Carnifex

of the Legion del Cid, mercifully sans drums and bagpipes, picked up the wedding march.

* * *

Oh, God, I'm so nervous, thought Artemisia as she led her party forward along the carpets laid to protect her shoes and dress from the grass. What if I'm not a good wife? What if he gets tired of me? What if . . . ?

Stop being an idiot, Arti, you and he are perfect together. It's going to be wonderful.

But what if my tits sag after the baby comes?

Then you get pregnant again and reinflate them.

But what if he get tired of my cooking?

Then you hire a cook. Lourdes already said that Patricio's gift to us is 'impressive and of many parts.' Besides, John's salary with the Legion, plus his retired pay from the FS Army, is huge by Balboan standards. And I can work, too. And then, too, Uncle Xavier is going to contribute.

But what if—?

* * *

'I'm sooo glad t'at's over, sir,' McNamara whispered.

Carrera answered, 'Men don't not enjoy the ceremony, generally, Top, but endure it because of the state it formalizes. By the way, did you know you're going to be a daddy?'

Mac sighed, embarrassed. 'She hasn't told me, but, yeah . . . I kinda figured it out.'

Smiling, Carrera chided, 'Bad, wicked, naughty sergeant major. Bad, wicked, evil, naughty, bad, bad, bad sergeant major. You should be ashamed. Oh . . . and Lourdes and I would like to stand as godparents, if that's okay with you and Arti.'

'We'd be honored, sir.'

* * *

'You got to be focking shittin' me, sir. I mean . . . well . . . we knew Lourdes had set up the honeymoon but . . . '

Carrera just smiled as there, on the parade field, a smallish airship descended and lowered ropes to half a dozen waiting heavy-duty recovery trucks packed to the brim with sandbags. Chartering the thing had cost a not-inconsiderable fortune but for his sergeant major, no expense was too great.

'Shitting you about what, Top?' Carrera asked. 'You and I are just simple soldiers. This kind of thing—an airship honeymoon to tour all of Colombia del Norte— seems too much to us. But she is . . . was Miss Balboa and she will, by God, have a honeymoon to set the continent wild.'

McNamara scoffed. 'T'at ain't it, you sneaky bastard. I know you. You ain't t'at nice. What you're doing is sending us on a whirlwind recruitin' tour, ain't you?'

Rather than deny it, exactly, Carrera answered, 'Siegel's going with you as a sort of aide de camp. You and he and Arti are going to entertain every goddamned General Staff in Colombia Latina on your trip.'

'T'at's nonsense, boss, no offense. T'ose arrogant assholes won't even talk to no non-com. Not even one wit' Miss Balboa on his arm.'

'Who says you're a non-com?' Carrera asked. He pointed at Siegel, standing not far away. Siegel came running bearing a carved silverwood box about two feet in length and perhaps four inches on a side. Siegel, wearing a huge smirk, stopped, standing at attention and holding the box out. Carrera opened it and drew from it a baton, about eighteen inches in length and an inch in diameter. The baton was gold colored, as were all sergeants major's batons. This one, however, was encircled by harpy eagles spiraling down its length. They looked like, and were, solid gold. There was a jewelry store in Ciudad Balboa that really wanted to keep in the Legion's good graces.

The crowd hushed. Rumors had suggested something like this. At the central reviewing stand Tom Christian announced, 'Attention to orders.'

'You see, Top,' Carrera explained, 'there was such a thing as a praetorian prefect. Then, too, the origin of your rank, back on Old Earth, was 'Sergeant Major-General  . . . '

* * *

What was probably the most finely tuned, spotlessly clean armored vehicle not merely on this world, but on two worlds and in the history of two worlds, pulled up by the gazebo. The band picked up the Wedding March again while Mac and Artemisia, both still in white, walked to it. They were pelted by rice and chorley seed the entire way.

At the tank, McNamara put his hands on Arti's still-narrow waist and lifted her to a cushion thoughtfully placed behind the turret. He then scrambled up to stand atop the tank where he bent to lift his new wife to her feet. Gently—no mean feat given the nature of Volgan-built tanks—the armored vehicle trundled off to just underneath the airship. There, they dismounted in reverse order and began to ascend the gangway the airship had lowered. They stopped twice on the way up, Artemisia with tears in her eyes, to wave to the crowd.

Waving back, crying, Lourdes whispered to her husband, 'Weddings do something to me. They make me horny. Take me home and fuck me. Now.'

'Orders are orders,' Carrera answered, reaching over gently to wipe away the tears flowing from Lourdes' huge brown eyes. 'And those orders, my lovely wife, are always a joy to obey.'

5/7/468 AC, Quarters Number One, Isla Real

Hamilcar had inherited the huge size of his mother's eyes, along with a blend of color from both parents. His were a brilliant green with the same dark circles around the iris that gave his father's such a frighteningly penetrating quality. He turned those big green eyes up at his mother and said, 'Mama, can I ask you for something?'

Lourdes, puttering in the kitchen, stopped what she was doing, looked down at her eldest and said, 'Yes, of course, baby. What is it?'

'When daddy goes back to the war . . . Mama, I want to go with him.'

Christ, no, not my baby, too.

'You're too small,' she answered. 'You're only four. When you're a grown man of five we'll discuss this again.'

'Does that mean I can go when I'm five?'

'No, it means we'll discuss it. Then. Not before.'

This was not an entirely satisfactory answer so Hamilcar upped the stakes. 'Mama, if you don't tell me I can go when I'm five . . . I'll go over your head.' He heard someone or another of his daddy's soldiers use that expression. He was pretty sure he understood what it meant.

Lourdes did understand what it meant. He'd go to his father to ask permission. Which Patricio just might give. And what objections will I have? I kept Hamilcar in the war zone for almost two years when he was a baby, just so I could be with my husband. I can't object to him being there now that's he's past being a baby.

'Do you want to break your mother's heart, Ham?' she asked.

'No.'

'Then please don't 'go over my head.' Wait until you're five and we will discuss it.'

Five is not so long a wait. 'All right, Mama. But if you don't let me go then, I'll go over your head.'

Interlude

7/9/49 AC, Balboa Colony, Terra Nova

In the thick Balboan night, with monkeys and antaniae and even the occasional trixie filling the air with sound, with the steady drone of mosquitoes in their ears, the Gurkha Rifles and the Sikh Pioneers bivouacked close together and well away from the ad hoc OAU infantry battalion. Frankly, while the Gurkhas and Sikhs got along just fine, neither could stand the undisciplined rabble from the OAU. Less still could Majors Dhan Singh Pandey and Amita Kaur Bhago stand the . . .

'Overbred, cowardly, stuffed shirt, little boy bunging, limey bastard, Duff- McQueeg,' as Amita usually phrased it.

'Please, Amita, be charitable,' Dhan chided. 'After all, we don't know he's a coward. Personally, I think he only stays with the OAU troops