Noting Carrera interest in the passing company, Samsonov asked, "You like singing, Duque?"
Carrera nodded, "Yes, Ivan, for its own sake and as a weapon of war both."
"Yes, well, they not that good. Someday you come, hear Regiment's chorus. They are good."
"I'll do that," Carrera agreed, while thinking, If I can find time to wipe my ass, anyway. "As a matter of fact, if the chorus, or even a part of it, is available, I wonder if your lovely wife wouldn't escort Lourdes . . ."
"Excellent idea," Samsonov agreed, smiling broadly. He said something to his adjutant in their own tongue, causing the adjutant to nod briskly, then turn on his heels and enter the building behind.
He didn't have to say anything to Irena; she understood the English her husband and Carrera shared well enough. She floated off the steps with a grace and fluidity surprising in a woman of her solidity.
As Irena took Lourdes by the arm and began to lead her off, Hamilcar cast a glance at his chief of guards. Protect my mother. At the guard chief's word, a quarter of the twenty guards immediately fell out of their perimeter and formed around Lourdes and Irena.
Carrera watched only for a moment, to make sure Lourdes was comfortable, before turning his attention back to Samsonov and asking, "By the way, what does the song mean?"
Samsonov stopped and thought for a moment. "It means . . . 'The march before us with you is long . . . soldier take livelier look . . . regimental banner whips and twists . . . commanders are up front. Soldiers on march'—that chorus—'And for you your own field mail is waiting but . . . Listen? . . . no, Hark!', maybe Hark . . . 'trumpet calls . . . and soldiers march on.' "
"Have one of your people send a copy to Professor Ruiz, would you. Along with some trooper with a good voice to sing it for him."
"Certainly, Duque," the Volgan agreed. "And now, breakfast, yes? Men eat better here than they used to. And we don't have to grow food ourselves. So when they get fat, I have more time available to work fat off. It more than evens out." Samsonov called something into the headquarters and positioned himself by Carrera's left side.
Carrera walked with head cocked, hands clasped behind his back. "Tell me about your regiment's capabilities, please. And with no fluff; if you can't do something, I need to know."
Samsonov shrugged, "As you wish. We were one of better parachute infantry regiments of former Tsarist Army. You know this. Possibly we are best. Towards end, with your help, we could pay and feed men when rest of division going to scrap heap. Many good men transfer over to us from other regiments in 117th Guards Airborne Division before we leave Rodina. NCOs, Praporschiks—you would say 'warrant officers'—and officers; most have much combat experience. Some older ones fought in Pashtia. Other's on borders during break up of Empire. Most other ranks too. All volunteers. Many long service troops. I am prejudiced, I know, but I think we are better than same number from FSC 39th Airborne Division, maybe not so good as FSC Rangers. . . . Then again, maybe."
Carrera nodded. "Pay?" he asked.
"Very good, by Volgan standards. My privates' five hundred and twenty-five Federated States Drachma a month is five or six times as much as mid level manager in Volga now. This part of reason morale is high. Plenty to send home, plenty to have good time here when not on duty."
"Problems?"
"Still we have no Orthodox chaplain. Many men do not care. More do."
"I am looking into that. Kuralski has some prospects. He's had a hard time finding one to suit. Thought he had one, but that priest wanted to be made a captain."
Samsonov did not understand. "So make captain."
"No," Carrera shook his head emphatically. "I don't generally commission lawyers, doctors, pilots . . . specialists like those can be, should be, warrant officers or enlisted. Only leaders of men get commissioned. No commissioned chaplains unless they go through the same route as other officer candidates. I don't suppose your regiment had a combat experienced Orthodox priest?"
Samsonov snorted. "In Tsar's Army? Hah! Psalm singers stayed behind while men went out to fight."
"Thought not. We'll keep trying."
Seeing that Samsonov was content with that, Carrera changed the subject. "Ivan, what kinds of mission are your men capable of? I don't mean being an Opposing Force to train my troops. What kinds of combat operations can you do?" Carrera looked down at Hamilcar and added, "You can speak freely in front of my son."
Samsonov answered, "We can do air parachute drops to seize vital targets: airports, bridges, chokepoints. Airmobile operations also, if someone else provide helicopters and aircraft. We get helicopters?"
Carrera nodded. "Working on that, too."
"We do also most typical anti-guerrilla missions: ambush, raid, reconnoiter, counter-terror. I don't usually care for counter-terror, bad for discipline."
Carrera knew that counter-terror meant to the Volgans pretty much what it had meant to himself and the Legion in Sumer and Pashtia. It meant not just destroying terrorists so much as inflicting greater terror than terrorists on the same target population: hangings, burnings, mutilation, massacre. Never, officially, rape but that had happened, too. Which often led to more hangings, of course.
"How about amphibious landings?"
"Difficult. That was mission of Naval Infantry. Perhaps we could if beachhead not contested." The Volgan considered that for a moment more, then amended, "Probably we could, with a little practice."
"Would your men fight for Balboa?"
The Volgan hesitated. He said he wanted and honest answer, but can this one take an honest answer? Deciding that Carrera likely could, he said, "Realistically, no. They do not think of themselves as mercenaries. Even though they—we—are. They don't know any more of Balboa than jungle they are training in. Those . . . and bars and brothels. But they fight for me. And if good reason, I will fight for you. Do not expect suicide mission from me, my regiment is my country; I must preserve it above all. Is most important consideration. But I would be willing to undertake some real operations. It would be good for Regiment. They get . . . soft . . . without some fighting."
Carrera was content with that for now. Reaching the mess hall, Samsonov called the mess to attention and led the way to the officers' area. Carrera did not really approve of interrupting the troop's meal, nor of the fact that he, Hamilcar, and Samsonov sat down without waiting in line. An orderly brought them their meals: kasha—a sort of porridge with meat or fish—meat in this case, bread, butter and jam, Balboan sausage, hard boiled eggs, some kind of pastry, and glasses of hot tea. At a glance and nod from Samsonov, another Volgan officer, also sitting for breakfast, hurriedly finished and left. The officer hid his distaste at passing between two of Hamilcar's Pashtians on his way out. There was one more Volgan there; a youngish looking Tribune whose name tag read "Chapayev." The boy ate mechanically, with no real interest in his food, as if greatly preoccupied with some difficult problem. Oddly, Samsonov didn't indicate that Chapayev should leave.