The Lotus Eaters

nearly.'

Janier nodded. The Gallic carrier would be a help. 'Inquire,' he said. 'Paint a dire picture. Get me in a position where I do not have to worry about the shit the Balboans pull.'

De Villepin looked museful for a moment. 'Speaking of pulling shit,' he said, 'this might be a good way to bring in the commandos we need to assist our Balboans in their little project, without tipping anyone's hand. And, then too, the Charlemagne would be extremely useful in ensuring that no troops come from Isla Real to the mainland during those events.'

Cruz Residence, Ciudad Balboa, Terra Nova

I am so tired of this shit, thought Cara, as she leaned against the doorframe of the house she shared with Cruz and watched her husband's back recede into faint light of the streetlamp. Cruz had his rucksack slung over one shoulder and his rifle gripped in the opposite hand. He placed both in the trunk, then walked to the automobile's door. He stopped to wave, once, and then opened the door and sat down, closing the door behind him. The car started with a muffled roar.

Cara Cruz sighed and shook her head. How many times have I seen you off like this, standing alone in a doorway? I wish I understood what it is that calls to you. I wish I understood the smile you try to hide when going on active service.

Of course I don't understand those things, not for a minute. All I understand is that there is a call, that you do love your work . . . and that I love you, you bastard.

Oh . . . and I understand that you know I'll be waiting here for you when you come home. Please come home.

BdL Dos Lindas, Puerto Jaquelina de Coco, La Palma Province, Balboa, Terra Nova

The early morning sun lit the sea, but only lightly upon the top and the edges of the coastal jungle. Centurion Ricardo Cruz rested his hands on the chain railing to one side of the ship's stern, looking at the shore as the ship made way parallel to it. Near his feet rested his pack and rifle. Around him, likewise seated on the deck, rested the men of his platoon.

It wasn't much of a port, Cruz thought. And, he surmised, it could never do as a homeport for a major warship. It didn't have much of an airstrip. It was not much of a town. Indeed, if one took and weighed every building in the town, plus the weight of the asphalt on the airstrip, and the two rock jetties that defined the port, the light aircraft carrier laying two miles off shore would still have outweighed the entirety of what was on land.

'No, it isn't much,' Cruz mused. 'And yet it is still ours, and no foreigners may walk in and take it from us.'

I wish I could tell you, Cara, that that's the reason I'm here. But that would be a lie. The fact is that I love it, the action, I mean, and that I need it.

Cruz sensed the presence of another standing nearby. He turned to look and saw one of the swabbies of the classis.

'Centurion Cruz?' the sailor asked.

'Yes.'

'I'm to lead you to the helicopters scheduled to take you in.'

'Lead on, then, sailor,' said Cruz, turning away from the shore and towards his men. 'On your feet, boys.'

* * *

Fosa, too, was quite unimpressed with the sleepy, mostly ramshackle town. 'On the other hand,' he mused from his bridge, watching his Yakamov helicopters boarding and launching chalk after chalk of foot soldiers to deposit them in and around the town and further into the jungle, 'it does have some buildings; it does have an all weather airstrip, and—even if the port isn't up to sheltering the Dos Lindas or the Tadeo Kurita—it can still deal with small merchies, the escorts, and landing craft. So it's good enough for our purposes.'

Suarez, standing to one side of Fosa, nodded. He also looked at a chart which showed how much of his force, a mere fraction of one infantry legion, was ashore. With a single tick mark on the chart from one of Fosa's sailors, Suarez stood to attention, saluted and said, 'I relieve you, sir.' That tick mark indicated that half of Suarez's force was now ashore.

It's a small enough force to begin with, Suarez thought, given the size of the area we have to reestablish control over.

Fosa returned the salute and answered, 'I stand relieved, sir.' From that moment on, until and unless the fleet retired, operational control of both had passed to the land force commander, just as it had previously resided with Fosa, the commander of the naval force.

'Good luck, compadre,' Fosa added. 'We'll support from here as we're able.'

As if to punctuate that statement the four triple six inch turrets of the BdL Tadeo Kurita rotated slightly. The center gun of number two then spoke in anger, flames and smoke shooting out over the water. Even as stunned or dead fish began floating to the surface, the entire ship barked out a twelve-gun broadside.

'Seems your boys have made contact with somebody,' Fosa observed.

Frente Nacional Liberacion Santerdereno (FNLS) Camp Twenty-seven, La Palma Province, Balboa, Terra Nova