The Lotus Eaters

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 . . .

He glared at his G-2, de Villepin. "Why the fuck wasn't I warned?"

"Because we had no warning, General. This was completely out of the blue." The G-2 shook his head in wonder. "Whoever thought they could mobilize so quickly? I didn't?" Villepin looked down at the carpeted floor, softly adding, "Who thought they could mobilize so secretly? Even for the previous exercise, that meeting they held of the leadership, I had a little warning a bit over a day out."

A Sachsen officer seconded to Janier's headquarters stuck his head in the door to the command post. "There's an officer here from the Legion who wishes to speak with the general," the Sachsen announced.

Villepin looked at Janier, who gulped first, then forced calm into his face and voice and said, "By all means. Show him to my office."

* * *

The Balboan officer was in battle dress. He had a pistol hanging from a shoulder holster, the shoulder holster being in brown leather. On his collar were pinned subdued rank insignia for a senior tribune, that much Janier could see for himself. How senior he didn't know, as he really had never thought it particularly important to study the small details of his adversary.

"My commander and my president wish me to inform you that this mobilization is not aimed at you or your forces," said the senior tribune. Janier was startled to see the name "Carrera" above the tribune's right pocket.

"He's my brother-in-law," David Carrera explained. "He says to inform you that this mobilization is not aimed at you. He also says to inform you that it would be very easy to adjust his aim. Lastly, he says, do not mobilize your forces or he will adjust his aim."

Mierde, thought Janier.

* * *

Later, after David Carrera had left, Janier called his logistics, intelligence and operations officers into his office. The toad, Malcoeur, was excluded since there were no flies to be caught.

"Gentlemen," Janier said, civil among his social peers, "the fact of the Balboan mobilization, the speed and secrecy of the thing, makes me think we need something more here."

"We don't have room for any more ground troops," said the Log officer. "All the barracks are stuffed to overflowing and putting troops, long term, in tents is both expensive and unhealthy."

"Would it be sufficient to bring in another squadron or two of air?" de Villepin asked.

"No," answered the logistician. "Half the barracks at the air base are full of ground troops, too, and even were they not, the base is in range of more artillery than I care to contemplate. We'd just be giving the Balboans more targets with no commensurate increase to our power."

Operations poked a tongue into teeth turned yellow from smoking. His face indicated he was searching for an answer that was almost at the tip of his tongue. Janier looked at that face expectantly. His operations officer was handpicked, and came with rather a good reputation.

"The Charlemagne," ops said, suddenly. "Same airpower as a squadron . . . or rather more, really. No need for barracks. Nuclear powered so no fuel expense. And it's something the Balboans really don't have a good way to strike at."

"They do have an aircraft carrier," de Villepin objected. It was not stated very forcefully.

The ops officer shrugged. "They've got an old carrier, converted to a coastal raider, with a fair defensive suite, true, but with no high performance aircraft. It is not a match for Charlemagne, not nearly."

Janier nodded. The Gallic carrier would be a help. "Inquire," he said. "Paint a dire picture. Get me in a position where I do not have to worry about the shit the Balboans pull."

De Villepin looked museful for a moment. "Speaking of pulling shit," he said, "this might be a good way to bring in the commandos we need to assist our Balboans in their little project, without tipping anyone's hand. And, then too, the Charlemagne would be extremely useful in ensuring that no troops come from Isla Real to the mainland during those events."