped talking for a moment. I’ve never seen anybody with that much pure hate in his eyes, not even me in the mirror after a session with Piedras.
He continued, “Anyway…Lourdes saved us. You probably knew that. When our side had won out, Parilla and I determined never to let anything like that happen again. We stamped out the oligarchs to let the country start over fresh.
“Mostly, it’s working,” he said. Then he looked at my threadbare clothing, looked at Alma’s too thin frame. He looked at my face and sighed. I saw then that his eyes really were beautiful, the color of the sky on a cloudless day, and surprisingly full of compassion.
“Unfortunately,” he continued, “a lot of decent people have been cut out. We only have so much money to go around, despite some help from some friends who have the same enemies we do. There’s only so much we can do. By concentrating only on those with military power, we’ve left a lot of folks—people like yourself—without any recourse at all. This seems to be especially true of the women of the country. I’m sorry. There’s only so much to go around,” he repeated.
“God knows,” I told him, “I could use some help. One decent break, that’s all I need.” I didn’t cry, however much I wanted to.
He looked at me very intently. Then he asked me, if it were possible for Alma to be cared for, if I would be interested in joining up. He said he couldn’t do more for me than that, that the benefits of society were for those who benefited society.
When I hesitated, Carrera reached over and pulled Alma onto his lap. She immediately settled in nicely, still intent on her ice cream. He asked me “Don’t you think this beautiful little girl deserves every chance you can give her?”
Thinking of everything I’d already given up for Alma—wealth and position for her life, dignity (Piedras!) for what passed for comfort—I wanted for the moment to spit at him. I didn’t though. Instead I told him I might be interested. He gave me a card with an address and a phone number to call to reach one of his aides. He also wrote a little note on back and signed it, “C.”
Before leaving he reached into a pocket and pulled out some money, saying, “Buy her a birthday present from me.” He turned his body, too, so no one could see the money.
It was so…tactful. He could have said that I looked like I needed the money. I did. He could have made some kind of political capital from it, even. But he just wanted to do a nice thing for a nice baby girl, without embarrassing me.
Then he set Alma back down, paid the bill and left, his entourage of guards following in his wake.
He stopped and waved to Alma from the door.
* * *
That was pretty tactful, too, the way he’d let me know where to go. Anyone could see I couldn’t afford a phone. But I knew where his office was, if I really wanted to go there. Everyone knew.
Did I? I’d never even considered the possibility. Before Alma, before I was born, my future had been all planned out for me: finish high school, then go to the university; either in Balboa, Santa Josefina, Atzlan, or La Plata. After that, marriage, of course. Then a sedentary life as a housewife cum minor socialite. Oh, yes, and produce many grandchildren.
I was living a life a far cry from that. It was a dreary and hopeless life, too.
I thought about it for a few days. I’ll confess, I was scared—maybe terrified is a better word—of going into the legion. Then, too, I was sick at the thought of leaving Alma behind, even if I knew she’d be well cared for. Which I didn’t know at the time, actually.
I asked around the neighborhood. Many of the men were in the legion. They said it was hard, but there were a lot of advantages to going…and that it could be great fun. (I wasn’t too sure that my idea of fun and theirs precisely matched.) One of the men was in training to be a civilian machinist with his tercio footing half the bill, lending him the rest at low interest. He could never have paid for that himself. Another had managed to open a small store with a veteran’s loan. There were different benefits for different jobs and levels of responsibility. The men didn’t know what was available for women.
I thought about what it might be like, to have a fresh start at a decent job, a decent life. Maybe I’d even be able to start my own business. I might not have finished my education but I wasn’t stupid or lazy. Okay, maybe a little stupid, but I was growing wiser all the time.
Finally, I worked up the nerve to go to Carrera’s office, at the Estado Mayor. He wasn’t in but, as he’d said, one of his aides was.
“Miss Fuentes?” asked the aide, a fairly youngish tribune, not too good looking. At my nod he said, “The Duque mentioned that you might be coming by. How can I help you?”
“Duque Carrera said something to me about—possibly—joining up.”
“Yes, that was my understanding. Do you have any skills now?”
I had to tell him that I really didn’t.
He just shrugged his shoulders and said, “Most women who express an interest in the legion do not. Don’t feel bad; usually neither do the men. That really doesn’t matter. We can teach skills provided that the student is willing to learn and worth teaching.” He stopped for a minute, scratched his chin, and then asked, “Tell me, Miss Fuentes, what, if anything, you know about the legion and how women are utilized.”
