"I do not understand," Parilla interjected. "You do something that well… surely it makes your boss look good."
Listening through an open window Martina heard Patricio laugh and felt a sudden relief that her son in law was still at least capable of mirth.
Hennessey answered, "Uh… no. Surely it does not. The rest of the brigade failed miserably by comparison. Made him look bad, in fact."
Parilla's eyes widened. "Ohhh…"
"'Ohhh,' indeed. A commander can stand having nothing but mediocre units under his command. What he can't stand is having mostly mediocrity and one very superior unit. Makes him look bad, by comparison, you see.
"But that wasn't the worst of it. A couple of months later the brigade had an organization day. Lots of athletic competitions and trophies, things like that. Well, my boss volunteered my battalion at the last minute to be the duty battalion-picking up trash and suchfor the division, for that day. So I went out with about one-sixth as many men as the other battalions, a fair number of mine being people who had been hurt in training."
"Jesus, he really did hate you, didn't he?"
"That was my guess," Hennessey muttered. Then he added, "We beat the rest like we owned them too, cripples and all. Why, for one competition I didn't even have enough people to field a complete team and we won anyway. My brigade commander was so pissed about it he stormed off the parade field just before awards presentation."
Parilla snickered. "Surely he couldn't relieve you over that?"
"No. That came later. And, in a sense, tubby little turd or not, he was right.
"You've got to remember, this was in the most intensely leftist and pacifist years of the Gage Administration in the FSC. Peacekeeping and Operations Other Than War were the big thing. Everybody had to play along. Not that I think Gage ever really believed in any of it… or even cared. But he was beholden to his base and they did believe in it.
"Raul, I couldn't. I just couldn't do it. I looked at my boys, thought about the way the world really was… and I could not, not, not train them to pass out multiculturally sensitive, vegetarian rations to starving refugees in the hinterlands in a multiculturally sensitive manner. I kept training them to fight, orders to the contrary or not.
"That was the last straw. The brigade commander fired me. I resigned my commission. And so, here I am. And so, my wife and kids were in First Landing on 11/7." Hennessey's voice broke at that last and it was a long moment before he could look up.
"What a damned waste," Parilla said. "I've known you had real talent for this sort of thing since I first met you. What a waste you can't do it anymore."
Parilla leaned forward with an almost conspiratorial air. Speaking softly, he said, "Patricio, you know I am part of a group-we probably don't deserve the name 'conspiracy,' more like a debating club for now-that would like to see Balboa fully sovereign again, which means rearmed. But we haven't the faintest idea of how to go about such a thing, you see. I thought, since you're about the only man in the country outside of the FS Marines who guard the embassy, who has ever even been in a real army, that you might be able to tell us."
Recovered, Hennessey answered, "Go ahead and ask. I may be able to help a little."
The direct approach? Parilla wondered. Yes. "How could we rearm ourselves?"
Hennessey thought about it for just a few seconds. Looking from the same window through which she had seen him before, Linda's mother saw the first sign of any interest in anything since he had returned to Balboa.
Hennessey gripped the lower half of his face in his right hand, thinking hard. "Much would depend on the attitude of the Federated States. If they were hostile, then you're likely screwed… although there are a number of techniques you can use to hide an armed force if the legal government will help. For one thing, you can use front organizations: boys' and girls' youth groups, civilian labor groups… unions, fraternal organizations, police and fire departments. I'm assuming here that the Morales government wants nothing to do with that."
A sneer crossed Parilla's face. "That is unfortunately correct. The traitors actually had the gall to legislate away our ability to defend ourselves; like San Jose did." Parilla spat with contempt.
Parilla paused, then admitted, "Well, that's not entirely true. The new Civil Force is in most respects a blurry mirror of the old Balboa Defense Corps. But it is a singularly
ball-less version of the BDC."
Hennessey nodded. "Then it will be almost impossible unless you can either change the government or change its mind… or fool it."
"I see. Well, what can be done without a change of government?"
Hennessey leaned into his left hand and rubbed his temple. After a moment he answered, "Staff work. You can prepare Tables of Organization and Equipment. If you have money, you can buy some equipment and hide it, possibly at sea. You can send people to work with other countries that have armies. You can prepare programs of instruction and plan to set up training facilities even if you can't actually set them up. Perhaps a military high school-another one, I mean-might help."
"How would you prepare for something like that?"
"Me, Raul? I couldn't. Not any more."
Parilla cut him off. "Oh, horseshit, Patricio. You live here. Your roots-new ones to be sure, not as deep as they might be-are still here. Here is where your blood rests. And we need you. We've got 'Progressivist' Santandern guerillas from FARS and the SEL pressing our western border. We'll have the homegrown variety soon enough, too, if we don't do something. We are the trade route for the world. And the same people who killed your family will eventually figure that out and come for us, too. That is, they will if they aren't already here and waiting. I suspect they're just waiting."
Hennessey's eyes were pained. There had been a time when… ah, but it was too late now. "I still can't. Look… Raul. I'm just… broken. I'm not good for anything anymore. I just don't have it. And even if I did, without Linda I am… not to be trusted. I don't really trust myself."
Parilla muttered, "Bullshit," then stood as if to leave. He turned, paused, and then turned back. "You know, Patricio, we need you. I told you; no one in Balboa has ever even been in a real army. The nearest to one we ever had your country crushed and you helped them do it. We could offer you much no one else can: a new home, a life worth living, useful work to do. We would not be ungrateful for the help; you know that."
"I still can't. I'm not the man I was." Without Linda to control me I am afraid of what I am capable of.
"Well… think it over some, at least."
Hennessey shrugged. After Parilla left, Hennessey went back to twirling the ice in his drink, occasionally glancing toward Linda's grave.
His blank look was suddenly replaced by a deep and lasting frown. Could it be possible? There is a framework here, the Civil Force. There are some good people, men like Xavier, in it.
He debated within himself. But, no. Twelve years have gone by since they thought of themselves as infantry. Riddled with corruption, Xavier has told me. No recent training in heavier weapons. No experience in combined arms or higher staff work.
But… couldn't I give them some of that? Surely I could. And I have friends still, good soldiers, who could help.
Money? It always comes down to money. And even if Uncle Bob's estate does end up in my hands, it's a pittance compared to what's actually needed. I am no Crassus and I'm not going to be, either.
Not enough to maintain an army. Enough for a staff? Yes… at least enough for a staff. And then… maybe someone else could pay to maintain an army if one were raised.
Ah, no. Forget it. It was true what I told Parilla. My heart and soul are gone from me. They died with Linda and the kids. I just can't.