By eleven hundred hours, the construction crew had finished setting up and dialing in the recycler, and the hungry beast was ready to transform scrap and structural alloy-x into a processed product ready to build other vital structures and equipment. Four empty freighters were recycled, and the bulk of the construction crew concentrated on building the factory while part of the crew started assembling the oxygen extraction plant and steel mill.
July 14, 1970—Sixteen Hundred Zulu
The factory was now complete. The equipment based on the alien designs was ready to produce artillery, combat and utility ships. The factory building was also sharing space with the armory and hangar crews. The armory was already equipped to make the weapons modules to arm the offensive hovertanks. The hangar crew was on standby to repair any equipment breakdowns if necessary. Until then, they assisted with building construction. All hands of the construction crew stopped to get ten scavengers built to begin immediate alloy-x salvaging on Frost Crater. The second and third shift tactical operations technicians were lending their technical skills to the building of the scavengers or working on the oxygen extraction plant and steel mill. The tac ops techs were on sixteen hour days: one shift on the bridge, two hours off, then another eight hours helping other crews, then six hours of sleep. The colonel couldn’t afford to have any of them falling asleep on the bridge. The post was going up at an unbelievable rate. From a distance, the post looked like a beehive, swarming with busy bees.
July 14, 1970—Eighteen Hundred Zulu
When ten scavengers rolled out of the factory bay, the scavenger crew headed out to the Frost Crater to start the salvage operation. They had just been fed and would bring more food and water with them. Their operation would be non-stop until the Soviets arrived and forcibly shut them down. Knowing they would be utterly exhausted by then, the crew programmed each vehicle to retrace its path back to the post; autopilot would allow them to sleep. There would be no other rack time for this crew until the Soviets put an end to their salvaging.
The construction crew finished building a mobile construction unit. By twenty-one hundred it was up and running, starting to build the guntowers. The factory was beginning to build artillery pieces.
The mess crew had cycled all of the workers through supper, and all hands were back at it again. Thankfully none of the equipment had broken down, and so far there were no accidents. COL Red Fangs found that his walks to the coffee pot and the head weren’t enough to keep the kinks out of his muscles. He suited up and made a quick inspection on the ground, mostly to stretch his legs.
COL Red Fangs left the ship wearing an impassive expression, but inwardly he was worried. It was going to be difficult to deal with twenty artillery pieces and fifty-five tanks. It would be calling it very close. When the Soviets arrived, he needed enough artillery to destroy their artillery battery, and a strong enough defensive grid and tanks to defend their post during the post siege. Salvaging of alloy-x from the battlefield would favor the Americans because it was very close to their post. But—they had to survive first. If we win, we can recycle the Soviets’ scrap and some of their hardware to build the proper post, he thought. If we lose, there will be nothing to worry about. He found his executive officer overseeing the construction of the guntowers.
“LTC Judgment Day, a word with you.”
“Sir, yes sir.”
“I fully expect COL Glaskov to call when he arrives to offer terms of surrender or meet with us to do so.” COL Red Fangs pondered the timing for a moment. “What would you do if you were the Soviet commander arriving with forty-five tanks and no artillery for three days, with the enemies’ post so heavily fortified that you couldn’t conduct a successful siege?”
His executive officer considered the question. “I’d offer terms of surrender, note that pending doom awaits, and play mind games with you for three days until my artillery arrives. Then I’d destroy your artillery and defensive grid, and charge in with an impressive number of tanks. I certainly would harass you so that it would be difficult for you to sleep.”
The colonel frowned, “Yes, that’s what I’d do. What are the chances we can entice some of their men to defect?”
“In a cheap American b-movie, perhaps. In reality, it isn’t likely. They’re the best of the best, and they’ve been carefully trained politically. It would take time to capture and re-educate them, and time is a commodity in short supply.”
“I’ll trust your assessment since you’ve spent a lot of time in Soviet studies. At twenty-two thirty give the entire crew six hours of rack time, with the exception of the tac ops boys on duty on the bridge.”
“Sir, yes sir.” The colonel left his first officer to his work and returned to the command vessel’s bridge.
July 14, 1970—Twenty-Two Thirty Zulu
COL Red Fangs headed to his quarters, private but very small, consisting of only a table and chair, a bed and a small locker. The three command officers and the freighter captains were the only ones with private rooms.
After taking a sailor’s shower and getting dressed for bed, he inserted a Chuck Berry cassette into his tape player and pressed play. The music played in the background. He usually read from The Art of War before retiring, but he was too beat. He fell into a deep sleep. The strong, loud sound of his snoring competed with the music.
Deep down Louisiana close to New Orleans
Way back up in the woods among the evergreens
There stood a log cabin made of earth and wood
Where lived a country boy named Johnny B. Goode
Who never ever learned to read or write so well
But he could play the guitar just like a ringing a bell
Go, go Johnny go, go…
LTC Judgment Day retired to his quarters. He readied himself for bed and put in one of his favorite cassettes, one by Credence Clearwater Revival. He opened the first of his Old Milwaukees and tried to relax. Their weight limit was tight for personal possessions, but he made it a priority to get a six-pack in his baggage, which afforded him one beer per night. They should last until after the encounter with the Soviets. Wondering if he had overlooked any preparation for the Soviets’ arrival tomorrow, he changed for bed. The words of the song caught his attention.
