Carnifex

by Tom Kratman

  Patricio, they are not only more corrupt than we have imagined; they are more corrupt than we could imagine. For one thing, two slaves—and we didn't even know they kept slaves on their base on Atlantis Island—are going to be taken up to space shortly for the sexual amusement of their IG. The slaves are not necessarily expected to survive the experience. How do people like this get control of an entire world? How do we prevent them from gaining another?

  "I'm working on it, Fern."

  I think we are now in a position to begin to fulfill the other half of our contract with the Yamatans and move the classis to the Nicobar Straits. There are NO indicators that the Xamari pirates are anything but cowed for the moment, and even for the foreseeable future.

  The rest of Fernandez's message was routine. Carrera finished reading it quickly and put it into the "save" pile. His AdC would see to it that the message joined several hundred others in a secure file with a self destruct mechanism integral to it.

  The next report was from Obras Zorilleras—or OZ, though it had passed through Fernandez's office before being sent onward and bore his initials. It concerned several of the projects Carrera had been briefed on over a year ago.

  Progress has been mixed, Duque. The auxiliary propelled stealthy glider, which we are calling the "Condor," exists in prototype and has been tested using ground based radar. The reduction in signature is between two and three orders of magnitude. We are planning a test using the FSC's airborne warning radar. This, however, requires three things: that we know the flight schedule of the drug interdiction patrols they run off our coasts, that we manage to get one of our people aboard their AWR flights, and that we have the prototype in position . . .

  Carrera read a handscrawled note in Fernandez's writing on the margins of the page. "I'm working on it."

  On the other hand, the submarine—the Megalodon Class—has been nothing but problems. We've had to redesign the thing, twice, and scrap half a dozen proposals for the power plant. The acrylic casting apparatus from Anglia is still on order. Undersea gliding has proven to be somewhat problematic, once we did the rest of the math, and unless slightly aided by the propeller it makes more noise than simply using the propeller on its own. That said, in combination the two are quieter than either is alone.

  Right now, it is a thin teardrop-shaped outer hull, a much thicker and cylindrical inner pressure hull, which will be powered either by molten carbonate or solid oxide fuel cell These are both expensive but almost within the budget you gave us. (Can we have more money?)

  While we have dropped the idea of using a facetted fairing for the outer, non-pressure, hull, the better to reduce flow noise, we have modified the principle by connected the inner and outer hulls with conoidal projections which will do much the same thing. By this we mean that, once active sonar has reached and passed the thin, outer, streamlined hull, the conoidal connections will further scatter it and absorb it. This is only effective for active sonar, of course . . .

  "Yeah . . . right . . . "of course" . . . what the fuck do I know about this shit?"

  . . . and active sonar is the least likely to be used. Still, the inner and outer hulls needed to be connected somehow and this way gives us something out of the arrangement.

  The test ballast tanks for the Megalodon are prepared in prototype, since we were able to obtain the necessary acrylic casting machines (which are much smaller) and other materials needed for them. This is a new concept, and not one that everyone is in favor of. Still, they have the potential to be remarkably silent as compared to any other system in existence.

  Basically, they take advantage of the very low boiling temperature of ammonia. The ammonia is kept inside of flexible tubing made of fluorocarbon elastomer with a sputtered layer of aluminum (750 Angstoms) followed by silicon monoxide (500 Angstroms) with an aerogel insulation layer. We are working on a different system, one using carbon dioxide rather than ammonia. This has issues.

  "Pity I never studied any of the hard sciences but chemistry. This is all Greek to me. Still, OZ has produced before. They probably will again."

  Carrera skipped ahead to the line, We believe we can have a working submarine within fifteen months, and produce two every three months thereafter. Greater funding would increase this.

  "Something to think about, anyway. But let's see some progress before we commit, shall we?"

  We have a fixed prototype of the Self-Propelled Laser Aid Defense (SPLAD) and are working on motorizing it.

