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I've done my Globe-at-Night Report [New Window]
Well, I've been virtuous and I've done my Globe-at-Night Report. Mind you, the weather has been awful (those people flooded out in Queensland, or who had their houses/cars trashed in Melbourne may not feel very sympathetic). So far, there are only 3 reports from Australia (including mine), which isn't surprising given the weather we have had. But it's clearing up now, and the survey ends on the 16th, so why not step out and have a look when you can (don't forget to allow some time for your eyes to adjust after coming from indoor lighting). [New Window]
Books You Hate......to love or love to hate or...Guest appearance at SF Signal.FTC Disclaimer: The book reviewed in the SF Signal posting was purchased with 100% of my hard-earned money. [New Window]
Rumors of War (2010)For this year's foray into military history and military fiction I am using as a guideline the U.S.M.C.'s Professional Reading List (Adobe Acrobat version here). Broken down by rank, for both enlisted non-comissioned, and warrant/commissioned officer, the Professional Reading List is a way of furthering a Marine's military education without a classroom. The list has changed through the years (an older version can be found here), I am using the current list as a guideline. There will be other books outside this list (or taken from the lists of other branches of service), but this looks to be the core for the year.Nathaniel Fick: One Bullet AwayThe Making of a Marine Officer (Houghton Mifflin Company; 2005; cover by Martha Kennedy; ISBN 0-618-55613-3).This book covers the same unit and same period of time as Evan Wright's Generation Kill and in the same general area as Major Seth W.B. Folsom's The Highway War (both read previously). If you've seen the HBO miniseries Generation Kill, you'll also see many of the same incidents. Fick expands on the story and talks about his training as well as his unit's deployment into Afghanistan after September 11, 2001. The book was interesting on several fronts, in giving a different view of the events in Generation Kill and The Highway War; showing the training of both an officer and a unit; and illuminating the first several weeks of the Iraq conflict.The saddest part? Have we really learned anything since Vietnam?After channeling all my energy into applying to graduate school, I got a phone call from an admissions officer: "Mr. Fick, we read your application and liked it very much. But a member of our committee read Evan Wright's story about your platoon in Rolling Stone. You're quoted as saying, 'The bad news is, we won't get much sleep tonight; the good news is, we get to kill people.'" She paused, as if waiting for me to disavow the quote. I was silent, and she went on. "We have a retired Army officer on our staff, and he warned me that there are people who enjoy killing, and they aren't nice to be around. Could you please explain your quote for me?""No, I cannot.""Well, do you really feel that way?" Her tone was earnest, almost pleading."You mean, will I climb your clock tower and pick people off with a hunting rifle?"It was her turn to be silent."No, I will not. Do I feel compelled to explain myself to you? No I don't."C.S. Forester: Rifleman DoddA Novel of the Peninsular Campaign (Kessinger Publishing; 2008; no cover artist indicated; ISBN 978-1-430453-86-4). Forester, who is probably better known to most as the author of a series about a sea-going officer by the name of Hornblower, here tells the story of a private soldier cut off during a retreat from his regiment and his efforts to rejoin his unit. Over the course of several months, Dodd manages to tie up the enemy, form a group of villagers into irregulars, foil a attempt to bridge a river, andin the endreturn to his unit, worn, dirty, bruised and battered, but with his rifle clean and his equipment all accounted for. A relatively brief book (I read it in one evening), it was an very engrossing story.First to be read by privates (E1) when using the USMC Professional Reading List.John Keegan: The Battle for History: Re-Fighting World War II.A very thin book, really several long essays, on a subject that Keegan has covered in several of his own books, the Second World War. Keegan looks at such subjects as those who put their spin on the war, the best and worst books on various aspects of the war and more. One very interesting thesis is how a good history of the war has yet to be written: not enough time has (even now) passed).S.L.A. Marshall: The Soldier's Load and The Mobility of a Nation (The Marine Corps Association; 1980; no cover artist indicated; no ISBN indicated).This brief book (really two essays) details Marshall's thoughts on how much weight a soldier (or marine) might be expected to carry into combat and still be able to fight. He shows how the mythical man-load came to be, despite the efforts of many to trim it back (a couple of amusing examples include one general officer showing up in front of a higher general officer with what a staff had come up with for the ordinary soldier to carry to drive home the lesson). I wonder what the man-load of the U.S. soldier is these days with electronic gear and body armor tossed in.First to be read by privates (E1) when using the USMC Professional Reading List.FTC Disclaimer: All the books reviewed here were purchased with real cash. Take that, government annoyance! Election Advertising, Drugs and Risk Communication [New Window]
Way to stay classy, South Australian Labor Party. In a election advertisement I saw last night the Labor Party is wittering on about how it is tough on drug crime (with a picture that says 100 dead from ecstasy in the back ground - more about this figure later). It then cuts to the Opposition Liberal leader, Elizabeth Isoble Redmond, saying "Ecstasy is not as bad as some other drugs" and then the add voice-over says. "Not Bad Ms Redmond?" with the clear implication ecstasy is really, really bad.Apart from the out and out quote-mining (Ms Redmond is quite right to say ecstasy is not as bad as other drugs, see below) which is obvious to anyone with a greater than room temperature IQ, the add is playing off a visceral fear of drugs, not on reality.MDMA (Ecstasy) can by itself cause death or serious harm, and a big problem is that occurrence of the harm is unpredictable. To put this in perspective though, and in terms of Labours advertisement and Ms Redmonds' statement, in the five years from 2001 MDMA was associated with 82 deaths in Australia (where does the Ad get 100 from, and why are they using this figure? for another perspective see this report). The number of MDMA users in Australia is not clear, but around 10% of 14-19 year olds and 6% of 20-29 year olds use the drug at least once a week (around 20% take it once a month). This gives a crude case fatality rate in the region of 0.01%, not dissimilar to that of the pain killer paracetamol (around 0.01% for UK and the US, can't get Australian figures). Both of these figures are distorted (multidrug use for MDMA and use in suicide for Paracetamol), but at least for acute ingestion, MDMA and the OTC analgesic paracetamol have similar toxic event incidences. Another way to look at it is that it has been estimated that roughly 100,000 MDMA containing pills are consumed each weekend. This means that (over 5 years, if the MDMA consumption figures are correct to within an order of magnitude) there is one death for every 320,000 pills consumed (or 1 in 390,000 if we only look at cases where we are sure that MDMA was directly involved), so while deaths are relatively rare, they occur at an appreciable rate per pill .Yet another way to look at it is to compare Ecstasy deaths with deaths from Heroin. The death rate for heroin users per million population, (death rates for all opioids but primarily heroin, with some opium and morphine deaths) in the 15-24 age group - where the majority are first time users/recreational users not dependent users - is 13.3 per million population, the death rate for ALL age groups using ecstasy, including new, recreational and long time users is 0.8 per million population. http://ndarc.med.unsw.edu.au/NDARCWeb.nsf/resources/NDARCFact_Drugs8/$file/OPIOID+OVERDOSE+DEATHS+2004.pdf This really needs to be adjusted for the user base. In 2004 roughly 6 times more people tried ecstasy than heroin (and 6 times more people used ecstasy within 12 months than heroin). Even if we consider only 20% of the 15-24 age group deaths were first time/recreational deaths to heroin alone the result is still around 1 in 100,000 users. This will be an underestimate of all first time/recreation use. Ecstacy is a drug associated with risk. Whether the risk/benefit ratio (feeling good with MDMA verses removal of pain with paracetamol) is similar is a matter of debate. And while the risk is low it is very unpredictable.Still Elizabeth Isoble Redmonds' statement is 100% correct, and the Labor Party ads are pure scaremongering. Educating people about these risks, given that people can wave away relatively high risks and yet run screaming from safe interventions like vaccines, is very problematical. Having the Labor Party, supposedly the Party of the Light on the Hill, producing such hysterical ads which play to peoples fear is beyond disappointing.(disclaimer: I don't do research on MDMA, I try and kill pretend nerve cells with amyloid then rescue them with green tea extract. However, the folks two floors up are MDMA researchers, and I've been to enough presentations, poster sessions and marked enough of their theses to fake knowing something about MDMA) [New Window]
By Special Request of the Colonel (Part Deux)Following up on the world's largest snippet posting...here we have the second installment of the forthcoming The Amazon Legion!* * * * *InterludeGloria Santiago sat miserable and alone on the front steps to the barracks. Other soldiers passed without speaking. The last of her friends had been downchecked by the rest of the platoon on a peer evaluation the day before. That woman was already on her way to a non-combat training unit.Glorias eyes were bloodshot, her body sore and bruised. Her once fair skin was dry and scratched. Worst of all, her spirit was very nearly broken. I just dont understand it, Santiago thought. This world is so different, so strange. And Im no good at any of it. Even those damned little bitches Trujillo and Fuentes can beat me up. Its so unfair...nothing ever prepared me for this.Santiago stood up and began walking away from the barracks to the nearby woods. She wanted to be alone in fact as well as spirit.From a hundred meters away Corporal Salazar saw her slinking, spiritless walk. He began to follow her to the woods. Chapter SixMay all our citizens be soldiers, and all our soldiers citizens.Sarah Livingston JayMaria:They couldnt give it to us; it had to come from inside; inside ourselves.I cant speak for everybody; not for all the Amazonas. I can only tell you what I felt; what happened to me.You remember how Centurion Garcia had made a bunch of us pregnant, making the rest of us carry their gear. Well that was imposed; we hated him every step of the way. And most of us, by this stage in our training would almost rather drop down dead than get knocked up. Certainly we wouldnt ask to see the medics over little discomforts, as we might have if some other women hadnt had to carry our load for us if we did. I wonder, though, if wed have been so reluctant if there had been some young men around to carry our gear for us. Its just possible they wouldnt even have minded, stupid boys. I sometimes think that men are overgrown babies whose spoiling of us often keeps us from quite growing up ourselves.Or maybe we keep each other from ever quite growing up.One impossibly late night after another impossibly long day I went to bed (not a real bed, of course, just my tacky air mattress under a strung out poncho). I was feeling a little poorly, nothing definite, just a general feeling of inner rottenness. But by morning I really was sick: dizzy, throwing up, a fever, too. I still don't know what it was that got me, influenza, bug bite, or reaming rod of randomness. Unfortunately, we had another road marchheavy packsscheduled for that morning. To add injury to insult, Ihad to carry the machine gun. I couldnt; I just couldnt.The cadre had been dropping girls right and left of late. Less than half of those who had started were still with us. The rest were, like me, pretty much at their limit.Curiously, again like me, it had also become extremely important to all but a tiny number of those remaining to complete training. Whatever it was: unwillingness to go home as failures, a real need for the benefits that went with service, some stirrings of pride in being soldiers, I dont know. In my case I had to finish training...for Almas sake. I think Marta noticed me first, throwing up outside the perimeter. She came up and asked me, gently, what was wrong. I threw up again and started to cry for Alma; and for the life Id hoped to build for us. I knew Id never make the march. Id be a failure. And theyd boot me out.She held me a minute or two, kissed my forehead. She told me it would be all right. Then she took my machine gun, throwing it up on her shoulder with a grunt. In a few minutes Inez Trujillo came up, she and the rest of the squad. With hardly a word they took my pack apart; splitting up my gear among them. They hung the empty pack on my back. Trujillo told two of the girlsIsabel and Catarinato help me. They got on either side of me and put my arms over their shoulders.If Garcia even noticed or cared he never let on. He just called us to attention, gave us a left face, took his position at the front, and ordered us to march. The first few miles were bad, but I still had a little strength in me; just enough to keep going. The next nine or ten miles were worse, because I didnt have that strength left by then, but I couldnt drop out after having let the other girls put themselves through hell having to carry me for the first few miles. Funny thing, pride, no?I don't like to think about that march too often. It was bad. Half the time I was nearly delirious. Most of the rest I was puking. The girls helping me didnt say a bad word even when I threw up right on them, though the stench made them start to gag, too.Now you might say those women did nothing special; that if they hadnt taken my gear willingly, Garcia would have made them. Thats true, they had to carry my equipment if I couldnt. But they didnt have to carry me. That they did on their own.Its hard not to love a group like that. *****There was a funny upshot of that incident. Without a word of explanation Garcia had us turn in those miserable poles, the pricks, the next day. They were carried away on a truck. He never reissued them. We never gave him cause to.Fortunately, we spent the next four days in the same general area, learning how to conduct raid, ambush and reconnaissance patrols. We did make some cross-country moves, but they were fairly short moves; without heavy packs. Mostly, they left me behind to help secure the Objective Rally Point, or ORP. Thats the last position where your patrolusually squad or platoon sizedstops, short of the actual place where you set up the ambush or do the recon or raid. If I hadnt been sick, it might have been fun. I know most of the other girls thought it was. Though, by then, they would probably have to be considered a little weird. Being in the ORP wasnt so bad. Still, I was usually alone. Actually, I hoped I was alone. There was always the chance of a snake showing up to keep me company. I hate snakes. And the antaniae? The moonbats? I am frankly scared to death of them. The thought of one crawling into my sleeping roll with me is enough to pull me to my feet, shivering, no matter how tired I am. As soon as I was remotely able to keep up I insisted that I not be left behind in the ORP anymore. If the other girls thought that was because I was tough, I did nothing to disabuse them of the notion.*****It was early one morning, following a less than fully successful ambush and while we waited for chow, that I cornered Trujillo. The others, especially Marta, Cat and Isabel, Id already expressed my gratitude to.Inez...thank you, was all I said.She just shook her head, as if she didnt quite understand.For carrying me. For getting the others to carry me. I looked down at the ground, ashamed, actually.Wouldnt you have done the same for us?I don't know if I would have before, I really dont. But I nodded, as if I was certain I would have.So whats to thank? Were in this together. We help each other.The subject was a little uncomfortable. I changed it. Why are you here, Inez? I mean...I joined to try to build a better life for myself and my daughter. But why did you join?I thought it was the right thing to do, was all she said.There was a man, I reminded her, back when we first got on the hovercraft to come here. He was something special to you? A boyfriend? A lover?She looked confused for a minute, then started to laugh. Lover? Ricardo is my brother! Hes in Third Tercio. Hes probably at Centurion School now.Are you going to try for that? Centurion, I mean.Ill take what they offer me, if they offer me anything, she answered.They will. Youre different from the rest of us, different from me, for example.Maria, she said, with a subtle smile, do you think we carried you and your gear because we thought you were worthless?I really didnt know what to say to that.*****Somewhere nearby artillery was falling and exploding. Garcia paid it no mind, though it made the rest of us pretty nervous.He said, Many armies spend an inordinate effort, I understand, on limiting the effects of friendly fire. We dont spend much. Were soldiers. Were there to be killed if the country needed us to be killed. Were there to win, even if doing so gets us killed.You might not expect it to be true, but it is true, that the infantry only inflicts twenty or thirty percent of all casualties in battle. We take, on the other hand, about ninety percent of the casualties. Who kills us? The enemy artillery. Who among us does the killing? The machine guns. What kills or suppresses the machine gunners? Your own artillery.Garcia pulled a tetradrachma coin from his pocket and flipped it to illustrate. Now you have a choice. You can stay so far behind your own supporting artillery that there is no chance of any of your own being hit by it. If you do, the enemy machine gunners will be up and firing when you attack. Two years into the Great Global War, there was an attack. Twenty-five thousand Anglians were killed, as many more wounded, on the first day alone, by a few dozen machine gunners that hadnt been suppressed or destroyed by the Anglian artillery.He flipped the coin again. On the other hand, you can follow your own artillery so closely that you take some losses in dead and wounded from your own side. Quality control at the factoryor lack thereofensures that if you follow a barrage closely, some shells will fall short among your own troops. But then, you can be on top of the machine guns, shooting, stabbing, hacking and blasting before they have a chance to mow your people down.His face took on a somber, serious cast. How sad for those killed by their own sides artillery. The frown disappeared, replaced by a rare and ghastly grin. How grand, however, for those likely much larger numbers not killed by the enemy machine guns. And the dead dont really care what killed them.We go in for the second approach, taking losses to friendly fire somewhat more philosophically than the world norm. It takes a lot of discipline, though, and that means a lot of training. Some of that can be inferential training, general discipline building. Its better, though, if the training is a little more direct and pointed. Move out.*****I was scared to death. Garcia wasnt just flapping his gums about following a barrage closely. He wanted us to do it.Madre de Dios! Did you see that? Marta stopped short, slack-jawed, to see a woman sail about fifteen feet into the air, arms and legs fluttering. The woman landed, stunned, it appeared, but otherwise fairly whole, a few meters from where a delay-fused shell had gone off not too far from under her feet. The woman was lucky the shell had missed her head before burying itself in the ground.Dont think about it, Cristina Zamora shouted. Just keep marching forward. Forward! Zamora was acting platoon centurion for the exercise.About seventy-five meters ahead of where Marta and I stood, a wall of flying dirt moved relentlessly up a steep hill. They were firing delay fuses, but that was the only safety measure I could see, that kicked up a visually impressive amount of dirt and rocks with each burst. We resumed walking forward, firing short bursts either from the hip or, shoulder held, aiming with the F- and M-26s neat little integral optical sight. Look, anything you can throw at the enemy to keep his head down is worth the effort. Besides, walking is a lot faster and less exhausting than doing little three second rushes. In battle, an exhausted Amazona is a fear-filled and useless Amazona.As we neared the top of the hill, the shell fire shifted a last time and redoubled in intensity. Zamora spoke into a radio, then shouted, Wait for it!The delay fused high explosive was replaced by a dozen rounds of white phosphorus. A cloud of smoke enveloped the hilltop.Adelante las Amazonas! We charged, screaming and firing all the way.*****For whatever reasons, and each of us probably had her own, we did develop something like esprit de corps. Or, rather, most of us did. A few couldnt. Life for them became very hard, because, as the overwhelming bulk of us still remaining bonded together, the others were left out in the cold. Some were encouraged into the group by that. Others just shut down before being washed out.Probably no one suffered more from this than Gloria. I guess she was so used to being the center of attention that she just couldnt take being cut out. Cut out, however, she certainly was. Oh, she tried to pretend that she felt what we felt. Ill tell you something, though; we women are much better judges of character than men are. Gloria fooled no one. She took to hanging around one of the Corporal-Instructors, Corporal Salazar. Salazars partner, Sergeant Castro, noticed, eventually. I remember a screaming match that ended only when Centurion Franco knocked them both silly.It was about that time that Gloria stopped being put on shit detail. I guess Salazar wasnt entirely gay. Eventually, he and Gloria were caught engaged in...shall we say...an indiscretion. Maybe the worst part is that Castros the one who caught them. Maybe, if Castro hadnt been so upset, he might have kept it to himself. He was a good man, ordinarily, a lot kinder than most.Some of us were selected to sit in on the courts-martial, just to witness, not to sit the board. Salazar just sat, mute. Gloria kept begging for the chance to resign. It was too late. Castro wept a lot, as quietly as he could. I felt sorry for him.The two were each charged with mutiny and aggravated fraternization. Salazar was further charged with aggravated abuse of office (improper sexual relations) and adultery; Gloria with conduct tending to contribute to the demoralization of the Legion and adultery. (Did I mention that the partnerships in Gorgidas were treated as legal marriages in the Legion?) The evidence was pretty damned overwhelming. Castro had seen them. There was some semen from Salazar on Glorias uniform. It had obviously not been rape, though Gloria tried to claim it had been. I think what ruined that defense is that Gloria still had her teeth and, under the particular circumstances, could have been expected to use them to considerable effect, had it really been rape or, more technically, forcible sodomy. Besides, we were supposed to be real soldiers, ready to fight and die. How could one of us hope to claim rape if shed been conscious but hadnt fought to death or, at least, incapacitation or been physically overwhelmed by sheer brute force? What was true of civilian women could never really be true for us.Mutiny? When two or more soldiers combine to suborn good order and discipline in the armed forces, that is mutiny. Salazar and Gloria made two. They were certainly...ah...combined, at the time. The predictable effect of sexual relations between people of substantially different ranks is to suborn good order and discipline. We are responsible for the predictable effects of our actions just as if we intended them. There was no evidence put on that Salazar or Gloria had any defensible reason to believe this would not be the effect if discovered, nor that they would not be discovered (though disbelief in discovery was no defense anyway). So: Mutiny.The penalty is death. As a matter of fact, failure to report or suppress a mutiny by any meansincluding summary executionis also punished by death. I guess poor Castro didnt have a lot of choice. If hed shot them both on the spot hed probably have been commended.Unfortunately, he didnt. When the verdicts and sentence came back they were, Guilty on all counts and Death by Musketry, respectively. It took less than twenty-four hours for Carrera to confirm the sentences. There was no appeal, certainly not to an ignorant civil court. The President of the Republic could have intervened, had he so chosen. He did not so choose.We made up the firing squads ourselves, for Gloria, while the Tercio Gorgidas provided the one for Salazar. They were picked, not volunteers. None of us would have volunteered, even if we didnt like Gloria. We couldnt refuse the order, either. Some tribune from Gorgidas that Id never seen before commanded both. The firing squads stood nervously in ranks as the prisoners were marched out of their cells. I understand that of the twelve rifles, two had only blanks in them. That was so the girls and gays whod been picked to execute the sentences could console themselves thatjust maybethey hadnt really been shooting.The sky was that shade of deep blue you see just before sunrise. Many times in training I had thrilled to wake up, stand and stretch, and feel the planet come alive around me at just that hour. I didnt feel any thrill now, though. Those of us not in the firing parties stood in formation to one side to witness. I shook. I doubt I was alone.Salazar took it fairly well. He marched out to the wall under guard but also under his own power. He stumbled, once, but that was just the darkness. Salazar shook his head No when he was offered the blindfold (a mistake, by the way; people who are going to shoot you in cold blood get nervous if youre looking at them. Nervous people don't shoot well.).Gloria had to be carried; tied, and screaming all the way. While Salazar was allowed to stand, and given a cigarette to smoke (yes, we really do that for these things), Gloria was trussed up to a stake. She kept squirming, though. A sergeant pasted aiming markers over each of their hearts, after bending his head to listen for the heartbeat. Salazar shouted out to Castro, Im sorry!Some large flood lights were lit on the order of Tribune Silva. The Gorgidas tribune shouted, Ready, and the firing squads lifted their rifles parallel to the ground...Aim, and the muzzles shifted imperceptibly...then Fire! There was a sound like a single shot, but longer. I saw fluid (blood, I suppose) and bits of flesh shoot from out of their backs to spatter against the wall behind them. Salazar was thrown back against the stake, then fell to the ground. The impact of the bullets twisted Gloria half way around her stake. She slumped against the ropes that bound her to it. They were both still breathing; we could see that by the flood lights. Salazar seemed unconscious but alive. Gloria was trying to scream, but only blood and an occasional faint coo that was probably her best effort at a shriek, came out of her mouth.The junior tribune ordered the firing parties to, Order arms. Then he marched to Salazar and shot him, once, in the back of the head, behind his ear. Unlike the members of a firing squad, there are no blanks for the officer commanding them. If you cant kill you have no business being an officer. Salazar convulsed, then stopped breathing. The tribune walked a few more steps, took aim, and shot Gloria the same way. Her body shuddered violently but the cooing that passed for shrieking stopped. It was a mercy.Garcia marched us away. We didnt sing as we marched. I know I felt sick. I doubt I was alone in that. That night Marta cried herself to sleep on my shoulder.Castro hanged himself from the limb of a tree a week later.Was it right, what they did to those two? Ive asked myself that question for many years now. It was such a small thing in itself; what Gloria and Salazar did, I mean. Oh, sure, one or two of us might have pulled an extra shit detail because Gloria had been selling herself for consideration. (Or maybe it would be better saidmore charitably saidthat shed been given consideration for giving herself. Didnt matter, the effect was the same in either case.) Still, Id have gladly pulled an extra detail or two if it would have spared me having to watch their deaths. I didnt like the bitch, not even a little bit, or Salazar either. But I sure didnt want them dead.Franco called us together after Castro hanged himself, to talk to us. He was ready to puke himself; you could see that. Maybe he was talking to convince himself; I wouldnt know. But there were tears in his eyes. I am certain of that.I remember an old line, he began, something about military justice being to justice as military music is to music. Its both true and false. For one thing, military music can be of a fairly high artistic order, if art is that which causes emotional catharsis. Listen to Beethovens Yorckische Marschs ometime, if you dont believe me; or Boinas Azules Cruzan la Frontera played on war pipes. The saying is true, though, in another respect. Military music serves primarily the cause of battle and so does military justice. It is concerned with the rights and privileges of individuals only to the extent that they may also serve the cause of battle. Battle in turn serves the cause of the country. The country, too, has an interest in winning as cheaply as possible, in terms of human life. Next generations quota of cannon fodder has to come from somewhere, doesnt it?Well doesnt it? He sounded imploring. I think maybe Salazar may have been a friend. Or Castro...maybe both.So maybe the question isnt whether it was just to have shot those two for such a trivial affair. Maybe the question is whether it would have been injustice to the countrywhich is to say, injustice also to the countrys soldiers, which is to say you and Inot to have shot them.Maybe you think the Court should have been lenient. Lets suppose the court-martial board had been lenient. Supposedespite the evidenceit had not found them guilty of mutiny. They could have received sentences of between twenty-five years, for Gloria, and forty years, for Salazar, on the other charges alone; all of that, by the way, being at hard labor, or until they died of it. Prison in this country is roughly analogous to state slavery, after all.Franco paused, as if not sure to continue. He did continue, though.Well, maybe Salazar wasnt the only one of your trainers capable of having an interest in a woman. Hell, I used to have a girlfriend myself. Yeah, it was a long time ago. These things are often relative, not absolute. And maybe Gloria wasnt the only one of us who might have...given herself for consideration. So, dont you see? We hadto shoot them. We had to.I thought about that then...I do so still. Truthfully, I dont know that I wouldnt have done what Gloria did. Yes, it was that rough sometimes. In fact, the only ones in my platoon I am sure wouldnt have were Inez Trujillo and Cristina Zamorathey were just too completely soldierly and decentand Marta. Though she had her own reasons. Does it matter, Franco continued, if a leader is sleeping with a troop? Does it make a difference to an armed force that its leaders are treating some of its troops unfairly because they are sleeping with others? Will those troops being discriminated against have equal faith in their leaders when they suspect that those same leaders care a lot more for some other troops than they do for them? When were talking about instincts and feelings, does it even matter if the suspicion is valid or merely conjecture?There is some justice in equally shared dangers in war. How does a soldier take it when she might be going on an exceptionally dangerous night patrol so some other troop can warm his or her squad leaders bed that same night? How about the third or fourth time they have to go on a really bad mission that ought go to the squad leaders playmate?Oh, yes. Of course, once a war starts well forget all the unofficial lessons we learned in peacetime about our leaders and the way they do business. Right. Of course.And Im the Queen of Anglia. Franco shook his head.No, Salazar betrayed you and us, both. It was maybe a small betrayal, but it was real. And you would have lost faith not just in him, butto an extentin all your leaders, then and in the future, if hed gotten away with it.I suppose he was right about that. No, I know he was.And the woman? She was actually fairly capable in a lot of ways. She was quite bright. Her political instincts were obviously pretty high, too. Shed sure known where to giveor sellherself to the greatest effect. Imagine if shed actually made it past training. Imagine a unit of the tercio led by her. Who might have been next on her list of acquisitions? What would the rest of the girls have felt if Gloria had made high rank based on de facto prostitution while they struggled along just trying to be good soldiers? How long would the rest of you have kept trying, do you suppose?Then, too, shed also betrayed Castro, another soldier; a comrade, who had a right to expect loyalty from any other soldier in the Legion. Forget about Castro killing himself a week later. Even if he hadnt committed suicide, he would never again have been the same soldier he had been.A pretty good one, by the way. A decent human being, too.*****I think about those executions quite often, even now. Im sorry they had to be done. Im not sorry they were done.Of course, the Legions have nothing against sex, per se. I have it on pretty reliable authority from a woman who knew Duque Carrera in much his younger days that he was something of a satyr. Presidente Parilla was worse. Most male leaders are married and many keep a mistress, too. Theres no law against it. Most Amazon leaders are married or living with someone of an appropriate rank. And the Legions absolutely only care about adultery that really is to the detriment of good order and discipline; with a comrades spouse or partner, typically, or an underling. A trooper can screw the world and the Legion wont care unless it hurts the Legion.Get caught screwing someone you oughtnt, however, and go to the wall. No excuses.And if theres no chance of your ever going to go into a battle, you have as much right to comment on that as a man does to comment on a womans right to an abortion. Some, not much.So, yes, we can play, more or less like real people. That doesnt mean someone can play with us without permission, though.*****Last of all the clothing issues they made to us, we were issued our parade dress uniforms. The uniform is still the same, even after all these years. Kilts.Ive always thought that made sense. Theyre warlike. It cant be said that kilts are really either masculine or feminine. They look good on both sexes. And they are distinctly more flattering to women than shapeless skirts or baggy trousers. I understand Carrera (one of his aides, I imagine, on hisourbehalf) applied all the way to Taurus for a particular tartanthats the pattern of plaidfor us. Carrera even went ahead and changed our unit name from Thirty-sixth Tercio Amazona to Thirty-sixth Tercio Amazona (Montaera) in case the Highlanders might object to kilts on other than highland troops. We did, by the way, get some mountain training, though we honestly werent anything like as capable as Fifth Mountain Tercio. Im sure there are women out there who could match the Montaeros, or even outdo some of them, in mountain climbing, just as there are women who can run, ski, swim, what have you, better than the average man. Do you have any idea how much time those world class women athletes, or any women who excel at some physical activity, have to spend on their sports? Even the naturally gifted ones we like to hold up as examples spend most of their waking hours in exercise. That just isnt practical for a soldier; theres too much else to do.The other thing is that kiltslight ones, like oursare very practical and healthy for women in a hot, muggy climate like we have. The uniform included all the other items of regalia that go with kilts, basket weave handled dirk high among them.Towards graduation from basic we were allowed a couple of thirty-six hour passes. It isnt generous and isnt intended to be. What it really is, is a half reward and half re-assimilation into civil life for those not going to go on to a leadership school. None of us knew, as of yet, who would be going on- and upward, though we made some educated guesses.A thirty-six hour pass doesnt get you much. Youre not allowed to leave the island, even though you could make it to the City and back in theory. But you can catch a movie that isnt either propaganda or training, you can eat a civilized meal at one of the three or four little towns on the island, you can visit the museum at the main cantonment area. You can go swimming or sunbathing on one of the beaches. You can even go dancing, there are a couple of clubs for the recruits, beer only. You can phone home, if youre willing to wait an hour to get to a pay phone. I called Porras to speak to Alma.She asked me in her little voice, Mommy? Is it really you?Yes, Baby, my heart leapt, Yes its me.We couldnt talk long, there being a long line of women behind me waiting to phone their own loved ones. But I did get to find out that Alma now knew her ABCs, could add up to five plus five, and really, really wanted to know if the Gonzalez children could live with us when I came home. *****A half dozen of us elected to go dancing one Saturday night. Trujillo was somewhat reluctant, but went along to keep an eye on us. She was like that.We boarded a busone ran around Perimeter Road every fifteen minutesand headed for Main Post, near the airfield. It stopped probably thirty times outside one or another of the little camps, like Botchkareva, that littered the island. The bus dropped us off right outside the Enlisted Club there on Main Post. There was a kilted Amazona that I didnt know except by sight waiting outside. She wasnt in tears, but you could tell by the sound of her voice that she really wanted to be, and might have been but for her training. Inez asked what was wrong.I came here by myself, she said. And they...grabbed meshe pointed to her buttocks and breastsand laughed about it. Bastards. I see, Inez said, without inflection. I see.She turned towards the main door to the club, took a deep breath, and walked forward. We followed her in. She must have known we would.Do men really act that way with a little beer in them? There were two long lines of staggering drunkards, one on either side of the hallway. Through some wide doors I could see a number of privates lined up along the top of the bar. They were making gestures and echoing commands that, Id guess, were what troops about to jump out of airplanes did. Not far from the bar someone had pushed together four tables in the shape of a shallow T. A chair sat on the leg of the t. One really inebriated sothe was probably eighteen or nineteenwas waving napkins in his hands. One by one a bunch of the others, arms outstretched like airplane wings, would run up to the long top of the t and either do a belly flop and slide along it (someone had thoughtfully poured beer over the surfaces of the tables to make them effectively frictionless) or veer off and rejoin an almost unbelievably stupid looking circle of others, all of them likewise imitating planes.I really shouldnt criticize those boys. I once, years later, took my girls to a male striptease. Women can be, if anything, at least equally silly under the right circumstances.Id guess that the word had gone out that the Amazonas were on pass. The boys along the corridor were waiting for us. I wont repeat their comments, they were demeaning and, under the circumstances, very, very unlikely.The boys began to chant and clap their hands in time. Unfazed, Trujillo walked forward as if they werent even there. She walked, that is, until one of them tried to reach a hand under her kilt. (Old joke: Is anything worn under a kilt? Answer: No, everything is in perfect working order.)Im pretty good with a knife. Inez was something else. She had drawn her dirk and slashed the boys arm nearly to the bone in far less time than it takes to tell about it. One-armed, she pushed the gasping boyagainst the wall, then pinned the offending hand to the paneling with the dirk. Then she stood there in the middle of the hallway, arms folded and calm as could be, and asked, Whos next, boys? You? she pointed at one with her chin. How about you two? Why not all at once? Come on, youre big and strong, you can take on little ol me. Of course, it might get a little messy.By that time the rest of us had our dirks out, stroking them, and were standing close behind Inez.I have never seen so nonplussed a group of slack-jawed, bug-eyed men in my life. It must have come as quite a shock.Finally, one of them, maybe a little less drunk than the rest, said Cortizo, get an ambulance for Hernandez. Dont call the MPs.To us he said, You are obviously not who we were waiting for. Pass, Ladies. His voice added the capitalization.Inez pulled the dagger from the wall, cleaned it on the boys uniform, and resheathed it. He fell to the floor when she released his shirt. Then we walked into the dance area unmolested.Barbaric, no, having to actually fight for ones dignity? Why shouldnt Inez have left it to the law to preserve minimal respect for our persons? Werent we entitled?Sister, in this world youre not entitled to anything that isnt bought and paid for, and then only if you can defend it. I have no doubt that we could have called the MPs. I also have no doubt that we could have ruined the lives of some young men whose only fault was stupidity and immaturity. (Im glad we didnt. A number of those boys gave all they had, later on, for our good and the countrys. You can forgive a lot in someone who died for the country...and for you.)Then, too, if we had, they would have despised us for it. Maybe that boy Inez slashed and pinned hated us afterwards. Or maybe not, men are funny about wounds. They often dont mind a scar or two. And theyve got a sense of justice, most of them, that can accept being slugged when they deserve it. But hated or not, those boys at least knew we were like them, soldiers, warriors. I think Inez did more for us in that moment than anyone ever had or would.The dancing itself was pretty uneventful. Only a few boys had the courage to ask one of us. I cant recall that any of us declined. But, much like them, we were mostly too bashful to ask. Silly, no?Some of them had a drinking contest going on, off in a corner. They didnt invite us and we had no interest in joining. We did, however, watch asone by onethe boys passed out, semi-comatose. I didnt envy them their hangovers in the morning. Though the spirit of the competition I found intriguing. We didnt do that sort of thing. Carnival of Space #144 is here. [New Window]
Carnival of Space #144 is now up at Discovery News - Space. Lots of Spacey Goodness here, it has an academy awards theme, with best pyrotechnics in space, most convincing galactic cannibal and much, much more. Rush on over and add to the applause. X-51 hypersonic waverider prepping for spring flight [New Window]
The Future is going to look strange. Darn strange. [New Window]
Im interested in what we define as beauty, when we choose to create it ourselves.The future of beauty is big puffy lips, pouty looks, guys looking like disaffected women, women looking like a transhumanist Barbie Doll and not a one of them looks like they could change their own tire on the side of the road.NSFW warning: boobies. Currently at KSC..... [New Window]
Discovery is currently at Launch Pad 39A. Launch of STS-131 is targeted for April 5, 2010 at 6:27 a.m. This past week, the STS-131 astronaut crew went through a mock countdown/dress rehearsal to prepare themselves for their actual launch date operations.The external tank that will be used for STS-132 (Shuttle Atlantis - targeted launch on May 14, 2010) arrived last week and was transferred to the Vehicle Assembly Building.You may have heard some talk effecting Endeavour's planned July launch. An issue related to the Alpha Magnetic Spectrometer-02 payload testing is threatening a delay to STS-134s slot in the manifest, to the point it may slip behind STS-133, or even as far as 2011 in a worst case scenario. However, no decision will be made on the schedule until after additional testing results and the launch of STS-131 in April. Read more..here.The next step in ground testing SpaceX's Falcon 9 rocket will be a hotfire of the first stage engines. The launch team will ignite the nine Merlin 1C engines for three-and-a-half seconds during the test. Hot fire is targeted for late morning or early afternoon, tomorrow.Lift-off of the rocket could occur late this month, but more likely early April. Tour the International Space Station [New Window]
This Week In Space [New Window]
Florida's Space Coast braces for layoffs, Buzz Aldrin muses on the next steps for NASA and his upcoming stint on "Dancing with the Stars," plus other headlines from This Week In Space. Orbiter Updates :) [New Window]
Lots happening here in the space world. Endeavour is scheduled to return to KSC on Sunday night at 10:25 EST. I havent seen a definite weather briefing, but low ceiling clouds may pose a threat to landing at KSC. The weather at Edwards Air Force base in CA. is not favorable on Sunday, but great for Monday. Sowell see as it gets closer to the de-orbit burn on Sunday. The hatch closure will occur today at 2:49pm and Endeavour will undock from the ISS at 7:58pm.Discoverys launch date has changed to April 5th at 6:27am! Roll over from the OPF will occur on Monday (weather permitting). There will be a 10 day window for this launch. Were busily processing Atlantis for its next launch as well. It will be rolling out of the OPF to the VAB on April 8th, rolling out to the launch pad on April 20th, and with a targeted launch date of May 14th. STS-130 Launch Sunday! [New Window]
The countdown has officially started for Sundays STS-130 launch of Space Shuttle Endeavour. Sundays (Feb. 7th) launch is scheduled for 4:39 a.m. EST and there is a 70% favorable weather conditions for lift off!!!! Successful Launch of Space Shuttle Endeavour (STS-130)!!! [New Window]
Such a beautiful launch early this morning at 4:14 a.m. EST!!! As the crew of space Shuttle Endeavour is on their way to the International Space Station, I'm on my way to Houston for imagery inspection operations for the Thermal Protection System of the orbiter. Watching a launch feels so rewarding. :) Oak Park Elementary School Visit [New Window]
Today I visited Oak Park Elementary in Titusville, FL. I gave the pre-K class a presentation about the space shuttle and launch preparation processing. They enjoyed the presentation very much and got to handle some blankets and tiles. There favorite part of the presentation was watching a video from the solid rocket booster from launch to splashdown. At the end of my visit they were officially shuttle experts as I stuck a NASA sticker on them. We had a great morning! This week at KSC [New Window]
Supporting Atlantis out in Houston went very smoothly and it was a successful 11-day mission with a beautiful landing at Kennedy Space Center. Now Atlantis is back in the Orbiter Processing Facility preparing for its next mission, STS-132.Next in line for flight is Endeavour with a roll over to the Vehicle Assembly Building scheduled for December 12. Roll out to the launch pad is scheduled for January 6th, 2010 with a targeted launch date of February 6th, 2010.....AND....work continues on the construction of the new Mobile Launch Platform that will serve as the base to launch the Ares I rockets for the Constellation Program. When completed, the tower will be approximately 345 feet tall and have multiple platforms for personnel access. NASA 2009-2010 Moon Work Design Contest [New Window]
Listen up college students!!!NASA has a student design challenge to design tools and instrumentation for human and robotic exploration that will help astronauts perform tasks on the Moon. Students are free to select a task from the following list or propose one of their own: Navigation in the darkness around the Moon's south pole Power supplies for rovers in the dark Sample retrieval and on-site analysis Radiation detection and avoidance Communication with lunar outpost, with orbiters, and with Earth Video capture of sorties for transmission back to Earth Astronaut recovery and transport back to outpost Lunar regolith mitigation strategies for rover and space suits Detect and retrieve water ice for use on the roverInterested students should submit a letter of intent to enter the contest by Dec. 15. Final entries for the Moon Work challenge are due May 15, 2010. All entries must be from students at U.S. colleges or universities. Although non-citizens may be part of a team, only U.S. citizens may win NASA internships or travel awards.Check out the website for all the guidelines at: http://moonwork.larc.nasa.gov Endeavour to land at KSC today.....maybe.... [New Window]
Although the skies don't look too bad right now at the Kennedy Space Center, the weather forecast for landing time continues to call for low cloud ceilings and showers in the area. A final decision whether to land on time will come around 9 p.m., leading to ignition of Endeavour's braking rockets at 9:14:52 p.m. for 2 minutes and 38 seconds to start the trek home. The shuttle would hit the upper atmosphere at 9:49 p.m.Landing on Runway 15 at the Kennedy Space Center is scheduled for 10:20:37 p.m. EST.If the weather or a problem forces entry flight director Norm Knight to scrub the day's first re-entry opportunity and keep Endeavour in space, there is a backup landing option available one orbit later. That would begin with a deorbit engine firing at 10:50:52 p.m. and a touchdown in Florida at 11:55:50 p.m. EST.NASA is calling up support from the alternate landing site at Edwards Air Force Base in the Mojave Desert of California. So if the weather prevents a landing in Florida, the spacecraft could be diverted there. The first deorbit opportunity will be 12:20:31 a.m. EST and landing on the temporary Runway 22R at 1:25:41 a.m. EST. A second shot into Edwards would come an orbit later.However, weather forecasters are calling for the chance of low clouds and rain showers at both landing sites tonight. :(----------------------UPDATE: GO FOR THE DEORBIT BURN! Weather conditions at the Kennedy Space Center are going to cooperate for the space shuttle landing this evening, allowing entry flight director Norm Knight in Mission Control to give final approval for Endeavour to perform the deorbit burn at 9:14:47 p.m. EST that will commit the spacecraft for the journey back to Earth.Touchdown in Florida on Runway 15 is set for 10:20:32 p.m. EST STS-130: Flight Day 4 [New Window]
