QUINTO SOL part 2.
(Author's note: this chapter contains references to characters and situations that belong to His Divine Shadow and I take no credit or responsibility for them.)
(Also, big keyboard salute to Zinegata for catching an error about Federation aircraft. I originally said Flydart when I should have said Fly Mantha. I regret the error; it's been fixed now.)
Mike Chavez turned off the lights in his room and looked through his window at the temples and pyramids. So this was Mexico. It was a big change from Los Angeles, even more so from Faraday Colony. He hoped he'd never have to explain to his comrades that the reason he had left Nuevo Aztlan hadn't just been language. It had been the assumption that just because he was brown and spoke Spanish that it was the place where he should be.
He'd always considered himself a proud citizen of the Federation until the moment his family's number was drawn and they were told to report in for repatriation to Side 3. It wasn't something he had expected at all. He was educated and middle class, not the usual type of person sent to the Sides. Sure, he didn't have a job yet, but it wasn't as if he'd had a chance to finish his job search, either. His parents both had jobs, but were told they would find better ones in what was then Munzo Colony.
From Los Angeles they'd been sent to the colony-bound spaceport in the Philippines and loaded onto a ship headed for Nuevo-Aztlan. They were told they could choose residence in any of its three cylinders: Juarez, Guadalupe, or Hidalgo.
On the shuttle, he'd met a family who didn't seem like most of the other travelers. They spoke English and their last name was Shiden. "We're Puerto Ricans," the husband had said as his wife rewarded a smart-aleck comment from her son with a smack to the mouth. "Somebody figured that if you're Hispanic you must be Mexican, I guess. If we don't like it we'll move. That's what we jíbarros do."
Unlike the Shidens, many of the people on the ship were frightened, but hopeful. Others just seemed terrified. Chavez recalled one elderly couple, the man in worn slacks, a white button-down shirt and straw Stetson, the woman in a nondescript dress and apron, her salt-and-pepper hair in two braids, clinging to each other with their bundles at their feet.
Once in Side 3, there was a period of living in temporary housing while they found jobs and a place to live. Chavez's parents found work quickly, with their professional backgrounds and fluent Spanish from being born in Tijuana. In fact, they seemed to flourish right away.
While his parents may have enjoyed the fact that they lived in a recently- built house and could go a short way to a chaotic market selling plucked dead chickens with head and feet attached, home-grown herbs, and neat piles of rolls in big wicker baskets, he didn't. His parents felt that this combined all the best of southern California with Mexico, which for him was the problem. Chavez applied for jobs elsewhere in Side 3, and found one to his liking on Faraday.
Chavez had been in the military for two years, having joined when Federation economic sanctions succeeded in killing the company for which he worked. It hadn't been his first choice for new employment, but having lost his home and his job to the Federation, he didn't find getting into uniform terribly difficult.
Now, irony of ironies, Chavez found himself in the real Mexico after all. He'd never been there except for a ten-day class trip in high school. Returning to southern California with the invading Jion forces in March had been a dream come true. The first thing he had done after things settled down was to go surfing in Huntington Beach. The surf was wicked because of the disruption of the waves caused by the destruction of Sydney, Australia, and Ruby's Diner at the end of the pier had fallen into the ocean. Again.
He turned the light back on and finished putting his clothes in his closet and dresser. Housing was in geodesic domes that were of a decent size and furnished. Captain Duarte lived in a cluster of four domes, which made Chavez suspect he would be seeing his commander's family around base.
Chavez opened the door of his place and sat on a low cement wall outside of it for a smoke. The night was still hot and muggy, although he had a feeling it would cool down dramatically towards morning. The temples of Teotihuacan loomed darkly against the artificial lighting of the base. He'd climbed the Pyramid of the Sun during that ten-day school trip and had sore thigh muscles for days. If he did it again, he'd stretch properly first.
He crushed out his cigarette, feeling more optimistic. This might not be a bad assignment. The Falling Eagles were a nice enough bunch, though he'd have to loosen up a bit in order to fit in. Everybody seemed to have a dog, so maybe that would be a start.
Suddenly, something moved quickly against the wall to his right. Chavez instinctively sprang over the wall he was sitting on and raised his head slightly to see what it was. There was no sound, but he was sure he'd seen a movement. Rumours he'd heard of super-humans with unnatural speed and reflexes repeated themselves in his head.
The thing moved again. Chavez pulled himself down beneath the wall and watched. A second later, his would-be assailant revealed itself to be a five-inch lizard, looking for its supper. Chavez sighed, feeling stupid, and stood.
"This is between you and me, okay?" he asked the lizard, which just flicked its tongue. Shaking his head, he went indoors for a shower and some sleep.
*** "Okay, today's assignment is reconstruction," Octavio Duarte told his three teams. "We've got a nice checklist from Battalion as to what they expect to be done so far and what needs to get started." He gave the papers to Conchita, who started handing them out. Chavez ran his eyes down the list and cringed inwardly. These were not cheap projects. At the same time, North America wasn't getting new mobile suits to defend the new infrastructure. He gritted his teeth slightly, seeing the hand of the populist master Giren all over the plans.
