Free Carnifex by Tom Kratman

our left front."

    Cruz couldn't see the attached scout dog from his position in the back of the platoon, but did see the men sinking to their bellies along the dirt road that led between the irrigated fields. He joined them.

    "Artillery?" he asked Arredondo over the Comsys.

    "No . . . no. I don't want to fuck up the farmer's crop; be a damned poor way to repay him for trying to help. What's available for air?"

    Air support was well out of the range of the Comsys, which were, by design, limited to no more than a mile in range . Cruz turned to the chief of the forward observer team, bellying down beside him.

    "What can we get from the air?" Cruz asked.

    The corporal made an inquiry over his longer ranged radio. A few minutes later he answered, "We can have a brace of Turbo-Finch Avengers"—crop dusters reconfigured for the close air support role—"in about twenty minutes, or there's an armed Cricket recon bird we can have in five. The Avengers are carrying some flechette rockets and a gun pod each. Mostly they're carrying bombs though."

    "Can we have both?" Cruz asked. After all, we don't necessarily have to use the bombs.

    "Don't see why not."

    "Get 'em both. We'll let the Cricket flush them and use the Avengers to help us pursue. Rockets and machine guns only though." He passed the same on to Arredondo via the Comsys.

    "That's fine, Cruz," Arredondo answered. Cruz then heard him say, "O Group," or orders group. All four squad leaders immediately answered with their ordinal numbers, "First . . . Second . . . Third . . . Fourth." Fourth was also known as the weapons squad.

    Cruz himself announced only his name, and that only to let the squad leaders know he was there and listening.

    "Here's the deal," Arrodendo announced. "I think we've got a group of guerillas up ahead in the wheat to the left. They probably know they've been spotted by the fact we took cover. That's ok. We're going to kill them anyway."

    "We've got air inbound in five . . . no, about four now . . . minutes. Once that's overhead, we're going to start moving forward by bounds, by squad. Second Squad will bound first. Once we take fire we'll return it and develop the situation a bit. I want to flush them into the open where the air can kill them. Questions?"

    "First, negative . . . Second, no questions, Centurion . . . Third, roger, out . . . Weapons, no sweat."

    "Centurion, this is Cruz. The machine guns can range the wood from the road and can see it, too."

    After a short pause to think, Arredondo said, "Right . . . keep weapons by the road, Cruz. You stay with them to control the air. Now, good hunting, gentlemen. The war's been dull of late. This should give the boys a little much-needed excitement."

    * * *

    The Cricket was heavily muffled. Cruz didn't see or hear it until the pilot came up on the radio to announce he'd arrived.

    "Keep out of light missile range," Cruz cautioned. "We're going to try to flush them out of cover."

    "Wilco," answered the pilot. "Hey, Cruz, that you?"

    "Montoya?" Cruz asked in return.

    "'Oh, Cazador Buddy,'" Montoya answered.

    "I didn't know you were going to flight school."

    Montoya sighed over the radio. "I didn't do well enough in school"—he meant Cazador School, a miserable exercise in starvation, sleep deprivation, danger and sheer hard work; it was also the Legion's sine qua non for leader selection—"for them to actually trust me as an officer or centurion. So I hung around the Cazador Tercio until someone came to talk to me about becoming a pilot. So it's Flight Warrant Officer Montoya now."

    "Good job," Cruz answered, and meant it. Unlike most armed forces the air component of the Legion was a part and parcel of the whole; treated like crap the same as everyone else, rather than as spoiled children with too many privileges. There was, therefore, quite a bit more affection between ground and air than was true of most armed forces. The air loved the