A Desert Called Peace

II

Carrera half lay on a supply pallet outside the field hospital at Balboa Base. His legs hung off with his feet on the ground. Both arms were outflung on the pallet, the hand on the right one holding a smoldering cigarette. Under the other arm was strapped a pistol in a shoulder holster. He looked up at the stars and the moons, speaking to Linda in his mind.

I almost murdered a city, love. I was ready to. I had everything needed to destroy it. I'd have given the order in a few days if one bloody mullah hadn't saved me from it. What do I owe, do you suppose, to a man who kept me from getting more blood on my hands than I could ever wash off? I'm building him a new mosque, a grand one. But I don't think it's nearly enough.

Carrera didn't bother to stifle a yawn.

I'm tired, Linda, so tired. Not just of the work but of the means . My boys are great, they do whatever I want them to. But they can do it only because the sins are all on my head.

It was easy, baby, when I first began. Then it was all abstract; I didn't have to think. And I was too full of hate to feel much else.

I wish it were over. But it never will be, will it? Not in my lifetime.

He stopped thinking for a while, feeling the cool night air, seeing the twinkling stars, and conscious of the pistol strapped to his chest.

That would be the easy way, wouldn't it. And I'd like to; I really would. But I can't do that either. I owe it to you and the babies to continue the fight. And I owe it to my men not to abandon them.

I owe it to Lourdes, too, her and the new baby. And…

Sada materialized next to the supply pallet. "Ruqaya says it's time, Patricio."

Sitting up, Carrera tossed the cigarette. It would never do to bring fire inside a place where pure oxygen flowed. He stood and turned to follow Sada to the maternity ward. At the door, a nurse helped him into a hospital gown. Sada stayed outside as Carrera entered.

The look on Lourdes' face was one of pure excruciation. Standing in the adobe field hospital, wearing the hospital gown to cover his battle dress, Carrera took her hand. He felt every contraction and spasm right along with her. Though Sada was not allowed into the delivery room, his wife, Ruqaya, held Lourdes' other hand, stroked her damp hair and forehead and whispered words of encouragement to her.

Carrera had tried to send Lourdes back. In this one particular, though, her will had been iron.

"My mother bore four children with never a doctor in attendance," she'd said. "My grandmother had eight and all in her own bed, on her own and my grandfather's farm.

Without even electricity. I'm no wilting flower, either. I am your woman. My place is with you and I WILL NOT GO!"

It was a surprising show of resistance from such a normally serene and cooperative person. He'd known he was not going to win that fight. Instead, bowing to the inevitable, he'd flown in an obstetrician from Balboa. At some level he'd felt a certain guilt about that; using his position for special consideration for his own family.

Am I becoming like the Balboans, placing family first? Am I becoming like the Islamics? Certainly Adnan and Ruqaya, Fernandez and Jimenez, and-so far as I can tell-each and every one of the troops, approved. I must think on this… later.

To his own question he'd had no answer or, in any event, not one that satisfied. He'd sent the doctor out, always under heavy guard, to deliver babies all over the BZOR to try to give the appearance of having brought specialist medical aid for the mission and not for his own sake or that of his new wife.

And in that, too, it seems I am becoming more like my enemies. Do I care so much about appearances? I never did before.

And that was another thing. A few days before he'd had one of his horrible nightmares. This one was different, though. Linda had been there, as usual, along with Julio, Lambie and Milagro. But so had Lourdes and the baby.

It was the picnic nightmare, again, only with the oddity that Lourdes and Linda, both, were his wives and seemed quite content with that situation. It was positively Islamic and even worse than usual when all six screamed and turned to rotten meat, then crumbling bones, before his eyes.

His reveries were interrupted by a loud, piercing, wailing scream from Lourdes and a painful squeeze of his hand. Her head was up off her pillow, bobbing as she gasped for air. In a few moments of hard struggle it was over. Lourdes' head returned to her pillow. She still gasped and-Carrera had no doubt-was still in agony. Compared to agony of actual delivery, though, what she felt now was probably small beans. Indeed, by comparison it was likely pure relief. He could see that on the smile that shone through her tears.

Carrera heard a slap and then one very, very affronted wail. He was distantly aware of the flash of a scalpel and of the baby being passed to Ruqaya.

"Behold, Patricio," Ruqaya said, flicking a miniature penis with an index finger, "you have a son."

Before placing the child at Lourdes' breast, Ruqaya held the boy's tiny ear to her mouth and whispered, " La illaha illa Allah; Muhammadan rasulu Allah." There is no God but God; Muhammad is the prophet of God.

Carrera let it be. On the other hand, What religion should the boy be raised in? I'm a Catholic, if a bad one. Lourdes is Baptist, and a good one. But, who knows; maybe Ruqaya has a point.

Nah.

He looked at the boy again, now nuzzled into his mother, and felt something he had not felt in a very long time. It wasn't love; he loved Lourdes and had for a lot longer than he'd been willing to admit it. If she was not Linda, she was still the finest-and based on her just concluded delivery one of the toughest and bravest-human beings on the planet.

No… it's not love that I feel anew. It's… it's… He struggled with the concept before realizing, It's a sense of future, of having a continuing place in the march of Man. I lost it when Linda and the children were killed. Lourdes has just given it back to me.

With his right palm stroking Lourdes' hair he bent over her and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I love you, Lourdes," he said. "In all this world I love you and our child above all. You, and he, have given me my future back."

And for that future I will fight.

Carrera rested his head upon hers and lay that way for several minutes. At length, he became aware of a hubbub of sorts coming from outside the field hospital.

Sada stuck his head in the door. "Patricio, there are over a thousand soldiers outside, maybe two thousand, including mine, and they want to see the baby."

Looking at Lourdes, Carrera saw her smile again and head nod, weakly. "Show them, Patricio," she said.

The doctor shrugged and said, "I think it's safe enough. There are some stairs down the hallway that lead to the roof. You can use those."

"Show them, Patricio," Ruqaya agreed.

Gingerly, for he had not held a newborn in a very long time, Carrera took the still naked child from Lourdes' breast and placed it on his own shoulder, one hand under the baby's head. The baby-they'd already agreed he would be named Hamilcar Xavier Adnan CarreraNunez-took it pretty well, not crying but peering curiously at the out-of-focus, barely perceived world around him.

Lots different from my last digs, thought little Hamilcar. Might be fun. And there's so much more room to grow here.

Still cradling the baby, Carrera gave Lourdes another warm and gentle look. Then he left the delivery room and walked to the stairs, Sada and Ruqaya following. These they ascended. At the top of the stairs they emerged onto the roof, itself surrounded by a low adobe wall built in the Arab fashion. Stars shone down on the roof, as did Hecate and Bellona. There was a murmuring sound, as if coming from thousands of throats. The sound was gentle and quiet, though, as if, also, those making it were reluctant to disturb the new mother.

New mother or not, the murmur arose to a roar when the legionaries of el Cid and the askaris of Sada's brigade saw Carrera's head, then shoulders, and then the baby.

To the roar of the men was added a round of mass applause. Good job, Legate. Fine work, Lourdes. Welcome to the legion, little one.

Carrera placed one hand, then the other, under Hamilcar's arms and gently lifted him overhead, to display to the troops. The applause and the cheering grew louder still, which seemed not to bother the baby one bit.

Behold my son, Carrera thought. Behold: I have a future. And for that future I will fight.

Carrera looked up at the sky once again, looked at the stars, and wondered which of them were ships of the UEPF.

On the horizon, Eris was just beginning to rise anew.