Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars
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“I agree, sir.”
July 16, 1970—Zero Four Hundred Zulu
The Soviet commander arrived, positioning his tank regiment to the west, just outside of the American artillery range, and hailed the Americans.
“This is COL Glaskov. I wish to speak with the American commander.”
“COL Red Fangs isn’t on the bridge. I’ll have him paged to call you,” informed 1LT Boolean.
Red Fangs? He has got to be joking! “Very well.” He then abruptly terminated the call.
July 16, 1970—Zero Four Thirty Zulu
COL Red Fangs sat his third cup of coffee on his workstation on the bridge. He’d already spoken with CPT Watchful Eye and was aware of the Soviet colonel’s call, and the fact that he sounded about as hostile as his ex-wife.
“Captain, get COL Glaskov on the horn.”
“Sir, yes sir.” The captain transferred the call to the colonel’s workstation.
“COL Glaskov, this is COL Red Fangs, returning your call. What can I do for you?”
“I would like to meet with you and your first officer to discuss the terms of your surrender.”
“Very well, I’ll have a bioshelter constructed outside of our guntower range. I estimate you can make it here in one and one-half hours. It is now zero four thirty Zulu. We can meet at zero six thirty.”
“Very good.”
July 16, 1970—Zero Five Ten Zulu
PVT Badger scooped up another shovel of rocky lunar dirt with his backhoe bucket, swung it around and deposited its load into the bed of the mining truck. He scraped the ground with the teeth of the bucket on the retractable arm of his rig to loosen some more dirt, and then stopped to check a chip light. It indicated trouble with the cooling system that protected the computer and battery from the extreme lunar heat. He radioed his walking boss.
“CSM Rainmaker, I have a chip light on the cooling system.”
“Take your backhoe into the factory’s mechanic bay. I’ll get a crew to meet you to repair it.”
“Yes, sir.” Getting the oxygen extraction plant and steel mill up was to no avail, if the earth moving equipment was not operational. He turned the rig around and drove his tracked excavator back to the repair bay. The heavy equipment repair crew was already there when he arrived.
PVT Badger shut the machine down and the lead technician, SGT Journeyman was quick to start work diagnosing the problem. He took his meter out and started troubleshooting sections of the cooling system to isolate where the trouble was. Within five minutes, he had the answer. CSM Rainmaker was nearby to get the earliest status.
“What’s the verdict, Sergeant?”
“Sir, the compressor failed, sir.”
The command sergeant major was irritated that he had a breakdown on brand new equipment. They’d paid a premium to have them manufactured and tested to the highest military specifications. “You have a spare compressor; get it back up and digging.”
“Sir, right away, sir.” The repair team had the old compressor out and the new one installed in record time. PVT Badger was back digging again. They were only down for twenty minutes.
COMPANY CALLS
July 16—Zero Six Thirty Zulu
COL Boris Glaskov knew he didn’t have the resources yet to take the American post. The American commander would see that and would no doubt refuse terms of surrender. He had arranged the meeting so he could study the man and get a sense of whom he was fighting, above anything else. Usually he would be studying the man’s files, but he didn’t even have his picture, much less a file on him. He was alone in his tank, flying to meet with the American. Glaskov put some water into a metal cup, stuck the “stinger” into it and listened to the water hiss as he boiled water for a cup of tea. The stinger made a hiss as he dropped it in the teacup, the water made bubbling noises while it heated the water. After steeping his tea, he pondered what kind of man he had for an adversary. Well, he thought, I will know soon enough.
MEETING THE SOVIET COMMANDERS
COL Red Fangs, his aide PVT Ancillary and his executive officer flew to the bioshelter, entered the airlock, and took off their helmets. Their Soviet counterparts weren’t there yet, but radar confirmed their ETA was four minutes.
The post commander addressed his first officer. “Well Bob, have you figured out our response to the Soviets?”
“Yes sir, I thought we should should say no, politely of course.”
“What kind of answer is that? You know the meeting is recorded and sent to ASDC Command. I wanted a more memorable quote.”
“I wouldn’t eat more than one slice of chocolate cake.” His eyes twinkled, revealing that he was withholding the punch line, but wanting the colonel to ask for it.
“What’s special about this cake?”
“I was telling the mess sergeant it was a pity we couldn’t poison them, and he offered a solution which allows us to keep our honor as officers and gentlemen.”
“Which was?”
“He sweetened the cake with applesauce, pureed prunes and figs, and added a very strong chocolate to mask the other flavors.”
LTC Judgment Day retrieved a bottle of Pepto-Bismol from his pants pocket and began the shake it vigorously.
“You rascal! Since it is untainted food, it isn’t a violation to feed it to them, especially when we’re eating it, too.”
“Yes, sir. The best way to poison your enemy is to drink out of the same cup they do. Providing, of course, you have the antidote.”
“How much does the mess sergeant say we need?”
“A triple dose, just don’t eat a second slice.”
The colonel laughed at the thought. “I’ll bet that messes up their astronaut diapers.”
“Yes, sir. The mess sergeant assures me it works in about one-half hour, very suddenly with very little warning.”
“I wonder where he learned that trick?”
