Carnifex

25/1/467 AC, Camp Balboa, Ninewa

Carrera had known what was coming, at least in rough outline. This explained why he had had VIP quarters assigned to Virgil Rivers and a dusty tent with an unmattressed cot to the assistant deputy undersecretary of war, the disgustingly fat Kenneth O'Meara-Temeroso. Rivers, being a gentleman, had, of course, protested. Carrera had answered, "It's the quarters you're assigned or the guard house for both of you." Rivers had then immediately walked in the direction of the guard house before being escorted back to his quarters.

"He'll get even for that, Pat," Rivers said, later that evening, over drinks in Carrera's adobe brick bungalow. The quarters were fairly cool in themselves, made more so by a small and straining window air conditioner and several overhead fans. Rivers was a little surprised to see that his own, temporary, VIP quarters were considerably more ornate and comfortable than Carrera's permanent hooch. He didn't know that the VIP quarters were actually the one's Carrera had shared with Lourdes.

Carrera shrugged. "What's he going to do that he isn't going to do anyway? Don't sweat it, Virg; I'm just getting my digs in first. He is here to fire us, right?"

Rivers just nodded, half saddened and half embarrassed.

"Oh . . . cheer up, for Christ's sake. It isn't like there's much to do here anymore. Sada—he's the Sumeri we've been working with since shortly after the beginning—anyway, Sada wants to hire one reinforced cohort of about two thousand men as a back up reaction force. I'll give him a cut rate, something I would never do for your SecWar. That will help pay the bills. And then I think there may be some private contracts here and there from people who need a little muscle. Have to see how that rolls out, though. In any case, we have enough to get by on until the FS realizes it needs us again."

"That won't be long," Rivers said. "One of the big advantages you've got is your troops are well trained and well equipped, but they're not spoiled. You can get by in a logistically austere environment better than FS troops can. I give it eighteen months and we'll be begging to hire you."

Carrera agreed, "Yes, we need about a third to a half the transport an FS division does. So, again yes, we're better suited to a place—Pashtia, say—without good road, rail or ports. As for Pashtia, do you really think it will take eighteen months?"

"Maybe not," Rivers conceded.

Carrera checked his watch. "Virg, I'm accompanying a Cazador maniple on a raid tomorrow morning at o-dark thirty. It's more of a training opportunity than a serious problem but I really need to hit the rack now. A driver will be parked outside all night. I won't offer you the full hospitality of the camp but I will point out that the O' and C' Club has several dozen women available for hire."

Rivers held his hands up in mock terror, then said, "Tempting, but no thanks."

"Up to you. We should be done by noon or so. I'll see you and his lowliness tomorrow about fourteen thirty; will that suit?"

"Just fine."

* * *

The next morning O'Meara-Temeroso awoke and discovered he had not, after all, slept alone. Filthy, and having no clue about communal washing facilities, he scratched at his obscenely obese and smelly flesh in rage and misery until Rivers found him and drove him to his own quarters and the blessed shower.

Seeing the comfort which with Rivers had spent the night enraged O'Meara-Temeroso even more. After that, the bureaucrat was not only frantically scratching; he was spitting with fury. Rivers made no comment, but merely pointed to the shower and handed the assistant deputy undersecretary of war a bar of harsh but fast-acting flea soap. To add injury to deliberate insult, the soap burned like the devil, especially around the more tender spots.

Thus, when Rivers and O'Meara-Temeroso arrived at the camp and legion headquarters, and were escorted to Carrera's office, the undersecretary was almost apoplectic with anger, rage and hate. Carrera could see a vein throbbing in his head.

The undersecretary proceeded to spit out, "You're fired, you fascist mercenary bastard. Do you hear me? EFF-EYE-ARR-EEE-DEE. FIRED! When your contract runs out in three months there will be no more, d'ya hear me? No more! Moreover, we're going to pay whatever is due you directly to your sponsoring government. You can go to them to beg for scraps from the table."

Click.

Carrera smiled serenely. He admonished, "Please, Mr. Undersecretary; control yourself. Three months, you say? That's no problem. Since you have just announced a material breach of our contract this legion will be gone from Sumer in two weeks. Oh, we'll have to turn over some of our equipment and supplies to the Sumeris; that or burn them. Never fear though. We'll keep track and when you come looking to hire us again everything you've cost us will be added to our fee, with interest from today. Hope you appreciate having to send an additional FS division over here in a hurry even though your administration promised to draw down the war."

The serene smile became positively radiant.

"Good day to you, sir. You can thank General Rivers that I haven't had you shot. But before you leave answer one question; is your name O'Meara-Temeroso because your mother wasn't quite sure who your father was and just decided to split the difference?"