  Work on the Self-Propelled, Anti-tank, Heavy Armor (SPATHA) has gone well. Design of the modification of the Volgan T-27 to a turretless anti-tank vehicle is complete and the Kirov Factory has produced the first three prototype vehicles. We have been successful in boring out the tubes from 152mm guns to 165mm, as well as in reducing the length of the tubes. Mechanisms to handle the reduced recoil from the shorter, lower velocity tube are designed. Kirov has subcontracted for three full, reduced recoil 165mm guns to mount in the prototypes' fighting compartments. They have also arranged to have the requisite machinery built and forwarded to us. Test firing of the High Explosive Plastic shell against standard tanks with pigs strapped in place of the human crew has shown catastrophic kills to the crew can be achieved by the HEP shell. (FYI, one test pig was impaled to its seat by the coaxial machine gun being torn from its mount and driven backwards. Most of the others suffered broken necks along with other injuries.) Kirov has further produced a composite armor design which can be mounted to the front of the SPATHA and which is demonstrated to be good against the best Tauran cannon for at least one shot in any given area.

  A spinoff of this is in the realm of fortifications. When we looked at the design of the composite, and realized that the hexagonal plates within it, if scaled up, would serve equally well against aerially dropped deep penetrating bombs . . .

  "Well that's an interesting concept. Note to self: Advise OZ and Sitnikov to get together, too."

  Speaking of air, we have been approached by an Anglian company that has a very interesting design for a series of lighter-than-air ships. We think you should consider it, or at least consider the smallest version that is intended for long term aerial surveillance. Their proposal is attached.

  "Hmmm. Maybe."

  Moreover, they have one mid-sized version built, capable of medium airlift or surveillance—if outfitted—that they are willing to provide, with flight crew, for testing in Pashtia. They say they will only charge for operational costs. The chief advantage to their system is that it is not actually lighter than air, but only almost as light as air. It is aerodynamically shaped, more or less like a pumpkin seed, and gets some lift from that. The shape is such that it does not need nearly so elaborate a ground setup to operate. Thus, it would be the first airship capable of tactical and strategic lift to undeveloped theaters of war.

  "All right, then. Note to self: Have OZ set this up."

  We have closed down the program on the terminally guided, reduced bore artillery shells, as Volga already has such a shell and is willing to sell. Their shell, which is 122mm with a sabot to fill the bore of a 180mm gun, seems adequate for the purpose you gave us.

  Lastly, for purposes of this report, the Suvarov Class Heavy Cruiser has been re-equipped with new 152mm, long range guns, the Pebble Bed Modular Reactor is installed and has passed initial testing, and the refit is other wise 90% plus, complete. Crew have been assigned but are still in billets at Puerto Lindo pending completion of the refit.

  XXXX

  Report ends.

  XXXX

  "Well, that's not bad. Let's see what Lourdes has to say." For a moment Carrera felt an almost overwhelming surge of sheer horniness.

  Most of Lourdes' letter was expressly designed to increase that level of horniness. In self-defense, Carrera skimmed over much of that. Then something caught his eye.

  It was as expert a roping job as I have ever seen, Patricio, and I grew up on a cattle farm. Artemisia Jimenez culled your Sergeant Major from the herd, lassoed him,
trussed him, and branded him hers with a dexterity I can only admire. And all in less than two weeks. The wedding is tentatively set for the week after the current contract in Pashtia is up and you, and the bulk of the legions, have returned.

  And, yes, my love, I know what you are going to say, that he's more than twice her age, that he's a simple soldier and she's a sophisticated very near winner for Miss Terra Nova. I've spoken to her, personally and privately, and when she says she's in love, and moreover in love for the first and only time in her life, I believe her. Please trust me in this.

  Besides that this is good for John, I must tell you it is good for me, too, as he's stopped whining about joining you in Pashtia and settled down to doing good work, the kind of good work he is better at than anyone, right here.

  "Wow. The beauty queen and the old centurion? Wow. Note to self: appropriate wedding gift. Money? Possibly. House? Maybe. All expense paid honeymoon for a bare minimum."

