'Try Spanish,' Carrera suggested.
'No, no,' Lourdes insisted. 'I don't think we have a similar word. I'll remember it. I'll… outsourcing?'
Carrera's eyes flew wide. The irises swiveled like twin turrets to focus on the girl. 'Say that again.'
'Outsourcing. You know, where you hire outside…'
'I know what it means.' A trace of excitement crept into his voice, along with some self-contempt. 'I have many flaws, Lourdes. One of these is pride. One of the effects of that pride is a tendency not to look outside myself or whatever group I control for help when I need it. Lourdes, go wake Dan, would you? Then call the airport and get me a flight for ummm… where the hell did I read Abogado had settled down to? Ah, I recall. I need a flight for Phoenix Rising, in the Federated States. Hmmm. For the day after tomorrow, I think. Lastly, make me an appointment for tomorrow afternoon with a corporate law firm in Ciudad Balboa.'
Lourdes nodded and got up to go.
Carrera held up a hand to stop her. 'And Lourdes? Neither I nor all my damned geniuses could come up with that trick. But you did. Thank you.'
Unsure as to quite why, Lourdes felt a bounce in her step and happiness in her heart as she left the kitchen.
City Recycling Plant,
Phoenix Rising,
Oglethorpe, FSC, 23/9/459 AC
Some things in human civilization are eternal. Among these is the tedious, tiresome and, above all, odiferous task of waste disposal. Carrera could smell the plant from five miles away. Worse, the speed of the auto was greater than olfactory fatigue could deal with. The stink only grew worse.
Nor had it ended by the time he was invited into the office of Major General (Retired) Kenneth Abogado.
'It was good of you to see me, General, on such short notice,' Carrera said, 'and especially right after Thanksgiving.'
General Abogado merely smiled. (Though perhaps 'shit-eating grin' described the smile better.) He smiled first because it pleased him to be remembered as a soldier and as a general officer; not everyone with whom he came in contact had the good manners to do so. He smiled second that an offer had been made to him-better said, suggested to him-that might, just might, help him escape from the constant smell of human shit being recycled. Life had been hard for Abogado since leaving the army-hard, disappointing and degrading.
'My name is Pat Hennessey, though I go by Carrera now. I doubt you remember me, but we've met.'
Abogado frowned in concentration. He stared for a moment at Carrera's eyes.
'I remember now,' he said. 'You're the one who lectured me when you were a lieutenant on the problems with subcaliber ranges; how the other full scale things that visible ruined the training effect.
'And you had the beautiful wife,' he announced, remembering a single dance at a single officers' event with the single most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
'Yes. The general has a good memory. As for my wife… 'had' is the word,' Carrera said bitterly. 'In a way that's why I am here.'
Abogado started to open a desk drawer where he kept a pistol. Then he remembered he had never even considered trying to sleep with this man's wife. He closed the drawer and relaxed.
Carrera explained to Abogado, coldly-no tears now, no emotion showing through his armor-what had happened to his family.
'Son, that's a tough break,' was all Abogado could say.
'Very tough,' Carrera agreed, nodding. 'Nor am I going to just take it. But I seem to have hit a wall.' In a few sentences he explained what he had done to date in Balboa and what he was trying to do.
'I have several problems, but only one of those can you help me with.'
'Help? How?'
'You are familiar with Professional Military Personnel Resources and what they do?'
'I know about them,' Abogado spat out bitterly. 'They shut me out. Just shut me out. And me the best trainer of infantry in the goddamned army, too.'
'I'm not a huge fan of PMPR, either, General. And yes, you were very good,' Carrera agreed. 'Would you like the chance to train soldiers again?'
Ordinarily Abogado would have played a little hard to get, to sweeten the deal, whatever it was. However, at about that time the wind outside shifted and an overpowering whiff of recycled and recycling human feces assaulted his nose. 'Where do I sign?'
'Not so simple,' Carrera cautioned. 'You haven't even heard what I need.'
'Seems obvious. You need someone to train and lead an expeditionary force.'
Carrera sighed. He hated to disappoint the old man. A bastard Abogado may have been, but he'd been very kind and patient with up-and-coming lieutenants. Yet… Abogado was old. He might have been quite something in his younger days. Indeed, he had been quite something. But he could never stand that kind of pace again.
Carrera sighed and shook his head again. 'No, sir. We have a commander already. And a deputy. And a staff. What I need is a school. You have done that, and done it very well. That's why I am here; to offer to let you do so again.'
Abogado kept the disappointment off of his face and out of his voice. Yet, I am not too old, a part of his mind insisted. I am not!
'Details?' he asked resignedly.
'In the big picture,' Carrera said, 'I am having a lawyer down there form a corporation. It will be called FMTGRB: 'Foreign Military Training Group, Republic of Balboa.' Inc., of course. Or, rather 'S.A.' Means the same thing.
'If you accept my offer, the day-to-day running of this corporation will be yours, within certain guidelines my people in Balboa are working on.'
'And this corporation is to do precisely what?'
'Well, I am willing to listen to reason on this but basically I need a group to train officers, warrants and senior noncoms. I need one shortened Command and General Staff College course for about one hundred officers. Then I need that CGSC to morph itself into a general purpose, all-arms advanced course for about another hundred. Then I need it to morph again into a combined Officer Candidate School and Officer Basic Course. After that, this group is to change back into a small CGSC, a small Advanced Course, and a continuing OCS.'
'Clear enough. I would need maybe twenty… oh, possibly twenty-four good men for that. I could find them, I'm sure.'
Carrera nodded. This was close enough to his own estimate. 'Second, I need a Noncommissioned Officers Academy. We will need to take Senior NCOs and bring them into the real military world, take middle and junior NCOs and prep them to be platoon leaders and platoon sergeants-'
Abogado interrupted, 'You mean send them to OCS?'
Carrera shook his head in an emphatic no. 'They'll need much of the same training, yes, but I intend to follow the Sachsen model in this and keep a very small officer corps, about three percent of strength. Most platoons will be led by NCOs. Anyway, call this Group Two of FMTG; the officer group being Group One.
'Then I need something like FS Army Ranger School-call it, 'Cazador School'-to take the best of new privates and select from them those who have that… oh… certain something that makes for a really good officer or senior NCO.
'The last groups are a little fuzzy right now. My staff is still working on requirements. Basically, though, we'll need a center for training and testing of large battalions or small regiments, a service support training group that will also train specialists and warrant officers, a small naval school, a flight school for both helicopters and fixed wing aircraft, and you will need a small headquarters yourself.'
Abogado whistled. 'Tall order.'
'Yes. Very. Can you do it?' Carrera asked.
The old general raised one quizzical eyebrow. 'Can you fund it?'
'Not yet,' Carrera conceded. 'Rather, I can fund part of it now, but not all, not just yet. That must await developments.'
'You mean, 'Don't quit my day job,' right?' Abogado's voice was heavy with disappointment.
Carrera pondered for a moment. 'No. Quit your day job. Get away from the smell of shit and come back to
