"I can't do this," he said into the radio that ran from his explosive vest to an earpiece cum microphone. He turned to leave the school.
Sadly for Ishmael, more sadly for the girls at the school and their families, the radio had another purpose besides control. It also served as a remote detonator. With or without any words from Ishmael, the controller's instructions were to detonate it when a certain time had passed after Ishmael had walked through the gate or if it appeared he wanted to back out. That time was up. So was Ishmael's.
So was the girls'.
Balboa Camp, 12/5/462 AC
The bottoms of Carrera's and Sada's boots were stained red. That was as nothing to the red Carrera was seeing, a seething bloody red that arose to infuse his brain and cloud all his thoughts.
Fernandez was waiting for them at Carrera's and Lourdes' quarters. Lourdes was horrified, weeping. Carrera was simply outraged, though he mostly hid it behind an automatic stone mask.
"Have you seen the al Iskandaria broadcast, Patricio?" Fernandez asked, after Lourdes had dragged Carrera to a chair and forced a scotch over ice into his hand.
"No, why?" Carrera asked evenly.
"Our girlabomber was the son of that woman we had taken out in Akka, Layla Arguello. It was broadcast half an hour ago." Fernandez's look said more eloquently than could have any words, And that's your fault.
"Fuck."
"Fuck," Fernandez repeated. Neither he nor Sada bothered to remind Carrera of their advice concerning the family of the Arguello woman.
Unconsciously echoing Fadeel al Nizal's thoughts of a couple of days earlier, Sada observed, "Your Christian heritage of individual accountability has no use here, Patricio. It can never be of use in a place where the individual places so much importance on family ties. Moreover, you seem to insist that groups cannot be responsible for the actions of individuals. This is nonsense, my friend, and worse, it's immoral. Mothers and fathers raise their sons to be such and must be held accountable. Moreover, by your own laws of war you hold organizations accountable. When the organization is a family it is illogical not to hold them equally accountable."
Carrera leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. It didn't help; he still saw a red-stained courtyard filled with the bodies and parts of bodies of young, innocent girls. I become just like my enemy, he thought. Well, so be it then. After all, I'm already better than halfway there.
"Is Fadeel responsible?" he asked.
"Clearly," Fernandez and Sada said together.
"Grab his family. Do it as soon as possible. Kill whomever we can't get at otherwise. All ages and sexes. Punish this motherfucker !"
"You don't really mean that, Patricio," Sada said. "We don't have to go that far."
"But you said…" Carrera began.
"I said you sometimes had to demonstrate a willingness to seriously hurt a tribe or family to control it. We can do that without exterminating it. Besides…"
"Besides?"
"You're not a complete barbarian, Patricio. Neither am I and neither is Omar, here. We still have to live with ourselves. We can be more selective."
Carrera breathed deeply, realizing what he had ordered. Jesus, what am I becoming?
"Thank you, my friend. Yes, please… be selective."
"Your boys, Adnan," Fernandez offered.
"Yes," the Sumeri agreed. "It will take a while to set up."
"Fine, so long as it gets done. I have to go to the FSC for a bit anyway."
Hamilton, FD, 21/5/462 AC
Campos was considerably warmer in his greetings than he had been the first time he and Carrera had met. He was practically effusive in shaking Carrera's hand and welcoming him back.
"Legate Hennessey, it is so good to see you once again."
"I go by Carrera now," came the dry answer. "That, or Pat."
"Fine, fine," Campos said. "I wanted to talk to you about your new and expanded area of responsibility. That, and the way you are conducting the war in your sector."
"For that," Carrera answered, "I could have spoken to your commander in Sumer or your ambassador. I didn't need to traipse halfway across the world with my… secretary. And I fight the war in accordance with the law, so don't bother."
Campos decided to drop the question of war crimes. After all, technically the legion did stay within the bounds of the law, at least insofar as anyone could prove. Shrugging, he continued with the important part, "Both General Abramovitz and the Ambassador thought it would be better coming from me. They seem to feel you're maybe a little hard to control."
"I am," Carrera admitted. "I'd still have at least listened."
"I'm sure you would have," Campos tactfully lied. "By the way, how many men do you have in Sumer now?"
"About seventy-seven hundred. And another five thousand or so back home, not counting those still in initial training. Why?"
Campos didn't answer directly. Instead he asked, "And we're paying you how much?"
"Now? Now it's fifty-five percent of what it would cost you to field an equivalent combat force. It was just under eight billion per annum. It's now over twelve. It's still a bargain for you," he added.
"Didn't say it wasn't," Campos conceded easily. "It's a great bargain. But…"
"But?"
"We need to adjust your sector from what we originally agreed to."
I should have seen this coming, Carrera thought.
"Show me."
Campos led him over to map spread across his desk.
"Going to cost you another one point two billion," Carrera announced when he had seen the border shift Campos wanted.
"We're already paying you the agreed rate," Campos insisted, growing heated.
"Let me point out that our current contract is not for major conventional operations," Carrera pointed out. He stuck his finger to the map, resting it on the midsized city of Pumbadeta, Sumer. "Your people lost control of that town months ago. To get it back… and…" Carrera thought for a moment before his face lit in a broad smile. "Ohhh, I see. You're having an election soon, aren't you? You need the town reduced before then, but you don't want to take any serious casualties before then, either."
Campos scowled but admitted the charge.
"Yes… well, our contract is for low intensity operations. This is something different. It's going to take a shitpot of ammunition, fuel, food, air movement. It's also likely to cost me a thousand men dead or wounded. For that matter, I really don't have the force yet. In another year I would…"
"We can't wait-"
"… another year," Carrera finished. "Yes, I can understand that you can't wait. Even so, I don't have the forces myself."
"We can give you control of three or four battalions of ours, provided you do the bulk of the actual clearing," Campos conceded.
"No, you can't," Carrera contradicted. "I fight my way. The old way. The true law of war way. You either can't or won't."
"I don't see…"
Carrera clasped his hands behind his back, turned from the map, and began to pace. "Do you know how I'd take that place?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer he continued, "I'll surround it. I'll cut off the food. I'll announce what I'm doing and let leave only those I am required to allow out: the very sick, pregnant and nursing women, and such. I will check for actual pregnancy and actual illness. And I'll take my time about just when they'll be allowed to leave, too. After that, if any civilians try to escape I'll engage them and drive them back so that they help eat up the food. I will do my damnedest to destroy any food stocks I can identify, too. Any humanitarian effort to bring food in by ground will be stopped and the food confiscated. Any aerial attempt will be shot down; I do have that one maniple of air defense troops I've been using for checkpoints, after all."
He stopped his pacing and turned back to the map. One finger made a rotating motion over the spot of the city of Pumbadeta. "About a week or two after aerial reconnaissance informs me there isn't a dog or cat left walking the streets of the town-in other words when I am sure they've been eaten because the people are starving- I'll let the civilians out. The women and children, that is. No men will be allowed to leave, period. Then I'll let them starve some more. They'll attack, of course; it's a quicker death than starving. But I still won't let any out. And I will refuse to recognize any emissaries that try to surrender as lacking authority. Individual attempts at surrender will be treated as the civilians were. After all, if I can engage civilians and use them as a weapon to eat up the food, then the law of war, despite what it seems to say about there being an absolute right to surrender, makes no sense if it requires that I let men, potentially armed men, go. Anyway, no surrender will be accepted until I am very nearly ready to assault. Then I'll go in and kill damned near everything.