The Prince by Jerry Pournelle and S.M. Stirling

“So you’ve cloned your battalion,” Alexander said.

“Well, the new units haven’t the experience, of course,” Owensford said. “Normal Legion procedure is to organize with no more than one recruit in each maniple. In the present situation we may have as many as three, and some of those have monitors who aren’t long past being a PFC.” He shrugged. “We make do with what we have, but frankly, I’m not so sorry that the rebels have been active lately. Combat’s just what we need to make regulars out of these units.”

“Ah. And what of our Royal Spartan forces?” Alexander asked. There was eagerness in his voice.

“Approximately five hundred recruits are still in the basic training pipeline,” Barton said. “Two thousand three hundred have completed basic and in some cases advanced training, and have been formed into three infantry, one mechanized and one support battalion, plus headquarters units and armored-cavalry squadrons. One of the infantry battalions is the Prince Royal’s Own, and we’ve tried to post some of the best troops into that. When we get more aviation assets we’ll turn it into an air assault unit.”

Another chart took form. The table of organization was based on the Legion’s, essentially similar to a CoDominium Marine regimental combat team: Headquarters company; Scouts; signals platoon; combat engineering platoon; two heavy-weapons companies with mortars and recoilless rifles; transport company—mules, in this case, with some unarmored versions of the von Alderheim 6×6; aviation company, and medical section.

“There are conspicuous gaps, of course,” Barton concluded. “No aircraft, so aviation company is only a shell. Light on artillery. Communications aren’t what we’d like them to be. However, I can say that the first Field Force regiment of the Royal Spartan Army now exists, and we can add combat battalions as we get them. As you can see”—arrows sprang out, linking the Spartan regiment with the structure of the Fifth—”our primary limiting factor is leaders, both officers and NCOs. Of the two, the shortage of experienced NCOs is more difficult. Junior officers are in sufficient supply; a number of officers from the Brotherhood militia units have enlisted, and more than forty former Line Marine personnel resident on Sparta have offered their services to date.”

Sparta was a popular retirement spot for CoDo officers; many of them on early retirement, with the cutbacks. The social atmosphere appealed to them, you could get quite a reasonable estate for very low prices, and even a meager pension in CoDominium credits went a long way here. Much further than on Churchill or Friedland, even, if you were prepared to live without the high-tech gadgetry.

“For the rest, we have filled the senior NCO slots and most of the company, battalion and HQ positions by lateral transfer from the Legion, usually involving brevet promotions. Wearing two hats, as it were.”

A temporary promotion, to allow the mercenaries to command their theoretical equals in the larger Royal Army formation.

“If I may, Major?” General Collins’s voice. Owensford nodded.

“Of course, sir.”

“My—that is, the two kings have been informed of the matter of brevet promotions. We have decided that for the duration of the Legion’s stay such personnel will be carried on the Royal Army rolls and receive the pay and other privileges attendant on their rank. Which of course will become permanent if any choose to remain with the Royal forces when at liberty to do so.”

“Thank you, sir, on behalf of my men,” Owensford said. “They’ll very much appreciate it.” Many of the Legionnaires were nearing the end of their terms of enlistment, retirement age, or both. And if the plan works out, the Legion or part of it may well be based on Sparta.

Alexander Collins smiled. “Including Captain Barton and yourself, of course,” he said, holding up a hand. His aide placed two small wooden boxes in his hands. “Your other hats, gentlemen.” A colonel’s eagles for him, and a lieutenant-colonel’s oak leaves for Ace.

“Again, thank you, sir.” And now is not the time to lecture about rank and brotherhood and ambition. . . .

“Furthermore, an Order in King and Council has been made that a full five-year term of service in the Royal army will constitute fulfillment of the public-service portion of the Citizenship examinations. Three terms of service with honorable discharge, or award of the coronea aurea award for valor during service, or promotion to commissioned rank, upon honorable discharge will constitute full qualification for Citizenship.”

