Free Caliphate by Tom Kratman

a big country, but split into two, then three, then dozens. I don't know why."

    "What's all this black?" Petra asked, her own little hand sweeping the two continents of the west, various islands in the sea called "Peaceful," the area south of the Kingdom of the Han, and two large islands off the coast of the Caliphate.

    "That's the American devils, places they rule and places so closely allied to them they may as well rule them."

Diosdado Macapagal International Airport, Philippine Sovereign Allied Territory, 22 May, 2107

    Imperialism not only can come in light-handed and heavy-handed varieties, just how light or heavy those hands feel can depend on whether or not the subject peoples feel the need to have the imperialists around.

    The imperial hand laid upon the Philippines was so light that there was talk of statehood, full membership in the Union. Moreover, the need was great, what with the Moros of Mindanao and Cebu. Indeed, it was the remaining presence of so many Moslems in the PSAT that had kept it from statehood, so far.

    That's why the 24th Infantry Division had been sent for the second time to the islands. The first time had been to help liberate them from the Japanese.

    (The Japanese had actually volunteered troops to the ongoing campaign in the Philippines but the Filipinos, with memories that a mere hundred and sixty-odd years could not erase, had said, in effect, "Been there; done that. It wasn't all that much fun the first time. So, thanks, but no thanks.")

    Thus, the faces on the troops of the 43rd, 45th and 57th Infantry Regiments of the Army of the Philippines, standing in ranks to welcome the newly arrived 24th Infantry Division, were brightly lit with smiles as the first of the Suited Heavy Infantry debarked from the Retaliation. Those Filipinos were all already United States citizens and only looked forward to full joinder in the Empire. Their band, the 12th Infantry Division band, played the song the Filipinos still sometimes thought of as "Caissons." And why not? The song, under that title, had been born at this very base, then known as Fort Stotsenberg, in the Philippines, one hundred and ninety-nine years before.

    Though it was tied down and partly sunk into an artificial depression, the airship still shuddered with the impact of hundreds of pairs of armored, powered feet, running in place and in cadence, as the twin side ramps hummed down to the tarmac of the airship port to the east of the airfield.

    In their communications system, Hamilton and Hodge heard the voice of their not-too-terribly beloved company commander, Carl Thompson, a medium-sized, overly large brained, relentless and vicious mustang with a bad attitude towards graduates of the Imperial Military Academy. There was something about Thompson that was just plain uncomfortable.

    "Bravo Company!"

    "Platoon!" echoed the lieutenants Laurie Hodge, John Hamilton, Kennedy Parker and Jerome Miles. Parker's supplemental command was late and hesitant.

    "Double time—"

    "Double time—"

    "March!"

    At first, since the only troopers really able to run were right at the loading ramp, the pounding and the shuddering of the airship's deck decreased. Then, as the forward ranks thinned and more and more of the troops were able to actually run, the deck could be seen to visibly vibrate.

    Far above, on the bridge of the airship, the ship's captain, Lieutenant Colonel Mike (the) Pike, shuddered, grimaced and cursed through gritted teeth, "I friggin' hate when they do that."

    The captain—"that asshole Thompson"—was already posted on the tarmac when Hamilton and his platoon emerged from the airship. Hodge, leading her platoon, had slowed to allow the troops to form into a solid mass in four files behind her. Thompson was pointing with his left, armored, hand at the precise spot he wanted her to take. For whatever reason—and rumor control said he'd had a bad experience as a lieutenant in the northern territories when some rebels had