We've completed the inspection of the orbiter's imagery and found 2 areas of interest. The first issue we found was a loose ceramic insert around a fastener securing a carrier plate around one of the shuttle's cockpit windows. The fastener is protruding a bit above the surface of the window frame, as shown above. Currently, we're assessing the effects of this insert as debris transport if it were to loosen completely during reentry. Another area of interest is a repaired tile on the upper surface of the crew module. The repair appears to have degraded and one corner of the tile is slightly protruding higher than the rest of the tile.Neither issue appears to be a serious threat, but we do need to complete the analysis from a debris transport view and present it to the Mission Management Team. Overall, Endeavour's surfaces looked very clean. We didn't have to log in any tile damages as none were out of criteria. The orbiter is very clean from a thermal protection standpoint. :) Happy Thanksgiving and Atlantis to Return Tomorrow! [New Window]
Yesterday's inspections of Atlantis' wing leading edges and nose cap have cleared the heatshield for re-entry. The astronauts are working through a busy Thanksgiving in space testing the shuttle's re-entry systems and packing up for landing tomorrow Kennedy Space Center.View the STS-129 crew's Thanksgiving greeting from space! Some Awesome Shots from STS-130 [New Window]
Space Shuttle Program Commemorative Patch [New Window]
NASA has revealed the 15 patch designs that will compete to become the agency's official commemorative emblem for the end of its space shuttle program later this year. A panel of NASA judges will select the winning artwork to be flown on STS-132, the final flight of space shuttle Atlantis as currently scheduled for launch in May. Before they make their selection though, NASA is giving employees a chance to vote for their favorite. Collectspace.com is hosting their own voting for the top 15! To cast your vote for your favorite patch, Click Here85 designs were received in the Space Shuttle Program Commemorative Patch Contest from a wide variety of individuals, including astronauts and former and current civil servants and contractors.The winning design will be flown on an upcoming shuttle mission, and the winner will be presented with their flown artwork as an award. Click here for the 85 entries that were submitted. The top 15 entries can be viewed here. Thermal Protection System (TPS) cleared for reentry! [New Window]
The review of all the imagery was completed last night! There were 4 areas of interest for Atlantis, but all have been declared acceptable for entry. We're assembling our charts that will be presented to the Orbiter Project Office! Weather conditions postpone Endeavour launch 24 hours [New Window]
24-hr SCRUB!!! Low clouds over Kennedy Space Center prevented space shuttle Endeavour from launching today. Another try will come Monday at 4:14 a.m. EST. This Week in Space [New Window]
The International Space Station gets a room with a view like no other - many wish NASA had as clear a view of what is next in space. "This Week in Space" talks to the exiled president of the "Constellation Nation" former NASA boss Mike Griffin who equates the Obama decision to Richard Nixon's cancellation of Apollo only worse. And we hear from a leading space entrepreneur Eric Anderson of Space Adventures - who says the Obama plan is "brilliant... a masterstroke of U.S. space policy." Endeavour has begun to roll out to pad 39A! [New Window]
The official start time for the rollout was clocked at 4:13 a.m. EST. It's very dark out and cold..34 degrees! More photos to come as it gets lighter out. STS-130: Flight Day 3 [New Window]
Endeavour will dock with the International Space Station at 12:06 am EST. Today the Orbiter Boom Sensor System (OBSS) was used in inspecting Endeavour's heat shield. The initial inspection sweeps using the boom have been completed by the crew. Here at Johnson Space Center, we're reviewing the data to be able to declare the heat shield safe for re-entry.Before docking with the International Space Station, high resolution photos will be taken of the orbiter by the ISS crew and the team I'm on will begin to inspect the imagery. I'm on a overnight shift so I'm just going into work now! Merion Elementary School Visit [New Window]
Today I visited Merion Elementary School in Merion Station, PA. I have to say I had the biggest grin on my face as soon as I walked into the building. On my way to the front office I saw this sign the kids had made to welcome me! All throughout the school halls there were more signs and in the auditorium as well. Their art work was heartwarming and greatly appreciated! I gave a special presentation to Mrs. Glackman's brilliant 3rd grade class and then to the rest of the elementary school in the auditorium. The presentations went great and all the kids were engaged! I tried to answer as many questions as possible, but time was limited. I do encourage the parents or students to post their questions as comments and I'll make sure to answer them! I enjoyed today and I know the students did as well. Now I have some wonderful thank you cards to read through from Mrs. Glackman's class! Thanks everyone!!! So where is our Space Program headed? [New Window]
Earlier this week, President Obama stated NASAs proposed budget for the fiscal year. Starting Oct. 1 the budget seeks to cancel the current Constellation program intended to send astronauts into orbit and to the Moon. The other major change in Obama's space policy calls for $6 billion to be spent to help private companies develop rockets and crew capsules to carry astronauts to the ISS.NASA's work on the Constellation Program, including the Ares 1 and Ares V and Orion, will continue this year while Congress examines the proposed changes. Were all looking very forward to the thorough evaluation that will be performed by Congress of the budgetary framework President Obama has proposed to ensure NASA can sustain a robust and balanced space program of human spaceflight, climate, science, robotics and aeronautics.So whats new with me? Well since I was hired under the Space Shuttle Program contract, the retirement of the shuttle fleet does effect me. My plan? To find another position that will advance my career. Our option here is to continue with our position until the end of the program (or until layoffs effect us) or.there may be other opportunities that may come to KSC that we could apply for.There is also uncertainty over the future of the astronaut corps. Space agency officials declined Tuesday to confirm if NASA's astronaut corps would continue after the space shuttle retires within the year. I have been asked by many how this effects me and if I will continue to aspire to become an astronaut. Of course I will still apply to become an astronaut if the opportunity is there! At the moment I am focusing on my current job responsibilities, looking for what direction I want to take my career next, and continue in advancing my education. Ive been very involved with volunteering my time to encourage math, science, and technology to students through the Society of Women Engineers and through some school visits. I fully intend to continue being very active in the community wherever my next venture takes me! Before we go on vacation.... [New Window]
Is everyone ready for this holiday season?Here at KSC we are! The holiday vacation starts on Thursday and goes through January 3rd. During this time no work will be performed on the orbiters as well all be on vacation (woo hoo!). For half of this week, Starting with Endeavour.the vehicle is in the VAB and is just awaiting transfer to launch pad 39A which will occur on January 6th, 2010. A new launch date of February 7th, 2010 was approved last week. Tranquility is a pressurized module that will provide room for many of the space station's life support systems. The cool thing I LOVE about Tranquility is that attached to one end of the node is a cupola, a unique work area with six windows on its sides and one on top. The cupola resembles a circular bay window and will provide a vastly improved view of the station's exterior. The multi-directional view will allow the crew to monitor spacewalks and docking operations, as well as provide a spectacular view of Earth and other celestial objects. The module was built in Turin, Italy, by Thales Alenia Space for the European Space Agency. Heres the cupola (covered for protection) attached to Tranquility and a picture of it before it was attached to the node. Discovery and Atlantis are undergoing normal processing, but are also preparing for powering down during this holiday season. As for me, last week I took my final in the combustion class I've been taking so now I can enjoy my time off of work. I also have about 3 talks to give to schools in January that I am looking forward to! Space Coast - Society of Women Engineers Awards Banquet [New Window]
Yesterday I attended the Space Coast's Society of Women Engineers Awards Banquet. I was nominated for the Distinguish New Woman Engineer award. We had guest speaker Dr. Cammy R. Abernathy (Dean, College of Engineering of University of Florida and Professor of Materials Science and Engineering) who gave a great insight about the economic shift in society that has effected the engineering disciplines within universities and industry.I was selected to receive the award in the category I was nominated for. It was a great honor accepting this award last night and being surrounded by so many women who embrace leadership and give back to their community. I have had great support and encouragement from my mentors who have helped shape me professionally throughout my career. One thing I have learned for sure is that you can never have too many mentors. I learn a variety of qualities from the different people I look up to. The ceremony was fantastic and I was amazed in the technical leadership of all the nominees. Below are the names of all the honorees that were recognized last night.Nominees for Space Coast Distinguished New Woman Engineer of the YearMrs. Susie Allen-SierpinskiMs. Arianna AronMs. Jessica BeahnLt. Sofia CalicaMs. Patricia Del RioMrs. Megan JaunichMs. Brigette Linville-PadgettMs. Melissa MierzwaMs. Erin MulhollandMrs. Rye MyersMs. Tzvetelina PetrovaMs. Tamalyn ResnickMs. Amanda SandbergMs. Damaris Sarria - recipientMs. Nicole TitusMs. Jessica TowsleeMs. Sarah WaldenNominees for Space Coast Technical Achievement AwardCapt. Shana FigueroaMs. Helen GarciaMs. Catherine Kammerer - recipientMs. Barbara KerschnerMs. Catheryn LoganMs. Teresa SauterMrs. Carlyn SmithMrs. Marcella SolomonNominees for Space Coast Outstanding Woman Engineer of the Year AwardMs. Beta AlfonsoCapt. Meredith BegMs. Maria Groh-HammondMrs. Kimberly GuodaceMrs. Janice JingleMs. Catherine KammererMs. Barbara KerschnerMs. Kathy McLaughlinMrs. Elaine SeilerMrs. Consuela Smith - recipientMs. Nancy SzparaMs. Denise Thaller Happy 2010!!! [New Window]
Well let's start off 2010 right! I hope everyone had an enjoyable holiday and I wish you all a successful and healthy 2010. I'm every excited about 2010 because it will be bringing many changes into my life. Hopefully before next launch we should be hearing what route our human spaceflight plans will take and we are all very anxious.Endeavour will begin to roll out to pad A at 4:00am tomorrow! I have my camera ready since I'll be into work shortly after first motion. Launch is still targeted for February 7th at 4:39am.Today, the external tank that will be used for STS-131 (Discovery) was towed into the Vehicle Assembly Building today. The next launch is targeted for March 18th, 2010. Endeavour is back, and Discovery is in the VAB [New Window]
What a day! Preps continue in getting Endeavour back to processing for its next flight (STS-134, November 2010)....and Discovery rolled over to the VAB!!! The Sky This Week - Thursday March 11 to Thursday March 18 [New Window]
The New Moon is Tuesday March 16. Mars has faded but is still easily visible. Saturn is now seen in the evening above the eastern horizon near the bight stars Regulus and Spica. Venus appears low in the twilight. The Globe at Night sky survey ends. Jupiter is visible in the morning sky.Morning sky looking east showing Jupiter and the thin crescent Moon at 6:45 am local daylight saving time (5:45 am non-daylight saving) on Monday March 15. Click to embiggen.The New Moon is Tuesday March 16.The Globe at Night sky survey ends this week .Saturn is visible low in the late evening sky as the bright yellow object between the bright stars Regulus and Spica. Saturn is rising around 8 pm local daylight saving time, and is easily seen in the east in the late evening sky. However, it is best to wait until 11 pm or midnight, when Saturn is quite high in the sky for the best telescopic views. Saturns' rings are opening, and look quite beautiful, even in a small telescope.Mercury is lost in the twilight.Bright white Venus continues to rise above from the twilight glow. People with flat, level horizons and good eyesight can see Venus above the western horizon half an hour after Sunset. On the 18th, the thin crescent Moon is near Venus.Jupiter reappears in the morning twilight, but is difficult to see without a flat, unobstructed horizon. On Monday the 15th Jupiter is seen low in the sky near the thin crescent MoonWestern horizon showing Venus and the Moon at 7:45 pm local daylight saving time (6:45 pm non-daylight saving) on Thursday March 18, click to embiggen.In the evening Mars can be seen low in the northern sky as the brightest (and clearly red) object in that part of the sky. Now is still a good time to look at our sister world in a telescope. Shortly before 10:00 pm local daylight saving time (9:00 pm non-daylight saving time) Mars is at is highest in the sky, this is the best time to look at Mars in a telescope. Mars is a distinct nearly full disk in a small telescope, although somewhat small. Larger telescopes will be needed to distinguish surface features. Red Mars is in the constellation of Cancer, nearly halfway between Pollux and the Beehive Cluster. Mars is at a standstill for this week.Printable PDF maps of the Eastern sky at 10 pm ADST, Western sky at 10 pm ADST. For further details and more information on what's up in the sky, see Southern Skywatch. Cloud cover predictions can be found at SkippySky. [New Window]
Fred's Reading Report (January and February 2010)Trying to get back into regular blogging, already running a deficit!Long Form: 10 Books. Hal Foster: Prince Valiant, Volume I: 1937-1938 (review here).Fred Gallagher: Megatokyo Volume 01-05. Based on a webcomic, the books tell the story of Piro and Largo, two fanboys (anime, gaming, etc.) who end up broke in Japan. Piro gets a job in a game/anime/manga store and tries to raise enough money to return to the US and meets various anime stars while Largo battles zombies, a strange goth girl, various operatives from Sega and Sony, and encounters (and works for) the Tokyo Police Cataclysm Division (which tries to stay in budget and keeps all the monsters on schedule when it comes to invasions and the like). You can read (almost) all of the books online (for free), but I recommend the books as well (the artist has to eat). Lots of interesting stuff; while Piro's storyline tends to be more "mundane" and tends towards the romantic and you are never sure what is reality and what is fantasy in Largo's story, the two work well and even overlap.Sarah A. Hoyt: Darkship Thieves (review here).John Keegan: The Battle for History: Re-Fighting World War II.Alastair MacLean: The Guns of Navarone.The movie version was on Turner Classic Movies recently and I did not last through the whole viewing (I believe I had spent most of the day shoveling snow), so when I spotted the book in the library (first edition!), I took it out. The story is essentially the same, with the major exception that one character that dies in the book does not die in the movie and two characters that are female in the movie are male in the book. Several sequences in the book did not make it into the movie. A good, relatively short, adventure tale.Nina Matsumoto: Yokaiden 01.Given my increasing interest in manga, and my long-time interest in mythology, this story, about a boy who encounters yokai (various beings from Japanese mythology) caught my eye. I recently picked up the second volume; the first volume only introduces the storyline and the characters and is a bit too short to allow me to decide whether I really liked the story or not. (As a side note, shelved near these books was Yokai Attack! The Japanese Monster Survival Guide by Hiroko Yoda and Matt Alt with illustrations by Tatsuya Morino. This is a amusing "reference book" on many of the creatures that appear in Yokaiden and beyond.)James Swallow: Faith & Fire (review here).Short Form: 281 entries!Say what? 281 short works already? Well, yes, sort of. I started counting podcasts and the like this year. Is it a fair entry? While some (365 Days of Astronomy) are relatively short (10-15 minutes), I've read many short stories in the same time frame. Most of the podcasts I now listen to are far longer (1 hour to up to 4 hours), so given the investment, I thought it a legitimate entry. If you disagree...well, start your own blog! ;) Terminator Salvation. [New Window]
It's better than you've heard. The movie is a worthy sequel in the franchise, and certainly better than T3: Judgment Day. T3 was a hopeless movie about fate being in control of us. Terminator Salvation has a more life affirming theme, delivered with lots of cool chases, gun battles, giant robots, and unbelievably realistic computer animation. What's not to like about that?-tdr Stories On Film From Iran [New Window]
We sit riveted to our TV screens and computer monitors by the images coming from Iran. We see people putting their lives on the line in the streets, marching into harm's way, rising up against tyranny, fighting on behalf of freedom. Or is something else happening?The demonstrators have gone into the streets protesting the election that appears to have been stolen from their favored candidate. Yet this candidate comes from the theocracy that rules Iran. He is a founding father of the Islamic revolution that replaced one dictatorship with another. Are his supporters in the streets merely pawns in a power struggle among the clerics who rule Iran?Perhaps the images lie to us. Certainly the images depict events that are truly happening. But whether those events depict an evident truth or mask a lie is not yet clear. So, we read and watch the news out of Iran and wonder whether what we are seeing is true or a lie.Fiction is truth masquerading as lies. We read and watch fiction knowing full well we are being told a pack of lies, but we also know that truth lies hidden in those lies. (Here.) Iran is blessed with storytellers who tell truthful lies on film. Here's a sampling, in no particular order of personal preference.Crimson Gold: A tragedy about the last days of a pizza delivery man in Tehran, doomed by shame and lack of opportunity.Offside: The misadventures of young women who, motivated by love of country and the game, must disguise themselves as men in order to attend Iran's World Cup Soccer match.Baran: Another story of disguised gender, but this time a love story, and a story of Afghan refugees surviving in Iran.The Mirror: It's not uncommon for Iranian movies to have a naturalistic feel to them. This film goes further than most and breaks the Fourth Wall. Midway through the film, the preteen actress playing the young girl making her way home alone through Tehran, suddenly decides she's had enough of acting and storms off. The rest of the movie follows the actress as she continues to make her way home across Tehran, but now the action is unscripted. Or is it?Secret Ballot: Iran has elections. This comical movie tells the story of a female elections worker and a male soldier collecting ballots from far-flung polling places in a remote rural provinceChildren of Heaven: A young brother and sister hide the loss of a pair of tennis shoes from their parents. It's a family movie that culminates in a foot race across the city.Color of Paradise: The saddest but most beautifully filmed story of a father and his blind child. It will haunt your memory for a long time. It still haunts mine, 10 years on.Marooned In Iraq: One of Iran's naturalistic movies. The plot involves a Kurdish singer from Iran who travels to Iraq in the wake of the first US-Iraq war to find his former wife. Not a musical by any means but there's lots of singing performances by the main character and others he meets along the way.Ten: Women in Iran struggle to live under the oppression of the Islamic Republic. Their stories are told in conversations during car rides across Tehran.-tdr In The Macroverse: Spider Kills Bee. [New Window]
From In The MacroverseThis spider worked non-stop for about 20 minutes wrapping a bee that had gotten stuck in its web. Once the bee was completely encased in webbing, the spider dragged it into the bottlebrush tree for dining later.From In The MacroverseMeanwhile, in a nearby web off-camera another bee struggled for the duration and escaped. There is no mercy or justice in nature. Only survival or death contingent on circumstances.To see more photos of the bee wrapping the spider sequence, click the links above, which take you to the In The Macroverse album at picasaweb.google.com/tdavera. Scroll to the end of the album. And thank the gods you're at the top of the food chain. So say we all!-tdr The First 100 Days Down ... [New Window]
Only 1381 days to go. January 20, 2013, cannot come too soon.-tdrUpdate: Okay, I added wrong. That's 1361 days to go. Even better. Wild In The Urbs [New Window]
Somebody's cage is missing a Zebra Finch. (Here.) The bird is not native to Southern California. Fortunately for it, it found a backyard feeder; and for me: it's got a sweet call and beautiful coloring.Meanwhile, a native bird feeds on a San Diego Sunflower in the front yard. The sunflower plant still blooms but it's losing flowers in anticipation of summer. The blooming flowers continue to feed hummingbirds and insects. The dying flowers feed other birds. Nice!-tdr Paul Blart: Mall Cop aka Die Hard With A Belly [New Window]
Paul Blart: Mall Cop, Kevin James' new DVD is a not very funny action comedy about an unarmed security guard trying to rescue hostages held by a criminal gang at the shopping mall. Call it Die Hard With A Belly, but without any belly laughs. It's got a few comic moments but nothing that will make you LOLROTFLYAO. (The Hangover, playing now at local theaters is the movie to see for those laughs.)The special features on the Blart DVD are more entertaining than the movie. The actors who played the minions in the team of criminals who take over the shopping mall are extreme sport athletes: skateboarders, bicyclists, free runners. The DVD's special features profile these athletes and show how the stunts were performed. All very interesting and fun.The stunts in the movie include something called "free running" or "parkour." Parkour "is an activity with the aim of moving from one point to another as smoothly, efficiently and quickly as possible, using principally the abilities of the human body.[2] It is meant to help one overcome obstacles, which can be anything in the surrounding environmentfrom branches and rocks to rails and concrete wallsand can be practiced in both rural and urban areas." (Here.)Youtube has short videos of parkour in action. Also, the DVD District 13 (aka District B13) has some great parkour action, with noted athlete David Belle doing some amazing things. But perhaps the best free running movie I've seen, although I didn't know what it was at the time, is Run Lola Run. That movie not only has great running stunts throughout, it's a quality movie. Time to put Lola back in the rental queue for a second look.-tdrRepublished once to correct typo. Paid Grassroots Organizing. [New Window]
This flyer in the neighborhood is a timely reminder that when liberals organize using paid workers of an advocacy group, it's still a grassroots campaign. No astroturfing here. Move along now.-tdrUpdate: Even better, Grassroots Campaigns is a paid political consulting, fundraising, and field organizing organization. Welcome to Wonderland, Alice, where words mean what we say they mean. In The Macroverse: Woodpeckers versus Pine Tree. [New Window]
The woodpeckers at Mount Laguna this weekend worked nonstop pounding on the pine trees and storing their nuts in the bark. The trees didn't seem to complain but nobody would blame them if they did. Here's an example of the woodpeckers' work. And here's an oozing wound in the bark from all that pecking. That's gotta hurt. But it's not all pain and destruction. Here's a pretty sapfall hanging from the bark. For more closeup photos of a pine tree's skin, go to my picasaweb photos page at picasaweb.google.com/tdavera, open the folder labeled In The Macroverse, and scroll to the end. (Here.)-tdr Wild In The Urbs: Mockingbirds vs. Crow. [New Window]
Competition among birds isn't only over food. Sometimes, birds fight it out for territory. Here two mockingbirds harass a crow to drive it off the top of their telephone pole. From Birds From Birds-tdr Wild In The Urbs: Ultimate Pigeon Fighting. [New Window]
What do you get when too many pigeons try to fit in the same food bowl? Here it is. As always click on the photos to zoom in. From Birds From Birds From Birds From Birds-tdrRepublished to change images size. Remember, Size Doesn't Matter. [New Window]
The universe is a large place full of really big objects. Some people like to see some significance in humanity's small size in comparison. Whoever posted the really cool video showing the sizes of planets and stars on Youtube seems to think so. (Here.) After showing larger and larger images of planets and stars and then comparing them to the enormously larger size of the universe, the video ends with the statement, "No, you are not the center of the universe."Well, yes. But does the universe even have a center?I have to say, I don't quite understand the need of some people to diminish the significance of humanity. The fact that we're small and not located in the center of the universe means nothing really. Stars might be big but they're just giant flaming balls of gas. Big deal. The universe might be enormous but it's mostly large expanses of space. Again, big deal.It is cool to think about how truly large the universe is and how truly beautiful it can be. Does the universe know how big it is or how beautiful? Do stars? It's doubtful. But we know. And that makes all the difference.-tdr Infestation: A Sci-Fi Gem on SyFy Channel. [New Window]
Saturday night, SyFy Channel showed Kyle Rankin's (no relation, darn the luck) new monster-bug movie, Infestation. (Here.) The movie has a lot of fun playing with monster, zombie, and alien invasion movie conventions. But it's far from being an exploitation of science fiction genres. There's good writing with real-live character development and good direction. The movie is also blessed by the lead acting of Chris Marquette and the supporting role played by Ray Wise, as Marquette's dad.Infestation takes place in the first days after animal-sized bugs have conquered the world. All humans had been instantaneously knocked unconscious only to awaken some days later wrapped in webbing. Marquette's character is part of a small band of humans who try to survive and decide to launch an attack on the bugs' nest, to rescue the girl and blow up the queen.The plot will probably surprise nobody but the writing might; for instance, when Rankin has Marquette's character talk disappointingly of having fantasized that the end of the world would come some day leaving him and his own beautiful Eve to repopulate the Earth. The reality is not exactly what he'd imagined.When SyFy shows the movie again, as they no doubt will, give it a look.-tdr If Only Iranian Nukes Had Removable Floor Mats. [New Window]
From a government press release."The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration today alerted Lexus and Toyota owners about conditions that could cause the accelerator to get stuck open under certain conditions. The agency strongly recommends taking out removable floor mats on the drivers side in certain models and not to replace them with any other mat, either from Toyota or any other brand. ... NHTSA said that Toyota has announced that it will soon launch a safety recall of various model year vehicles to redress the problem." (Here.)-tdr California: The Fools-Gold State. [New Window]
California's government irresponsibly spent too much money during the housing and stock market bubbles. This year, when the economy tanked, California's tax revenues fell but government spending didn't. Instead of passing pro-growth measures to revive the economy and making adjustments to this year's spending in order to close the relatively small deficit this year, government officials ginned up a crisis. They inflated the size of the deficit by combining the real deficit from this year with the projected deficit for next year.The state controller stopped paying California's bills, the governor declared an emergency, and legislators were locked in the capitol building until they passed a budget. The governor conspired with the Democratic majorities in the legislature to push a budget loaded with tax increases, a few token spending cuts, and not much else. Three Republican legislators in each chamber gave the votes necessary to secure passage. Declaring victory, the governor and legislative leaders claimed this budget would solve California's fiscal crisis through the 2010 fiscal year. The new budget would spare Californians from the legislature's annual budget fiasco this summer.Not so fast. It doesn't take a genius to realize that increasing taxes in a recession will not increase revenues much and will slow the economy's recovery. The solution to California's budget crisis will involve real and significant cuts in state spending. California's politicians won't do that because real spending cuts will mean laying off state workers and taking on the most powerful political force in this state: the government employees unions.Nice try, Sacramento, but no cigar. The day of reckoning has been delayed not avoided.The state controller just issued a press release announcing that California will begin paying its bills again and refunding income tax payments. Buried at the end of the press release is this ominous warning. "'While progress was made, this recent budget deal does not put Californias fiscal house in order. Revenue erosion of nearly $900 million in the month of February alone, coupled with numerous indicators that Californias economy has not yet turned the corner, demands vigilance over the State finances during the months ahead,' [Controller John] Chiang said. 'While current-year cash flow problems appear to be manageable, early projections indicate the recently-enacted budget did little to guarantee there would be sufficient cash solutions to meet the States payment obligations for the coming fiscal year. If the Governor and lawmakers do not take action before July, we could be accelerating towards the very cliff that we just stopped short of falling over.'" (PDF here.) What kind of action do you think he has in mind? California's taxpayers had better hold on to their wallets.-tdr One Person's Uncivil Protester Is Another's Noble Activist. [New Window]
Has tea-party political incivility spread to California's state politics? A University of California Board of Regents meeting was held up yesterday by protesters holding signs and shouting. Board members had to leave the meeting until the protests were quieted down. Things were so bad, 12 people had to be detained. During the meeting, angry statements and question were hurled at the board members by people complaining about California's cuts to higher education. (Here.)Wait a minute here. The angry and rude protesters were complaining about government spending cuts? They weren't angry, anti-government, conservatives? They were liberals? Never mind. Liberal protesters have always been uncivil jerks. It's how they are. No news here.-tdr There Is No God But Obama, And Obama Is His Prophet. [New Window]
Newsweek's Evan Thomas stirred controversy and debate after he said about President Barack Obama's Cairo speech, "In a way, Obamas standing above the country, above-above the world, a sort of god." Thomas sort of complains that he is being taken out of context, which prompted Peter Wehner to write on Commentary magazine's Contentions blog: "So I would ask: Mr. Thomas, in what context can you call Barack Obama a 'sort of God'?" (Here.)The correct context would be when Mr. Thomas is describing how President Obama's followers view his place in the world.The apotheosis of Barack Obama to god-President begins with his name. Obama: the name's first letter is an "O," a circle, the perfect shape in nature, symbolic of unity. O-ba-ma is three syllables long, a magical and divine number, powerful in rhetoric. (See "the rule of three" here.) Say his name: Obama. To Western ears his name is exotic. A magic word, chantable: Obama, Obama, Obama. Don't think for a moment his marketers don't know it.The apotheosis continued with his campaign. There were the creepy YouTube videos by will.i.am and others, the iconic posters, the proliferation of news photos with strange halo effects around Obamas head, the Obama speeches attended by swooning and crying listeners, the campaign's instructions to volunteers to steer away from policy talk and testify about their own "come to Obama" moments, the thrill running up Chris Matthewss leg, the cable news hype leading up to the inauguration. Need we go on? An aspect of Barack Obamas appeal is that he seems a sort of god or prophet. He has been sent to America to redeem its past sins and transform the country into something better than its ever been. He isn't just a messenger of hope and change, he is the very personification of hope and change. A man of humble means born from the union of an American white woman and an immigrant black African man who grows up to become President. In crisis he is calm, unflappable, cool. He stands above it all. He is a font of wisdom who sees the flaws in both sides of any issue or dispute and is able to show us the perfect middle way. His mere words are believed to have the power to effect miraculous change: Obama speaks in Cairo; an electoral miracle happens in Lebanon.There is rhetorical exaggeration in all this, of course. But not much. There is no god but Obama, and Obama is his prophet. Peace be upon his name.-tdrFirst published in slightly different form as a comment to the Contentions blog on Commentary.org. Wild In The Urbs: Pigeon Sumo [New Window]
From Pigeon SumoFrom Pigeon SumoFrom Pigeon SumoFrom Pigeon SumoFrom Pigeon Sumo-tdr Taxifornia Interruptus. [New Window]
Tax-happy Californians --- those few, those unhappy few --- are beside themselves with frustration over the revised state budget.After the recent special election, in which California's voters overwhelmingly said "no, no, no, no, no" to more taxes and spending, Arnold Schwarzenegger recovered from his political amnesia and remembered why we elected him the Governator in the first place. He forced the Legislature to cut expenditures, reform social programs, and hold the line on taxes. Thanks, Governor!Not everybody is as grateful. For instance, Dean Calbreath, business columnist for The San Diego Union-Tribune, wrote this after passage of California's revised budget:"Nor did the Legislature slap a tax on the Big Oil companies, which have been taking petroleum out of the ground in California since 1861 without paying royalties. Every other oil-producing state imposes royalties, but heaven forbid that we should follow the lead of Alaska, Wyoming and Texas."Thanks to Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger's pledge to cut services instead of raising taxes, Occidental Petroleum which generated $6.9 billion in profits last year won't have to pay royalties on that new, 150 million-to 250 million-barrel field it discovered in Kern County." (Here.)Calbreath may be on to something. Perhaps California should follow the lead of Alaska, Wyoming, and Texas. California has one of the highest income taxes of all the United States. Alaska, Wyoming, and Texas don't tax personal income at all. (Here.) Now that's the kind of tax policy California needs.-tdr Wild In The Urbs: Saga Of The Zebra Finch [New Window]
Two weeks since he first made an appearance in the backyard, the escaped Zebra Finch is still coming around. He seems to be acclimating to the outdoors.From Saga of the Zebra FinchNot sure how long he'll survive, what with this neighborhood cat stalking the feeders every day. "That's right, cat, you'd better keep walking away, you damn furry little serial killer!"From CatsBut he's doing fine for now.From Saga of the Zebra Finch-tdr Wild In The Wild: Mount Laguna Edition. [New Window]
This weekend's shots of birds were taken at Mount Laguna about 50 miles east of San Diego. Saw 14 different types of birds. If I were a real birder I'd give you a list. But I'm not. So, here's a picture of a Steller's Jay, instead. For more pictures of this and other birds go to my picasaweb photos page at picasaweb.google.com/tdavera and open the 2009 Laguna Mountain Folder. (Here)-tdr First Treasury Secretary From Metaluna. [New Window]
Could Treasury secretary Timothy Geithner be an alien? Here's Geithner.And here's Metalunan scientist, Exeter, from the classic 1955 scifi movie, This Island Earth. (Here.)It's a forehead thing. We report, you decide.-tdr Wild In The Urbs: Cesar Chavez Day [New Window]
Today's a holiday at my office. We get all the holidays California state judges get, and they get a lot. So, this idle morning was spent in the backyard along with these visitors:A Black-headed Grosbeak.A House Sparrow, I think, came along.Pigeons, too, of course, flew in from the nearby grocery store.Meanwhile, the cat roamed the yard blissfully unaware of her appointment for vaccinations later today.Have a day, everybody.-tdr Taken (with Jack Bauer) [New Window]
Like Jack Bauer in 24, Liam Neeson's character in Taken is a super competent gunman with a daughter. Instead of the 24 hours Jack Bauer has to work with, Neeson's character has 96 hours to rescue his daughter from the clutches of white slavers in France.The movie's plot is guided by the question: What Would Jack Bauer Do? So, when Neeson's character finds his daughter's French kidnapper he beats him to try and make him talk. When he finds the Albanian thugs who held her, he kills all but one with knife and gun, and then tortures the survivor for information. So on and so on until the body count climbs into double digits and the property damage to six figures, maybe seven. Taken is a fix for Jack Bauer fans who can't wait for the next season of 24.Neeson's character would make Jack Bauer proud, except for one bad habit. Jack knows how to hold a handgun. Neeson's character doesn't. Get that finger off the trigger guard, Liam!-tdr In The Macroverse: Beauty And Grace. [New Window]
While some of us spent Sunday morning relaxing in the yard, at the insect level it was just another day of working to survive. Here's a pollen-laden bee hovering among the branches of a San Diego Sunflower. This fierce-looking spider sits on another San Diego Sunflower bush nearby. Click the photo for a closeup of the spider's face. Its fu manchu mustache-like markings alone are worth the look. I have no idea what this flying insect is or the flower it's resting on but they're both strikingly beautiful. The flower's beauty is obvious to the naked eye. The insect is so small that to the naked eye it appears to be nothing much. Only under magnification is its beauty revealed to the human eye. Do other insects notice? Who can say? As far as we know, the aesthetics of a thing is appreciated only by human beings. These creatures live lives of unobserved grace and beauty.To see more, go to my photos page at picasaweb.google.com/tdavera/InTheMacroverse and scroll to the end for the most recent additions. (Here.)-tdrUpdate: The flower in the bottom photo is a Tidy Tips and the insect is a hover fly. Until The Last Jihadist Is Burning In Hell. [New Window]
Never forget, never forgive.-tdr Unexpected Rainbows (Part 12) [New Window]
This isn't a rainbow, but a 22 degree halo. It's a bit hard to see (click to embiggen) as it's faint on the image, but was quite clear in the sky.Chez Reynella was at Womadelaide this weekend. In the Rain. SmallestOne was not impressed. True Monday was pretty clear, Sunday was only a bit wet, but Saturday... that was soggy.Still the music was fantatsic, the roving acts amazing and we had a marvellous time. Even got some sky gazing in.Me, enjoying the rain at Womadelaide. Imperial Grunts [New Window]
I'm reading Robert Kaplan's 'Imperial Grunts'. The military is out there doing what we ask them to do, sometimes making up policy on the ground. When guys like this are put in play stuff happens. I hope you're paying attention.Pg 19.. like the Marine lieutenant colonel I had met briefly at Camp Pendelton, Adolph didn't know how to be subtle, or how to dissemble. He was brutally, refreshingly direct. Dealing with him saved time.Pg 77Braun, Perez, and Wynn were three well-spoken men with tattoos, guns, and serious reading material all over their hootch: Bruan had been dipping into the complete works of James Fenimore Cooper. Wynn, through frustrated by the timid military-diplomatic policy of the previous days, nevertheless told me that "everyone has his place and I accept mine. I'm just happy being a sergeant. What do I know?" His tone was truly humble.I was beginning to love these guys. They had amassed so much technical knowledge about so many things at such a young age. They could perform minor surgery on the spot. Yet each had such a reduced sense of self compared to everyone else I knew in the media and public policy worlds. In the barracks, egotism was expressed purelyi in terms of team pride. Here hierarchy and authority were looked upon as supreme virtues, giving each officer and noncom a role and function in a noble cause. Everyone had read Stephen Ambrose's Band of Brothers, and related more to World War II paratroopers in the story than to their contemporaries in civilian life. Money down the rat hole [New Window]
I'm not ragging on these guys for grammatical mistakes. No - what irks me is that they spent a good chunk of cash for a real nice display slap-bang in the middle of East Towne Mall in Capitol City and could not be bothered to proofread their copy. 'Where the stone business based on attention to detail!' What kills me is that many people looked at this, proofread it, scanned it, laid their eyes on it ... and out it came, looking like ass. Voyager's Grand Tour [New Window]
I've been reading a book I found on a sale table at the Toadstool Bookshop in Keene, NH last weekend (great bookstore, BTW). Voyager's Grand Tour: To the Outer Planets and Beyond by Henry Dethloff and Ronald Schorn (2009). Among other things, the authors do a great job of setting the scene in terms of how little anyone knew about the outer solar system before Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 flew by Jupiter and Saturn between 1979 and 1981 (and in the case of Voyager 2, Uranus and Neptune from 1986 to 1989). Pioneers 10 and 11 had gathered some information (we were really clueless before 1973), but the quality and quantity of imagery and scientific data was so much greater for the Voyagers.The moons of the outer planets were hardly known at all, but were somehow considered unlikely to be very interesting. Voyager 1 dramatically altered that view when it sent back imagery and data showing that there are active volcanoes on Io. The Voyager program was an amazing success. Of course we now know much more about Jupiter (Galileo orbiter) and Saturn (Cassini orbiter), but Voyager 2 is still the only spacecraft to have visited Uranus and Neptune. [New Window]
2010: The Year in BooksCount for the year-to-date: 14 books. Most recent book read: The Soldier's Load and The Mobility of a Nation by S.L.A. Marshall.Nathaniel Fick: One Bullet AwayThe Making of a Marine Officer (March).C.S. Forester: Rifleman DoddA Novel of the Peninsular Campaign (March).Hal Foster: Prince Valiant, Volume I: 1937-1938 (January).Fred Gallagher: Megatokyo 01 (with Rodney Caston). Megatokyo 02 (with Rodney Caston). Megatokyo 03 (February). Megatokyo 04 (February). Megatokyo 05 (February).Sarah A. Hoyt: Darkship Thieves (January).John Keegan: The Battle for History: Re-Fighting World War II (February).Alastair MacLean: The Guns of Navarone (February).S.L.A. Marshall: The Soldier's Load and The Mobility of a Nation (March).Nina Matsumoto: Yokaiden 01 (February). Yokaiden 02 (March).James Swallow: Faith & Fire (January). Stellarium Revisited (now with satellites) [New Window]
I haven't looked at Stellarium for quite while so I decided to see what might be new. If you're not familiar with it, Stellarium is a great freeware (open source) planetarium program. I installed the latest version (0.10.3, January 2010) and was pleased to find that it now supports plug-ins, including one called Satellites that uses NORAD TLE (three-line elements) data to add many artificial satellites to the sky objects the program can display. I fast-forwarded the time to see what might be around near sunset tonight and found that the ISS will be making a visible pass from west to northwest between about 18:34 an 18:40 EST - it won't get very high for me on this pass but it's a clear night so I should be able to spot it through and above the trees. Of course there are other resources on the web like Heavens Above for finding ISS and other visible satellite pass data for your location, but this is an especially nice visualization method.Stellarium is a great program, and the developers keep adding features and improving the interface. It's available for Windows, Mac, and Linux. [New Window]
Once a Month...Like the MoonIssue 270 of Ansible!Talking Squid Redux. 'Your campaign is working!' writes Ric Cooper: 'On BBC Radio 4's Today programme at 08:41 on 28 December the presenter Evan Davis, interviewing Brian Aldiss and "science-fiction writer Ian Stewart" (Prof. Ian Stewart FRS), without prompting excoriated mainstream writers for belittling SF as being about "talking squid in space". / Aldiss was in fine elder statesman form, refusing to be cut off by the young whippersnapper, feigning to forget the name of the "crime lady" who perpetrated such very sincere flattery of his Greybeard (P.D. James with The Children of Men) and even coining a new name for SF "metaphorical realism". / The respect shown to SF just might have had something to do with the fact that the programme's "guest editor" was a certain Martin Rees that's Prof. Lord Rees, Astronomer Royal to you, sonny! He added his two penn'orth to the discussion, saying that he habitually told his students it was better to read first-rate SF than second-rate science writing.' [New Window]
The Space ReviewArticles of interest from the current issue of The Space Review: Stop the presses! Apparently space Nazis are the real reason that the Constellation program was canceled. Who knew? Richard Hoagland, that's who. Wayne Eleazer on Groundhog Day 2010. Everything old is new again. Taylor Dinerman wonders if NASA's new "enthusiasm" for private space will kill private space. Dwayne Day looks at the potential for a "red moon". [New Window]
The Space ReviewStill catching up...in the current issue of The Space Review, here are a few items of interest: Donald C. Barker the VSE, previous cancellations, and what may come. Rodger Handberg looks at the history of NASA, budget shortfalls, project cancellations and cost overruns. [New Window]
The Space ReviewA few items from the current issue of The Space Review: Harley Thronson and Ted Taley looks at the "Gateway" architecture for a proposed program (show me the money). Jeff Foust reviews James A. Vedda's Choice, Not Fate: Shaping a Sustainable Future in Space. Bob Clarebrough looks at space exploration and innovation. Dwayne Day looks at Defying Gravity. Interesting sets and models, but not much in terms of plot (or interest). And Jeff Foust looks at NASA, an agency in transition. Sigh. Always in transition. Show me the concrete details! [New Window]
Ansible! Ansible!Issue 271 has arrived. Be afraid. Be very afraid.Roger Dean had a 'powerful reaction' and 'mixed feelings' on seeing Avatar. Those floating island/mountains are so reminiscent of his iconic Yes album art that he's been deluged with congratulations for his assumed contribution. 'The film had the look and feel of my work for sure. Not all of it but a significant percentage of the film looked like my work. It was like they had access to my DNA.' However, 'I have been told by my lawyers not to talk to anyone ...' (Classic Rock, March) [MPJ]Philip K Dick's family may or may not be suing the Oxford English Dictionary for its wicked claim that the word 'nexus' appeared in English several centuries before Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (1968), and in Latin a bit earlier than that. But they're making threatening noises at Google for calling its new phone the Nexus One, with the claim that this is a 'trademark violation' and a blatant steal from the book's Nexus 6 androids, while the presence of Google's two-year-old Android operating system Just Proves It. (Independent, 7 January) [MPJ]"What a fascinating modern age we live in." (J. Aubrey, Captain, RN) [New Window]
The Space ReviewIn the current issue of The Space Review, there are a couple of items of interest. Stephen Metschan looks at the DIRECT launch concept as an alternative to the Constellation program (show me the money). John C. Mankins looks at what capabilities would enable an ambitious civil space program (show me the leadership). And Jeff Foust looks behind (slightly) the curtain that shrouds Blue Origin. [New Window]
Better Late Than NeverI'm late in posting this, not the ever-reliable Dave Langford! For the online version of Issue 272, please use this helpful link!NEIL GAIMAN's New Yorker profile revealed the secret of his allure: 'Pictures of his library, which contains some five thousand volumes, circulate on the Internet, propagating brainy crushes: "How could I not fall for this guy?? Honestly ... look at the sheer size of his ...library!"' (Dana Goodyear, 25 January) [MMW] Ansible dares not afflict John Clute with swarming groupies by flaunting his far vaster library size here. Interview: Robert Naeye, Editor-in-Chief of Sky & Telescope [New Window]
Mike Simonsen from Slacker Astronomy interviews Robert Naeye, Editor-in-Chief of Sky & Telescope magazine about the future of amateur astronomy. Michael, Mike and Doug also discuss various topics and provide brilliant insights and humorous commentary.
