Hennessey continued. "Assume that we will never be able to afford a high tech battlefield communications system. No microwaves, few or no frequency hopping radios. Regular radios and wire are what they need."
Kuralski observed, "I'll need a computer to keep track of all of this. It will save months of work."
"Fine. Have the log shop get you one, the best available. And don't scrimp on computer security. On second thought, Greg, better make it about six. This isn't our only concern."
Hennessey turned to Rudel. "Dutch, don't worry about NBC"nuclear, biological and chemical-"warfare beyond defense, individual protective masks and suits, recon, and some decontamination capability. This isn't that kind of country. Worry about defensive training.
"Nauseating as the thought is, I half expect to have to call whatever force we build 'Military Police.' Don't let the name fool you. It's to be a combat organization, having within it all arms and services. And it has to be ready to deploy and to fight by early 461."
Everybody looked doubtful about that. A mere year and a half to go from a standing start to something resembling an army in battle? Ridiculous! Absurd! Impossible!
Except they'd seen Hennessey do impossible things before.
Hennessey paused briefly, then added, "In the back of your minds, I want you to keep the concept of a 'nation in arms'… just in case.
"A last word before we adjourn for the evening. For various reasons I have found it useful to go by my wife's maiden name, 'Carrera.' It's a name of some local importance. It also became one of mine- here, at least-the day I married her. Mostly it may help to allay suspicions about our obviously gringo origin. Force yourselves to think of me that way from now on: Carrera. "
Hennessey tossed off the dregs of his drink, then grinned evilly. "The fucking wogs are going to remember it, I promise you."
Casa Linda, 5/9/459 AC
"Sir, there are four Civil Force officers and an NCO here to see you."
Jamey Soult stood at a respectful attention, a habit Carrera had never succeeded in breaking him of. "Shall I have the rest of the boys stand to?"
"Quietly, Jamey. Have Sergeant Major collect up five or six of them. Silenced pistols. You stay with them. Have them keep out of sight and earshot. I'll call if I need you."
Soult left quickly to summon aid. Those people go after the boss and there'll be hell to pay; I promise.
Carrera walked down the stairs to meet the men who were very likely there to arrest him. Why the hell didn't David let me know this was coming? He should be in a position to know.
When Carrera entered the living room where the Balboans waited, he relaxed immediately. They all had the look of men with no intention of arresting anyone. They stood up when he entered the room.
Taking the Balboans in with a single glance, Carrera saw that they were a major, about as high a rank as existed in the Civil Force that had replaced the BDC, two captains, a lieutenant and a sergeant major. He knew none of them by sight, however their uniforms all bore name tags that identified them.
The major's name was Fernandez. He was small, slight and mildly stoop shouldered. Withal, he looked like nothing so much as a pharmacist. Certainly, his appearance gave no hint of the frightful reputation of which David Carrera had warned.
After shaking hands, Fernandez asked, " Senor, are you the same Carrera that has been supporting the families of those killed in the 447 Invasion?"
"I am."
"May we ask why you are providing for them out of your own pocket? And why now, rather than before?"
"Now," Carrera answered, "because I only recently acquired the wherewithal to help them. As to why, for no reason than that I thought it wrong for the parents, wives, sons, and daughters of brave men to go in want if I could do something about it."
Besides, it may be that I am to blame for their loss. In part, anyway.
"I see," said the major. "An unusual generosity. You are from the FSC, are you not?"
"I am, though I make my home here."
Fernandez began a staccato interrogation, pausing to bite on his lower lip between questions. "Why should you do that? Why should you come here now? What do you intend here? We know that you have a small army here on the premises with you. We also know that you were once a military officer, that you were part of the invasion force, and that you lost your family in the Terra Nova Trade Organization attack. I have investigated. And no, I have not yet informed the government."
Hennessey-no, "Carrera" now-said simply, "Revenge."
Major Fernandez smiled. "That is a worthy goal. It was also worthy to plant your brother-in-law in my department. However, though your brother-in-law is a nice kid, he has no business in intelligence… so please get him moved."
"I don't know where else to send him."
"Major Valdez, from 5th Company of the Civil Force, will take him. He said to me, just a few days ago, 'I'm down one platoon leader, anyway, as soon as I fire the stupid son of a rabiblanco bitch who's wrecking my chingada third platoon now."
The other officers with Fernandez tried to control smiles. They failed. Everyone in the Civil Force knew about Valdez, his general loathing of pure whites (though he loathed pure indians, too), and his foul mouth.
Patricio Carrera agreed, "Okay. Fine. David should be glad of the change. I hadn't intended to offend anyone. I just wanted to keep tabs on things."
"You didn't offend me. It is impossible to offend me. Unless you're a Pina or someone riding on his coattails or some gringo trying to run our country. That would offend me."
"You do not care for your former 'Supreme Leader'?"
Fernandez gave an evil, angry laugh. "No. Not me. Not my men. Not anyone in my department. Pina? When the going got tough that cowardly son of a bitch got going."
"Oh. I see your point. Major Fernandez… I will not run out on you. But I will tell you that in the course of avenging myself on the stinking wogs I am going to help make Balboa free, really free, for the first time in centuries. That… and I know what I'm doing."
Carrera paused, then made a decision. "Follow me, please. Just you. Say nothing."
With a shrug, Fernandez motioned for his men to remain while he followed Carrera downstairs to the staff area. It was empty at the time, as McNamara and the other on duty were currently upstairs checking pistols and ammunition.
Carrera flicked on a light. Fernandez saw three entire walls each covered with an intricate diagram of lines, circles, boxes and numbers. There were many gaps in the diagram.
" This is why I'm here. I don't want to 'run your country.' I just want to help it build an army; like any other country has. This is part of that, though it's a long way from complete. Tell me, Major Fernandez, have you ever even been in a real army? No, I thought not. Not your fault. But you do not, cannot, know what goes into creating one. Do you know what schools you need? What equipment? How many spare parts of what type? Ammunition? How many trucks to operate at a given distance from a port? How many drivers and mechanics? How much does it all cost? How long will it take to do X? Is Y what you should really be doing?
"I do know. And I'm here to show you… you and the rest of the old Defense Corps."
Fernandez moved closer and looked over one of the diagrams. He noted that there were many blank spaces. This Carrera doesn't have all the answers then. But I didn't even know the questions. He considered this. At length he nodded his head slowly. "Perhaps you do know. Perhaps you do, indeed. How can I help?"
"In many ways, Major. Notably by keeping the government off my ass and out of my business. And by giving me whatever you can to make them support this effort."
"My department can help with this."
"Then viva Balboa, Major. Will you and your men join me for a drink?"