Carnifex

Parade Field, Isla Real, Balboa, 13/2/467

It had actually taken closer to three weeks, rather than the two Carrera had said it would, to pull the deployed legion out of Sumer. At that, they'd left a bit under twenty percent of its strength—one reinforced cohort—behind to serve as a palace-guard-of-last-resort for Sada as he assumed the extraordinarily dangerous job of President of the Republic.

Even then, it wasn't precisely a moneymaking arrangement for Carrera. Sada and Sumer just couldn't afford to pay what the FSC had paid. Instead, they paid only the operational costs. Fortunately for all concerned, these were low now since the serious fighting had ended.

"Adnan," Carrera had told Sada, "look at it this way; it isn't a gift. I'm not losing any money on the deal. Besides, you're our ally. We have few enough in the world that we're not about to let one go under. Besides, I just hate to lose."

Less that not-quite-twenty-percent, the rest of the legionaries were back in Balboa in time to celebrate the sixth anniversary of their baptism of fire back at Multichucha Ridge in Sumer. That celebration had begun with a parade. The parade was now ending.

"Pass in review," ordered the legionary adjutant.

Immediately the drums picked up a marching beat, followed by the pipes playing The Muckin' o' Geordies' Byre. The order was repeated and modified by the cohort and maniple commanders.

"Maniple . . . forward . . . mark time . . . right wheel . . . mark time . . . forward . . . MARCH," carried down the serried ranks.

* * *

Cruz stood in the first rank of his maniple, fourth from the right, next to Arredondo. His eyes scanned the reviewing stands for signs of his wife and children but, with the stands packed to capacity and then some with well-wishers and close family come to give the returned legion a good homecoming reception, there was no way to pick out one small cinnamon woman and two still smaller children from the mass. No matter; I'll find them when the parade's dismissed.

Cruz heard the maniple commander call out, "Maniple . . . right wheel . . . MARCH."

He stepped off as did the rest of the unit, but adopted a half step to keep the front rank relatively dressed. The half step continued until the wheel was complete. At that point, all moved out with a full step down the field. At the right edge, as the troops faced, there was a shiny coffee can lid nailed to the ground. Here the commander ordered, "Left wheel . . . MARCH." Another thirty meters on there was another shiny lid. Here the unit wheeled left yet again. At that point they were very close to the pipes and drums. Whatever randomness was in their step, and the legions didn't practice parading all that much so there was some, was beaten out of them by the heavily pounding drums. As the maniple approached the band and reviewing stands, and the music and the "ooohs" and "ahhhhs" from the crowd grew, the legionaries threw their shoulders back and walked even more proudly erect. Cocks of the walk, indeed.

Instead of eagles, maniples carried small upraised palms atop their guidons. Cruz saw the palm rise on the commander's preparatory command, "EYES . . . " The entire maniple gripped the slings of their rifles with their left hands, freeing their rights. When they saw the palm and pole drop parallel to the ground on the order, "RIGHT," they turned their heads toward the stand and brought their right hands up to salute.

* * *

On the stand, Parilla and Carrera—Carrera to the left—returned the salutes and held them until the guidon had passed. Once the two leaders had dropped their own salutes, the maniple commander ordered, "READY . . . FRONT." Immediately, salutes dropped, right hands returned to rifle slings, left arms lowered to the sides to swing normally and eyes returned to the front. From that point, it was only a question of marching off, and meeting the families. There was no need to turn in individual weapons; in the legions, soldiers were trusted to keep their weapons at home or in the barracks. This was so despite a few suicides and a couple of unfortunate incidents where a legionary had come home to find out his wife had not been all that lonely in his absence.

* * *

Cruz's mind was just beginning to dwell upon unpleasant possibilities when he felt a light and gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned around and . . .

Holy shit!

Cara was there. So were the children. So were two women he didn't recognize. The two unknown women, however, were with a couple of men he did recognize.

"Señores!" he said, bracing to attention and saluting.

Both Carrera and Parilla returned the salute; then Carrera reached over and took Cruz's rifle from his shoulder.

Smiling, Carrera said, "See to your family, Centurion. I think Duque Parilla and I are competent to watch your rifle for you for a while. I'll have my driver drop it by your quarters this evening."

* * *

Later—much later—in bed, Cruz asked Cara, "Where did you meet Parilla and Carrera?"

Cara snuggled into his shoulder and answered, "Actually I'd never met them before today. But the day you went off to the war the first time, when I saw you off at the airport, Lourdes Carrera—well, actually her name was Nuñez-Cordoba back then—and Mrs. Parilla were nearby when I started to cry. They came over to comfort me and we all ended up crying together. They saw me and the kids outside the reviewing stand and invited us up. That's where I met the duques."

"Oh."

The couple lay silently for a long time, neither sleeping but both enjoying the warm feeling of being together again; that, and the afterglow from making love. Admittedly, this separation had been much shorter than most. Still, Cruz had been away at the war for two and a half of the last six years and had spent more than half the remainder training in the field. More than three quarters separation in the first six years of marriage would have done—indeed, had done—for many marriages. That theirs had lasted so well so far was mostly attributable to Caridad. Even so . . .

"Ricardo?"

"Si, mi amor."

"When this enlistment is up . . . " She hesitated, nervously, before continuing, "when this enlistment is up, could you consider getting out?"

"I'll have to think about it, corazon. I'm forty percent of the way to earliest retirement. That would be a lot of money to throw away."

"You can't spend it when you're dead, Ricardo." Count on a woman to come up with a reasonable answer. Dammit.