Sat, 06 Mar 2010 16:03:00 -0500 My Dream of Stars: From Daughter of Iran to Space Pioneer [New Window]
Ansari, Anousheh & Homer Hickam“My Dream of Stars: From Daughter of Iran to Space Pioneer”Palgrave Macmillan2010ISBN13: 978-0-230-61993-7Author’s Web SitePublisher’s Web SiteOnOrbit ReviewsNational Women’s History Project Blog Review
Sat, 06 Mar 2010 11:34:32 -0500 Space: Puzzles & Games [New Window]
Rossetti, Matthew“Space: Puzzles & Games”Hammond World Atlas Corp.2009ISBN13: 978-0-841-61092-7Publisher’s Web Site
Sat, 06 Mar 2010 11:17:16 -0500 [New Window]
2010: The Year in ShortsWhile I've made it a habit over the past several years to try and read one short work a day, for a count of at least 365 for the year...I'm giving up that formal approach for the coming year.The problem was it always turned from being a way to keep track to yet another pressure. I'm falling behind! I haven't read enough! Don't read that non-fiction magazine, it doesn't count! Don't listen to that podcast, you aren't reading!I mean, for example, I listened to 365 podcasts coming out of The International Year of Astronomy last year. Should I count them? Should I have just read short stories? So, I will continue to read and log stories here. But the formal race to the goal of 365 (or vastly more) is over. I'll maintain a count, but it don't...ummm...count...Short work count: 281 (through Feburary 28, 2010).Adventures in Sci-Fi Publishing: 17 episodes.The Agony Column: 18 episodes.Astronomy Cast: 1 episode.The Babylon Podcast: 26 episodes.Bat Segundo: 3 episodes.The Beyond: 1 episode.Carpe GM: 8 episodes.Paul Kennedy (CBC Radio Show): 1 episode.The Command Line: 2 episodes.The D6 Generation Podcast: 52 episodes.Dice Like Thunder: 4 episodes.The Dice Tower: 1 episodes.DragonPage: 8 episodes.The Drop Pod Cast: 2 episodes.Fear the Boot: 8 episodes.The Forge Pod Cast: 1 episodes.The Fringeworthy Podcast: 5 episodes.Geeks Guide to the Galaxy: 4 episodes.Guts 'n' Gears: 1 episode.I Should Be Writing: 9 episodesThe Kick-Ass Mystic Ninjas: 12 episodes.Meeples & Miniatures: 1 episode.NYAS: 1 episode.Plus Magazine: 1 episode.Podhammer: 5 episodes.Podthralls: 14 episodes.The SciFiDimensions Podcast: 1 episode.The Sci-Fi Guys: 1 episode.Sidebar Nation: 2 episodes.Studio 360: 6 episodes.Sword and Laser: 5 episodes.THACO: 4 episodes.This Week in Wargaming: 3 episodes.What the Cast: 3 episodes.World's End Radio: 5 episodes.Writing Excuses: 10 episodes.The 365 Days of Astronomy: 27 episodes.40K Radio: 8 episodes. [New Window]
By Special Request of the ColonelWhen The Colonel asks you to do something, you snap too. So here is a sample of his forthcoming novel, The Amazon Legion, sequel to A Desert Called Peace, Carnifex and the forthcoming The Lotus Eaters...* * * * *The Amazon Legion By: Thomas P. Kratman Copyright 2009, Thomas P. KratmanDEDICATED TO KAT AND KELLY AND SERGEANT HESTER ... AND ALL THE OTHER AMAZONAS, PAST AND POTENTIALWhat has gone before (5,000,000 BC through Anno Condita (AC) 472): Long ago, long before the appearance of man, came to Earth the aliens known to us only as the Noahs. About them, as a species, nothing is known. Their very existence can only be surmised by the project they left behind. Somewhat like the biblical Noah, these aliens transported from Earth to another planet samples of virtually every species existing in the time period approximately five hundred thousand to five million years ago. There is considerable controversy about these dates as species are found that are believed to have appeared on Old Earth less than half a million years ago, as well as some believed to have gone extinct more than five million years ago. The common explanation for these anomalies is that the species believed to have been extinct were, in fact, not, while other species evolved from those brought by the Noahs.Whatever the case, having transported these species, and having left behind various other, typically genengineered species, some of them apparently to inhibit the development of intelligent life on the new world, the Noahs disappeared, leaving no other trace beyond a few incomprehensible and inert artifacts, and possibly the rift through which they moved between Earth and the new world. In the Old Earth year 2037 AD a robotic interstellar probe, the Cristobal Colon, driven by lightsail, disappeared enroute to Alpha Centauri. Three years later it returned, under automated guidance, through the same rift in space into which it had disappeared. The Colon brought with it wonderful news of another Earth-like planet, orbiting another star. (Note, here, that not only is the other star not Alpha Centauri, its not so far been proved that it is even in the same galaxy, or universe for that matter, as ours.) Moreover, implicit in its disappearance and return was the news that here, finally, was a relatively cheap means to colonize another planet.The first colonization effort was an utter disaster, with the ship, the Cheng Ho, breaking down into ethnic and religious strife that annihilated almost every crewman and colonist aboard her. Thereafter, rather than risk further bloodshed by mixing colonies, the colonization effort would be run by regional supranationals such as NAFTA, the European Union, the Organization of African Unity, MERCOSUR, the Russian Empire and the Chinese Hegemony. Each of these groups were given colonization rights to specific areas on the new world, which was namedwith a stunning lack of originality"Terra Nova," or something in another tongue that meant the same thing. Most groups elected to establish national colonies within their respective mandates, some of them under United Nations' "guidance."With the removal from Earth of substantial numbers of the most difficult and intransigent portions of the populations of Earths various nations, the power and influence of trans- and supranational organizations such as the UN and EU increased dramatically. With the increase of transnational power, often enough expressed in corruption, even more of Earth's more difficult, ethnocentric, and traditionalist population volunteered to leave. Still others were deported forcibly. Within not much more than a century and a quarter, and much less in many cases, nations had ceased to have much meaning or importance on Earth. On the other hand, and over about the same time scale, nations had become pre-eminent on Terra Nova. Moreover, because of the way the surface of the new world had been divided, these nations tended to reflectif only generallythe nations of Old Earth.Warfare was endemic, beginning with the wars of liberation by many of the weaker colonies to throw off the yoke of Earth's United Nations and continuing, most recently, with a terrorist and counter-terrorist war between the Salafi Ikhwan, an Islamic terrorist group, various states that supported them, andsurreptitiouslythe United Earth Peace Fleet, on the one hand, and a coalition led by the Federated States of Columbia, on the other. This eleven year bloodletting began in earnest with the destruction of several buildings in the Federated States of Columbia and ended in fire with the nuclear destruction of the city of Hajar in the unofficially terrorist-sponsoring state of Yithrab.Prominent in that war, and single-handedly responsible for the destruction of Hajar, was Patrick Hennessey, more commonly known as Patricio Carrera, and the rather large and effective force of Spanish-speaking mercenaries he personally raised, the Legion del Cid, based in and recruiting largely from la Republica de Balboa, a small nation straddling the isthmus between Southern Columbia and Colombia del Norte.Balboas geographic position, well-suited not only to dominate trade north and south but also, because of the Balboa Transitway, an above-sea-level canal linking Terra Novas Shimmering Sea and Mar Furioso, key to commerce across the globe, was in many ways ideal. It should have been a happy state, peaceful and prosperous.It was also, unfortunately, ideal as a conduit for Terra Novas international drug trade. Worse, its political history, barring only a short stint as a truly representative republic following the war of liberation against United Earth, some centuries prior, was one of unmixed oligarchy, said oligarchy being venal, lawless, and competent only in corruption. Perhaps still worse, during the war against the terrorists, the security needs of the country had been filled by the introduction of troops from the Tauran Union to secure the Transitway and its immediate surrounds.Carrera had learned well from the Salafi Ikhwan, however. The drug trade through Balboa was ended by war and terroristic reprisal to a degree that left the surviving drug lords quaking in their beds at night. The oligarchy was beaten through the electoral process and the final nails driven into its coffinand into the heels of the oligarchswhen it attempted to stage a comeback in the form of a coup against the elected government and Carrera, its firm supporter. Carreras second wife, LourdesBalboan as had been his first, Linda, murdered with her children by the Salafi Ikhwanfigured prominently in the suppression of the coup.The problem of the Tauran Union's control of the Transitway remains, as does the problem of the nuclear armed United Earth Peace Fleet, orbiting above the planet. The Taurans will not leave, and the Balboansa proud people, with much recent success in warwill not tolerate that they should remain.And yet, with one hundred times the population and three or four hundred times the wealth, the Tauran Union outclasses little Balboa in almost every way, even without the support of Old Earth. Sadly, they have that support. Everything, everyone, will have to be used to finish the job of freeing the country and, if possible, the planet. The children must fight. The old must serve, too. And the women?This is their story, the story of Balboa's Tercio Amazona, the Amazon Regiment.Chapter One ..a failure, but not a waste. LTC (Ret.) John Baynes, Morale A phone was ringing somewhere. Peoplewomen and children mostlyscreamed. Others, men and women, both, shouted. Their voices were distant, as if they came from the mouth of a tunnel. Runaway freight trains, having jumped their tracks and taken off into low ballistic flight, crashed into scrap metal yards, one after another. Over that was the sound of jet engines straining and helicopter rotors beating at the air.With a barely suppressed shriek of her own, Maria Fuentes sat bolt upright in her trembling bed, her hand going automatically to her mouth to stifle the sound. As her eyes adjusted to the small light streaming in through her bedroom window, she realized that she wasn't asleep any longer. "It was a..." she began to say. She stopped, mid-sentence, when she realized that she could still hear the trains, the crashes, the screams. "Mierda!" she exclaimed, as she threw off the light covers. "Not a nightmare. Shit. Oh, shit." Maria felt nausea rising, mostly fed by sudden unexpected fear.The phone, which had stopped ringing, began again as Maria raced for her babysAlma'sroom. She stopped and picked it up. "Sergeant Fuentes.""Maria? Cristina." Centurion Cristina Zamora was Maria's reserve platoon leader. "Alert posture Henrique. No drill." Zamoras voice was strained, nervous. Maria couldn't remember ever having heard Cristina's voice as anything but perfectly calm before. Not ever. She felt a fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Zamora's upset? We're so fucked."Not a drill?" she asked, pointlessly."No, Maria, not a drill. Alert posture Henrique.""Henrique? Okay, I understand." 'Henrique.' Call up all the reservists, but only those militia who can be quickly and conveniently assembled. "I guess time's more important than numbers, huh?""They don't tell me these things, Maria. Later." The phone's tone changed, telling Maria that Zamora had hung up. Maria's phone was already programmed with the necessary numbers to conduct an alert. She scanned through until she found the number for her assistant, Marta Bugatti. She pressed that button, then the button for 'speaker.' She placed the phone on her bed and, while the phone was ringing, pulled out her Legion-issue foot locker. A couple of flicks of the retainers and the top popped open. She was pulling her tiger-striped, pixilated battle dress trousers on when the ringing stopped and a deep voicedeep for a woman, anywayanswered, "Bugatti here, Maria." "Marta. Alert. 'Henrique.' No shit.""Oh, really? I would never have guessed!"Unseen by Maria, a mile and a half from Maria's small apartment, Bugatti shook her head in general disgust and then held her own telephone receiver towards the nearest window. On her own end, Maria could easily make out the sound of chattering machine guns. Martas voice returned in a moment. "So what fucking else is fucking new? Ill take care of it. Ill..." Martas phone went dead. Marta? Marta? Maria pounded her own phone on the foot lockers plastic edge in frustration mixed with fear. Shit. Dead. She closed the cell and tossed it on the bed. She thought, OK, Marta. Youre a bitch...sometimes. But youre a lovable bitch and youre my bitch besides. Ill trust you.Maria pulled on her boots, green nylon and black leather, tucked her trousers into them, and then speed laced them shut. She wound the ends of the laces around her legs and tied them to hold the trousers in place. From her locker she took her battle dress jacket. She was buttoning this as she started for her daughters bedroom.She started, then stopped short at Almas door. My God, I am going to have to leave her, then fight; maybe die, too, and leave her forever.Suddenly Maria felt even more ill. How can I leave my baby? Just as suddenly, she felt even worse. How can I abandon my friends, my sisters, my troops? Bad mother; bad friend. Responsible parent; irresponsible soldier? Hero? Coward? None of those words mean a damn thing. Whatever I do, its going to be because Im more afraid of not doing it than of not doing the other. Im going to be a coward in some way, no matter what.Had she been a different person, any different person, she might just have stood there, indecisive, until it was all over. But Maria wasnt just anybody. The powers that be had selected her very carefully, then trained her more carefully still. They had even organized her unit very carefully, paying more than usual attention to the needs of single military mothers. With or without Maria, Alma would be all right. She knew that. But without her, her troopsher friendsmight not. She had no choice, really. Shed made the decision years before. I have to go.Alma was still sleeping soundly in her little bed when her mother entered. Maria smiled as her sight took in her daughters few dozen pounds and few little feet of soft lines, dark lashes and curly hair. Maria marveled that not only was Alma hers, but that the baby wasnt awake and screaming. I could never hope to sleep with artillery flying anywhere nearby, not even in training. What makes it so easy for a kid?Maria looked out the window from Almas bedroom. She couldnt see much but the street they lived on, and not all of that. Streetlights illuminated the scene. So far as she could see none of Terra Novas moons had any noticeable part in that. Then the streetlights began to flicker out, leaving nothing but the moons light.Below the apartment, people were running in the streets, most of them tugging on uniforms. Just about everybody was carrying a rifle, machine gun, or rocket launcher. A number of those who werent armed seemed to be trying to hold back someone who was. Somebodys mother, wife, or maybe girlfriend was crying for him to come back. Maria couldnt see where anyone did turn back though.Returning to her own room, Maria continued pulling gear from the locker. Out came load bearing equipment, her helmet, her silk and liquid-metal lorica, the Legions standard body armor. Her centurions baton she picked up for a moment, then replaced it in the locker. Last came her modified F-26 Zion rifle. She held the rifle in her hands for a moment, drawing some small comfort from its heft and weight. Then she slapped a drum magazine in, turned the key on the back to put pressure on the spring, and jacked a round home.I hope Alma stays asleep. She hates to see me in helmet and body armor. Fully clothed and armed, Maria slung her rifle across her back, walked back to the babys bedroom, then picked her up in her arms. Alma almost woke up then, sucking air in with three gasping uh...uh...uhs. The mother waited a minute or two, holding her, stroking her hair and saying, Dont worry, baby. Everything will be all right, baby. Dont worry, love. Mamas here. The child snuggled her soft hair into an armored shoulder and fell back, sound asleep.Once Alma had fallen asleep again, it was out the door and down three flights of stairs. Maria didnt bother with locking the door behind her; crime hadnt been much of a problem in this part of the city for some time; current invasion excepted, of course. ***** Lance Corporal Lydia Porras, of the Tercio Amazonas Dependant Care Maniple, affectionately called the Fairy Godmothers, careened her van through the streets, barely missing men as they hurried to their duties in the dark. The Fairy Godmothers were not actually part of the Tercio Amazona, but seconded to it from a regiment of elderly and late enlistees.Though Porras was in uniform, her vehicle was plainly civilian, both in color and design. Otherwise, it would certainly have been fired on by any one of the dozens of helicopters that swooped in from time to time to shoot at the soldiers in the streets.Porras made a sharp left hand turn onto Marias fast-emptying street. She jerked the wheel left again to pull up to the apartment building, then slammed on the brakes to bring the van to a screeching halt. Porras killed the lights and listened for a moment for the sounds of one of the fearsome attack helicopters the Taurans had in such abundance. There was nothing or, at least, nothing she could hear over the rattle and crump of artillery. Porras prayed, Santa Maria, Madre de Dios, take pity on an old woman who has borne children. Take pity on children too young to die. Most importantly, Our Lady of Victory, grant it to us. Porras crossed herself and stepped out of the van. As she did so, Maria and Alma appeared in the doorway. Porras took Alma from her mothers armswell, pulled, actually; the mother didnt want to let goand placed the girl gently, sitting up, in one of the seats of the van, taking the extra moment to buckle the child in. There were a couple of other children there, too. One of the others, an older girl, turned sideways in her sleep to throw an arm around Alma. Porras smiled for the first time that night. Kids can be so sweet.When one is young and alone and the call comes to fight, it really helps to know someone is going to take care of the kids. That was Porras job. She was a nice old biddy. Gray haired, wrinkled; but her eyes shone bright and her posture was immaculate. She had not volunteered for service until she had turned sixty-two years old, with grown children and grandchildren of her own. Shed gone to geriatric Basic Training then, and then volunteered for assignment to the unit. Old Porras might have been. Steady, calm and reliable she was too. She was also a surprisingly good shot. Even so, Porras couldnt hope to do what Maria and the others did; she was simply too old. Still, she certainly made it easier for them to do their jobs. Alma loved her. So did Maria.Filled with inexpressible feelings of pity, love, and fear, the old woman looked at Maria carefully, as if for the last time. Pretty girl, she thought, eyes glancing over Marias five feet, two inches of height, healthy figure, straight nose and large, well-spaced eyes. She placed a hand gently along the younger womans sculpted chin, saying, Go with God, child. And be careful. Ill guard your daughter with my life.Then, eyes clouding with tears, Lydia Porras jumped back into the van, slammed the door, and pulled away amidst screeching, smoking tires.For Maria it was so hard to watch that van pull away. ***** Maria Fuentes hands trembled. She was frightened, damned frightened, and she had reason to be. Her countrys enemy had one hundred times Balboas own population; three or four times that ratio in disparity of wealth. Between their regular and reserve forces they had more people under arms than the entire population of her country. Weapons? Except for small arms and a couple of tricks there was no comparison. Technology? Sister, Balboa wasnt even in the race.But its not hopeless, she told herself, forcing her hands to steady down. We have some things going for us, too. Our weapons are generally decent and reliable. We have a better doctrine for battle and a much better one for training. We have damned good leaders. And this is our country. We have no place else to go.Tougher to measure were some softer factors: Heart, soul, a pretty good knowledge of their own country, and the fact that the enemy was arrogantand might, with luck, sometime show all the stupidity arrogance entails. Besides, the Taurans did have some place else they called home. And if they didnt mind much making others bleed, they didnt much like bleeding themselves. Maria thought, If were going to make them bleed, well have to bleed some ourselves.She looked up at the sky and, with the streetlights gone, saw the thin crescents of two moons, Bellona and Hecate. Yeah, theyve got more night vision capability than we do; theyd hit us at a time with minimal illumination.She turned away from the direction in which Porras had taken Alma and, her mind on bleeding, faced in the direction she would have to go. She took the rifle from across her back and, weapon in hand, began jogging.Left, right, left, right.From the apartment building it was about a mile to the assembly point, the hide. This was a small restaurant in Balboa City owned by one of the other squad leaders in Marias maniple.Left, right, left, right.It is not, repeat not, fun to run, or even jog, in a tropical environment, when youve got forty-five pounds of combat equipment and ammunition dragging you down. It wasnt fun for a man. For women it was worse. Maria knew it would become even worse than that after she picked up the rest of the ammunition hidden at the restaurant.Left, right, left, right. Maria heard the steady whop-whop-whop of a helicopter coming closer. Her army had more than a few helicopters, but none of them sounded like this one. She began to look around at her surroundings, desperately seeking someplace she could hide. ***** Hey, Johanson, look left. Single grunt. Take im?Yeah, sure, why the hell not?The helicopter tilted left as its tail swung around to the right, bringing its weapons to bear. The target ducked and disappeared from view.Fire a couple of bursts. See if you can spook him out.Roger. ***** In the recessed doorway in which shed taken shelter, Maria pressed herself against a wall to try to blend in with the shadow. Her heart was thumping so loud in her chest that she was sure even the helicopters crew would be able to hear it. Suddenly the shadow disappeared as the street was lit by the strobe of several dozen heavy machinegun rounds being fired. Against her will, Maria screamed. Again the helicopter fired and she pressed her hand to her mouth and bit down.More than the sound, it was those solid streams of tracers lighting up the landscape that terrified her. She just tried to make herself smaller, even as she bit down on two fingers again so as not to hear herself scream out loud. ***** Fuck it, Jo. If hes still around, hell be wanting to change his pants before reporting to his unit. Call it a Mission accomplished. We got shit to do. Lets go look for easier meat.Roger. Dont like hanging around one place too long, either. The chopper tilted right as Johanson flew it up and away from where Marias trembling form crouched unseen. ***** In combat, fatigue and fear are mutually reinforcing and essentially interchangeable. So Maria had been told in training. Her training cadre had even done their best to show her, and her sisters, how that worked. Nothing could have fully prepared her for the reality. She felt so weak from the terror of that helicopter that it took an effort of will just to start moving again. Once she did, though, it got better. She was even able to start thinking and stop just reacting. Left, right, left, right.Maria thought, The Taurans may be stupid,but theyre not that stupid. They know we have to assemble to defend ourselves. I wonder what they.... ***** The Tauran sniper should have had a spotter, and preferably a man for security. Under the circumstances, the desperate need to destroy the Balboans leadership before they could fully mobilize their not inconsiderable force of reservists and militia, spotters and guards had been dispensed with. His spotter, indeed, was also alone, someplace a mile or so to the west. Alone, on flat roof overlooking one of the enemy capitals major thoroughfares, the sniper carefully rotated the focus ring on his rifles scope as he tracked his target down the street. Hed begun to squeeze the trigger once, when the target was in an open space. But the target had disappeared behind a small truck before the rifle had fired. The sniper relaxed the pressure on the trigger, waiting patiently.Ah. There he is again. The sniper gently slid the rifle over to bring it to bear on the target. He began to squeeze the trigger once again. Keep your damned head still, asshole. Stop swinging like some bitch, The sniper whispered. The trigger depressed. ***** KAZINGG! The bullet passed by Marias head so closely she felt the wind of its passage. Sniper!Even as her mind put a name to the threat, her body was diving behind the nearest auto. In falling, Maria scraped her right elbow on the concrete hard enough to rip her uniform and tear the skin beneath. She ignored it, except to think, in some distant part of her mind, My God, Centurion Garcia would kick my ass if he ever saw me do a dive like that.Her body armor, tougher stuff, protected her breasts, as aramid fiber knee cups protected her knees. Her heart, which hadnt ceased pounding since her brush with the helicopter, began to race: thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump.Shit! Shit! Shit! Maria cursed, even as she crawled to put the engine block and the right front tire of the car between her and where she thought the bullet had come from. It was better than nothing. Unless, of course, the bullet didnt come from where I thought. In that case, Im probably toast.She rolled over to her back, then slithered her posterior around. Trying to make the smallest target possible, Maria sidled her back to get her head flat behind one of the cars tires.Another bullet sent a cloud of broken safety glass raining down on her. Another and she heard a bullet ring off of the engine block then pass through the sheet metal of the body just over her head. Maria began to pray quietly.Her back hunched against the tire, Maria looked to her left. The next nearest car was better than twenty-five meters away. She didnt think there was any way she could make it before the sniper put a bullet in her. She knew, too, that he wouldnt be picky, this time, going for a headshot. Hell put one through my guts then shoot me in the head as I lay there on the asphalt. The loricas good for shrapnel and light rounds, not heavy, full caliber bullets. Im pinned, but good. Worse, if all else fails hell probably eventually go for the gas tank. Then its going to be fricasseed Fuentes.She began to pray a bit more fervently, whispering, Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy Kingdom comeNext to the main door to Marias maniples headquarters there was a hand painted sign. Shed seen it a thousand times. The sign showed a duck trying to eat a frog, the frogs legs sticking out of the ducks mouth. The duck couldnt eat the frog, though, because the frogs front feet were wrapped around the ducks throat, choking it, blocking its windpipe and gullet.The caption on the sign said, Never give up!She stopped praying to think, OK. Never give up.'Maria took the drum magazine from her F-26 rifle, then tapped it against her thigh to make sure all the cartridges were well seated. She then replaced it in the magazine well. The magazine made a click as it seated, soft enough but seeming loud to her. Her finger flicked on the rifles integral night sight. Maria took one deep breath, crossed herself and prepared to get up and shoot back. She was NOT going to burn without a fight.Even as her body tensed, she thought, If they could think of putting snipers on the roofs to block our mobilization, why couldnt we have put people on the roofs to block the snipers? Or, at least, to keep the bastards busy? ***** Quietly, Pablo, the old man whispered with authority. Dont let the ammunition drag on the steps, boy.Si, abuelo. The grandson looked overhead, past where a lightly-built shed protected the stairwell that ran through the building from the frequent rain. He could see only one moon, and that a thin and weak one. Perhaps another was up; from where he was, Pablo couldnt tell. In any case, he couldnt imagine even the remotest possibility that anyone would or could hear anything over the ceaseless drumming of the artillery, the screaming of the jets, and the whoosh of light air defense missiles tryingusually in vainto bring down an aircraft. Still, orders from his grandfather, more importantly orders from Legion Corporal (Med. Ret.) Vladimiro Serrasin, were not to be ignored. The old man was a veteran not only of the terrorist war, but even of the invasion by the Federated States, many years before. He was the boys hero.The boy, himself a junior cadet with a slot waiting at one of the military schools, clutched the bandoleer tight to his chest. There, Pablo. See him? The old man pointed to a soldier, enemy presumably, lying down on the sloping roof with his rifle aimed through a large open chink in the wall surrounding the roof. This one is good, abuelo gave as his professional judgment. He had a tone of approval in his voice the boy found incongruous at best. Good fieldcraft. From the ground only his target would have a chance to spot him. If he is as good a shot, that wouldnt be a problem for him.Abuelo got on one arthritic knee, the rough gravel of the roof digging into it. Instead of showing a wince, a mild sneer crossed the old mans face. The light machine gun he bore in his armsan older and more primitive arm than the fancy F- and M-26s the Legion carried nowadayswent to his shoulder in a motion so smooth it was obviously long-practiced. The old man leaned into the shed that shielded the stairwell to the roof from rain. He took aim on the indistinct shape on the opposite roof. The old man inhaled, let the breath out, and began to squeeze...***** Maria crossed herself quickly, then twisted up to one knee to bring her rifle to bear on the building from which she thought the fire had come. Even as she did so, a long, long burst of machine gun fire came from her left rear. She hadnt been expecting it. The surprise ruined her aim. Her bullets hit the building opposite, but that was all.She did not wet herself.From the other side of the street came a scream that might have been heartbreaking if it hadnt also been so satisfying. The machine gun fired again and the screaming stopped.Mildly faint and more than a little nauseous, she slid down to rest her back once again against the tireAs Maria sighed her relief, she heard a laugh from overhead. Then an old mans voice called out to her, I once was young and brave and strong."Maria answered, loudly as she could, her voice still breaking with terror, And Im so now...Come on...and try.Then a young boyhe sounded all of thirteen or fourteenshouted to the world, But Ill be strongest, bye and bye.Go on, girl, said the old man. We can see for about three blocks. Its clear that far, anyway.Maria shouted out, Thanks, then got unsteadily to her feet. Thankful to be alive and substantially unhurt, she resumed her jog again for the restaurant. ***** The restaurant wasnt in, though it sat very near, the seediest part of the city, just south of Old Balboa. Though the septic-mouthed, genengineered antaniae had been eradicated from most of the capital, here their nightly criesmnnbt, mnnbt, mnnbtcould be heard in the distance.From the restaurants door came the challenge, Delta, Oscar?Maria gasped out, Lima Lima. The challenge and password for the week spelled, doll. Had the sentry asked Oscar, Lima, Maria would instead have answered with, Delta, Lima. Go on inside, Sergeant Fuentes. The platoon centurion will be glad to see you. Its a freakin nightmare, Im tellin ya.Nodding, too out of breath for words, Maria brushed past the sentry and eased through the restaurants door. Sweat dripped from her chin to splash on the floor below.Inside was a scene of boundless confusion and disarray. Tables and chairs had been pushed against the walls and windows for whatever cover they might provide. Women soldiers crouched low and indistinct amidst the tangle, their eyes searching out the windows for a threat. A six foot section of flooring had been torn away. From the hole flew metal and wooden boxes of what was plainly ammunition. Women soldiers ran to and fro, moving the boxes to where other armed women were breaking them open and passing the ammunition out.To one side Marias platoons optio, what some armies would have called a platoon sergeant, spoke frantically into a radio. What a nightmare! Half of us arent here yet! Dead, wounded, held up by traffic; I dont know. Everyone is doing someone elses job...No, I havent seen a trace of Zamora...Yeah, yeah. I know. Never to expect a plan to really work. After all, the goddamned enemy gets a vote, too....Roger, Ill keep you posted. Out.The optio dropped the microphone to rest beside the radio. She took one look at Maria and said, Sergeant Fuentes. Good to see you. Your people arent here yet. Go help Gupta drag the rest of the ammunition out of the hide.Obviously, there wasnt time for questions. Maria did as she was told. The hide was that hole in the floor, normally kept hidden under a table, which held roughly three quarters of a ton of ammunition. The women all kept their personal load at home, of course, but that was mostly rifle and machine gun ammunition. The hide had enough for a real battle: mortar shells, anti-tank rockets, mines, demolitions, grenades. The hide had never been designed for highly complex and degradable ammunition, like the light, shoulder-fired, anti-aircraft missiles. Those would have to come later, from elsewhere, if they did.As she eased herself down, Maria wondered how many people had eaten at that table never knowing they sat above enough explosives to blow them half way to La Plata. Ouch! Watch where you put your feet, Sergeant Fuentes. That was my shoulder.Right. Sorry, Gupta. Move a little so I can get down there with you.Whatever the origins of her name, Gupta was white and approximately blond. Once shed stepped out of the way, Maria eased herself into the concrete-lined hole, then planted her feet on the floor of the hide and began to help. Some of the boxes took the two of them just to lift. She was struggling alone with a heavy crate when Marta stuck her face into the hole. Were all here, Maria. I also picked up two militia typesSanchez and Ariason the way. With that, Marta brushed off an hours stark terror.Marta turned her head away and ordered, Sanchez! Relieve the sergeant down in the hole. Marta reached down a hand to help Maria climb out to make room for Sanchez. Once back on her feet, Maria reached up to give Marta a quick hug. This was awkward as Bugatti was not only a head taller, but huge breasted to boot. Maria had to really reach. Good girl, Marta. Line em up. Bugatti turned away and in that La Plata-accented Spanish that might as well have been Tuscan began to bellow to the troops.After Marta had put the squad into a line Maria started her inspection. This was no time for parade ground bullshit. Sure, naturally she checked their ammunition, weapons, equipment, food and water. Mostly, though, she checked them. Your kids get picked up all right, Cat? She asked of her machine gunner, Catarina Gonzalez. For answer Cat just nodded her plain face on her stocky neck. Scared, Maria thought. Dont blame her. If I had three kids Id be three times more frightened than I am. She patted Cats cheek for reassurances sake and continued down the line.Cats ammunition bearer, Ariasa tall, slender, blonde girlwas next. Arias was so new the Maria couldnt for the life of her remember the girls first name. While hands jiggled Arias canteens to check the weight of the water, Maria asked about her ammunition to cover the memory lapse.Fifteen hundred and ninety rounds, 6.5mm, four ball to one tracer, Arias answered. One thousand and sixty in my pack; five hundred and thirty ready. Arias tapped the two large magazine pouches at her waist for emphasis.Arias sounded frightened. Maria couldnt. Then she remembered the name. Maria squeezed Arias shoulder and said, confidently, Vielka, dont sweat it. Youre in good company. The best.Vielka smiled and relaxed just that trifle that said, Okay, Sergeant. I wont be scared if youre not.Good girl.While Maria checked her troops, the rest of the platoon showed up, a few at a time. The platoon leader, Centurion Zamora, arrived last of all. Zamora pulled off her helmet to run fingers through sweat-drenched, long, coppery hair as the other Amazons gathered around. The centurion looked around at the platoon she loved and then fiercely pushed away the thought of what lay in store for them over the next several hours or days.Troops, Zamora announced once theyd all been pulled together, barring only a few at the windows and one at the door, troops, the country is under attack. Maria rolled her eyes Heavenward, thinking, What is it about higher leaders in the military anyway, that makes them need to restate the obvious? Ah, well, Zamora has other virtues.Our mission, Zamora continued, is to assemble, move toward the enemy Comandancia on Cerro Mina, attach ourselves to Second Legion...and fight as directed.Those Tauran Unionwomen who got raped and killed? Marta asked.Zamora shrugged, answering, So far as headquarters knows, it never happened. But did they manufacture an excuse? Thats what I figure. Though who can understand a Tauran, anyway?Going to one knee, she pulled a map from a pocket, spreading it out on the floor where the troops could see. Heres our route. A pencil traced a series of streets on a map. Order of march is Second Squad, Headquarters, Weapons, First, and Third. The platoon optio will take up the rear. Move out in five. Maria was skeptical. Not all the ammunition was broken down yet. Pulling at a lock of hair, she said, Damn, thats not much time, Cristina.Zamora shook her head, though her hair was far too sweat-soaked to move with it. Its as much time as we have, Sergeant Fuentes. So its as much as we need. I hate using that tone of voice with people I care for.Marias face went blank as she answered, Yes, Centurion.The order of march put Marias squad first. She told Marta to take up the rear of the squad.Bugatti twisted her face into a mild scowl and answered, And just where the fucking hell else would I be, Sergeant, sometime Centurion, Maria? Maria chucked her on the chin and led the way out. One by one, the rest of the squad followed, some of the women taking a last chance to stuff a pocket with an extra grenade or meal or drum of ammunition. As they assembled at the door, a light truck, in civilian paint but driven by a uniformed elderly man, showed at the door.Anyone here need a couple of anti-aircraft missiles? the old man shouted out. Maria passed the word back that the air-defense weapons were here. To the old man she said, Just stand by. The crew will pick them up as they pass.Wilco, said the ancient.Stomach flip-flopping as she slipped out the door, Maria began to move forward, hugging the sides of the street. There was the sound of firing ahead, the muffled patter of her soldiers booted feet behind. She often heard the distinctive sound of a missile being fired at some helicopter. Sometimes, when she passed through an open intersection and could look south or east, she saw tracers flying high in the air. I guess thats what a thousand points of light look like, after all.About half way to Cerro Mina, Zamora answered the radio. After a half a minutes conversation, she called a halt. The optio came running up to her. Change of orders, Zamora announced. We hold here until called for.Any idea why? the optio asked.Personally, since Tercio Gorgidas got the same hold order, I smell politics, Zamora answered.Mierda! exclaimed the optio, who then ran back and began directing the troops to find what cover they could in the halls and alleyways off of the street. Maria took her squadthere were ten of them, all toldand hunkered down between the outside wall of a house and some bushes. Marta flopped down next to her, whispering, If I were you, Maria, Id tell Gonzalez to duck into one of those buildings and not come out for several days. Ill carry her gun.Maria nodded her head for a moment, then shook it in negation. I know. I considered that already myself. Gonzalezs three kids. I dont want them losing their last parent to be on my conscience. Still...no. Well need everybody soon, especially the machine gunner. Besides, I like the idea of Alma being orphaned even less than I like the idea of it happening to the Gonzalez children. ***** The troops began sweating profusely as the sun first arose, and then climbed higher in the sky. Then the spot Maria had picked turned out to have been a good move on her part. The squad was on the wrong side of the street, shade-wise, and would have roasted but for the protection of the bushes. Even so, the building behind them absorbed and then put out a lot of heat as the day grew longer.Some people, civilians, came out and gave the women cold drinks, snacks, whatever they had to spare. Considering that their country just might lose, and be ruined, it was probably more than they could spare. That made it better in more ways than one.Curiously, none of those who ministered to the soldiers were healthy young men. Those not with the colors already were perhaps too ashamed to be seen by armed women heading for battle. It was a long, hot wait until Zamora received new orders. Marta filled the time with idle chitchat, mostly concerning the rumors that flew back and forth.Do you think the governments really fallen? she asked.The buildings may be in enemy hands, Maria answered. The Presidents way too cagey to get caught himself, though. Not alive. He was a soldier once, too, you know.One trooper from the air defense teamthey had to stay out in the open to use their missilesstuck her head through the bushes and said, I heard on the radio that the Taurans were being pushed back into the sea and that the boys of the military schools were on the attack. Remembering the other half of the machine gun team that had saved her from the sniper, Maria said that she thought it could well be true.Cmon, ladies, Zamora announced, finally, once the sun was about halfway up the sky. Enough loafing. Were back on the job. In a way, the centurion thought, its better to go ahead despite whats in store than to wait here, helpless.It took a few minutes of shouting to get the platoon reassembled in the street. Then the women began to jog again, to move closer to the fighting, as civilians waved to them and cheered. Along their route Zamoras platoon was joined by the others from the maniple, streaming in from the left and right. Maria almost felt sorry for the poor mortar rats struggling under their loads. Then again, they had a couple of mules to help out. She didnt feel all that sorry for them. Besides, each of the Amazonas except for machine gun and rocket crews also carried a round of ammunition for the mortars. And seven pounds is not something to laugh at when youre already toting over fifty.They passed some awful things on the way. Bodies, of course, friendly and enemy. Some were uniformed and armed; some looked like civilians who had just gotten in the way. A couple were kids. Maria thought of Alma for about the five hundredth time that morning. Please, God? Please help Porras keep my baby safe? ***** Bring me a dozen eggs, child, and the side of bacon, Porras told Alma Fuentes. The pan on the stove was already sizzling. To Cat Gonzalezs eldest, Romeo, she said, Be careful not to scorch the chorley bread in the toaster.Chorley was a grain either native to Terra Nova or possibly genengineered by the Noahs. No one was really certain. Growing, it resembled a sunflower that never reached more than a foot or so off the ground. Harvested, processed and baked, it made a yellow bread that was naturally buttery in taste.And turn off the television! Porras shouted at another of the older children. There was no sense in letting them get upset with worry for their mothers.The safe house for the children was Porras own. It was on the coast, far enough from the fighting that the children couldnt hear much, if any, of it. Whatever she could hear, Porras still knew, at least in general terms, of the battle raging. She forced herself to remain calm, or as calm as she could, and kept the children busy with helping her prepare breakfast. Porras didnt break out the government provided emergency rations. Time for that later...if things get hard.Abuela Lydia, wheres my mommy? Alma asked from beneath soulful brown eyes.Child, do you remember this morning at all?Not much, the girl answered, shaking her head.Good. Your mommys with the Terciothe regimentand Im sure shell be back by this evening. Tomorrow night at the latest. And you and the other children will be staying here with me. Wont that be fun?Alma nodded very deeply and seriously. Fun, she echoed, even while the child thought, Im little; Im not stupid. My mommys in trouble, isnt she? ***** Before the platoons of Amazons reached the base of Cerro Mina they came to an open area filled with smoke, and bodies, and smells both unfamiliar and unpleasant. Marta nearly tripped over two of the bodies locked in what almost seemed an embrace. The knife of one was in the body of the other.There was also a shot down helicopter, a Tauran gunship, with two burned charcoal lumps in it, their arms and legs pulled up like a babys in a womb. Those and their stench made some of the women gag a little. Maria looked at the helicopter and wondered if it was the same one that had dogged her steps earlier. She hadnt heard or seen a Tauran helicopter since the one that had tried to fire her up and wondered if that absence was because of the eventual and increasing distribution of the anti-aircraft missiles.Marta took one sniff of the helicopter and started to gag herself. She bent over and deposited breakfast onto the asphalt.The Amazons held up briefly just past that scene of battle, while their maniple commander, Inez Trujillo, went to find someone to report to. While waiting, Maria ordered her squad to take positions next to a couple of wrecked enemy armored vehicles. Yes, there were burned corpses in those, too. And, yes, they stank. A bad way to die; poor men, she said. Wiping her mouth with a hand, Marta answered with a ruthlessness she didnt really feel, Fuck em; better them than us or ours. Still, she shook her head, regretting not the deed, but the necessity. After several minutes Tribune Trujillo showed up in the open area near Zamoras platoon. With her was some male tribune the women didnt recognize. The man towered over little Inez. Muscular, narrow-waisted, and painfully handsome, he looked as if he could have made a pretty good living as a male model. Maybe he did. He and Inez shook hands good-bye. Then Trujillo began to walkperhaps a little unsteadilytoward where Marias squad lay. Halfway there, Inez stopped and forced herself back to reasonable calm. Thereafter, she walked upright and with apparent confidence.The other two officers and the eight centurions and optios in the maniple gathered around her while Trujillo spoke and gestured to the map and the buildings surrounding them. ***** Trujillo was nearly finished with her orders. Our attack to seize the Taurans headquarters on Cerro Mina is to be quick and irrespective of losses; thats how important it is.Supporting forces on the right? Zamora asked. She already knew that one understrength maniple of the Tercio Gorgidas was going to be on the left. And that there might beor might not; things went wrong in waran artillery barrage to soften the hill up. Trujillo shook her head. Id have mentioned it if there were going to be.Zamora sighed at those words. Irrespective of losses, she quoted. Oh, well. At least our left will be secure. Maybe the TGs are mariposas. Weve all got reason to know they are some tough mariposas.Other questions? Trujillo asked. There was some lip chewing, some head shaking. Of further questions there were none.Dismissed.The officers and centurions saluted Trujillo and returned to their places. The Weapons Platoon centurion called her women and their mules over and began setting up the section for firing. As soon as the others saw the mortars begin to set up, they began filtering over by twos and threes to drop off their single rounds of ammunition. ***** Too soon Maria was crawling on all fours behind her platoon centurion, her squad following her. They passed through tight little alleyways and buildings; their inhabitants staring at them with wide, terrified eyes. A little girl came to stand near where they had to pass, making the sign of the cross at them. Maria flashed the girl her best smile; almost as if she wasnt scared to death.I guess she means well. And its nice to know someone cares. The women crossed open streets with hearts pounding. The whole time they moved they heard artillerytheir own, theyd been toldpounding the steep enemy held hill to their front. The blasts made their internal organs ripple in a way that was both fascinating and extremely unpleasant, the more so as they got closer. The sensation wasnt entirely new to any of them as theyd all been shelled, deliberately, in basic training. Eventually they stopped in a courtyard that abutted onto Avenida de la Santa Maria, also known as Avenida de la Victoria, the road that marked the partition between the part of the country under Balboan control and the part held for the last decade by the Taurans. Some of the machine gunners, the ones with the heavier .34 caliber belt-fed guns, were ordered into the buildings to support the attack. Cat and her drum-fed M-26 stayed with her squad. Maria was scared to death. She didnt want to kill anybody; she didnt want to be killed either. The more she thought about it, the more frightened she became. It got so bad that she lay right down on the asphalt, pretending to nap and hoping that its steadiness would help her conceal from her troops how very afraid she was. Marta wasnt fooled. She sat down, cross-legged, and said, Dont worry, Maria. Itll be fine.Foul-mouthed and occasionally insubordinate as Marta was, Maria was awfully glad of her company. She patted her leg and half agreed with her, Fine. Yeah. Sure.In a way, having Marta there did help. Maria wasnt quite so scared, anyway. She didnt feel so alone. That had really been the worst part of getting to the hide, being all on her own.Now she was with her tribe. Life was not so bad. ***** What do you mean theres no damned smoke available? Trujillo cursed into the radio. I cant order my girls into that without smoke!...Yes, sir...Yes, sir...I understand, sir. Yes, sir, Ill try.Inez handed the microphone back to her fire support sergeant, her Forward Observer. The FO just shrugged and said, Cant store the white phosphorus with the high explosive. Well have to wait for the WP to reach the guns. We cant wait. Its got to be done now. Suarez promised to paste the hill good with high explosive before we go in. But were going in.Oh, Christ, the FO said. Smiling nervously, she added, Funny, how you call on the only man who can help you, isnt it?Trujillo, look at her watch nervously. Yeah...funny.The FO looked up at the sky and said a little, hopeless, prayer; something to the effect of, Lord, please make them run away. No such luck, of course. The Taurans had their jobs, too.Trujillo looked around at her command, nearly two hundred women of the Tercio Amazona. Her eyes sought out especially those who had gone through training with her back when the regiment was just a dream. They were her best friends; no difference in rank could ever change that.Her eyes settled on Maria briefly. She smiled with warmth and a little sadness. As she turned her gaze slightly, the smile grew both warmer and sadder. Cat Gonzalez smiled back, encouragingly. ***** The tempo of artillery fire landing on the hill ahead picked up noticeably. Maria opened her eyes and stood up. Lying on the asphalt hadnt really helped all that much, anyway. She put her arms out parallel to her body to bring her squad on line. Marta fell in behind the squad. It was her job to make sure nobody fell behind her.Fix...bayonets! Trujillo commanded. Word was passed from soldier to soldier. Fix bayonets...fix bayonets! Marias hands shook as she reached toward her belt. She pulled the bayonet out and fixed it on the end of her rifle. A steady click-click-clicking said the rest of the maniple was doing the same, putting a knife on the end of a modern rifle to turn it into something a caveman would recognize as a spear. It was not silly, however many thoughtless amateurs thought it was. True, bayonets almost never killed anybody who could still fight. They were not supposed to. What they were supposed to do, instead, was to terrify the enemy into running away or giving up. They did that well enough, often enough, to justify keeping them in the inventory. Of course, part of the terror was in the way they really were used; to hack the enemys wounded into spareribs after winning. Even though it is against the law of war to refuse to take prisoners, prisoners are almost never taken in a hotly contested assault. Then, too, speeding is against the traffic code.Arias got down on both knees, right there on the hard pavement, crossed herself, and began to pray. She included the Taurans in her prayers. Another girl, from a different squad, was crying softly. No one but she knew exactly what or whom she was crying for.Then it was time. *****Trujillo handed the microphone back to her radio-telephone operator. The RTO held it to her own ear, listening. Then Trujillo looked at the F-26 in her hand, shook her head, gave a little to hell with it shrug and slung the piece across her back. The tribune took the eagle from its bearer and crossed herself. Theres only one way to do this, to make sure they go up that hilltogether. Weve got a broad open street to cross. The way the trees are, they cover the enemy from sight of most of our supporting weapons but give them a perfect view of most of the street. On the plus side they couldnt see us where we assembled on our side of the street, what with the trees, the walled courtyards, and the covered vestibules. The Taurans might only kill my girls a few at a time if we try to cross in ones and twos, but there will be a lot more time to do it in; a lot more rifles and machine guns for every second theres a targetmy women!exposed. And there just isnt any more time to wait. A chance at the headquarters for this whole sector? It has to be done, if it can be done, right away, right now. If we fail...*****What the hell? Captain! Captain Bernoulli. You need to see this, sir.Bernoullia stubby Ligurini, a Tuscan mountain trooperleapt from hole to hole, sheltering from the now desultory incoming artillery. Reaching his machine gunners side, he hunched his short and stocky frame down next to the man who had summoned him. What is it, Basso?Basso pointed at the street below. Sir, its one of the locals. I think its a she and I think shes giving a speechright in my line of fire. Sir, do I have to shoot her?Bernoulli shook his head at the waste of it all. Lets wait a sec. Maybe she telling them all to go homeno, I guess not. Shoot if heor she comes any closer, Basso.Yessir, the mountain trooper answered, though he clearly didnt like it.*****On the far side of the street below, Inez Trujillo shouted, On your feet, Amazonas! Then she waited for the girls to rise, such as hadnt already. Now...For your old parents and grandparents back in the City; for the children you have or hope to have; for your country...for YOURSELVES! The future is at the top of that hill! Follow me, you cunts!Holding the eagle high with both her hands, the tribune raced out into the street. She had made it more than halfway across before three things happened: the artillery stopped falling on Cerro Mina, the rest of the Amazons realized what she had done, and two enemy machine gunners on the slope simply shot her to pieces. Perhaps if only one or two bullets had hit Trujillo the rest might not have followed as they did. But Inez was torn apart.The women could see that she was dead, very dead, even before her body hit the ground. She didnt even have time to cry out. Her head was nearly severed, misshapen by a bullet, too. Entrails spilling, her corpse sprawled on the pavement. In an instant she was transformed from a living, breathing woman into an obscenity.One or two enemy bullets must have hit the eagles staff, because it fell to the asphalt in two pieces. The rest of the womenthose who could seejust stared for a moment, speechless except for one or two of the girls who screamed. Maria recognized Cats scream clearly. She looked again at the body, biting her lower lip, tears coming to her eyes.Maria felt a horrible anger build in her. They ruined her! They ruined her! She tightened the grip on her rifle and screamed, Ataque! In the next moment she and her girls were charging across that street screaming like she-wolves and firing from the hip.The other squads followed right along. Well, men and women both are herd animals. More machine gunsrifles too, of coursejoined those that had killed Trujillo. Maria vaguely sawrather, feltone long sweeping burst cut down the womanmore of a girl really, she was no more than eighteenbeside her. A spattering of angry hornets cracked the air by her head and two or three more Amazonsthree, it was threecried out and flopped to the ground behind her. *****Martas chest hurt terribly where a bullet had struck her breast, penetrating both liquid-metal plate and silk backing to lodge in the soft flesh below. Still she crawled from one body to another trying to do whatever good she could. She stopped briefly by the still-breathing form of Isabel Galindo. Isabel had been an immigrant from Santander. Isabel had been lovely. She wasnt anymore. From whatever angle the bullet had struck, it had blown away most of her face and both of her eyes. Marta dropped her head onto the shallowly breathing chest and wept, briefly.I cant help, Isi. Im sorry. Im so sorry. Got to get to the other girls... She bent to give Isabel a kiss from bloody lips before crawling on. She stopped briefly by Martina Santa Cruz. Martina had just joined the tercio a few months before. She wasnt much past eighteen years old. She would never be nineteen. Marta crawled on.Marta didnt have to turn the next body over to know whose it was. Oh, Cat, she moaned, what about your kids?That was one friend too many. Marta collapsed, unconscious.*****Maria didnt know, of course, that almost every close friend she had in the world was wounded or dead or dying. She kept running forward, firing short bursts. She kept shouting for the others to follow. There werent many others in her squad who could follow. Half of those who began that charge went down before theyd even crossed the broad street. Provided one didnt mind stepping on the wounded, or making the odd short jump, it would have been possible to have crossed it and never set foot on pavement. Even if someone had tried to cross it without stepping on any bodies, they would still have stained their boots red. The rest of them, the half left standing, reached the wooded slope and, firing from the hip, began to close. It was slow going up that hill. More girls fell with every step. What few Amazonas Maria had left did what she did, dodging from tree to tree, firing ahead without bothering much to aim, mostly just trying to ruin the Taurans aim.Then someone ahead of her reached a row of barbed concertina. The Amazon detached her bayonet to use with the scabbard to try to cut a way through. Together bayonet and scabbard made a good set of wire cutters; they were designed that way. Others had the same idea, of course. The Taurans concentrated their fire on those trying to cut through. They were hit, some wounded, some dead. Not one of them got more than thirty feet past the wire alive. The wire itself was draped with bodies hanging grotesquely by the barbs caught on their uniforms and in their flesh. Most were dead, but one woman who had been hung up on the wire kept trying to pick her intestines off of the ground and stuff them back into her torn belly. Her one good arm kept getting re-caught on the wire, forcing her to spill her organs back to the earth. She made a horrible keening soundhardly human, reallythe entire time. That made Maria very angry, but in a very cold way. When she saw a pair of enemy soldiers come running up, she drew her rifle to her shoulder, leaned into a tree, took careful aim, and fired. Her first target threw his hands into the air and fell back, dropping his machine gun. The other one stopped, foolishly, for a second or two. Perhaps he was stunned or confused; she didnt know or care. He looked, maybe, eighteen. She shot him in the stomach. With a surprised look on his face, he dropped his rifle, clutched his hands at his midsection and sat straight down. He fell straight back after she shot him, again, this time in the head.Sergeant Fuentes, someone gasped. It was Vielka Arias. She had Cats machine gun in her hands. Maria looked her over and saw that Vielka was hit, too, in the leg. She must have crawled all the way, dragging Cats gun behind her.Maria flopped down to her belly beside Arias. Pointing with a finger, she said, Good girl, Vielka! Now see those two bunkers? Vielka nodded deeply. Good. Good girl. I want you to use that gun to keep their heads down. Im going to go for the wire. If I can cut through Ill signal you to join me.Though Arias winced with pain, she nodded her understanding with great seriousness. Vielka began firing, first at one bunker than the other, as Maria crawled forward, snakelike. As she crawled, she detached the bayonet from her rifle and the scabbard from her belt. These she linked together.Once at the barrier, Maria started using her bayonet to gnaw her way through the barbed tangles. Vielkas fire alternated, spitting first to one side of her, then to the other. Goddamit, Maria exclaimed as her hand caught on a barb, tearing the skin. She continued her cutting, even so, her work slowed by the ripping barbs. Eventually, she found she had to rise to one knee to keep up her cutting. Kneeling like that, the work progressed more quickly. Maria had made it about half way through when she felt a blow hit her, as if from a great fist. Something tore through her side and out her abdomen. Alma would be the only child she could ever bear with her own body. Maria cried out in surprise and pain. As her bayonet-wire cutters flew away, she fell down again. Dimly she saw that there was the ragged lip of a shell crater nearby. She started to crawl for it. After the first shock, her wounds didnt hurt all that much. Then they started to burn like hellfire, especially the larger exit wound. Maria began to cry from the pain. As she lay there, sobbing into the dirt, the bullets continued cracking overhead. That was Vielka, still trying.