Countdown: The Liberators-ARC (65 page)

Boxer went silent and looked over at Stauer. Stauer nodded, and began to walk to center stage, as Boxer walked off to the side. "Lights," Stauer called, and once again the bay was brightly lit. That is, it was brightly lit except for the dark looks on hundreds of faces following Boxer's little briefing.

"So what are we going to do about it?" Stauer asked. "More pointedly, what can we do about it?"

He let the men and women, and the few girls, think about that in silence for a moment, then said, "We can fight it! It's probably the only thing we're good for, but by God, we are good at it. Old and decrepit as we may be, we are still goddamned good at it.

"I don't know about you, but for me, I don't want my grandchildren-maybe my great-great-great grandchildren, someday, sitting in the burned out, washed out, crumbling ruins of my civilization-to say, ‘Oh, if only old man Wes had had the balls to fight it, back when it could still be fought.' No, sir. I'll fight it."

He looked over at Reilly, who had an unaccountable smile on his face. "Something funny?" Stauer asked.

"Not funny, exactly," Reilly answered. "But it made me remember something I had to memorize when I was in high school:

‘Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;Death closes all: but something ere the end,Some work of noble note, may yet be done,Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.'

"Odd, the things one remembers," Reilly finished.

"Maybe not so odd," Stauer replied. "Maybe just right."

"Maybe," Reilly half agreed. "So what have you got in mind, boss?"

"I've been thinking that the best way to do that just might be to open a military school somewhere. Nothing else is going to give us the excuse to have a base and be armed to the teeth on that base."

"Back to Brazil, sir?" Cazz asked.

"No," Stauer shook his head, "I don't think so. The Brazilians couldn't, or at least wouldn't, pay well enough for having their troops attend a school to keep it running on its own. That takes Oil Arabs, America, or Europe . . . or Japan, I suppose. And, being properly patriotic sorts, the Brazilians are unlikely to simply acquiesce in our flying in a new foreign infantry battalion, regiment, or brigade once a month so that we can train them. They've also got some issues with arms in private hands. I figure they'll really balk at tanks. Not to mention what an awkward position we'd be in if they ever discovered what we prepared to do while in their country."

"We'll keep that Rhode Island sized chunk of land that Khalid thought he owned, mind you. But we'll keep it as an investment, nothing more, and we'll be extracting what we left behind as we can."

"You're thinking a new jungle school, Colonel?" Joshua asked. The U. S. Army had closed its jungle school, the Jungle Operations Training Center, at Fort Sherman, Panama, many years before. "Sure be nice to spend my sunset years kicking tail in Panama."

"Ah, yes, I almost forgot; you used to be a lane walker there at JOTC, weren't you? Anyway, Sherman's an option, Sergeant Major, yes," Stauer agreed. "It's even for sale, most of it, and has all the facilities we'd need, to include an airstrip, bunkerage, barracks, married housing-some anyway, offices, ranges, an impact area, and dock space for the landing craft and the Bastard. It's also on the Canal which would make slipping a unit out at need and discretely fairly easy. But, Bridges has checked; it is not going cheap."

"Does this include us?" Konstantin asked. He knew about the payment being sent to Galkin's mother and thought, Now this is a group with a great Russian kind of heart, the kind of group we could be proud to be in.

"If you and your men wish it to, Major, yes. Your pilots and ground crew, too, since, while we own the helicopters, we can't fly them. The other non-Americans, too, naturally."

"If we stay," Konstantin thought about Yusuf's laptop, and again of a payment sent to the mother of one of his men, "we may have a contribution to make worth having. And, you understand, it is our civilization, too, that is falling."

"I understand," Stauer said, thought he really didn't. And the way the Russian had said "contribution" didn't sound like he meant their own mortal selves.

"Ummm . . . Sir, if I may?" Gary Trim interrupted, his words distinguished by quite a pleasant British accent.

"Go ahead, sapper."

"Sergeant Babcock-Moore and I discovered that Guyana actually has some . . . pretty suitable land. For . . . well, for dirt, sir. Couple of dollars an acre, or less."

"Facilities?"

"No," Trim admitted, shaking his head. "No, those we'd have to build ourselves or have built. Still, just doing that, providing jobs, would probably endear us to the locals. And I am, after all, an engineer and, arguably, so is that Hun, Nagy."

"I found that chunk when we were first looking," Gordon added. "It's got potential."

Seated in a wheel chair, one leg up and cast, Vic Babcock-Moore thought, And there is one local, anyway, I wouldn't mind being ‘endeared' to. And, this time, I've gotten her number.

"It's an option to consider," Stauer said. "Great tracts of land, eh?"

This last caused Vic to startle. How the hell did he know what I was thinking?

Stauer rubbed his hands together. "Now, not that I'll consider myself bound by it, but let me get a feeling for who would like us to stay together and who would like us to set up a school. Also who would like us to stay in this business? For the first, show of hands."

Stauer didn't bother to count. Some people probably hadn't raised their hands. Most had.

"And for the second?" This told much the same story, as did the third poll.

"Resolved then," Stauer said, in his most formal voice, "that this organization, name to be designated, shall find a place to establish a base, and set up a school to train First World armies in operating in Third World places, and that all present shall have a place at that school, salaries and other benefits to be determined. Further resolved, that said organization shall retain the ability to conduct such operations as it has in the past, and to conduct them, as and when appropriate, to save our civilization, if we can, but at least to fight for it."

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Special thanks to my wife, Yoli,

and editrix, Toni Weisskopf.

And to the barflies, friends, and general helpers:

Rob Hampson, Charlie Prael, Barry Sentinel,

Victor Sargent, the Forgotten Soldiers Bike Club,

Roger Ross, Mo Kirby, Sue Kerr, Peter Gold,

Steve St. Onge, Ori Pomerantz, Neil Frandsen,

Dick Evans, Tom Wallis, Francis Turner,

Mickey zvi Maor, Tim Arthur, Bill Swears, Steve Yee,

Alen Ostanek, Chris French, Justin Watson,

Chris Nuttall, Av'andira, Harry Russell,

Keith Robertsson, Thomas Price, Lahela Corrigan,

Scott Connors, Paul Howard, John Cristiano,

and all the rest of the friends and ‘flies who've

helped with the planning, execution, and test reading.

If I've forgotten anyone, chalk it up to premature senility.