The Rods and the Axe - eARC by Tom Kratman Read Free Book Online

counted on to have rehearsed his troops for a snappy exit from the airships and a snappy parade across the airfield, it was him.
    Nor did the Sumeri disappoint. On cue—Carrera was certain it was on cue—every ramp on each of the five airships dropped, disgorging one or a few Sumeri guardsmen. Six of them bore colors and about thirty had guidons. He could see Qabaash emerge, too, followed by his immediate staff and his command’s colors. Carrera’s eyes were beginning to get old and difficult, and the heat shimmer off the tarmac didn’t help a bit, but he was pretty sure he saw someone with a radio on his back, too.
    Well, just decent planning, that.
    Again on cue, and again from every exit, the rest of Qabaash’s command surged, only this time it was like a mosque—or thirty of them—opening the doors following Friday services. A veritable wave of armed, uniformed Sumeris rolled across the airfield before beginning to separate out into the six major cohorts of the about to be formed Forty-third Tercio. It was all visually rather impressive. It was all also being recorded for later broadcast by Professor Ruiz’s organization, which was broadly concerned with morale and propaganda, along with certain aspects of education.
    Though the troops and organization certainly had extensive baggage still in the holds of their airships, little beyond packs and rifles was in evidence. That little included a bagpipe band, with some drums. At Qabaash’s order, that band picked up a tune the Sumeris had learned from the Legio del Cid , in and around the town of Ninewah, “ Boinas Azules Cruzan la Frontera.” Then, on a drum signal, the entire mass marched forward on line until Qabaash was within speaking range of Carrera.
    Halting, Qabaash saluted, then quoted an old proverb, loud enough for all of his officers and most of his men to hear, “ ‘If a pot is cooking, a friendship will stay warm.’ Thank you for inviting us to the feast, Duque ! First Brigade, Sumeri Presidential Guard, Forty-third Tercio, Legion del Cid , reports for duty!”

CHAPTER TWO
    The first principle of deception is to aim to strengthen an opponent’s preconceptions.
    —Anthony Clayton ,
    Forearmed: A History of the Intelligence Corps

    Tauran Defense Agency, Lumiére, Gaul, Terra Nova

    The air of mourning hadn’t gone away yet. Janier wondered if it ever would. Officers and noncoms walked sullenly and silently through the marble corridors of the headquarters, heads down, and fearful as if they expected something like clawed arms to emerge from the walls and drag them off to perdition. Even the head of the agency, Elisabeth Ashworth, was making herself scarce, and she was universally believed to be far too ignorant to understand even the obvious aspects of the disaster.
    Janier had, if anything, even more to mourn. His reputation was in ashes, true, but worse than that, his self-image was utterly cast down. He felt so low, so inadequate, so much the crux of an elaborate lie— My whole life a lie !—that not only had he not donned his reproduction uniform and baton of a marshal of Napoleonic France, he had, just this morning, burned both on a pyre outside his window. Even now, looking out the window, he could occasionally glimpse a swirling fragment of smoldering cloth or a bit of wood ash, spiraling up with the breeze.
    Janier’s much abused aide de camp, Malcoeur, had actually shed tears as flames had begun to race across the gasoline-soaked blue cloth, with its elaborate embroidery of hundreds of gold oak leaves and wavelike piping. The jacket alone had cost Janier forty-six hundred Tauros. The baton, with its thirty-two fourteen karat gold eagles had cost more.
    And then, wonder of wonders, after the fire had done its main work and a stiff and bitter Janier had left the scene, the AdC had gotten on hands and knees to recover the gold that had dropped down from uniform and baton. To keep? No. He placed the misshapen lumps in an old black