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TWENTY-NINE

It was to be the last meeting before the Great March began, only one hectorev away. Plans for the big parade were being finalized. It was a nuisance—the troops would have to be barged into Bellinzona, landed, paraded through the city to the cheers of multitudes, re-loaded, and barged to the south end of Moros, where the overland trek to the highway was flat and easy. But it couldn’t be helped. The city needed to see its army. The army needed to know the people were behind them as they moved into harm’s way. It was deadly to underestimate the importance of morale.
The meeting was a nuisance, too. Cirocco sat quietly and listened to the usual complaints, suggestions, and displays of ego, and waited her turn.
The big tent easily held the four Generals, twenty Colonels, and one hundred Majors who formed the top brass of the army. She knew all of them by name—part of being a politician was to remember everyone’s name, and she had been meticulous about it—but privately she liked to think of them by the names of their commands.
There were four Divisions, each led by a General. Thus, there was a General Two, Three, Eight, and One Hundred and One, leading the Second, Third, Eighth, and One Hundred First Divisions. That there were no First, Fourth, etc. Divisions did not bother Cirocco. She had picked the numbers for historical reasons that would appeal to Gaea,
Each General presided over five Legions, commanded by Colonels. The Legions had two thousand soldiers each, and were numbered consecutively.
There were five Cohorts in a Legion, ten Companies in a Cohort, two sections in a Company. Companies were commanded by Sergeants, of which there were sixteen hundred in the Bellinzona Army.
These numbers had resulted from endless wrangling, and were still the cause of debate. Most of the senior staff agreed the officer/enlisted ratio was hopelessly small. Forty thousand soldiers needed more officers, in the view of these professional military people.
The second major complaint was lack of weaponry and equipment. Procurement had fallen short of expected goals. Cirocco listened to General One Hundred and One expounding the numbers: a shortfall of X in swords, Y in shields, Z in breastplates.
The third was lack of training. The brass complained bitterly of having no one to practice on. As a result, there were no blooded troops except a handful who had fought on Earth.
Cirocco listened to it all, and finally stood up.
“First,” she said, and pointed to General Two, “you’re fired. You have contempt for human life, and ought to be back on Earth pushing buttons and creating deserts. I’d send you back if I could. As it is, I’m sending you to the prison camp for two kilorevs. Your bags are packed. Go home and write your memoirs.”
She waited in the thick silence as the red-faced man marched from the tent. She pointed to Colonel Six.
“You’re promoted to take his place. There’s a star sitting on your bunk. Pin it on when you get there. Pick your successor for the Sixth Legion—and it doesn’t have to be one of your Majors.” She pointed three more times. “You, you, and you. You’re not Colonels anymore. You’re not good enough to run a Legion.” The three got up and left. If anything, the silence was even thicker.
“I don’t know the Majors well enough to make reasoned judgments on their performance, so you can breathe easier. But I urge all of you here to do whatever is necessary in the way of discharges and demotions to make this a more efficient outfit.
“And now  . . .  I’m going to solve all your problems. I am going to decimate your troops.”
She waited for the buzz of conversation to die down, then addressed the Generals.
“I want the orders to go out to the Sergeants. Each of them is in charge of twenty soldiers. I want them to pick the two worst they have, and send them home. I want them to choose the rawest recruits, the guy who keeps tripping over his bootlaces or stabbing himself with his sword, the girl who can’t keep her head down or remember which end of the arrow fits over the string . . .  I want all the fuck-ups and misfits and weaklings and idiots weeded out. Muster them out within twenty revs, honorable discharges, no stigma attached.” She waved a hand negligently. “It doesn’t have to be two from each Section. Some sections are going to be solid all the way through, and others will have four or five rejects. Have it worked out on the Company and Cohort level  . . .  but work it out. In twenty revs, I want this army to be ten percent smaller.”
