by Tom Kratman
"We've got three things," Carrera continued. "We've got a home base—or most of one—with a government that cares for us. We've got twenty-four regular line combat cohorts in the ground elements, plus another eighteen drilling reserve cohorts, mixed infantry, mechanized, and cazadores, and individual reservists enough to fill twice that. We've got supporting arms for all of those, generally in plenty though we are short in some areas, notably artillery and air. And . . . we've got enough money, over eighty billion Federated States Drachma, to make every regular in the Legion here or elsewhere wealthy for several lives, let alone one."
He gave a shrug and waved a hand deprecatingly. "I don't want the money. I never have, for its own sake. As far as I'm concerned, you could split it up among yourselves. But there's one big problem. I could give you the money, but I couldn't then give you a safe place to raise a family. I couldn't keep the United Earth Peace Fleet off your backs. I couldn't get rid of the Tauran Union which has occupied the most important and valuable chunk of Balboa, or the rump of a false government that shelters under the Taurans' greedy claws. I couldn't get rid of the stinking Kosmos"—Cosmopolitan Progressives—"that insist every form of decay is progress and do everything they can to hasten that decay. I couldn't keep them from taxing it all away from you and giving it to their"—Carrera sneered—"no doubt deserving selves."
Carrera scratched beside his nose as his lips formed the tiniest of smiles. Rhetorically, he asked, "You all already knew all that, right?
"That, however," he continued, "does not mean that you are not going to be earning more money. Note where the emphasis was in that last sentence. 'Earning.' You're going to earn it because we are going to change the force radically. To expand it, yes—and that's how you are going to be earning more money, as you advance in rank much faster than any other soldiers on the planet—but also to change it.
"Our days of providing a regular force so that we could rent ourselves out to foreigners to fight their wars for them are, for a while, at least, over. Our days of concentrating on counter-insurgency are over, too. Our first fight, in Sumer, a decade ago, has more to say about our future than any number of operations we have undertaken since."
"There is one possible exception to that," Carrera said. "We might—it is at least within the realm of the possible, and we are mutually bound by treaty—have to send troops to support President Sada and the Republic of Sumer against Farsia. Even that is only a partial exception, as a fight with Farsia would be heads up, conventional combat. Conversely, though, we have a finger on at least one good legion from Sumer that will come to us at need. If you doubt that, let me remind you that in Pashtia, Sada sent us everything he could spare, and then some."
Headquarters, Tauran Union Security Force-Balboa, Bldg 59, Fort Muddville, Balboa
"What are we going to do," Villepin asked, "if the subject of the meeting is war between those legions and ourselves? I mean, a few years ago when they had almost everybody deployed to Pashtia we could have taken them with only minor reinforcement from Taurus, nothing that couldn't have been flown in over the course of a few days. Now that they're all back they could walk in with a rock in each hand and still beat the shit out of us."
"Nonsense," Janier insisted. "We are still a first rate, professional and, above all, Tauran force facing amateurs who've been lucky in only fighting third raters to date. Though, yes, it will be harder now." The general sneered. In the light of day the doubts and fears he'd entertained several nights previously seemed ephemeral and silly. "If the bastard Columbians hadn't interfered I'd have done just that, too, beaten these peasants like I owned them."
De Villepin didn't correct Janier, but did think, That's probably true, though the casualties they'd have inflicted on our forces in Pashtia in revenge would have been disastrous and politically insupportable. And neither of us can afford to lose our political support. Which we would if we fought a war on behalf of those who support us and lost it . . . or suffered too many casualties.
Rome, Province of Italy, Old Earth
The SecGen tugged at one altogether too perfect ear. "The last time we got involved in a war, directly, on the ground of Terra Nova, we had out asses handed to us. It was too far and too hard to support. And the guerillas impossible to eradicate."
"That's true," Wallenstein conceded. "But it's not as if we sent very good people to fight that war. We were still consolidating our hold here and simply didn't have the quality to spare."
"I don't have it now, either," the SecGen said. "You've seen the streets of Rome, the strutting parasites living off of the achievements of their elders, sporting their diadems, and simply assuming that this way of life is eternal, without any need for sacrifice. Moore, I know, showed you the Ara Pacis and the . . . sacrifices. I have no worthwhile Class Ones to send you, Admiral. The few of them that are both capable and trustworthy I need here."
"I'll make do with good Class Twos and Threes," Wallenstein answered. She was surprised, shocked really, that the SecGen saw Earth pretty much as she did. He likely didn't see his entire Class the way she did though.
I wouldn't take any Class Ones if you offered them. Well, I'd prefer not to, anyway. "And I intend to use locals to do our campaigning for us. There are many there who would prefer to see the enlightened rule of United Earth."
"That hasn't worked out that well so far," the SecGen said.
Wallenstein nodded. "Martin was, perhaps, overly ambitious," she answered.
Furiocentro Convention Center, Balboa City, Balboa, Terra Nova
"The program is ambitious," Carrera admitted. "But it is not, as a practical matter, more ambitious than the one that brought us from an idea, to a staff, to a small legion, to two small ones, to two larger ones, to four of them, plus supporting arms.