I see the bad moon arising.
I see trouble on the way.
I see earthquakes and lightnin’.
I see bad times today.
Don’t go around tonight,
Well, it’s bound to take your life,
There’s a bad moon on the rise.
That’s all I need, he thought. After changing the tape with another one from Neil Diamond, he felt a little better as the music began to play…
Where it began, I can’t begin to know when
But then I know it’s growing strong
Oh, wasn’t the spring, whooo
And spring became the summer
Who’d believe you’d come along
Hands, touching hands, reaching out
Touching me, touching you
Oh, sweet Caroline…
After finishing his beer, the post’s first officer called it a night and hit the rack.
July 15, 1970—Zero Five Hundred Zulu
SGT P-38 had the post ahead in his sights. He screwed the lid back on his thermos after pouring a cup. He shook the sleep out of his eyes, blinked and nearly pinched himself. It wasn’t a dream, he decided. Taking a sip, he wondered again for the hundredth time if he would see his mother and Billings, MT ever again. He pulled into the recycler bay, unloaded the precious cargo, and turned right back to the scrap field again. COL Red Fangs viewed the whole scene with pleasure, beginning to see some encouraging signs in this tight setup.
“1LT Boolean? What’s the estimated time the Soviet tank regiment will arrive?”
“Sir, if you mean at this post, they’re due west of our position, and estimated arrival is twenty-four and one-half hours. Twenty-three hours, if they stop just outside of artillery range.”
>
July 15, 1970—Zero Seven Hundred Zulu
The colonel opened up a link to his first officer. “What’s our artillery piece count?”
“Colonel, I’ll have our first artillery ready to deploy in one-half hour. We should have enough ready by the time the Soviets arrive to make them think twice about an early charge.”
“Very good! We will also need two tanks.”
“Sir, yes sir.”
“What does the alloy-x inventory look like?”
“Sir, the scavengers just did their first offload, and are just about to leave for the Frost Crater. With what we have now, we can build two tanks, a total of five artillery pieces, one forward observer vehicle, about a half-dozen spy drones. When they return from their next offload, there will be alloy-x to build more tanks.”
“Very good.”
The first officer called up the command sergeant major.
“Sir, yes sir.”
“First priority… I need more artillery pieces ASAP. After that, I need two tanks built.”
“Sir, yes sir.”
The command sergeant major had their tanks ready by zero eight hundred.
July 16, 1970—Zero hundred Thirty Zulu
“1LT Boolean?” asked CPT Watchful Eye.
“Sir, yes sir.”
“We’ve completed wiring the radar array. Once you run the software you should be up and running.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Roger that Watchful Eye, Boolean out.” The captain set up the software on his end and all diagnostics passed. They now had “eyes on the ground” and didn’t have to wait for the satellite. True, it wasn't long range enough to see the advancing artillery, but it could keep track of the Soviets. COL Red Fangs would be very pleased.
The first five artillery pieces set up under the shadow of the guntowers. The men didn’t have coordinates for a firing solution, but armed with high explosive shells, they loaded the barrel’s breech in readiness for the Soviet attack. They didn’t remain in the big gun, but went back to work in the factory. They would be ready at a minute’s notice for a “scramble” if needed.
July 16, 1970—Zero Two Thirty Zulu
COL Red Fangs joined his first officer at breakfast. At present, the only way to keep command discussions private on Luna at present was to meet in the cargo hold on the command vessel and close the door. The colonel pulled up a box, laid his tray on it and sat on another sturdy looking box that looked like it would support his weight. Looking through the file again, he considered what he would be discussing with his XO in their pre-battle strategy meeting.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning.” He took a sip of hot coffee, a fork full of reconstituted scrambled eggs, then a bite out of a biscuit, and opened his file. He gave his XO time to pray and make the catholic sign of the cross before disturbing him. The colonel was respectful of his men’s beliefs. When he saw he was through, he continued. “Let’s get down to business. Status report?”
“Sir, forty-five Soviet tanks will arrive due west of our position at approximately zero four hundred. Ten more of their tanks are flying escort for their artillery. Our two tanks have been built and armed and are ready to meet the Soviet delegation. The defensive grid was completed while we slept, and the radar array is fully operational. We have five artillery pieces deployed on the line. It is enough to keep them at bay for now. The steel mill and oxygen extraction plant are both expected to be fully operational by zero six hundred. We can’t recycle any of the freighters until the post HQ is built. Our scavenger crew is expected to unload and leave back for the Frost crater by zero four hundred.”
“Very good! As soon as the steel mill is online, have them start constructing a post HQ/barracks as soon as possible. Make it submarine-tight, Colonel; don’t waste an inch of space. When are the freighters with the fittings and fixtures for the new building due?”
