Eighty miles south of Ninewa
The sun was setting on a desolate scene, made all the more so by the dust that covered everything in swirling, choking eddies. Red leaflets, prepared by the Psychological Operations Century and dropped by Cricket recon plane ahead of the legion as it advanced, also blew in the breeze. The leaflets proclaimed the list of Sumeri violations of the laws of war, to date, and the legion's bloody-handed response to them.
The press was… stymied. When no one responded to their charges, except to admit them and insist the reprisals were lawful, they found they had no recourse. There was no blood in the water, no struggling body filled with fear of the righteous wrath of the media. The sharks couldn't go into a feeding frenzy.
On the other hand, admitted Carrera to himself, as he exited his vehicle, while the press is defanged, if the Sumeris had a half-functioning chain of command at army level and a couple of battalions of working armor, I'd be fucked.
Logistically, the legion was a mess. Carrera had one cohort detached from the line to guard prisoners. There were so many of these that his one century of military police camp guards, even supplemented by the field police century, the walking wounded and as many service troops as could be spared, simply couldn't guard them all. In point of fact it was more important that he was feeding his prisoners than that he was guarding them. For food, they'd stick around. Guards? Eh? They could be ducked in a thick enough sandstorm.
The rest of the legion was strung out over forty miles of bad road. The trucks were overtasked, especially given the sandstorm. The helicopters were grounded. Roughly half the armor was stuck, broken down or about to break down and waiting along the side of the road for recovery or repair. And the artillery? It was more disorganized and strung out than any other cohort in the legion.
Thank God I listened to Harrington and Lanza and paid for the B300 Dodos. Otherwise we'd have no means of reliable resupply. As is, the Dodos can drop us enough, just enough with what the trucks can bring through, to keep us going.
About the only good thing one could say was that, between the Yezidi taking over security in the towns the legion cleared and the fact that Carrera was taking and holding prisoners rather than letting them go to become a threat to his communications, at least the trucks were getting through. When they didn't break down… or get lost… or crash into something invisible at ten feet for all the dust in the air.
There was a small school house just outside this small, insignificant Sumeri town. Kennison had grabbed it for the legion's command post. All three of the operational staff teams, Operations itself, Logistics and Intelligence, were set up there. The doors were off as were the windows, though actually it was a matter of some conjecture whether the place had ever had doors and windows. In any case, blankets were hung over whatever openings there were. It cut the dust down, but could not entirely eliminate it.
Carrera pushed aside a blanket and entered. Behind him, in the road fronting the school, a column of infantry struggled forward against the biting sand. The men were too tired to even curse. He thought this a bad sign.
Inside, Triste and Fahad the Chaldean were engaged in a low volume but still heated discussion. A Sumeri officer, a captain, Carrera saw on closer inspection, sat in obvious incomprehension on a folding metal chair off to one side.
Looking up, Triste saw Carrera observing himself and Fahad. "Boss, we gots problems," the intelligence officer announced.
Carrera made a give forth motion with one hand.
"The captain here," and Triste indicated the seated Sumeri, "has been most cooperative. He's a supply and transportation type and before we captured him had passed directly through Ninewa. He says the commander there is a Sumeri brigadier named Sada."
"I know this man," Fahad interjected. "I know him well. As Tribune Triste says, 'We gots problems.'"
"Where do you know him from, Fahad?" Carrera asked.
"I was his instructor in English at the War College outside Babel. That's one way. But I also know him from elsewhere, when I was medic on the Farsian front twenty years ago. He was my commander."
"Fahad says this guy is really good, Boss, tough and brave and smart. Says the men love him."
"Oh, yes," the Chaldean interjected. "Best officer in whole fucking Sumeri army. Should be in command of whole army, too, but… wrong tribe." Fahad shrugged.
"Does he play by the rules, Fahad?"
"Rules, sayidi?"
"Laws of war? Treatment of prisoners? Maintaining status of lawful combatancy?"
"Oh. Yes, Legate. Sada is straight up. Tricks, yes. Dirty tricks? No."
Carrera pondered that for a few minutes, standing in the dusty room in silence. When he had thought it through, he ordered, "Get me the PSYOP people. And Fahad, sit down and prepare to translate. Kennison, have we got a Cricket pilot crazy enough to fly in this shit?"
Ninewa, 23/2/461 AC
The sun was far from up when Faush knocked on Sada's room door.
"What is it?" Sada demanded as he sat up and began pulling his boots on.
Faush hesitated, not because he feared his commander's wrath at being awakened but because he himself was very confused.
"Is that you, Faush?" Sada thought he had recognized the knock.
"Yes, Amid, " Faush answered through the slightly cracked door. "There is something you need to see. Leaflets from the enemy. The streets are full of them."
"Come in then." Sada struck a match to light a kerosene lantern on a table next to his narrow bed.
Faush handed his commander a green piece of paper. On the paper was printing in Arabic script. Sada read:
To the defenders of Ninewa:
It has come to my attention, from a reliable source, that despite the near continuous pattern of violations of the laws of war which have come to characterize the Sumeri defense over the last ten days, it is a distinct possibility that these violations will not be repeated in your town or by your unit. Thus, although I have previously given orders that no prisoners will be accepted unless they strip completely naked to demonstrate that they have no hidden weapons or explosives, and that-because of treachery on the part of men pretending to be wounded to gain an advantage-all remotely suspicious bodies, apparently dead or plainly living, were to be shot again for security's sake, I am temporarily rescinding these orders in your case.
Those orders will remain rescinded for so long as, and not one moment longer than, the defenders of Ninewa themselves continue to obey the laws of war. It is up to you to police your own. If some of your men pretend to be wounded to gain a treacherous advantage, all of your wounded will suffer. If some abuse the flag of truce, the flag of truce will no longer be honored. If some use the symbols of the Red Crescent Organization treacherously, those symbols will not be respected further. If surrendering men attack, surrenders will not thereafter be accepted. If any of my men who fall into your hands are mistreated, yours will be butchered in return. If you fight from hospitals and mosques they will be obliterated. If you fight from behind women and children, we will take extra casualties to capture you alive so that you can be hanged in front of those same civilians whose sanctuary you will have violated.
The choice is yours.
You are reputed to be good soldiers. I hope, personally, that you and your commanders choose well.
Signed,
Patricio Carrera
Legate, Legio del Cid
Acting Commander
"What do you think of it, Amid? " Faush asked.
Sada didn't answer immediately. This was a strange development, unique in his personal experience. An enemy lecturing you on the law of war? Bizarre. On the other hand, he's got a point. The conduct of the irregulars… and even the regulars, has been a disgrace to this army. Perhaps here, maybe, we can redeem ourselves and our country's reputation. It will take some thought…