"The very short version of this is that every current legion is going to become a corps. A fifth corps will be created from tidbits taken from here and there. Every tercio will become a legion, plus several legions will have to be created almost from scratch. Every existing cohort will have to expand to the size of a tercio, and reconfigure itself to be an organization for heads up, conventional combat. I mean serious bloodletting.
"Some—many—of the units are going to have to shit large cadres to form still others.
"We are going to be buying or building or rebuilding tanks and planes and ships and guns as never before. We need trucks and helicopters and armored personnel carriers galore. Uniforms. Rifles. Radios. Machine Guns. Mortars . . . Ammunition."
Carrera stopped to pour himself a drink of water, wishing deep down that it were whiskey, before continuing with, "The biggest change will be in personnel management. We're not going to be a regular force anymore. In fact, the regulars will be pretty much limited to you people here, and those who couldn't attend but who have at least earned stripes. You will provide a cadre for units four times bigger than the cadres you provide. The difference will be made up of reservists, men and women we've sent to training, kept with the colors for a year or so to assimilate and socialize them, and then released to civil life . . . to partly civil life. Between you and the reservists, you will form the core for units, again, four times larger, with the difference being made up of militia. The difference between reservists and militia will be ability. The militia will be average, everyday Juans. The reservists will be those with some of that special spark that all or at least most of you have. Overall, the ratio will be one regular to three reservists to twelve militia.
"Generally speaking, you will all hold two ranks, permanent and full mobilization. You'll wear and be paid at your full mobilization rank when you are, in fact, mobilized and when your units are called up for training.
"Yes, that means the twenty-four or so thousand people we have on their second or subsequent enlistment, or who are lifers, will form the leadership for a force of about ninety-six thousand, not quite three percent of the country, while that ninety-six thousand will provide the leadership for a full force of nearly four hundre
d thousand, or about eleven percent of the country."
"Yesss . . . that's right, all you squad and section leaders. Get used to the idea of being First Centurion to a maniple . . . soon. Signifers and junior tribunes"—which in most armies would have been called "second-" or "first lieutenants"—"I sure hope you've been keeping up with your studies; you're going to be commanding cohorts before the signifier half of you even have to begin shaving regularly. Senior Tribunes?"—captains and majors in other armies—"There are eagles in your future . . . that, or relief for cause."
Headquarters, Tauran Union Security Force-Balboa, Bldg 59, Fort Muddville, Balboa
In his ornate office, behind his massive desk made of hand carved Terra Novan silverwood, Janier contemplated the series of gold-embroidered eagles on the blue material of the sleeves of his reproduction marshal's uniform.
How sad, he thought, to be born into the wrong time. Seven centuries ago and I could have marched with the Emperor; made my name at Marengo, Austerlitz, Jena-Auerstadt. Now, all I can do is try to make my name in Balboa . . . which is hardly the same thing. Life is so unfair.
Still, it could be worse. I have good troops, great power. The weather is pleasant and the surroundings more civilized than in, say, Middle Uhuru. At least my mistress here is approximately white.
The general breathed a deep sigh pregnant with frustration. I could take the rest of this country if my political masters would allow me to and support me in it. At least, now I could. It's simply a question of isolating that force out on the Isla Real by navy and air, and we have the assets to do both back in Taurus, then grabbing Parilla's government, the one that presides over the rest of Balboa. Yes, there are a hundred thousand enemy reservists, but they can be handled with their leadership stuck out on the island. And even the island must surrender when the food runs out.
There are, of course, those distressing rumors that the Legion del Cid has nuclear weapons. But I don't see them using them on their own base country. The things aren't terribly useful, anyway; and didn't the Yithrabi terrorists prove that when they set one off by accident in their own capital?
Capital . . . capital . . . I can see myself marching proudly through the capital after I have won the war here. I can see myself at the helm of Gaul, tugging its strings, while Gaul tugs the Tauran Union's strings, the TU runs the World League, and the World League shits on the damned Columbians of the Federated States.
Of course, the trick will be to make sure that United Earth is not in a position to pull my strings. Well . . . half the trick, anyway. I still need to find a way to convince the TU to support me.
I wonder if the Balboans, themselves, wouldn't assist in that. That would be a help.
Rome, Province of Italy, Old Earth
Marguerite breathed a small sigh of relief when the SecGen agreed, "I can shave a little more off the top for maintenance of the Peace Fleet. But you have to understand; my position depends in good part on not asking too much in the way of sacrifices, and on giving the people that matter what they want. Why, after all, do you suppose I let the Azteca and the Orthodox Druids get away with their insanities?"
The SecGen uttered a curse. "Why, oh, why can't those morons be like the Caliph of Rome, on the other side of the Vatican? He, at least, is a sensible man, an atheist."
Wallenstein ignored that. As a member in good standing of the Reformed Druidic faith, she didn't really approve of the Caliph or his cynical manipulation of his diminishing faithful. Changing the subject back, she said, "If you can't provide what the fleet needs quickly—"
"—I can't—"
"—Then we'll have to bring it forward in packets." Marguerite chewed on her lower lip for a time, thinking hard. "I really need to keep the Peace Fleet on station around Terra Nova . . . hmmm . . .
