The Lotus Eaters

'Shit,' said Lanza, as the perimeter around the airfield suddenly exploded with flashing muzzles and the strobe- image of soldiers locked in battle, hand to hand and bayonet to bayonet. Still seating in his command pilot's chair, Lanza flicked on his radio's transmit button and ordered, 'All copilots will remain with their aircraft. All other aircrew will take up small arms and assemble on me. NOW!'

Bloody good thing, Lanza thought, unbuckling himself from his pilot's seat then grabbing a submachine gun on his way out, that Carrera insists everyone is an infantryman first and foremost.

* * *

'Duque,' announced the gunship over the radio, 'We can't support the airfield anymore. Ours are all mixed up with theirs. We can see it on the thermals and it's nothing but bayonet and rifle butt all over the place.'

'Roger,' Carrera answered. 'Come on back here and support the bulk of the company. We're pretty mixed up here, too, but it looks like we're going to win here and I don't want any of the fuckers escaping.'

'Wilco, Duque.'

Sitting back against the walls of the ditch, Carrera contemplated the tattered remains of the Santandern who had tried to throw away the satchel charge. You were a brave son of a bitch, I'll give you that. He took a deep breath, rolled over and began to add his fire to that of the paratroopers.

Chapter Eighteen

Other factors in the fall of civilizations concern separation of the elites and denial by those elites of goods and services required or desired by the larger, non-elite portion of the civilization. The separation is not merely physical, though it is usually that, too. As important, the separation becomes one of lack of accountability of the elites to the masses.

Consider who typically forms the elite: Unelected judges, politicians often gerrymandered into lifetime seats, hidden—hence safe—bureaucrats, unpoliced journalists with agendas that bear no particular correlation to advancing the truth, hereditary aristocrats, the denationalized and greedy rich, self-appointed activists, entertainers judged alone on their ability to make the unreal seem real, etc. None of these are truly accountable to those over whom they exercise power and influence . . .

Take it as a given throughout human history: lack of accountability leads, invariably, to irresponsibility. Irresponsibility in those who wield power, be they elites or—in the rare genuine democracy—the masses, is disaster.

—Jorge y Marqueli Mendoza,

Historia y Filosofia Moral,

Legionary Press, Balboa,

Terra Nova, Copyright AC 468

Presidential Palace, Santa Fe, Santander, Terra Nova

Fountains splashed peacefully into long reflecting pools framing the paved walkway from street to palace. The walkway led to a classical revival front, four sets of double Corinthian columns—though the leaves were styled after the native tranzitree, not the acanthus—holding up an entablature, itself surmounted by a low, triangular tympanum. Long wings led out to either side of the entrance. In one wing, in one room, slept the president of the Republic of Santander.

The aide hesitated before waking his sleeping chief. Still, the news was so frightful . . .

'Senor Presidente, please, you must rise.'

The President of Santander rolled over and sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 'What is it, Rivera?'

'Senor, our cities in the east are being attacked.'

The president was wide awake instantly. 'Who? What? Where? How many? Maracaibo? The FNLS?'

'No, Senor,' Rivera answered, as his president pulled on shirt and trousers. 'Not Maracaibo and certainly not the Frente. Beyond that, we don't know who, not for certain. We do know that four air attacks were launched against places in Belalcazar, and five more against Santiago. There are estates burning all over the suburbs. Buenaventura was hit with one or two; reports are confused. And Florencia, also. There are reports of attacks on the ground in some of the same places.'

The President started added up two and two and came up with, 'Those gringo bastards.'

'Si, Senor, probably the gringos,' Rivera agreed. 'And probably going after the cartels.

'Bastards,' the president repeated, then thought, But what do I do? They are a friendly nation, sort of. And if they are going after the Cartels, as Rivera says, they are doing me a favor, in the short and medium term, at least. He bent his head down over his desk, deeply worried. In the immediate term, however, they have violated Santander's sovereignty, which I am sworn to uphold. In the long term, I can't just ignore this or come next election, I will pay for it.

'Rivera, get me the Chief of the Air Force.'

There was a delay while the aide dialed the nearest air base, on the outskirts of Santa Fe, which was also the headquarters for the national air force. The Air Force Chief of Staff came on line, sounding half asleep.

'Villareal speaking.'

'General, this is the President. I want you to get some fighters in the air and send them east. There are forces attacking several of our cities. I want you to force some of them, at least, to the ground where they can be arrested.'