That was going to take years, not less than four and probably more like six. The plan was to send back up to half the deployed legion, as quickly as replacements arrived. These would go to leadership schools run by Abogado's FMTG. The replacement funnel would then be aimed at the new units, which would fill and come over as cohorts to replace the old ones.
The old cohorts, once back in country, would increase in size by a factor of just over three. These would again be deployed as they were filled and trained. Then the second echelon would go back and do the same. When the first echelon of cohorts returned to Balboa they would split and fill.
Eventually, Carrera hoped to have one division at roughly full strength deployed and fighting for a year, one at slightly over full strength and training as a group to deploy, one still building to just over full strength and averaging about seventy percent strength during that year, and one reduced to a cadre of about forty percent, those being mostly in school or supporting school and training for a year. This would give one year of school, one year of building up and doing low level training, one of higher level and more difficult training, and one fighting.
In actuality, it was going to be a lot more complex than that as not every type of cohort was suitable for replacement at the cohort level. The Combat Support and Artillery cohorts, for example, had to replace by centuries, later to be maniples of roughly one hundred and twenty to two hundred men, while the Headquarters and Service Support cohorts, and the Aviation ala, were best served by individual replacement.
"This is so going to suck for Tom Christian," Carrera had observed, more than once.
The plane coming in, a Volgan-built Nabakov-21 flown by the air ala, stopped at the end of the runway, turned under its own power, and began to taxi to the terminal for the Ninewa Airport. The engines, shrieking in protest, suddenly reversed themselves as the plane neared, throwing up a mass of dust.
The Nabakov dropped its tail ramp once it had come to a complete halt. First off was Dan Kuralski who was followed by "Lourdes, what are you doing here?" Carrera asked, trying to keep the anger he felt out of his voice. This was not really all that difficult as, Jesus, she looks good, even after twenty hours in the air. It was made even easier by the fact that she had launched herself at him with a happy squeal as soon as she'd reached lunging range. Some of the troops waiting nearby to go home made a number of ad hoc and mildly obscene sounds. Carrera glared at them but that only seemed to encourage the bastards.
Hard to be angry with a woman in this position.
"You can blame that on both of us, Patricio," Parilla said, trying to hide a smile and failing miserably. "My wife told me how much Lourdes missed you. I suggested she come along on this flight since you are not planning on going home for at least another year. I asked Tom Christian if there was any bar to it under the regulations. Since there wasn't…"
"Besides, Patricio," Lourdes pointed out, reasonably enough, "you've lost weight and you stink to the heavens. Obviously no one has been taking proper care of you."
"Proper care of" can have so many meanings, Carrera thought, not without a bit of eager anticipation.
"So be it," Carrera said, defeated. "As long as you're here, you can come with me to see off the badly hurt troops we're evacuating back to the Federated States and Balboa for recuperation. Maybe they'll give you some idea of what a really bad idea it was for you to come here, my stink and my weight loss notwithstanding."
XII.
That was an education Lourdes might just as soon have forgone. The troops missing eyes, arms and legs were chipper enough, remarkably so, under the circumstances. She just wanted to cry.
One case in particular was bothersome. That boy, and he couldn't have been over eighteen, was missing both legs and had been blinded to boot. Handsome boy, though, Lourdes thought. What a shame. She immediately cursed herself, inside, for thinking that it would have been any better if the kid had been ugly.
"Hello, Private Mendoza," Carrera said, after he looked at the medical charts to find the name. Mendoza didn't answer, but just nodded to show he had heard.
On the other hand, when Lourdes introduced herself he sat upright and, politely answered, "Hello. Who are you?"
"I'm Legate Carrera's… secretary, Lourdes Nunez. I wanted to see the brave boys of the legion before you were shipped home."
Mendoza's face grew downcast. "I don't have a home. I'll never really have a home, not like this."
"I don't understand," Lourdes said, "of course you have a home. You came from somewhere."
Mendoza sighed. "We have a farm. My mom is too old to work it and I am the last boy left. Do you think we'll be able to keep it? No. When's the last time you saw a blind farmer? And a home means a wife, eventually. What girl would marry me now?"
Carrera said, "You can keep the land or sell it, Mendoza. You're a member of the legion until you die and your pay stays until that day, too. It's enough to live on. As for a wife…"
"You are selling our countrywomen short if you think that little things like legs will stop one of them from wanting to marry you," Lourdes supplied. "And even if you can't see out of your eyes I can still use them to see inside you. Any woman could. You'll have a wife, trust me. As a matter of fact…" Lourdes went silent.
"In any case," Carrera continued, "you'll have legs again. About a million drachma worth of legs. It's going to take you some time to learn to use them once you get home, though. And it's going to be hard."
"That's something, I suppose," Mendoza answered.
"Where are you from, Jorge?" Lourdes asked.
" Las Mesas," he answered. "Why?"
"Really! I have family there," Lourdes said, without quite answering.
Excursus
From: Legio del Cid: to Build an Army (reprinted here with permission of the Army War College, Army of the Federated States of Columbia, Slaughter Ravine, Plains FSC)
Despite the impressive combat record amassed by the legion, both during the initial invasion of Sumer and later during the counterinsurgency operation there, and still later, in Pashtia and other theaters, the legion became a magnet for criticism. Much of this came from elements within the Federated States. Some of these objected to the cost, though these raised no practical alternative except for sending even costlier Federated States forces, which forces did not even exist at the time to send. Still others insisted on greater reliance on allied troops, with those allies presumably paying their own way. This foundered on the clearly stated objections of those very allies who, to quote the Chancellor of Sachsen, would come, "Not now, not ever, no how, no way."
Moreover, the performance and staying power of most of the coalition troops left something to be desired. Castilla, for example, deserted in less than a year, taking with it the not inconsiderable number of Colombian states that had sent small formations to the war. Etruria and other Tauran forces likewise drew down as things appeared to bog in what the media insisted was a quagmire. Some allies from along the rim of the Mar Furioso sent substantial numbers, and paid for them, but always over strenuous domestic objections and usually at substantial domestic political cost. Moreover, these troops were almost invariably limited in their portfolio to peacekeeping in sectors where there was no great insurgency. They were useful in such places, but only that.