Carnifex

5/5/467 AC, Ciudad Balboa, Presidential Palace

Presidente de la Republica Rocaberti had problems.

The Republic of Balboa had a Gross Domestic Product, exclusive of the LdC and its various enterprises, on the order of just over twelve billion FSD a year. Of that, the government managed to squeeze out about a tenth. Thus, the loss of income from legionary contributions, amounting to roughly one hundred and sixty million a year, hurt. Not only had services had to be curtailed, but—far, far worse, from the point of view of those families that actually ran the country—the rake off potential had virtually disappeared. Those chief families were not happy about it, either.

That was one reason why the government had acquiesced in the Legion's creation of half a dozen military schools. It had not only reduced expenditures, it had also left more to disappear down the rat hole of familial corruption.

The Legion had done other things, too, that reduced government expenditures and made more available for graft, even as it made the graft more obvious. The reserve formations did a great deal of what was sometimes called, "civic action," building clinics and schools, road improvement, opening factories, and such. Admittedly, the factories just flat refused to hire anyone who was not either a reservist, a discharged regular, or the spouse of a slain or disabled legionary (indeed, that requirement was the biggest single limitation of legionary economic expansion within the country), but there had been quite a bit of trickle down. The Civil Force, Balboa's police force cum armed force, was also given full post-service employment rights as a matter of courtesy and good public relations.

Of course, the downside was that the Legion was buying affection at a greater rate than the government could hope to. Then again, the Balboans were a realistic people. They knew their government was unutterably corrupt from the word go. They basically had no affection for it. It had been put in power by foreign, gringo, arms. It was maintained now by foreign, Tauran Union, arms. It was simply despised.

And now there are rumors that Parilla was going to retire from the Legion and enter politics, thought the President. That's intolerable. Not only is Parilla a frightfully honest man, but he's a peasant, a stinking campesino. He has no connection to the old families. Worse, he's approximately as ruthless as his pet gringo, Carrera. A Presidente Parilla means many true gentlemen in prison or in exile, including, most likely me. If he applies legionary rules retroactively, it might mean many true gentlemen put against a wall and shot.

President Rocaberti shivered at that thought. The Legion, back when there was only one, and that one at one third strength only, had had not the slightest qualm about shooting his nephew; shooting him like a dog without the slightest regard for the man's clan or its position. How much more ruthless would they be with four regular legions, the equivalent of as many in reserve, and owning the government?

Shoot me? Rocaberti thought, fingering his neck. No, I'll be lucky if they don't hang me, along with every adult member of my clan that ever took an illicit dime. They've got to be stopped.

He said it aloud. "They've got to be stopped."

"Quoi?" asked the Gallic commander, General Janier, of the Tauran Union brigade stationed in the Transitway area.

Janier was a tall, elegantly slender, but sadly toad-faced officer who understood Spanish perfectly well but refused to lower himself to speaking it. His country's contribution consisted basically of himself and his headquarters, plus a commando battalion. The line combat battalions were provided by other, lesser, TU members, in rotation. This had become a national pattern for the Gauls, to provide low risk headquarters troops and commanders, plus a small elite force, but leave the bulk of combat capability for others. To give them their due, they were good at that sort of thing. Why, despite having one of the least competitive economies in the TU, they still managed to take a central position in that organization and ran the thing to suit the Gallic Republic to a tee.

The Taurans had been brought in to "secure the Transitway" once the terrorist threat had grown out of hand as a result of the LdC's participation in the war. That had been merely an excuse, though. They were really there to secure the government—internationalist, emotionally detached from its country's and people's welfare, and therefore corrupt, pro-TU and pro-UEPF—from the legions. Any securing of the Transitway from terrorist attack was merely incidental.

Janier repeated, "Quoi?"

Sighing with frustration, Rocaberti explained the problem to Janier, in French. He ended by pointing out, "And outside of your brigade we have nothing. Our police and militarized police are underarmed and unreliable. The people despise us. Even the FSC, which has fallen desperately out of love with the legions, still could probably not intervene against them here."

The Gaul smiled with satisfaction. It was good to have one's protectorates actually need protecting.

The ambassador to the Republic from the UEPF added, "Don't count on us. We are still stymied from direct action by the FSC. If there is any one issue the bulk of the people there agree on, it is that the UEPF is the enemy. Even their progressive politicians can't openly disagree with that, not if they want to keep their jobs."

Janier's smile grew broader still. Yes, it was very good to be needed so desperately. But, one had to be realistic.

"There is no practical way, at this time, for the TU to do more than safeguard the Transitway and your government. I have four battalions, one of those mechanized but one also a very lightly equipped commando battalion. Usually, too, I have another infantry battalion undergoing jungle training here. We could fly in a couple more on fairly short notice, maybe even three to five more battalions if, and only if, we planned it well in advance, had control of the airfields and the skies, and if we impressed civilian air carriers. If your 'legions' decided to hit us first, or to mobilize their reserves and hit us first, we wouldn't have a prayer."

"Allies?" Rocaberti asked.

"The Zhong have forty or fifty thousand illegal immigrants here, plus about as many legal ones," Janier answered. "They could perhaps be induced to intervene to protect what they consider to be their people. But such intervention would be—" He looked at his dumpy adjutant, a Gallic major who appeared even more toad-like than Janier.

"Major Malcoeur, what could the Zhong bring to the field?"

The major was widely believed, within his own army, to have no real talent but licking the boss' ass. This was unfair. Though he was quite a talented asslick; he was, at least, very thorough in his official duties. "With warning—a lot of warning, mon General—they could fly in a brigade or move a division by sea. These are not mutually exclusive. If we provided sea and air lift they could probably double or even triple that. They have a large army, over one hundred divisions, but little in the way of strategic transport."

"We have a . . . close . . . yes, a close connection with the Zhong Guo," said the ambassador from the UEPF. He, too, spoke French. "I will make inquiries."

"Not yet, Mr. Ambassador," answered Janier. "Before we bring them in too closely, I need to find a way to crush these 'legions' with or without the Zhong. That I do not have yet."