Carnifex

said.

'If you are captured, of course . . . '

Khalid snorted. 'Allahu akbar! Long live the Salafi jihad.'

'Quite. The Kosmos down there will insist on superior treatment for you as long as you can credibly claim to be on the side of the Ikhwan. Just remember, Khalid, they must be made to feel the hard hand of the war they support.'

Interlude

25/7/47 AC, UN Compound, Ciudad Balboa, Balboa Colony, Terra Nova

'These bandits must be made to feel the hard hand of the war they have brought upon themselves,' insisted Bernard Chanet, with the pounding of his fist upon his desk.

Major Dhan Singh Pandey, seconded to the UN Peacekeeping Force for Terra Nova (UNPFTN), from the Army of India's 11^th Gurkha Rifles, said nothing. His colleague and discrete lover, Amita Kaur Bhago, 32^nd Battalion (Pioneer), the Sikh Regiment, scowled and unconsciously reached for the kirpan, or sword, she wore at her side.

She was not so even tempered as Pandey. And the sneering look this UN swine had given the work her troops had put into rebuilding the compound already had her tomcat-ready for a fight. Pandey reached out with his own hand to place it atop her lighter one. 'Not yet, lioness,' he whispered.

'I don't like this greasy bastard,' she whispered back. 'What does such as he know of the hard hand of war?'

'We'll discuss it later. Now take your hand off of your kirpan.'

Chanet noticed the byplay, though he couldn't hear what was said. Especially did he notice Amita looking him over as someone the world would be a better place without. He'd noticed, too, what a damnably handsome woman she was. But seeing the white knuckled hand gripping the hilt of the long dagger she wore killed any lust before it could quite form.

Chanet had shuttled in earlier in the day from the main base at Atlantis, bringing with him the Deputy Special Representative for the Secretary General, Tariq Lakhdar, age twenty-four. It was Lakhdar who would see to the local efforts, under Chanet's overall direction. And why not? Chanet had owed a favor to Lakhdar's uncle, after all.

'I don't like the look of the other greasy bastard, either,' whispered Amita.

'Later.'

The small assembly held the leadership for the entire peacekeeping force for Balboa. Besides Chanet and Lakhdar, the civilian leaders, and Pandey and Bhago, from the Army of India, there were four captains from the Organization of African Unity, one German, seconded from 5^th Panzer Division, a Belgian Commando, a Ukrainian aviator major, and David Duff-McQueeg, a British Royal Marine artilleryman, in overall command.

Amita liked none of them, finding the Africans undisciplined, the German arrogant, the Belgian grotesquely beery, the Ukrainian incomprehensible, and Duff-McQueeg, who . . . 'Stupid, rude, limey bastard. No wonder they couldn't hold on to India. I never really understood the American Revolution, or our own resistance, until I met that piece of shit.'

'Amita, later!'

Duff-McQueeg stood up and announced, 'We've driven off the main guerilla band. But we'll never get full control until we can cut off their food. The first thing we're going to do is to establish ration controls, tight ration controls, here in the city. That means no, you bloody Sikhs will not be giving out food at the temple I am sure you intend to establish . . . '

Chapter Fifteen

They imagine they're the wave of the future, but it's only sewage flowing downhill.

—Lois McMasters Bujold, Shards of Honor

29/4/468 AC, Building 59, Fort Muddville, Balboa

'Magnificent, mon General,' Malcoeur toadied. He was not talking about architecture.

'Quoi?' Janier asked, in a tone that meant, shut up, fool.

General Janier never really thought the old headquarters for the FS Army in Balboa was quite grand enough for his own, indisputable, magnificence. Oh, yes, the arched gate underneath his office was all well enough, even if not quite the triumphal arch the general would have preferred. And the building was solid; you have to give the Columbian pigs that. But it was such a utilitarian structure, no marble, few mirrors . . . no quarters for a mistress. How could a people even think of themselves as civilized who could build a headquarters for a senior general and not provide quarters for his mistress?

'Ah, well,' said Janier aloud, 'we'll soon have that fixed.'

'Sir?' asked Malcoeur, cupping one hand to his ear to ward off the sound of hammers and saws coming from the just down the hall where Janier had evicted much of his staff to create an apartment.

'Nothing for your ears, Malcoeur, you rotund little swine,' Janier sneered. He pointed at the aide with his marshal's stick with its thirty-two gold and silk embroidered eagles and ordered, 'Bring me my topper.' The top of the baton was engraved, 'Terror Belli, Decus Pacis.'

While the toady scurried off to Janier's desk to fetch the general's headgear, Janier admired himself in the mirror. It was understandable; he did cut quite a fine figure in the blue velvet and gold-embroidered informal dress uniform of a marshal of Napoleonic France. Hundreds of golden oak leaves covered the facings, the collar, the shoulders, and ran down each sleeve.

Janier fingered one of the eight gold buttons on the coat, adjusting it minutely. He then tugged and twisted at the stiff, high collar. It was beastly uncomfortable. By the time Janier was satisfied with the collar Malcoeur, the 'rotund little swine,' had returned with the headdress.

It would be unseemly for the general to bow his noble head to a fat little wretch like Major Malcoeur. Instead, as Janier admired himself in the mirror, the major pulled up a chair, stood upon it, and gently lowered a replica of the golden laurel wreath worn by Janier's hero, Napoleon I, for his coronation.

* * *

The drone of saw and wham-wham-wham of hammer were distant in the conference room at the other end of the long, white stuccoed and red tiled building. Indeed, so distant were the sounds that President Rocaberti was hardly aware of them. What with the election coming up, the numbers, country-wide, still running against him, and the near certainty of criminal charges if he lost; well, one could understand why the President wasn't aware of much.

Thus, Rocaberti barely noticed when all the Gaulic officers and functionaries present stood to attention around the conference table and the chairs lining the walls. Only he, his nephew, his minister of police, and the ambassador from United Earth remained seated. They remained that way, that is, until Rocaberti caught sight of Janier, his porcine little aide standing behind, glaring down at him from his nearly two meters of imperious height. The aide made little gestures with his hand, Arise.

Does he have any idea how ridiculous he looks in that outfit? Rocaberti wondered. Why is he glaring at me? Does he expect me, the chief executive of a sovereign nation, to rise for him? The Frog bastard; he does.

Rocaberti, never among the staunchest of men, stood, along with the other Balboans who had accompanied him. Only the UE ambassador remained seated and to that worthy Janier gave a respectful nod before seating himself.

'Report,' Janier ordered.

The operations officer answered, 'Preparation for flying in three more infantry battalions two days before the election are complete, mon general. An additional battalion of light armor has loaded ship and will arrive at about the same time as the light infantry. The government has already approved.'

'What of the TU?' Janier asked.

'Why would we inform them? They'll be presented with a fait