Marguerite's eyes brightened. "Well . . . the colonization fleet is still in orbit around the moon."
"No one's looked to those ships in centuries, Marguerite," the SecGen said.
"I know," she nodded. "But things in space, at least the things that aren't being used, don't deteriorate much. Those ships will probably work still. Besides, we don't need all of them, just enough to run a regular shuttle service to the Peace Fleet. I can do some juggling of personnel in the Peace Fleet to man a shuttle service . . . even enough to bring the colonization ships back on line." She laughed, a trifle bitterly. "Why not? I've got ships around TN operating off skeleton crews to reduce the wear and tear on life support. I've others that are half-cannibalized. I have those crews doing make-work on Atlantis Base because there's no place in space to put them."
"Well," the SecGen said, "as you get your fleet running again you will run short of people."
"No," she shook her head. "That won't be a problem. It isn't going to happen so fast that we can't train new people."
Furiocentro Convention Center, Balboa City
"Training is going to be a problem," Carrera said. "Reservists and militia will be cheaper than regulars, with reservists serving only seventy-five days a year and militia thirty or so. That's still expensive and still more troops out in the field than we have training areas for, despite the major maneuver areas at Lago Sombrero, the Guarasi 'Desert,' and Fort Cameron. We also need to bring about thirty to thirty-five thousand new people to the colors a year for the foreseeable future. And they're going to have to do their initial training on the Isla Real, the only place we have facilities for it. Obviously, there's not room out there for you and them both.
"So you and your units are going to be moving to casernes on the mainland. Which we have to build. Which we have to find and buy land for. Which is also going to be expensive as hell.
"Fortunately, Presidente Parilla—" Carrera gave a nod to Raul, sitting between McNamara and Fernandez, the Intel chief, in the front row—"has offered to let us use, more or less permanently and more or less without restrictions, a great deal of the nationally owned land to establish major training areas.
"This will, I imagine, piss off the world's environmentally conscious and sensitive class to no end."
Carrera's tone and smile said all that needed to be said about his deep and abiding lack of concern for the sentiments of those environmentalists. Oh, yes, he had set aside some funding for the preservation of the endangered trixies, but that was more personal than environmental in motive.
"And you have to be wondering where all the extra troops are going to come from. We already have some substantial numbers of legionaries from every state in Colombia Latina. In fact, we take in a couple of thousand Spanish-speaking foreigners a year and have almost since we started, eleven years ago. Those numbers have to go up. A lot. As do the numbers we take in from Balboa itself.
"And at this point, I'd like to ask the President to the stand to explain some legal and political changes. Presidente Parilla?"
Carrera came to attention as soon as Parilla stood. Following his cue, all the military types present did likewise, while the civilians, such as there were, simply shut up and stood a bit straighter.
* * *
Fernandez, sitting next to Parilla's vacated chair, fumed, He's giving too much away. There are half a dozen people here on the Tauran Union's payroll that I know of. How many more are there that I have no clue to?
On the plus side, I'll find out about at least a couple more that I don't currently know about when they go scurrying to inform their masters of what's been said here. That's something, I suppose.
Fernandez was right to be worried, if only because intelligence and counter-intelligence was his job. For that matter, supervision of covert direct action, a euphemism for assassination and sabotage, were also his bailiwick. He was rather good at his job, too, due to a combination of practical experience, sheer ruthlessness, and—this was the general opinion of those in a position to know—brainpower.
And then, too, if there are half a dozen people here on the enemy's payroll, I've a dozen in his key offices on mine. Those, and the commander of the Castilian battalion who f
eeds me information simply because he hates the Tauran Union and wants his country out of it. It's fair, I suppose. Except that I know Rocaberti has spies in our force, more than a few of them, and I've never managed to get a spy right on his immediate staff. Not for lack of trying, either. But blood counts and they're all his relations, to one degree or another.
But, Patricio, you need to make the enemy work, for his information. Everything you give him for free leaves him free to devote resources to finding more.
* * *
Carrera, standing on the stage while Parilla made his way up it, stole a glance at the space the President had vacated. In particular, he looked at Fernandez's ferret-like face. I know exactly what you're thinking, Omar. Too much information, given too freely. "Make the enemy work for his intelligence," isn't that what you've been nagging me over for better than ten years? That's not the right calculation. We also need our own people not to have to work for information they need to support the mission.
It's an arguable point, I admit, and one with, perhaps, no truly satisfactory answer. But, besides that we need our own people on board, there are at least two other factors. One is that intelligence freely given can also misdirect. In other words, the more the TU looks at the main force, the more they see it as adequately powerful, the less inclined they'll be to look for other things that go beyond adequately powerful.
The other thing is that I have not given anyone, not even you, my ferret-faced friend, all the information.
Rome, Province of Italy, Old Earth
Wallenstein had had months to think on the voyage from new Earth to Old. She'd put those months to good use.
"Why are you so convinced that this Carrera person and the petty little fiefdom he occupies have to go, Marguerite?" The SecGen drummed his fingers on the marble inlay of his ornate desk, a thousand year old relic dug out the Vatican's cellars. The finger drumming made her nervous.