Whether they would be needed remained to be seen. Observation posts in the towns by the Vera Cruz training area, overlooking the old FSAF base at Bruja Point, reported a Tauran Union aircraft landing every forty minutes, not counting combat aircraft. Some carried troops; some carried supplies. One and all, though, they suggested that neither the Tauran Union nor the corrupt government it backed by backing Gaul was going to acquiesce lightly in any election that turned over control to Parilla and his mercenaries.
Both Parilla and Ruiz looked skyward at the sound of what had to have been a very large jet making a leisurely turn to the west. "What's Patricio doing about this over in Pashtia?" Ruiz asked.
"He's kept one legion to interdict the border, just as our contract calls for," Parilla answered. "The other two, while on their way home, he's maneuvered into position to crush the Tauran Union forces in Pashtia. The Taurans appear to know it, too."
"They've got to be shitting bricks," Ruiz chuckled. "He's holding their people there hostage for the good behavior of their people here."
Parilla smiled, saying, "Well . . . Patricio learned about taking hostages from the main enemy. And we've all seen how the TU reacts when someone is holding Tauran's hostage. The only problem is that the FSC can see what we're doing and is really pissed about it."
Ruiz disagreed. "I don't think they're pissed so much as they're worried. A war here shuts down the Transitway. That hurts them nearly as much as it hurts us. After all, about seventy percent of the cargo passing through here either starts in the FSC, ends there, or both. And then if fighting breaks out here, they have to know Patricio will hit the enemy wherever he finds him and in the most destructive way he can. That would make a shambles of an already pretty shaky alliance in Pashtia. And then . . . "
"Yes?" Parilla prompted.
"Well . . . emotionally the FSC doesn't really give a shit about us. If anything, the ruling Progressive Party resents us because Wozniak lost his presidency, at least in part, over the Transitway. And their current government just adores the Taurans, and especially the bloody perfidious Gauls. Even though we're much, much more valuable to them, I don't think that emotionally they can do anything but take the Frogs' side of things."
"Idiots to go with their hearts rather than their heads," Parilla said.
"Idiots to set their hearts on the Taurans," Ruiz amended.
Panshir Base, Pashtia
The shell holes were long since filled in. The troops were well fed and had even been able to put on a little fat. All the ruined tents had been replaced. Even so, the Ligurini Brigade of Claudio Marciano was digging in frantically, entrenching, filling sandbags, breaking down ammunition.
They had reason to. Lightly armed as they were, they didn't stand a chance if the legion surrounding them should attack. That it should have come to this, and so quickly . . .
Seating in a canvas folding camp chair, deep in his bunker, Marciano sighed even more deeply. "I don't know what the idiot Gauls' game is, Patricio. They're playing their cards awfully close to their chests this time."
Carrera looked up at the roof of the bunker. Pretty solid. Won't stop a 160mm though. He looked at Marciano's altogether Roman face and asked, "What are your government's instructions if it comes to a fight between us and the Frogs? I mean . . . if you can tell me, that is."
"I can't tell you, exactly, Patricio, buuut, if you think about it . . . "
There are no Tuscan troops in Balboa, Carrera thought. So fighting there need not spread here as far as they're concerned. But, as far as I'm concerned an attack there by the Frogs means general war and I won't be held back from destroying their forces here.
"I'm going after them here, Claudio. If it's war then it's war to the knife and the knife to the hilt . . . wherever they may be. I'd leave your boys out of it, if I could, but I can't leave a strong enough force to guard you here. I'll have to destroy you so that I can redeploy that legion to take on Haarlem, Sachsen, Anglia, Secordia and the rest." He actually had a hard time accepting that "the rest" might include the FSC troops in country.
"And we have mutual defense treaties with them," Marciano said. "Mine is an honorable country, even if not all our allies are honorable."
Carrera thought, "And Romans in Rome's quarrels . . . spared neither land nor gold . . . nor son nor wife nor limb nor life . . . in the brave days of old." And Claudio, here, is a true Roman. I wouldn't insult him or his men by suggesting surrender.
"You've got good troops here, Claudio, but . . . you know it won't take a full legion more than a few hours to overrun this base. Please, tell your government that. Explain to them that the stakes are much higher than the Frogs are suggesting."
"I have. They find it hard to believe."
War Department, Hamilton, FD, FSC
It hurt, deep inside, for Malcolm to admit it. "Okay, Rivers, I'm convinced. I'm a believer. If we don't intervene to keep fighting from breaking out in Balboa then Pashtia is lost." And with it, my chance to become president. "I've got a meeting set up with the President and the secretary of state. I will do what I can to convince them."
"Convince them of what?" Rivers asked.
"Of the danger," Malcolm answered. "Of the need for mediation. Of the need to throw our weight against whoever fires the first shot."
"Then you had best hurry, Mr. Secretary," Rivers said. "The Frogs"—Oh, how I love saying "Frogs" to this puke who so loves the Frogs—"are flying in major numbers of troops and the Legion's regulars and reservists are falling in on assembly areas on both sides and both ends of the Transitway area. The news is full of enough accusations of violence, corruption and fraud in the election process that either side can claim to have 'won.' If nothing changes, I predict a blood bath starting by midnight."
The Trapezoid, Executive Mansion, Hamilton, FD, Federated States of Columbia,
"Then why not just threaten the stinking mercenaries if trouble breaks out?" thundered the secretary of state, Mary Darkling, a woman short, shrill, and seriously overweight. "We all know they're trying to steal the election down there. Wozniak is convinced of it. The global press insists upon it. Our allies, the Gauls, are certain of it. By taking the side of the mercenaries against our real allies we're undercutting the tradition and understanding of decades. It's absurd!"
Malcolm shook his head. Inside he felt precisely what Darkling openly insisted upon . . . but, "I'm with you in this, morally, Mary. But the practicalities are such that we just can't let this thing spiral out of control. I adore Gaul as much as you do. I want to help them, to induce them to help us. I want to try to overcome the suspicion and hostility that built up under the previous administration. But . . . we're dealing with a maniac here! The leader of the mercenaries is not susceptible to reason. He won't even take bribes at this point. I believe that, were he capable, he'd destroy the entire planet before backing down an inch. He's got an army and he's going to have a country . . . or he's going to fight to take one."