Carnifex

most of those foolish boys are not suicide bombers. We load them down with explosives, yes, or set them to driving automobiles full of explosives. But we never tell them they're going to be blown up. Instead, they go somewhere as couriers. And when they're in a good place we set them off by radio or cell phone.'

'But they make films beforehand, announcing their martyrdom,' insisted the interviewer.

Nizal, still on script, laughed. 'Oh, the films. When we have them make those we tell them it's just in case they're killed in action, so that the cause will still benefit. I think not one in a hundred, not one in a thousand, would actually blow themselves up if told to.'

'So all they are to you are tools, mere drivers and couriers?'

'That's about it,' Fadeel agreed. 'That, and fools, ignorant boys who have no clue what they're getting into.'

'Those boys get a lot of press, though,' cued the interviewer.

'Oh, the press,' said al Nizal. 'Let me tell you about the press.'

'Do you mean our press or the Tauran and FSC press?'

'There's really not much difference between them,' al Nizal answered. 'All of them shunt us money. All of them spread our propaganda. Any of them will help us bait an ambush, or will be happy to point out coalition soldiers to our riflemen. We wouldn't have a chance in this war without the press—'

'But your people have killed members of the press. Hamad al Thani, for example, was blown up not long ago. Aren't you afraid they'll eventually retaliate?'

Fadeel snorted, as required, and answered, 'They wouldn't dare.'

15/1/463 AC, Ninewa, Sumer

While Fadeel al Nizal had not given up every cell, every bank account, and every cache of arms of which he knew—not quite, not yet—even of those he had given up not all had been turned. This wasn't because they could not have been, but because there were better and worse ways of destroying them. Better said, sometimes one really could kill two birds with one stone. And if one could not only destroy a terrorist cell but at the same time destroy the mutual confidence and trust between those who blew up children in markets and those who called them 'freedom fighters,' so much the better.

* * *

Only one of Terra Nova's three moons, Bellona, shone down on the scene.

'Come! Hurry, hurry!' insisted the keffiyah-topped rifleman to the reporter come to interview his chief. 'Into the van before you are seen. The enemy has eyes everywhere.'

Silently, warily, the news team approached the van. They were three. The reporter, who seemed to be in charge, was a tall, swarthy sort who gave his name as 'Montoya,' and said he was from Castile, in Taurus. The cameraman said nothing beyond his name, 'Cruz.' The translator introduced himself only as 'Khalid.' All three had brown eyes. None were quite white, though the cameraman was much darker than the other two. They seemed to be in rather good physical shape as well. On his shoulder, the cameraman easily bore an unusually large camera which the translator said was a special model for direct transmission to the home station. All three wore the body armor that was de rigueur for nearly everyone in Sumer by this time.

As the news team reached the van they were each subject to a hasty but thorough search of their persons. Neither their cell phones, nor their armor, nor their large camera with its tripod incited any comment. With a nod from the searcher, their guide again said, 'Hurry. Into the van.'

Once inside, all three were blindfolded. 'It's for your own good,' their guide explained. 'What you do not know you cannot be forced to reveal. And you know the enemy has horrible ways.'

'Militaristic hyenas,' said Montoya.

'Imperialist pigs,' agreed Cruz.

'Infidel dogs,' summed up Khalid.

With the news team blindfolded, the van sped off with no more wheel screeching than one would expect of any innocuous van in any major city in Sumer.

The drive was long, though it never left the city; the sounds of traffic told as much. After a period of time the van stopped. The news team could hear the driver open the door and get out. They heard what sounded like a garage door being opened by hand. The driver returned, closed his door, put the van into gear, and drove forward into blackness. Once the van stopped he killed the engine, once again got out, turned on a light, and closed the garage door behind him.

'You can take your blindfolds off now,' said the guide.

'Have all the major chiefs come?' asked Montoya. Khalid, the translator, passed on the question.

'Only three,' answered the guide, with a weary shrug. 'You know how the streets are these days with the infidel swine. The others couldn't risk it.'

'I understand,' agreed Montoya. 'Fascist beasts.'

'Anti- progressive poltroons,' added Cruz.

'Heretical blasphemers,' finished Khalid.

'This way, friends,' said the guide, more warmly, if still wearily. 'The chiefs that have come are eager to see you.'

'As we are them,' said Montoya.

Clutching his rifle firmly, the guide led the team out of the garage and into a well lit, finished basement where three somber looking men awaited, each of them armed with pistols in high fashion shoulder holsters, with rifles at their feet, and with a guard each standing by. The guards' weapons were loaded and ready, though they, themselves, seemed calm enough.

* * *

There are a number of ways of feeding ammunition to a weapon. The simplest is, of course, by hand, one round at a time. More complex is to use a magazine or belt. Magazines come in several varieties, single stacked, double stacked, and rotary, for example. There are also somewhat rarer approaches, notably helical and cassette.

* * *

The guide made introductions. Ordinarily, this would have been done over food and drink. These were no ordinary times, however. It wasn't every day that the faithful were able to make a broadcast through a Tauran news network. Normally they had to settle for al Iskandaria. And there was no telling how quickly the infidels would be able to home in on the transmission. Best to be quick.

'Set up the camera, Cruz, quickly,' Montoya ordered. 'We must hurry; there is no telling what fresh atrocities the enemies of the people are planning.'

'Yes, sir,' answered the cameraman who went about doing just that, setting up the camera and fine tuning its angle of view. When finished, Cruz got behind the large camera and announced he was ready. By that time, two of the guards had taken position at the corners of the room behind the news team.

Meanwhile, Montoya hooked each of the three chiefs up with small microphones, then hooked himself up as well. As he did, unnoticed he pressed a small button. A radio signal immediately went out to the news team's backup. Then Montoya, himself, backed up to stand nearer the door.

Montoya looked at Khalid. Yes, he appeared ready, too.

Montoya smiled at the three Sumeri men at the table and announced, 'Then, gentlemen, let us begin . . .  now.'

* * *

The really tricky part hadn't been ripping the guts out of a new camera, nor even getting a weapon inside. The bitch, the absolute bitch, had been getting enough ammunition, with a reliable enough feed and ejection mechanism, inside the camera. No stacked magazine would do, they didn't hold enough ammunition. A belt required too complex a mechanism in the inner weapon. Rotary was invariably too fat.

This was where the close relationship between the Legion and the some elements of the Volgan Republic came in. The latter had a new submachine gun, the Aurochs, which used a helical magazine containing sixty-four nine-millimeter rounds and which fired at a rate of just over seven hundred rounds per minute, ordinarily. The mechanism could be modified to spit out closer to twelve hundred, however. Moreover, it had been.

* * *

At the word 'now' four things happened. Montoya and Khalid, whose real names were, in fact, Montoya and Khalid, pivoted and launched themselves at the guards stationed in the corner. At the same time, Cruz, whose real name was Cruz and who was really in charge, depressed a button on the handle of his 'camera.' The lens, which was a much thinner glass than it looked, immediately broke as a nine-millimeter bullet departed through it, followed quickly by another seven. All left the 'camera' accompanied by great bursts of flame. Lastly, just as the first bullet left, a small panel in the side of the camera opened to allow a spent casing, followed by another seven, to depart.

The guard and guide standing behind the dignitaries were the