Carrera swept fierce eyes across the senator-filled pews. "Our neutrality is being violated. Not only are drugs passing through our porous borders and coasts, the paramilitary arm of some of the drug-trafficking organizations has set up housekeeping to the west, on the border where our province of La Palma touches Santander. They cross that border, into our territory, regularly and with impunity."
"He looked directly at Parilla. "It must stop, Señor Presidente. If it does not, the Federated States, the Tauran Union, for that matter, would be within their rights to violate our compromised sovereignty . . . in self defense."
Parilla thought, Which, if you think about it, would accord with what we suspect of Tauran Union plans perfectly.
"What do you ask of us, Duque?" asked Parilla, leaning forward in his chair.
"We must make war," Carrera answered, "with the specific goals of re-establishing our neutrality. I think it would be better, for a number of reasons, if we did that openly, through a legitimate declaration."
Parilla nodded gravely, then looked to his left and then his right. "Senators, have you questions for the duque?" he asked. When no hands came up Parilla glared, letting his baleful eye land on certain senator in turn. You people are paid to ask questions. You had better have some.
One hand immediately shot up.
"Senator Robles," Parilla said, "you are recognized."
"Thank you, Mr. President," the dark-skinned ex-legionary said. Turning to Carrera, Robles asked, "Whom, specifically, Duque, do you intend to target."
"Initially, Senator, the guerillas cum narco-traffickers in La Palma Province, the gangs within the Republic that I have reason to believe are their adjuncts, and the seaborne smugglers."
"Not the producers and wholesale suppliers then?"
Carrera hesitated for a moment before answering, "I'd like to. Oh, senators, you have no idea how much I'd like to." If for no other reason than to ensure that the FSC remains at least neutral. "But they are all in other countries, especially Santander and Atzlan. Attacking them would be invading people who ought to be our friends and who have more, much more, trouble from narco-traffic than we do."
"If we authorized you to attack them," Robles continued, "could you?"
"Unquestionably," Carrera answered, without a trace of hesitation. "Though not immediately. It would take some preparation." Like a few hours' worth, which would not be enough time for anyone here to warn anyone there if we've made a mistake in selecting any of you.
Robles sat down. Another hand went up.
"Senator Higuera has the floor," Parilla announced.
"What is the cost and how do we pay it?" Higuera asked.
"The cost is speculative at this point in time, Senator" Carrera answered. "We have it on good authority that the Federated States will pay all operational costs, as they do for our air and maritime patrols."
"Fair enough, for now," Higuera agreed, taking his seat.
"Senator Atencio," Parilla said, seeing a third hand.
Atencio, Carrera knew, was an attorney who had signed on with the Legion early, for the initial campaign in Sumer, before taking his discharge and resuming his law practice. He'd worked in the Judge Advocate section, Carrera recalled, before casualties in the Sumerian city of Ninewah had required he be reassigned to leading an infantry section, then to command of a century.
And not badly, thought Carrera, looking at the Cruz de Coraje en Oro hanging from Atencio's neck, above his tie.
"Rules of engagement, Duque?" Atencio asked.
"Wartime rules, Senator," Carrera answered, then added, "I had hoped to treat them as prisoners of war before turning them over to the National Police."
"Won't work, Duque, and you know it won't. The police are rife with corruption."
"Shall I try them and shoot them under military law then, Senator?"
"I will support such legislation," Atencio answered, "if we decide on war." He looked around the chamber and asked, loudly, "Will my colleagues?"
Seeing they would, Atencio sat down.
"Senator Cornejo?"
"They will retaliate, Duque," that Senator said. "Are you prepared for that? Are you willing to accept those casualties? Remember, in Santander those filth have brought governments down, murdered thousands, intimidated, bribed . . . undermined society from top to bottom."
"To terrorize us?" Carrera asked. "I can do terror. If you authorize it."
Cornejo laughed, being joined by dozens then scores more. "Oh, we know you can, Duque. We know you can."
* * *
Carrera emerged from the Curia with his face set in a grim smile.
"How did it go, boss?" Soult asked.
"Pretty well, Jamie. Do me a favor; get Jimenez and Suarez on the line and . . . Fernandez, Fosa, and Lanza. And Kuralski, since he's back on duty. Tell them it's a go. They lift at three in the morning. I have to go back in and hammer out some details. Notably, how to get the Legislative Assembly to approve using law of war rules within our territory."
"Then we are going to war again, boss?"
"Yes, Jamie," Carrera answered.
"About time."
* * *
The telephone rang next to Senior Centurion Ricardo Cruz. Cruz knew he could sleep through incoming artillery fire; he'd done it, after all, and more than once. A ringing phone, on the other hand, might mean an alert. That, he could never sleep through.
He picked up the phone. "Cruz," he announced, sleepily.
"Cruz, you lazy bastard," said the voice on the other end. Ricardo recognized it as coming from his cohort's sergeant major, "Scarface" Arrendondo. "Come on over. Free rum!"
That opened Cruz's eyes. "No shit? Free rum?"
"It's what I said, isn't it?" Scarface answered.
"Be right over," Ricardo said, replacing the phone on its hook. Next to him, his wife, Cara, stirred.
"Free rum?" she asked, then, seeing his nod, said, "Mierde," before laying her head back on the pillow and pulling the covers over her face. She didn't want her husband to see her cry.
Building 59, Fort Muddville, Transitway Area, Balboa
"Merde," said de Villepin. Shit.
The air in Janier's headquarters could only be described as panic-stricken. It was after duty hours; the staff had had to be recalled. Oddly enough, Janier had been found at home in bed with his wife.
Better, for once, thought de Villepin, that he should have been with his mistress.
One of the watch officers announced, "Fort Williams reports that helicopters are lifting—no they don't know to where—and reservists are reporting in to their units . . . I've got eyewitness accounts of Suarez's corps, that's LdC Second Corps, moving their Cazador regiment to link up with the Balboans' classis . . . More reservists reporting in all over the city . . . No report of First Mechanized Legion . . ."
Janier, dressed in standard Gallic battledress rather than his blue velvet monument to a bygone age, listened carefully. Worry grew inside the Gaul. This is completely unprovoked. What the Hell are they doing? What the Hell are they planning? Should I roll the troops I have? Call for help from the TU? No, no sense in that; they can't get here in anything like quick fashion. And why wasn't I . . .