Carnifex

20/9/467 AC, Kibla Pass

The sun was high overhead, casting a shadowless light down onto the gruesome scene. The Cazadors had come out, dressed in the pixilated tiger stripes they shared with most of the Legion. Beside them, lined up on the road, were about one hundred tall, lean and fierce looking men mounted on hungry-looking horses. All stood well to the north of the minefield. It was long duration and was not supposed to self-detonate for another two weeks. Still, quality control at the factory being, at best, imperfect, it generally didn't pay to take chances.

"Quien esta el jefe aqui?" one of the ruffians asked.

Quiroz did a double take on seeing a mounted, bearded, dirty horseman who spoke such clear Spanish. He'd been advised over the radio of the Pashtun Scouts arrival, and so had held his fire. Still, the incongruous appearance of border bandit and good Spanish came as a shock.

He saluted the speaker and announced, "Sir, Sergeant Quiroz reports."

Cano returned the salute from horseback, then dismounted. "Tribune Cano, Sergeant, Fourth Infantry Tercio seconded to the Pashtun Mounted Scouts."

Cano took a moment to look around at the scattered bodies of men and horse. He put out his hand and said, "Damned fine job."

"Thank you, sir. We got maybe half of them. Maybe even two thirds. The rest got away."

Cano heard the subtle rebuke. "We rode as fast as we could, Sergeant. But we got the word late and intercepted two small groups of guerillas on the way." Cano shrugged. Fortunes of war.

"What now, sir?" Quiroz asked.

"We're going to try to pursue up the mountains," Cano answered.

"Well . . . sir . . . make sure they don't do to you what we did to them.

"How could they, Sergeant? They are not men so good as yours, nor are my men so bad as them." Cano laughed, "And they don't have aircraft to drop mines on our heads."