  They've asked me to set up the wedding and be the chief bridesmaid and I think John would like you to be best man. Xavier is, of course, going to give away the bride. I've been making one of the nicer upstairs rooms available to them so that Xavier can pretend not to notice that she's acting like a cat in heat and Mac's acting like a teenager.

  Speaking of which, beloved, I will be wearing a mattress on my back when I meet you at the airstrip, just as you said. But you had best make sure you're the first one off the plane.

  "Gotta love that girl . . . "

  14/3/468 AC, Kibla Pass, Pashtia

  Gotta love it when a plan comes together, Carrera thought as he watched the huge flight of helicopters pass overhead carrying Qabaash's brigade north to seize the summit of the pass. Qabaash had begged for the chance to go in first and, after a phone call from Sada, insisting that he needed the good press back in Sumer, Carrera had agreed. Besides, he'd seen the Salah al Din brigade in action both here in Pashtia and in Sumer. They were . . .

  Well, Hell. They're good soldiers under a first rate commander. I don't have anybody any better for this than Qabaash. Oh, sure . . . maybe Jimenez, back in Balboa. But he is back in Balboa while Qabaash is here.

  Atop the mountain range the enemy awaited; intel from both the FSA and the Legion's own sources confirmed that. The air had been pounding their positions for two hours and would continue to do so for the just over an hour's flight to Qabaash's landing zone.

  The pickup zone, here well below the mountains, was already hot enough to have to cut the helicopters' combat load. There would be no sling-loads underneath, either. Not that it would have helped all that much if the ambient temperature south of the mountain range had been less; the air above was thin enough that the choppers had to fly with reduced load anyway, despite the cold helping with the air density.

  Strictly speaking, Qabaash's brigade was not going to be the first in. The Cazadors had claimed that honor as much as two weeks ago for some units, back when snows were still falling. Indeed, it was under the cover of the snows that they'd been able to come in by Cricket, chopper and even parachute, without being seen. It had been under the snow's cover that they'd been able to build hide positions undetectable to the enemy.

  Still, the Salah al Din Brigade and their fire eating commander were the first going in with the intention of finding a fight. They'd land and secure the landing zone—that narrow ledge lodged between cliffs—then fight their way overland to the summit of the pass. After that, it was intended that they spread our, north and south, to the military crests on either side. Even if they didn't take them, they'd attract enough attention in the south to make the climb up easier for Carrera's main column. In the north, if all else failed, they'd still be able to get a good jump off position for the rest to continue the attack.

  Mines, of course, are going to be something of a problem, thought Carrera. What a pity the Gatineau Anti-landmine Ban was never effective against anyone who actually needed landmines. Well, what could one really expect? He gave a derisive and contemptuous mental snort. As if law was stronger than life. We're coming to butcher those poor Ikhwan bastards and the progressives think a little treaty to which they're not even a party is going to stop them from using whatever they can?

  Distantly, Carrera heard the roars of massed diesels, hundreds of them. That would be the mechanized tercio moving up to their assault positions. Damned shame about what the treads are going to do to the highway. Still, that's why God made sappers. We'll lay a better road down after we pass than this place has ever seen before.

  Carrera waved—futilely, as the IM-71s lacked windows in the passenger compartment—at the departing Arabs from Salah al Din. "Good luck, boys, and good hunting."

  As the last navigation light from the helicopters was killed by pilots interested in survival, Carrera got in his vehicle and instructed his driver to take him to headquarters.

  It was an odd thing, really, the drive back. They passed column after column of infantry moving up on foot. That wasn't the odd thing; that was simply part of the scheme of maneuver. No, what was odd was that the columns all stopped to cheer him as they passed each other. He waved back, of course, and held out his hand to shake whatever hands he could, but uncertainly and even with a touch of embarrassment.

  Why should they cheer me? The bloody Sumeris did, too. Makes no sense. I am nobody but a nasty bastard out for revenge and using them to get it.