"Luna, Leo, you both are on the high-tension wire restoration project," Duarte started. "Pedro, Provi, Lopez, check in on the irrigation projects in Atlixco. Chavez, Maria, you two look in on the telephone lines. Villalobos, we've got a village dispute over a well southeast of San Martin. Conchita, give him the coordinates."
"Is digging them a new well an option, jefe?" Villalobos asked.
"Depends on whether or not they'll argue over who gets the new well," Duarte told him. "See what kind of people they are, first. If it'd help, sure."
After a few questions, they were ready to go and Duarte dismissed them for the day. Chavez left for his Zaku feeling out of his depth. He'd come down to defend and fight, and he didn't know if he was going to be up to industrial development.
"So how nervous are you, knowing that the Fedichos [1] are just a few hundred kilometers away?" Chavez asked Maria Franco. Her no-nonsense olive green Zaku marched along beside his, which was now just matte-grey, having not been painted yet.
"It's not too bad here," she answered. "We've got it pretty easy, defending the capitol and the Puebla-Tlaxcala area. Those poor guys down in Veracruz, now their job stinks. They have to hold the port for Jion while the Fedichos are sitting over the state line in Oaxaca, grinning at them. We've torn up the road between the two cities but tanks and planes don't need them. Plus, they have battleships too, but we've been lucky enough not to see them lately."
"Were you in the drop operation?"
"I was," she answered. "Were you?"
"Yup. And the taking of California Base. Exciting times."
"Ones I can live without," Franco told him. "I lost my husband in the One Week War, and I don't know how many friends to Fly Mantha attacks during the drop into Mesoamerica."
"What's your background?" Chavez thought to ask. "I hear from your accent you weren't born on Side 3."
"You weren't either. Tell you what. Buy me a cemita later and I'll tell you."
They continued out to where workers in orange jumpsuits were installing telephone poles and cables. They were assisted by a Zaku I that was now painted blue with the TelMex logo on the shoulder. As the men poured concrete into holes, the Zaku lifted the poles from a truck and planted them neatly, securing them in the ground. Other workers continued by stringing the lines.
Maria stopped her Zaku and had it kneel so she could climb out. Chavez did the same. She walked up to the foreman, a man taller and lighter-skinned than those in the orange jumpsuits, and said, "Ingeniero [2]Rodriguez. Let me present the newest member of the Falling Eagles, Mike Chavez. He's been sent down from California base."
"Pleased to meet you." Rodriguez shook his hand. "Señorita, tell Captain Duarte that over in the hills over there are caves with many rabbits in them. We didn't have any food to give them, and they have wounded."
"I'll tell him. How much do they know about us?"
Rodriguez shook his head. "I don't know. They speak Zapotec, I think. They recognized TelMex , but the Zaku was a shock. I told them, brown uniform good, grey uniform bad. But they knew that about the grey uniforms, of course."
"Seguro.[3] In the mean time, show us what you and your men have done."
In the past week, they had laid several kilometers of phone line. They hadn't done as much as Octavio Duarte had given as optimal according to the instructions from Battalion, but it wasn't bad. Franco and Chavez re- mounted their Zakus in order to walk the line, checking if the poles were secure and the cables properly placed. That took until one, when Franco told Chavez it was time to take a break.
"We'll get started again in a couple of hours," she said as they walked beside a well-paved road. "Everybody stops for two hours or so around now because of the sun and the heat. Only mad dogs and Fedichos come out in this midday sun. Here's Doña Filomena's."
They dismounted again beside a roadside shack that held a wooden counter, some stools, and behind the counter an older woman of indeterminate age whose graying braids were tied together at her back. Her smile revealed teeth that were edged in gold. Chavez watched Franco undo the collar of her uniform and followed suit. There were some farm workers on the other stools, dressed in dusty jeans, plaid shirts, and the white straw Stetsons that seemed to be everywhere. They were drinking beer with their food and didn't seem to find the sight of the two Jions surprising at all.
"You wanted me to buy you a cemita," Chavez said.
"I've changed my mind. Filomena specializes in tacos." She smiled at Filomena, who placed an orange soda in front of Franco without being asked.
"I'll have the tacos too," Chavez said to Filomena. "And a Coke." As Filomena turned towards a stack of tortillas and a large vat of hot oil, he asked, "So, you said you'd tell me where you were from"
Franco uncapped her drink with a bottle opener that was chained to the counter and did the same for him. "Mexico City. The slums. I went to school, but when I wasn't there I was walking between rows of cars on the streets, selling flowers, or onyx figures, or sunshades, whatever we had that week."
"When did you go to Side 3?"
"As soon as we had the chance. We volunteered, we weren't drafted. It was a nice change too, let me tell you. I got to go to college, we all had real jobs, and I joined the militia back when Deykun was elected."
"So you've been in a long time."
She gulped down half her soda. "Claro. I was proud to defend the colony when independence was declared and the Federation declared sanctions. The Federation gave us a chance, ¿verdad? but they forget their promises very quickly. First they stuffed the colonies so full of people that it was like living in Mexico again. Then they put on sanctions when Deykun said 'no more' and declared independence. He was right to do that, but he couldn't deal with the economics of the situation. So it was a good thing, I think, that the Zabis took over. They're a little crazy, but at least they can run a country."
