A very embittered man, was our Johnny Prince Wozniak.
* * *
"I loathe that man," commented Parilla, at seeing one of Wozniak's more inane pronouncements carried on the airwaves.
"He gave us back the Transitway," Ruiz objected.
"Yes, he did," Parilla agreed, "And thereby deprived us of the pride we would have had if we had fought to get it. And thereby led directly to the dictatorship of Piña. Which thereby led to the invasion. Which led to the destruction of the only force in the country with the prestige to, at least potentially, fight the corruption of the Rocabertis and their ilk."
"Ah, never mind," Parilla continued. "There's nothing to be done about the do-gooding weasel, except to note that the harm he does all over the planet is in exact but inverse proportion to the good he claims he's doing."
Ruiz shrugged. "I think Patricio loathes the man even more than you do."
"It's possible. When our comrade, Carrera, hates someone he doesn't do it halfway. Never mind; no one is persuaded by Wozniak except those convinced in advance."
"That's really not true, Raul. In this country, the man enjoys considerable status. Some people really are being converted by him."
"Enough to matter to the election?" Parilla asked. "Enough to overcome the good will Patricio is buying us through public works and expanding the force?"
"Part way, at least."
"Chingada."
"Fernandez isn't worried at all, you know."
"I know, and I don't understand it," Parilla answered.
"He says our models are all wrong, that our analysts are contaminated by patterns of voting in the Federated States and Tauran Union. He says that people there will vote to preserve the welfare states they have. He insists that people here will not vote to create a welfare state where we don't have one. He says that they're not weak and spoiled like the Taurans and the Columbians."
"Is he right?"
"God, Raul, I don't know. I do know that he has his own sources."
Parilla contemplated that for a moment. Yes, he has his own sources and they are generally good ones. I wonder . . . Nah.
"Has the government budged any on the question of voting on the Isla?" he asked.
"No," Ruiz answered. "They insist that any vote taken there by any but the few civilian residents would be inherently suspect. All our men, those who are citizens, must return to their normal home to vote."
"Which breaks up our unit cohesion for the one legion we have left here," Parilla observed. "And deprives us of perhaps twenty-five thousand votes from those deployed to Pashtia and at sea."
"Is there any chance of Patricio returning the bulk of the force prior to the election?" Ruiz asked.
"Essentially none. He's just about to fan out from the temporary base he established at the north end of the Kibla Pass and he'll need every man he has in order to establish control over the area. And he's already short because of the Cazadors he sent to Xamar to guard the pirate chief."
"In some ways, he's really an idiot, you know, Raul? The job he does there won't make a lot of difference if we lose our base here."
18/4/468 AC, Fire Support and Logistics Base Belisario Carrera, Pashtia
The base was north of the line where mountain turned to relatively flat desert. The ambient temperature was, oh, a lot higher. And there wasn't a really good source of water, though the engineers were drilling.
Least of my problems, thought Patricio Carrera.
He was short Cazadors and he was short Pashtun Scouts. They were the most useful troops he had for keeping open the Kibla through which virtually all his supplies must pass. Thus, that's where roughly two thirds of them were, hunting down the remnants of the Ikhwan forces that had escaped the slaughter in the mountains. He was especially short Cazadors, what with having sent two maniples of them to watch over Abdulahi in Xamar as he rebuilt his local force.
Of course, they're not only watching over and out for the bandit, they're also watching him to make sure he keeps his end of the bargain.
He could have made good some of that lack by stripping off the individual cohorts' scout platoons, Cazadors in all but name. Somehow, he didn't think that would work to anyone's benefit. He'd have had to also strip off some of the combat support maniples' headquarters as well, that, or overtask the Cazador maniples' headquarters he already had. And besides, what would the cohorts do for recon then? It would be an organizational nightmare.
Note to self: Check on progress with the PhD candidate who's writing up "Organization and Task Organization for War." Soonest.
Carrera had one thing to help make up for the loss of Cazadors and Scouts, as well as the lack of aircraft for the main effort with the number that were supporting the lighter forces in the mountains around the Kibla. The Anglian-built lighter-than-air recon platform had arrived the week prior and was already sending back useful intelligence. For now, it was only useful for spotting. Even so, Lanza's crew were thinking on ways to rig up bomb racks and even downward firing gun pods so that it could act itself on the intelligence acquired without having to wait for airmobile or air forces to bring in combat power.
But I'll have to buy it and crew it myself to do that; the Anglian company is firm that their crew is not allowed to take part in offensive combat missions. In any case, while the recon the LTA ship provides is good, it is awfully weather dependant around these mountains. I'm not convinced this is a good buy for the Legion.
That said, if the limeys' semi-autonomous small LTA jobs can be made to work, I can mount cameras in them capable of tracking the ins and outs of every stinking village in our area and I can do it for a fraction of what it costs the FSC to put a satellite up.
Carrera let out a small sigh. If, if, if. "If ifs and buts were candied nuts . . . "
* * *
This FSLB was temporary, though the gringos had given some hints they might want to take it over. And why not? Since the Legion had come they'd put in an all weather airstrip, excavated a foss and with the spoil built an earthen wall to keep off sniper fire, and mined the living shit out of the one place from which an enemy might look down on the camp, with every mine well booby trapped. And hadn't that pissed off the Kosmos?
Carrera smiled at the memory of outraged progressive sensibilities. It wasn't like I made a secret of it. Rather, I had the troops march the villagers closest to the mined area and then witness while goats were driven in. None of the goats survived more than a few steps past the marking wire. Perhaps a few less kids will be tempted to cross the areas concerned after the demonstrations.
It was a matter of some small debate whether the Kosmos were more angered that they were held in such scant regard or by the sheer fact of the mines, themselves.
Fuck 'em. As if I care. As if anyone who matters really cares what the progressives think. As if they're capable of any higher purpose than constraining the overly enlightened and the weak to leave them even more vulnerable to the strong and the ruthless. Cultural Human Immuno-deficiency Virus; that's all they are. And to think, my parents tried to raise me to be one of them. Blech.