“We are in your debt.” There were murmurs from the other mercenary officers; not many host-worlds were that hospitable. Many regarded hired soldiers as in much the same category as whores: paid professionals filling a necessary but unmentionable service. Offer of citizenship and a home was more important than rank inflation, and by a lot. They clearly took us seriously when we talked about loyalties and incentives. The Colonel’s going to be pleased. I wonder how much of this is Lysander’s doing? Probably a lot.

“The nominal commander of the First Royal Infantry is, of course, His Majesty Alexander First,” Ace Barton said. “The professional commander for the moment is Major—Colonel Owensford, with Lieutenant Colonel Arnold Kistiakowski as deputy.”

Kistiakowski, a militia officer, had been an accountant in civil life, but did seem to have a flair for military command. He was also the son of one of the First Families, and an elected Senator. He nodded acknowledgment.

“Captain—Major Barton,” Owensford said, “is chief of staff to the First Royal as well as to me as nominal chief of staff to the Minister of War.” The Spartan chain of command sounded more complex than it was. Peter could hardly blame the Spartans for wanting to retain control over the military machine they were constructing.

“Major, are the First Royals ready for combat?”

“Low-intensity combat only, sir. The First is lacking in battle computers, secure communications gear, nightfighting equipment, range finders, modern artillery—the artillery battalion is using locally made one-twenty-five- and one-sixty-mm mortars—antiaircraft and antitank capacity. It also has no organic air transport, and the combat engineers are underequipped. None of that is fatal, but you wouldn’t want to throw them up against experienced troops with full equipment.”

“General comments?”

“Sir . . . as recruits, the recruits are of excellent quality; the standard of literacy and general mechanical aptitude was particularly notable. About half the men are of Citizen background and half not.” As opposed to seventy-thirty in the general population, and about eighty-twenty in the relevant age groups.

He smiled: “There was some friction at first; they thought of each other as hick sissies and gutter thugs respectively. Going through basic has cured a good deal of that.”

At least while they were in ranks. There was a more basic culture clash; the Citizens seemed to be very like what the old middle class of America had been, before it fissured into taxpayer and Welfare Island Citizen. Respectable people, stable personalities from stable families. While the transportees came from a brutally chaotic background of illiteracy, illegitimacy and instant gratification.

“What they need most now is some experience to convince them that they’re really soldiers; that would shake them down, solidify unit esprit, and help us identify potential leaders, which is our main restraint on further expansion at the moment.”

“Thank you,” Peter said. “Next item, logistics and technical support. Captain Alana?”

Catherine Alana touched her own keyboard, and a series of boxed equipment mixes appeared on the computer screen.

“As Captain Barton reported, the main shortage is in high-tech equipment. Local industry makes high-quality gear, but the variety is restricted. We’re working with designers to overcome that. Basic equipment is excellent, as are ammunition supplies. We get smart weapons in sufficient quantity for training, and we’re building a stockpile, but there are never enough.”

“And won’t be,” Alexander said. “Until we begin earning hard currency. Which will expend those munitions—”

“Yes, sir, bootstrap operations tend to be slow,” Catherine agreed. She shrugged. “So we do the best we can. As presently equipped, the First would already be suitable for employment in some off-planet situations. New Washington, for example, if Colonel Falkenberg needs more troops. Particularly as light infantry in unroaded situations, they could already command better contract terms than most Earth-based outfits.”

There were a few snorts; nobody thought much of Earthling mercenaries these days. The best recruits were going to the growing national armies, as the CoDominium grip weakened.

“I’ve shown here four alternate add-on weapons and equipment kits, with their probable price ranges, and the degree to which they’d enhance effectiveness. It’s my estimation that with certified combat experience, the First—excuse me, the Royal Army, I’m not used to thinking in these terms—the First could secure an equipment loan from Dayan or Xanadu against a lien on their first few contracts.” Those powers offered specialist mercenary units of their own, but also acted as escrow agents and financed turnkey operations. “We’ve got plenty of technical personnel here, and I’ve assigned each of them two Royal Army understudies. By the time the equipment comes in, the people to operate it will be there too.”