Filomena placed two plastic plates in front of them. Unlike the tacos he was used to, where the filling was in a tortilla folded in half, these were rolled, fried, and served with a sauce. Chavez took a bite and found it was spicy pork and very good. "So after the war, would you go back to Side 3 or stay here?"
Franco shook her head. "I don't know. I think it'd be nice to live in Mexico again now that I'm not poor, but life on the colonies is pretty good."
"Given a choice, I'd be back in California. I miss the ocean."
"I grew up inland, so the colonies were fine."
"Franco, everybody's-"
"Call me Maria."
"Maria, everybody is taking for granted that I know the origin of this company. Why are we the Falling Eagles? Shouldn't we be the Soaring Eagles or something? And why is everyone in here Mexican and from Nuevo Aztlan?"
She looked at him quizzically. "Octavio didn't tell you the story?"
"No."
"He thinks we are more famous than we are. The word in Nahuatl for a falling eagle is cuauhtémoc. Now does the name make more sense?"
Chavez nodded. "Cuauhtémoc was the last emperor of the Aztecs. He wouldn't tell Cortez where the Aztec gold was, even though Cortez had him tortured."
"Specifically, he had his feet branded. Ultimately, Cortez had him hanged," Maria went on. "Our vow is to never let our homeland fall like that, no matter what we suffer. That's why we all carry this."
She reached down and pulled on her right boot heel. Her boot slid off, taking most of her sock with it. She swatted some lint from her foot and lifted it up, showing him the sole. In white puckered skin was an Aztec glyph.
"It means 'falling eagle'," Maria explained. "All of us in the 505th have had it branded onto our foot, to remind us." She nonchalantly slid her sock back on and stomped her boot back onto her foot.
"Nobody told me to expect that."
"You don't have to get it, especially since you're a pinch-hitter for us. But that's our initiation. It's not a secret, but we just don't talk about it a lot. Besides, how many people back in Side 3 are interested in what a bunch of lowly Mexicans like us are doing?" She signaled for another orange soda.
"Obviously Prince Garma is."
"You know him better than I. The Eagles existed as a unit back on Nuevo Aztlan before the war. Garma requested them for the drop on Mesoamerica. Kishiria was going to blend in a few companies from other colonies, because she thought that it would be better to have an integrated force. Garma said no, that we would fight for Jion better if we were protecting our motherland. That was a dangerous idea, the idea of people fighting for two motherlands, but Kishiria had already set precedent."
"The 10th Panzenkaempher, right?"
"The crazy Germans, yes. She had the Nuevo Koenigsburgueños in their motherland, so why not us in ours? Tavi was in on that meeting. Garma actually said to his sister, 'The only reason you're giving the 10th what they want is because they're WHITE!' Kishiria was ready to hit him, but then von Mellinthin started laughing and that was the end of it."
Filomena offered Chavez some salsa. Chavez said no and thanked her. "Rodriguez mentioned rabbits in the hills. What was that all about?"
"We call people who are hiding out from Federation sweeps conejos. The Federation hasn't had the ability to round up people to send them to the colonies in months, but the kind of people who become conejos don't know that. They're small farmers mostly who hid in caves and jungles to keep from being sent to space. True, it would be an easier life for them there, but they are deathly afraid of what they don't know. We tell them they don't have to go, give them some food and send them home if we can. Unfortunately, it's not always possible, and it's hard when they're Mayans from Chiapas or the like."
Chavez nodded. "When all Earth is under Jion control, the Mayans won't have to hide in the hills of Tlaxcala."
"Claro." As she finished her soda, Maria added, "Let's finish up with the telephone lines and then go find the rabbits."
"You speak their language?"
"No, I'm going to call the base and have Augustin sent out here. He's a Zapotec."
They remounted and marched off back towards the telephone lines. After some consultation with Rodriguez, Chavez and Franco decided that they could make the goal given by Battalion if they helped with the digging.
"Only thing is, where are we going to find shovels that big?" asked Chavez.
"Pocho's got a point," Rodriguez said.[4]
Franco glowered. "Listen, cabron, you give respect to the compañeros. We're the ones who make sure you have a job. Watch."
She got into her Zaku and walked over to a nearby building site. She took a ten-foot length of pipe from a pile beside the half-finished cinderblock structure and made her suit kneel where the next pole was to be placed. She pushed the pipe vertically into the hard red ground, causing a creaking, groaning noise, and rotated it. Earth piled up around the sides of the hole as it widened. She pulled the pipe from the hole and pointed. "See? A few seconds."
Rodriguez inspected her work. "It's too deep, but it's easier to fill a hole than dig it." He looked over at his jumpsuited workers. "Let's start filling these."
Chavez took another pipe and began at the other end of the line. This was dull, but at least he had air conditioning and a pile of CDs. He started to feel queasy from the motion of making his Zaku kneel and stand, but before he knew it, he met Franco's suit in the middle of the line.
"Done!" she said, and initiated skin talk. "TelMex can handle the rest tomorrow and Tavi will be happy. I called the base and Augustin should be out here in about half an hour."
That meant they could stop by the side of the road for some ices. A teenaged boy sat under a plastic canopy with a trough of ice chunks in front of him, in which sat four large metal pots of ices. Chavez and Franco sat on the ground with their backs to the cool trough until a Jion military truck came zooming up.
