Carnifex

29/4/468 AC, Building 59, Fort Muddville, Balboa

"Magnificent, mon General," Malcoeur toadied. He was not talking about architecture.

"Quoi?" Janier asked, in a tone that meant, shut up, fool.

General Janier never really thought the old headquarters for the FS Army in Balboa was quite grand enough for his own, indisputable, magnificence. Oh, yes, the arched gate underneath his office was all well enough, even if not quite the triumphal arch the general would have preferred. And the building was solid; you have to give the Columbian pigs that. But it was such a utilitarian structure, no marble, few mirrors . . . no quarters for a mistress. How could a people even think of themselves as civilized who could build a headquarters for a senior general and not provide quarters for his mistress?

"Ah, well," said Janier aloud, "we'll soon have that fixed."

"Sir?" asked Malcoeur, cupping one hand to his ear to ward off the sound of hammers and saws coming from the just down the hall where Janier had evicted much of his staff to create an apartment.

"Nothing for your ears, Malcoeur, you rotund little swine," Janier sneered. He pointed at the aide with his marshal's stick with its thirty-two gold and silk embroidered eagles and ordered, "Bring me my topper." The top of the baton was engraved, "Terror Belli, Decus Pacis."

While the toady scurried off to Janier's desk to fetch the general's headgear, Janier admired himself in the mirror. It was understandable; he did cut quite a fine figure in the blue velvet and gold-embroidered informal dress uniform of a marshal of Napoleonic France. Hundreds of golden oak leaves covered the facings, the collar, the shoulders, and ran down each sleeve.

Janier fingered one of the eight gold buttons on the coat, adjusting it minutely. He then tugged and twisted at the stiff, high collar. It was beastly uncomfortable. By the time Janier was satisfied with the collar Malcoeur, the "rotund little swine," had returned with the headdress.

It would be unseemly for the general to bow his noble head to a fat little wretch like Major Malcoeur. Instead, as Janier admired himself in the mirror, the major pulled up a chair, stood upon it, and gently lowered a replica of the golden laurel wreath worn by Janier's hero, Napoleon I, for his coronation.

* * *

The drone of saw and wham-wham-wham of hammer were distant in the conference room at the other end of the long, white stuccoed and red tiled building. Indeed, so distant were the sounds that President Rocaberti was hardly aware of them. What with the election coming up, the numbers, country-wide, still running against him, and the near certainty of criminal charges if he lost; well, one could understand why the President wasn't aware of much.

Thus, Rocaberti barely noticed when all the Gaulic officers and functionaries present stood to attention around the conference table and the chairs lining the walls. Only he, his nephew, his minister of police, and the ambassador from United Earth remained seated. They remained that way, that is, until Rocaberti caught sight of Janier, his porcine little aide standing behind, glaring down at him from his nearly two meters of imperious height. The aide made little gestures with his hand, Arise.

Does he have any idea how ridiculous he looks in that outfit? Rocaberti wondered. Why is he glaring at me? Does he expect me, the chief executive of a sovereign nation, to rise for him? The Frog bastard; he does.

Rocaberti, never among the staunchest of men, stood, along with the other Balboans who had accompanied him. Only the UE ambassador remained seated and to that worthy Janier gave a respectful nod before seating himself.

"Report," Janier ordered.

The operations officer answered, "Preparation for flying in three more infantry battalions two days before the election are complete, mon general. An additional battalion of light armor has loaded ship and will arrive at about the same time as the light infantry. The government has already approved."

"What of the TU?" Janier asked.

"Why would we inform them? They'll be presented with a fait accompli once it's accompli."

On cue, the public affairs officer added, "Mon general, the news in both the TU and the FSC runs at ninety-seven percent that this election is in the process of being stolen by the mercenaries. Public opinion polls are in line with this."

"We have completed occupation of the former FSA facilities," said Janier's S-4, or logistics officer. "There will be adequate living space for all our troops, once they arrive."

"Very good," the general said, somberly. "Where did the locals who bought the housing go?"

"Who cares?"

"Indeed," Janier agreed.

"We have to care," Rocaberti interjected. "Those people were among our prime supporters."

Janier shrugged. The opinion of this future colonial subject could not possibly be important. Nonetheless, for the benefit of his own people, he spoke, and naturally in French. "Gentlemen, the Balboans who support the current administration have served their purpose, though that administration will remain valuable as a convenient cover for our rule. Have we not maintained virtually all of our old empire in Colombia del Sur, Uhuru and Urania in just this way?

"For our part, we will simply be here, in force—real or potential—greater than the local mercenaries would willingly wish to face. When the election procedure is shown to be compromised, as President Wozniak will attest to, the government will refuse to abide by it. We shall offer it our full support, of course . . . all in the interests of democracy . . . " –every Gaulic officer present broke out in unfeigned and unforced laughter—" . . . of course. We shall move our battalions, of which there shall be eight, to defend what can be defended, Balboa City and the Transitway area."

The ambassador of La Republique de la Gaulle said, "I am sure we can count on the Federated States' Department of State intervening on our behalf to threaten the mercenaries with severe sanctions should they initiate fighting."

"As I had supposed," Janier said.

"There is one major problem," Rocaberti insisted. "Within Ciudad Balboa there are some thousands of mercenary reservists. They may fight no matter what."

Janier sneered. As if some raggle taggle undeveloped world part timers could pose any serious problem for the professionals of his force. Absurd. Laughable. Impossible.