There was more conversation, as she had expected. She repressed a smile. It damn sure improved the officer/enlisted ratio, but it wasn’t what they’d had in mind at all.
“Next step,” she went on. She pointed at General Three. He cringed slightly. “Yours is the newest Division, with the highest percentage of recruits. I believe you to be a good General, with a genuine concern for the welfare of your troops. It isn’t your fault that your Division is the weakest of the four. Nevertheless, it is the weakest. So you become the Home Division.”
“Now just a—”
Cirocco did not have to glare very hard to silence him. The man realized he had overstepped his bounds, and shut up.
“As I was saying, your Division will stay behind. This will solve the equipment problem, and help with the training problem, since you will be leaving all your equipment behind and continuing to train your troops while the rest of us are marching on Pandemonium.”
The General swallowed hard, but remained silent.
“You will be receiving new equipment as it is manufactured. The rest of us will have to make do with what we bring along  . . .  which will now be adequate. Your mission is to set up two garrisons, one at the east road leading to Iapetus, and one at the western pass into the mountains. These garrisons should be defensible if Gaea sends armies into Dione. You will also establish outposts on the northern rim of Moros. In consultation with the civil authorities, you are to establish a Navy to patrol Moros. I am leaving tactical decisions up to you, but I recommend some degree of fortification of the city, and a certain number of troops—possibly one Legion—stationed nearby. If we fail, the defense of Bellinzona will be up to you.”
The General was looking a lot more interested, though Cirocco knew there was no way to make him like the assignment.
“One more thing, General. When we leave here, we will be leaving the worst Division behind. When we return, I want it to be the best, or you should look for another job.”
“It will be,” he said.
“Good. Go get started on it now.”
He looked surprised, then stood up quickly and marched out, followed by his Colonels and Majors. When they were gone, the number of empty chairs was impressive. Cirocco had just cut the size of her Army by more than one fourth, and was well pleased with her work. She looked from face to face, taking her time, and when she was done, she smiled.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” she said, “we are ready to march on Pandemonium.”

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TWENTY-NINE

It was to be the last meeting before the Great March began, only one hectorev away. Plans for the big parade were being finalized. It was a nuisance—the troops would have to be barged into Bellinzona, landed, paraded through the city to the cheers of multitudes, re-loaded, and barged to the south end of Moros, where the overland trek to the highway was flat and easy. But it couldn’t be helped. The city needed to see its army. The army needed to know the people were behind them as they moved into harm’s way. It was deadly to underestimate the importance of morale.
The meeting was a nuisance, too. Cirocco sat quietly and listened to the usual complaints, suggestions, and displays of ego, and waited her turn.
The big tent easily held the four Generals, twenty Colonels, and one hundred Majors who formed the top brass of the army. She knew all of them by name—part of being a politician was to remember everyone’s name, and she had been meticulous about it—but privately she liked to think of them by the names of their commands.
There were four Divisions, each led by a General. Thus, there was a General Two, Three, Eight, and One Hundred and One, leading the Second, Third, Eighth, and One Hundred First Divisions. That there were no First, Fourth, etc. Divisions did not bother Cirocco. She had picked the numbers for historical reasons that would appeal to Gaea,
Each General presided over five Legions, commanded by Colonels. The Legions had two thousand soldiers each, and were numbered consecutively.
There were five Cohorts in a Legion, ten Companies in a Cohort, two sections in a Company. Companies were commanded by Sergeants, of which there were sixteen hundred in the Bellinzona Army.
These numbers had resulted from endless wrangling, and were still the cause of debate. Most of the senior staff agreed the officer/enlisted ratio was hopelessly small. Forty thousand soldiers needed more officers, in the view of these professional military people.
The second major complaint was lack of weaponry and equipment. Procurement had fallen short of expected goals. Cirocco listened to General One Hundred and One expounding the numbers: a shortfall of X in swords, Y in shields, Z in breastplates.