*****Zamora had been trying to make sense of the ruination of her platoon when she saw Maria fall. She didnt think; she just raced for the writhing body of her friend. Bullets split the bark from trees where the enemy gunners sought vainly to bring her down. When Zamoras helmet strap broke and her helmet flew off her head not even her longish, red, womans hair caused the fire to slow.Somethingluck or God or pulsating prong of perversitywas with her, however. She managed to dive to the ground next to Maria unhurt. She paused only for the briefest moment before taking a firm grasp of Marias combat harness.Maria dimly felt the strong grip of Zamoras hand on the back of her harness...She muttered, faintly, No. No. Leave me here. The muttering quickly turned to one long continuous scream as Marias body was dragged across the broken ground. The screaming grew to a crescendo, until Zamora dragged her across the rough lip of an artillery crater and down into its muddy, protective shelter. Then Zamora took off, leaping out of the crater like a deer.A few others, all but one in pretty bad shape, joined Maria in the crater. The Amazons fire stopped, for all practical purposes, not long after Maria had been hit. One womana not so badly wounded onecrawled to the edge of the crater and fired her rifle until an enemy bullet blew her brains out the back of her head. The enemy stopped, too, for a while, then picked up firing again. Maria heard some woman call out to save her, that the Taurans were killing all the wounded. She dug her fingers into the compacted mud of the crater and tried to crawl out to help.She lacked the strength. Halfway up the slope of the crater Maria passed out...*****Somewhere up the jungle-shrouded slope bagpipes were playing Boinas Azules Cruzan la Frontera, Second Tercio code for No quarter. Down below, medics picked through the one hundred and twenty-odd female bodies littering the street and the hillside. Most, if not by much, were still aliveif not by much. Many could be saved. Sergeantsergeant weve got a few live ones here!The man with three stripes and a Red Cross armband came over and looked down into the blood- and corpse-filled shell crater. He shook his head sadly, muttering, Stupid womenbrave women.Ahead, the sounds of firing told that Second Infantry Tercio was cleaning up the remnants of the Taurans atop the hill. Second had made its attack hours later, but in overwhelming strengthnearly four thousand fresh men, with substantial artillery support! When the men of the Second had seen the bloody pulp into which most of the women had been ground, they had gone berserk. There would be few if any enemy survivors on that hill. No quarter.Well dont just stand around with your goddamned teeth in your mouths! the sergeant said. Separate the live ones and get them out of here!InterludeOverhead, at about twenty-five hundred feet, the streamlined shape of an airship wound its laborious way between La Plata, far to the north, and Secordia, way down south. Balboas Herrera Airport was a routine stop for such. Patricio Carrera stepped out of his armored limo and looked at the ship without much interest. He had more important work to do today to spare a thought for anything but that. Besides, if it mattered, Fernandez would have told me about it.The Senate is my creation, not my creature, Carrera reminded himself as he walked up the building-wide stone staircase, toward the four dressed granite columns. Compared to a local, Carrera was tall at five feet, ten inches or so. He was also considerably lighter than the national norm, with a kind of piercing blue eyes that were essentially unheard of in the Republic of Balboa. Since this was the Senate House, the Curia, he wore dress whites, but devoid of nearly all decoration. Despite the light material of the uniform, in the short walk between his staff car and the portico he could already feel sweat building up on his back and sliding down.. Balboa had a very hot climate.The blazing sun shone on columns which held up a thirty foot deep portico. Past the columns stood the dressed but unpolished granite blocks of the front wall of the Curia, the Senate House. Centered on that, directly to Carreras front, were great bronze double doors. In front of those doors stood a liveried servant of the Senate, who was also a retired first centurion of the Legions Fourth Infantry Tercio. To this man Carrera said, Dux Bellorum Patricio Carrera requests audience with the Senate of the Republic. He then took out and handed over his service pistol. That military officers should never enter the Curia while under arms, nor indeed be escorted by armed guards, was a tradition Carrera hoped to establish firmly and beyond question. The best way in his power to do that was to follow it himself.There was no doubt that the audience would be granted. Otherwise, Carrera would not have come. Still, formalities had to be observed. The retired centurion took Carreras pistol, said, Please wait here, Duque, and then turned and walked through the doors to announce Carreras request.Carrera then waited, patiently enough. It wasnt a very long wait, a matter of mere minutes, until the man returned and said, The Senate will hear you now, Duque.*****Raul Parilla, President of the Republic and, pro tem, Princeps Senatus, sat a curule chair facing the Curias long, tiled central aisle. The space was flanked by rising levels of marble benches holding a quorum of the roughly one hundred and forty senators. Behind him, to his left, stood a larger than life-sized loricate statue of Dama Balboa, the personification of the nation and the Republic. The statues model had been Artemisia de McNamara. Carrera had sent far and wide for a sculptorrather, a team of themto do Artemisia, and the country, full justice, and just as far for a one by one by three meter chunk of near-molasses-colored marble. The space behind Parilla to his right was empty, though the Senate had some thoughts on whose statue should fill it. Victoria should go there, was the consensus, and Lourdes de Carreras name had come up more than once as the prospective model. Then, too, what the hell, since the sculpting team was just hanging aroundCarrera didnt know about any of that, though Parilla and the Senate did. Fernandez, the chief of intelligence knew, too, but he knew nearly everything and told only a fraction of that. Indeed, Fernandez had made only one serious mistake the entire time hed been chief of intelligence, though that one had been a doozy. All three knew why Carrera was at the Curia today, though few if any of the Senate knew.And theyre not going to like any of it when they do know, Patricio, Parilla thought. Not a bit. Were just not that enlightened a country. Pretty unenlightened, as a matter of fact. Barely out of the trees, truth be told. WhyParillas thought was interrupted by the opening words of Carrera, his friend, supporter, sometimes subordinate, and sometimes mentor...*****One of these days, Carrera thought, I really am going to begin a speech to the Senate with the words, Conscript Fathers. And why not? I conscripted the bastards, didnt I? Todays not that day though. Maybe after the next war.Instead, he began, As Im sure all of you know, I am the most progressive, the most enlightened, the very most multiculturally sensitive human being on the face of this planet.He kept his own face straight all through that opening but had to wait for the Senators to stop laughing before he continued.Exactly, he said, and smiled as he said it. So when I tell you I want to do two things that might strike less astute observers as progressive, enlightened, and sensitive, you gentlemenand you, too, Mrs. Hurtadowill not be fooled. You, at least, will know beyond a shadow of a doubt that those are the least of my concerns.He cast his gaze around, seeking eye contact with a few key members of the Senate. When he had caught the eye of one in particular, a dark-skinned veteran named Robles, Carrera asked, Senator Robles, how old are you?Thirty-nine, Duque, Robles answered.How old is your wife?Seventeen, Robles answered, defensively. Fernandez had been sure hed be defensive about his new wifes age. Why?Carrera held up and lightly wagged his right index finger. Please wait. Youll know in a bit. And Fernandez knows everything.Fifteen days ago, Carrera continued, I had to witness the execution for mutiny of a senior tribune, aged thirty-seven, and a young corporal, aged nineteen. Both were male. When they joined we didnt ask so they never mentioned that they were homosexual. Note, that there is no law or regulation against being homosexual, but there is a law against two people, conspiring together, to subvert good order and discipline in the Legions. Thats mutiny. The corporal was fairly new, but among the tribunes decorations were three wound badges, the close combat badge, the Cazador tab, of course, and the Cruz de Coraje en Oro con Espadas.And, despite that, I had to have them both shot.No more, Carrera said, shaking his head firmly. I dont want to have to do that ever again. Ever. Again.Because, and Carreras finger shot out at Senator Robles, Eros mocks Mars. Love knows no ages, nor sexes, nor conditions. It accepts no bars. And people brave enough to fight and maybe die for the Republic are not going to be dissuaded or deterred by our occasional firing squads. The most those do is encourage discretion. He shrugged. Usually...imperfectly...Carrera held his hands up, palms facing and parallel, roughly six inches apart, and said, But, you know, deterrence always seems to fail by about that much.Senator Hurtado used her hand to hide an embarrassed smile.So what do you propose, Duque? Parilla asked, though he knew perfectly well what Carrera intended. And really didnt approve.Speaking slowly and very deliberately, Carrera answered, I want to raise a regimenta small regiment, I think; not many will be suitable for the conditions I have in mindof married male homosexuals.SomeoneSenator Cardenas, Carrera thoughtshouted out from the benches, This is impossible, Duque! You are going to make us a laughingstock among the nations of the world. Raising a regiment of queers; married queers? Impossible. And I shudder to think what the church will say..Bright eyes flashing, Carrera answered, It is possible, Senator. Its been done. It can be done again. And I intend to do it.But to what purpose, Duque? We don't need them. I dont want them. They make my fucking skin crawl! Cardenas shuddered.Carrera hesitated before answering. No pun intended, but I find them a little, ah, distasteful, myself. But, Senator, as I said, just two weeks ago I watched two good soldiers shot by firing squads for mutiny. Their crime was that they were of different ranks, fell in love anddid something about it. They werent the first weve had to shoot, either. You know that.They died well, those two. I want them to be the last. This is a way, a chance anyway, for them to be the last.Carrera looked around the Curia, gauging support. He didnt think he had it. He said, Senators...if it doesnt work...what have we lost? Some money for training. A few buildings we could always use for something else. Some uniforms. Let me try this...please?Besides, I need them for something else.Eh? Cardenas asked. What? What else?Carreras eyes lit again as he answered, I want to raise a regiment of women.*****Later, in his own offices beneath the Curias main floor, Parilla sighed, They voted against you, Patricio. On both questions. No money for your Tercio Gorgidas or Tercio Amazona. Even Hurtado voted nay.Id be proud of them, Carrera admitted, then scowled, if I wasnt so damned annoyed that they balked me.What are you going to do?Carreras mouth twisted before he answered, When I turned over the bulk of the Legions assets to the Senate, you know I openly kept quite a bit for discretionary funds.Parilla smiled. Yeah, I told them you would. I think they were secretly relieved to be able to balk you without frustrating you. I also made you a deal, even against my better judgment.Carreras left eyebrow shot up. What kind of deal?If you can make these regiments worth a damn, on your own ticket, the Senate will recompense your discretionary funds.Best you could do, huh?Better than I really wanted to do, Parilla admitted.Chapter TwoTo sleep, perchance to dream.William ShakespeareMaria:Id had it pretty plush as a little girl. I didnt even suspect just how plush until much later. My family lived in a big white stucco house, a few miles west of Punta Cantera. We had a maid, a cook, two cars. My mother needed the maid, too, given the sheer size of our house. Maybe by South Colombian standards we werent quite rich. Certainly we werent more than distantly connected to the oligarchy that ran Balboa from shortly after Belisario Carreras revolt against Old Earth until quite recently. Still, we lived better than about ninety-eight percent of the people of our country.My earliest memoryand I cant really remember how old I was thenwas of sitting on my fathers lap watching television. Two men, one brown, one black, were fighting. I didnt care about that, of course; sitting on daddys lap was better than playing with my dolls, trying on new clothes, or even ice cream or candy. I only paid attention to the fight because it seemed important to my father. Suddenly the brown man on the TV threw down his hands saying, No mas. No mas. Daddy went into a towering rage at that, putting me on my feet so he could pace and fume. I remember him using words like disgrace, ashamed, and coward. He used some other words, too, that Id never heard from him before. Come to think of it, Id never heard some of those words from anyone before. I guess I must have been really young. *****There were a lot of things on the television worse than that when I was young. I was maybe seven when I walked into the living room and saw my mother, even paler than she normally was, staring at the screen while biting her finger so hard blood started to drip. Mama was crying.I asked what was the matter, but she just shook her head while continuing to stare at the screen. Then I looked and I saw the bodies, and the parts of bodies, and the blood.At first I thought it must be a movie. But Mama never would have cried over a movie, not her. And, when I looked from the screen to her face, I saw tears running. Who would do this? Mama asked of the air, her hands flailing about, helplessly. Who would do such a thing? Even when we were invaded, twelve years ago, they tried not to kill regular people. This...monstrous...thing; they intended to butcher innocent folk.Then she realized I was really there and picked me up and carried me out of the room.She was too late, of course. I already had an idea of what had happened. And I thought then, as I think now, that the most important lesson Id learned since starting school was that when someone hits you, you have to hit them back. Hard. As hard as you can.*****It was maybe a year and a quarter later before we finally did hit back. I got to watch that on television, too, with Daddy and my brother, Emilio. Mama wouldnt watch. Emilio was enthralled. Daddy was mostly just interested. I know now why the images on the screen were green and grainy. At the time I didnt. Im not sure Daddy did either. And there wasnt really that much to see, just bright green flashes on a long steep ridge somewhere they called Sumer. I didnt know where that was.The man doing the talking seemed really nervous, and it was hard to make out his words over the other sounds. Sometimes hed turn his camera around and show what was happening in the other direction, but when he did you could see even less, just the outline of a hill being lit up by flashing lights.I fell asleep on Daddys lap before much of anything really happened.*****It wasnt so long after that that the country began to really change. Neither Mama nor Daddy were too happy with the changes. What changes? Oh, I dont recall that Id ever seen a soldier in my life except on TV or at the movies. But, more and more as time went on you would see them everywhere. Some even came to school sometimes to talk to us. And they had parades in the streets pretty often, too.*****In any case, I knew and cared little enough about all of that back then. My world was one of school, friends, beaches, parties and shopping. The latest hit love song was much more important to me than the fact that an army was growing around us. The first time I ever really saw the Legion was when the Second Infantry Tercio paraded down Via Hispanica. It was on a day when my mother had taken me shopping for clothes at a boutique near the Iglesia de Nuestra Seora. We had only just arrived at the door to the store, I having delayed things by successfully talking mother into buying me a new pair of shoes at a different establishment as well as two new music discs at yet another. Hey, helping Mama spend Daddys money was my job.The parade itself was very well stage-managed, it seems to me now. Traffic was stopped in both directions for maybe half a mile. That was as far as I could see, anyway. Then smoke appeared as if by magic, a screen of billowing thick gray fog, all across the street. Someone started throwing these little bombs into the smoke. They whistled and then blew up, something like the sounds Id heard on the TV, coming from Sumer. By that time, I was also able to recognize them from the war movies my little brother Emilio watched whenever he could. I, assuredly, had no interest in war in general or artillery in particular.Then the pipes started, loud and shrill, and the first rank of the Second Tercio appeared, marching through the smoke and the explosionsas if marching into a fight. I think that was the effect they intended. It wasimpressive. It impressed me, anyway.When the boys went into their parade stepa sort of modified goose step, actuallypeople on either side applauded and the girls nearly swooned. Some of the men and boys marching really were handsome. And there was a power in their tread that Id never experienced before. I was fairly mesmerized for the moment. My mother just pulled me away into a store, tsk-tsking about what her father would have said had he been there to see it. No one, hardly, in our social class would dream of joining the military, back then, and certainly not an infantry tercio. We were all very much above that sort of thing. Mamas whole family explicitly despised the Legions. Daddys was a bit more ambivalent about them.*****My father was a businessman, self made for the most part. Hed started life with very little besides determination, some brains, some guts...I remember him, when I remember him, as being very handsome, very dark. My mother was a rabiblancaa white ass. She had been something of a debutante, from one minor branch of an old, old family. My mothers family never liked my father. For one thing, he absolutely refused to take anything from them, a position my mother supported him in for the sake of his pride. For another, he just wasnt from one of the old families that usually ran our country. That stain passed on to myself and my brothers and sister. Our grandparents never cared for us as much as they did the other grandchildren. Besides we were too dark from Fathers side of the family.Still, Mother and Father did everything they could to make it up to us. We went on vacations regularly, attended the best schools in the City. Today I shudder to think of how much money they spent on me and my three siblings. We were probably as spoiled as any four kids growing up anywhere. And I? I was the apple of Daddys eye, certainly through age fifteen. Whatever I wanted, and I recall that once that had even included acting classes, I got.Age fifteen? Yes, thats when everything changed. The big change? I discovered boys. In particular, I discovered one boy.Juan was simply gorgeous; tall, muscled and olive. He was curly haired, with green eyes framing a patrician nose. Yumm. His family was as old as my mothers. Juans age? Eighteen. When youre fifteen, eighteen looks very mature and attractive indeed.I saw him first when I went with some friends to the beach at Santa Clara, east of the Ciudad. I was sitting under one of the palm-thatched huts that dot the beach, just chatting with my girlfriends, when Juan came into my view. He looked good in a bathing suit. So did I; I guess. Juan came over to introduce himself and my girlfriends thoughtfully made themselves scarce. We talked, made some arrangements, met again in the City. Met again. Met again.He could sweet talk a girl. I wasnt short, he said; I was perfection in miniature. I wasnt too dark, no, I waslet me think. Oh, yes, the shadow of beauty on a moonlit night. Oh, that was a good one. He told me I was beautiful, often enough, with enough of what sounded to me like sincerity, that I began to believe that to him I was beautiful, not merely pretty. I was his Heaven and Earth. My eyes, his stars. My body, the paradise he yearned to enter.He said he loved me, too.I decided Juan was the one. The usual thingerr, things, actuallyhappened. I wont pretend I didnt like it. Even the things I didnt much like for themselves I loved doing with him...for him. I didnt even mind that some of those things hurt.But then the only slightly less usual thing happened.*****Madre de Dios! What is the matter with you, Maria? My mother stood, arms folded, at the door to my bathroom where I knelt, head in the toilet.I had hidden my pregnancy for a couple of months, too afraid to disappoint my parents. Rising to my feet, I answered, Nothing, Mother. I just dont feel well.Yes...of course...you dont feel well. Uh, oh. Mother wasnt buying.She looked me over very carefully. Then she slapped me right across the face. I wonder...do you suppose your bra is getting too tight, little one? Do you think maybe you need a larger size school uniform? She hit me again, knocking me to the floor, then screamed, Who was the boy, you cheap little tramp? When I didnt answer, she pulled me to my feet by my arm. Then she twisted my arm behind my back and bent it. I screamed.She forced the truth out of me. I wasnt as used to pain then as I later became.Oh, sister, was there a scene at my house that night. Father screamed at me, slapped my face, too. Hed never done anything like that before, never even raised his voice to me. Mother had always disciplined the girls.Mother, on the other hand, just cried continuously, moaning about the shame of her daughter being a cheap puta. It wasnt until quite a few years later that I discovered from my sister that Mother had been three or four months pregnant with me when shed married Father.Daddy called Juans parents, demanding that he marry me. They said Juan denied being the father. They said that if Daddy couldnt control his little whores it was no concern of theirs or of their son. Naturally, my father went wild at that, but since Juans parents hung up and took the phone off the hook there was no one to take it out on but Mother and myself. Finally, I ran to my room in tears. *****The next day I took off from school to find Juan, since his parents werent accepting any calls from me. I was so sure he would want to elope right away. There wouldnt be any point in detailing all the places I looked for him. Suffice to say that I did find him. I wished I hadnt.Hed already found a new girl, was with her, in fact. No time waster was our Juan. When I tried to get his attention he turned his back on me. When I insisted, he saidand he said it out loud, so everyone could hearthat the baby could possibly be his, but since I would go to bed with anybody the odds were against it. Then he announced that he wanted nothing further to do with me because I was trying to pin this pregnancy on him. I ran out, again in tears.The son of a bitch knew Id been a virgin.Well, my parents were no happier that I hadnt gone to school. Still, the big thing was the baby. I am taking you to the doctor and you are going to abort that little bastard inside you, Father said. So much for devout Catholicism.No, Im not, I answered. Its my baby and Im keeping it.Then youll keep it elsewhere, Father threatened. I wont have your bastard in this house. Mother said nothing. With Father in charge she was able to just keep crying.Then Ill GO! I shouted back as I stormed off to my room.*****I went to bed that night broken-hearted. Even then, even with the exhaustion of tears, I couldnt sleep. Juan didnt want me, had used me and thrown me away like old toilet paper. Daddy and Mother were ashamed of me; so ashamed they wanted to destroy my baby. Theyd do it too, I thought. Theyd make me do it. That I just couldnt let happen. I might not have Juan. I might have lost my parents love. But I had my baby. Already I could see herI was sure the baby would be a girl, see her smiling face, hear her laugh, watch her clap her hands in innocent joy. No. No one was going to take my baby awayor hurt her. I got up and began to quietly pack a few things: Some clothes, whatever little money I had saved when I wasnt too busy spending it on clothes, music, shoes, or jewelry. I packed a family picture...I took, too, the emerald ring Id been given on my fifteenth birthday, my quinseera.I also raided the refrigerator for half a dozen olives, the big gray ones that are about the size of a plum and are said to taste something like real Old Earth olives. Mother kept a couple of trees out back, green-trunked and gray-fronded, but those would have been too bitter. Standing in the kitchen, thinking of her olive trees, I considered for a moment taking some of the tranzitree fruit that grew in her garden as well. Green on the outside, red on the inside, sweet and deadly poisonous; the tranzitree fruit would have been a quick way out.I couldnt do it. It wasnt just my mess of a life at stake.I crept out of the house, as quiet as a mouse, sometime before dawn. As quiet as Id been, my little brother, Emilio, met me at the foot of the staircase. Are you leaving us, Maria? he asked, a look of real twelve-year-olds sorrow in his eyes. Is it because youre going to have a baby?I just threw my arms around him, trying very hard not to cry. Emilio had always been my favorite; ever since the day Mother had brought him home from the hospital. I loved my sister and other brother well enoughThere had always been something special between Emilio and myself, though.Emilio asked me to wait a minute while he ran to his room. When he came back he had about twenty-five drachma in his handsthat, and his favorite baseball glove. Please take these, Maria. I know you dont need the glove...but it may remind you of me. And you will need the money.I started to really cry then. I buried my face in his shoulder to muffle my sobbing. Then he started to cry without any shoulder to deaden the sound. I worried that wed wake my parents. I told him, Emilio, I have to go. But Im going to miss you most of all.But how will I find you? he asked.Dont worry. Once Im on my feet, Ill find you. With Emilios little fortune in my purse, his glove weighing down my satchel, tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat, I left.*****I walked for hours through the city, switching my suitcase from hand to hand as I did. I was pretty naive in most of the ways of the world, but I knew Id need money until I could find a job. Sono taxi. And I didnt know the bus routes; Id never had to take a regular bus before. Still, by noon I had reached my destination, an even seedier than usual part of the Rio Abajo Barrio. There I went looking for a room.Finally, an apartment manager showed me something in my price range. For what you can afford to spend, Miss, this is about as good as youre going to find.But, God, it was awful. I dont mean merely dreary and dirty, though it was those things, too. The one window was cracked. There were cockroaches scurrying around the floor when the manager of the building turned on the one, bare, light bulb. And it stank, of grease, of dirty bodies...of sex, too. Nasty, you know. And it was the best of what Id seen in my price range.Well, I did some mental figuring. With the money I had I could afford this place for about six weeks and still eat once a day. I thought six weeks would be enough time to find something to do, some kind of work. Then I could get a better place.I took the dump.***** You cant hold a fifteen year old, boy or girl, accountable for being dumb. The money lasted maybe three weeks. And I sure hadnt found work by then. Im not going to talk about the next several months. Go ahead and assume the worst you can imagine. It was probably, in most ways, worse than that. But at least it wasnt prostitution.Eventually, my pregnancy began to show so badly I couldnt get any kind of work, even the Barrio pimps werent interested. I lived off charity for a while. You cannot imagine how much that hurt, coming from my family, with my fatherto say nothing of my mother.Then came the big day. My water broke, I went into labor. One of the neighbor women helped me bring the baby into the world, there on my filthy mattress. It was hard. The baby was big and I was...tiny...inside. Writhing in agony, I cursed Juan. I cursed my father. I cursed every man whod ever lived. While I was at it, I cursed Eve. Mr. Rios waited outside while his wife held me and helped me and comforted me. When Mrs. Rios held Alma to my breast, I thought she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I still think so. I cant imagine ever thinking differently. Alma was fine and healthy. I got sick. If it wasnt for Mrs. Rios and her husband I dont think I would have made it. After a few monthsyes, thats how sick I wasI was able to start looking for work again. Unfortunately, there were no jobs for little ex-rich girls with no skills, a tenth grade education and a baby to care forNot unless they were in the new legions, and I was too young to join even if Id wanted to. Not that the thought ever even crossed my mind. Ill tell you the truth: I considered going to work in one of the whore bars. I dont suppose that I had any real skill at that sort of thing, Juan or no, but Id been an eager learner. I might have become a whore, too, if my having been sick so long hadnt made metemporarilypretty damned unattractive. Im just as glad I never had to find out if I could have.I did find work; as a waitress. It was hard work and the restaurant was hot. And me? Id never worked a real job a day in my life before I got pregnant. And the odds and ends things Id done so far didnt require even as much skill as a busboy needed. I was also still weak from being sick so long.My family had paid for dancing lessons for the girls, fencing for the boys. I thought I was pretty graceful. But I seemed to spill more food on the floor than I served the first few days I was there. The manager fired me after an unfortunate incident involving a large bowl of hot soup and someones trousers.The next foray into economic independence was as a maid. Now, you understand, I couldnt be a maid for any of my own people. My parents might have found out and died of shame. I still owed them something, I thought. So it had to be for some foreigners. And the Taurans were the most numerous foreigners around. That first maid job lasted two days. It was for some old man who lived in Balboa and worked on the locks of the Transitway. He was Sachsen-born as I recall. He kept insisting I...well, it doesnt matter, I wasnt going to do it, not for him. Once he understood, out went Maria on the street again.After that, I went to work for a Gallic couple, the Mangins. He was an officer, a captain, in their army. She was a housewife. They were really nice to Alma and myself. We lived in a little room underneath the house. It was even air conditioned and had its own bath. Life was not bad.However, all good things come to an end. By the time I went to work for the Mangins they only had about a year left in the country. When they moved away, so did my job. Back to Rio Abajo I went. Still, since the job with Mangins had come with room and board, Id been able to save almost six hundred drachma. With the money Id saved I was able to pay for some new clothes and a better room. The new clothes got me another job, this time working in a store on Avenida Central. I was on my feet all day, six and a half days a week. The Rios continued to care for my daughter. Whenever I could, I looked for a better job.*****Well, Miss Fuentes, your office skills arent really what were looking for. Still, youre young. You can be trained. Well give you a try... The speaker was Seor Arnulfo Piedras, a chubby, jolly-seeming man of about forty. He ran an office in a bank off of Via Hispanica.I gushed, Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you. I promise you wont be sorry.Im sure I wont, he said, meditatively. Please come back tomorrow at eight to begin.I left feeling some real hope for the first time in many, many months. As I walked past the rows of desks, I never noticed that none of the women working there would meet my eyes.*****Close the door behind you, Maria, Mr. Piedras said, gently. I did.Once the door was shut, his face went from gentle to a mask of utter fury. Idiot! he screamed at me. Idiota! Cant you do the simplest little thing right? He waved a piece of typewritten paper in front of my face.I stood there by his desk, speechless. I couldnt imagine what Id done so wrong. Id only been working for about two weeks.Piedras continued, I gave you this job out of the goodness of my heart and this is how you repay me? Fool! Blunderer! Moron! I still had no idea what he was talking about. Hell, I was too much in shock to even begin to understand what he was talking about.Then he shouted, Youre fired. That hit me. I started to cry. I didnt know what Id done so wrong. What could I have done so wrong? My old job was already filled. I couldnt even go back. Id taken a better apartment, one I could only afford on my new salary. And he was firing me already. I had a baby to support.At my tears, Piedras seemed to relent. His fat face softened. He put his arms around me as if to comfort me. I stiffened as I felt him unsnap my bra, one handed. I think now that it must have taken much practice for him to learn to do that so easily...I soon found myself bent over his desk, face down, the sausage-like fingers of his left hand playing with my breast, the other lifting my skirt and tugging at my panties. When he had those out of the way he stuck a hand into his desk drawer.I didnt start to sob out loud until I felt him rub something, lubricant, I suppose, between my legs. He put a hand over my mouth to shush me. Then he raped me.*****Alma looked up at my face from where shed been resting her head on my chest. She asked, Whatsamatter, Mama? Why are you crying?No reason, baby, I sniffled. Everythings fine, I lied. Just cuddle into Mama and sleep.It had gotten better at work, actually, over the past several months. Where Piedras had called for me two or three times a week to begin with, now there was another young girl for him to break in. I didnt have to feel the swine inside me more than once every few weeks. Id stopped crying once I realized the fat pig enjoyed it. My only protest now was, if he forced me to my knees, to push him so far into the back of my throat that I threw up on him.. He didnt enjoy that. After the first couple of times of cleaning my vomit from his trousers, he gave up on it. He still usually pushed me face down onto his desk. After the first time I threw up on him, he took me...behind...to punish me, I suppose...He still did that from time to time.Why didnt I complain? Well, the first few times maybe I could have. Just maybe somebody would have listened, too. Then hed have told his story. You know which story, the one about the little tramp who tried to seduce the boss. They would have believed him. And Id have been fired. And maybe Alma would have starved.But what about the law? Same thing; same ending. My country just wasnt set up to protect women who were alone, women who didnt have a husband, son, or father to protect them. Nothing is stronger than custom and that was ours at the time. I had no one. I was alone, nearly without rights...I was helpless.I took showers all the time, but I never felt clean anymore. I was barely eighteen.*****Things began to really fall apart again when the civilian government used the Taurans and our police force to try to get rid of President Parilla and Duque Carrera. Everyone knows how they failed to do so, how Lourdes Carrera escaped from captivity, got some help, then fought her way to a TV studio to rally the tercio of Volgans to save her husband...Then came the Revolution, along with a very large number of public executions. Then came the Tauran financial embargo. And with that, my job disappeared. Besides, Piedras had to make room for a new addition to his harem. I had to find us a smaller place, no choice. Alma was too little still to understand why she had to leave her old playmates behind. I didnt know how to explain it. It was at about that time that I discovered that we were no longer a democracy, at least what Id always thought of as a democracy. On the other hand, I was still too young to vote so I really didnt give it much thought.*****Also at about this time my sister and my mother found me. Forget the tears and recriminations, forget the money they offered me too. I was my fathers daughter, and I had my pride. Still, they would sometimes bring something for Alma that I could never quite bring myself to refuse. The poor baby had so little.Well, my financial situation just kept deteriorating. The country as a whole was surviving the foreign embargo, but for those of us who were on the margins of society and werent in the Legion life got grimmer and grimmer. I thought about giving Alma up to my mother but couldnt bear to be apart from her for the rest of my life. And Daddy most emphatically didnt want me back.I really didnt know what to do. I was rapidly coming to the end of my rope. I had to sell my emerald quinseera ring. Im pretty sure I was cheated.*****During one of the regrettably short stints I did as a waitress I caught a news program on TeleVision Militar, the military TV station. It seemed Carrera was officially adding a new organization to the Legion. Id probably have forgotten all about it except that the Tercio Gorgidas was eventually, much later, to play an amazingly important role in my life.There had been a lot of ceremony and drum beating, most of it quite meaningless to me. Parilla led the bulk of the men standing on the parade field through another ceremony that sounded suspiciously like a set of marriage vows, though the emphasis was maybe a little more on mutual support in battle than mutual support in life. Then the camera showed Carrera leaving his wifes side and going to the microphone to speak. He opened a book on the podium. I heard him say this: The ancient Old Earth writer, Plutarch, tells us of an extraordinary military unit of ancient times, its life...and death. Listen: Gorgidas, according to some, first formed the Sacred Band of three hundred chosen men...it was composed of young men attached to each other by personal affection...For men of the same tribe or family little value one another when dangers press, but a band cemented on friendship grounded upon love is never to be broken, and invincible; since the lovers, ashamed to be base in the sight of their beloved, and the beloved before the lovers, willingly rush into danger for the relief of one another...they have more regard for their absent lovers than for others present, as in the instance of the man who, when his enemy was going to kill him, earnestly requested him to run him through the breast, that his lover might not blush to see him wounded in the back.It is stated that the Sacred Band was never beaten till the battle at Chaeronea; and when Philip, King of Macedon and father of Alexander the Great, after the fight, took a view of the slain, and came to the place where the three hundred that had fought his phalanx lay dead together, he wondered, and understanding that it was the band of lovers, he shed tears and said, Perish any man who suspects that these men either did or suffered anything that was base. On the screen, I saw Carrera turn slightly to send a dirty look to someone to his right rear. I later figured out that this someone was either a senator named Cardenas or a legate named Suarez.After that, Carrera turned back to his audience and continued, Gorgidas distributed this Sacred Band all through the front ranks of the infantry, and thus made their gallantry less conspicuous...But Pelopidas, having sufficiently tried their bravery at Tegyrae, never afterward divided them, but keeping them together, gave them the first duty in the greatest battles...thus he thought brave men, provoking one another to noble actions, would prove most serviceable, and most resolute, when all were united together. Carrera closed the book from which hed been reading.Your tercio has a glorious ancestry; quite possibly a glorious future. Dont fuck it up. TV Militar would never dare to censor anything Carrera or Parilla said.The Gorgidas boys did a parade then, in front of the cameras. The people, men mostly, in the restaurant seemed to have mixed feelings. Many of them were in the reserve forces. Some, probably most, were thoroughly pleased at getting whatever mariposas had been in their organizations out of same. *****One night, sometime later, I heard some heavy weapons firing from not so far away. (Not that I knew the difference at the time; though I know the difference now). This was followed by the sound of a crash and an explosion. I hid with Alma under the bed. The next morning we came out and everything seemed pretty normal, except that the neighborhood was buzzing over some Tauran helicopter that had been shot down the night before. Curious, Alma holding my hand, I walked in the direction of the crash.Sure enough, just outside the walls there was a helicopter, wrecked and burned. It still smoked slightly.I saw a man, tall for one of us, though not so tall for the ex-gringo Id heard he was. Carrera was looking over the wreck as some medical people removed the bodies from it. I saw him lose his temper and strike one of the medics. I dont know what for.I kept watching. Unfortunatelyor perhaps fortunately, as it turned outAlma drifted away. I didnt worry when I realized she was gone...Say what you want about the people of Rio Abajo. They may be poor but, at least since the Legion exterminated the criminals, they are basically decent, more decent than the richer folks Id grown up with, a lot more decent than people like Piedras.Then I saw Alma and I did start to worry...though panic might be a better choice of terms. She was running across the street directly toward Duque Carrera. I dont know what you remember from that time, but Carrera had a damned terrifying reputation. When one of Carreras guards began to turn a rifle on my little girl, I nearly screamed.But Alma just stopped in front of him with her hands behind her back.Carrera squatted down and talked to her very softly for a little while. She took her hands from behind her back. She had made him a bouquet of flowers. He laughed, took the flowers, and scooped her up in his arms. He spoke to her for a little while then Alma pointed at where I was standing...Oh, my God, I thought. Hes coming towards me.I take it this is your little girl, Miss...?Fuentes, Seor. Maria Fuentes. I guess hed figured out from the lack of a ring on my hand that I wasnt married.He consulted his watch. Well, Miss Fuentes, little Alma here has brightened up my day considerably. Would you do me a big favor and let me take the both of you to lunch?One does not refuse an invitation from someone who is not only the second most powerful man in your country, but also has a reputation Attila the Hun would have been proud to own. Still, it was the strangest thing to me, walking through the streets of the City, Carrera carrying my daughter, and all of us surrounded by big men carrying guns.There was an ice cream shop and delicatessen not far away. When we went in the owner blanched. I suppose of all the people he ever expected to see enter his establishment, Carrera was probably the last.He bought Alma a sandwich and then an ice cream cone. When I tried to refuse anything he insisted that I at least have a sandwich. He, himself, settled for coffee. Patting his stomach he said to me, My wife overfeeds me. And I dont get out as much as I used to. If I didnt watch myself, Id get fat.The memory of Piedras fresh in my mind, I assumed Carrera just wanted to bend me over a desk, too. I kept my eyes down on the plate while I ate.I was wrong, by the way.Carrera asked me a little bit about myself. I told him as little as possible, but I thinkno, Im surethat he saw right through me. I mean, I really think he saw everything; maybe to include Piedras or someone just like him.He thanked me for joining him for lunch. He said he almost never had a chance anymore to just sit down with someone and talk. He asked me about my work.Well...Im sort of between jobs right now, I answered.He asked me about my hopes for the future, but I didnt have any beyond seeing Alma grow up to a better life. Since I rather doubted that would happen, I told him I had no hope for the future.After a while, I ventured a question of my own. Sir, I asked, why did you and Presidente Parilla exterminate the opposition government?He put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, his eyes staring into space. At length he answered, Self defense, I suppose; they were trying to exterminate us.Seeing I didnt understand, he elaborated, The old, rump government tried to get rid of us on some trumped up drug charges. Many of my friends were killed; my new family threatened. My wife, Lourdes... He stopped talking for a moment. Ive never seen anybody with that much pure hate in his eyes, not even me in the mirror after a session with Piedras.He continued, Anyway...Lourdes saved us. You probably knew that...When our side had won out, Parilla and I determined never to let anything like that happen again. We stamped out the oligarchs to let the country start over fresh. Mostly, its working, he said. Then he looked at my threadbare clothing, looked at Almas too thin frame. He looked at my face and sighed.. I saw then that his eyes really were beautiful, the color of the sky on a cloudless day, and surprisingly full of compassion.Unfortunately, he continued, a lot of decent people have been cut out. We only have so much money to go around, despite some help from some friends who have the same enemies we do. Theres only so much we can do...By concentrating only on those with military power, weve left a lot of folkspeople like yourselfwithout any recourse at all. This seems to be especially true of the women of the country. Im sorry. Theres only so much to go around, he repeated.God knows, I told him, I could use some help. One decent break, thats all I need. I didnt cry, however much I wanted to.He looked at me very intently. Then he asked me, if it were possible for Alma to be cared for, if I would be interested in joining up. He said he couldnt do more for me than that, that the benefits of society were for those who benefited society. When I hesitated, Carrera reached over and pulled Alma onto his lap. She immediately settled in nicely, still intent on her ice cream. He asked me Dont you think this beautiful little girl deserves every chance you can give her?Thinking of everything Id already given up for Almawealth and position for her life, dignity (Piedras!) for what passed for comfortI wanted for the moment to spit at him. I didnt though. Instead I told him I might be interested. He gave me a card with an address and a phone number to call to reach one of his aides. He also wrote a little note on back and signed it, C.Before leaving he reached into a pocket and pulled out some money, saying, Buy her a birthday present from me. He turned his body, too, so no one could see the money.It was so...tactful. He could have said that I looked like I needed the money. I did. He could have made some kind of political capital from it, even. But he just wanted to do a nice thing for a nice baby girl, without embarrassing me.Then he set Alma back down, paid the bill and left, his entourage of guards following in his wake. He stopped and waved to Alma from the door.*****That was pretty tactful, too, the way hed let me know where to go. Anyone could see I couldnt afford a phone. But I knew where his office was, if I really wanted to go there. Everyone knew.Did I? Id never even considered the possibility. Before Alma, before I was born, my future had been all planned out for me: finish high school, then go to the University; either in Balboa, Santa Josefina, Atzlan, or La Plata. After that, marriage, of course. Then a sedentary life as a housewife cum minor socialite. Oh, yes, and produce many grandchildren.I was living a life a far cry from that. It was a dreary and hopeless life, too.I thought about it for a few days. Ill confess, I was scaredmaybe terrified is a better wordof going into the Legion. Then, too, I was sick at the thought of leaving Alma behind, even if I knew shed be well cared for. Which I didnt know at the time, actually.I asked around the neighborhood. Many of the men were in the Legion. They said it was hard, but there were a lot of advantages to going...and that it could be great fun. (I wasnt too sure that my idea of fun and theirs precisely matched.) One of the men was in training to be a civilian machinist with his tercio footing half the bill, loaning him the rest at low interest. He could never have paid for that himself. Another had managed to open a small store with a veterans loan. There were different benefits for different jobs and levels of responsibility. The men didnt know what was available for women.I thought about what it might be like, to have a fresh start at a decent job, a decent life. Maybe Id even be able to start my own business...I might not have finished my education but I wasnt stupid or lazy. Okay, maybe a little stupid, but I was growing wiser all the time.Finally, I worked up the nerve to go to Carreras office, at the Estado Major. He wasnt in but, as hed said, one of his aides was.Miss Fuentes? asked the aide, a fairly youngish tribune, not too good looking. At my nod he said, The Duque mentioned that you might be coming by. How can I help you?Duque Carrera said something to me aboutpossiblyjoining up.Yes, that was my understanding. Do you have any skills now?I had to tell him that I really didnt. He just shrugged his shoulders and said, Most women who express an interest in the Legion do not. Dont feel bad; usually neither do the men. That really doesnt matter. We can teach skills provided that the student is willing to learn and worth teaching. He stopped for a minute, scratched his chin, and then asked, Tell me, Miss Fuentes, what, if anything, you know about the Legion and how women are utilized.Again I had to admit to having no idea.Very good, the tribune said. Then you should have few misconceptions to clear up. Basically, women are not really necessary. Sorry... He didnt seem to be. Oh, yes, they fill certain jobs that would otherwise have to be done by a man, butif no women were availablewe would use very old and very young men in those jobs...boys and pensioners if we had to.Essentially, women are cooks, clerks and medical personnel in medical units above the cohort level. Except for a very few who have special talents and skills needed by the Legionlawyers, doctors, nurses, a few pilots and suchthose have traditionally been the choices open to women.However, because we have certain rigid requirements for moving up in rank that areso fardependent on qualifications that women have not yet been admitted to, there have been no women officers or centurions accessed in the last thirteen years. The couple of holdovers from before the invasion are kept on merely as a courtesy. They are not real officers anyway, but more or less administrative types. They are also frozen in their old ranks. There are a larger number of women warrant officers; those lawyers, nurses, doctors and such I mentioned to you.Also, you should know, the major benefits of servicethe material benefits I mean, not the benefits of eventual full citizenshipare rank and job driven. Combat arms jobsinfantry, armor, artillery, combat engineers, some military police, and air defensehave greater benefits in terms of civil education and job training. Officers and centurions are entitled to attend higher education at government expense when off duty, sometimes on duty. Women do not, so far, qualify for any of these.Women do qualify for government protected jobs upon completion of training but...the jobs for which they qualify are less desirable, by and large, than those that men qualify for. This is not because theyre women but because they are not eligible, so far, for positions of great hardship or responsibility.The tribune hesitated, looking me over. I have been appraised by a number of men over the years. None of them ever quite looked at me like that, as if I were a strong and healthy mule they were thinking of buying. I knew what he was seeing: an olive-skinned female, with good teeth, fair muscle tone, somewhat short. If he thought I was attractive, it didnt show.At length, the tribune said, There is one other possibility you might want to think over. He reached into his desk, pulled out a color brochure, and handed it to me. Duque Carrera has directed the raising of a female combat formation; a full tercio if we can find enough women who are both willing and able. If the program is successful, and if you join it, and if you finish your training, you would also qualify for all the same benefits as any man who joins.I really couldnt see myself as a fighter. I told him so.You would know about that best, I suppose, he answered. But take this brochure home with you. Give it some thought. Even if you elect not to join the Tercio Amazona you might still want to try some other, female, branch of the service.I have a child. Duque Carrera mentioned that she could be taken care of for me if I join.Thats discussed in the brochure.The brochure was mostly in simple question and answer format. If I join the Tercio Amazona, will I be able to be married?The Republic takes no interest in whether or not its defenders marry, except that, after accession, marital or romantic relations may not generally be within the same regiment and may in no case be between any members of substantially differing ranks. Enlisted men and women (pay grades 1 through 3) may socialize privately only with other enlisted men and women...NCOs, Centurions, and Officers may associate only with service members of the same corps. Warrant officers are permitted social interaction only with other warrants. This is true whether you are on duty or off. The notable exception to this is the Tercio Gorgidas in which de facto marriage to another member, just prior to induction, is the rule. This partial ban on socializing does not affect organizational social activities nor does it cover marriages which existed before enlistment. In the latter case, however, married couples will almost never be permitted to serve in the same regiment.What about children?Dependents of members of the Legion who have been killed or crippled, in action or in training, qualify for a number of assistance programs, generally of the self-help variety. As for already-born children, while other female members of the defense forces do not receive much in the way of official direct assistance in caring for their children, mostly due to their being in densities within their tercios too low to make this practical, the Tercio Amazona will have a fully staffed dependant care maniple which will provide twenty-four hour care for your children while you are serving. Both Amazonas and other female soldiers may become pregnant and bear children. Non-Amazonas are authorized up to two eighteen month unpaid leaves of absence, which times do not count towards fulfilling their military obligation. Because the Republic does have an interest in strong and brave mothers bearing strong and brave children, Amazonas maternal leave may be taken in the dependant care maniple, if and only if there is an opening. That time will count toward completion of service and will be paid, though at a reduced rate. We do not pay soldiers who are not combat effective through their own choice at the same rate as others. The Tercio Amazona will have a thirty to sixty percent overstrength authorized to permit both a combat capable unit and adequate opportunity for maternal leave.It is within the contemplation of the Legion, but by no means certain, that members of the Tercio Amazona may be given the option of serving four years of active time, then being discharged to the militia or Home Guard to become mothers if they wish. This option is not available to you, now, and may never become available. How difficult will training be?No harder than necessary.After training what happens?The legions are primarily reservists. As an Amazona you will attend a fifteen week Basic Combat Training (BCT) Course. For your general information, male BCT is, at this time, twelve weeks. At least some of your class will then be selected for leadership training. The rest will be offered one or several job or training opportunities, though most will become infantry. You will, if you are given an option, at your own discretion, take one of these. If you are only offered one job, so be it.Also, after BCT and leadership training, if any, you will have a minimum ten year obligation as a reservist or in the militia. During your reserve time you will be required to attend weekend training, one long weekend a month from a Thursday or Friday night to the following Sunday or Monday night. In addition, the reservists of your unit will train thirty days a year in one lump period at the Centro de Entrenamiento, at Fort Cameron. The militia of the tercio will train together with the reserves for another seventeen days per year. A further eight days of individual training and administration are required and authorized. Additional time may be required of you, based on the needs of the Legion.The tercio dependant care maniple will look after your children, at a Legion facility or private home, for all the time you are training. As a special gratuity, your children will be cared for and fed at Government expense.How much will I be paid?You will receive normal recruit private rates of pay and allowances for every day you spend in your initial training. Thereafter, if in leadership training, you will be paid at the applicable rate for a trained private, or your current rank, whichever is higher.While in a reserve training status you will earn three months pay per year for up to three months training (the typical reservist actually spends seventy-seven days on duty, about half and half, weekends and weekdays). This does not include extra pay for special or additional training. This is only true for the next several classes of Amazonas. Once a healthy cadre is formed, most Amazonas will be placed in the militia echelon after BCT. They will only be called up for twenty-five days per year, normally, though more time may be required. Militia Amazonas will earn a minimum of thirty days pay per year.As mentioned above, there are also opportunities for extended courses of paid special training for those who qualify.See the table at the end of this brochure for applicable pay rates.What if I fail in training?If the circumstances of your failure are essentially disgraceful, you will be discharged from the Legion under other than honorable conditions, or worse. Those so discharged are entitled to no benefits.If the circumstances of your failure are not disgraceful, you will be given an opportunity to train for and finish your term of service in one of the positions reserved for women that are not as difficult as the Amazonas.That last part frightened me. But then Alma told me she was hungry. All I had was the money Duque Carrera had given me to buy her a present for her birthday. I used it.The next day I went back to the Estado Major and signed up for the Tercio Amazona.InterludeThe rain was coming down in sheets, though, given the season, those sheets flew horizontally rather than vertically. One could trace those sheets by the thick pattern of droplets moving in tight lines across the black asphalt.Professor Rafael Franco, also Junior Centurion Franco, Tercio Gorgidas, eased his vehicle into the carport next to the three bedroom house he shared with his partner, Balthazar Garcia. The carport was no shelter from the rain being driven under the roof by the wind. With a sigh and a muttered curse, Franco opened the door. He was pelted then, immediately, and soaked before hed gotten himself out of the car and the door shut behind him. There wasnt any sense in running at that point; still muttering imprecations he walked to the door leading from the carport into the kitchen of the house. He fought the wind to close the kitchen door behind him. The house was quiet, still, except for the pounding of the rain on the tiled roof.Balthazar? Are you home? Garcia answered from the living room, In here, Rafael.On his way to the living room Franco stopped to draw a beer from the refrigerator. He grabbed a piece of dried chorley bread from a tray. Beer held in one hand, he passed the bread to Garcias pet trixie, a magnificent gray and green archaeopteryx that his partner had, most unusually, taught to speak. Not that trixies didnt have the capacity to learn, but most were more stubborn than the people who tried to train them. Garcia was an exception in that there were damned few people or trixies that could hold a candle to him for sheer mule-headedness.Up yours, cueco, the proto-bird answered, as it held the chunk to its beak. Of all the things, Franco thought, shaking his head, he could have taught that bird to say...Lord, why did I have to fall in love with someone with such a weird fucking sense of humor?He continued on, taking a seat on a chair opposite the one where Garcia sat. Though no one would say that Garcia was much to look at, a hairy fireplug in approximately human form, Franco still felt his heart warm to see him. Weather too rough for fishing? Franco asked. You just wouldnt fucking believe it, Garcia answered, with a shake of his head. After taking accession into the Tercio Gorgidas, and converting to reservist status from regular, Garcia had gone into the family business, running a forty-foot yawl out in the waters between the capital and the Isla Real.Garcia looked at Francos soaked form and corrected, Well...maybe you would. How was class?Franco shrugged eloquently, then elaborated, One can lead a child to knowledge...'