Again I had to admit to having no idea.
“Very good,” the tribune said. “Then you should have few misconceptions to clear up. Basically, women are not really necessary. Sorry.” He didn’t seem to be.
“Oh, yes, they fill certain jobs that would otherwise have to be done by a man, but—if no women were available—we would use very old and very young men in those jobs…boys and pensioners if we had to.
“Essentially, women are cooks, clerks and medical personnel in medical units above the cohort level. Except for a very few who have special talents and skills needed by the legion—lawyers, doctors, nurses, a few pilots and such—those have traditionally been the choices open to women.
“However, because we have certain rigid requirements for moving up in rank that are—so far—dependent on qualifications that women have not yet been admitted to, there have been no women officers or
centurions accessed in the last thirteen years. The couple of holdovers from before the invasion are kept on merely as a courtesy. They are not real officers anyway, but more or less administrative types. They are also frozen in their old ranks. There are a larger number of women warrant officers; those lawyers, nurses, doctors and such I mentioned to you.
“Also, you should know, the major benefits of service—the material benefits I mean, not the benefits of eventual full citizenship—are rank and job driven. Combat arms jobs—infantry, armor, artillery, combat engineers, some military police, and air defense—have greater benefits in terms of civil education and job training. Officers and centurions are entitled to attend higher education at government expense when off duty, sometimes on duty. Women do not, so far, qualify for any of these.
“Women do qualify for government protected jobs upon completion of training but…the jobs for which they qualify are less desirable, by and large, than those that men qualify for. This is not because they’re women but because they are not eligible, so far, for positions of great hardship or responsibility.”
The tribune hesitated, looking me over. I have been appraised by a number of men over the years. None of them ever quite looked at me like that, as if I were a strong and healthy mule they were thinking of buying.
I knew what he was seeing: an olive-skinned female, with good teeth, fair muscle tone, somewhat short. If he thought I was attractive, it didn’t show.
At length, the tribune said, “There is one other possibility you might want to think over.” He reached into his desk, pulled out a color brochure, and handed it to me. “Duque Carrera has directed the raising of a female combat formation; a full tercio if we can find enough women who are both willing and able. If the program is successful, and if you join it, and if you finish your training, you would also qualify for all the same benefits as any man who joins.”
I really couldn’t see myself as a fighter. I told him so.
“You would know about that best, I suppose,” he answered. “But take this brochure home with you. Give it some thought. Even if you elect not to join the Tercio Amazona you might still want to try some other, female, branch of the service.”
“I have a child. Duque Carrera mentioned that she could be taken care of for me if I join.”
“That’s discussed in the brochure.”
* * *
The brochure was mostly in simple question and answer format.
If I join the Tercio Amazona, will I be able to be married?
The Republic takes no interest in whether or not its defenders marry, except that, after accession, marital or romantic relations may not generally be within the same regiment and may in no case be between any members of substantially differing ranks. Enlisted men and women (pay grades 1 through 3) may socialize privately only with other enlisted men and women. NCOs, Centurions, and Officers may associate only with service members of the same corps. Warrant officers are permitted social interaction only with other warrants. This is true whether you are on duty or off. The notable exception to this is the Tercio Gorgidas in which de facto marriage to another member, just prior to induction, is the rule. This partial ban on socializing does not affect organizational social activities nor does it cover marriages which existed before enlistment. In the latter case, however, married couples will almost never be permitted to serve in the same regiment.
What about children?
Dependents of members of the legion who have been killed or crippled, in action or in training, qualify for a number of assistance programs, generally of the self-help variety.
As for already-born children, while other female members of the defense forces do not receive much in the way of official direct assistance in caring for their children, mostly due to their being in densities within their tercios too low to make this practical, the Tercio Amazona will have a fully staffed dependant care maniple which will provide twenty-four hour care for your children while you are serving.
Both Amazonas and other female soldiers may become pregnant and bear children. Non-Amazonas are authorized up to two eighteen-month unpaid leaves of absence, which times do not count towards fulfilling their military obligation. Because the Republic does have an interest in strong and brave mothers bearing strong and brave children, Amazonas’ maternal leave may be taken in the dependant care maniple, if and only if there is an opening. That time will count toward completion of service and will be paid, though at a reduced rate. We do not pay soldiers who are not combat effective through their own choice at the same rate as others. The Tercio Amazona will have a thirty to sixty percent overstrength authorized to permit both a combat capable unit and adequate opportunity for maternal leave.