“On our next fleet of six ships. ETA July 17, seventeen hundred.”
“Very good.”
“Colonel, I dropped by tactical operations before getting breakfast. Software has been installed on both of our tanks, and we will be able to control the minefield detonation. We will have discriminator circuits on all of our tanks and equipment so we can’t set them off. The technician I spoke with said that the mines can be set to exclude a specific target, and I wondered why we would want to do that.”
“Good, depending on how the battle goes, we may have to prioritize whom we want to live or die among the Soviet command staff.”
LTC Judgment Day served in Vietnam with COL Red Fangs and knew when something was a little off-kilter. As his first officer and devil’s advocate, he knew it was his duty to get to the bottom of this. “Sir, exactly whom would we mark among the Soviet command staff as a high or low-priority target, sir?”
“First of all, COL Glaskov’s total victory over Eagle 1 has given him a tentative promotion to the politburo. Secondly, LTC Averbukh is deemed to be an even more difficult adversary should we kill COL Glaskov, or he gets promoted to post commander after COL Glaskov leaves. Thirdly, in a tank charge, MAJ Cherenkov is the highest-priority target. He’s a hard charger, and in a post siege, the men will follow him to the death without hesitation.”
LTC Judgment Day digested the facts, but had a nagging feeling something was left out. “Sir, with all due respects, we’ve served together for a long time. What are you not telling me?”
COL RED Fangs face flushed red, and the vein on the side of his head was swollen, resembling an angry red worm. He’d seen that look before, back in Vietnam when they found some of their men’s mutilated bodies the VC had tortured. “COL Cavender was my friend. He was a fine marine. The men of the Black Dogs Battalion were all fine marines. I’ll be damned if I let COL Glaskov get promoted for killing them!” he growled. The mask was off now, and the deep emotions he was hiding over the fall of Eagle 1 were now laid open like a festering wound.
“So, you want to kill him?”
“No! I want to let him live!”
Suddenly it occurred to the first officer that his boss had been plotting this out in intricate detail.
“I’m your first officer, and I can’t help you if I don’t know your mind.”
“Very well. Yes, I’ll kill him someday, but not now. I fully intend to make him suffer. I want to kill his first and second officers, repel his siege of our post, and recover most of the alloy-x. If I’m right, we will have enough alloy-x to supply the landing team at Mars. In short, I want him to suffer the humiliation of failure, and have his politburo appointment withdrawn. I want him to live for a time with the bitter taste of failure in his mouth. Then when he’s suffered enough…”
“And then you’ll kill him?”
The tension drained out of the colonel’s face. He smiled for the first time. “And then I’ll kill him!”
His first officer knew that this had become personal. In truth, he too had been changed by the unfolding events of the end of Eagle 1. Even with the personal motives, they could achieve all of their objectives with this plan. Their orders were to dig in, establish a post and survive the assault on their new post. “Understood. Sir, if I think your motivations are counterproductive at some point?”
“Then it would be your duty to point that out. Now, do you have any counsel to make this happen?”
“Yes, sir. I’d keep the scavengers gathering scrap on the Frost Crater until the Soviet tanks are dispatched to the intercept them. I’d then pull them in and refit them as minelayers loaded with proximity mines and redfield generators. This will remove the radar signature from the minelayers so that they can do their work undetected. It will be dark this afternoon for the next two weeks. Wait until the next Soviet satellite blackout window. Have the minelayers swing wide north and behind the Soviet lines and mine several of the small craters in the direct path of their artillery. With any luck, we should be able to take out a couple artillery pieces and a tank or two. When they return, refit them again as
scavengers for scrap recovery on the battlefield. Then finally, when all other vital projects are complete, prepare the backdoor surprise.”
The colonel thought about it for a moment. “Good, I like it. Be ready to implement that plan when we can't salvage any more alloy-x. Concerning the mines—set the mines in the mine holes to ignore COL Glaskov. Only take him out if he breaches our post defenses personally. If he makes it within range of our guntowers, he’s fair game for snipers, tanks or anything else.”
“We’ll need his heat signature.”
“I know. If we knew one another, COL Glaskov would call to offer terms of surrender over the radio. I suspect since he doesn’t know anything about us, he’ll press for a meeting instead, to size us up. We will get his heat signature during the meeting. Even more, I want to hold off his attacking our scavengers as long as I can. Every piece of alloy-x scrap is vital. Bob, what do you think COL Glaskov will want to say at the meeting?”
“Probably offer us mercy if we surrender, noting what happened to the first American post.”
“What would you respond to that?” asked COL Red Fangs.
“I’d refuse, of course.”
“I agree. Think of something original and have it ready.”
“I'll have something ready for the meeting.”
“Glaskov will be calling me when he arrives at zero four hundred. I’ll purposely be busy and unable to take his call. That should show disrespect and get him a little upset. No sense in looking too eager to meet.”
Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars Page 8