...But one cannot make him think. I know, Garcia finished...He went silent for a bit, searching Francos face. Finally, he asked, Would you miss teaching so very much if you stopped for a while, maybe took a sabbatical?Probably. Why?Garcia sighed. Tribune Silva called here today. He wanted to know if you and I might be available for the next eight or ten months to run two or three Basic Training courses.It would be a pay cut from my salary at the university.Garcia answered, I know...for me, too. But I think we should consider it.Franco nodded. All right. Lets consider it. Firstly, why are you interested? I can see that you are.You always could, Garcia chided, with a smile. More seriously, he continued, I was thinking about obligations, actually. No...not the ones the law or custom lay upon you...more the ones you feel.Franco sighed. When Garcia spoke of obligationsor worse still, of dutythere was really no reasoning with him. Mule-headed. Franco half resigned himself to eight or ten very uncomfortable months in a tent or shack. Still, he tried. What obligations are you talking about? Something more than the two and a half months a year we already spend in uniform? Why? Who do you think we have to pay back?Garcia looked down at the ring on his left hand. Its mate graced Francos. I really wasnt thinking about paying anyone back...more of paying forward. Carrera and the Legion have given us a lot. You know they have: Marriage, legitimacy, a degree of acceptance we didnt have before.He gave us an opportunity not to be put against a wall and shot, you mean. Franco retorted. I dont see where that makes us particularly obligated to him.Garcia smiled. Hed have been right to have shot us, back when you were an adorable young corporal and I was your platoon optio who couldnt keep his mind straight from thinking about you. It was hard, you know?Yes, I seem to remember that it was, Franco laughed.Asshole, Garcia said with real affection. You know perfectly well what I mean. Anyway, Carrera saved us from that, gave us the chance to be together in the Tercio Gorgidas. I think we owe him.Resignedly, Franco looked at the wall upon which hung his and Garcias helmets, body armor, weapons and centurions insignia. He asked, What do youand hewant?Garcia knew hed won at that point, and more easily than hed expected. Looking down at the floor, biting his lower lip contemplatively, he answered, Ill want you to start studying the problem. He needs us to train some women. Chapter Three**Pity not! The Army gaveFreedom to a timid slave.In which freedom did [s]he findStrength of body, will and mind.Kipling, Epitaphs on the WarLydia Porras van pulled up beside a large sign painted with the number seven and lit by a small spotlight. She showed her pass to one of the sergeants who directed her to a parking space not far away. Already more than two hundredthat was Porras guessprospective amazons milled about in confusion, their voices raising a sound much like a swarm of insects. Lydia saw a few kindly faced, older non-coms trying to sort the mob into some semblance of order. She, herself, with a few folders tucked under one arm, went to stand very near the number-painted sign. More young women arrived in a steady stream, a very few of them already in uniform. She thought, Must be some girls who wanted a step up in life. Given the world as it is, I hope they can lift their feet that high.A loudspeaker began to blare out names and instructions. Suddenly all talk from the women ceased. The non-coms continued to direct and sort them as best they could, being as gentle as they were.I know this is all new, Lydia thought, but I have never seen the Legion let any groupeven the rawestsink to the level of a mob like this.The loudspeaker blared, Fuentes, Maria. Fuentes, Maria. Report to Load Ramp Seven. Fuentes, Maria, report to Load Ramp Seven. Porras checked the photo on one of the files she carried one last time before beginning to look out for the mother of her new charge.Ah, there they are. Lydia caught sight of a young woman, perhaps eighteen, carrying a baby girl on her left hip and a battered suitcase in her right hand. The girl looked...defeated...already, beaten down. Her face? Porras thought it might have been a very pretty one if it had shown the slightest bit of lifeor joy in life. Lydia walked up and introduced herself. In a warm, grandmotherly voice she said to the baby, Well, hello, little one. You must be Alma. You and I are going to get along famously, I think. You see, Im your very own fairy godmother.Alma opened her mouth into an O of wide-eyed surprise and asked, Really?Yes, indeed. And I bet I know what your first wish is. Porras produced a huge lollipop. Whether that had been Almas first wish or not, one may well doubt. But it immediately became her first wish.Dont worry about her, Porras said to Maria as she took Alma in her arms. Shell be well cared for. My house has gotten to be too empty since my own children grew up and moved away. She hesitated, and then said, You know that the Legion doesnt allow any communication from the outside during the first half of basic training?Before Maria could answer all other sounds were drowned out by a high-pitched roar. Seven hovercraft approached a long ramp that led up to the land adjacent to the pier. One by one, the hovercraft climbed the ramp from the sea to the land, before settling down at marked spots on the asphalt. As each settled, the sound pouring from it dropped down to a comparatively low whine.Maria started to choke up. Porras saw tears begin to form. Why are you doing this? Porras asked.For her, Maria sniffled.Then do it; for her.Porras handed Alma back just long enough for Maria to give the baby a last hug. Maria gave the child back, then began to shuffle forward with the other women whothough she did not know itwere to be in the same platoon with her. The suitcase, Almas meager things, stayed behind.Marias tears wet the asphalt where she walked. She wasnt the only one crying.*****A very shortalmost tiny, actuallywoman of about Marias age quietly sobbed onto the shoulder of a young man in uniform. The young man said to her, Inez, dont be a fool. Im in the Legion. I know. Its no place for a woman. Certainly no place for a woman I care for. Please dont go. They wont make you, you know. Its purely voluntary. Unable to speak, the woman, Inez, just shook her head violently no. Then, with obviously pained reluctance, she turned and followed the rest of the women, drying her eyes as she went. Across the asphalt and up a ramp, then a scurry to find some piece of the deck to stand on and call her own; Inez grasped the metal railing and tried not to think of home. A horn sounded three times in warning, then the foot ramp whined its way up to the verticle. The engines of the hovercraft began to whine and strain. Inez gripped the railing tightervery tight, actuallyas the big machine lifted and began to turn back towards the ramp and the water of the bay past it. *****It was late at night and, while one of the moons, Eris, was up and full, there was nothing to see but water and wave and the lights of the city, receding being them.Maria wasnt alone in staring backwards, at those lights, and implicitly at the life and loved ones being left behind. Once or twice she sniffled. A tiny girl next to her sniffled in what seemed to be an echo. Maria looked to see if she were being made fun of but, no, the tiny girl was, in fact, sniffling.Im Inez, the tiny one said, Inez Trujillo.Maria Fuentes.A tall, white, spectacularly-built woman noticed the sniffling and introduced herself to Maria and Inez, Marta Bugatti. And, yes, Im a bloody foreigner. Moreover, Ive been in the Legion for a while, with the Classis. The Classis was the Legions naval organization and it had seen some hard fighting over the years.Almost uniquely, the woman, Marta, already wore legionary battle dress and had rank and some badges neither Maria nor Inez recognized. In that La Plata-accented Spanish that might as well have been Tuscan, Marta, having noticed that Maria and Inez had glanced at her stripes, said, Those come off as soon as we report in. Except for pay purposes, Im a private for the duration, just like everyone else. She then asked, Are you crazy for being here or just foolish? Marta smiled as she asked the question. She seemed cocky, somehow, and very self-confident.Before either Maria or Inez could answer, all three of them had their attention diverted by a tall and slender, really stunningly gorgeous blond woman who had already gathered about herself an entourage. The three, Maria, Marta, and Inez, walked over to hear better. It was only later that they found out the womans name. It was Gloria Santiago.Just listen to me, Gloria declaimed, over the hovercrafts whining. Stop worrying. This is going to be easy. Dont fall for the mens lies. We are smarter than they are. We are tougher than they are. Why, if a man had to go through childbirth, hed cry like a baby. But we can and we do, all the time. She didnt look like shed ever had a baby.Inez muttered, Were not as strong as they are. Perhaps Gloria had overheard, though given the noise that seemed unlikely. In any case, she said to the crowd, What difference does it make if men have bigger muscles? They have tinier brains. After all, how much of a brain can you stuff into something about six inches long and usually far, far too thin. That raised a laugh; even Inez found it funny. And besides, Gloria continued, strength is overrated. Ive seen it on TV; you all have. These days technology is what wins wars. And if men werent so stupid, they would realize that, too. Just let us show them...Gloria went on in that vein for some time. Eventually, Maria, Marta, and Inez lost interest and wandered back to where theyd been standing.Amazing, Marta said, with disdain. Imagine how seldom women would be hit by their husbands or boyfriends if they only knew that muscles dont matter. *****Ahead loomed the Isla Real, its peak rising out of the sea. Lights beaconed from several places near the summit and one set seemed to stand several hundred meters above that.Its a solar chimney, Marta explained. They saved a bundle by running it up the side of the mountain, but it goes straight up even from there. All the power for the island, enough for two hundred thousand people or more, so Ive been told, comes from that. Theyve got it marked so that helicopters and airplanes dont run into it at night or in fog or rain.Thats right, Inez observed, youve been out there before, havent you?A few times, yes, Marta agreed.You were navy? the tiny girl asked. Why did you switch?Bad memories, Marta answered, then wouldnt say more about it.Their hovercraft began to veer, causing them all to lean to the side away from the turn. Except for the marking lights, there were no others to be seen. Then, suddenly, a battery of overhead lights, powerfully bright, came on to illuminate a large concrete pad. The hovercraft eased itself over a strip of sand, then came to a gradual stop before descending to land on the pad. The engines gave a last whine of protest at being put to rest.With a whine of a completely different pitch, the foot ramp went down on one side before settling to the concrete with a jarring clang. Up the ramp trotted a man, close-cropped, uniformed, bemedaled and just flat mean looking. He had a sneer of complete contempt engraved across his face. He carried a small portable loudspeaker in one hand. He pushed aside any women who didnt clear out of his way quickly enough. Gloria went to her rear end with an outraged shriek.The man stepped up to where Gloria had been sitting, then lifted the loudspeaker to his lips. All right you stupid twats, get your fucking high heels off. The man waited for all of ten seconds for the women to complete that task. When I give the order you will have thirty seconds to clear your worthless smelly hides off this hovercraft. When you get off, the men standing below will put you into formation. Then Tribune Silva, your maniple commander, will speak to you. You will keep your foolish mouths shut. Now GO!Pushing each other and scrambling, the women crowded the single ramp. Many tripped and fell, to be trodden on by the others. At the concrete base, a number of non-coms, none of them with a kindly face, slapped and pushed and prodded the women into a single block. To the right, other groups were receiving much the same treatment as they debarked from their hovercraft. Being so far from the center, the men herded the women to their right. At the other end, women were being herded to the left. The end result was a mob of prisoners, surrounded by guards, standing fearfully before a dais that rose about ten feet off of the concrete.A very handsome manhe introduced himself as Tribune Silva, and their commanding officerwalked briskly up the steps of the dais. Silva made a little welcoming speechsort of a welcoming speech. Had they been asked, most of the women would likely have confessed that they had been made to feel more welcome. Silva then departed in a Legion vehicle, leaving the women to the none-too-tender care of their senior centurions.*****Shocked though she was, Marias eyes widened as a huge bear of a man came to a halt in front of her. The man, she could plainly tell, was less than pleased with his charges.I am Senior Centurion Balthazar Garcia. You are shit. Introductions being finished, we will get on with business. Garcia began to walk slowly from one side of the group to the other, distaste shining in his features. He did not smile. He spoke dispassionately as he walked the line, commenting on each of the women. Too scrawny...Youll want to see the docs about getting a breast reduction, swabbie; those things are going to get in the way...No arse...Legs too skinny...Nose? Or is that a bus stuck on the end of your face, girl?...Stringy hair...When did you last douche, pigpen?...Bimbos. You! Bitch! Dry your silly fucking eyes. Thats right, sniveler. Thats right, crybaby...It was a ritual that hadnt changed, couldnt have changed, since long before the days when some Roman centurion had first taken charge of a group of new recruits. It made a sort of cruel sense, actually, though none of the women understood it at the time. There was only so much timewhich is almost the same thing as only so much money, but harder to come byany army could afford to spend on basic training. The kind of rule that Garcia was establishing cut down on the silly questions and complaints. That saved money and time. Since the time and money thus saved could be spent training soldiers to fight and live, it also saved lives. It is often better to be insulted than dead.Then, too, the best thing about beating your head against a wall is that it feels so good when you stop. A moderately kind word from someone who mostly tells you that you are animate pond scum means more than the same word from someone who routinely says that you are Gods gift to the world. It was deflation of the currency of praise.Garcia went on in that vein for quite some time. He didnt offer to fight any of them, as they did with the men and as the Amazons later would do on the first day of training. There wouldnt have been any point to it, anyway. Not all eighty of Garcias girls together could have taken him on at that point. That would have taken training and mutual confidence they didnt have even a notion of yet. Once Garcia had finished engraving their faces on his memory he turned them over to someone else to get them on the buses, stomping away, himself, off into the darkness.I am Centurion, Junior Grade, Rafael Franco, that someone else announced. Showing a smile neither friendly nor unfriendly, but ripe with anticipation, he continued, You are going to be seeing a lot more of me than you are going to like over the next several months. Just to be up front with you, I do not like you. I do not care about you. You are just things. Someday, perhaps, unlikely as it seems right now, you may become more. For now, you are using up oxygen that you don't deserve. Keep your mouths shut and your ears and eyes open and we mightjust possiblylearn to get along. Cross me and...well, dont.Now, you silly little girls, I know you are far, far too stupid to know your right from your left. Take my word on it; that bus over there is on your right. When I give the command Right, Face I want you to turn those stupid looking things you hang in front of what passes for brains in the direction of the bus. Got it? Right...face.*****Marta ended up sitting next to Maria on the bus, near the window. She saw their destination first and said, simply, Oh, shit. They had arrived at Camp Botchkareva.Maria looked. It took maybe two seconds after arrival for her to decide that Rio Abajo wasnt so bad after all. The camp looked more like a prison than a school. It consisted of fourteen large metal huts, some open fields she couldnt guess the purpose of, and about fifty or sixty tents. At the edge of the camp the perimeter was defined by a fence of triple concertina, rolled barbed wire, with two rolls along the ground and one resting above those two. Guard towers and searchlights were at each corner and the solitary gate. Off the bus, twats. Franco, with help from a few others, pushed the women into a kindergartenish double line, that being about the limit of their ability at the time. Then he led them through one of the metal huts. There, their clothes and suitcases were taken from them and locked in tiny double-locked compartments. They left the hut bare-ass naked, with only a wallet to call their own.Predictably, the sight of all that naked female skin had no perceivable effect on Franco or any of the other trainers. The Tercio Gorgidas wasmostlyhomosexual. The Amazon candidates didnt really exist for them, not as women, not as possible sexual partners, apparently not even as human beings.There were, on the other hand, a few women in the group who seemed, no, not delighted, but..interested.Get your fucking eyes off me, Marta told another woman, bunching her fists. That woman made some apologetic sounds and backed off, keeping her eyes carefully away from Marta.Haircuts came next. As poor as shed been, Maria had always kept her hair long. But, no, they didnt ask how the women wanted their hair styled, although a few of the men in the Tercio Gorgidas did just that for a living when they werent on active duty. A smiling Franco watched over them as some men detailed to barber duty swiped their scalps clean. Buzz em, Pedro.When Maria looked in the mirror afterwards, she felt like crying, she thought she looked so ugly. Some women did cry. They stopped when they realized no one in a position to help cared in the slightest.Before they were issued any clothing, the women were marched us into some mass showers, placing their wallets along a shelf on the way in. Most everyone in Balboa took cold showers, at least sometimes. It was no big deal in a place so hot. The water for these showers, it turned out later, was specially chilled to be icy. Maria screamed when they turned on the water. They all did.Marta and Gloria complained out loud after the water was turned off. They were just swatted for their efforts and pushed on to the next station.As the women left the showers, they were asked for their sizes. Each woman was then handed one sports bra, in approximately her size (Marta was a tight fit even in the biggest size they had; the man passing out the bras made a note of it), two pair of boxer shorts, physical training shorts, two pair of socksnot stockingsand running shoes. It wasnt such a bad outfit; except for the boxers. Franco gave the women a very few minutes to dress. Then he lined them up again and led them to their barracks. This was a long low arching metal hut with few amenities to speak of; three bare light bulbs and forty pairs of bunk beds. On each bed were a thin, useless pillow, a pillow case, two sheets, and a very light and unnecessary blanket.Gather round, girls, Franco ordered. The women, all of them still in something like shock, clustered in a circle. Sit down. He began to pass out red felt-tip markers. When everyone had received one, Franco began to speak.Okay. I want you to take your markers and I want you to draw a dotted line just like the one I am drawing on my wrist. Franco drew a six inch long series of red dots lengthwise down his left wrist. Everyone done with that? Good. Now draw another one on the other wrist...Done? Good. Let me see. Very good. Now theres no excuse.You see, women threaten suicide and even act it out rather frequently, but you fail so often to carry through that I am forced to question your sincerity and competence as a sex. Therefore...Franco turned toward the door. He tossed a package of razor blades to the floor on his way out. Trujillo! he called over one shoulder...Collect up the markers in that box and put them by my office door. Anybody who wants a razor blade, just help yourself. Cut along dotted line...*****Marta and Maria stared at the package of razor blades slack-jawed for a few moments. All the women did. Cocksuckers, was all Marta said. Maria said nothing.Since they knew each others names already, Marta and Maria gravitated to the same set of bunk beds. Marta asked, Do you care which bunk you get, Maria? From Marias point of view the top bunk looked awfully high. Her doubts showed on her face.Seeing those doubts, Marta said, I can boost you up if you want the top. It doesnt make any difference to me.I dont care...Lets flip a coin on it. They did, and Maria ended up on top, Marta giving her rump a push to get there. Most of the rest collapsed as soon as they could. None of them bothered to make her bed. Some of the women, more than a few, cried themselves to sleep. Marias last thoughts, as she drifted off, were of Alma. In her imagination, she pictured the life they could hope to have together if this Amazon thing worked out.*****Garcia snickered as Franco distastefully told him about the womens reaction to the razor blades. Franco asked, Was that really necessary, Balthazar? Poor girls...The senior centurion nodded, saying, I think so. See...were going to be putting them under a lot of pressure, pressure worse than anything theyre used to. And we cant watch em all the time, not and let em grow too. Eventually one of ems going to try a play suicide. Problem is, she just might succeed even though she wont be serious about it. This ways a risk, sure. But now, at least, therell be none of those attempts that might go too far.Franco just shook his head doubtfully. Youre the boss.*****Morning came incredibly early and impossibly loudly. One moment the women were peacefully asleep. The next they were sitting bolt upright, eardrums thumping from piped-in music. Andhorror of horrorsthe music piped in was from bagpipes. The next moment and Garcia, Franco, and eight other men were on them like gnats, big hairy gnats with muscles.Get up! Get up, you lazy little maggots. Dressed and outside for PT. You! Thats right, honey, YOU! Move your lazy, skinny ass! A couple of quick pushes and Marta and Maria ended in a tangle of arms and legs, a mattress over them.Half crawling, half running, the women made it outside. More than a few of them did so with stinging buttocks where an instructors baton had met with a tardy posterior. Once outside, the two centurions, four sergeants, and four corporals began to push and prod them into some semblance of a formation. There followed a very brief class in Assuming and Maintaining the Position of Attention. That was possibly the easiest thing any of them learned to do at Camp Botchkareva. It was so easy, in fact, that the instructors called on some very tiny assistants to help them determine if they were doing it right.Maria would hate sand fleas to her dying day. The little demons crawled up her legs, into her eyes and ears, inside her nose...more personal places, too. They bit her everywhere except for where her shoes covered her feet, each bite like the point of a tiny hot needle. And she had to just stand there and take it because, while the sand flea bites were painful and present, the instructors were infinitely menacing. Maria had expected physical training to be worse, somehow, than it was. Not that it wasnt hard, or that the women didnt raise a sweat. It was and they did. And some of the women couldnt do the exercises very well...Failure to exercise properly usually got a snarl, a whack on the fanny, and some direct, hands-on, correction, but no more than that. And the instructors didnt have them try to do anything they really couldnt. It was all doable, if barely.After calisthenics Garcia ordered, Assemble to the Right... Move... The women crowded back to the shallow block formation theyd started in. Then it was, Right...Face. Forward...March. Double Time!that means run, you stupid twats!March! Left...left... left, right, left.The run was worse than the exercises. It wasnt fast; Garcia knew they were too new for that. But it seemed long to all of them and it was intentionally painful. The womens newness made it more painful still, as none of them really knew how to keep in step, even though Franco called the cadence, Left. Right. Left. The women still kept tripping each other up. Im sorry; Im so sorry, the girl behind Marta repeated every time her toes landed on one of Martas heels. Though Marta was concentrating on trying to keep in step, that womans toes continued to foul her up. An instructor named Salazar trotted up. He whacked Martas thigh with a stick, hard.Get in step, dummy...Left, right, left. Your tits can do it. Why cant you? Then he whacked her again.And the instructors let no one fall behind. They didnt try to encourage anyone with kind words. They hit and kicked those who stopped trying until they were willing to try some more. Two women simply stopped and lay down in the road.Diaz! Salazar! Take care of em, Garcia bellowed.As the platoon rounded a bend, a brave soul might have looked over her shoulder to see Salazar kicking one of the drop outs while Diaz lifted the other to her feet by her ears. That brave soul might have seen the latter of the two drop right back to the dirt as soon as Diazs grip relaxed.Neither of the dropouts was seen on the Island again. By the time the rest had returned from the run, those two had already been dishonorably discharged. The remainder heard later, and at the time believed, that the drop outs were paddled pretty badly before being thrown off the island.Eventually the platoon turned around to head back to camp. All were pretty much nauseous as they passed through the front gate. After they halted and were dismissed, Marta immediately fell to one knee and began to throw up. Maria walked over and put her arm around Martas shoulders to help her back up.Marta shrieked, Get your fucking hands off me! When she saw how shocked Maria was, she tried to apologize. Im sorry, Maria, she said...It isnt your fault. I just cant stand to be touched by anyone.Though he was nearby, Garcia either didnt notice, or pretended not to notice, Martas outburst. He knew some things about Marta that the other women didnt.Marta and Maria were joined by another girl, Inez Trujillo, the tiny one, and her bunkmate, Catarina Gonzalez. Inez said, Come on, you two. Lets go hurry and freeze. Garcias only given us five minutes to shower before breakfast. And I dont know about you two, but Im starving.They raced through the icy water as quickly as minimal sanitation needs permitted. Then, dressed again in the same sweaty clothes, they began a slow trot to breakfast.Breakfast? Gloria, sitting at a nearby table, snorted at it, saying, This is certainly not what Im used to. Truthfully, it wasnt anything special: hardboiled eggs, sausage patties, sliced cheese, bread and butter, fried chorley tortillas, some fresh fruit. There was also a broad, shallow bowl of the gray, plum-sized Terra Novan olives. It was believed they were native to the planet, rather than genengineered like the Noahs Tranzitrees, Bolshiberries, and Progressivines. To many, the sheer quantity of the food dished out was amazing. Maria, for example, after years of scraping pennies to try to feed Alma and herself, was shocked that the cooks gave them as much as they felt like eating, barring only the sausage, cheese and eggs, which were rationed. Since no one had bothered to feed the women the night before, most of them fairly pigged out.Cat, Inez bunkmate, took over dividing the rations. The way she did it reminded Maria a bit of her own mother, especially in the way she played favorites. Somehow or other, Cat seemed to have adopted Inez as her substitute baby. Maria noticed, anyway, that if there was an odd amount of one of the rationed items, it seemed to end up on Inez plate.Maria didnt complain. After all, Inez was the smallest and thinnest girl at the table.There was a can of a thick, rough paste on the table. Gloria, several seats down from Marta, took a slice of chorley and then used her knife to spread some of the paste on it. Marta, whod been around the Legion for a while, started to caution her but then decided, Screw the arrogant bitch.Gloria took a bite, chewed twice, and then her mouth opened, panting, as her eyes widened. Holyfuckingshit! she gasped, reaching for a glass of water. What is that?Marta smiled and answered, Well, among other things...*****The morning of that first full day the women drew their equipment; all ninety-five distinct items required for the first five weeks of basic training. With a little help from the four corporals and one of the sergeants they managed to stow everything in their rucksacks. Later in the day, and with a little more help, they managed to put together the fifteen items that went into their load carrying harness: four empty drum magazine pouches (another magazine was generally to be kept in their rifles, when issued, or in a cargo pocket), two plastic one liter canteens with covers, first aid pouch with bandage, bayonet and scabbard, butt-pack, suspenders and belt. Everything else was stuffed into the rucksacks including, at that point, the helmet, its liner, and its camouflage cover. In all, their Phase One BCT load was about forty-five pounds excluding water, food, and any ammunition they might be carrying. Sergeant Castro brought out several rolls of thick green tape and, using Martas set as a model, patiently showed them how to tape all the metal pieces to ensure they stayed together...and didnt dig into their skin.Look, girls, Castro said, no matter what we might call you, or how we might treat you, were here to help you. Dont let it go to your empty heads, but yes, were almost always going to be pretty damned patient with the technical and tactical things you need to learn. After all, this is all new to you.On the other hand, he intoned, if you fail in any way that so much as touches on a matter of character or discipline, kiss your little butts goodbye. We really dont assume you are precisely stupid...but you are, literally, ignorant. We are not assuming you are innately bad...but you have been poorly brought up. Its fair to say that so far as your becoming soldiers goes, you havent been brought up at all. And you are weak, soft, and unrealistic. But dont worry; well fix all that. *****The women spent that first day, when they werent actively involved in fitting and stowing their gear, learning close order drill; square bashing, the instructors called it. The sun was hot, but water and rest breaks were fairly frequent. They knocked off just after sundown.Marta and Maria had dinner together, facing each other over the table. Things had remained a little awkward between them since Martas outburst of that morning. Still, since they were bunking together, they tended to stay together. Inez sat down next to Maria. Cat, who was the oldest of them, sat down next to Marta. They were all soon chatting just like old friends. It turned out that Cat was a widow. Her husband had left her with three kidsone just a babyvery little money, and no marketable skills. Only the Tercio Amazona offered her a way to have her kids cared for while training and earning a ticket to a better life. Cat missed her babies terribly, she said. Then she reached over the table to rub Inez scalp, saying, But I have a new one to take care of right here.Inez rolled her eyes and sighed, resignedly.Since dinner was better than breakfast, and the mess hall blessedly cool after a hot day in the sun, the women lingered over it, in relaxed conversation. It came as a considerable surprise, then, when they returned to their barracks and found the doors had all been locked, their packs dumped in a pile outside, and a cross-armed Centurion Garcia standing guard at the landing in front of the main entrance. The other nine trainers, likewise, stood at ground level with their arms folded.Girls, girls, girls, Garcia chided. The Legion gave you a clean barracks this morning. I looked at it about two hours ago and what do you suppose I found? Dirt! Filth! Disorder!Obviously, you people are not fit to live in civilized surroundings. You had time to clean the barracks after breakfast. You had time during the very frequent breaks you were given this afternoon. You had time after dinner. Obviously, you do not know or care enough to take advantage of time. Therefore, tomorrow your breaks will be halved. Tonight you will move into the tents where you will live until further notice. Platoon! Tench...Hut! Squad leaders, put your filthy girls into the tents.And so the women moved, though every morning one of the corporals supervised them in cleaning and re-cleaning the barracks they couldnt live in.*****The sun was down but only one small moon had risen. Outside the camp, the nasty antaniae called out, mnnbt, mnnbt, mnnbt. From somewhere in the surrounding trees a trixie cawed on its nightly quest to kill and eat as many moonbats as possible.By the faint light of the one risen moon, Maria, Cat, Marta, and Inez sat in the dirt outside the tent theyd been put in. It was dark in the tent; no lights, no beds either. Its so damned unfair, Cat said. Why didnt they tell us to clean the barracks? I dont mind cleaning.Because they wanted to put us in these tents, Marta answered... Men...just bastard men. Theyre all alike.Maria had reason to share Martas opinion on men. To some extent, maybe, she did share it. She was too embarrassed to mention Piedras, though, so she just said, Well, no matter how bad things lookand those tents looked dismal indeedI guess things could be worse.Cat asked, What do you suppose we have to do to get back in the building?Gloria must have overheard Cat. From somewhere inside the tent she answered, Kiss those bastards asses, I imagine. Thats what they want... Gloria had been a little bitter since early that morning when Centurion Garcia had knocked her on her posterior for trying to answer back.Inez disagreed. No. My brotherhes a centurion candidatetold me. The Legion wants fighters, not ass-kissers. They want people who will do their duty. They want people who, even if theyre not sure what their duty is, will at least be thinking about what it might be. I think well get out of these tents when Garcia decides we can and will do that.Gloria retorted, Youre giving them too much credit for brains, Trujillo. Theyre doing this because they think they can. Its just spiteful meanness and envy. I might even call it abuse of power, she finished, sullenly.Inez answered, Ill admit, it seems like a pretty far leap from tents to training. And maybe I cant quite see the connection either. But these men have been at this sort of thing for a long time. Maybe they really do know what theyre doing.Then, too, you know, we women tend to be forgiven our little transgressions in polite society. You must admit, this is a pretty good indication that we will not be lightly forgiven by the Legion, which is no kind of polite society.Marta said, I heard we are going to have to carry everything they gave us on our backs from now on. We dont have any lockers here like we did in the barracks. My brother warned me about this, Inez commented. When they did this to his basic training maniple, he said, All the time we lived in the tents we had to lug everything we owned on our backs wherever we went. I got to where I hated my rucksack and everything in it.*****Beyond harassment, that first week and a half of basic were pretty much taken up with close order drill, customs and courtesies of the service, military law, uniform and equipment wear and care, andof coursephysical training. The women had about two and a half hours of physical training every day. In the morning they had an hour and a half of calisthenics and a run that usually left them puking. If at least a few girls didnt throw up then the next days run would be longer, faster, or both. For evenings there was another hour of combatives. As training progressed they didnt always do the morning sessions. They rarely missed the evening ones.The men taught them to hit, gouge eyes, crush gonads...bite. They were also trained to a pretty fair standard with a knife. They learned to strangle, smash, break noses, and twist tendons...stab, jab, and slice. Still, they werent men. They could never have learned to use the simple male techniques used in bayonet fighting. That took too much weight and strength. Instead, they were taught the older, more intricate, fencing variety of bayonet fighting. That, as with many things for the women, took up a lot more time than was available to the men going through basic.*****Thrust! Twist! Draw! Thrust! Twist! Draw! The swaying bag to Marias front seemed to mock her. For half an hour or more she had been trying to sink her bayonet solidly into one of the bullseyes painted on the side. To her left, Marta was having equal problems. To her right, Inez Trujillo was awkwardly trying to strike from below.Corporal Salazar literally picked Inez up by her combat harness and shook her. The man had biceps thicker than Inezs legs. You worthless little midget! Do you think the enemy will all be runts like you? If you cant go in low for the kill, go in high! He shook her again before dropping her back to her feet. Salazar then turned and slapped Maria across the face. Put your heart into it, you stupid cunt. Hate that thing! She nodded and tried again: Thrust, twist, draw.Garcias whistle called a moments rest. He shook his head, perplexed. Those old bayonet fencing drills were using were meant for men...They depend on having a center of gravity a lot higher than a womans, more height and muscular strength, too. Ah, well, theyll have to figure some of this out on their own. If they dont, I just might let Salazar carry through on his threat to kill one of em on the spot.Again the whistle blew, signaling, Breaks over.Gonzalez, you dumb twat. Picture that sack as a man, coming for your kids. Kill im! Cat lunged...and missed.Salazar turned back to Maria. Idiot child! Try again. She missed the bag completely.Gloria, standing opposite, laughed out loud, right up until Salazar, with a fencing masters grace, took two steps across the sawdust and laid her out with a single punch. Hed pulled his punch, too.*****After that, Maria had a lot of trouble with Gloria, who seemed determined to make her into the platoon goat. Why this was so, Maria didnt know. That it was so was patent.*****Maria stood in line outside the mess, right behind Cat and ahead of Marta. The line stood at parade rest, the women coming to attention to take single steps forward as one of those ahead cleared the chow line and went to the tables. For those standing outside, there was no shade and the sun beat down on them. Worse, really, it reflected up from the gravel to ensure they were not just thoroughly but evenly roasted. Or perhaps there was another culinary term that would have suited better, given the near one hundred percent humidity.The mess hall was air conditioned, not for the women but for the benefit of the cooks. Still, whatever the reason for it, it was blessedly cool. Usually, it was as silent as death. Today, the women in line could hear sounds that seemed almost happy. True, theyd done well enough not to be punished much today, but what changed the tone inside the mess Maria couldnt guess.She discovered why, when she finished passing her tray through the line. The very last thing slapped onto it was a small tub of ice cream.I havent had... she started to mumble, before Sergeant Castro, standing at the end of the line, ordered, Seat, woman.Yes, Sergeant, she said, then hurried to the dining area to find a place to sit. Unfortunately, the only open seat at the moment was beside Gloria. The latter took one look at Maria, another at the tub of ice cream. Then Gloria said, Youre fat; you dont need this. She took the ice cream and passed it to someone else, then crossed her arms as if daring Maria to do something about it.Maria didnt. She just took it.*****Oh...yes, love...yes...oh, please...harder, harder...oh, oh, oh!Goddamned fucking sluts, muttered Marta from the other side of the tent she shared with nineteen other women. Dont they know people have to fucking sleep? Will you two please SHUT UP!The lesbians ignored her. These two apparently had very little sense of shame, though if there were others they were more discreet. The next morning, one of those two, Sonia, walked up to Marta and suggested that she was just jealous because she wasnt getting any.What is it, Bugatti; do you want to join us? Well, maybe if youre nice. Then again, maybe you already have a little something. Maybe... Sonia looked at Maria and, then reached out a hand to clasp her breast.Marta went for her like a berserker. Before anyone could stop it, Sonia was on the ground with Marta sitting on her, pummeling away with clenched fists. Maria felt a little ashamedall right, more than a little ashamedthat she just stood there with her head lowered when the second lesbian, Trudi, jumped Marta from behind. Marta went down under flailing feet and fists.It was another one of the girls who went to Martas aid. Cristina Zamora was easily the biggest woman in the platoon. Zamora was pretty enough, in a strong featured way, and with her shining coppery hair. She picked up Trudi and punched her four or five times in the face before dropping her to the dirt. Then she separated Sonia and Marta, slapping both of them senseless with fine impartiality.Freeze, bitches! Garcias stone face gazed upon them. A few quick questions and he pronounced sentence. Marta, Zamora, Sonia and Trudi were given six hours extra duty each for disorderly conduct.Then Garcia turned to Maria and asked, Is this woman your bunk buddy?Yes, Centurion, Maria answered, shamefaced.And is it true that you failed to go to her aid when she was attacked and outnumbered?Marias eyes lowered. She hesitantly answered, Yes, Centurion.Garcias voice dripped with contempt as he said, sneering, For you, eighteen hours extra duty, to be accomplished in three-hour increments during and in place of the evening meal. Six days bread and water for breakfast and lunch. Six days restriction to your tent when not at meals, extra duty, or training.*****Maria. Maria, wake up.What? Who?Shush. Shush. Its Marta. Here, eat this. She handed over a leg of chicken she had stolen from the mess hall.Marta? Maria took the chicken, then stopped. She couldnt eat it, no matter that she was famished.Im sorry, Marta. You know, for...I know. Its my own fault for letting my temper get the better of me. I never think things through first. Now eat!Maria did as she was told. She always did as she was told. Juan, Piedras, Gloria...She thanked Marta, over and over. She apologized, over and over, between bites. Look, skip it. You cant help being what you are...anymore than I can. Marta patted a wet cheek, took the gnawed bone, and crawled back to her own pallet.*****It isnt just Garcias platoon, sir. Weve all had problems to some extent. The speaker, Ernesto del Valle, was a tall, distinguished-looking Senior Centurion. He rubbed the fingers on one hand across graying temples as he continued. Its true, the lesbians arent as naturally promiscuous as, say, we would be. But there are problems. Theyre human enough. They do develop interests that not only are not requited, but cant be requited. Fights, sir, lots of fights.Frankly, I can live with lesbians, sir, Garcia said. Whats driving me crazy is the number of women who are just certain, deep down, that they can get to one of us. Were having to be twice as shitty to all of em as we should have to be to any of em just to drive home the futility of the whole thing.De Silva, Tribune de Silva and a shoo-in to be Legate de Silva someday, placed his thumbs in the hollows of his temples and tapped his fingers on his brow.Tell me, Garcia...del Valle, are these women humanOnly Garcia answered, Extremely human, sir.As human as we are?Del Valle answered, Yes, sir.De Silva raised his gaze to the three other officers, sixteen assembled centurions and sixty-two junior NCOs. Anybody here ever have a crush on a straight? Hmmm? Raise your hands. About two thirds of the men present did. Right. Theyre human, just like us. Our gender orientation doesnt change theirs. And from their point of view we are the right gender. The same basic thing holds true for the lesbians. All the other women are the right gender from their point of view.Franco observed, But, sir, you cant separate them from us. Who would train them?No, I cant, de Silva agreed. Youre just going to have to be shitty to the women. But we can separate out the lesbians from the rest. And we will. Sergeant Major?Sir.Put out the call. I need a centurion pair and four NCO pairs for an eighth platoon.Sir.*****On the tenth day of training the women trudged to the ranges, everything they owned on their backs, nothing to be left behind in the tents...At seven miles, the walk to the range wasnt nearly as faror done nearly as fastas some of the later marches. Still, it was no walk in the woods. To their usual forty-five pounds was added another three in food, another nine in water. That was more, in Marias case, than half her body weight. Some girls had it rougher. Inez Trujillo, all four feet, eleven inches of her, had it particularly bad. By this time, of course, the women had spent a good part of every day with their rucks on their backs. But this was different. Women walked funny. Women sling their hips differently from men when they walk. Theyre made that way. And the rucksacks were made for men, even though the women had small-sized ones. There was no really adequate solution to the problem. Carrying a ruck simply hurt them more. Tough luck, as Centurion Garcia said. Builds character.Perhaps it did.When they reached the bivouac area, they were given a chance to strip and clean themselves before pitching the tents. All were ecstatic at being able to remove the rucksacks. The straps had just killed their tits...Marta was leaning against a tree, resting, when she looked at Inez and exclaimed,Oh, damn!Maria followed her gaze and saw Inez, cupping a breast in each hand, rocking back and forth, quietly moaning. Through the spaces between her fingers the others could see two spots, bright red against the dull green of Inez T-shirt. Cat sat beside her, wringing her hands.Marta and Maria stood up and went to her. They pulled her hands away and removed her T-shirt, then her bra. Marta said I havent seen anything like this since... Whatever shed been about to say was lost as she didnt continue.Inezs nipples were oozing blood where the straps must have rubbed her. They were just raw. Im all right, Inez said, through clenched teeth.Like hell, Marta answered. Im going for a medic.No! No, please. Ill be all right.Sure. Right. Okay. Maria, go clean her bra and shirt. Theyll be impossible to wear with dried blood and crud on them. Now...lets see. Cat, help me...When Maria came back with Inez things she saw that Marta and Cat had bandaged the raw nipples and was working on the straps to her rucksack.The problem, Marta told them, is that these packs are made for the width of a mans shoulders. With us...they push the other straps too far inward. She meant the suspenders on the combat harnesses. So... And she held up the ruck to show them how she had reversed the straps to point out, rather than in. This would put them on Inez shoulders, leaving enough room that the suspenders werent forced across her tits. Clever girl, Maria thought.*****The rifle range was fun, even satisfying. And the women had to develop a whole new set of muscles. There was no reason to believe that men were naturally better shots than women as far as most of the factors in marksmanship go. But the women werent as strong and even a rifle requires some unusual musculature. The F-26, being heavier than most, required still more.The girls spent literally hours just holding their rifle and squeezing off dry fires to build up muscle and control of the trigger finger...The technique was simple enough. An instructor would supervise as they took turns in teams of two. One member of the team would place a coin on the end of the rifle of the other, while the other was in firing position. Then the one with the rifle would s-l-o-w-l-y squeeze the trigger until the hammer dropped, or, to be technical, since the F-26 was electrically primed, until the connection was made. If the coin fell off, the woman needed more practice, and got it. They generally also received a large number of pushups, needed or not.And every day they would march somewhere new. Or back to somewhere old. And they sweated and strained and were generally made miserable. Inez new strap arrangement caught on with the smaller girls. Soon all of the little people had reversed their rucksack straps. It was better, a little anyway.Sweated? Among the ninety five items in their initial kit were two field uniforms and five sets of underwearboxersand five pairs of socks. A few buckets were made available for washing their own clothes but the supply of clean clothing never quite kept up with the demand. They stank...But the instructors had thought of that. Women can get sick, inside, if they get and stay too filthy. No, not always, but the risks were much greater than for men. About two days after theyd arrived on the ranges a gynecologist showed up. She lectured them on the dangers and on what they could do to keep healthy. Marias respect for boxer shorts and sleeping naked under her mosquito net went up immeasurably.After the gynecologist left, Centurion Franco said, Good. Now youve been told. If you dont listen and rot from the inside out its your own fault. Most women listened. Some girls didnt at first, lazy or maybe just tired. They paid the price, too.Not that getting sick got them out of anything. Sick call was held in the field. If a woman was really hurt the odds were better than even that she would be recycled into the next planned class, doing scutwork in the interim. If one of them was just feeling poorly...tough. Feeling poorly? It was not widely known but women who live in close quarters seem to tend to get on the same menstrual cycle. Those were bad days; everybody bitching at everybody. Except the instructors, of course...The woman had learned that one never yelled at an instructor unless one had a burning desire to be beaten senseless. A lot of the women thought it grossly unfair that they were treated so harshly when they had their periods. Actually, almost all of them thought so.. On the other hand, though, not one could pin-point what was so special about a period. If they could be made to march on blistered and bleeding feet, why not with flowing menses? If a bad head cold or the flu didnt keep them out of training why should something more predictable and natural? That, at least, was the way Centurions Garcia and Franco saw it...And their opinions were considerably more important than any womans at that point in time.The women were provided with sanitary napkins, which was something.*****One thousand, two thousand, three thousanddown, bitch! Now roll. Rifle to shoulder. Suppress! Number two...The women were doing short rushes and low crawls interspersed with dry firing. These techniques were used to move forward against the enemy without giving that enemy time or calm to shoot back accurately. Doing the rushes and crawls for a little while isnt so bad. Doing them for hours upon hours, as they had been, was painful. Marias tits hurt like the devil from being pounded on sharp rocks. The scabbed sores on her elbowswhich shed gotten from holding up her rifle and herself on the firing range for endless hourshad torn open. Her knees were bleeding, too. She nearly cried and blurted out, Sergeant Castro, why do all of you treat us so badly?Castro didnt answer immediately. He thought for a few moments then blew his whistle to call a halt. Gather round, girls, he ordered. And sit down.When the entire squad had gathered at his feet, he said, Fuentes here doesnt understand. She probably isnt the only one. So listen: Once upon a time a bird way down south in Secordia procrastinated about flying north for the winter. By the time it got off of its fluffy little ass the weather had already turned. It made it about half way across the Federated States before its wings froze up. It was also starving because it hadnt been able to find anything to eat. The bird fell to the ground, shivering and expecting to die soon.A cow came along and dropped a load right on our little friends head. Soon it was warm and happy, well fed, too. It stuck its head up and began to sing. A cat heard the singing, raced over, dug the little bird out of the cow flop, and ate it. Do you know the moral of the story, chica?Maria said she didnt.Just this: Not everyone who shits on you is your enemy. Not everyone who digs you out of the shit is your friend. And when youre warm and well fed, don't make a ruckus about a little bit of shit.Now back to work.*****I wish there were some cheap way to chill that creek. Franco smiled. Ice is rationed, Balthazar, as you know very well.Mmmm. Yeah. But this is a special circumstance. Why, these women might get to like it out here in the jungle, if they dont have to freeze just to be clean.Realizing that his partner was, in his own way, merely joking, Franco added his own sally. They do seem to be having a pretty good time, dont they? Are you sure you werent being over-generous what with giving them each a whole ounce of shampoo?Maybe...but they did shoot well on the qualification range.Well, yes, but a whole one ounce bottle? Each? Are you sure youre not getting soft?Garcia shook his head, as if uncertain. No...I dont think so. It seems fair enough.Below the bank on which the centurions stood, their students joked and played and gamboled. Cat, a country girl originally, showed her squad how to wash their clothes on the plentiful rocks.Whens the chow due? Garcia asked.About an hour, Balthazar.Did you arrange for chaplain services?Of course. Even though it isnt even Sunday. By the way...?Dont eat when youre hungry, eat when you can. Dont sleep when youre tired, sleep when you can. Pray always.Franco couldnt argue with those sentiments. *****After washing their clothes, Inez, Cat, Marta and Maria took turns washing each others stubble. Of course, with so little hair, they really didnt need help. It was a social thing, not a practical one.Sitting on a stump, Maria spent her meager free time writing a letter for Porras to read to Alma. Even if the baby couldnt contact her, she could at least let her know that Mama hadnt abandoned her. Every few lines Maria would turn her eyes to her open wallet, just to stare at her babys photo. It was better than nothing.Marta sat down besides the stump. Do you miss her?More than anything, Maria answered. Shes the only reason Im here.Marta sighed, wistfully Shes beautiful. I cant have babies, she added, sadly. Do you think, maybe, when this is over I could watch her for you? Sometimes? Or maybe take her to the parkor something? Maria thought, Is this Marta Im hearing with the fear of rejection in her voice? Anytime, she answered. But why cant you have a baby of you own?I just cant! Marta stood quickly and walked away.*****The sun was setting as an outraged shout rang through the camp. Franco trotted over to investigate.When he returned, he told Garcia, Someones stolen another womans shampoo...You know the drill. Do it.Faster than one can imagine, the women were hustled out from their tents and into formation. Then Franco called the roll to determine they were all present. One by one they went back, with an instructor in attendance, and dumped out their rucks.One girl, by the name of Rossini, was found with an extra bottle...The rest of the women were sent back to bed. Rossini spent most of the night tied to a tree.The next morning the formed platoon was called to attention by Centurion Franco, who then reported and turned the formation over to Garcia...Garcia ordered, Stand at...Ease. A soldier is first and foremost a selfless individual. He, or she, cannot be anything but that and still be worth much as a soldier. Recruit Private Rossini has failed to meet even the most minimal standards of selflessness. She is, in fact, a thief who stole something of considerable subjective value from someone who had no more than herself. For this, Rossini has been tried by court-martial, the centurions council sitting en banc, and found guilty. She is to be dishonorably discharged and her name struck from the rolls of your regiment. There is one little thing to attend to first, however.Garcia gave a command. The platoon formed in two lines, facing each other. At Garcias nod two corporals half dragged, half carried Rossini to one end of the double line. She stood, quivering, hands still tied behind her back. Her eyes were an eloquentbut uselessplea. She was clad only in T-shirt and shorts. Most of her skin was exposed.Remove your belts, Garcia ordered. As Rossini attempts to move between your lines you will strike her. I do not care whether you use the tip end or the buckle, but you WILL strike her...or join her.Most of the women held the metal buckle in their hands. A fewwhether they were the meaner ones, or the ones most offended by theft, was not obvioustook the other end, swinging the metal buckles freely. The corporals and sergeants went to stand behind the women to make sure they didnt slack off.Garcia ordered Begin. Rossini was pushedwell, kicked, actuallyinto the gauntlet.The details would be offensive. Some hit Rossini hard, some held back as much as they could while being watched. Most hit no more or harder than they had to. Still, a few women went out of their way to kick the culprit. Rossini tried to protect her face, shielding it with her shoulder, but that only made her stumble and left her in the line of blows longer. Welts and cuts appeared on her face, neck, arms and legs. It was only luck that saved her eyes.A belt tangled in her legs, causing her to fall on her face. She crawled with her knees alone those last ten meters, her face plowing the ground, just like the animal Garcia wanted the others to see her as. Finally, bleeding from multiple cuts, at the end of the line and of her strength, Rossini collapsed.Garcia ordered the platoon to Attention, Left and right...Face, then gave the command, Forward...March. A sobbing Rossini, her head sideways on the ground, was left for some of the maniples headquarters people to kick off the island.Garcia didnt even order that she be given the rest of her uniform. Shed never wear those particular clothes again.Four more women, including the one whose shampoo had been stolen, resigned that night.*****Maria wanted to resign. She didnt because, while she found the whole thing sickening (and back then she wouldnt even have even hit Rossini were she not being watched herself), Marta and the others made her see the point. Look, Mari, Rossini was obviously untrustworthy, Marta said. I certainly dont ever want to have to fight with her or anybody like her at my side. So shes useless. And so the Legion booted her out.Yes, sure, throw her out, Maria answered. But beat her? Like an animal? Worse, because we would never beat an animal like that.Inez added, The gauntlet? Well, my brother taught me this about the Legion...The legal code is damned draconian, in theory. In practice, however, they only use formal corporal punishment on people theyre going to dump anywaya cherry on the ice cream, because that kind of humiliation tends to make someone useless as a soldier even if they werent already useless. And using a deadbeat like Rossini states a myth that is very important to the military. Soldiers and veterans are real people. Everybody else is essentially sub-human. See for yourself how this thing was just beaten like a dog, if you dont believe us. It is difficult to see someone beaten like a dog and still think of that person as a human being.Besides, they were actually merciful with Rossini. A man whod been caught stealing from comrades would have had the same punishment, in theory. But a man would have run between two lines of men; heavier, stronger, quite possibly meaner.I doubt that Rossini was offended by the extra mercy, said Cat...Marta, who had been beaten more than once in her life by various utter bastards who had derived some considerable sexual pleasure from the beating, said, It wasnt a sexual thing. Our instructors are gay. They dont see Rossini as a sexual toy. They barely saw her as a human being. They just wanted us to do and see the damage. And see her humiliation.Inez nodded. My brother said that after an incident like this, you will never see another incident of theft reported the whole time of basic training.*****The sixty-six women remaining in the platoon trained next on special weapons: Machine guns, sub-machine guns, flame-throwers, grenades, demolitions. Of those weapons, most would, in latter days, remember the grenade range best. This was not because they liked it the best or because the grenades were the hardest things to learn to use. The engineering things, the flame-throwers and demolitions, were much harder physically. Only a very few women, it was found, could even carry and use a flame-thrower with any effect. But learning to use the grenades properly made a certain impact on the mind.It was a blessedly cool, rainy morning when Garcia led the platoon from Camp Botchkareva to the engineering and grenade ranges. The dirt firebreak that paralleled the paved road to the range area and the ground on the ranges stayed muddy, even though the sun had broken out about half way there. Still, it wasnt all that bad. And, despite the rain, their uniforms were mostly dry by the time they started to train. Smelly, but dry.*****The women sat in a semi-circle around a low platform on which stood Centurion Garcia. While he addressed them, they wolfed down their breakfast from sundry cans and pouches. Between the platform and the women was a hole dug into the ground, perhaps two feet by two, three deep, and almost entirely hidden by grass.Grenades are made for a man to throw, Garcia said, tossing a grenade up and down, one handed, as he did. Oh, we could make them smaller and lighter for a woman but then theyd also be less powerful, so less effective. Besides which, it would be a lot more expensive to make them especially for women as the cost of a piece of military hardware goes up as the number purchased goes down. And, as anyone who has ever been around the military knows, if there were two models of grenade serving the same purpose, offensive, defensive, or screening, the supply system would deliver the womens to the men and theirs to the women. Thats just how it works.He flipped a little wire tab off the thing, then nonchalantly pulled a pin. He lifted his thumb and a flat metal thinga spoon, it was calledsprang into the air. Equally calmly, Garcia tossed the now fully armed and slightly smoking grenade into the hole a few feet in front of the platform, between it and the girls. He did it so calmly and nonchalantly, in fact, that the resulting explosion took the women completely by surprise, raising a chorus of frightened cries.Totally unfazed, Garcia picked up another one, began tossing it up and down, too, and continued, On the other hand, it is also damned rare for a soldier to actually have to throw a grenade all that far. If shes in a hole and the enemy is attacking she can throw it about five feet outside and it wont hurt her much beyond making her ears ring a bit. And if shes the one attacking, Get closer. Thats how you will be trained.Quicker than he had the first one, Garcia thumbed off the safety clip, pulled the pin, released the spoon, and then tossed the apparently live grenade into the midst of the women of his platoon. Screaming, they scattered in all directions. The practice grenade, painted up to look like the real thing, went off with a mild pop.Gets em every time, Garcia chuckled.