  The driver provided half the answer. "The boys sure seem ready for another fight, sir."

  The other half, or perhaps it was more than half, is that soldiers love a commander who leads them to victory. It has ever been thus, and that, at least that, Carrera had done.

  He felt his mind and spirit click into full battle mode.

  * * *

  They'd lifted an hour and a half before sunrise, Qabaash, as always, in the lead lift. Because they were flying so high to reach the summit of the pass, the helicopters had had to be underloaded. Even with it being so cold, the air was just too thin up there for them to hope to carry a full load. Underloading, in practice, meant that they could carry, at most, twenty-one men with full combat equipment, and with no sling load of additional supplies carried underneath. This meant that the rest of the supplies, especially shells for the 120mm mortars and the one battery of 160mm jobs Carrera had had attached to them, either had to go in on separate helicopters or be parachuted in by aircraft. And for the latter, they'd need to grab a piece of land considerably larger and flatter than their chosen landing zone.

  There was a platoon of Cazadors, minus one squad keeping eyes on the objective, ringing that landing zone. Qabaash, wearing his night vision goggles was the first to spot their infrared strobe. He flipped the goggles up, waited a moment for his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom, then looked generally in the same place, scanning for any visible indicator of enemy fire.

  No flashes. Qabaash breathed a sigh of relief. Good, it was only the strobes and not machine guns.

  He tapped the pilot and pointed. The pilot gave one thumb up where Qabaash could see it. What did he care if the signal meant something rather different in Sumer than in Balboa?

  Qabaash felt the helicopter start to heel over, then begin its spiraling descent. The other three birds in the lift followed. Qabaash keyed the radio and spoke the signal to the waiting Cazadors. Suddenly, lights began flashing on all over the drop zone, marking safe spots for individual helicopters to land.

  The landing zone was barely big enough for four helicopters at a time. This lift of four carried Qabaash, a small portion of his command post, and part of one infantry company. The next lift in would bring in the remainder of that company.

  As soon as the chopper touched down, the clamshell door in the rear opened to disgorge the troops. Qabaash, sitting at the front of the passenger compartment was the last out. He threw himself to the ground along with his men while waiting for the choppers to lift off. It was easy enough to walk into a spinning tail rotor in the daytime. At night it was hard not to.

 
; With a rush of air and a roar of engines the IM-71s lifted off.

  Under two minutes until the next comes in.

  Qabaash looked around with his goggles over his face. He couldn't hear a bloody thing for all the aircraft buzzing around. There wasn't a lot of light but what there was the goggles magnified more than ten thousand times. Though the picture was grainy, it was still clear enough to see squads of his men racing to the assembly area nearest the worser of the two trails out from the LZ. It would be a special beneficence of Allah if no one shot anyone on the same side.

  "Light of the world, Maker of the Universes, let it be so," Qabaash whispered.

  The CP was supposed to set up under a rock overhang to the west, between the trails. Grabbing the two radiomen who had accompanied him, Qabaash headed that way. Once there, he met his forward air controller and his operations officer, his fire support officer and his "intelligence puke." They had been scattered among the other three birds. By the time the command group had assembled, the second flight of helicopters was just touching down. For a few minutes vocal communication was impossible without shouting.

  Twenty-four lifts of four IM-71s each would be just enough to bring in the combat, combat support, and command and control elements of three Sumeri battalions. After that, the heavier lift IM-62s, supplemented by airdrops, would bring in the rest of the men and the truly weighty stuff, along with the supplies required for several days' combat and several weeks' sustenance.

  But I'm not waiting for anything, Qabaash though. "Boot, don't spatter," as that Old Earth general is reputed to have said. One company at the pass in one hour will be better than three battalions in three hours. And moreover, we can have two companies at the pass in an hour, since Carrera—Allah bless his infidel heart—approved landing one company right in the pass once we had their attention firmly fixed on us attacking from the east.