Augustin, in a khaki corporal's uniform and standard issue wide-brimmed hat, leaned out the open window. "Hola! I've got two gross of field rations and thirty drums of water in the back. Where are these rabbits?"
Franco gestured with her spoon. "In those hills over there. Rodriguez said they spoke Zapotec, but he wasn't sure."
"Well, I've got Otomi too, since he's sure they don't speak Mexican. Lead on."
Using coordinates that Rodriguez had given them, Franco led them into the rocky hills about five miles out. There was no road here, but the vegetation was low and Augustin managed with his all-terrain truck. Eventually they found themselves in a ravine that showed signs of human habitation in the form of a few plastic bags and cans. Augustin stopped the truck and called out in Zapotec. Chavez and Franco stayed to the rear, their hands on their suits' weapons.
Eventually an old man appeared at the mouth of a cave, in dirty jeans, a white shirt, and baseball cap. He stepped gingerly out towards Augustin and said something. Augustin answered and the man reached out to finger the Jion's tunic sleeve. Augustin offered him his canteen. The old man accepted it, took a good long swallow, then stepped back to the cave, gesturing to someone inside.
Within the next few minutes, a good two dozen people emerged from their hiding places. Chavez and Franco lowered their Zakus to a half-reclining position and came out to join them.
A young woman carried her toddler forward to Franco. Franco took the baby from her, then gave a cry of shock.
Chavez came running to her. "What is it?"
"This baby, he's all burned." She lowered the shawl in which the child was wrapped. "The burns themselves aren't too serious, but they're infected. We're going to have to take him back to base."
Chavez walked away from her slightly, into the group. These were dictionary-definition peasants, in woven leather sandals and homespun clothes. The women had their babies in slings on their backs with their personal belongings, such as they were, in baskets. There were more burns, as well as broken limbs that had been set as well as they could, and what looked like shrapnel injuries.
"The base doctors will earn their pay tonight," Augustin said, the old man by his side. "Our friends here are refugees from Oaxaca. They haven't been here long, so they aren't really conejos. They hid out successfully from the Fedichos, but their village was burned and they ran here."
"What were they running from?" Chavez asked.
Augustin's face fell. "Us," he said.
***
The injured were brought back to base in Augustin's truck. Afterwards, the three of them were called in for debriefing in Duarte's office.
"From what you're telling me," Duarte said to Augustin, "these people sound like they got caught between the Compañia Benito Juarez and the Fedichos. The Benito Juarez had an encounter with a company of Fedicho tanks and aircraft to the northeast of the city of Oaxaca, about thirty kilometers from the state line with Veracruz. The people you met had a village built deep in the jungle, which they were sticking to out of fear of deportation. All of a sudden they find themselves in the path of iron, flame-throwing giants. It doesn't matter if those giants are there to keep you from having to be deported if they're smashing your homes and killing or injuring your neighbours."
"Did our side win?" asked Franco somewhat sarcastically.
"The Benito Juarez did repel the attack, yes, and drove the Fedichos back over their own line. I don't think that the destruction of the village was deliberate."
"That's what bothers me about this story," Chavez said. "Of all Jion's forces, we should be the last ones to be randomly blasting our way across the countryside. Our people have been brutalized enough by the Fedichos. We aren't going to be able to keep our base among them secure if we lose their trust."
Chavez nodded. "That's a good point. How we're going to wage war against the Federation without blasting our way across the countryside is the question, because I sure don't know how. Still, that's a question for Battalion, and I am going to ask it." He nodded. "You three are dismissed."
Franco looked over at Chavez as they walked back to the living quarters. "You okay? You look like you were hit with a club."
"It's been a weird day. When I went to bed last night, I just felt like a California boy who was transferred down to a foreign country. Now.up until we saw those refugees, I was having a really good time. It was fun doing something constructive for a change. But when we did see those refugees, and we heard what happened to them, all I could think was, 'How could we do this to our people?' Not to people under Jion protection, OUR people."
"My husband, may he rest in peace, used to say he had a chip implanted in his head that reminded him when he wasn't in Mexico. Maybe you have one too, and never knew it."
"I wouldn't go that far," Chavez told her. "I think maybe the reality of my background is starting to sink in."
"Who knows? Anyway, I'm going to check in on those refugees before I turn in."
"I'll join you."
Meanwhile, back in the company commander's office, Duarte was summarizing the discovery of that afternoon to a man in a major's uniform up at California Base.
"So that's our dilemma," Duarte said to the man, whose name was Reynaud. "We need to keep the peasants on our side, I know that some of the other Jion holdings have been having problems with guerillas. We haven't, and we want to keep it that way. Any instructions would be appreciated."
At the other end of the video connection, Reynaud nodded. "Your good public relations in that area have been noticed. I'll raise the point and you'll hear back. Certainly His Royal Highness shares that kind of concern."
Duarte bowed slightly. "I'm glad the Viceroy feels that way. Please pass along my appreciation."
Reynaud smiled. "You'll have your chance to do that yourself. He's visiting Mexico next month."
As Duarte gaped, Reynaud began to outline the details.
----------------------- [1] Feddies. This is a word of my own invention. Go ahead and use it if you want. [2] Engineer, used as a title in Mexico [3] Sure. [4] A pocho, or his sister the pocha, is a Mexican who has gone north and forgotten how to be Mexican.