*****The women practiced for hours with blue-painted steel dummies. Then they practiced some more using the same dummies but with low powered fuses inserted that functioned like real grenade fuses. Finally, they were called forward one at a time to any of a half dozen circular sandbagged bunkers to use the real thing.Garcia wore the nearest thing to a smile any of the women had ever seen on him as Catarina Gonzalez entered the pit. It wasnt a frown, anyway, and that was something. There were six grenades sitting on a table to one side. Garcia told her to take one. She did, and inspected it as shed just been trained to do.How long is the delay on that grenade? he asked.It will explode four to five seconds after I release the spoon, Centurion.Plenty of time, dont you agree, Gonzalez?Yes, she thought, except that quality control at the factory being what it is, the delay might be anywhere from three to seven seconds. Still, she wasnt going to argue with him. He continued, conversationally, You know, Private Gonzalez, any fool can throw a grenade.Yes, Centurion.We, however, wish you bitches to become very special fools. Prepare to pull, Private.She did, both hands in front of her, one clutching the pull ring, the other on the grenade body.Remove the safety clip.Cat flipped it away with a thumb.Pull, Private.She pulled the ring away, still holding the spoon, the safety handle, down with the fingers of her other hand. She then went into the position to throw, one arm and hand stretched forward, the otherthe one holding the bombcocked by the side of her head. She was already scared out of her mind by that little hand-held monstrosity. She was, however, rather more frightened of Garcia.Garcia reached out with a beefy arm, lightening fast, and grabbed the wrist attached to the hand with the grenade. Then he said, Gonzalez, when I give the command, throw, you are going to release the spoon. That will release the striker to start the fuse burning. You and I will then count together to two...slowly. Then I will release your hand to throw the grenadeReady? Throw.She froze. She would not, could not, release the spoon if she also couldnt immediately get rid of the damned thing.Private, that grenade can only kill you. I wont tell you again...Throw.Cats bladder let go, liquid running down her legs. But she also let go the spoon and, as soon as Garcia had counted to two and released her wrist, threw the grenade as far as she could. Along with Garcia, she fell to one knee and ducked her head to shelter from the blast. It rattled her, even so.After the last bits of mud and rock had pattered down, Garcia pretended to notice neither Cats dripping trousers nor her quivering hands...He just said, Good, with his customary lack of enthusiasm.The next two grenades she also cooked off, though on the last one Garcia did not hold her wrist. (Nor did she wet herself again.) Then the pair went forward and Cat threw two more around the corner of a trench. The little metal fragments made a pattering sound as they hit the wall of the trench opposite her. Okay, Gonzalez, Garcia admitted, Youve done well so far. For this next one, the last one, I want you to crawl forward to that little bunker and put it through the firing port. But Private, this time, hold the grenade for a count of three after releasing the spoon. Got it?Yes, Centurion. Grenade in hand, Cat slithered forward, rolling to her back just as she reached the bunker. She flicked away the safety clip, pulled the pin, released the spoon and counted slowly and deliberately, One thousand...two thousand...On three, no longer shaking, Cat calmly placed the grenade into the bunker, withdrawing her hand just as the explosion burst out of the narrow firing port.Wet pants or not, she was damned proud of herself.That didnt mean she wasnt embarrassed too. When Garcia told her to go back to the rest of the platoon she hesitated, looking down at her trousers. His gaze followed hers. Oh...I see, he said. Then, not unkindly, Gonzalez, do you think you are the first one to ever wet themselves doing something terrifying? A sigh. You are probably a little young to be learning this lesson. Lets hope it takes. Anyway, start back to the platoon.She had just turned and started to reluctantly, shamefully slink away when Garcia bellowed. You. Gonzalez. Halt, bitch. Drop! Thats right, down on your belly like a snake. You stinking reptile, you move like pond scum. You know how pond scum moves? I didnt think so. It doesnt. If you cant walk like a soldier then get down there with the pond scum. Crawl, bitch!Garcia directed her into one of the little natural run offs that led from the pit to the waiting area, following her, insulting and cursing her, the entire time. Then he had her do short three-to-five second rushes from one scummy little hole to another. Some of the other girls watched with wide eyes. By the time he let her go, she may have been covered with mud and slime, but no one could tell if she was also covered with urine.The last thing he said, before letting her go was, And wipe that goddamned happy smile off your face, you stupid twat. With some difficulty, she did.Perhaps Garcia was being kind. Perhaps he was trying to keep her from being needlessly humiliated. On the other hand, maybe he also wanted people to move faster on the range. Certainly nobody else dawdled there, that Cat could see, the rest of the day. Indeed, the women pushed themselves to finish the job as quickly as possible. This may not have been such a good thing.*****Marta waited nervously for her turn to throw the grenades. Ahead of her, another woman from a different platoon was shaking pretty badly as she picked up the first grenade. Her instructor went through much the same very special fools speech that Gonzalez had heard from Garcia. (The speech went way back to the very beginnings of the Legion.) The instructor was very calm, but this did not stop the womans tremors. Still, she took her grenade, flicked away the safety clip, pulled the pin, and released the spoon. The instructor held her wrist while she counted One thousand...two thousand with a breaking voice. He released the wrist to let her throw; which she did. Right into the wall of the bunker.The instructors eyes followed the grenade as it bounced off the front of the pit, to the back of the pit, and then to the front again before settling on the floor. Perhaps hed been counting the seconds automatically. Whatever the case, he didnt hesitate a moment. Pushing the woman towards the entrance, he threw himself down atop the bomb. It exploded, sending blood and flesh and bone out of his back to spatter pit and woman, both.Marta screamed. The blood- and flesh-spattered woman stood, frozen, her face ghastly white where it hadnt been speckled with bits of red.Within moments another instructor, the dead mans pair bond, entered the pit and fell, weeping, to his knees. He verbally flailed the woman, You fucking stupid moron. You goddamned fucking incompetent murdering bitch. What makes you so goddamned important that my partner had to die for you? What?The woman had no answer.Franco came and led the crushed man away.*****Late that night, they marched the women back to their bivouac area (not Camp Botchkareva, with its icy showers). They sang, as theyd been taught to sing on their slack time. Given the events of the day, they sang mostly downbeat things:Come by the hills to the land where glory remains,Where stories of old fill the heart and may yet come again,Where the past has been lostAnd the future has still to be won.And the cares of tomorrow must waitTil this day is done.The women sang much of the time, and nearly all the time they were marching, scores of songs from the legionary songbook, plus a few of their own. In happier moments, they were particularly fond of the childrens song, Guillermo Hinchese (With the razors gash he had settled her hash...Oh, never was crime so quick!) and the more adult Sacred War. At first they were made to sing, butafter a whilethey came to love singing together for its own sake. It was fun. Never mind that with every song they were being indoctrinated. Indoctrinating through song was so old a trick it was almost pass. Marching away from the grenade range, between songs, Gloria fumed at length about all the explicit and implicit insults. She thought they should be considered innocent until proven guilty. Sick of her bitching, Inez asked her, Why? If we fail, we might cost them their lives. It strikes me as a lot to ask of someone, to take an extra risk for something that will do them no good at all.Let them prove theres a risk, Gloria retorted, before dumping on us. They just did, Inez answered. *****First aid training came next, almost a whole week of it, and the Amazons were good at that, Centurion Garcia even said so. Although when he had them carry the instructors around on stretchers for a couple of hours they found that was much harder than carrying each other. Resting her weary arms afterwards, Inez said, Im told that women in tercio medical companies have a lot of trouble with that. Enough trouble, says my brother, that its an open question whether theyll continue to let women into male tercios as medics. I guess thats one advantage of having a females-only combat unit. We wont waste mens time by having them carry light little burdens like us. Neither will we be overtaxing ourselves, maybe even killing our own wounded, trying to carry men who were just too damned heavy.*****At last, after not quite four weeks in the jungle, Phase One was over. The aspirant Amazons marched back to camp. As a reward, Garcia even let the girls use the barracks for a few days. The water in the showers was still icy.InterludeUp yours, cueco, the archaeopteryx said from his perch in one corner as it worried with its beak a Terra Novan olive held clasped in one claw.Fucking bird, Franco muttered, as he looked out of the tiny shack he shared with Garcia. From the window he saw a squad of women running in a circle, their rifles held over their heads. Their tramping feet raised a cloud of dust that had them all coughing and gagging. Above the suffering girls, in the background, high over the island, the continuous cloud around the mouth of the solar chimney loomed.God, I hate this shit, he told his partner and boss.I know. Me, too.Would you have volunteered us for this horror if you had known what we would have to do to them?I did know. So did you. Deep down, you knew.Maybe so, Franco half-admitted. Christ, why us?Garcia didnt answer immediately. When he did, he said, Because we can. And no one else could. Now stop your bleeding and tell me about third squad.Franco pulled his gaze from the suffering women. Mostly, theyre coming along. The ones who have me worried are Bugatti, Santiago and Fuentes; our resident sociopath, feminist and wimp, respectively.Garcia chuckled low. You know, for a really smart, book learned, university professor, you can be awfully dense sometimes.Franco looked at Garcia with something between shock and mortal offense.Oh, calm down. Youre young. Youre still learning.So teach me, o ancient and mighty one, Franco answered sarcastically.Garcia thought briefly of a terrified young girl, holding a grenade in a trembling hand. Just trust me, Fuentes is not a wimp. Theres steel inside there. Oh, maybe it isnt Atacamas Mountains solid. Maybe its more like a...oh, like a rapier, I suppose. In any case, it keeps springing back. I think shell be all right.Maybe you should have a talk with her, Franco suggested.Maybe I will at that. As for Bugatti? Garcia shook his head with disgust. That poor creature has some tales to tell. Have you seen her file?It was Francos turn to show disgust. Ive read it. But do you really think she can overcome all that?Garcia shrugged. Maybe. Maybe not. Shes trying though. And shes doing better all the time. Why, shes even learned to hide the fact that she wants to rip our throats out whenever one of us gives her a whack.Then it was Garcias turn to look worried. Youre right about Santiago, though. Shes always been out for number one, hiding it behind her concern for all women, everywhere. You would think shed been a charter member of the National Organization for Upper Middle Class White Women. Its getting worse, too. But I have a trick that might work on her. Or might not.Or might not, Garcia conceded.Franco looked back out of the window. Do you really think this is the best way to get the best out of a group of women?That isnt the point or the mission. Were not trying to get the best out a group of women; were trying to get the best women out of the group. Thats a very different thing. And for that, this way works perfectly. It will be their job, later on, to figure out how to get the best from a group of women.Now...what about third squads children?Franco answered, I spoke to Private Porras last night by phone...The Gonzalez children are doing well enough. The Maceira boy has a head cold, but is recovering nicely. Little Alma Fuentes misses her mommy and cries a lot.Should we let Fuentes call home, do you think? Garcia asked.Shaking his head, Franco replied, Leaving aside the fact that its against the rules...Yes, yes; I know you can bend the rules for good cause. Leaving that aside; I think it would be a very bad idea to let Fuentes mind start wandering to her baby. She has trouble enough being apart from her kid. You know; cries a lot when she thinks no one is looking...OK, then. Little Alma can cry a little more. Changing the subject, Garcia asked, Are you ready to deal with the herstorian weve got coming out to lecture the girls?Franco smiled then. Sylvia Torres? Shes mindless, he snorted...I not only know everything she ever wrote; I just might know everything shes ever read. I knew her at the university, after all.Good. Lets make it memorable. Be nice to the woman, but give the girls what they need to recognize silliness when they hear it.Chapter FourThe song for the soldier is a war song; it is not I don't like spiders and snakes.Patricio CarreraMaria:By the end of Phase One our strength was down by about twenty percent. It would probably have been a lot lower except that our cadre simply would not let us quit easily at this point and punished us if we tried. We were also a lot stronger, though the strongest of us still couldnt have taken on the weakest of our instructors in close combat. Even the three or four strongest probably couldnt have. But it was an improvement. Besides, we could shoot at least as well as an equivalent group of male recruits, and probably better. We could use the weapons that didnt require any unusual physical strength as well as the men, even a little better in the case of tripod mounted .34 caliber machine guns. Garcia had said something about natural rhythm when hed announced that. We had more trouble with firing the machine guns from their integral bipods or from the hip. And carrying them and a full ammunition load was always a pure bitch.We still could not march as far as the men, as fast, while carrying the same weight. Actually, as a group we couldnt even pick up the same weight to start to carry it.In Phase Two of training they started messing with our heads even more than they had previously messed with our bodies. We can talk about that later.We also got fresh haircuts. Yes, they buzzed us again. But, then, they issued us two more field uniforms, more underwear, and another pair of the lightweight boots each. Win a few, lose a few.(We dont do that anymore, in Amazon training, by the way. After the first buzz cut we don't say a word. But we keep the new girls even filthier than the Gorgidas did with us. As their hair grows, it gets and stays rotten. We leave them the shears, though. When they cut their hair on their own, we know were training them hard enough. Discipline is always better when it grows from inside.)****One day they marched us into a sort of tree shaded amphitheater surrounded by bleachers they used for a classroom. A pinch-faced, sort of dumpy woman walked to the lectern and introduced herself as Professor Sylvia Torres. She said she was there to teach us about the history of women in the military. Shed obviously never done a day in uniform herself, nor was her degree in history, let alone military history. And the way she wrinkled her nose at our stench didnt precisely endear her to us.It was obvious that this woman only partly approved of our experiment. She plainly disapproved of our being segregated. Though it was funny that she entirely believed in, and seemed to approve of, the original Amazons, who were entirely segregated except at breeding season.There is plenty of history to support the integration of men and women in the military, she announced. To begin, let us take the example of Lucille Brauer, a Federated States Marine who served aboard the FSS Charter during their war of AC 288. She had to keep the fact she was a woman hidden, true. But she did everything the men did, to include fighting in some of the most successful actions in which that ship engaged.Franco interrupted to ask, Professor Torres, how did the Brauer woman manage to keep hidden her sex when it was a regulation of the Federated States Marines at that time for the commander to inspect each of his Marines for their health, buck naked, once a week? Im just curious, you understand.Professor Franco, Torres answered, Im afraid the record is not specific as to what measures Ms. Brauer had to use.Centurion Franco, he corrected. She was successful, though, in hiding her sex, you say. Hmmm. Interesting. Please excuse me for a moment, Professor. Stand up for a moment, Bugatti. Marta arose with a suspicious look on her face; her chest prominent, as always. Franco spoke as if he really were interested in finding a solution to a problem that could be solved if he could only open his mind enough. Rubbing his face contemplatively, he said, Maybe if we redesigned the body armor a bit...might be hot...but...yes, we couldpossiblydo this. Thank you, Professor. Sit down, Bugatti. I joined the others in smirking. Trying to make Marta look like a boy was an obvious exercise in futility.I dont think Torres quite understood what Franco had just done to her, because she continued, unfazed, As another example, we have the case of a Volgan tank crew in the Great Global War. This tank crew, composed of two men and two women, successfully held up the advance of an entire Sachsen army of eleven divisions for three days. This was not the Red Tsars propaganda, by the way, but came from Sachsen records. After the Sachsens finally succeeded in knocking that tank out, they found that the only survivor of the crew was a woman. She smiled triumphantly.Franco raised his hand again. What were the relationships among those men and women, Professor?They were married, Prof...ah, Centurion Franco. She consulted her notes, briefly, then said, They were, in fact, the Political Commissar of the unit, his assistant, and their wives.Ah, then, Franco said. So they were married, like us in the Tercio Gorgidas. And the political cell of their unit, you say? Thats very interesting, too. Were they fanatics, do you suppose, Professor?Well, she answered, their actions in battle would seem to indicate an unusual degree of commitment.So they didnt have any of the typical problems you get when you put men and women together. I see.Torres did not see, it seemed. Problems?Oh, you know. Problem Number One: Wont one of you big strong men help poor little ol me? Problem Number Two: Private, how grateful would you be if you didnt have to pull guard tonight. Problem Number Three: Youre what! What will my wife say? That kind of problem. Tell me, Professor, what kind of tank was it?Again she turned to her notes. It was a very advanced for the time heavy tank, I understand.Ah. So women can crew a heavy tank. Very good. Do you happen to recall how heavy a tank it was? She didnt.Hmmm. I dont know either, Franco said. I wonder, though, whether there might not be a problem with putting women on tanks today. Even heavy tanks in those days were much lighter affairs than tanks now. Shells were lighter. Tracks were lighter. Parts and engines were lighter. Today, I dont know that any two women and two men living could adequately fight and maintain a main battle tank which is, at forty to seventy tons, two or three times heavier than its Great Global War counterpart. The tracks are too heavy, the shells are too heavy, everything is too heavy.She asked, But dont we have tanks that are lighter than that? Well...sort of, Franco admitted. The Legions do have Ocelots...Theyre pretty light; about nineteen tons. On the other hand, an Ocelot wouldnt stand a chance against a real tank though it does give pretty good service as an infantry support vehicle. Im sure womenor men and women mixedcould handle those without any technical problems whatsoever, Franco concluded enthusiastically.I guess Torres hadnt ever given any thought to the technical differences between one type of weapon and another. I didnt know myself. She seemed happy with Francos seeming agreement.Moving on, Torres said, Nor is the history of men and women being integrated in combat limited to heavy, high technology, weapons like tanks. Women of Zion, during their wars, gave good service themselves as infantry against the Arabs, mixed in units with men.Franco inquired, How did that work? Were there any problems?Well, there were a few, Torres conceded. It was discovered that men simply would not treat women like they would other men. When the women got into trouble there was an unfortunate tendency for the men to abandon the mission to save the women. I wouldnt blame those boys too much.. They couldnt help it, even if it wasnt hard wired in their genes, there was some strong cultural conditioning. Besides, it isnt like straight young men have any brains. We, even Franco, joined her in a laugh. Unfortunately, the women were soonafter about three weeksremoved from units with men and formed into their own, where they continued to do respectably well. This was still patently unfair. It wasnt their fault that the men acted like that. Worse, today Zions women are not even allowed to drive trucks, because trucks go to the front and women are not allowed at the front.I thought that Zion does still conscript young women, Franco commiserated.They do, she said, but only if they havent gotten married. The drafted women make a pun of the initials for their service; apparently in Hebrew the letters can also stand for We should have gotten married! Franco asked, Do you suppose that the Zionis do it this way at least partly to make sure that old maids of eighteen or nineteen have all the opportunity possible to meet a great many eligible young men so theyll get married soon thereafter...to start working on the next generation ofmalecannon fodder?Im sure I dont understand the workings of that kind of mind, Pro...Centurion Franco.I saw Franco shrug as if he didnt understand it, either. Well, its just a hunch, of course. But, if not, why not conscript young married women who are not pregnant? It surely doesnt seem fair to me either. Do they have any other reasons?Maybe one. It is believed, Torres said, that there are some culturesand Arabic culture in particularin which it would be an unpardonable shame for men to surrender to or run from women. It occurred to me that my own culture wasnt too far from that. She admitted, The Zionis claim that when they put women in combat units, Arab units that otherwise would have given up or run away would stay and fight, driving up everybodys casualties, if they even suspected there were women opposing them. But thats old news. In the Federated States first war against Sumer, some decades ago, the Sumeri prisoners were glad to be guarded by military policewomen.Franco commented, Thats vastly different from actually surrendering to women, of course. But there must have been some such surrenders since some of the Sumeris were equally glad to surrender to civilian camera crews. I have heard that some large numbers tried to surrender to passing aircraft. Still, Im not sure that this proves anything...except maybe that beating an army thats been pounded from the air for six weeks, and was rotten to start with, is not something on which to base a generally applicable theory. Still, it is an improvement, Professor, I agree.Torres continued on with a discussion about the apparently remarkable ability of armed forces to change character. That part of her discussion was in the same general vein, or at least had the same philosophical underpinnings: That the sheer raw power of armed forces was such that all they had to do was order their people to become something and they would become that thing. She said, Armies do it all the time. This one should be able to do the same with you and men as easily.The last thing she spoke on at any length was concerning our unmitigated, inalienable right, as women, to get pregnant and have babies any time we wanted, at our sole discretion. She really didnt like the idea of our being administered mandatory implanted contraceptives. Centurion Franco didnt say a word about that.*****The next morning, however, we had to do another road march, a fifteen mile hump. Franco stood in front of the platoon and asked, rather blandly, who among us had agreed with the feminist speaker about our right to get pregnant. At first no one admitted it. He, promised us, Scouts Honor, that there would be no retaliation, no personal punishment, against any who might express their honest view. At that Gloria said, I agree. You men have no right to tell us when we can, cant, should, shouldnt, or must have a baby.Well, we have one honest woman in the group. Have we no more? Surely we must. He coaxed us and cajoled us until he had fifteen women, about a quarter of what we had left by then, who would state that they believed that Torres had been right, that men had no right to tell us when we could and couldnt, or should, or must, have a baby.Franco agreed with them, said so plainly, even enthusiastically...Then he told them to drop their packs, rifles, load carrying equipment and helmets. He ordered them, very gently, out of the formation. He told them not to worry, they wouldnt be punished, but just to stand by. At that time a couple of the corporals brought out fifteen or twenty long, thick poles.Then Garcia came out, grinning broadly. You really had to know him at the time to know just how creepy a thing that was. Ladies, he said, it seems Im going to be a daddy. Who would have believed it? Me? he rhetorically asked of the women Franco had called out of formation. For, you see, you are all now, for this day only, officially pregnant. As such, in deference to your delicate condition, and out of concern for the health of your babies, you cannot be expected toand I, as a mere man, will not ask you toengage in any strenuous physical labor.The creepy grin changed to a frown. He tapped a finger against his own cheek, as if he had just realized the existence of an insoluble problem. Still, we do have a range to go to. My, my. And we dont have any buses or trucks scheduled. Hmmm, pity. So, sorry to say, you will have to walk to the range with the rest of us. But you neednt worry about how your gear will get to training. Your fellow recruits have volunteered to carry it for you.Then he ordered the rest of us to string their gear on the poles, shoulder the poles, and, Forward march. We formed in three long columns with the pregnant women and the instructors marching in the center, Garcia up front and Franco walking the center and rear.I cannot even begin to tell you how much that hurt. I waswe all werealready carrying as much as we uncomfortably could. Between the poles and the other girls gear we had maybe thirty pounds more than that. It was just too much.Not that Garcia or Franco seemed to care. Their faces remained impassive as we stumbled along, tears mostly hidden by sweat, for fifteen miles. The poles probably werent the worst possible way of carrying that extra gear. But they did cut into our shoulders, scrape our necks, throw us off center so that our backs hurt. It was torture. It was intended to be.The pregnant women, all of themeven Gloria, who surprised me by itbegged to be allowed to carry their packs for themselves. Franco, marching next to our squad, was having none of it. When one of the girls tried to help us with the poles he rapped her knuckles with his centurions stick, hard, for her trouble.Sorry, chica, you cant have a miscarriage on my watch. Garcia wouldnt like it, caring and sensitive soul that he is.And even though they carried no loads, the day was still hot. They had to drink from the water the rest of us were carrying for them. They apologized, embarrassingly, sincerely and continuously, until Franco told them to, Shut up! Stop bitching! You claimed the unlimited right. This is what it means; that someone else has to carry your load. Live with it.Gloria walked along miserably between Inez and Marta, myself and Cat. Inez and Marta took turns berating her.Oh, my, said little Inez, straining more than most under the load. Poor, poor Gloria. Shes so smart, shes so big and strong and tough...She can figure out anything. Why, shes even figured out how to have someone else carry her equipment.And she didnt have to flutter her eyelashes or look cute, continued Marta. All she had to do was get herself pregnant. We sure are the superior sex, with Gloria as our leader, showing us the way to the top.I confess, their verbal abuse of Gloria was becoming annoying. Cat finally got sick enough of it to tell them to shut up and leave her alone. Inez listened, though Marta still grumbled.That march would normally have taken maybe six hours. It actually took just under ten. And each one of those was several times worse than any hour of marching with a normal load would have been. We tripped; we slipped; we fell. From the awkward walk, the extra weight, most of our feet were bleeding by the end of the day. I never before quite understood how bad Christs march up Golgotha must have been. (Though that wasnt the worst march we ever did.)We never even tried the old stand-by of, Wont one of you big strong men help poor little ol me? It never worked with our instructors anyway.When wed reached the range, Centurion Garcia announced, From this day forward any member of this platoon who goes on sick call will have her gear carried in this way by the others. To support this, each squad will carry two of these poles to all training sites, and in addition to their other gear.Three more recruits resigned that night. Two of them were from those whom Garcia had made pregnant. They were allowed to go to one of the non-combat positions for women in their home town tercios. I dont know if any of them took that option. We took to calling going on sick call, getting knocked up. The poles we called, for reasons both obvious and subtle, pricks.*****Not everything they told us or did to us was anti-female, or even anti-feminist. I learned a lot about the military history of my sex. Maybe more importantly, I learned to think a lot more about the military history of my sex. Centurion Franco did most of that lecturing.One thing Franco told us, more or less off the record, Id like to repeat here. Of course, in training now we do tell the recruits that the Amazons might have existed but couldnt be proved. Its better that they not be disillusioned if someone ever really disproves their existence.But Franco thought it fairly likely they had existed in some form. His reasons were partly technical, partly philosophical. Basically, Franco said, the Amazons, if they had existed, were horse archers at a time when horses could transport men only in clumsy chariots. The early horses were too weak in the back to support a mans weight. Supporting a woman would have been possible centuries before horses were bred that were strong enough for a man but centuries after horses had been domesticated. This also corresponded, roughly, to the invention or introduction of the composite bow, which wasin legendthe Amazons weapon of choice.Moreover, said Franco, the people who recorded the legendsthe ancient Greekswere simply not horse oriented, the area being a poor place to raise horses. They would be fairly unlikely to even have thought of putting women on horseback unless there was some crumb of fact or fact-based rumor to support it.Lastly, he said that the legends were quite accurate in principle about what would be required to make female warriors, especially that voluntary giving up of their right breasts, an important part of a womans appearance and the symbolic reduction of their ability to nurture.Im still not sure if I buy it. Franco told us, too, of some criticisms of military women that, he thought, were patently unfair. It seems there was an instance, thirty or forty years before the Tercio Amazona was formed, when women in the Federated States Army stationed in one of the hot spots around the planet had deserted their posts in overwhelming numbers because there was a chance that war might break out soon. Worse, much worse, men took off in droves to see to their wives and girlfriends.No wonder they did, said Franco. Theyd never been trained for combat. Why, women at that time, in that army, didnt even fire weapons in basic training. Its perfectly understandable that they ran, though the men should have been shot.That was, obviously, not going to be a problem for us.Naturally, at some point in time the question came up of our being raped if captured. Franco had a pretty good one liner for that: Dont surrender. He didnt let it go at that, though.Look, he said, young men have been having their bodies violated in battle for uncounted millennia. You tell me. In what way is it worse for you to be rapedin a place thats reasonably suited for a somewhat similar purposethan it is for a young man to have a sword, spear or bayonet driven through his belly? How is it worse for you to be raped than it is to be disemboweled by a shell fragment? How many women prefer death to submission to rape? Your own sex has already voted on the question and their answer has been that rape is preferable.I thought of lying under Piedras and tried not to weep. It hurt more that it had been true.*****Don't get the wrong idea; we didnt have these short lectures in any neat, antiseptic classrooms. There werent any outside of the camp. Mostly they werent even formal lectures, but just little bits of food for thought Franco would throw to us from time to time. Usually, they tended to come just before or just after we had to do something really miserable, painful, or dangerous.Once, for example, near the end of basic, we did a thirty mile road march with full combat equipment and supplies in twelve hours. It was part of our graduation exercise. We knew that the equivalent march for the men was forty miles in fifteen hours, longer and a little faster. A lot of our training was like that: something less than the men had to do. Ive thought about that a lot over the years. Did this gender-norming (thats what they called it) mean we were inferior to men, that we could never be equal?That depends, in large part, on what you think the purposes of physical training are in an army. Sure, some of it is building strength, stamina, and endurance. But that isnt its whole purpose, nor even most of it. My sisters who died on Cerro Mina, andlater onin other places, were equal to, better than, most men in every important way, even if they couldnt march as fast. And that isnt just regimental pride speaking.Think about battle; I have. A terrifying thing, no? But what is terrifying about it? The chance of painful death or mutilation. The fear of failing your friends and yourself.Think about fear; I have. I have known fear unimaginable when I was just a girl. I overcame it, as my sisters did. How? Discipline, dedication, determination, morale, courage...call it, character.And that is what our physical training was mostly about; building those thingscharacter buildingthrough pain. We suffered on marches, we suffered on runs, our hands bled from digging. And all of this we did, essentially, to ourselves becausebeyond a certain point, and corporals boots or centurions sticks notwithstandingit just isnt possible to make someone take one more step, dig one more shovel full of dirt, if that person wont do it on his or her own. (I read later that the ancient Greeks and Romans almost never used slaves to row their warships because free citizens could and would do a lot more work on their own than a slave would under the lash.)You see, it wasnt all that important that we couldnt march as far as men. It was that they had to march farther, faster, than we did to suffer as much; to build as much character.Franco told us, after that march, Sure we created different standards for you than men have. Youre easier to hurt. You dont need as much effort for the same pain.That was true enough, but it wasnt the whole truth. Moral considerations may be three times more important, but they arent all-important. There are some objective factors that go into the equation, as well. Its a balancing act, I suppose. So far as I know, we are the only army, at least in recent times, that has found something like a proper balance where women are concerned.Ive since had a chance to read about some other armies and how they tried, and generally failed, with making real soldiers of women. Naturally, the Tercio newsletter, Hippolyta, has articles on just that in almost every issue. You should read some of them.Although, to be honest, Hippolyta can be pretty damned smug when comparing foreign failures with our success. Still, we do have some reason to be a little smug.Take Secordia, for example. About thirty years before us, they opened up all branches of their military service, and all organizations, to women, including the infantry. A great blow for womens rights? Not exactly. You see, Secordia had previously unified their armed forces. There was no separate navy, air force and army. So a women supply clerk in what had been the Secordian Navy could easily find herself moved to be a supply clerk in an infantry maniple of the Secordian Highlanders, and some did. No big deal, you think? Try to imagine yourself as a plump, comfortable supply clerk on a plump, comfortable ship. Then put yourself out in a Secordian winter in an unheated leaky tent, or maybe no tent. They had some serious morale problems.And when they tried to put women right into the infantry? Oh, sister, was that a disaster! The Secordian trainers didnt gender norm anything for those women. One hundred and one women started infantry training. Ninety-eight failed outright. Of the other threethe ones who had to go through the course twice to passonly one passed and shemaybe because she was the only woman in her unitleft as soon as her enlistment was up. Frankly, I have a sneaking suspicion that the male Secordian soldiers may have eased up on that one woman who made it to ensure that they wouldnt be forced to gender norm anything, while discouraging any more women from volunteering. And no, repeat no, women volunteered to become regular enlisted infantry in Secordia after that fiasco for years.They had a little more apparent success with putting women in artillery and armor. I say apparent because the success was more apparent than real. Want to know how many women actually ended up serving guns and tanks in the regular Secordian Armed Forces? Exactly...none. They did fire direction computing for the artillerya dead end job, by the way, in a really modern army, though it still has some future in ours. In the armored corps they drove light armored cars, not real tanks. They did not do the heavy work. And they were mostly despised by the men because of it.Despised by the men? Maybe not as individuals. But certainly the professionals down south were disgusted enough by having women thrust upon them without any real thought having been put into the very real problems those professionals knew they would have. Complaints were loud and unceasing...So was more than occasional active sabotage of the women in their military...That wasnt a problem for us. Since our men didnt risk having their worlds turned upside down by women warriors, they could help us rather than trying to ruin us. And, in retrospect, I must say that they really did help us...if only to help ourselves.Other armies had been more pragmatic; and more successful. The Cochinese, during the war there, had made considerable use of women, even as infantry. Not being subservient to the politically and socially dogmatic and militarily ignorant, the Cochinese had put the women in their ownall femalecompanies. Theyd done pretty well, too, as long as they lasted. They took casualties, naturally, and women willing to fight are fairly rare, hard to replace. Pregnancy was a big problem, too, one weve solved partly by stringent social pressures and partly by requiring that women serving and not on maternity leave have implanted contraceptives.Do I seem unsympathetic? Look, I was a woman serving in a combat organization where there were no men to take up the slack left by a pregnant woman. And I couldnt.*****Garcia was sometimes almost human to us. I dont mean just to an individual; I mean to us as a group.We had movies, some nights, when we were out on one of the ranges. No, we never got to see a movie we really wanted to see. As a matter of fact, if they showed us one, it was almost a sure thing that it would be something we really, really didnt want to see. One I remember, in particular, began with a horrifying landing on a hostile beach. They didnt even show us the entire thing; just the first thirty minutes or so. It made me sick; and I wasnt the only one.Garcia had the projector shut off about the time that someone began to throw up noisily. I didnt blame her; the sight of a man carrying his own ripped off arm in one hand while he tried to continue attacking was just too much.Garcia stood in front. Of us he asked, What do you suppose it takes; to do something like those men did?Marta stood to attention and answered, Being dropped on a hostile beach with no way back and no choice, Centurion.Bullshit. Sit down, Bugatti. She sat.Women are supposed to be more emotional, less logical and rational, than men. Is it true, Trujillo?Inez stood and answered, Centurion, I don't know how weve managed to pull off that little piece of propaganda for so long. Its a bald-faced lie. Oh, sure, we can get away with showing our emotions more readily than men do, as readily as we feel like, as a matter of fact, without anyone thinking worse of us for it. Proves nothing. Truth is, we can be, and usually are, damned cold-hearted bitches, very logical and very rational.I thought that was kind of funny, coming from Inez. If there was anybody in the platoon you could count on not to be a cold-hearted bitch, it was generally her...or Cat.Very logical, very rational, Garcia parroted. Shouldnt a soldier be rational, Trujillo? Better yet, you...Fuentes. Shouldnt you be rational?I...I dont know, Centurion.Fair enough. A soldier should be rational, some would say. Up to a point, sure. But a rational army would run away. He paused, meditatively. Okay, thats not quite right. A rational army might not run away. An army entirely composed of completely rational soldiers, however, surely would. Go back to that movie. Did it make sense for those men to get off those boats under fire, then stay in the line of battle, with death or mutilation staring them in the face every second, when there was a perfectly rational alternative, namely surrendering as fast as they could; hiding, at least? Maybe refusing to even get on the boats?It must have, Centurion, to them, at the time.Gloria added, Centurion, a few days ago you told us that an army that runs suffers more loss than an army that stands and fights.Yes, Santiago. And its true. If an army does run its losses will probably be greater than if it had stood fast. But theyll be greater among those who were slower in deciding to run, and slower in running. A really rational soldier, in a really rational army, knowing his or her comrades are also more or less rational, knowing theyll run at some pointand probably sooner rather than lateris left with only one choice, to run first and let the enemy kill the others so he or she will have time to get away.Inez stood up again. But they usually dont, Centurion. Why not? Men usually dont, he corrected, because being relatively irrational and knowing their comrades are as well, they can afford to wait a little. Almost any man or women might make the decision to run. Normal men will wait longer, irrationally long. Often theyll stick it out long enough to win over the soldiers of an army that are just that much more rational than they are.He sent us to bed then. *****How were they going to make us usefully irrational? Garcia and Franco took care of it in three ways. First, they ran out anybody who was notably selfish, or even notably less than selfless. We had twice monthly peer evaluations. The cadre actually took into account our views on each other. If enough of us marked another woman down as deficient, she generally didnt have long left in the unit. Getting knocked up more than once, and then only with really good reason, usually meant a ticket home...out of the tercio, anyway.The other way was subtle. That it was also fairly vicious goes without saying. It revolved around food. Sometimes Garcia would issue the food for the next daymaybe one hundred and fifty pounds worthto four or five of us. He would forbid anyone else to so much as touch the rations, it all belonged to the ones selected. We werent allowed to break it down or help carry it. So if the rest of us were going to eat, a few girls had to put themselves through hell, lugging our food...selflessly. Garcia gave those girls an exemption from the peer evaluations for a while so they could throw the food away, some of it or all of it, if they werent willing to carry it.The other way was meaner still. He would occasionally chop off food for a day or two, then issue double or triple rations to those who had performed well, none to those who had done poorly. He did not make us share...In fact, he told us not to, making the point stick once by withdrawing the rations from a girl he caught sharing. Well, we shared our food anyway, on the sly, and he smirked behind our backs, I strongly suspect.The point? When someone who is famished will still, irrationally, share food with you or carry it for you, there is a better reason to believe that same someone wont run out on you when the bullets start flying. It was really rather clever, all things considered. Still, we figured out how to deal with it until Garcia made resort to an even nastier variant on the trick.We were standing in formation one morning (you might be surprised how much time you can spend just standing around, in the military), all of us ready to head for the horizon. We really werent looking forward to it, especially as some nasty brand of influenza had been making the rounds of the island and many of us were sick. Franco called the platoon to attention, then turned around to make the morning report to Garcia. Centurion, all present or accounted for... Garcia ordered, Post! Franco marched to a place behind the platoon. (My eyes were locked dead ahead. It wasnt until some months later that I discovered where, precisely, it was that a junior marched to when the leader called, Post.)Garcia then ordered the platoon to open ranks. Once we had, he sauntered along each rank, never saying a word but looking at each of us intently. Sometimes, as with me, hed feel a forehead for temperature. After he had finished with the last rank he ordered us to close up again.Ladies, he began. He usually called us twats, or cunts, or bitches. I had a feeling that ladies was going to turn out a lot worse. Ladies, I have here six cases of rations. This is, as Im sure youre aware, your entire ration for the next two days. He stopped, somewhat melodramatically. Privates Nuez, Galindo, and Miranda, you are to carry two cases each...unless some other should volunteer to carry those two cases in your stead. Without any help from anyone else.He had named the three weakest and sickest among us, the bastardFall in prepared to march in five minutes. Fall out.We fell into a sort of gaggle. Isabel Galindo said, weakly, Ill carry my own. Take care of Lara and Edi. Little Trujillo looked Galindo up and down carefully, then nodded and said, Ill carry Edis. Wholl take care of Laras?Marta spoke just before Cat did. I will. Cat said, Dear, Im in better shape than you. Let me.Maybe so, Catarina. But Im still stronger. Its mine. I think my faith that these were women I could count on in a pinch went up a notch right about then.*****We discovered some other interesting things about ourselves, too...Theres an old saying: Women have no friends, only rivals. It ranks, for truthfulness, right up there with an equivalent mans saying: Never introduce your girlfriend and your best friend. Truth, but maybe not the whole and universal truth.Because there on the island, with no men to compete over, we did develop into real friends, some of us. Have you never noticed how women of merely moderate attractiveness will often gravitate around the leadership of the really beautiful ones? (Maybe thats not true in every country, but its true enough in mine.) And the beautiful ones will be glad to have the merely pretty ones around, because it makes them look even more beautiful by comparison. You might wonder whats in it for the merely pretty. Simplicity itself: They get a little glamour and if they want they can have the cast-offs. I wonder if men will ever realize that the human race is just one big experiment in selective breeding run, since inception, entirely by us.We didnt work that way, though. Whos beautiful when her head is shaved, shes covered with mud, wearing rags, and stinks? Whos beautiful without men to admire her? Nobody. So who takes charge? Those who have an ability thats based on more than looks. Not everybody got the message right away. I only did, myself, after getting some help from a friend.*****Centurion. Private Fuentes, Maria; reporting as ordered.At ease private. Garcia stood in front of me and looked me up and down, carefully, like a surgeon inspecting a diseased organ. Then, without any warning at all he slapped me, right across the face, hard enough to knock me to the floor.On your feet. At ease...Why do you suppose I did that, Fuentes?Though Id managed to get to my feet, and automatically back to attention, I was literally speechless. I didnt answer.I asked a question, Private.I started to blubber, I dont know, Centurion.All right...maybe you really are dense. Your file says no but...you could be. Ill help you. What did I just do?You hit me. For no reason, you bastard. Piedras, at least, had reasons.Did it hurt?Yes.Does it still hurt?I had to answer, No, it doesnt...not as much anyway.Good...good. Now think back a bit. This morning, Santiago dumped a handful of sand and rocks down your drawers. Almost everybody laughed at you. I saw it. Did that hurt then?A little...Centurion.Does it still hurt?Yes...Centurion.What hurts more; your face from my slapping you, or your insides from Santiagos being shitty to you?I took too long about my answer, he knocked me down again, then picked me up, one handed, and set me on my feet.Do you recall when...what was that cunts name...oh, yes, Ramirez. Do you recall when Ramirez made fun of you for being such a midget?I remembered...too well. Again, almost the whole platoon had laughed at me. That still hurt. He let me stand for a bit, then asked, What hurts you more now?He was raising a hand already when I blurted out the answer, That does! Ramirez and Santiago.Very good, Fuentes. You can make value judgments.Then he grew quiet, contemplative for a while. What Im trying to show you, Fuentes...to drive into your little recruit pea brain...is that physical pain goes away fairly quickly. It isnt always something to be avoided. But pains of the heart? They last and last. I want you to leave now and think about this: If you cannot stand up for yourself, you do not have what it takes to stand up for your regiment or your country. Dismissed.I thought, still think, that I was about to be booted. I left there feeling absolutely miserable. It wasnt enough, it seemed, just to follow orders. I wasnt good enough. I was going to be washed out. Too weak...Too accommodating. Too...cowardly. No good. Worthless. A poor woman and a poor mother. A failure...failure...failure.I cant even find the words to tell you how much that hurt.*****There are six leadership positions for the recruits in a training platoon, recruit platoon leader, recruit platoon optio, and four squad leaders. The cadre rotated them every few days to a week, ormore typicallyuntil you screwed up badly enough to be relieved. Gloria was the seventh or eighth one to fill the platoon leaders slot in my platoon. When Centurion Garcia announced her name I would almost swear she had an orgasm. Power does that to some women; some men, too, I understand.I didnt pay a lot of attention to Gloria, though. I was getting ready to pack my bags, emotionally if not in fact. I was sitting on Martas bunk, the lower one, contemplating my misery while looking at a picture of the child I was failing.Fuentes, go clean the latrine, she said to me one day after we had been allowed to move back to the Quonset huts. I didnt answer her, just kept staring at my one picture of Alma...Fuentes, you nasty little puke, go clean the latrine.Id had that duty the day before. Curiously, none of Glorias favorites had pulled anything nasty since shed taken over. Without thinking, I said, Stuff it up your ass, bitch.Now if Marta had told me, or Inez Trujillo, Id have done it, even in the mental state I was in. For one thing, neither of themnor probably any of the other girlswould have spared her special friends.She walked up to me as if she wanted to paste me. I ignored her...But then she pulled my picture of Alma from my hands, tearing it.I tell you, I saw red. It must have shown on my face because Gloria started to back up. She never got far enough away. I sprang to my feet and punched her first, right in the solar plexus. Good training tells. She went ass-down to the floor, gasping like a beached fish. But I didnt stop. I kicked her with booted feet five or six more times. As she fell back completely onto the floor and tried to twist away, I kicked her in the kidneys, just as Id been trained. She didnt have enough air in her lungs to scream, though her face contorted as if she were trying. Another kick rolled her onto her belly. Then I jumped on her back.Marta and Inez pulled me off of her after about the fifth time I smashed her face onto the concrete floor. When Garcia came in he took one look, gave Gloria and myself both three days bread and water, then relieved her and appointed me the next platoon leader.I cannot tell you precisely why, not even now, but I felt good. I mean really, really good after that. It felt so great that I laughed for long enough that the others began to look at me strangely.I lasted as platoon leader for five days, which was about average. I might have done better if I hadnt been so damned hungry.