The third was lack of training. The brass complained bitterly of having no one to practice on. As a result, there were no blooded troops except a handful who had fought on Earth.
Cirocco listened to it all, and finally stood up.
“First,” she said, and pointed to General Two, “you’re fired. You have contempt for human life, and ought to be back on Earth pushing buttons and creating deserts. I’d send you back if I could. As it is, I’m sending you to the prison camp for two kilorevs. Your bags are packed. Go home and write your memoirs.”
She waited in the thick silence as the red-faced man marched from the tent. She pointed to Colonel Six.
“You’re promoted to take his place. There’s a star sitting on your bunk. Pin it on when you get there. Pick your successor for the Sixth Legion—and it doesn’t have to be one of your Majors.” She pointed three more times. “You, you, and you. You’re not Colonels anymore. You’re not good enough to run a Legion.” The three got up and left. If anything, the silence was even thicker.
“I don’t know the Majors well enough to make reasoned judgments on their performance, so you can breathe easier. But I urge all of you here to do whatever is necessary in the way of discharges and demotions to make this a more efficient outfit.
“And now  . . .  I’m going to solve all your problems. I am going to decimate your troops.”
She waited for the buzz of conversation to die down, then addressed the Generals.
“I want the orders to go out to the Sergeants. Each of them is in charge of twenty soldiers. I want them to pick the two worst they have, and send them home. I want them to choose the rawest recruits, the guy who keeps tripping over his bootlaces or stabbing himself with his sword, the girl who can’t keep her head down or remember which end of the arrow fits over the string . . .  I want all the fuck-ups and misfits and weaklings and idiots weeded out. Muster them out within twenty revs, honorable discharges, no stigma attached.” She waved a hand negligently. “It doesn’t have to be two from each Section. Some sections are going to be solid all the way through, and others will have four or five rejects. Have it worked out on the Company and Cohort level  . . .  but work it out. In twenty revs, I want this army to be ten percent smaller.”
There was more conversation, as she had expected. She repressed a smile. It damn sure improved the officer/enlisted ratio, but it wasn’t what they’d had in mind at all.
“Next step,” she went on. She pointed at General Three. He cringed slightly. “Yours is the newest Division, with the highest percentage of recruits. I believe you to be a good General, with a genuine concern for the welfare of your troops. It isn’t your fault that your Division is the weakest of the four. Nevertheless, it is the weakest. So you become the Home Division.”
“Now just a—”
Cirocco did not have to glare very hard to silence him. The man realized he had overstepped his bounds, and shut up.
“As I was saying, your Division will stay behind. This will solve the equipment problem, and help with the training problem, since you will be leaving all your equipment behind and continuing to train your troops while the rest of us are marching on Pandemonium.”
The General swallowed hard, but remained silent.
“You will be receiving new equipment as it is manufactured. The rest of us will have to make do with what we bring along  . . .  which will now be adequate. Your mission is to set up two garrisons, one at the east road leading to Iapetus, and one at the western pass into the mountains. These garrisons should be defensible if Gaea sends armies into Dione. You will also establish outposts on the northern rim of Moros. In consultation with the civil authorities, you are to establish a Navy to patrol Moros. I am leaving tactical decisions up to you, but I recommend some degree of fortification of the city, and a certain number of troops—possibly one Legion—stationed nearby. If we fail, the defense of Bellinzona will be up to you.”
The General was looking a lot more interested, though Cirocco knew there was no way to make him like the assignment.
“One more thing, General. When we leave here, we will be leaving the worst Division behind. When we return, I want it to be the best, or you should look for another job.”
“It will be,” he said.
“Good. Go get started on it now.”
He looked surprised, then stood up quickly and marched out, followed by his Colonels and Majors. When they were gone, the number of empty chairs was impressive. Cirocco had just cut the size of her Army by more than one fourth, and was well pleased with her work. She looked from face to face, taking her time, and when she was done, she smiled.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” she said, “we are ready to march on Pandemonium.”

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