* * *
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 accompli once it's accompli."
On cue, the public affairs officer added, "Mon general, the news in both the TU and the FSC runs at ninety-seven percent that this election is in the process of being stolen by the mercenaries. Public opinion polls are in line with this."
"We have completed occupation of the former FSA facilities," said Janier's S-4, or logistics officer. "There will be adequate living space for all our troops, once they arrive."
"Very good," the general said, somberly. "Where did the locals who bought the housing go?"
"Who cares?"
"Indeed," Janier agreed.
"We have to care," Rocaberti interjected. "Those people were among our prime supporters."
Janier shrugged. The opinion of this future colonial subject could not possibly be important. Nonetheless, for the benefit of his own people, he spoke, and naturally in French. "Gentlemen, the Balboans who support the current administration have served their purpose, though that administration will remain valuable as a convenient cover for our rule. Have we not maintained virtually all of our old empire in Colombia del Sur, Uhuru and Urania in just this way?
"For our part, we will simply be here, in force—real or potential—greater than the local mercenaries would willingly wish to face. When the election procedure is shown to be compromised, as President Wozniak will attest to, the government will refuse to abide by it. We shall offer it our full support, of course . . . all in the interests of democracy . . . " –every Gaulic officer present broke out in unfeigned and unforced laughter—" . . . of course. We shall move our battalions, of which there shall be eight, to defend what can be defended, Balboa City and the Transitway area."
The ambassador of La Republique de la Gaulle said, "I am sure we can count on the Federated States' Department of State intervening on our behalf to threaten the mercenaries with severe sanctions should they initiate fighting."
"As I had supposed," Janier said.
"There is one major problem," Rocaberti insisted. "Within Ciudad Balboa there are some thousands of mercenary reservists. They may fight no matter what."
Janier sneered. As if some raggle taggle undeveloped world part timers could pose any serious problem for the professionals of his force. Absurd. Laughable. Impossible.
2/5/468 AC, War Department, Hamilton, FD, Federated States of Columbia
Rivers sighed and said, "This word you keep using, Secretary Malcolm? I don't think it means what you think it means. It might be 'impossible' for Pat Hennessey"—for Rivers still thought of Carrera as Hennessey—"to go to war with the Tauran Union. He'll do it anyway. He'll hit them wherever we can, as hard as he can, in as terrible and terrifying way as he can, and nothing we can do, short of nukes, will stop him. Nukes might not either."
Rivers neglected to mention that the intelligence people had been hearing rumors that Hennessey was, himself, a nuclear power. So far the rumors had been fairly well squashed, mostly because if he had them they could only have come from one place, Sumer. And if they'd come from Sumer that meant that everything the Progressive Party had said about the lack of cause for war with Sumer back in 461 was a lie. That, of course, would never do.
"Even now," Rivers continued, "the Legion del Cid is redeploying two full legions plus support, nearly thirty thousand men, from northern back into southern Pashtia. They could have been moved simply because the large contract is about up. But Hennessey doesn't appear to be in any hurry to move them out of Pashtia, despite what it must be costing him extra to support them in country."
"But what can he do? It's absurd!" Malcolm shouted.
So hard to maintain calm with this man, River thought. "If fighting breaks out in Balboa, Hennessey will attack the Frogs there, in Pashtia, and everywhere else he can get at them. The battalion the Frogs keep in pristine comfort and safety in the southern part of Pashtia? He'll attack and extinguish it. If other Taurans interfere, he'll destroy them, too. If we interfere, he may not be able to destroy us, but he will fight us. And, Mr. Secretary, he has a more powerful force in the country than we do."
"But . . . but he can't," SecWar insisted. "He's one of us."
Like you, with your love affair with the Gauls, are one of us? You really don't see it, do you?
Rivers clasped his hands behind him and walked to the window. From this he stared out for long minutes, silently, while Malcolm seethed behind him. How to explain this?
Turning around, gesturing frantically with one hand, Virgil Rivers began, "In the first place, he's not one of us. You may think, because he actually was raised to be a Kosmo, a cosmopolitan progressive, that he's one of you. But that would be false, too, Mr. Secretary.
"Oh, he never learned love of country as a boy; that's true. Instead, he was taught that all distinctions between men are arbitrary. He told me this himself, once. He was deep in his cups at the time.
"He told me, 'They tried to convince me, when I was young, that the only possible non-arbitrary grouping was the family of man. Why they never realized that that was as arbitrary a group as any other, I don't know. How does it make sense not to hate people because they look a little different but love them because they look a little the same? Either is mere appearance.'