It is within the contemplation of the legion, but by no means certain, that members of the Tercio Amazona may be given the option of serving four years of active time, then being discharged to the militia or Home Guard to become mothers if they wish. This option is not available to you, now, and may never become available.
How difficult will training be?
No harder than necessary.
After training what happens?
The legions are primarily reservists. As an Amazona you will attend a fifteen week Basic Combat Training (BCT) Course. For your general information, male BCT is, at this time, twelve weeks. At least some of your class will then be selected for leadership training. The rest will be offered one or several job or training opportunities, though most will become infantry. You will, if you are given an option, at your own discretion, take one of these. If you are only offered one job, so be it.
Also, after BCT and leadership training, if any, you will have a minimum ten-year obligation as a reservist or in the militia. During your reserve time you will be required to attend weekend training, one long weekend a month from a Thursday or Friday night to the following Sunday or Monday night. In addition, the reservists of your unit will train thirty days a year in one lump period at the Centro de Entrenamiento, at Fort Cameron. The militia of the tercio will train together with the reserves for another seventeen days per year. A further eight days of individual training and administration are required and authorized. Additional time may be required of you, based on the needs of the legion.
The tercio dependant care maniple will look after your children, at a legion facility or private home, for all the time you are training. As a special gratuity, your children will be cared for and fed at government expense.
How much will I be paid?
You will receive normal recruit private rates of pay and allowances for every day you spend in your initial training. Thereafter, if in leadership training, you will be paid at the applicable rate for a trained private, or your current rank, whichever is higher.
While in a reserve training status you will earn three months’ pay per year for up to three months’ training (the typical reservist actually spends seventy-seven days on duty, about half and half, weekends and weekdays). This does not include extra pay for special or additional training. This is only true for the next several classes of Amazonas. Once a healthy cadre is formed, most Amazonas will be placed in the militia echelon after BCT. They will only be called up for twenty-five days per year, normally, though more time may be required. Militia Amazonas will earn a minimum of thirty days pay per year.
As mentioned above, there are also opportunities for extended courses of paid special training for those who qualify.
See the table at the end of this brochure for applicable pay rates.
What if I fail in training?
If the circumstances of your failure are essentially disgraceful, you will be discharged from the legion under other than honorable conditions, or worse. Those so discharged are entitled to no benefits.
If the circumstances of your failure are not disgraceful, you will be given an opportunity to train for and finish your term of service in one of the positions reserved for women but not as difficult as the Amazonas.
That last part frightened me. But
then Alma told me she was hungry. All I had was the money Duque Carrera had given me to buy her a present for her birthday. I used it.
The next day I went back to the Estado Mayor and signed up for the Tercio Amazona.
Interlude
The rain was coming down in sheets, though, given the season, those sheets flew horizontally rather than vertically. One could trace those sheets by the thick pattern of droplets moving in tight lines across the black asphalt.
Professor Rafael Franco, also Junior Centurion Franco, Tercio Gorgidas, eased his vehicle into the carport next to the three bedroom house he shared with his partner, Balthazar Garcia. The carport was no shelter from the rain being driven under the roof by the wind. With a sigh and a muttered curse, Franco opened the door. He was pelted then, immediately, and soaked before he’d gotten himself out of the car and the door shut behind him. There wasn’t any sense in running at that point; still muttering imprecations he walked to the door leading from the carport into the kitchen of the house. He fought the wind to close the kitchen door behind him. The house was quiet, still, except for the pounding of the rain on the tiled roof.
“Balthazar? Are you home?”
Garcia answered from the living room, “In here, Rafael.”
On his way to the living room Franco stopped to draw a beer from the refrigerator. He grabbed a piece of dried chorley bread from a tray. Beer held in one hand, he passed the bread to Garcia’s pet trixie, a magnificent gray and green archaeopteryx that his partner had, most unusually, taught to speak. Not that trixies didn’t have the capacity to learn, but most were more stubborn than the people who tried to train them. Garcia was an exception in that there were damned few people or trixies that could hold a candle to him for sheer mule-headedness.
“Up yours, cueco,” the proto-bird answered, as it held the chunk to its beak.
Of all the things, Franco thought, shaking his head, he could have taught that bird to say…Lord, why did I have to fall in love with someone with such a weird fucking sense of humor?