*****We marched or ran pretty much everywhere we went. The only time we rode trucks or buses was when there wasnt time to walk. You may think that was hard on us. Sometimes it was.Other times, though, times when we didnt have to carry anyone elses gear, or had time enough that the pace was more like a regular walk, it was positively enjoyable. We sang: ...If I cant get a man then Ill surely get a parrot, and its oh, dear me, how would it be, if I died an old maid... Or maybe John Henry or Todo por la Patria. Sometimes more warlike songs, too: ...In the streets of the City, the enemys falling, and trixies are crying out, arriba Patria. We had a bunch of really dirty songs, too, but I wont repeat them. Another song we were very fond of was an old, old one. I understand it came here from Old Earth and somehow managed to survive and stay in currency over the centuries, maybe with some changes here and there...It was Apoyate, to the extent that these songs even have titles. Sometimes, when our tails were really dragging on a long run, Marta, Cristina or one of the other, stronger, girls would jump out of the formation and begin to sing, Call for the tercio, well give you a hand...It can really pick you up, when you hear a couple of hundred other human voices crying out, Apoyate, when youre not stro-ong, mi hermanita, Ill help you carry on... It makes you wonder, sometimes, about how much of physical strength is really mental attitude. Anyway, that was a private song. We never sang it where men, outside of our instructors, could hear us. It was only for each girl to strengthen every other...because we never knew just when anyone of us might need a little help.Still, for me, my greatest help was the thought of a little girl back in the city who needed me to succeed. *****The singing was fun. But if you didnt want to join in, usually nobody made you. You could be together on a march, but you could also be alone if you wanted, even in the company of a couple of hundred sisters. And the cadre generally didnt harass us on the march, so long as we kept up. I thinkno, I knowthat that was so we would learn to like to march. And, once your feet, shoulders and back toughened up, there was so much to see and hear on a march. Once, about halfway through a twenty kilometer hump, I heard a sort of...buzzing from the ranks in front of me. I didnt know what it was until I turned a curve and saw it: A waterfall landing in a grove so green I may never see its like again, the water laughing as it splashed on the rocks at its base. A pair of green, gray, and red trixiesgorgeous thingssat on a rock next to the pool, preening themselves. You know, its easier to love your country when your country really is beautiful.One time, I remember too, we marched past a group of young men who were probably about halfway through their own training cycle. Hairless, smelly, and dirty as we were, they still watched us march by with the expressions of a group of starving tigers, looking in a butcher shop window.Out of pure meanness we sang the sexiest, filthiest, song we knew. It had some really great sound effects, notably that of several hundred women faking an orgasmin cadence: Uhh...Uhh...Oh...Ah...Uhh...Uhh...Oh...Ah!InterludeThe meeting was in one of the larger conferences rooms at headquarters, on the Isla Real, near the airfield. The trainers from the Tercio Gorgidas had come in two buses, which remained parked outside the white stone building that had once been headquarters for the entire Legion. There was also a lot of what had been senior officer housing there, too, in the same general area. Most of that was filled by tribunes and sergeants major, now, what with most of the senior positions having moved to the mainland. On the parade field the headquarters and housing surrounded, a lone Cricket light airplane waited with the engine running on idle. That was Carreras.Carrera said, So give me the truth; how are the women doing?The cadre from the Tercio Gorgidas sat quietly at first. They were loath to admit to Carrera, their Dux Bellorum, that they had problems...Seeing their reticence, Carrera changed his inquiry. Fine. Tell me whats going well.Centurion del Valle answered first. Theyve become good shots.How good?About twelve percent better than an equivalent group of men, del Valle said. But that didnt come free. It took a lot more time and ammunition to get them there...a lot more. Even more than that for the machine guns.So? That would be true for men, too, if wed spent the time and ammo, del Valle finished.Carrera frowned. Can they handle the machine guns, Centurion?Sure...on the tripods, del Valle answered. Firing from the bipods or hip shooting? He put out a hand and wriggled his fingers. So, so...at best. And when we load em down with a full combat load; guns, tripods, spare barrel and ammunition? It takes three of them to carry what two of us can. And those three have a tougher time of it.Carrera wrote something in a note book. What about if we changed their weapons from 6.5 millimeter to something smaller, say 5.5? We could buy them special weapons that would be lighter, couldnt we? Carrera didnt wait for an answer. No...I suppose not. Then theyd be the only ones with those calibers. Make resupply kind of tough. All right; whats the real problem?Franco stood to answer. Sir...sir, we hate this shit! And we dont know what were doing, not really. So were gay? We dont hate women, any of us. We had mothers, sisters...women weve loved. And we are sick to death of being so damned...rotten to these girls.Carrera answered, Tough. Franco shrugged. Garcia reached up a hand to pull him back to his seat, then stood himself.Sir, what my partner just said? Its true enough. Well all be happy when there are enough trained women that we can turn it all over to them. But whats really getting us is that were failing. What works for men just isnt working right for them. Theyve formed little cliques and friendships, yes. But theyve got no esprit, no sense of being part of an important community thats greater than any individual. Theyre just little groups and pairs of friends. Oh sure, they look from the outside like theyre bonding the way soldiers should. They sing well together, for what thats worth. But they don't seem to feel like a maniple of men would towards each other. Or if they do, we cant tell.Could they fight?No, sir. Not yet. Maybe never.Crank up their training.Chapter FiveWhat does not destroy us, strengthens us.NietzscheIt seemed that Size Did Matter.No matter how the Gorgidas trained them; no matter how hard the women tried; it looked like they were never, never, never going to be quite (read: nearly) as strong as even an average group of men. They couldnt march as far; as fast; or carrying as heavy a load. All the will in the world didnt make a gnats ass of difference. Technology didnt help much either; its a truism that, in total, modern high technology had not succeeded in reducing by so much as half an ounce the load on a foot soldiers back, just the opposite. Caesars centurions would have mutinied over some of the loads a foot soldier of the late 20th and early 21st centuries had to carry, on Old Earth, and things had not turned out any differently on Terra Nova. Too intent on seeing only what it wanted to see, modern, egalitarian feminism simply refused to see that.Still, there were some compensating factors. When the final scores were tallied it turned out the women actually were better shots, on average, than men. That wasnt entirely a natural phenomenon. Their ammunition allocation had been twice that of male recruits. The women spent about twice as much time on the rifle range as the men did. This was true for all classes of training ammunition: the women had twice as many hand grenades to throw, twice as many anti-tank rocket rounds, twice as many pounds of demolitions. Carrera had put out the word before the tercio had even been formed: if the women couldnt carry as much they had to make better use of what they could carry. And that meant more training, which meant more ammunition for training.He had helped them in other ways too. All the men were issued jungle boots; canvas, plastic and leather. Carrera spent a lot of money on lighter weight footwear for the women, more or less high top sneakers, though they looked about the same. Their rucksacks? The same story. The rest of the force made do with standard, heavy packs. After the first few weeks, the women were given better; the latest in carbon fiber frames with hip belts to take some of the load off their shoulders.Still, there wasnt much that could be done with most of the equipment. Radios were heavy, a big surprise for those whod never carried one for twenty miles. The same was true for night vision devices and the batteries to run them. And Carrera was adamant; the women were not going to be assigned men to do the heavy work for them; it was all on themselves, sink or swim.Machine guns? They had what everybody else had for a light machine gun; the M-26. This was a good gun though it went through ammunition at an incredible rate. The Amazons had to have them, or something just like them. A real machine gun can be made lighter but it needs to fire a heavy, high power bullet to do its job. Putting a heavy bullet in a light machine gun makes it damned hard to fire, nearly impossible to keep on target. And if men had trouble controlling the M-26and they sometimes didit could only have been worse for women, being not as heavy or strong, to control something that, being lighter, kicked even worse.The heavier .34 and .41 caliber machine guns were almost impossibly heavy, between themselves, their tripods, and their brass-cased ammunition. Of course, the .41 caliber guns were too heavy for men to tote, also.Water weighs the same for everyone. And the women needed about as much of it.The biggest thing Carrera did to help them was, eventually, to make their squads and platoons bigger than the mens. Fourteen or more women per squad compared to eleven for the men, not even counting the overstrength the Tercio Amazona would have later on to allow some women to take maternity leave.Of course, since an infantry units firepower is mostly in its heavy weapons, and since the Amazons had just the same number of heavy weapons as a mans unit did, one could say that they werent such a bargain...The government had to pay an Amazon squad almost thirty percent more than it did a squad of men, for no greater firepower.But all the things done to try to cut down on the womens load just compensatedand that only partlyfor lack of physical strength. If they were going to make it in a traditionally male worldthe world of warthey had to be stronger in character than men to make up for being weaker in body. And firepower wasnt everything...theres heart, too. *****Cocksuckers, Marta said, under her breath as she lifted another shovelful of dirt out of the fighting position she and Maria were building. She meant the corporals, sergeants and centurions, of course. How many fucking holes do they fucking think we have to fucking dig to know how to dig a fucking hole?Not more than two hundred meters away both Franco and Garcia, along with five or six sergeants and corporals, were clustered around a big bunker, a real concrete bomb shelter. A couple more corporals stood to either side of the platoon position. These corporals, likewise, were just lounging around. The cadre were leaving the women pretty much alone, just watching quietly from a distance.Later, all the women would curse themselves for not catching the hint that something really special was planned. In fairness though, most were too tired to think about much besides the blisters on their hands and their aching backs. These were much more significant than some holes, maybe eight inches in diameter, that dotted the ground they were digging into. Even the heavy-duty cables that ran from the big bunker to the holes remained unremarked. The women were supposed to be preparing to defend against an attack by tanks, supported by artillery. Theyd even been issued anti-tank munitions and minestraining types that wouldnt really kill a tank but made a flash and bang and some smokeand some dummy satchel charges.With a grunt Cat and Maria dropped the log theyd been carrying next to Marias and Martas fighting position. They would much preferred to have chopped up their pricks for the overhead cover. There was no chance of that, though.Maria had heard Marta. It would have been hard not to have heard. She took a labored breath before answering; How many? I guess until we do it right. Cat and Maria then turned back towards the woods to get another log for the hole Cat shared with Inez.Cocksuckers, Marta repeated.Over her shoulder, Maria called, Thats no big secret, Martaand this distinguishes them from you and I precisely how? Cat giggled.Marta just grunted with the strain of another load of dirt.When Maria came back, she took Martas place on the shovel while Marta and Inez went for more logs. The women spent the better part of the day like that, switching off digging and cutting and carrying. Eventually, they had all built pretty fair fighting positions. They even had solid overhead cover. It was just after an early evening chow that Centurion Garcia blew his whistle and called them together. Marta figured that it would be just another ass chewing for not building their positions as perfectly as Garcia thought they should be.Marta was wrong.We have a special treat for you today, ladies, Garcia began...All the women shivered when he said it. Ladies meant something very bad was in store.In about ten minutes you had better be in those holes you dug, and youd better pray your overhead cover is good. Because were going to shell you silly and then some tanks are going to try to crush those little logs and bury you alive...of course well dig you out if theres time but...He blew his whistle again and those corporals on either side of the platoon began to run through the area. A couple of jeeps followed. The corporals were pulling igniters and tossing charges to either side. Some of the corporals were placing smaller chargesmaybe one pounders, or a little moreon top of and around every fighting position the women had built. Some charges were on fuse delay, others they hooked up to leads running from the thick cables.No, Garcia answered the unasked question. I said shell and I meant with real artillery. The other stuff is cheaper, though, so were supplementing the shells with regular demo charges. Now get to your holes...And remember what youve been taught about taking out tanks. Beckoning to his followers, Garcia began to walk nonchalantly to the big bunker. Maria and Marta exchanged wide eyed looks. Then the women ran for their lives.And dont move my demo charges, Garcia called to their fleeing backs.Maria and Marta were almost to their holes when the first shells landed; maybe one hundred and fifty, maybe two hundred meters to their front. There were only three of them, three shell bursts spewing ugly, ragged columns of earth into the air. Even though muffled by subsurface detonation, the blasts made Marias insides ripple in a way that was both indescribable and very, very unpleasant. The sensation made Marta want to throw up, and she was used to having her internal organs pushed around some.By the time they had squeezed through the rear entrance ports and fallen in a tangled heap at the holes muddy bottom there were another six explosionscloser; they could feel that. Then came nine more, closer still. After those three volleys, each one getting closer to them, a different firing battery took over. The women neither knew nor cared who was pounding them. In fact, the first had been 85 millimeter guns. The ones who took over fired 122 millimeter shells, nine per volley. These last were also firing on delay fuses: they went off after sinking a few feet into the ground. If one had actually been permitted to land near one of the womens holes the dirt sides would have been blown in on them which would probably have proven fatal.The cadre did this to give the women the illusion of fire coming closer and closer. In fact none of the guns ever fired any closer than seventy-five meters. Which was still dangerous. Part of the danger was mitigated by having the guns fire from the side, parallel to the womens line of fighting positions.Unseen, Garcia nodded to Franco. Franco turned a safety key in a large metal battery box and began flipping little switches. With each flip of a switch one or a number of demolition charges started going off around the women. In their holes they cried and quivered and vomited andmore than a fewshit themselves. Marta screamed when a one pound charge atop the little bunker went off. So did Maria. Once the demo charges had almost all been fired the guns split their fire so that half was falling behind the women, half in front. Then, as the last of the demolitions, the ones that were on slow burning fuses, were going off, all the fire shifted to fall behind them. By then Marta had started to cry, great hopeless wracking sobs. She blubbered a lot of things, too, that she probably wished she hadnt...private things. She took a sniff and sobbed too about the smell of feces wafting up from her soiled uniform.The really bad part, though, was when she tried to run away. Marta didnt just have bigger breasts than most; she was big in general, strong, too. Maria saw her start to scramble out of their hole. For a minuteit seemed like an eternity but may have been only half a second: a minute is fair compromiseMaria just froze. Then she grabbed Martas combat harness and held on for dear life: Martas.Marta fought, she struggled. She called Maria just about every name in the book. Hanging onto Martas combat harness, Maria screamed, Stupid bitch, I am NOT letting you go out into that!Finally, Marta just collapsed, sobbing again, saying over and over that she was sorry. And the two held each other, there in the bottom of that muddy stinking hole in the Earth, as the barrage seemed to roll on past them. Between blasts Maria bantered in Martas ear, You know how time flies ...KABOOM... when youre having fun? Well ...KABOOM... it can really drag when ...KABOOM... youre having no fun at all ...KABOOM... This barrage cant ...KABOOM have lasted as long as five minutes, maybe six at the outside ...KABOOM... but it seems longer doesnt it? Marta paid no attention. Then Maria heard the tanks...barely. *****Tanks are impressive, no doubt about it. And any soldier who wants to die in her sleep will treat them with a healthy respect. But they can be beaten. The women had already been taught how.*****Yes, that instructor had told them the previous week, tanks are bigger than you. Theyre faster than you. Theyve got more firepower than you. And theyve got a lot more protection than the shirts you girls are wearing.But let me tell you a little secret: tankstheir crews, I meanare as afraid of you as you are of them. Trust me, Im a tanker. I know.The instructor looked over the platoon and singled out Inez, it was always a great entertainment for him to see how it was the little ones who liked tanks the most. Come up here, young lady. All the others gaped in disbelief when he reached a hand down to help her up. That was something their usual instructors would never do, implying as it did the possibility those girls really were human beings. Young lady, the instructor asked, how thick is the armor on top of this tank? Inez looked at him uncomprehendingly.Well, reach in through the hatch and try to feel how far apart your hands are when the armor is between them. She did and then announced that the top armor was no more than a half inch thick. He had her do the same with the side of the turret, which was several times thicker, but still not all that thick.Thats the first weakness: our real armor is only in front. On the sides, the rear, the top deck; the armor is positively weak. Oh, sure; its good enough to keep shell fragments and bullets out. But a shaped charge in the hands of a good grunt will blow a hole right through; causing our wives and children to receive a With deepest sorrow letter from Presidente Parilla. Thats why we insist on having our own infantry in close support; to take care of enemy grunts; at least keep their damned heads down.That should give you a hint. Whats the first thing you have to take care of to defeat tanks? You, girl. He pointed at Maria.The enemys infantry? she ventured.Right in one. But why?So they cant shoot us when we go after the tanks. Almost right, chica. But your answer implies that its their guns that protect the tanks. Thats only partly right. Ill give you another hint. Whats the most important part of your body when using your rifle?He gave her a few seconds to think. She went down the list of organs and senses but rejected most of them outright. Finally Maria had it narrowed down to her trigger finger and her eyes, then decided that eyes were more important. She said so.Just so Private...?Fuentes, Centurion. Maria Fuentes.Private Fuentes. You are just right. Because that is the big weakness on the tank. We cant see shit from inside those things. Strip off our infantry; cut out most of our eyes; cut out the ability to get precise fire in small doses to protect ourselves. She didnt really pay perfect attention to what he said next; she was marveling that a man in uniform and authority had just called her something besides bitch or twat, or lady in a tone that implied the same thing....are particularly vulnerable. Thats something that hasnt improved a bit since the Great Global War. The same chargesatchel or land minethat would break the treads on a tank of sixty years ago will do the same to a tank today.And the engines? We arent submarines. Tanks require oxygen in vast quantities to keep the engines going; oxygen that has to come from the air around us. Cut that off; we stop dead. Then you can kill us; because a tank that isnt moving is dead meat to good infantry. Okay, move into the classroom behind you.Maria hesitated...which the centurion saw. Something bothering you, chica?She stood to attention, hesitated, then asked, Centurion...how come you are so...ah...polite to us? No one else has been.He smiled briefly, then answered, You arent going to my unit, girl. So I have nothing against any of you. So what does a little politeness cost? It might be different if there was some chance that you women might be mixed in with regular, male organizations. I understand that in the armies that have tried that there is often a vast resentment of women soldiers on the part of the men, partly because the men end up doing nearly twice as much heavy work, and partly because some women will...ah...sell themselves, frankly. But you girls? Youre not going to harm me or mine any.Oh...I see. Yes. Now trot your cute little buns into the classroom.Si, Centurio. She smiled fetchingly; the habits of a lifetime die hard. The Centurion smiled back until a warning glance from Garcia, standing nearby, turned his face to a scowl.Now GO, girl. Maria went. In the classroom the women were shown a film, Hombres Contra Tanques. Men Against Tank. This work showed a number of interesting ways to earn a medal for valor, most likely posthumously. Then the women had to go through a number of those ways themselves, using small charges, gasoline bombsthey were told those were called Molotov Cocktailsmines and more formal anti-tank weapons. Inez had taken considerable interest in the film. Cat had said, Uh, uh. Perhaps she thought she had a choice.*****The girls waited in holes for tanks to run over them, then leapt up to toss satchel charges on their decks. Yes, they were very, very small satchel charges, with several pounds of dirt added to make them as heavy as the real thing. As the charges were heavy, it took a fair amount of practice to learn to swing them just right by their straps. In pairs they used ropes to pull practice mines back and forth across the ground to line them up on a tank that was moving forward. They manufactured and then tossed live Molotov Cocktails on towed tank hulks back decks. This usually didnt work.This was, by no means, the toughest drill taught them. *****Franco, serving as coach, squatted in a ditch by the side of a dirt road.Next to him, Inez Trujillo lay panting. A pair of tanks waited around a bend in the road, a few hundred meters away, revving their engines menacingly. She was scared nearly witless.In her hands, clutched in front of her, she had a twelve pound sticky satchel charge. It, too, was mostly dirt, not explosive. Tanks are too expensive to blow up as training aids.She reminded herself, The trick is that the tank cant see mierda. So the hunter waits until its within twenty meters. Then, in the three seconds you have between the driver losing sight of where you will be and the tank crushing where you have been, you leap into the middle of the road and lie down right in front of the monster. Timing things carefully, you pull the igniter, stick the bomb to the underside or suspension of the tank, let it finish rolling over you, then, covered by the dust cloud, roll back to the ditch before the following tank can see you.Then: BOOM!Franco made a call on a small radio he carried. The menacing mechanical roar around the bend picked up and was joined by the squeaking of treads, worse than an infinity of nails on an infinity of blackboards. Inez spotted the long barrel of a tank pushing past the trees. Her tremors grew worse, exacerbated by the shaking of the ground from the metal monsters roll. She saw the barrel swing over towards her, roughly parallel to the road. There was still more squeaking as the tank pivot-steered at the bend. And then the barrelall she could really seewas moving in her direction...As the tanks neared, the little pebbles by her dirt-pressed face began to jump up and down. That vibration grew steadily worse. Then the muzzle of the tanks cannon was about twenty meters from her position. Inez braced herself for her leap.Franco slapped her ass and shouted, Go!Inez made a nimble, quick jump onto the road, then flopped to her belly and rolled. The roll was uneven, deliberately so, to get her in line with it and with the tanks movement. She ended up on her back, precisely as she should have. Frantically, she tore away the tape that covered the sticky part of the satchel charge. By the time she had that off, the tanks treads had enveloped her, grinding the dirt to both sides. She pulled the ring of the igniter and was rewarded with a crack more felt than heard, followed by a small puff of smoke. Shaking, she slammed the charge, sticky side first, against the hull. Then the tank was past her and, gasping for breath, she made another leap for the ditch, hitting and rolling into its warm embrace. A few seconds later she heard the muffled boom that said her charge had gone off.Franco patted her shoulder. Leaning down next to her ear he shouted, Good job, girl!Exhaling, Inez thought, Damn; that was fun.Standing atop the tank, Garcia had seen everything but what had gone on underneath it. He thought, Fine, character-building exercise this is. Though as a combat technique it strikes me as barely better than nothing...*****Gloria couldnt do it. She wouldnt get out into the road. Once, even, Garcia had to rip the sticky bombit did have half a pound of trinitrotoluene in itfrom her hands and toss it away, hunching one shoulder against the blast as he fell back to earth. Few noticed that Garcia threw his own body over Glorias before the explosive went off. Then he hauled her to her feet and slapped her to the ground with a curse.Long after the rest of the women had passed the test, Garcia was still working with Gloria. Exasperated, he finally ended up having her lie right down in the road, with him standing on her back, while the tank rolled upon them. At the last second he would jump aside. She still wouldnt, or couldnt, ignite the bomb and stick it to the tank. Time ran out before Garcia gave up.*****The best part was when the instructors let the women ride the tanks on the inside. That Centurion-Instructor had told the truth, they saw: Tankers were blind compared to infantry. Sure, the latest ones might have been able to see right through fifteen feet of sand to spot a hot tank engine. They couldnt see a cool foot soldier behind a tree or a wall, or in a trench. The women learned; the women saw. And when they had to use those little vision blocks? Once a foot soldier got within fifty or sixty feet of a tank, or it got that close to them, the tank couldnt see them. It was as if the tank were like a man, a quadriplegic, whose head and eyes are locked straight to the front and on the level. And they learned that even if a tank could see them it couldnt depress the main gun or the coaxial machine gun. An instructor said, however, Dont get too cute, girls, because it can still run you over in the open, and the muzzle blast from the main gun can kill or maim, knock the hell out of you, anyway. But even a small hole in firm soilthe smaller the better, actuallycan protect you from that somewhat.***** The roar of the tank engines grew noticeably louder. Marta, Maria shouted, Marta, come on. Get ready! The tanks are coming.Marta looked blankly for a moment, then asked, Tanks?Tanks, Maria shouted again, then slapped Martas face. That got through to her. Her face came alive. She reached for her rocket launcher and started to stick her head up to fire.No! Wait! Let them pass. You can take em from the rear. Marta nodded her understanding, whispering, That would be nice for a change.Both women crouched down in their hole with the roar of the tanks engines and the squeal of the treads drawing ominously nearer. The tanks began firing their machine gunsat the ground between the positions, but also right over their heads. Some girls later swore they had heard bullets strike the berm in front of their hole! They were right.One hundred and twenty-five millimeter shells from the tanks main guns buried themselves in the dirt between positions before exploding with gut crunching force. The sound grew so loud the girls could barely stand it. It wasnt as loud as the artillery had been, but it was somehow much more personal.Then the hole became very dark. God, the damned things right on top of us! Maria gripped Marta to give her a little comfort, and perhaps to take some, too. You would never have gotten a kill with a frontal shot! Let it pass, Maria shouted again. Why not? The tank couldnt hear her.But it didnt pass, not right away. *****Were right on top of them, Sergeant, announced the tanks driver over the intercom.Good. Pivot steer! Lets give em the time of their lives.With a chuckle, the driver began twisting the tank back and forth, side to side, grinding Marias and Martas position in on them.Teach them to be a little more careful about camouflage in front of their position, wont it, Sergeant?Yeahteach em a few other things too.Sergeant? the gunner asked.Yes, Gunner?If they had been better camouflaged from in front I couldnt have fired the main gun without maybe killing them.I knew where their positions were, Pablo, the tank commander said. We watched as they were building. I wouldnt have let you hit a hole, or even get too near one. The grinding is punishment for bad camo.OhI see.*****Beneath the thrashing treads, dirt and bits of wood filtered down onto Marta and Maria. They coughed in air made suddenly rank with diesel fumes and dust. When a log fractured, it made a crack they could feel in their bones more than hear with their ears. After another eternity of terror the tank moved on, more dirt flying from behind the treads and splattering down on them.Now, Marta! Now, Maria screamed. Marta hesitated not a moment, she wanted revenge for what theyd just been through.Marta risked a quick look to their front. (Yes, risked; bullets had been flying overhead.) Maria guessed there hadnt been any more tanks or supporting infantry, because Marta turned around and fired almost immediately. The boom and flash of the backblast was followed by a shriek of frustration. A miss.Maria handed over another rocket from their little store of them. Marta twisted it onto the front of her launcher and took aim again. The backblast sent more crud and smoke into their position.Give me another one, Marta demanded. Maria passed over the last rocket. This time Marta was very careful; Maria could see that from the deliberate way she loaded and the deliberate firing stance she took. This gave Maria time to join her, just her head sticking up from the hole. They saw the tank that had just savaged them moving away. It was firing its machine gun off into the distance. Easy and careful, sister, Maria shouted in her ear. Marta nodded, took a deep breath, let some of it out, and fired. The rocket sped straight and true. It hit the tank right on the back grill. A big column of orange smoke filled the air behind it.From the command bunker Franco noticed the tank had been hit. He radioed the crew to tell them so...and to tell them how. The tank slewed to a stop, the hatch flying open. One by one the turret crew emerged. Then they were joined on the back deck by the driver. Marta and Maria, and the tank crew, just stared at each other for a minute, a degree of disbelief on all five faces. One of the tankersMaria guessed he might have been the TC, the tanks commanderbegan to applaud. The rest of the men joined him. Marta blushed scarlet when they shouted out, Well done, girls! Well done. The tank commander threw them a ragged and friendly salute. Then, with a wave, the men reboarded their tank, cranked the engine, and drove off.Just about then the Centurions whistle blew. Marta and Maria ran to where the platoon was assembling. Before they fell in on Garcia they heard a soundagain, barelythat made them look behind. Inez Trujillo was sitting on Gloria, slapping her repeatedly, back and forth, across the face, while Cat looked on with disapproval on her face. It was sort of funny; this little thing beating on someone more than a head taller. None of the cadre interfered in the slightest.Heart doesnt come easy.*****That night Marta approached the girl who had saved her life. Maria, Im sorry for what I said to you. And...Im sorry for collapsing like that.Its okay, Marta. Everyone has their...little moments. And your vocabulary was certainly...ah...enlightening.Marta said nothing for a while, just kept staring down at the ground. I learned the vocabulary in the biggest and best whorehouse in the capital of La Plata, she said, eventually. Then it all came out in a rush. How shed gotten pregnant at fourteen, been thrown out of the house, met a pimp. Done everything.I lost the baby, the ability to have a baby, when a customer beat me up, but by then it was too late to do anything else. I was...contaminated. Maria, I learned to hate myself even more than I hated my customers.I learned to loath every part of me. Drugs? Oh, yes. Hunuco, mostly. Some marijuana and hashish. Opium. A lot of alcohol. When I was twenty I tried to figure out how many people had had a piece of me. It was over seven thousand. I wondered what could be left of me, with so many having taken a little away each.Then a recruiter came from the classis. He wasnt looking for sailors, not where I worked, but for sea whores to service the fleet off the coast of Uhuru, during the anti-pirate campaign the Yamatans paid for. I went with another girl, my special lover, Jaquelina.Seeing the confused look on Marias face, Marta added, Yeah, I can go both ways. But I wasnt in love with Jaquelina because she was a girl but because of the person she was. We both signed up because we figured we could get away from the pimps; make a bundle; and maybe we could start over fresh somewhere.Anyway, they needed some girls who were really obviously girls to be bait on a small boat. Jaquelina and I signed up, mostly for the bonus they offered. We ended up fighting, because our boat took a bad hit. We got a couple of medals...Youve got a medal? Maria asked. Marta just nodded.Anyway, eventually my lover was killed. The womans voice broke for a moment. She swallowed to get control of it. I tried to stick it out with the classis, but the memories were just too bad. So, when this came up, I volunteered for it to get away from those memories.If Im killed here it wont be so bad. Nobody will miss me. But I cant fail. Thank you, for helping me not fail.Marta started to cry again. Maria began to gather her into her arms, saying, Marta, I would miss you. Im going to hug you now. If you yell at me or push me away, I will punch you in the face and then hug you...Understand? Marta stiffened at first at being pulled into Marias shoulder. Then she relaxed, softening into the other, while continuing to cry. *****What the women needed wasnt just individual heart; they needed something called esprit de corps. Men get it; develop it easily, in fact.. After all, the boy gang is one of only two spontaneously occurring human organizations.And that was one area where the Gorgidas cadre couldnt help much. They knew how to build it in a male unit, straight or otherwise. Its pretty easy for them. Take any average group of males (well, Franco had once told them not any group; in much of the world men usually couldnt develop real esprit de corps; most of them were not capable of even conceiving of loyalty to someone or something who isnt a blood relation or a body of blood relations); put them in positions of fair equality, give them competent leadership; add stress, misery, danger and excitement to taste: voilaesprit de corps. Having them compete against other groups of men helped quite a bit, too. *****The big advantage, Franco had said, in one of his frequent, informal lectures, that men have is that theyre much more emotional, far less coldly rational, than women are.Women don't really like to compete at, so to speak, manly things. What does conquest mean to them? What does being better at something than someone else mean, if it isnt innately womanly? How does it make any of you more of a woman that you can march, shoot, destroy? Not your job, so to speak.And it isnt, he continued, that women are incapable of loyalty to something besides themselves. They are loyal: To children, almost always, husbands, usually, parents, generally, societies and nations...thats slightly less common but by no means unheard of.Most modern feminist literature tends to ignore the whole question. Instead, feministslike Sylvia Torres, for examplewant to concentrate only on individual achievements, abilities, and strengths. Which is why those views are uselessto you. Note they never seriously talk about womens weaknesses. Its as if they cant even conceive of the difference between battle and peacetime pursuits. Perhaps they really cant understand that battle is a social event, conducted by groups, and in which the cohesion of groups matters much more than individual prowess.Worse, its as if theylike many of the men in the worldcant even conceive of the benefits and need of that peculiar form of semi-insane groupthink: Esprit de corps. *****Not all lectures were informal. The women sang with feeling, Miseria, Miseria... as they filed into the dank and musty shed. Under its shade, buttocks pressed down uncomfortably into the rough wood chips intended to cushion the fall of the women as they learned to fight hand to hand. Franco spoke. You girls know a little more now about battle than you did once. Let me tell you some more.A man is not braver than a woman is; She who faces death by torture for each life beneath her breast. The Catholic Church has lists of female martyrs miles long.He made a hand signal and a picture of a young girl, hanging, neck broken, frozen with shirt ripped off and breasts disfigured ,shone from one wall.Rather more recently, there was this girl. We dont know her name. We do know she was hanged by the Sachsens during the Great Global War for sabotage. She was captured, tortured, and then hanged because she wouldnt give any up information. That was bravery equal to any mans.Tsk-tsk.But, unfortunately, she proves not a damned thing about womens bravery in battle; in groups.None of you have been to war, Franco observed. I have. Twice, actually, against both the Sumeris and the Pashtians. So trust me in this. Imagine a battle between a group of women and a group of men. Remember this is not a drill. Bullets are flying; shells scattering razor sharp shards of steel in all directions. People are screaming; some in anger, more in pain.There are a few individualsmen and women both, transcendentally motivatedwho ignore all that, fight on despite danger. There are also some who cower and hide; and you cant really blame them, though you just might have to shoot them later. For the rest, thoughthe relative sheep, like most peoplethey only stay the course because they care about their comrades, and their comrades good opinions, more than they care about themselves.Franco turned and pointed to Gloria. Chica, when was the last time you cared if somebody thought you were brave...or tough...or disciplined? Do not answer. Just think about it. Women are far less likely to care about someones opinion of them when that opinion does not concern something that is essentially womanly.He concluded, More than lack of physical strength, more than health, far, far more than courage; it is this that is your greatest obstacle.*****To give the cadre credit, they did try to find the key. And they did run off any girls who seemed incapable of eventually making their unit their primary source of self-identification. They also, naturally, dumped those whose lack of competence could degrade the unit, thereby making it considerably more likely that the rest of the women would develop esprit. They let stay none of the slackers, nor that one thief, nor those who couldnt or wouldnt learn to shoot...nor those who were too afraid.Once, the Cadre even let the girls see a male infantry training maniple at close range, just for a few hours. They wanted them to see how things were supposed to be. That was very strange to the women. The men were jocular, content with themselves and with each other. And they exuded a sense of mass brotherhood the girls had never seen or felt before. They knew, in a way that the women didnt yet, that any man in that maniple could count on any other to fight by his side, and never to desert him.*****The cadre tried all sorts of things, some quite bizarre, to help the women learn the way things were supposed to be. Once, for example, they showed a movie, entitled Kirti, dubbed into Spanish, about a tercio of Hindu soldiers in the Federated States Army during their Formation War. The girlsmost of themthought it was a pretty good movie, actually, though very sad at the end. A number cried when all the great characters theyd learned to like as the movie progressed were killed in a hopeless, desperate attack, an attack theyd volunteered to make. The story, they were told, was mostly true.That evening, after chow, they had discussed it with Franco.He said, It was, in fact, the battle actions of this mostly Hindu regiment that had led directly to massive opening up of military service to Hindus, which had gone a long way towards winning the war for the side that did so. Of course, the world being the way it is, the Hindus remained in their own units for nearly a century after that.Inez commented, Seems kind of unfair, Centurion...keeping them apart like that. Bound to lead to worse treatment. The movie showed us that. Yes, Private, so it seems. Would the world have been a better place, would even those Hindus have been better off, if theyd been integrated with whites from the beginning, but had failed in battle because they didnt like or trust one another? Would a statement in favor of racial integration have been worth maybe losing that war?He answered his own questions. I suppose that depends on whether an aesthetic principle is more important than the success of an ultimate good. Expectations [New Window]
Wear a sword on your belt in public people might look at you funny but what they'll be thinking is that you're a harmless goof wearing a costume. Carry a firearm on your belt in public the cops will be around Real Quick and there will be a lot of higgidly-piggidly.This despite that a fellow who is well trained with a sword can be more lethal than a bloke with a pistol.I understand why this is - swords belong to Ye Olde Days and are seen as toys or relics. Firearms, the teevee reliably informs us, are infernal machines of Death and Destruction.It's just odd that one is seen costume and the other reason to run in circles and cower in fear. While we are waiting for images of Phobos [New Window]
Here's an image from the Mars VMC webcam. Nice.There may not be too many images of Phobos, as the orbiter went behind Phobos so it was all dark anyway. Check the Phobos weblog here. Attack ships, shoulder of Orion, etc. [New Window]
http://ericcoleman.livejournal.com/835715.htmlIs it wrong of me to not be able to listen to certain parts of Tannhauser without thinking "Oh Bwunhilda, yer so wovwey"?Only if it's wrong for me to not be able to read the word 'Tannhauser' without thinking 'I've seen things you people wouldn't believe.' Gym Tips and Etiquette [New Window]
As a 20+ year veteran of the weight room and former competitive powerlifter, I learned a lot about lifting techniques and how to be a good gym rat. Not everybody follows good technique, however, or understands the written and unwritten rules of the weight room. If you've ever wondered what these are, read on.TipsSet goals and keep a record of your progress.Use good form. The best way to hurt yourself or make minimal gains is to use bad form. Execute the proper range of motion for each lift with no contorting, heaving, or jerking. For instance, if you're doing pulldowns, let the bar go all the way up until your arms are straight before you pull it back down again. If you can't lift with good form, then you're using too much weight -- and you're impressing nobody.If you want to get big and strong, gradually work into lower reps and higher weight. (Don't do this if you're just starting out -- your body needs to adjust.) Bodybuilders bulk up in the off-season with powerlifting. If you want to shape and tone, use higher reps and lower weights, which is how bodybuilders prepare for competition.Work your lower-body, too. A big upper-body is great, but you'll look weird if you don't balance it with muscular legs.Unless you're worried about your baby-soft hands, you don't need gloves. I developed a fine set of callouses on my hands and I was proud of them. Use chalk and Stickum if you're worried about grip.Wrist wraps and knee wraps, properly applied, offer much-needed support once you get into some serious weights.Have a spotter for the lifts for which you can't easily dump the weight if you get into trouble, e.g. bench press. A spotter is also helpful for the hand-off and racking the weight.EtiquetteDon't drop or slam your weights down when you're done. Serious powerlifters use a feather touch when replacing weights. Dropping your weights makes you look like you have no control, and it's annoying to other lifters.Don't try to carry on conversations with people while they're lifting.Don't get too close to people when they're lifting (unless you're spotting).Don't be the jerk who lifts right in front of the dumbbell rack so that no one has access.Rack your weights. Nothing says "asshole" like leaving weights on the bar when you're done.Refrain from loud conversations, especially on your cell phone.Don't yell or swear while you're lifting. Yelling and swearing doesn't make you badass, it makes you obnoxious. (Loud grunting is fine.)If you're serious about getting fit and strong, then don't talk, watch TV, or play with your iPod while you're doing reps. Save it for between sets and concentrate on what you're doing.Trade secret: Powerlifters do their main lifts facing away from the mirror. It helps you develop stability and forces you to feel what you're doing. Globe at Night Starts Tonight. [New Window]
Just a reminder that Globe at Night the survey of light pollution around the world (and getting people engaged with the sky)s tarts tonight, running from 3 March to 16 March. All you need to participate is a pair of eyes and the ability to go outside and look up an hour after sunset. Get involved, get the kids involved!Remember, you will have to let your eyes adapt for about 5 minutes before counting the stars in Orion, so while you waiting, take in the splendour of the sky, and maybe even watch for a satellite. Coren on Guergis [New Window]
Apparently Coren agrees with my sentiments. Guergis's actions although totally unacceptable are far less than the standard we would typically expect a minister to resign over.Honestly I really can't understand the particular concern over Guergis's actions. They were deplorable, but at the end of the day she was not lying, cheating, stealing, physically abusive, or had an elicit sexual affair. She had a hissy fit, exihibited a sense of entitlement, and was at most verbally abusive to those around her. Yet she had the good sense to recognize her mistake and apologize. No one in life is perfect - at the very least me - yet I am genuinely surprised at the harsh assessment that some of even my own fellow conservatives have made. I have a feeling though that Coren is right: a good deal of the intensity around Guergis is less directed at her actions and is more directed at her physical appearance and the fact that she is a Tory. Ignatieff's Post-Olympics Yikes [New Window]
There's a foul wind running from Quebec straight at Iggy Puff's face today. He has a an irate Grit candidate coming out in her Anti-Iggy Pro-Coderre sympathies. This has to be among the dumbest things that a grit in Quebec can do - if that Grit actually cares about the short term success of their party. No doubt this move is clearly an all out attack on Iggy in the media by the pro-Coderre more left leaning Liberals out there. Coderre though would be best to ask his friends to keep their mouthes shut. I doubt he will positioning himself well for a leadership run later on if he or his supporters manage to antagonize those moderates in the Liberal Party. It's precisely those moderates he will need to win over to become leader. Phobos Flyby Wednesday night/Thursday morning [New Window]
The ESA's Mars Express has been doing a series of flybys of Mars's tiny Moon Phobos. This will cumulate on Wednesday March 3 20:55 UT (Thursday morning 7:55 AEDST, 7:25 ACDST, 5:55 AWDST in Australia) with the probes closest approach of 67 Km from the 22 Km wide moonlet. You can keep up to date on the flyby at the Phobos flyby blog. Not only will this close pass give us stunning images of Phobos, but will return valuable data about its mass, composition and paves the way for other missions to Phobos. ARPA-E awarding $100 million for energy breakthroughs [New Window]
Carnival of Space #143 is here. [New Window]
Carnival of Space #143 is now up at the Next Big Future. It doesn't have cute, hand drawn space Pokemon, but it does have a freaking fantastic avalanche on Mars, bad science fiction movies, Uranus, Neptune, how to stop your near-light spaceship being destroyed by space junk and much, much more. Run, don't walk, over there right now and have a read. The swing and kick at :36 sells it [New Window]
Herself writes ..Charlie, our cockatoo, is very very smart. He always manages to think things through and escape. He is very proud of himself when he does. My 15 year old, Aidan, decided to catch him in the act (youtube ahoy) and put a small recorder down as Charlie doesn't want anyone to know his escape tactics. Carnival of Space #143 [New Window]
Carnival of Space #143 is at Next Big Future. The amazing Mars avalanche picture above was created from HiRISE imagery by Bernhard Braun and is discussed in the carnival post from Universe Today. David Shrigley. Simple. Sick. Funny. [New Window]
I was going through some papers and found some postcards by David Shrigley. I bought them a few years ago at a bookshop in Oxford, England. His artwork is simple (when he draws people, they remind me of Beavis & Butthead, remember them?). His ideas are often quite bizarre. But he cracks me up. Here are two I have that I was able to also find online by searching for "David Shrigley postcards." He has a few books. I should buy one of them in case I lose the postcards again. Good, Bad, and Ugly [New Window]
The Good:I just made myself a goat cheese and apple omelette. Yum! Could have use just a little red onion, and the apple chunks were too large. I will definitely get that right next time.The Bad:SolidWorks is crashing on me about every 30 minutes right now. This is not helping me get ready for my presentation tomorrow.The Ugly:My eyes. I have red eye, which has all kinds of consequences. Like, getting to stay at home and make myself omelettes. Like, not being able to read small text anymore (should be temporary -- being even slightly blind would truly suck). Like, not being able to make my presentation tomorrow. I sure hope my boss does a decent job. Facts are not optional [New Window]
I have got to get over this 'I want people to like me' thing.Oh, sure: I want my wife to like me. My family. Friends and relations. Co-workers.A complete stranger reads something I wrote, deletes my comment, replies that I'm wrong, closes the thread? Man, the heck with her. Despite who she claims to know, her snotty patriotism and her lack of reading comprehension, she's still wrong.Without getting wrapped around the axle of detail, generals don't know everything, what they know is usually wrong, surprise happens all the time. That's what war is. For further clarification on the subject I direct your attention to James Dunnigan's very excellent 'How To Make War'.Getting all snotty-patriotic the facts of a situation means the surprise - which will happen - is magnified and you spend a lot of time running around in circles. Which is entertaining but hardly productive. MiB Control Center [New Window]
One needs to keep architects far away from areas where work actually has to be done: the Mosek Control Center in Moscow looks like the bridge of a starship from an improbable future. Moments after the captain called 'abandon ship' the bridge was deserted as crew ran for the life pods.Hermetically sealed command pod? Check. Rolling office chairs allowing an careless worker to roll off the platform? You betcha. 4,921.5 square feet of wasted space? Brother that ain't wasted, it's art.You just know the actual work purported to be done in this space happens in a small room with some pushed-together desks, CRTs, cork board maps and two-way radios racked on the wall. The Sky This Week - Thursday March 4 to Thursday March 11 [New Window]
The Last Quarter Moon is Monday March 8. Mars has faded and is now the second brightest object after Sirius in the late evening sky. Asteroid Vesta is still bright. Saturn is now seen in the evening above the eastern horizon near the bight stars Regulus and Spica. Venus appears low in the twilight. The Globe at Night sky survey has started.Evening sky looking east showing Saturn at 10:00 pm local daylight saving time (9:00 pm non-daylight saving) on Friday February 9. Click to embiggen.The Last Quarter Moon is Monday March 8.The Globe at Night sky survey has started.Saturn is visible low in the late evening sky as the bright yellow object between the bright stars Regulus and Spica. Saturn is rising around 8 pm local daylight saving time, and is easily seen in the east in the late evening sky. However, it is best to wait until 11 pm or midnight, when Saturn is quite high in the sky for the best telescopic views. Saturns' rings are opening, and look quite beautiful, even in a small telescope.Mercury is lost in the twilight.Bright white Venus continues to rise above from the twilight glow. People with flat, level horizons and good eyesight can see Venus above the western horizon half an hour after Sunset.Jupiter is lost to view in the evening twilight.The asteroid Vesta is visible in binoculars not far from Regulus in the Sickle of Leo. It is just within a binocular field of Gamma Leonis (see Mars diagram below, this PDF map and this description of the opposition of Vesta). Vesta is still bright this week and can be seen easily in binoculars. Over the week you can see Vesta draw further away from gamma Leonis.Northern horizon showing Mars and the Moon at 10:00 pm local daylight saving time (9:00 pm non-daylight saving) on Friday March 5, click to embiggen.In the evening Mars can be seen low in the northern sky as the brightest (and clearly red) object in that part of the sky. Mars was at opposition on January 30, but now is still a good time to look at our sister world in a telescope. Shortly before 10:00 pm local daylight saving time (9:00 pm non-daylight saving time) Mars is at is highest in the sky, this is the best time to look at Mars in a telescope. Mars is a distinct nearly full disk in a small telescope, although somewhat small. Larger telescopes will be needed to distinguish surface features. Red Mars is in the constellation of Cancer, nearly halfway between Pollux and the Beehive Cluster. Mars is at a standstill for this week.Printable PDF maps of the Eastern sky at 10 pm ADST, Western sky at 10 pm ADST. For further details and more information on what's up in the sky, see Southern Skywatch. Cloud cover predictions can be found at SkippySky. Musical Collaboration with Software? [New Window]
The weekly Kurzweil AI Newsletter steered me to this great article on composer and musical creativity researcher David Cope (here's a 2009 NPR interview with him). Cope is a composer who has spent many years developing software to help him explore and understand musical creativity. The software he developed (EMI or Emmy, and his newest creation, Emily Howell) actually composes music. Cope's basic hypothesis on musical creativity is that it is fundamentally imitation and redeployment of music the composer has heard before. His first program (EMI, mp3 samples here) was based on the analysis of many pieces of music to extract what you might call the style of the original composer, though it really goes deeper than style to include sources and influences. EMI (Experiments in Musical Intelligence) could then create new pieces of music in that style (or combination of styles), music that was often considered by experts to be of high quality and practically indistinguishable from music by the original composer - until they were told that the composer was a computer, after which they judged the music to be derivative and mechanical, as well as relatively uninteresting since they are new works written in old styles (e.g., Bach).Emily Howell in some ways seems like a new interactive "front end" for EMI. Using it, Cope communicates musical ideas and goals. The software responds to these goals with modifications to the music "under construction" (it uses the output from EMI as its musical source material). In this way, composition becomes much more of a collaborative process between Cope and Emily Howell, and the results are rather impressive, based on the samples I have heard, with a sound more like modern music than re-fried classics. Emily Howell's first album is supposed to be released soon on Centaur Records.As a songwriter (but definitely not a "composer"), I find this cool and exciting. It's really just taking musical tools to a new level. In their early days, synthesizers and sequencers were considered to be threats to studio musicians and orchestral players, but they have truly expanded the palette of tools that musicians have available (though I'm sure some musical jobs have been lost or displaced in the process, while others have been created). I write most of my songs with a guitar or keyboard and record most of them with the help of a talented (human) producer and musician who can arrange things I can't arrange and play things I can't play. In addition to recording software (SONAR), I sometimes make use of a program called Band-in-a-Box which generates fairly sophisticated automatic accompaniment through MIDI-based synthesizer voices. These are great for demos and they have inspired some of my best songs by allowing me to easily play around with different styles,arrangements, and instruments. I'd be happy to work with a smarter version of BIAB (like Emily Howell) if it becomes available at an affordable price. Plutos Discovery by Clive Tombaugh [New Window]
On February 18, 1930 Clive Tombaugh noticed a faint dot jumping backwards and forwards in his blink comparator plates, we know know that dot as Pluto. The Astronomical Society of the Pacific has the story of Pluto's discovery in Clyde Tombaugh's own words. Go have a read of this fascinating moment in astronomical history, as seen by the man who witnessed it. [New Window]
Still Here......and still trying to get back into the swing of things. Between the death and aftermath, "mid-winter break" for my daughter, sickness in the family and a couple of annoying snowstorms... Guergis Shouldn't Resign [New Window]
What she did was incredibly stupid. But did she strangle a protester in front of TV cameras? Did she get arrested for drunk driving? Did she have numerous sexual relationships lying to her spouse?What she did do was have a horrendous hissy fit while trying to get on an Air Canada jet - something about 90% have probably had fantasies of doing while dealing with that less than high quality airline/monopoly. I have a family member that once tore up and threw a voucher at an Air Canada attendants face due to the-ahum-extremely poor quality of service. I think the thing most people have problems with is the sense of entitlement in her rant. It's the I'm above the little guy mentality.Given even that, can you really say that the character flaws she exhibited are worse than those above? She apologized and I think it's reasonable for her to stick this one through.Now if she had assaulted an member of the Air Canada staff that would be something. Southern Skywatch March 2010 edition is now up! [New Window]
The evening sky facing east in Australia on March 18 at 7:45 pm AEDST (6:45 pm AEST) showing Venus and the crescent Moon.The March edition of Southern Skywatch is now up. There's observing Saturn during its opposition. Lots of Moon action, with a once every 25 years second "Blue" Moon, Mars close to the Moon, Saturn close to the Moon and Venus close to the Moon. As well, there is observing Vesta . The Not-So-Democratic BQ [New Window]
The Bloc's reaction to repelling the gun registry:If all opposition members voted together, those parties would have enough votes to defeat the measure. But the Liberals and NDP allowed a free vote on the issue last fall, and enough of them voted with the Tories to abolish the registry.(...)All Bloc Qubcois MPs voted against the bill. That party is now urging NDP Leader Jack Layton and Liberal Leader Michael Ignatieff to order their troops to join them in blocking the Tories.The Bloc's reaction to Proroguing parliament which does not force a single MP to vote their way:Duceppe accused Harper of trampling democratic principle with his ruthless partisanship."His attitude is that if you're not for me you're an enemy, and if you're an enemy you're a Taliban."Democratic Principle seems only to apply when the Bloc decides it applies. Cut Healthcare [New Window]
Canadians are concerned that healthcare cuts are coming. Here's the thing - it's completely rational for them to be worried about exactly that. Healthcare should be cut. It's the most obvious and effective way for the government to reduce spending - which is why the Liberals did it in the 90s.It isn't hard to justify just look at the following pie graph of federal expenses:Notice anything in particular. One of the biggest chunks of the federal budget pie is transfers to governments which includes healthcare.If you had to cut somewhere, wouldn't you cut the biggest parts of the pie? I would be more than happy if they privatized the CBC, but for every 1% we attempt to cut from crown corporations, a similar 1% cut in transfers would have yielded 5 times the results.If we were really interested in the most effective way to cut federal spending healtcare would have to be on the table. Could you live with 5% longer wait times? If it takes 4 weeks to get an MRI today, would most Canadians even notice it if it took an extra day longer to get it? Now switch it around and think about the logistics of trying to make cuts at the CBC... A Tax Is A Tax [New Window]
Wow. The stupidity in this is amazing:Ottawa is slapping higher security fees on airline travellers a week before the 2010 federal budget yet insists Conservatives are staying true to their pledge not to raise taxes.(...)The government describes the new charges as user fees, rather than taxes. Some current government members once attacked the very item as an air tax while in opposition, but Mr. Baird dismissed such language Thursday.These new fees are supposed to support 1.5 billion of security costs (I'm assuming based on this article) over the next five years. Over the next five years the federal government will spend well over a trillion dollars.It's the equivalent of saying that if you eat a thousand timbits over the next five years, you couldn't find one timbit to give up? Especially when you promised not take more timbits from someone else? I refuse to believe that John Baird, or for that matter most of the Federal Tory caucus does not understand how ridiculous this all is. Either this is just a glaring blunder on the part of the federal Tories, or, and more likely, something else is going on that isn't being reported in this story. Olympic Condom Shortage [New Window]
I don't know whether to laugh or cry:Health officials in Vancouver have already provided 100,000 free condoms to the roughly 7,000 ahtletes and officials at the Games. That's about 14 condoms per person. But as of Wednesday, those supplies started running dangerously low.I bet taxpayers are paying for all these "free" condoms too. Whatever happened to the government staying out of the bedrooms of the nation? This blob is Mars [New Window]
This blob is Mars. It's a blob because we are having lovely warm weather here in Adelaide (no point in clicking to embiggen, it doesn't get any better).You would think that warm weather would be ideal for astronomy, as you don't have to dress up in multiple layers like the Michelin Man or run the risk of losing favourite extremities to frost bite. On the other hand, the warm air and ground means atmospheric turbulence, and to an astronomer, the atmosphere is the enemy.Warm air rises from the warm ground, cooler air percolates down, and all this happens chaotically, rather than smoothly. These bubbles of warm and cold air act as lenses magnifying or reducing the image of the Moon or planet, unfortunately, they do it chaotically, and ever changeingly, so the image of the planet (and its focus) jiggles around like a diseased chicken (see the video of the Moon down below to see what I mean). Now, there are ways to get around this, using a video-type camera taking tens of frames in one exposure, you can use a program like registax to sift through the frames, eliminate the real stinkers and average out the rest to give an acceptable image.But when things are really bad nothing will help. The bubbles twinkle faster than the shutter speed of your video camera (in my case a Phillips ToUCam web cam) and the image is hopelessly blurred beyond all the help of fast Fourier transforms or wavelet analysis. It is then that sketching comes in handy, your eye has better time resolution than any web cam, and you can catch the fleeting moments when the planet is in focus and set them down.Mars changes in size over the month (click to embiggen).Where in the sky the planet is matters as well. From Adelaide, Mars is barely 30 degrees (5 handspans) above the horizon. Mars is still close to all the murk that hangs around close to the horizon. And because of line of sight effects, the light from Mars has to travel through a whole lot more atmosphere (with a whole lot more chance to get bumped and bubbled around. That's why winter oppositions when the ecliptic is high in the sky and the air is cold and still, is the best for observing planets.Twinkle, twinkle little star? It looks great in the sky, but if the stars near the planet you want to observe are twinkling furiously, forget getting the telescope out, the planet will be jiggling like demented jelly in your eyepieces. My Thoughts on Sarah Palin [New Window]
