The Lotus Eaters

'Working on it.' Which is to say, beating my head against a wall. Patricio's pet senator in the Federated States couldn't help, or wouldn't, which amounts to the same thing. And we can't fix the bastard. Butter-fingered damned infantry.

'No matter how well I train the pilots,' Robinson reminded, 'the thing still won't fly without the flight computer.'

'Working on it.'

Robinson slumped his shoulders, clasped his hands together in front of himself and bobbed his head briskly three or four times. 'Yessir. Sorry, sir.'

One of the worst things about torture, thought Fernandez, is that when it's over—assuming you don't just off the fucker, of course—you've got something less than a human being to deal with. Then again, this one wasn't much of a human being to begin with.

* * *

Fernandez, since his own offices were in Ciudad Balboa on the mainland, had borrowed a driver and vehicle from a friend once he'd arrived on the island. Since the Legion's move to the mainland was still somewhat incomplete, and since full facilities were likewise incomplete and would be for some years, the main military exchange remained on the island, not too far from the Punta de Coco airfield. He had the driver take him there.

There wasn't much he needed, actually, that couldn't have been purchased in the smaller exchanges near the city but, 'Since I am here, I may as well.'

No ID card was required on the island since it was almost entirely military. The few civilians around, mostly in one or another version of the 'entertainment' industry, were allowed privileges as a matter of courtesy. Fernandez walked through the main doors and headed for the liquor section. That was one area where the prices and selection beat the both the military and civilian facilities of the city hands down.

On the way, Fernandez passed by the book store and decided to pick up some reading material. It was one of Carrera's tenets that a major reason that most of the armies of Colombia del Norte stank to the high heavens was that they had far too limited a selection of military reading in their native tongues for effective self education. Legionary Press, a wholly owned subsidiary of Legiones del Cid, S. A. , made good that lack in Balboa, having translated and printed, so far, about a quarter of Carrera's personal library along with more than a thousand other militarily significant works.

All publications were made available, down to maniple level, by the Legion, without cost to the units. For people who wanted their own copies, however, or wanted, at least, not to have to wait—since the free distribution system was never quite as timely as the 'for cost' system—the books were available via the exchange.

Hmmm, Fernandez thought, gazing over the shelves of the 'New Editions' section, already have a copy of Intelligence in War, and besides, the author now works in my shop. Ah, I see Marqueli Mendoza has something out under her own name, Family and State. I'll get that, he decided, fingering the book from the shelf and placing it under one arm. Aha, a new, unabridged edition of Complete Verse of Rudyard Kipling. Absolutely got to have that. And . . . what's this? Memoirs of Belisario Carrera (Abridged). That might be interesting. And, lastly, since I can't carry any more conveniently, not and have room for a couple of bottles of cognac, I'll get Poetry of the Great Global War.

That should do for a while.

Fort Cameron, Balboa, Terra Nova

Though Volga had plenty of doctors, product of the Red Tsar's emphasis on quantity, it was the considered opinion of the 22nd, which certainly had enough experience of Marxist medicine, that the Legion's medicos were both better trained and much better equipped. Thus, the wounded from the operation in Santander, generally speaking, preferred to do their convalescence in Balboa rather than home. There was, however, at least one exception.

* * *

The 22nd was not only a hard fighting regiment; it was a hard drinking one as well. All the regiments of the Legion drank, of course, even if not all of its members did. The combat rations came with a rum ration integral to them. Legionary rum, at 160 proof, was considered pretty vile unless highly diluted. It was especially vile to the Volgans who much preferred vodka.

A bottle of vodka, imported from home, sat between Samsonov, Pavlov, and Chapayev on a cloth-covered table in an alcove of the 22nd's Officers' Club. Chapayev drank with his left hand. His right shoulder was still immobilized with bandages and a cast.

'I've a list of things we need, Victor,' said Samsonov, pushing a file folder over towards the tribune, 'and a regimental credit card for you to purchase them and ship them here. Also a list of contacts in case you have any trouble finding what we need. Also, if you are amenable, there is a list of people I'd like you to interview for possible accession into the regiment. If you agree to the last, I can extend your convalescence by half a day per applicant you interview, plus travel time. We did have some losses we need to make good.'

Chapayev replaced his glass on the table and answered, 'No problem comrade col . . . err . . . comrade leg . . . err . . . sir. I've seven weeks to convalesce. Even with the time I intend to spend on . . . err . . . with my wife there should be some occasion for some shopping and even interviewing.'

'What's it been now, Victor? Almost two years? That's too long.'

'Yes, sir, I agree. I'm hoping she'll come back here with me when I return.'

Samsonov nodded. 'One hopes she will, Victor. Duque Carrera told me he is sending a crew especially to build you a house to raise a family in. 'We need that boy's children,' he said to me. You've made quite a friend there.'

Chapayev said, 'He's a good commander, isn't he? I owe him for my company, I think.' The Volgan's face grew somber then. Slowly and carefully, he added, 'I don't know if she is coming back for sure. The last time I got a message . . . you know how the mail is from home, even the electronic mail . . . was before we went to Santander. She didn't seem overly enthused about coming here. Maybe when I show her the drawings of the new house she