(Author's note: this chapter contains references to characters and situations that belong to His Divine Shadow and I take no credit or responsibility for them.)
(Also, big keyboard salute to Zinegata for catching an error about Federation aircraft. I originally said Flydart when I should have said Fly Mantha. I regret the error; it's been fixed now.)
Mike Chavez turned off the lights in his room and looked through his window at the temples and pyramids. So this was Mexico. It was a big change from Los Angeles, even more so from Faraday Colony. He hoped he'd never have to explain to his comrades that the reason he had left Nuevo Aztlan hadn't just been language. It had been the assumption that just because he was brown and spoke Spanish that it was the place where he should be.
He'd always considered himself a proud citizen of the Federation until the moment his family's number was drawn and they were told to report in for repatriation to Side 3. It wasn't something he had expected at all. He was educated and middle class, not the usual type of person sent to the Sides. Sure, he didn't have a job yet, but it wasn't as if he'd had a chance to finish his job search, either. His parents both had jobs, but were told they would find better ones in what was then Munzo Colony.
From Los Angeles they'd been sent to the colony-bound spaceport in the Philippines and loaded onto a ship headed for Nuevo-Aztlan. They were told they could choose residence in any of its three cylinders: Juarez, Guadalupe, or Hidalgo.
On the shuttle, he'd met a family who didn't seem like most of the other travelers. They spoke English and their last name was Shiden. "We're Puerto Ricans," the husband had said as his wife rewarded a smart-aleck comment from her son with a smack to the mouth. "Somebody figured that if you're Hispanic you must be Mexican, I guess. If we don't like it we'll move. That's what we jíbarros do."
Unlike the Shidens, many of the people on the ship were frightened, but hopeful. Others just seemed terrified. Chavez recalled one elderly couple, the man in worn slacks, a white button-down shirt and straw Stetson, the woman in a nondescript dress and apron, her salt-and-pepper hair in two braids, clinging to each other with their bundles at their feet.
Once in Side 3, there was a period of living in temporary housing while they found jobs and a place to live. Chavez's parents found work quickly, with their professional backgrounds and fluent Spanish from being born in Tijuana. In fact, they seemed to flourish right away.
While his parents may have enjoyed the fact that they lived in a recently- built house and could go a short way to a chaotic market selling plucked dead chickens with head and feet attached, home-grown herbs, and neat piles of rolls in big wicker baskets, he didn't. His parents felt that this combined all the best of southern California with Mexico, which for him was the problem. Chavez applied for jobs elsewhere in Side 3, and found one to his liking on Faraday.
Chavez had been in the military for two years, having joined when Federation economic sanctions succeeded in killing the company for which he worked. It hadn't been his first choice for new employment, but having lost his home and his job to the Federation, he didn't find getting into uniform terribly difficult.
Now, irony of ironies, Chavez found himself in the real Mexico after all. He'd never been there except for a ten-day class trip in high school. Returning to southern California with the invading Jion forces in March had been a dream come true. The first thing he had done after things settled down was to go surfing in Huntington Beach. The surf was wicked because of the disruption of the waves caused by the destruction of Sydney, Australia, and Ruby's Diner at the end of the pier had fallen into the ocean. Again.
He turned the light back on and finished putting his clothes in his closet and dresser. Housing was in geodesic domes that were of a decent size and furnished. Captain Duarte lived in a cluster of four domes, which made Chavez suspect he would be seeing his commander's family around base.
Chavez opened the door of his place and sat on a low cement wall outside of it for a smoke. The night was still hot and muggy, although he had a feeling it would cool down dramatically towards morning. The temples of Teotihuacan loomed darkly against the artificial lighting of the base. He'd climbed the Pyramid of the Sun during that ten-day school trip and had sore thigh muscles for days. If he did it again, he'd stretch properly first.
He crushed out his cigarette, feeling more optimistic. This might not be a bad assignment. The Falling Eagles were a nice enough bunch, though he'd have to loosen up a bit in order to fit in. Everybody seemed to have a dog, so maybe that would be a start.
Suddenly, something moved quickly against the wall to his right. Chavez instinctively sprang over the wall he was sitting on and raised his head slightly to see what it was. There was no sound, but he was sure he'd seen a movement. Rumours he'd heard of super-humans with unnatural speed and reflexes repeated themselves in his head.
The thing moved again. Chavez pulled himself down beneath the wall and watched. A second later, his would-be assailant revealed itself to be a five-inch lizard, looking for its supper. Chavez sighed, feeling stupid, and stood.
"This is between you and me, okay?" he asked the lizard, which just flicked its tongue. Shaking his head, he went indoors for a shower and some sleep.
*** "Okay, today's assignment is reconstruction," Octavio Duarte told his three teams. "We've got a nice checklist from Battalion as to what they expect to be done so far and what needs to get started." He gave the papers to Conchita, who started handing them out. Chavez ran his eyes down the list and cringed inwardly. These were not cheap projects. At the same time, North America wasn't getting new mobile suits to defend the new infrastructure. He gritted his teeth slightly, seeing the hand of the populist master Giren all over the plans.