“The mess sergeant said he learned that from one of his drinking buddies in ‘Nam, another marine cook. It just so turns out his commander was a surly character who mistreated his men and the cook afflicted him thusly from time to time. The poor colonel thought he was suffering from bad water or bacteria.”
COL Red Fangs search his memory to see if he suffered from the runs while in Vietnam and decided it must have been another commander. “We’d better be nice to him,” he said, smiling. “But seriously, I’d like it better if we could poison both of them with something that caused unbearably agonizing torment that lasted at least three days.”
His first officer thought about Eagle 1. He considered such an act, and though tempting, knew it was not honorable. “Yes sir, me too.”
Both men dosed themselves up for the dessert at the meeting, hid the medicine bottle and waited for the Soviets.
July 16, 1970—Zero Six Thirty Zulu
The Soviets arrived at precisely zero six thirty. The colonel’s aide was finishing the final preparations. A coffee pot was busy percolating next to the chocolate cake on a table to the side of the conference table. The Soviets killed the jets to their hovertanks, and a cloud of fine lunar dust filled the “air” over them. The Soviet commander and his first officer entered the meeting room after the outside door of the foyer was closed.
As the Americans rose to their feet, COL Red Fangs greeted their guests. “Good evening, Colonel, please remove your helmets and make yourself comfortable.” He motioned to the second spare table as the place where they could lay their helmets.
“Thank you,” replied COL Glaskov. With that the two Soviets removed their helmets and placed them on the offered table.
“Coffee?” the American commander offered.
“Yes please,” he answered, eyeing the cake on the table.
The server poured both Soviets a hot cup of coffee, placing cream and sugar on the table. COL Glaskov put a spoonful of sugar in his cup, but his first officer added a little cream, no sugar. They were both tea drinkers, but COL Glaskov had developed an appreciation for coffee when he was pos
ted in Georgia close to the Turkish border by the Black Sea. COL Glaskov sipped his coffee, entering into an awkward silence. He didn’t have much in the way of small talk to say to the Americans. Elevator talk was being quickly exhausted. Both of them knew the whole purpose was to offer the Americans the terms of surrender and let them make their decision. The Soviets believed that if this American post failed, they wouldn’t have any alloy-x to send another landing force. The Soviet satellite on Luna had closely estimated the amount of material the Americans had shipped back to Earth for the Mars post construction.
The Soviet commander began, “I do not have pleasant words to say to you. I thank you for the coffee, but I am here on business. I am offering you the terms of your surrender. We will spare your lives if you surrender unconditionally. We will take possession of your post and all of your equipment and resources. If you cooperate fully, you will be transported home to a neutral country where you will all be free to go, provided you swear never to return.”
COL Red Fangs glanced at his executive officer. “With all due respect, we cannot accept your offer.”
“Then you will all die, just like the first Americans.”
“Perhaps, but we will keep our honor and fight you with all of the resources we possess. We believe we have a strong enough defense to hold off your attack.”
“We have artillery and more tanks coming.”
“The answer is still no,” he replied calmly.
The Soviet rose to his feet and slammed his palm on the table. “Then you will all die!”
LTC Judgment Day lifted an eyebrow and looked at his commander. To his credit, COL Red Fangs seemed calm, most likely enjoying the idea of the Soviets changing their astronaut diapers.
The American commander calmly nodded. “We may be enemies, but I respect you. Since we now know where we all stand, then this meeting is concluded. Would you like some more coffee? I had my mess sergeant bake us a cake, which would be a shame to waste just because we can’t come to terms.”
“Are you attempting to poison me?”
“No, if I’d wanted to do that, I’d have put it in the sugar and cream, while we took our coffee black. I have four slices cut. You can choose your pieces; we will eat the slices you don’t choose.”
The Soviet delegation relaxed a little and decided that a freshly baked dessert would be okay, a diplomatic courtesy. They chose two of the slices and had another cup of coffee. The server had cut the small cake into six slices, so there were two left over when the four men were served.
“This is very good, I have never tasted cake so moist,” commented the Soviet commander. His executive officer agreed, in between bites, and sips of coffee. Finally, they were all through eating and drinking.
“We only get one chance to act toward one another in a civilized manner,” said COL Red Fangs. “Why don’t you finish off the last of the cake? The next time we meet we will be trying to kill each other.”
The Soviets had the last two pieces with another cup of coffee, put on their helmets and departed back to their line. The American construction crew broke down the meeting room unmolested and returned back to the post.
COL Red Fangs smiled trying to imagine the two Soviet command officers changing their diapers on the way back. Maybe there was nothing memorable to quote for the historical record, but they would laugh about this for years.
On the trip back to the Soviet front line, suddenly and without warning, COL Glaskov lost control of his bowels. COL Glaskov fumed as he cleaned himself up, wondering if it were a deliberate act of the Americans. He radioed his first officer.
“LTC Averbukh?”
“Comrade Colonel, I cannot talk. I seemed to have eaten something that disagreed with me.”
“Did you have to change your underwear?”
“Yes, Comrade Colonel.”
“It seems we have been tricked! We have obviously not been poisoned, but the Americans have made sport of us!” With that, he terminated the radio call.
