The Taurans had been brought in to "secure the Transitway" once the terrorist threat had grown out of hand as a result of the LdC's participation in the war. That had been merely an excuse, though. They were really there to secure the government—internationalist, emotionally detached from its country's and people's welfare, and therefore corrupt, pro-TU and pro-UEPF—from the legions. Any securing of the Transitway from terrorist attack was merely incidental.
Janier repeated, "Quoi?"
Sighing with frustration, Rocaberti explained the problem to Janier, in French. He ended by pointing out, "And outside of your brigade we have nothing. Our police and militarized police are underarmed and unreliable. The people despise us. Even the FSC, which has fallen desperately out of love with the legions, still could probably not intervene against them here."
The Gaul smiled with satisfaction. It was good to have one's protectorates actually need protecting.
The ambassador to the Republic from the UEPF added, "Don't count on us. We are still stymied from direct action by the FSC. If there is any one issue the bulk of the people there agree on, it is that the UEPF is the enemy. Even their progressive politicians can't openly disagree with that, not if they want to keep their jobs."
Janier's smile grew broader still. Yes, it was very good to be needed so desperately. But, one had to be realistic.
"There is no practical way, at this time, for the TU to do more than safeguard the Transitway and your government. I have four battalions, one of those mechanized but one also a very lightly equipped commando battalion. Usually, too, I have another infantry battalion undergoing jungle training here. We could fly in a couple more on fairly short notice, maybe even three to five more battalions if, and only if, we planned it well in advance, had control of the airfields and the skies, and if we impressed civilian air carriers. If your 'legions' decided to hit us first, or to mobilize their reserves and hit us first, we wouldn't have a prayer."
"Allies?" Rocaberti asked.
"The Zhong have forty or fifty thousand illegal immigrants here, plus about as many legal ones," Janier answered. "They could perhaps be induced to intervene to protect what they consider to be their people. But such intervention would be—" He looked at his dumpy adjutant, a Gallic major who appeared even more toad-like than Janier.
"Major Malcoeur, what could the Zhong bring to the field?"
The major was widely believed, within his own army, to have no real talent but licking the boss' ass. This was unfair. Though he was quite a talented asslick; he was, at least, very thorough in his official duties. "With warning—a lot of warning, mon General—they could fly in a brigade or move a division by sea. These are not mutually exclusive. If we provided sea and air lift they could probably double or even triple that. They have a large army, over one hundred divisions, but little in the way of strategic transport."
"We have a . . . close . . . yes, a close connection with the Zhong Guo," said the ambassador from the UEPF. He, too, spoke French. "I will make inquiries."
"Not yet, Mr. Ambassador," answered Janier. "Before we bring them in too closely, I need to find a way to crush these 'legions' with or without the Zhong. That I do not have yet."
7/5/467 AC, Isla Real, Quarters #1
Carrera had stuck himself with having a ballroom in his house. Parilla's burden included keeping a very secure conference room in the basement of his. On the plus side, it also served as a place where he could have a drink without being nagged by a loving wife who worried endlessly over his health.
"This is screwing me; you realize that, right?"
Parilla blew air through his lips. "Yes, I know. And if I don't retire and become President of the country what happens? We've gone just about as far as we can go with this, as things are. In fact, we've gone as far as I ever wanted to go. My country has an army again, even if that army is not under the government of the country and even if a substantial proportion of it is expatriate."
A secure conference room didn't at all rule out comfortable leather chairs. Parilla rested his head on the back of his. "But what I didn't realize was that there are ends beyond ends . . . unintended consequences. What I didn't realize was that we would automatically be put in opposition to the government here such that one of us must go. I certainly didn't foresee TU troops here in my country. God knows, I didn't foresee fighting a war here."
Carrera grimaced and shrugged, then shifted his rear forward to rest his own head on the back of his seat. He admitted, "Neither, I suppose, did I. I just focused on destroying those who murdered my family; something—you might note—I have so far failed to do . . . or even to get appreciably closer to doing. Sometimes I despair of it."
He was silent for a few moments. Then he asked, "Okay, so let's suppose you resign and run for President. We have over forty thousand 'election workers' in the form of the reserves. We have a lot of sympathy and affection from the people. If you retire and run, you will probably win. Then what?"
"Then I invite the Tauran Union to leave, with our thanks and gratitude."
"Won't work," Carrera objected. "They are here at the invitation of the government, yes, but they also have a mandate from the World League to, 'secure the Balboa Transitway for the common benefit of mankind.' That means they have a mandate they can present to their own people as a legitimate reason to stay no matter what any given chief of state here might say. Moreover, since you—that is to say, we—represent 'the forces of fascism and reaction,' you and we are inherently illegitimate in their eyes. The short version of which is—"
"The short version of which is, they are not going to leave peaceably," Parilla interjected. "Yes, you're probably right. Fight them?"
Carrera's face screwed up in distaste. "Given a choice, I'd rather not. We are not friends but we do have a lot of the same enemies, even if the Taurans' heads are stuck so far up their asses that they can't see it. Besides, probably we wouldn't end up fighting them alone."
"You say you would rather not. That isn't really the question. Can we fight them and win?"
"Sure,' Carrera admitted. "We can fight and defeat them here in Balboa, especially if we get in the first hits and without warning. That, however, means only a limited defeat for the Taurans—no, let's be accurate here, for the Frogs who run the TU like they owned it—and much motivation to get even, even if they won't admit that that's their motivation. In a long war, they outclass us in almost every way."
"In what ways do they not outclass us?" Parilla asked. Carrera was as much his superior in military matters as Parilla was Carrera's political better in affairs political.
Carrera didn't even have to think about it. "Easier to answer it what areas they do: industry, population, wealth, size of armed forces, technology, diplomatic clout, naval power. Add to that that our own government is on their side. Our advantages at the moment are better-trained and -led troops with adequate if not superior equipment. Oh, and superior ruthlessness. Even then, though, the best half of our troops, the regular legions, are stuck here on the Isla Real with only the reservists on the mainland. The TU has enough naval and air power, easily, to prevent us from deploying regulars to the mainland in a crisis."