"Luna, Leo, you both are on the high-tension wire restoration project," Duarte started. "Pedro, Provi, Lopez, check in on the irrigation projects in Atlixco. Chavez, Maria, you two look in on the telephone lines. Villalobos, we've got a village dispute over a well southeast of San Martin. Conchita, give him the coordinates."
"Is digging them a new well an option, jefe?" Villalobos asked.
"Depends on whether or not they'll argue over who gets the new well," Duarte told him. "See what kind of people they are, first. If it'd help, sure."
After a few questions, they were ready to go and Duarte dismissed them for the day. Chavez left for his Zaku feeling out of his depth. He'd come down to defend and fight, and he didn't know if he was going to be up to industrial development.
"So how nervous are you, knowing that the Fedichos [1] are just a few hundred kilometers away?" Chavez asked Maria Franco. Her no-nonsense olive green Zaku marched along beside his, which was now just matte-grey, having not been painted yet.
"It's not too bad here," she answered. "We've got it pretty easy, defending the capitol and the Puebla-Tlaxcala area. Those poor guys down in Veracruz, now their job stinks. They have to hold the port for Jion while the Fedichos are sitting over the state line in Oaxaca, grinning at them. We've torn up the road between the two cities but tanks and planes don't need them. Plus, they have battleships too, but we've been lucky enough not to see them lately."
"Were you in the drop operation?"
"I was," she answered. "Were you?"
"Yup. And the taking of California Base. Exciting times."
"Ones I can live without," Franco told him. "I lost my husband in the One Week War, and I don't know how many friends to Fly Mantha attacks during the drop into Mesoamerica."
"What's your background?" Chavez thought to ask. "I hear from your accent you weren't born on Side 3."
"You weren't either. Tell you what. Buy me a cemita later and I'll tell you."
They continued out to where workers in orange jumpsuits were installing telephone poles and cables. They were assisted by a Zaku I that was now painted blue with the TelMex logo on the shoulder. As the men poured concrete into holes, the Zaku lifted the poles from a truck and planted them neatly, securing them in the ground. Other workers continued by stringing the lines.
Maria stopped her Zaku and had it kneel so she could climb out. Chavez did the same. She walked up to the foreman, a man taller and lighter-skinned than those in the orange jumpsuits, and said, "Ingeniero [2]Rodriguez. Let me present the newest member of the Falling Eagles, Mike Chavez. He's been sent down from California base."
"Pleased to meet you." Rodriguez shook his hand. "Señorita, tell Captain Duarte that over in the hills over there are caves with many rabbits in them. We didn't have any food to give them, and they have wounded."
"I'll tell him. How much do they know about us?"
Rodriguez shook his head. "I don't know. They speak Zapotec, I think. They recognized TelMex , but the Zaku was a shock. I told them, brown uniform good, grey uniform bad. But they knew that about the grey uniforms, of course."
"Seguro.[3] In the mean time, show us what you and your men have done."
In the past week, they had laid several kilometers of phone line. They hadn't done as much as Octavio Duarte had given as optimal according to the instructions from Battalion, but it wasn't bad. Franco and Chavez re- mounted their Zakus in order to walk the line, checking if the poles were secure and the cables properly placed. That took until one, when Franco told Chavez it was time to take a break.
"We'll get started again in a couple of hours," she said as they walked beside a well-paved road. "Everybody stops for two hours or so around now because of the sun and the heat. Only mad dogs and Fedichos come out in this midday sun. Here's Doña Filomena's."
They dismounted again beside a roadside shack that held a wooden counter, some stools, and behind the counter an older woman of indeterminate age whose graying braids were tied together at her back. Her smile revealed teeth that were edged in gold. Chavez watched Franco undo the collar of her uniform and followed suit. There were some farm workers on the other stools, dressed in dusty jeans, plaid shirts, and the white straw Stetsons that seemed to be everywhere. They were drinking beer with their food and didn't seem to find the sight of the two Jions surprising at all.
"You wanted me to buy you a cemita," Chavez said.
"I've changed my mind. Filomena specializes in tacos." She smiled at Filomena, who placed an orange soda in front of Franco without being asked.
"I'll have the tacos too," Chavez said to Filomena. "And a Coke." As Filomena turned towards a stack of tortillas and a large vat of hot oil, he asked, "So, you said you'd tell me where you were from"
Franco uncapped her drink with a bottle opener that was chained to the counter and did the same for him. "Mexico City. The slums. I went to school, but when I wasn't there I was walking between rows of cars on the streets, selling flowers, or onyx figures, or sunshades, whatever we had that week."
"When did you go to Side 3?"
"As soon as we had the chance. We volunteered, we weren't drafted. It was a nice change too, let me tell you. I got to go to college, we all had real jobs, and I joined the militia back when Deykun was elected."
"So you've been in a long time."
She gulped down half her soda. "Claro. I was proud to defend the colony when independence was declared and the Federation declared sanctions. The Federation gave us a chance, ¿verdad? but they forget their promises very quickly. First they stuffed the colonies so full of people that it was like living in Mexico again. Then they put on sanctions when Deykun said 'no more' and declared independence. He was right to do that, but he couldn't deal with the economics of the situation. So it was a good thing, I think, that the Zabis took over. They're a little crazy, but at least they can run a country."
