What was probably the most finely tuned, spotlessly clean armored vehicle not merely on this world, but on two worlds and in the history of two worlds, pulled up by the gazebo. The band picked up the Wedding March again while Mac and Artemisia, both still in white, walked to it. They were pelted by rice and chorley seed the entire way.
At the tank, McNamara put his hands on Arti's still-narrow waist and lifted her to a cushion thoughtfully placed behind the turret. He then scrambled up to stand atop the tank where he bent to lift his new wife to her feet. Gently—no mean feat given the nature of Volgan-built tanks—the armored vehicle trundled off to just underneath the airship. There, they dismounted in reverse order and began to ascend the gangway the airship had lowered. They stopped twice on the way up, Artemisia with tears in her eyes, to wave to the crowd.
Waving back, crying, Lourdes whispered to her husband, "Weddings do something to me. They make me horny. Take me home and fuck me. Now."
"Orders are orders," Carrera answered, reaching over gently to wipe away the tears flowing from Lourdes' huge brown eyes. "And those orders, my lovely wife, are always a joy to obey."
5/7/468 AC, Quarters Number One, Isla Real
Hamilcar had inherited the huge size of his mother's eyes, along with a blend of color from both parents. His were a brilliant green with the same dark circles around the iris that gave his father's such a frighteningly penetrating quality. He turned those big green eyes up at his mother and said, "Mama, can I ask you for something?"
Lourdes, puttering in the kitchen, stopped what she was doing, looked down at her eldest and said, "Yes, of course, baby. What is it?"
"When daddy goes back to the war . . . Mama, I want to go with him."
Christ, no, not my baby, too.
"You're too small," she answered. "You're only four. When you're a grown man of five we'll discuss this again."
"Does that mean I can go when I'm five?"
"No, it means we'll discuss it. Then. Not before."
This was not an entirely satisfactory answer so Hamilcar upped the stakes. "Mama, if you don't tell me I can go when I'm five . . . I'll go over your head." He heard someone or another of his daddy's soldiers use that expression. He was pretty sure he understood what it meant.
Lourdes did understand what it meant. He'd go to his father to ask permission. Which Patricio just might give. And what objections will I have? I kept Hamilcar in the war zone for almost two years when he was a baby, just so I could be with my husband. I can't object to him being there now that's he's past being a baby.
"Do you want to break your mother's heart, Ham?" she asked.
"No."
"Then please don't 'go over my head.' Wait until you're five and we will discuss it."
Five is not so long a wait. "All right, Mama. But if you don't let me go then, I'll go over your head."
Interlude
7/9/49 AC, Balboa Colony, Terra Nova
In the thick Balboan night, with monkeys and antaniae and even the occasional trixie filling the air with sound, with the steady drone of mosquitoes in their ears, the Gurkha Rifles and the Sikh Pioneers bivouacked close together and well away from the ad hoc OAU infantry battalion. Frankly, while the Gurkhas and Sikhs got along just fine, neither could stand the undisciplined rabble from the OAU. Less still could Majors Dhan Singh Pandey and Amita Kaur Bhago stand the . . .
"Overbred, cowardly, stuffed shirt, little boy bunging, limey bastard, Duff-McQueeg," as Amita usually phrased it.
"Please, Amita, be charitable," Dhan chided. "After all, we don't know he's a coward. Personally, I think he only stays with the OAU troops for the little boys they keep for him."
"We'll see about that when the fighting starts," the Kaur answered, automatically killing a mosquito that had landed on her wrist.
"I don't know fighting ever start," said Company Sergeant Major Rambahadur Thapa, of Pandey's company. "We are end of supply trail, sahib. And jungle boys pretty good at keeping away."
That was true enough; Pandey's shrug admitted it. So far into the jungle and so far from any road was the task force that resupply depended on helicopters and shuttles. But the force was literally at the maximum distance the helicopters available could support. Another kilometer and the excess wear would begin to overwhelm the maintenance staff.
"We could drive twice as far or more without the OAU acting as a dead weight," Amita said. "Though in that case the task force commander would have no little boys. Worse, he'd be with us."
Dhan Singh Pandey opened his mouth to speak when the jungle erupted in heavy automatic fire coming from the direction of the OAU bivouac. He was about to call for his radio bearer when Amita held up her hand.
"I didn't hear anything," she said. "Sergeant Major?"
"Not me."
"Sir, call from the OAU," the radioman announced.
Pandey thought about that for half a second and said, "I'm sure you're mistaken, Naik."
* * *
Belisario hadn't rushed it. New weapons were fine. New weapons his men didn't know how to use were just expensive clubs. He'd spent a month just in training with the new rifles and machine guns and another two weeks in feeling out the enemy. In the process, he noticed something interesting. The Gurkhas would come running to help the Sikhs, and vice versa. But when he probed the OAU, or someone sniped at them, both Gurkhas and Sikhs indicated a profound disinterest.
This night, he'd decided to risk an attack. A full attack.
* * *
In the privacy of his tent Duff-McQueeg held a local boy, down on all fours, firmly by the hips while moving his own in a steady, rhythmic stroke. He was suddenly interrupted by the sound of heavy gunfire. He was tempted to ignore it, but then Warrant Officer Bourguet ripped open the tent flap and announced, breathlessly, "Sir . . . sir . . . the enemy . . . "
A large red stain suddenly blossomed on Bourguet's t-shirt, visible through his unbuttoned uniform jacket. Wordlessly, the warrant officer crumpled to the ground. His hands remained gripped to the material of the tent, which followed the heavyset warrant to the ground. Duff-McQueeg, and the boy, were trapped underneath. By the time Duff-McQueeg could extract himself from both the boy and the tent, he emerged to find a smoking muzzle pressed to the side of his head.
"Señor Carrera, aqui!"
"Bring him out, Pedro," Belisario said. He was almost embarrassed for the prisoner when he smelt the odor of shit. Then he realized the man had not shat himself and sympathy changed to disgust.
The tent material wriggled and distorted.
"Whoever you are, come out," Pedro ordered.
The boy emerged, pulling his threadbare trousers up.
"Chico, Belisario asked, "were you with this man by your own will?"
The boy spat at Duff-McQueeg and said, "They stole me from my village."
Belisario nodded grimly and said, to Pedro, "Get a rope."
The boy, with a look of utter hatred in his eyes asked, "Can I have a gun?"
Chapter Eighteen
There is no love untouched by hate