"Are you going to meet them, Amid? If so, I need to have the barriers at the gate cleared away."
"Can't hurt to talk, I suppose," Sada answered. Every minute we gain… gains us… nothing. "Have someone shout to them that I'll be along in thirty minutes. And, yes, open the gate."
It had begun hot enough, standing there in the open and waiting for the Sumeris to respond. As the sun arose, it grew hotter still, despite the wide swath of pockmarked greenery on which they stood. Sweat poured off the faces of Carrera, Soult and Fahad. Their uniforms, and Fahad's civilian clothing, grew soaked with it even though the dry, dusty air sucked it away almost as fast as it formed.
"There he is," Fahad said. "Magnificent, isn't he?"
Carrera agreed, though he said nothing. The man approaching under flag of truce was caked with sweat and dust, but tall, well built, and walked like a man of fierce courage still.
Carrera's party stood in place while the Sumeri approached. Sada stopped only once, gaping at Fahad from just recognition distance. Fahad made a small bow, Yes, my general, it is me.
"How may I be of service?" Sada asked in polite, Anglian accented English. He looked at Carrera's eyes and thought, Creepy, like the Blue Jinn. Glancing at Fahad again, he added, to Carrera, "I gather you know who I am."
Taking the hint, Carrera offered his hand, which Sada took, and introduced himself, adding, "Your men have fought well, as have you."
"Thank you, Liwa Patricio." In the Arab way, Sada used rank and first name. "And, might I add, they're ready to keep on doing so."
Carrera bit his lower lip, doubtfully. "For a while," he conceded. "But the rest of your army, elsewhere, has folded. These are the only men who've made a good stand. It would be a shame to rob your country of them now, don't you think?"
Overhead, six NA-23s and a like number of Turbo-Finches circled in two separate groups. Reinforcing these, ten helicopters, ostentatiously bearing rocket and machine gun pods, hovered. Carrera didn't have to point them out; their noise reached the ground with a low, steady thrum.
"The other thing is… you can surrender to me or you can surrender to the Federated States Army which, now that it has nothing better to do, is sending a division this way to reinforce us. You'll get better treatment from me. So will your men."
Seeing that Sada was still full of fight- Fahad was right about this one. A wonderful enemy. Even in defeat he's got pluck- Carrera put in a sweetener. "I've got medical teams standing by, just behind the line, to go in and see to your wounded." His eyes swept around the grassy strip. "We can medevac them from right here."
"I have a lot of wounded," Sada answered, wavering slightly.
"I know. And not much food and not much ammunition. And no medicine. Friend, this is the best thing you can do for your men, hurt or unhurt. For reasons I'll explain later, it's also the best thing you can do for your country and your people."
Sada's shoulders, previously proudly squared off, sank just a little. "Terms?" he asked.
"The usual," Carrera answered, "except that I'll want officers to take their sidearms even into captivity to maintain order."
"We don't have enough nine millimeter ammunition left to maintain order."
"No problem; we'll give you enough." That was an almost unprecedented offer of grace.
Sada nodded, then let his face hang downward.
"And I'll want your men to march out under arms, like honorable soldiers, colors flying and band playing."
"I don't have a band," Sada objected.
"That doesn't matter. I do."
Sada looked… well, he looked ripped up inside. "This is hard. Hard. I've never surrendered my command. In three wars I've never given up."
"I understand," Carrera commiserated. "It's the hardest thing one can do. But is your pride worth getting the only part of your army that consistently fought well destroyed? Your country is going to need these men. Is your pride more important than that?"
Sada inhaled deeply. When he gave up that breath his shoulders slumped even more than they had been. "When? How do you want it done?"
The sun was high overhead and the PSYOP cameras were rolling when Sada reappeared at the gate. From above, confirmed by both observation teams and the still circling aircraft, the remnants of his command were formed up behind him. Medical teams from the legion were already inside the compound, triaging the wounded and treating them where practical. Fahad and Soult had accompanied the medics and doctors to translate. The three-way translation was slow and awkward, but ultimately effective enough.
Precisely at noon Carrera reappeared in the green strip fronting the gate. This time he was accompanied not by a mere two men. Instead, he had the dozen each pipers and drummers of the legion, their Secordian-born pipe major, plus an honor guard of one century from the 1st Cohort. The pipes and drums stood to Carrera's right, the honor guard to the left. Well behind him, on the far side of the boulevard, Parilla and the legionary staff stood on a makeshift platform raised above the rear decks of two tanks. The one gold and eleven silver eagles of the ground and air elements of the legion were drawn up, held aloft by their bearers, in front of the stand.
Sada appeared within the gate. Behind him were his staff and his brigade colors, a splash of green against the white background.
Carrera looked right and nodded at the pipe major who raised his baton and lowered it. Immediately the drums began a marching beat. Four beats later the pipes joined in with " The Muckin' o' Geordie's Byre."
Qabaash looked terribly forlorn and depressed, slumping behind Sada. He turned his head and gave the order to "Mark time, march." The men began to march in step, lifting their feet in time to the beat. This was followed by, "Forward… march." Sada, the staff, the brigade colors, and the first group of soldiers stepped off.
Four abreast the Sumeris flowed out of the gate. Weary as they no doubt were, still the pipes and the drums gave them a bit of energy they'd perhaps not known they'd had. They came forward, dirty and ragged but in good dress and step, until Sada reached a point six meters in front of Carrera. There Qabaash gave the order, "Brigade… halt." The pipes and drums ceased.
Sada and Carrera exchanged salutes. Then Sada walked forward, unbuckling the sword-a great prize and artifact of his clan-to present to Carrera. Carrera held up his hand in refusal, saying, "I am not the commander." He turned and pointed to Parilla, standing on the platform, and said, "Your sword and your colors go to him. Have your command follow me and then peel off in line along the grass."
With that, Carrera executed a letter-perfect about face and once again nodded to the pipe major. The drums and the tune picked up as the honor guard marched forward to insert itself between Sada's colors and the bulk of his brigade. Following Carrera, the Sumeris advanced into the boulevard to just before Parilla's reviewing stand. Behind Sada the remaining units peeled off right and left to form a line of columns. They were few and took up comparatively little of the space.
At the reviewing stand Carrera saluted Parilla, reporting, "Al Sada Brigade, present and accounted for and ready to surrender after a gallant defense." The pipes and drums automatically cut out.
Parilla returned the salute and answered, "Continue with the ceremony."
Carrera turned and nodded at Sada. Sada, in turn, gave the orders in Arabic for his colors to follow him. They marched in time, pipes silent and drums only beating a slow march. There Sada once again unbuckled his sword belt and gave it to Parilla, who took it and passed it to Sergeant Major McNamara. Parilla then, followed by McNamara, walked gingerly down some rickety steps that led to the flat below the stand.
Sada turned and took the brigade colors from their bearer. Oh, this hurts. He turned once again, in place, and offered these to Parilla who took them as well. Parilla held them in his hand, momentarily, savoring the ultimate battlefield commander's high, the capture of the enemy's soul. Then, smiling, he gave them back to Sada.