I know I don't post on politics that often, and I don't want to turn this site into yet another political punditry place. Quite frankly there's far more than enough blogs like that out there, and the light to heat ratio among political blogs is pretty darned lousy. That said, I wanted to try and write down a few of my thoughts about John McCain's selection of Sarah Palin, now that I've had the chance to mull things over a bit.While I'm not a libertarian, I used to be a Republican growing up. I'm still pretty culturally conservative and straight-laced, even if my libertarianism tends to make me somewhat the black sheep of the family. In fact, I'm probably culturally conservative enough that a lot of my more "cosmopolitarian" friends probably think I'm a little bit of a heretic.So, that said I have mixed feelings about Sarah Palin. On the one hand, I do admire her sticking to her principles when it came to carrying her down-syndrome baby Trig to term. I'm also pro-life, which probably puts me in a pretty small minority in libertarian circles.Her religious views and her mixing of religion and politics doesn't even bug me as much as it does some. I remember when we came to Mojave, my former coworker Pierce went to a Chamber of Commerce meeting, and nearly wigged out when they started with a prayer. For me, that didn't seem that weird--after all, I went to a school where even some of the engineering classes would sometimes start with a prayer. It didn't hurt anyone, and in fact most of the engineers I know from BYU are hardworking, honest, and just as competent as their more secular friends. So the fact that she's openly religious isn't a negative with me like it is in some circles.She even did some things to fight some of the corruption in Alaska. From the sounds of it, it was a pretty corrupt place.All that said, the one thing that hasn't impressed me very much has been her dishonesty on several occasions. She's had two occasions now where she fired people for possibly political reasons, where she lied to reporters when first asked about it. She's currently under investigation for one of those instances. She "backtracked", which is a polite way of saying she started being more honest, only when confronted with evidence that she wasn't telling the truth. Admittedly, when you get blindsided with accusations, it's easy to get sort of caught in the headlights.What's more troubling to me is her intentional misrepresentation of some of her past record as a politician. Several times now she has blatantly misrepresented her involvement with the so-called "Bridge to Nowhere". Her claim that she said no to the thing completely overlooks the fact that she actually campaigned for the earmark when she was running for governship, even going so far as to use the slogan that that town wasn't "nowhere" to her. She only turned on the earmark when it became politically expedient to do so, when the pork came to national attention. Even then, she didn't give the money back, and instead spent it on all sorts of other projects in Alaska, including a road leading right up to where the Bridge to Nowhere was going to be built. The way she describes herself though you'd think that she had fought it from the beginning.Then there's the story of selling the governor's plane on ebay. John McCain bragged about how she had done so, and "made a profit" in the process. In reality she did put it on ebay, but it didn't sell. It only sold when an Alaska politician and ally of Palin's brokered a deal to sell the plane to a campaign contributor of his for about 80% of its market value. It probably was good to get rid of the thing, and being as far from the rest of the US as they are, maybe there really weren't any buyers at the market value, but you can see why the real story didn't sound anywhere near as good as the claims being made.I'm also not very enthused about her rapid about-face regarding the whole "Troopergate" ethics investigation. The fact that she and all of her aides are now stonewalling the thing and trying to get them to postpone the ruling until after the election, smells too much like the kind of disrepect for the law that we've had to live through for the past several presidencies.All told, I'm a bit disappointed. While on the surface, she's probably closer to me politically than any of the other three running for the two major parties, her occasional lack of integrity is a real let down. I know she has a really compelling sounding story, but at least from what I've read as I've dug a little deeper (and to be fair, the reality is that just about none of us really know much about Sarah that we haven't heard from partisans on one side or another or reporters), she comes off sounding like the kind of ambitious, opportunistic politician as the rest of them. She may have a unique sounding background, and she may have accomplished some good along the way, she may even be overall a fairly decent person, and a good mom.I guess that expecting honset politicians means I'm doomed to perpetual disappointment, but there you have it. I guess I can accept imperfect people as politicians. After all, I am planning on voting for Bob Barr, whose previous record is fairly odious from a libertarian position. People make mistakes, and when they're willing to honestly admit them, and then try to fix the damage, I have a lot of respect for that. But people who bend the truth on a regular basis, and show no signs of penitence don't really impress me. He may not be perfect, but so far Bob Barr doesn't have to worry yet about losing one of his few votes. He may be bland as a politician, and I know that I am "throwing my vote away", but compared to the rest he's looking better all the time. Random Thoughts: SSTOs [New Window]
Ok, I asked people to put up suggestions on my Skribit account, and I figured it was about time to actually start responding to some of the suggestions. One of the topics someone asked about was if the Saturn S-IVB could be turned into an SSTO launch vehicle. While looking at the mass ratio, it may appear pretty close to an SSTO, it would've required a completely diferent propulsion system. The T/W ratio at takeoff would've been less than 1, and more importantly, the J-2 was designed for vacuum operations, not surface operations. So, no, the S-IVB wouldn't have made a good SSTO without a lot of work.That isn't to say that there haven't been numerous nearly SSTO stages that have flown throughout the years. The problem is that an expendable SSTO just really isn't that useful. Sure, its less complex than a TSTO vehicle, but since you're throwing the bird away after every flight, and since the payload to dry mass ratio for such a system is likely going to be a lot worse, I'm skeptical that there's any practical advantage. If there is, it would be a modest one at best.No, SSTO really only makes a big difference if it's combined with reusability. Now, while the conventional wisdom may say that an SSTO RLV is impossible, I wouldn't go that far. They're not impossible at all. In spite of claims to the contrary, there really have been technological improvements in rocketry over the past 50 years that make such ideas more practical now than then. Electronics are much lighter now. There are new composite materials that really can (when properly used) reduce weight substantially. There are propulsion advances like the different forms of altitude compensation, and Thrust Augmented Nozzles that can change the mission-averaged Isp and engine T/W ratio of rockets drastically. More to the point, there still are several dimension of performance for which the narrow evolutionary path of rockets have barely scratched the surface. There's no physics-based reason why even ground-based SSTO RLVs couldn't work based on currently discovered engineering concepts and principles.My argument against most SSTO approaches is more a pragmatic one than a dogmatic one. Namely, while SSTO RLVs aren't impossible they are premature. Other than the airlaunched "assisted SSTO" concept, I don't think any of the other SSTO RLV approaches are close enough to our current state of the art to be worth trying at this point. There's enough work we still need to figure out to get any RLVs flying reliably, that we really don't need to be making our lives more difficult up front. And for all the complaints about the operational drawbacks of TSTO approaches compared to SSTO approaches, even a working TSTO RLV would be such an improvement over the state of the art that it would be revolutionary. Sure, there's going to be some point in the future where everyone is doing TSTO RLVs, and the hassles of having to remate stages before you can turn them around is going to be enough of a limiter on flight rate that taking that next step to SSTO will make plenty of sense. But those are problems that I really wish we had.In other words, sure SSTO is possible, it's just probably not the right problem to be solving right now. CxP LOC/LOM Numbers [New Window]
I wasn't planning on doing any more blogging today, but I had a serious "what the hud!" moment earlier today, and thought it worth bringing attention to it. This is a presentation that was given by NASA back on July 2nd, and linked to by "anonymous.space" over in a comments section in Space Politics. Anonymous.space brought attention to three rather troubling slides: pages 26, and 62-65.Basically, unless this source is bogus, or I'm completely misreading things, it's saying that even NASA admits that their odds of losing a crew or a mission using the Constellation architecture are far worse then they had originally claimed. In fact, at least for ISS missions, we're talking almost an order of magnitude worse. For ISS, they're claiming a LOC (probability of losing the crew on any given flight) of 1 in 231, with a LOM (loss of mission) of 1 in 19! If I'm reading this right, that means they expect right now that about 5% of missions to the space station will end up not making it to the station. For lunar missions, the LOC number is 1 in 170, and the LOM number is 1 in 9! That means of every multi-billion dollar mission, they've got an almost 11% chance of it being a failure. While some of these numbers have been improving, others have been getting worse.To put this in perspective, the statistical reliability of most ELVs is rated at about 95-98%. One of the big selling points of Ares-1 was that it was going to be so much safer than any other vehicle that's ever flown. The claim IIRC from ESAS was that the odds of losing a mission were going to be 1 in 460, which is about 9x more reliable than any other vehicle that's ever flown. Not bad for a team that's hasn't designed, built, and operated a new launch in over 25 years. The Loss of Crew probability was supposed to be 1 in 2021 (both of these numbers can be found on the NASA ESAS Report website in chapter 6 on page 382). Now, I've made fun of them quoting four significant figures on reliability for something that hasn't flown yet (though I apparently misremembered the numbers--I thought it was 1 in 2106...silly me).In other words, it appears that NASA is admitting that the Ares-1 is not going to be any safer than an EELV/EELV derived launcher would've been, and in fact may be less reliable. Am I misreading something? If not, why hasn't anybody (other than anonymous.space) been discussing this? While it's true, things may get better with time, but so far the numbers have been getting consistently worse. And they're currently over an order of magnitude worse than what "we" were "sold" on. What the hud?!? Leaving on Vacation [New Window]
We're headed out for a long vacation tonight (we were supposed to be on the road nearly six hours ago). We're driving up to see my folks for the 4th (staying through till Monday morning), and then driving out to the Redwoods up near Crescent City, CA (a few hours North of all of the fires). We'll be there all week and then head back on Saturday.Now that I have a laptop, there's a chance I may try writing something during the nice long drives, but there are only two places in the next week where we'll have internet access, so don't get your hopes up.Have a Happy Independence Day! Whittington Again Demonstrates His Reading Compreshension Skilz [New Window]
I know it's been a while since I've blogged last, but here's a gem from our favorite friend from Planet Strawman.This morning he asked whether Obama's statement that he wants to revitalize NASA represents a flip-flop from his previous position of postponing Constellation. I had emailed him (after clarifying that I had no intention of voting for Obama) saying that "it is quite possible to both believe in gutting Constellation and at the same time revitalizing NASA. The two are not mutually incompatible at all."Mark's response:Gracious, while this doesn't come close to believing six impossible things before breakfast, as the White Queen in Alice in Wonderland suggests, it comes at least two impossible things close to it. The first is that one can revitalize the space agency by gutting its primary mission. The second is that Barack Obama cares a fig about revitalizing anything except the liberal welfare state.Now dear reader, my first question is, where did I ever state that I believed that "Obama cares a fig about revitalizing anything but the liberal welfare state"?Second, the term revitalize means to give new life or new vigor to something. If someone states that they don't think NASA's doing a very good job anymore of inspiring people, and thinks they're headed down the wrong track, why is it a flip-flop or inconsistent or crazy to believe that making major changes to what NASA is doing and how it's doing it could "revitalize" it. Quite frankly, if you're not happy with what NASA is doing, you're probably not happy with its primary program (VSE was a mission, Constellation is a program--there's a difference). Giving more money to a program like Constellation and expecting a different result seems closer to the definition of insanity in my opinion.Update: Now, demonstrating his Psychology skilz, Mark declares that I went "ballistic" in this post...and that it demonstrates "blind rage, and hatred". All I can say is: heh.I'm sorry for wasting all your time with this post. It's just too much fun to tweak Mark and watch him make an idiot of himself. I'll grow up. Orbital Access Methodologies Part V: Boostback TSTO [New Window]
While I have the topic fresh in my mind, I decided to jump into the next part of my continuing series. Though it wasn't a conscious choice on my part, I notice that the order I went with for this series actually follows a consistent pattern. In each part of this series, we discuss methods that move more and more of the delta-V load off of the orbital stage and onto the carrier vehicle or the first stage. In the case of Air-Launched SSTO, the carrier plane removed about 1000m/s from the ~9km/s normally required for a ground-launched SSTO, thus making an SSTO design feasible. For the Pop-up TSTO design, the first stage's vertical trajectory removes all of the gravity and drag losses from the upper stage (a savings of ~1.6km/s). For the Glideback TSTO design, by using aerodynamic lift to turn around and glide back to the launch site, some horizontal downrange velocity was added, thus lowering the delta-V requirements even further (probably saving somewhere between 1.6-2.4km/s depending on the details). The next approach we'll discuss follows this same trend.Two Forms of Boostback TechniquesIn a Boostback TSTO system, the first stage provides not only vertical velocity to overcome most if not all gravity and drag losses and significant downrange velocity, but it also provides enough propulsive capacity to return itself to the launch site after separation. Unlike the glideback case, the Boostback TSTO approach stages at a sufficiently high velocity that at least some of the return to launch site (RTLS) delta-V has to be provided propulsively by the stage itself. Also, unlike the glideback approach, the first stage does not have to have a high L/D ratio, and in fact boostback can be used with VTVL vehicles.The first, and most well-known form of boostback, (the form proposed for use with the Kistler K-1 vehicle, which I'll call Propulsive Boostback) involves a first-stage rotation maneuver after staging, followed by firing the engines long enough to both cancel out all of the downrange horizontal velocity, and provide enough net uprange horizontal velocity that the stage can land back at the launch site. In the case illustrated in the presentation I linked to in the previous part (and further detailed in this report), the optimal staging velocity was found to be about Mach 5.2 (~1800m/s), at an altitude of around 52.5km, and a staging flight path angle of about 31 degrees. For this case, I did a little analysis, and I'm estimating that between the ascent phase and RTLS boostback maneuver, the total first stage delta-V would be around 5500-5800m/s. But the good news is that the upper stage would also be down in that range (ie slightly lower than 6km/s even including landing propellant for the VTVL case). The Kistler K-1 vehicle used a similar but slightly different trajectory, where the staging was planned to take place at about Mach 4.4 (~1500m/s), and at around 42km. That would result in a slightly higher required upper stage delta-V requirement, but a lower first stage performance requirement. This figure, from Barry Hellman's report I linked to above shows an example propulsive boostback (starting at the staging point):While Propulsive Boostback is the most well-known form of Boostback, I realized last week that there was another approach that is also uses a form of boostback maneuver. For sake of clarity, and for lack of a better term, I'll call this approach Lift Assisted Boostback.I thought of this boostback approach in response to some questions to my previous post on glideback approaches. Someone had asked why you couldn't stage at an even higher velocity. I started in on an explanation about how at velocities any higher than Mach 3.2 (using the assumptions in the prior studies), the rocket would not be able to glide back all the way to the landing site, and that therefore you'd need some sort of additional propulsion event after staging in order to get home. While people typically recommend turbojets for such missions (thus switching from glideback to "flyback" for the first stage), I suggested that it might be worth just using the rocket engines in such a situation. Upon further thought, I realized that there might be more to this suggestion than I had originally thought.Basically, if the first stage has a sufficiently good L/D, what you can do after staging is, glide downrange a bit, and then perform a turn-around maneuver aerodynamically (once youre back in the atmosphere enough to do so), and finally relight the engines to provide enough momentum to get you back within glide back range of your launch site. By performing the turnaround maneuver, you're using aerodynamic lift to bend your trajectory around so that the downrange (away from the launch site) velocity is now actually turned into velocity heading back home. That way, when you light your engines for the boostback maneuver, while you may be at a lower altitude, you no longer have to null-out the downrange velocity, and your propulsion system also doesn't have to provide all the uprange velocity in order to return to the launch site.[Update 7/1/08: A commenter mentioned that there's a third approach that combines some of the features of propulsive and lift assisted boostback to avoid some of the key drawbacks of both. Basically, if you have a vehicle that both has good L/D, and has a propulsion system that can handle a boostback retrofiring maneuver, you have a third option that avoids hypersonic flight and excessive TPS requirements, while also keeping the first stage Delta-V more reasonable. Basically, after staging you immediately pitch over and decelerate until you've slowed yourself down enough that you can reorient yourself and do a glideback trajectory from there. While it adds some extra operational complexity (two rotational maneuvers), it gets rid of the TPS issues with lift assisted boostback, and gets the required delta-V for the stage down into the 3.8-4km/s range instead of the 5.6-6km/s range required for a purely propulsive boostback technique. Food for thought.]Benefits and Drawbacks of Propulsive BoostbackThe two different boostback techniques have somewhat different advantages and drawbacks. Propulsive Boostback is the form best known, so I'll discuss some of the pros and cons of this approach first.Benefits:A common benefit of both approaches over the previously discussed methodologies is that the delta-V requirements on the upper stage are much lower. Depending on the exact staging conditions, the upper stage may need to provide as little as 5800m/s, compared with at best 6400m/s for Glideback TSTO, 7400m/s for Pop-up TSTO, and 8000m/s for Air-launched SSTO. 5800m/s equates out to a propellant mass fraction of about 0.83 for a medium-end LOX/Kerosene stage, and about 0.73 for LOX/LH2. Both of these are very realistically attainable pmf values.The delta-V requirements put the two stages at a level of technology only slightly beyond that needed for small suborbital vehicles (which tend to suffer from higher drag losses than larger suborbital vehicles, and thus need a higher total delta-V for the same apogee), making the step from suborbital to this form of orbital easier.A boostback TSTO has the option of doing occasional downrange landings (if there is a suitable landing site) in instances where you need to lift heavier payloads.With the upper stage empty an unfueled, the first stage could actually self-ferry the stack fairly long distances (several hundred miles).The boostback maneuver ends up resulting in a very low reentry velocity compared to what you would expect from the staging horizontal velocity. The reentry velocities are low enough, ~Mach 2, that TPS is almost unneeded for the first stage.Drawbacks:The first stage ends up requiring a lot more delta-V than earlier methods, but a substantial chunk of that is used for the RTLS maneuver. At low achievable propellant mass fractions and Isp, this results in a much easier to build RLV than the other approaches. However, as the achievable mass fraction and Isp increases, at some point the extra delta-V actually makes the vehicle heavier (both in total mass as well as in just dry mass) than a pop-up or glideback stage. While admittedly higher dry mass doesn't necessarily equate to higher costs (a 1000lb dry mass stage made of 5383 TIG-welded aluminum is going to cost a lot less than even a 500lb dry mass stage made of friction stir welded Li-Al alloy, or a 250lb stage made of Unobtanium Wishalloy-X), there may be a performance point at which the boostback design no longer has sufficient cost or performance advantages over glideback or pop-up designs to justify the more complicated maneuvers.The turnaround and boostback maneuvers (often called the RTLS maneuvers) are somewhat complicated, and involve in-air relights of engines. Admittedly for a VTVL stage, your propulsion system better be rock-solid reliable anyway, so this isn't as big of a deal for VTVL boostback systems, but every additional complication comes at a price.Boostback trajectories have more of their safety-critical operations occurring downrange of the launch site than many other approaches. This means that more attention will have to be paid during launch license applications to making sure the trajectory is tuned to keep the risk to the uninvolved public low enough. More to the point, at some point, the Vacuum IIP (the point where the vehicle would hit if it's propulsion systems failed at that instant and there was no atmosphere) ends up loitering over some downrange site. Making sure you can have this occur over an unpopulated area is critical for getting launch licenses.Trajectory tuning like this requires extra performance margin. With enough margin, you can probably find appropriate trajectories for most launch sites and azimuths, but the more generally useable the stage wants to be, the more margin you need. The problem is that the first stage in this case is already getting near the steep part of the delta-V vs. Mass Ratio curve. Adding extra margin becomes harder and harder very rapidly.There are probably other benefits and drawbacks I'm not thinking of, but these are a start.Benefits and Drawbacks of Lift Assisted BoostbackWhile there are several big potential advantages to the Lift-Assisted Boostback, there are also some unique differences and drawbacks. Unfortunately, since this isnt a concept Ive seen investigated in the literature before, and as the aerodynamic turn-around maneuver is more complicated than I know how to easily analyze (and I dont have access to a full-up 6DOF trajectory analysis program), I will only be able to give some general thoughts. If anyone reading this actually has enough time to analyze the concept in detail, they might be able to provide some more insights.Benefits:By using aerodynamic lift to do the turn-around maneuver, you will end up requiring less RTLS delta-V for a given staging velocity.While it is possible to do a propulsive boostback with an HTHL stage, all of the main burns for a lift-assisted boostback system are performed at altitudes where aerodynamic control surfaces can provide some or all of the control, thus allowing you to use engines as simple as those that would be required for glideback.This approach gives you most if not all of the reduced upper stage delta-V requirements that a propulsive boostback technique without anywhere near as much of a first stage delta-V penalty. This means that this approach may stay competitive with glideback and pop-up approaches even as the level of achievable stage performance increases.Unlike propulsive boostback, your IIP never ends up stopping and loitering over any given point, because your trajectory is being bent around aerodynamically. A rapidly-moving IIP crosses a given chunk of land faster, thus making it easier to maintain a reasonable E-sub-c for launch license purposes.The fact that this approach doesnt really require any unique capabilities not needed for glideback (glideback may assume that you have the capability to relight the engines in case you need to do a go-around at the landing site), means that you can incrementally upgrade a glideback vehicle to be able to perform a lift-assisted boostback. For a given glideback TSTO design, as you incrementally add first-stage performance, that offloads performance requirements from the upper stage, allowing it to carry more payload over time.Most of the aerodynamic maneuvering occurs at a high enough altitude and speed that it's possibly in the hypersonic regime. In the hypersonic regime, lifting bodies are just about as good as winged stages, which means it might be possible to have a VTVL system that has a lifting body configuration. You'd use the lift for aiding in the turn-around maneuver, and some of the glideback, but would use propulsion for takeoff and landing. Thus getting some of the benefits of a winged vehicle, while avoiding the disadvantages of a VTHL system.Drawbacks:In order to do the turn-around maneuver, your stage is going to be going fairly fast during reentry, and in order to maximize performance, you will likely end up exposing your vehicle to pretty ugly thermal environments--much worse than propulsive boostback, glideback, or pop-up TSTO designs. Nowhere near as bad as orbit, but possibly as bad as "flyback" trajectories. This requires a real, honest-to-goodness TPS system that will need to be developed and proved out. We're talking maneuvers going on at airspeeds faster than the SR-71, so this isn't a trivial problem, even if the duration is relatively brief.Unlike propulsive boostback, if you staged at a similar velocity, you'd end up going much further downrange before you could get back into the atmosphere far enough to start turning around. Depending on how much of the velocity you can maintain after the turn, this may require a significant burn to get the vehicle back to the launch site. In other words, at least some of the benefit you get from not having to use propulsion to null-out the forward velocity is counterbalanced by possiblly requiring a bigger burn to get up to speed to get back to the launch site. This may mean that the optimal staging point is at a lower velocity than for propulsive boostback. Or it may just mean you have to do a hotter turn-around maneuver.Since you end up going much further downrange, it may be harder to find areas remote enough to launch out of.A failed engine relight may force an emergency landing a long way from your launch site. This may require a decent amount of contingency planning.Doing a large hypersonic turnaround maneuver may end up causing a large sonic boom, which may also complicate trajectory planning.There may be some other benefits and other problems, but those are the major ones.Enabling Technologies and The Path ForwardBoostback TSTO designs share similar enabling technologies to the other approaches. HTHL versions could really use composite cryo tanks to allow them to fly with "wet wings". All of the different boostback approaches can benefit from suborbital vehicles--it may even be possible to test out a lot of the techniques necessary using suborbital vehicles. The orbital stages for these approaches need TPS work just as much as any of the others--but in the case of lift-assisted boostback, even the first stage will require advanced TPS work. Altitude compensating nozzles (or Thrust Augmented Nozzles, which also have a form of altitude compensating) help a lot, as most of the RTLS burn is done at high altitudes, and for propulsive boostback, higher thrust for the boostback maneuver ends up reducing the required delta-V back by a small but not insignificant amount.The real way ahead for both of these projects is going to involve testing out the required maneuvers with suborbital vehicles first. There are some groups in the Air Force that are really keen on using this technique as well, and they have been pushing it quite hard lately. Even sub-suborbital vehicles (like XCORs Lynx, most of MSS's XA-0.x demonstrators after 0.2, and most of Armadillos' nearterm vehicles) can do some of these experiments, and it would be good if the Air Force could continue working with these firms as their vehicles become available. Admittedly, I'm somewhat biased there--being a propulsion engineer for one of the companies that could benefit from such a move. But by using a boostback maneuver with a suborbital sized vehicle, the delta-V requirements for an expendable upper stage would be low enough to allow for a decent nanosat launcher (or a vehicle that could launch TPS testing reentry vehicles, which would be a great way to get the data you need before you can start building an orbital LV.So, does anybody have a 6DOF simulator and lots of time on their hands that wants to do some extra analysis of this lift-assisted boostback maneuver? It might make for a fun Master's Thesis. Back Up For Air... [New Window]
Sorry for the light blogging guys, I've been so swamped over the last several weeks that I haven't really had the time or energy for blogging. Things are finally calming back down a little bit, and I'm going to try and get some interesting content up here in the next few days. I tend to write fairly long blog articles, and like having something detailed enough that I'm actually adding something on the signal side of the S/N ratio, which sometimes makes it harder for me to keep up the volume. But I just wanted to say, I'm finally back up for air again. Some Interesting Ideas From the Other Side of the Pond [New Window]
I don't have time to go into detail at the moment, but I wanted to relay an interesting paper that Keith Cowing reported on NASAWatch today. Now, if I were someone at the ESA, I'd probably be taking NASA's grand plans about Constellation with an appropriate sized grain of salt right about now. But there were some good ideas overall:The report mentioned that our ISS experience shows the importance of having redundant transportation methods (ie imagine what would've happened to ISS if Soyuz didn't exist). I don't think that redundant transportation method should necessarily be another government-centric transportation system, but I agree wholeheartedly that monocultures are a bad idea.The report also mentioned that having a safe-haven in LLO is one of the best ways to increase the safety and flexibility of a lunar exploration program. Right now, most of the danger associated with lunar exploration have to do with operations on or near the moon. The current architecture does nothing to reduce those risks, but instead focuses on the much sexier earth-to-orbit transportation risks. Having some infrastructure in LLO can go a long way to fixing that, while also giving you some very interesting mission options. Now, I'm still a fan of the idea of Lagrange stations, and I think that in the long-run they'll dominate the traffic in the lunar half of cislunar space. I just think that there is a small, and critical niche filled by one or more small polar LLO stations. I've been planning to write up my ideas on this concept for over two months now, so can someone poke me in a few weeks if I haven't followed up on this thought?Unlike NASA they don't seem to be deathly afraid of on-orbit assembly when it makes sense. Of course, they don't have an HLV fetish that they have to rationalize...There were a few other good points, but those three were the key ones that stood out to me. Of course they also seem to be missing the importance of propellant transfer, and they seem to be almost as clueless as NASA as far as commercial enterprise is concerned (both why it's important, and how best to foster real commercial involvment). But it was an interesting read if you have a few minutes. Blog Move [New Window]
I'm in the process of moving the blog over to a private host (dreamhost.com) using Wordpress. You should be able to reach it just by typing www.selenianboondocks.com. I'll try to migrate over images and links as I get time, but so far I've moved all the comments and posts. Please move your bookmarks, and new comments need to be left at the new site.Thanks,~Jonathan Goff Vote for me...you have no choice [New Window]
by guest blogger KenHowdy all! I just got my NSS Board of Directors ballot. It looks like I'm running unopposed for Region 3, which means I'm a shoe in. Nyah, nyah! I haven't quite decided what kinds of projects to work on on the BoD, but you know I'll find something interesting and will probably ruffle a few feathers in the process. Most of the stuff I excel at is local work like displays and events to build citizen-level awareness of the importance of the space industry, which means that I need something different at the national level. I am thinking about membership, and ways to significantly up the membership numbers. Looking through the list of candidate names for the other positions, I don't see a lot of youngsters (i.e. Gens X and Y) in the list. It's getting harder to think of myself as a youngster as I venture into my 40s. (time to start thinking about that law degree) Still, the basic demographic fact is that the Baby Boomers are in all of the important positions, and the efforts of NSS will continue to be flavored by their space experiences, which admittedly span a longer time frame than do mine. I was too young to remember Apollo, the mid-70s were spent in the UK (and we all know how the Brits officially feel about human spaceflight), and the shuttle got launched (again), to go in circles (again), and to do micro-g experiments (again). Then came Challenger. After that I really can't say that I remember anything space-related in my life until the late 1990s, when my yearly project for the UNA-USA NYCitywide Model UN decided to be focused on the UN Outer Space Treaties, given the recent re-launch of John Glenn, the start of ISS construction, and the (then) upcoming UNISPACE III conference. That led me to the Space Generation Forum at UNISPACE III as a US Delegate, then to Space Camp (Right Stuff Medal), STAIF 2000, ISU (cum laude), NASA Academy, World Space Congress, NSS, Zero-G, Meteor Crater the VLA, and more.My space ain't your space. Trying to sway me with the glories of Apollo don't cut it. I'm looking ahead, not behind, and I want to build new glory for this nation, not bask in the glow of the Greatest Generation's Greatest Achievement the World Has Ever Known, nor the Baby Boomers' Shuttle.My space is stepping beyond LEO. I want an EML-1 station, which can be visited periodically starting from the ISS. I want fuel depots starting in LEO, so that every mission doesn't have to carry everything from Earth. I also want them at EML-1, so that we can start looking at options like global sorties to the Moon for prospecting, freeflyers in low-energy trajectories that bring them right back where they started from for better micro-g materials science, sorties to GEO for commercial purposes, servicing centers for various observation platforms stationed at various Lagrange points throughout the Solar system and brought home on the Interplanetary Superhighways, sorties of opportunity to nearby NEOs, and the cheapest delta-V to anywhere else from anywhere in cislunar space. I want Polar Lunar communities and scattered outposts looking for resources. I want SBSP and off-planet materials sourcing so that we can stop tearing up our own planet.Where does Apollo figure in all of this? It doesn't, and that's why the space field is losing the battle for the hearts and minds. It's selling product that few in the new crowd are interested in. People are interested in going to the Moon, just not necessarily NASA's way. They want to go to the asteroids, but not necessarily NASA's way. So long as NASA is seen as being the equivalent of everything space, then the entire space field must bear the burden of NASA's lowered expectations because that's the way the budget cuts. Fortunately, I do think that the idea of space exploration and development is starting to divorce itself from the idea of NASA=Space, a process which I think will be complete when one of the usual suspects in the field (I'm looking at you LockMart and Boeing) fields an Earth to orbit crew transport vehicle irrespective of the pressure NASA brings to bear.There could be a very bright future for America in the next decade. I don't think ESAS is the path to that bright future, and long-time readers know I've been bellyaching about it for a long time. I wish SpaceX all the best, and when that IPO comes around I'm more than happy to buy in, in spite of the recent failure. That they're having to relearn all of these things tells me that NASA has done a poor job in documenting space, or Elon has done a poor job of making sure his folks have enough time and resources and incentives to be doing their homework in all of the publicly available documents NASA has provided. At this point and with limited knowledge I'd have to put the level of blame at about 50/50.I do think that RLVs are a better option for the Earth to LEO problem, but I don't think our materials are quite there yet (one more of the reasons to be doing more research in micro-g). Expendables are the sucky alternative, and the only solution there is mass-production, the tried and true industrial method for achieving significant cost savings. That means EELVs, which make sense as they're in the ~20 metric tonne to LEO launch class, making them commercially competitive. Heck, we did build a giant factory to crank out Delta IV cores, let's put it to good use launching people as well as payloads. I think TSTOs can come sooner, but I don't see true RLVs for at least another decade at best. What I think will happen is that there will be enough demand, provided in part by Bigelow balloons, that the expendables will have a run of maybe 20 years where they're launching passengers frequently before RLVs really start taking over. The smart expendable guys will have invested in the RLVs to make sure they still have a presence in the market, just like it makes sense for OPEC nations to invest in SBSP. They don't deliver oil, they deliver energy in potent oil form. For the sake of social order it makes sense to have a back-up plan for when the taps run dry, something that has happened time and again in human history.I'm for business in space that helps clean up our planet. The solutions are there waiting for us, we need merely apply human thought and labor to unlocking them. That's an exciting space message, but impossible without the right tools, which is why I am in favor of the Dragon capsule. The team mascot at Round Rock High School, from whence I graduated back in the day, is the Dragons. My view is that just as we at RRHS lost every single football game of my sophomore and junior and most of my senior years, we pulled through in the end and won the last two of my senior year with brilliant victories, and everything was cool after that. If Elon makes the Dragon, they will come.And now for this week's finance rant. Let's talk about information. Information is the key to fair and open markets. When everyone has good information, prices will be at or near their equilibrium. It's when folks start gaming the markets by hiding information from transaction counterparties that you start having problems. There's a reason the Securities and Exchange Commission exists, and I have nothing but praise for their EDGAR system which I use abundantly. Anyone that buys stocks knows about the 10-Qs and Ks, and it's by allowing a degree of transparency in the company that you induce investors to the comfort level of putting their stake in your company. Back in the 90s, when I worked the Wall Street Desk at the Banque Nationale de Paris' NY branch over on Park Ave, one of the routine reports that we would receive would be the FOCUS reports, mainly because we wrote it into all the loan documents that we had to receive them. These are Form X-17A-5 filings with the SEC that broker/dealers have to make every month. They provide a more detailed breakdown of the b/d's assets and liabilities, allowing market regulators to keep an eye on capital levels as well as concentrations of risk. Individuals with stock brokerage accounts should be able to get a copy, but it would likely be the FYE one. Folks like SIPC, the Securities Investor Protection Corp, probably look at them as well. That was then.Now, it's like pulling hen's teeth half the time. I happen to be working on a routine project where I need the 'Statement of Financial Condition' for a number of broker/dealers, and the ease of getting them varies from the simple to hideously complex with multiple levels of clearance. What's interesting is the ones for whom it is easy, and those for whom it is difficult. I won't name names, but there are a few for whom the process is grinding, which is incomprehensible given that other firms make it a snap, quite easily found. Then of course, there are the ones who can't even figure out what's going on. ("You want a what report?") The most absurd moment to date came when I called up FINRA. This is the new & improved version of the old NASD, the National Association of Securities Dealers. On one of the pages of their website (you have to dig, but I have good Google Fu), it indicates that you can request a FOCUS Report for a financial insitution by calling a certain phone number, which I do. I indicate the financial institution for which I work, and ask about getting a Focus report on Company X. Reply: "...You can't have that...". Huh? (looks at monitor again to verify what I think it says) Well, I'm in the industry. This is a corporate project. Well, that didn't matter. I recognized early on that I was on a snipe hunt and didn't push it as I've got better things to do with my time. This kind of incident illustrates to me the extent of the damage wrought on our financial system by ... sigh ... a great number of selfish individuals who have enabled or cashed out so much of the value that used to exist in this great nation. Folks that paid 15% tax on the loot when they had to, less if they could figure out a way to do so. Mother Jones has three articles (1 2 3) on the mess, and the only beef I would have with it is that I don't think the authors totally understand credit default swaps, but they're mostly right. Which leads me to a political rant. Unlike Rand over at Transterrestrial Musings, who seems to hunt for reasons to vote against someone, I spend my time looking for reasons to vote for a candidate. Obama ruled out my potential vote for him (because I was thinking about it) when he sold out to corporate interests on the Fourth Amendment. It demonstrated to me that as fresh as he is he is still too deep in the political sleaze in this country for my tastes. McCain has never been an option for me, nor Clinton. I consider them both to be too encrusted with the muck of what has been transpiring over the last several decades, and totally sold out to corporate interests. Bob Barr's antics back in the 90s left a bad taste in my mouth which remains to this day. Nader I consider too marginal a candidate, and I don't think he would carry any international heft. Oy, where's Ron Paul when you need him?I intend to carry a list of incumbents with me into the voting booth this November, and nary a one of them is getting my vote. I'm sick of it. I've voted since I've been old enough to do so, and I'm increasingly of the opinion that people who don't vote shouldn't have a voice in the commons under the old principle that you can't gripe if you weren't there to have your say in the decision you're griping about. It's not just your right as a citizen to vote, but also your responsibility and duty. The fact that only about half of our citizens actually bother to turn out to vote is pretty sad, and also the kind of thing that makes Rovian political calculus possible. Here's how it works:(1) Identify a core constituency comprising about 28-30% of the modern American demographic.(2) Gerrymander the districts to have that core constituency represented in as many places as possible, especially politically powerful ones.(3) So long as less than about 55-56% of the populace bothers to turn out to vote, then this core constituency will determine the outcomes because they vote as a fundamental block. With pressure they can raise the hurdle to about 60% turnout, which doesn't happen often enough these days to be statistically meaningful.Thus was a political dynasty crafted. I think what they didn't count on was that so much damage would happen so quickly. I blame the profligate looting of taxpayer resources by 'connected' corporations and individuals, which probably exceeded all expectations of what would be enabled by the weakening and dismantling of governmental regulatory bodies.We've done an awful lot of extracting of value from American assets. My feeling is that we're going to need to buckle down and start working harder at creating value if we're going to stop the backward slide in generational prosperity. Gen X is not doing as well as where their parents were at the same age. Gen Y may or may not do as well as the Boomers. A sad testament to the promise that is the U.S. of A. My secret, perverse hope is that the FBI is ignoring the White House and is conducting a RICO investigation on the looting.At this point the only candidate I would really trust would be the one that says "Yeah, I'm probably going to have to raise your taxes, and cut programs that you don't want cut, but I'm going to try to spread the piss-offedness around as much as possible, so don't think you'll be alone in how much it's going to suck in having to fix this mess."As an American citizen, I can dream of doing business on the Moon at some point in the not too far distant future that I just might live to see. That's the beauty of this country - it's not entirely an unreasonable ambition in this day and age, which is astonishing in human history. I think space is one of the few industries where the U.S. has a global competitive advantage, and we're too scared to exploit it because of NASA. We need to be exploiting our space advantage, big time, so that we can sell its products and services to the rest of the world at a fair price instead of buying it from them in an impoverished future. We are at the threshold of both possibilities, and I intend to fight for the more promising outcome.So, those of you who are National Space Society members, be sure to vote for Ken Murphy for Region 3 Regional Candidate to the NSS Board of Directors for 2008 - 2010. He's the only choice you've got and you know he'll do a reasonably good job at it. The Name Game [New Window]
Tiffany wanted me to post this public-service announcement...We've decided to let you all participate in a poll to decide the name of our next child. Please choose one first and middle name from each category. All entries must be submitted before mid-April, 2009. More complete instructions may be provided in December.GirlFirst names: GwynevereMorganMiriamLibertyMiddle names:Lillian/LilyEleanorElizabethAnneRaeBoyFirst names:IanGideonJacksonRyanMiddle names:Shawn/SeanDanielJosephMichaelAndrewWe look forward to your responses. We really do. The "Gap" and Continued Light Blogging [New Window]
I've got a couple of other posts I want to write about soon, and I'm about 75% finished with my final Orbital Access Methodologies post. But unfortunately, for the next week I'm not going to have much of any free-time at home or at work, so light blogging is going to continue for a while.That said, here's a brief thought about "the gap", spurred on by Clark and Rand's recent posts on the subject. I really am not a fan of keeping the shuttle flying. It's time to let go. A lot of the subcomponents are no longer being made. It doesn't really keep us with access to the ISS because we'd still have to rely on the Russians for lifeboats. Sure, we could visit it once or twice a year, but is that really worth the billions it would take to keep the Shuttle flying? I don't think so.Quite frankly, I'd almost rather see a gap than try filling it with a kludge like keeping the shuttle flying. The fundamental problem is that even though "commercial" companies like Boeing and LM and Orbital (and hopefully SpaceX if they can get their act together) have been providing the majority of US spacelift for the past two decades, there is no commercial supplier of manned orbital spaceflight in the US. That's the bigger problem, IMO than the fact that NASA can't access a space station that it really doesn't have much use for.I'd rather see more focus on how NASA and DoD can help encourage and grow a strong and thriving commercial spaceflight (manned and unmanned) sector than how NASA can fix its broken internal spaceflight problems. Once the US actually gets to the point where it has a thriving manned orbital spaceflight sector, there won't be any gaps again in the future. A strong commercial spaceflight sector with a weak NASA is still a lot better than a strong NASA and a weak commercial spaceflight sector.Anyhow, I've got to head to work. There's my $.02 for the day. Sad Day [New Window]
I'm sure by now, most of you have heard about Len Cormier's passing. He's my second friend I've lost to cancer within the past two or three months. Len was a great guy--the first person who ever offered me a job in the space transportation business. He was unfortunately, way ahead of his time when it came to commercial space (IIRC he's been trying to get commercial space businesses off the ground for over 40 years now). I'm going to miss him. I hope commercial space succeeds before we lose too many more of the trailblazers like Len. And We're Back [New Window]
Well, I've actually been back since Sunday night, but I've been so busy that I haven't had a chance yet to post anything. I figured I'd just mention how everything went.The trip ended up being a lot of fun, even though we ended up traveling over 2600 miles in about 9 days. We didn't actually end up hitting the road on the 3rd, since we were packing until almost midnight. So, we drove up to my parents' place in Orem, UT on the morning of the 4th, and spent the weekend there with my family. My older brother drove down with his family from Salt Lake City to join us for a BBQ on Saturday. It was good getting to spend some time with the family. My youngest sister is still only 9 years old (I'm the second of seven kids), and I only get to see most of them once or twice a year these days. On Monday, we were planning to drive from there to the Jedediah Smith Redwoods up near Crescent City, CA, but we ended up taking a two day detour up to Eugene, OR to visit Tiff's family. We invited my younger sister, Julia, to join us on the road trip, and to stay at our place for a few weeks. She's recovering from a broken ankle, but we wanted to give her a change of pace. Having her there to help was great.Last thursday, we finally headed down to the Redwoods, just in time for little James gave us some unplanned drama. We needed to pick up a few items at the grocery store there in Crescent City, but James decided to demonstrate why nobody uses the term "as graceful as a Goff" in a complemantary way by taking a nose-dive out of the shopping cart, landing head first. He's ok now--lucked out with just a huge "goose-egg" on his forehead, but he got to ride in an ambulance, and got to get a CAT scan. But the kid was back to laughing and playing within a few minutes of waking up after the CAT scan, and there hasn't been any sign of other problems.The Redwoods were a lot of fun. Got to go swimming and boating, and hiking with the boys. Jonny loved it. We also made ice cream in plastic bags. It's a neat trick, though next time I want to try it using dry ice instead of a mixture of ice and rock salt. Basically you take a thick sandwich baggie, fill it with the right amount of sugar (2 Tbsp), Half-and-Half (1 cup), some vanilla (1/2 tsp), and add a little chocolate syrup and chopped Hershey's almond bars. You then seal that baggie, and place it inside a gallon freezer bag that's half full of ice, with 1/2 a cup of rock salt mixed in with the ice. You then shake the bags for 5-10 minutes and you get ice cream. It was great for the little kids, since they wear themselves out making the ice cream. But, as I said, I'd like to try it with some crushed dry-ice in the outer bag (with some holes to let the CO2 out)...We stopped up in Santa Clara overnight on the way home, staying with some friends, and only finally arrived back at our place on Sunday night around 9pm. We're still getting things unpacked, and I'm still getting caught up at work, but all in all it was a great vacation. Feeling Old [New Window]
...though not quite as old as those who will be turning 30 or this month. About two years not quite as old. And I'm sure I definitely don't feel as old as those who are turning 40 this month...:-) Yet another space vacation [New Window]
by guest blogger KenThis time around I took a few days off to head down to Houston for the 15th annual International Space Settlement Design Competition (ISSDC), not to be confused with the ISDC. This was the final event, gathering together all of the best teams from around the world for a design challenge weekend. It certainly was international, with students from Romania, India, Australia, Uruguay and more. In many respects it reminded me of team projects I've done in previous space adventures, particularly at ISU. The working with no sleep for extended periods, or minimal amounts if any is obtained, to meet the deadline. The trying to make sure we've covered all aspects of the Request for Proposal (RFP). And the final, nervous, but triumphant presentation of the results to a panel of critical judges.This year's competition represented a foundation underwriting the development of a Lunar base meeting a set of prerequisites that advance the foundations goal and should prove profitable overall within a reasonable timeframe. The teams receive an extensive amount of support material, get lectures from scientists working in the different areas addressed by the RFP, and access to an extensive library of reference books. Peeking through their list ahead of time, I culled a number of titles in the Lunar Library that might help support the cause. The two titles that the students showed particular interest in were New Views of the Moon, published in 2006 by the Mineralogical Society of America and the Geochemical Society, and which contains a thorough set of mineral maps taken from Lunar Prospector and Clementine data, and the classic Resources of Near Earth Space by Lewis et al in 1993, which text is now available online thanks to the good folks over at the University of Arizona. It's a huge service to the space research community, as the book is typically quite hard to find, and expensive when it is found.My purpose for being there was two-fold:1) Collect information on the methodology of the conference. Back at the 2007 ISDC, Danish space adventurer Per Wimmer was quite impressed with our efforts, and donated $1000 to NSS of North Texas to send a kid to Space Camp, with the person chosen being the winner of some kind of space settlement contest. Sending the kid to Space Camp is easy, it's the competition that is hard. Our chapter President recently sent an e-mail describing the competition to a list of science teachers in the metroplex, and got zero response - not a very encouraging start.2) Sell NSS 2009 Space Settlement calendars to the students and chaperons. Not yet available to the general public, these beautiful calendars are intended in part to help with the 'envisioning of our space future' process that helps build public support for space programs. Sales were a bit less than hoped for.3) I also talked about space with many of the students and provided a large amount of free materials such as Ad Astra magazines focused on the Moon, Moon posters from the Artemis Society, brochures, flyers, bookmarks, and so on. I also had all of my props, such as genuine fake Moon rocks, meteorite samples, display boards, et al. They seemed most smitten with the sample of aerogel, and the accompanying flyers from JPL quickly disappeared. Next thing you know they're trying to figure out all sorts of clever ways to work it into their designs. I stuck around through the presentations, and I have to say I was quite impressed with the results, and kept having flashbacks to NASA Academy and ISU and SGF. There was one absolutely genius idea for the Moonbase that could be applied right away here on Earth. Just brilliant, and exactly the kind of thing that these exercises help to uncover. Here's the scoop. All of the projects touched on the ideas of recycling energy as much as possible, and one idea involved the high speed transport cars passing through the tunnels between the modules. Anyone who has ridden the NYC subways knows what happens when you push something through a tunnel - the air gets displaced. The idea is to use small windturbines lining the tunnels to recapture the energy of the air displacement. This could be immediately implemented here on Earth by lining interstate highways with small ground-level windturbines that capture the displacement of air by traffic. Anyone who's watched the grass being flattened by the wake of a passing 18-wheeler knows exactly what I'm talking about. I did get to talk to some of the youngsters from JSC who were volunteering their time as specialists to give information and advice to the students as they worked through their designs. One young lady in structural mechanics asked me what I thought of Constellation, and I told her that she probably wasn't going to like what I had to say about it. I told her what I saw as the transport needs in cislunar space, how those needs could be addressed, and why I don't think ESAS addresses any of those needs, and is therefore not something that I can support. I may not have a choice with my tax dollars, but I do with my opinion and my expression of it.I'd actually like to go back next year and help out in a more involved fashion with Moonbase II. The two years after that are Mars Base I & II, which I wouldn't be of much help with. (I'm not one of the folks who see mars as 'The Goal') Maybe they'll do a Ceres station after that. If there's one recommendation I would make it would be that some corporate organization step forward and underwrite the conference a bit more, primarily with regards to the arranging and printing of support reference materials for the students, as well as miscellaneous goodies (like providing Space Settlement calendars for the students, hint, hint). It was a well-organized and run event, evidence of the many years that Anita and Dick have put into the event. It was a comprehensive systems exercise, and all of the teams pulled it off. The grilling was gentle but thorough, making sure that the students had put effort into coming up with their particular results. I didn't stick around to hear who the winner was, but I sure am glad that I didn't have to judge the thing. There was no obvious winner to me, meaning that it would have been fought out in the details. All of the students presented well regardless of their level of competency in English, which was generally at a high level. Kudos to all of the participants.I did of course make a pilgrimage to the Half-Price Books on NASA Rd 1 and picked up a few new titles for the Lunar Library, including the last volumes that I was missing from the 1970s US/USSR scientific collaboration Foundations of Space Biology and Medicine.No space adventure is complete without the element of danger factor. In this case it was on the way out of north Houston on 45. Traffic was thinning out, and I was trying to follow the high velocity flow given that I had a trek ahead of me back to Dallas. Up ahead I espied a large blue pickup, one of the ones with the double wheels on each side in the back, slowing up the fast lane. And part of the shoulder. And part of the middle lane. Either drunk or having medical issues. I gave him some headlight flashes and he straightened out for a brief time, but soon returned to wandering. I decided to put as much space between him and me as possible, so zipped by on the right (which I despise doing. I think passing on the right should be forbidden as it is incredibly dangerous) and forged ahead at modestly over the flow at 80 mph to gain some distance on him. Soon though, I found myself in a situation where the flow was moving to the right through a gap left by a sporty SUV. By the time my turn came around the SUV had moved up to block the pass, and so I was stuck behind someone parked in the left lane doing beneath the speed of at least two lanes while the SUV moved up and gave me space to fall behind. I check the rearview and what should I see roaring up behind me at a significant velocity differential but the grill of Mr. Blue Pickup with lane issues. I flash the gold car ahead of me while trying to figure out whether I was going to need to move over to the shoulder to get out of the situation since I couldn't move right thanks to the SUV. The brake lights finally got his attention as the space between his large vehicle and my small Bug grew terrifyingly short in a terrifyingly short period of time. I managed to finally squeeze right and pass the car in the fast lane and wouldn't you know it it was some idjit playing chatty Cathy on her cell phone. Fine, I'm out of there, sounds like the two were perfect for each other. Drunken driver in enormous vehicle meets cell phone idjit in the fast lane of the highway. I have a low level of tolerance for either kind of vehicular stupidity and have no problem exceeding the speed limit to put my vehicle at a safe distance from that stupidity. I rode that adrenaline rush for a while.Lady luck, though, seems to have blessed this poor Irish soul, and I made it back alive. Luckily, I took today off as well, to give me some time to recover, and write my next in a series of articles on Juvenile Space Fiction. This week is New High Frontier fiction. I.e. from the last twenty years or so. Next week is all of the old stuff from the 40s through 60s like Tom Swift and Tom Corbett, and then I've got a surprise for the fifth week. I should have covered close to 100 youth and juvenile space titles by the time I'm done. And I just remembered that I promised Marianne Dyson a review of the old TV space soap opera Jupiter Moon for the NSS Reading Space. Maybe I can piggyback on the one I do for Out of the Cradle.And so goes yet another vacation... It's now officially official [New Window]
by guest blogger KenHaving goofed up on my paperwork the first time around, I had to wait longer than expected to get the final documentation, but I am now looking at an official Certificate of Filing of Lunar Library LLC.That's right, according to the LLC Agreement, I am now the proud Custodian of the online assets of OutoftheCradle.net, as well as the physical collection which is currently overflowing my apartment. The goal of the business is to make money on the Moon, starting right here on Earth.I have yet to figure out how to apply the physical assets. I still like the idea of using it as the seed for a Lunar Academy program at some university. Something that blends the UND Space Masters program, the NASA Academy, and ISU to train future Moon leaders.I'm a bit bummed that I'm missing the NLSI Conference out at Ames. From Keith's coverage over at NASAWatch it sounds interesting and well-attended. And hey, you know, if you're going to apply for the position of NLSI Director you should probably go to their conferences. But I'm just a poor working stiff from the wrong side of the launch pad, with a limited number of vacation days and amount of budget to expend on the Lunar Library and space conferences. My vacation days this month are going towards working at the International Space Settlement Design Competition this next weekend down in Houston. Not in an official capacity, just NSS, but I expect to end up help |
