Carnifex

really did try to keep his hands off the day to day running of the maniple. Still, when he asked . . .

'Goddammit, where did that fucking guerilla battalion go that the air engaged by Sanda yesterday?'

 . . . people hopped to find the answer.

'Sir,' answered a junior warrant, 'If you'll look over here'—the warrant pointed at a map hanging on one wall—'we've tracked that battalion for the last several days. Based on their normal daily progress, and accounting for slowing down as the hills begin their ascent to the mountains, they're somewhere between Sanda and this pass.' The warrant's pointer touched lightly on a spot where the track ran through a ridge.

'They're not there, however, or at least not in the strength we've been tracking.'

'Yeah, so? Where are they? What strength are they in?'

The pointer touched lightly on seventeen towns spaced about three miles apart within an oval on the map.

'We think they've split up. We think that one group, maybe the core of the battalion, took all or at least most of the horses and ran for it. That would explain why we can't find them where they ought to be. The others are likely in these towns.'

Triste sat silently for a minute, gazing at the map and thinking on it. Finally, he nodded his head, once, decisively.

'I think you're right. Get me the ops shop.'

17/9/467 AC, Sanda, Pashtia

They'd worked out the technique over the long campaign in Sumer. It was helicopter intensive, infantry intensive, and military intelligence, military police, civil affairs, and PSYOP intensive. Thus, the Legion could not do it everywhere simultaneously.

The first the townspeople of the targeted area knew of it, it was announced by the drone of well over one hundred helicopters bringing in two heavily reinforced cohorts of infantry supported by dozens of highly visible attack aircraft flying escort. The townsfolk's initial instincts were to fight. Initial instinctive urges to fight often wither when faced by overwhelming force.

The helicopters landed in a swarm, like locusts, everywhere. The troops they carried disgorged with practiced, professional speed and ease, and then raced to surround every town in the target area, plus another eight outside of where they expected the enemy to be. Loudspeaker teams from a psychological operations maniple accompanied the infantry. These advised the townsfolk not to resist, but to stay inside until they were ordered out. A single battery of 160mm mortars, set up just outside the target area, began to register fire at points outside the towns to reinforce what the PSYOP people said.

When fire came from one town, the heavy mortars, the attack aircraft overhead, and a single maniple of infantry reinforced with fourteen Ocelot light armored vehicles attacked brutally, destroying the town along with most of its men. The PSYOP teams broadcast the result of that resistance and the attack, as a warning to others. Indeed, only women and children were spared, and that only where practical.

Sanda was picked as the first town to be cleared as being the most likely to contain terrorists. The townsfolk were ordered to line up and come forward in single file to a point west of the town. They were met by troops from the MI using dogs specially trained to smell women. When people wearing women's clothing that did not smell quite right passed the dogs, the canines alerted.

Three of Noorzad's band were caught that way and carted off for rigorous questioning.

Other dogs sniffed for explosive residue and weapons oil. Several more terrorists were captured. Another was shot down on the spot for being a potential suicide bomb. The Legion preferred to use shotguns for this purpose as they had much better immediate knockdown and endangered bystanders less. People behind the victim suffered little beyond being splattered with blood and bits of flesh.

From the initial dog-sniffing station the townsfolk were sent through a medical station which not only administered inoculations but also drew blood for DNA samples. There, too, everyone was subjected to facial recognition imaging which went directly to military intelligence. The DNA results from the medical screening would arrive at the MI headquarters sometime in the next 24 hours.

Men were then separated from women. The men were kept under intensive guard and required, on pain of death, to be utterly silent. One shooting was sufficient to make the Legion's determination is this regard very plain. The women and children, on the other hand, were left in groups and much more lightly guarded.

It was with the women that questioning began, the interrogators being among the relatively few—and absolutely critical —women in the Legion del Cid. 'Who is your husband? Who is your father? How many brothers do you have? What are their names and ages? Where are they? Your sister is where? Married to whom? Look at this picture. Who is this man? Look at this one. Is that your father? Your brother? Look at this one. Is that your house? No? Who lives there?'

By day's end, the Legion had a complete family tree for the town of Sanda, imperfect only insofar as someone had lied. It also had some leads and partial family trees for some of the neighboring towns.

And that was where the DNA came in. Noorzad had dispatched thirty-two of his men to Sanda after his column was attacked. Those men could threaten the townsfolk into lying for them. They could not fool the DNA analysis that identified them as genetic outsiders. Of that thirty- two, eight had already been captured or shot. The remaining twenty-four were ostentatiously separated out from the rest of the men and, again, sent for rigorous questioning.

At that point blankets, water, and food were passed out to the men.

Only then, when the rest of the men in the town saw that the most serious immediate threat to their families was identified and removed, were the men questioned, privately and individually. In particular, the MI folks were interested in who within the town could reasonably be said to be part of the infrastructure of the guerillas. Those that were so identified, in secret, were further questioned. Some were sent away for more serious inquisition. After questioning, the rest were taken, one at a time, to search out portions of the town and especially the houses the women had identified as their own.

At about that point certain discrepancies crept up. Those responsible, male or female, were taken away to be questioned, once again, rigorously. Most of the discrepancies were cleared up in fairly short order. A few more people were sent to trial as potential guerillas. All of those were sentenced to be shot. Most then decided that discretion was, after all, the better part of valor.

The quality of voluntary information delivered to the MI suddenly grew to amazing heights. Sentence was then suspended, and prisoners released, on the understanding that if there were ever again any reason to suspect those half-pardoned people of further guerilla activity that not only would they be killed, but the Legion would send their own auxiliaries, Arabs or Pashtun, back with pictures and orders to kill every relation on whom they could get their hands.

A few of the captured guerillas were kept on hand for further questioning. The rest were given a very quick trial, made to dig their own graves, and then shot.

Then the group, less one platoon to watch the town, moved on to the next.

19/9/467 AC, Kibla Pass, Pashtia

In anyone else's army Sergeant Quiroz probably would have been a commissioned officer. He had a university education, from the University of La Plata. His IQ was in the range of the low 120s. He had no criminal record and was, all around, a good soldier, respected by superiors, peers and subordinates alike. Hell, Quiroz had been an officer in the army of La Plata.

In the Legion del Cid? 'No, not good enough. Especially are we suspicious of you having been an officer in an army we consider, at best, fourth-rate. Centurion track is the best we can offer, and you'll have to prove yourself as a noncom first.'

Thus it was that Quiroz found himself leading a nine-man squad of Cazadors, in a hide position overlooking a donkey track that led through a pass on its way over the mountains to the north. His nearest friendly neighbor was six miles to the east. And he didn't even have all his squad with him as five of the nine were sleeping in a hide some hundreds of meters away.

'Company, Sergeant,' one of Quiroz's men announced. 'Thirty men . . . no, thirty-one, on horseback with a donkey train. They look awfully tired. Might just be nomads.'

Quiroz crawled up to the scout's position and gestured for his binoculars.

'No . . . not nomads. Nomads would have rifles but not machine guns. Those fuckers are heavily armed. Hmmm . . . more than we can take in a heads up fight.'

The sergeant scuttled backwards, snake-like, and pulled a map from the cargo pocket on the leg of his trousers. He knew, generally, how far the advance of the Legion had gone and also knew that they were not yet in artillery range. Even the rocket launchers wouldn't reach so far from the very front. And those, being