Filomena placed two plastic plates in front of them. Unlike the tacos he was used to, where the filling was in a tortilla folded in half, these were rolled, fried, and served with a sauce. Chavez took a bite and found it was spicy pork and very good. "So after the war, would you go back to Side 3 or stay here?"
Franco shook her head. "I don't know. I think it'd be nice to live in Mexico again now that I'm not poor, but life on the colonies is pretty good."
"Given a choice, I'd be back in California. I miss the ocean."
"I grew up inland, so the colonies were fine."
"Franco, everybody's-"
"Call me Maria."
"Maria, everybody is taking for granted that I know the origin of this company. Why are we the Falling Eagles? Shouldn't we be the Soaring Eagles or something? And why is everyone in here Mexican and from Nuevo Aztlan?"
She looked at him quizzically. "Octavio didn't tell you the story?"
"No."
"He thinks we are more famous than we are. The word in Nahuatl for a falling eagle is cuauhtémoc. Now does the name make more sense?"
Chavez nodded. "Cuauhtémoc was the last emperor of the Aztecs. He wouldn't tell Cortez where the Aztec gold was, even though Cortez had him tortured."
"Specifically, he had his feet branded. Ultimately, Cortez had him hanged," Maria went on. "Our vow is to never let our homeland fall like that, no matter what we suffer. That's why we all carry this."
She reached down and pulled on her right boot heel. Her boot slid off, taking most of her sock with it. She swatted some lint from her foot and lifted it up, showing him the sole. In white puckered skin was an Aztec glyph.
"It means 'falling eagle'," Maria explained. "All of us in the 505th have had it branded onto our foot, to remind us." She nonchalantly slid her sock back on and stomped her boot back onto her foot.
"Nobody told me to expect that."
"You don't have to get it, especially since you're a pinch-hitter for us. But that's our initiation. It's not a secret, but we just don't talk about it a lot. Besides, how many people back in Side 3 are interested in what a bunch of lowly Mexicans like us are doing?" She signaled for another orange soda.
"Obviously Prince Garma is."
"You know him better than I. The Eagles existed as a unit back on Nuevo Aztlan before the war. Garma requested them for the drop on Mesoamerica. Kishiria was going to blend in a few companies from other colonies, because she thought that it would be better to have an integrated force. Garma said no, that we would fight for Jion better if we were protecting our motherland. That was a dangerous idea, the idea of people fighting for two motherlands, but Kishiria had already set precedent."
"The 10th Panzenkaempher, right?"
"The crazy Germans, yes. She had the Nuevo Koenigsburgueños in their motherland, so why not us in ours? Tavi was in on that meeting. Garma actually said to his sister, 'The only reason you're giving the 10th what they want is because they're WHITE!' Kishiria was ready to hit him, but then von Mellinthin started laughing and that was the end of it."
Filomena offered Chavez some salsa. Chavez said no and thanked her. "Rodriguez mentioned rabbits in the hills. What was that all about?"
"We call people who are hiding out from Federation sweeps conejos. The Federation hasn't had the ability to round up people to send them to the colonies in months, but the kind of people who become conejos don't know that. They're small farmers mostly who hid in caves and jungles to keep from being sent to space. True, it would be an easier life for them there, but they are deathly afraid of what they don't know. We tell them they don't have to go, give them some food and send them home if we can. Unfortunately, it's not always possible, and it's hard when they're Mayans from Chiapas or the like."
Chavez nodded. "When all Earth is under Jion control, the Mayans won't have to hide in the hills of Tlaxcala."
"Claro." As she finished her soda, Maria added, "Let's finish up with the telephone lines and then go find the rabbits."
"You speak their language?"
"No, I'm going to call the base and have Augustin sent out here. He's a Zapotec."
They remounted and marched off back towards the telephone lines. After some consultation with Rodriguez, Chavez and Franco decided that they could make the goal given by Battalion if they helped with the digging.
"Only thing is, where are we going to find shovels that big?" asked Chavez.
"Pocho's got a point," Rodriguez said.[4]
Franco glowered. "Listen, cabron, you give respect to the compañeros. We're the ones who make sure you have a job. Watch."
She got into her Zaku and walked over to a nearby building site. She took a ten-foot length of pipe from a pile beside the half-finished cinderblock structure and made her suit kneel where the next pole was to be placed. She pushed the pipe vertically into the hard red ground, causing a creaking, groaning noise, and rotated it. Earth piled up around the sides of the hole as it widened. She pulled the pipe from the hole and pointed. "See? A few seconds."
Rodriguez inspected her work. "It's too deep, but it's easier to fill a hole than dig it." He looked over at his jumpsuited workers. "Let's start filling these."
Chavez took another pipe and began at the other end of the line. This was dull, but at least he had air conditioning and a pile of CDs. He started to feel queasy from the motion of making his Zaku kneel and stand, but before he knew it, he met Franco's suit in the middle of the line.
"Done!" she said, and initiated skin talk. "TelMex can handle the rest tomorrow and Tavi will be happy. I called the base and Augustin should be out here in about half an hour."
That meant they could stop by the side of the road for some ices. A teenaged boy sat under a plastic canopy with a trough of ice chunks in front of him, in which sat four large metal pots of ices. Chavez and Franco sat on the ground with their backs to the cool trough until a Jion military truck came zooming up.
