A Desert Called Peace

VI.

Far to the south, halfway from the hills to Hewler International Airport, the six heavy rocket launchers of the legion received the call for fire from the Cricket, Uniform One Two. Each of the launchers was capable of firing twelve 300mm rockets, bearing warheads of two hundred and thirty-five kilograms, to a range of seventy kilometers. At that range, the predictable error was under two hundred meters. Since the beaten zone of a full ripple launch was on the order of three quarters of a kilometer, square, per launcher, the dispersion was tactically insignificant.

Within four minutes from the Cricket's call, when the trucks dragging the artillery had moved perhaps five hundred meters, the area was deluged with something over fifty-one hundred two-kilogram bombs.

Two minutes after the last of the rockets had scattered its bomblets, the Cricket flew low and made a pass over the column to asses the damage. Not one of the broken, bleeding, burned or simply stunned men below even bothered to shoot at the plane.

"Oh, baby…"

Hill 1647, 0801 hours, 13/2/461 AC

All my life I just wanted to be a simple soldier, Parilla thought to himself as he struggled to force his armored torso up the slope while listening to the radio he held closely to his ear. Hard to do in Balboa. Hard to do any place in the undeveloped world. All my life I was forced into politics, starting with the coup after the riots in '21 and continuing right up through when that bastard, Pina, tricked me into resigning from the force in '41. Nothing but goddamned politics. And now- finally-and thanks to you, Patricio, you gringo maniac, I get to be what I always wanted to be. Late is better than never.

Yes, I don't have much to do. We planned and rehearsed the shit out of this. We trained back in Balboa for just this sort of thing. So I listen on the radio and provide a little moral support when I can. So what? At least I am here, a man among men, doing a man's job for once in my life.

Parilla looked up and to the right, where a legionary was carrying the gold eagle of the legion, the eagle shining bright atop its spiral carved staff. He felt a sudden warm glow. My eagle, too. My legion, too.