It was zero seven fifteen and the first shift was on duty. COL Red Fangs arrived at the bridge, and his technicians rose and saluted. “Captain, did you isolate and log the heat signatures of the two Soviet officers’ tanks?”
“Yes, sir,” CPT Watchful Eye said, cracking a smile. “Got ‘em dead to rights, sir.”
“Excellent! As you were, then. Make the information accessible to all artillery teams, defensive positions, forward observers and spy drones. I want to know where these three are at all times on the battlefield.”
“2LT Surveillance addressed the commander. “Colonel, I have the Soviet commander on the horn, and he is quite upset.”
“Patch him through to my station.”
“Sir, yes sir.”
COL Red Fangs answered the call. “Good afternoon, COL Glaskov. Have you reconsidered and are calling to surrender?”
“I will take much pleasure in killing you.” This was followed by a sharp click, announcing the call was terminated abruptly.
The post commander called his first officer. “I thought I should let you know. The cake kicked in, and he’s upset,” laughed COL Red Fangs. “It isn’t botulism, but it will have to do. Well done, Bob.”
“Sir, thank you, sir.”
CPT Watchful Eye addressed his commander. “COL Red Fangs, sir?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Sir, two squads of Soviet tanks have just left the Soviet line headed in the direction of the Frost Crater.”
“Are they within artillery range?”
“Sir, no sir. Their path appears to be following an arc staying just five kilometers outside of artillery range. They appear to want to stop our scrap salvaging and are careful to stay out of artillery range.”
“Where’s the scavenger crew now?”
“Sir, they’ve been salvaging at the east rim of the Frost Crater for about thirty minutes. They should leave for Eagle 2 in about ten minutes.”
“Scramble the artillery and call the scavenger team back in, now! Put the post on yellow alert status. Scramble the two tanks. Send them to meet the Scavengers.”
“Sir, yes sir.” He opened a radio link. “Yellow alert, I repeat, Yellow alert! Artillery scramble! This is not a drill! LTC Judgment Day, report to the bridge.” He called the Scavenger crew on the radio. “All scavenger units return to post now at full speed. MAJ Loki and CPT Ares—scramble to escort the scavengers home.”
All teams had been on alert and were waiting on the call.
“On my way,” replied LTC Judgment Day.
“Roger that, Eagle 2,” replied SGT P-38.
“Roger wilco,” responded MAJ Loki.
Within two minutes, MAJ Loki and CPT Ares were travelling at top speed to rendezvous with the scavenger crew.
All six artillery crews scrambled quickly to man the big guns. They’d been warned this might happen and had already set four of them up in the direction of the Soviet line; the rest were aimed at their squads. Only one forward observer vessel had been built. SGT Monitor was flying out immediately to get a target fix on the Soviets. If their squads decided to change their mind about attacking the American scavengers, he had to get a firing solution ready.
SGT P-38’s crew started back to the post with his precious cargo. He knew that the scrap they carried would make a difference in the post’s survival.
July 16, 1970—Zero Seven Thirty Zulu
LTC Judgment Day was on the bridge taking over the artillery battery with the assistance of CPT Watchful Eye and 2LT Surveillance. COL Red Fangs busied himself watching the progress of the post construction. 1LT Boolean was summoned to the bridge to take up a work station to assist COL Red Fangs, and to keep an eye on the Soviet front line. The light on COL Red Fang’s workstation announced that he had an incoming call from MAJ Termination, the construction foreman replacing CSM Rainmaker.
“Yes, Major.”
“Sir, the oxygen extraction plant is complete and producing. The steel plant is likewise up and rolling.”
“Sir, yes sir.”
SGT Monitor was within range of the Soviet tanks and completed laser sightings, and measured speed and direction of travel of several of the tanks in the Soviet squad. The Soviets were still holding their course, just out of range of the American big guns. He radioed the readings back to the bridge.
“Sir, the Soviets are staying out of range, no firing solution.”
“Very well.”
July 16, 1970—Zero Eight thirty Zulu
“Sir, LTC Judgment Day, the Soviet squads have reached the Frost Crater and are holding their position. Our scavengers will be back to the post by ten hundred hours.”
“Very good. Cancel the yellow alert. Get the artillery crew back to work, but keep an eye on the Soviets.”
“Sir, yes sir.”
The captain sounded the orders on all channels. “Yellow alert is canceled, all hands return to their workstations.”
July 16, 1970—Zero Nine Hundred Zulu
LTC Judgment Day’s demolition team was rigging the natural staircase to blow fissures wide enough that the Soviet hovertanks couldn’t span across them. These wouldn’t be blown unless the Soviets retreated before getting stuck on the MTS mines. The preferred plan was to have the Soviet tanks trapped by the powerfully magnetic MTS mines and take the tanks intact and the pilots alive. The mines would be remote controlled to ensure all of the enemy ships would get into position before they were locked down. If that didn’t work, though, he would blow the ledge and drop it on top of them, as the mines had been strategically placed just below the heavy rock ledge. If the pilots started popping out of their tanks to use a tool to try to dislodge and destroy the mines, snipers from above would get them.