Augustin, in a khaki corporal's uniform and standard issue wide-brimmed hat, leaned out the open window. "Hola! I've got two gross of field rations and thirty drums of water in the back. Where are these rabbits?"
Franco gestured with her spoon. "In those hills over there. Rodriguez said they spoke Zapotec, but he wasn't sure."
"Well, I've got Otomi too, since he's sure they don't speak Mexican. Lead on."
Using coordinates that Rodriguez had given them, Franco led them into the rocky hills about five miles out. There was no road here, but the vegetation was low and Augustin managed with his all-terrain truck. Eventually they found themselves in a ravine that showed signs of human habitation in the form of a few plastic bags and cans. Augustin stopped the truck and called out in Zapotec. Chavez and Franco stayed to the rear, their hands on their suits' weapons.
Eventually an old man appeared at the mouth of a cave, in dirty jeans, a white shirt, and baseball cap. He stepped gingerly out towards Augustin and said something. Augustin answered and the man reached out to finger the Jion's tunic sleeve. Augustin offered him his canteen. The old man accepted it, took a good long swallow, then stepped back to the cave, gesturing to someone inside.
Within the next few minutes, a good two dozen people emerged from their hiding places. Chavez and Franco lowered their Zakus to a half-reclining position and came out to join them.
A young woman carried her toddler forward to Franco. Franco took the baby from her, then gave a cry of shock.
Chavez came running to her. "What is it?"
"This baby, he's all burned." She lowered the shawl in which the child was wrapped. "The burns themselves aren't too serious, but they're infected. We're going to have to take him back to base."
Chavez walked away from her slightly, into the group. These were dictionary-definition peasants, in woven leather sandals and homespun clothes. The women had their babies in slings on their backs with their personal belongings, such as they were, in baskets. There were more burns, as well as broken limbs that had been set as well as they could, and what looked like shrapnel injuries.
"The base doctors will earn their pay tonight," Augustin said, the old man by his side. "Our friends here are refugees from Oaxaca. They haven't been here long, so they aren't really conejos. They hid out successfully from the Fedichos, but their village was burned and they ran here."
"What were they running from?" Chavez asked.
Augustin's face fell. "Us," he said.
***
The injured were brought back to base in Augustin's truck. Afterwards, the three of them were called in for debriefing in Duarte's office.
"From what you're telling me," Duarte said to Augustin, "these people sound like they got caught between the Compañia Benito Juarez and the Fedichos. The Benito Juarez had an encounter with a company of Fedicho tanks and aircraft to the northeast of the city of Oaxaca, about thirty kilometers from the state line with Veracruz. The people you met had a village built deep in the jungle, which they were sticking to out of fear of deportation. All of a sudden they find themselves in the path of iron, flame-throwing giants. It doesn't matter if those giants are there to keep you from having to be deported if they're smashing your homes and killing or injuring your neighbours."
"Did our side win?" asked Franco somewhat sarcastically.
"The Benito Juarez did repel the attack, yes, and drove the Fedichos back over their own line. I don't think that the destruction of the village was deliberate."
"That's what bothers me about this story," Chavez said. "Of all Jion's forces, we should be the last ones to be randomly blasting our way across the countryside. Our people have been brutalized enough by the Fedichos. We aren't going to be able to keep our base among them secure if we lose their trust."
Chavez nodded. "That's a good point. How we're going to wage war against the Federation without blasting our way across the countryside is the question, because I sure don't know how. Still, that's a question for Battalion, and I am going to ask it." He nodded. "You three are dismissed."
Franco looked over at Chavez as they walked back to the living quarters. "You okay? You look like you were hit with a club."
"It's been a weird day. When I went to bed last night, I just felt like a California boy who was transferred down to a foreign country. Now.up until we saw those refugees, I was having a really good time. It was fun doing something constructive for a change. But when we did see those refugees, and we heard what happened to them, all I could think was, 'How could we do this to our people?' Not to people under Jion protection, OUR people."
"My husband, may he rest in peace, used to say he had a chip implanted in his head that reminded him when he wasn't in Mexico. Maybe you have one too, and never knew it."
"I wouldn't go that far," Chavez told her. "I think maybe the reality of my background is starting to sink in."
"Who knows? Anyway, I'm going to check in on those refugees before I turn in."
"I'll join you."
Meanwhile, back in the company commander's office, Duarte was summarizing the discovery of that afternoon to a man in a major's uniform up at California Base.
"So that's our dilemma," Duarte said to the man, whose name was Reynaud. "We need to keep the peasants on our side, I know that some of the other Jion holdings have been having problems with guerillas. We haven't, and we want to keep it that way. Any instructions would be appreciated."
At the other end of the video connection, Reynaud nodded. "Your good public relations in that area have been noticed. I'll raise the point and you'll hear back. Certainly His Royal Highness shares that kind of concern."
Duarte bowed slightly. "I'm glad the Viceroy feels that way. Please pass along my appreciation."
Reynaud smiled. "You'll have your chance to do that yourself. He's visiting Mexico next month."
As Duarte gaped, Reynaud began to outline the details.
----------------------- [1] Feddies. This is a word of my own invention. Go ahead and use it if you want. [2] Engineer, used as a title in Mexico [3] Sure. [4] A pocho, or his sister the pocha, is a Mexican who has gone north and forgotten how to be Mexican.