Carnifex

States Army coastal artillery bunker. It was the most secure thing available.

'Screw that,' Carrera muttered, watching the gold being trundled off. 'We need something a lot more secure.' For this, and for the nukes, too.

'Sir?' Sergeant Major McNamara asked.

'It's just not enough, Top,' he answered. 'We need something like the Federated States Reserve Bank in First Landing.'

'Dunno, sir,' McNamara answered. 'I t'ink wit' maybe t'ree or four divisions worth of troops we got plenty o' security as is.'

'Not that many for much longer, Top. Maybe the equivalent of one left after we deploy.'

'And t'at's anot'er t'ing,' Mac scowled. 'It ain't right, you taking off and leavin' me behind.'

Carrera nodded, then sighed. 'Tell me how many other people I can trust absolutely, Top. Parilla gone to politics. Kuralski back in Volga and he's going to link up with us just before we go into Pashtia. Kennison? Gone. Some of the rest of our original group gone and the rest in critical positions. Most of the first rate Balboans commanding cohorts, tercios and legions. Who have I got left I can trust absolutely, would you tell me that?'

'Miss Lourdes?' McNamara offered. 'Oh . . . you meant people you can trust t'at can watch out for t'e Legion and Lourdes, didn't you? You one son of a bitch, you know t'at, boss?'

Carrera nodded. He didn't add, And this promises to be one miserable hard fight and I don't want to lose you, too, old timer. I've lost too much already.

McNamara sighed. 'Well, t'en, if I can go to t'e fucking war at least I can kick some hiney to get t'e boys out on time.'

And with that Mac turned away and began to stride toward what was called 'the Green Ramp'—though it wasn't a ramp at all—where a maniple of troops from Third Cohort, Second Tercio was preparing to board an aircraft heading for Thermopolis, just south of Pashtia.

14/8/467 AC, Presidential Palace, Ciudad Balboa

The meeting was conducted in French as Janier still didn't deign to speak Spanish. In a way, it was comforting to President Rocaberti that the Gauls were so firmly arrogant. It boded well for the prospects of himself and his clan that the new masters he was trying to bring in would be likely to prove much more amenable, and give little more than lip service to concepts popular among the world's progressive circles.

The problem with the FSC, the President thought, is that they really believe their own propaganda. They not only believe it, they honestly expect people to fall in with their program. The Frogs are more practical. Indeed, while claiming to be in the forefront of cosmopolitan progressivism one can't help but note that they gave up their colonies in Uhuru only in name, and still retain control and economic dominance. Moreover, their servants, the presidents and prime ministers in those colonies, manage to do quite well, graft wise. There's no reason the Gauls won't continue that fine tradition here, once they're in charge.

Even the fact that Janier sat at the presidential desk didn't upset Rocaberti, though his nephew Arnulfo was plainly annoyed but it. It just went to prove that the Gauls could be counted on to rule.

Malcoeur conducted the briefing for the very small number of people allowed to attend. These consisted of the President, his nephew, one of his two Vice-Presidents, the ambassador from the TU, the ambassador from United Earth, the minister of police, and Janier and Malcoeur themselves.

'What the general has in mind,' Malcoeur was saying, 'is that we shall bring in election monitors from all over that part of the world sympathetic to our aims—our Uhuran colo . . . I mean, allies, the Tauran Union, United Earth, some of the more progressive-minded politicians and ex- politicians from the FSC, and perhaps a few of the more pliable non-governmental organizations as well.'

Janier nodded and said, 'I think we can count on these people to reject even the possibility that a party of militaristic fascist beasts could actually be elected, so they'll instinctively insist the election was tampered with, fixed. We can even arrange a few incidents to take place under the eyes of the monitors and the press, if necessary.'

'That would be my department,' said the minister of police.

'Even so,' agreed Janier, casually stubbing out an awful-smelling cigarette. 'It is extremely important that the Tauran Union appear neutral, if the rest of the plan is to work. Is it not possible, Mr. President, for your party to add to the turmoil?'

'Surely, mon General.'

Malcoeur waited until his chief seemed satisfied with that answer before continuing, 'With the support of an international community outraged at the fraud and violence in the elections, the President will be in a good position to refuse to abide by the results. At that point, the mercenaries are placed in the unenviable position of acquiescing or of starting a war. We believe, if the scale of the current deployment is as large as it seems, that they will feel they're in a very poor position to commence a war. Acquiescence, therefore, seems assured.'

The minister of police harrumphed and said, 'If you're wrong about that, Major Malcoeur, I feel I ought to tell you that my police are heavily infiltrated with ex-legionaries. I can only rely on a few of my units and all of those are in the city. The countryside, to include my own police, is heavily in favor of Parilla.'

'The general understands that,' Malcoeur reassured the policeman. 'Those units of yours which are reliable will be critical to the eventual arrest of the mercenary leadership to break the impasse. We will, of course, back you up in that. And as for the countryside, does it really matter? The Transitway and the two terminal cities do not depend on the countryside nearly so much as the countryside depends on them. With those remaining under our control, the countryside will feel the pain.'

'Which is all well and good,' the policeman agreed, 'except for one thing. Those mercenaries going to Pashtia are not going to stay there. They will return.'

Before Malcoeur could answer, Janier said, 'I'm counting on it, Mr. Minister.'

15/8/467 AC, Wappen von Bremen

Girls will sleep with girls. Oftentimes, even most often, sex has nothing to do with it. Instead, they seek only the comfort of a warm body nearby.

For Marta and Jaquie, however, it was about sex, at least in good part. After years of sex with altogether too many men, it wouldn't be too far off to state that neither of the girls cared for men anymore as sexual partners. That didn't eliminate the desire for sex, of course, and like many prostitutes they'd turned to women or, more specifically, turned toward each other.

In the warm aftermath, still entwined in each others arms, Marta suddenly burst out with, 'I think we should do it.'

Jaquie smiled and answered, 'In case you weren't paying attention, love, I think we just did.'

'I meant . . . '

'Shush. I know what you meant. I talked to Rodriguez about it . . . well, indirectly I talked to him about it. There's one big problem. If the Legion caught us in bed together while we were members they'd put us both against a wall and shoot us.'

'They'd what? Just for making love? That's insane! Or is it because we're both girls?'

'No . . . the way Rodriguez explained it, it not only isn't insane it's the only sane policy. If we're having sex then there's a dangerously good chance we're in love . . . or will be. If we're in love with each other, personally, there's an also dangerously good chance either one of us would put the welfare of the other ahead of the Legion's or the mission's. Rodriguez said he'd never heard of a regulation against girls being with girls or boys being with boys, but there's an expansive rule against mutiny, and we'd fall under it.'

'I wouldn't want to give you up,' Marta sighed.

'Well . . . I've been thinking about it, too. Four years and the Legion would pay for us to go to school. We could learn business . . . or nursing . . . pretty much anything. We'd never have to sell our asses again. We could be together, free and clear.'

Jaquie and Marta both went quiet at that, laying on their backs and thinking hard. After what seemed a long time, Marta rolled over and put her face between Jaquelina's breasts, careful not to press too hard where Jaquie had been wounded. As she slipped one hand down between Jaquie's legs, Marta said, 'If we're going to have to stop this, for a while, let's enjoy what we can, now.'

16/8/467 AC, Kirov Tank Factory, St. Nicholasberg, Volgan Republic,

Khudenko and Kuralski clashed glasses full of vodka. 'Vashe Zdorovie,'

The Volgan said. Your health.

The glasses were considerably larger than the usual fifty-milliliter