Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars

by Morris Graham

  COL Red Fangs took a swig of beer, and considered the battle to come. “We should come out with an artillery piece or two left when the Soviets have lost all of theirs. Once the artillery is done with, they will most likely charge us. We will use any remaining artillery to fire upon the invading force. Combined with the heat sensors on the spy drones, we should be able to keep track of all three of their command officers. Status on the back door plan?”

  “Done, I have all of the MTS mines deployed on the trail under the ledge. The mines aren’t heat sensitive, but the ledge explosives are. We’ve done all of the drilling, but since our explosives don’t like temperatures of 265 degrees, we’ve had to wait for the ground to cool. The terminator has now crossed, the temperature has dropped and we’ve finished placing the ledge charges. When the time comes, I’ll have snipers on the ledge in case we need to deal with anyone popping out of the tanks.”

  “I’d like some prisoners if we can pull it off, but I want all of the tanks intact. Only blow the ledge and drop the rock on them if and only if you can’t stop them from getting up the ledge. I repeat; I want those tanks.”

  “Understood.”

  “I understand that the Soviets use transponders to keep track of the location of all of their units. If you can capture the tanks, have a crane haul them up, but not until after you remove the transponders. Make sure you don’t destroy the transponders. Remove them from the tanks and keep them transmitting from below the ledge.”

  “Yes sir, I can have the Soviet tank’s computer hard drives removed and replaced with one of ours in about thirty-five minutes. We can have multiple teams working simultaneously on several tanks at once. We can have all of the software installed and the controls relabeled in English.”

  “Very good.”

  July 18, 1970—Fourteen Thirty Zulu

  COL Glaskov had sent twenty tanks to rendezvous with the artillery detail five hundred kilometers east of the front line. Twenty-five tanks stayed at the line, making sure the Americans didn’t leave their post. MAJ Maksim Speshiloff relieved CPT Dvorkin of his detail while two of his tanks joined the captain on his mission to flank the Americans. The mission called for ten tanks, and the replacement tanks had been similarly equipped with redfield generators. The redfields could remove their radar signatures from the tanks but couldn’t fool the American satellite. The Soviets knew exactly when the American satellite would fly over, and how long it could view them. They used the same technique that the American minelayers used, drop into deep craters and pull black heat shield tarps over them until they flew over. It would take approximately eleven hours for the slower artillery detail to arrive at the front lines. Even after stopping for the enemy satellite, the unit flanking the rear should arrive at the American back door at about the same time.

  COL Red Fangs had been up for eighteen hours and was about to grab some rack time in his new quarters. This was the last rack time for the first crew before the battle, and all of the construction and preparations for the Soviet attack were complete. He’d given orders to give all personnel eight hours of rack time on their last sleep schedule. He did a neck roll to relieve the stress of sitting in one position staring at a computer all day, yawned, stretched some more and moved toward the door. The private from the mess crew retrieved his tray and dishes.

  “Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Keep an eye on the Soviets. I’m going to bed. If they do anything interesting, wake me up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The colonel hadn’t had time to unpack his personal effects, which only amounted to what would fit in his seabag. Personal effects were limited to one seabag, no more than sixty pounds in weight. The colonel’s bag contained a King James Bible, a shaving kit, three uniforms, socks, underwear, a small cassette player, and a collection of music tapes, mostly golden oldies from the fifties.

  He was not a devout Christian but regarded the Bible’s authority with respect. The chaplains brought courage to the men when they prayed before a battle, and comfort to them when they were wounded or dying. He had a Protestant, a Catholic, and a Jewish chaplain on this post, who were also cross-trained to serve as medics.

  He had room for only one other book, so he chose The Art of War, by Sun Tzu. He wanted the best book of military strategy he could find, and this was it. Sun Tzu stressed adaptability and flexibility in changing battlefield conditions. Written in 6 B.C., this was the oldest book on military tactics and strategy to be found, and greatly influenced eastern and western military thinking. He certainly would need to be adaptive and flexible in the events to come.

  Tomorrow was going to be the big day. The Soviet artillery should be arriving in just under eleven hours. Getting a good night’s sleep would be the key to his clear-headed thinking tomorrow, and he was going to make the most of it. All of the men were being rotated out to get a good night’s sleep before the big battle. All the chaplains had reported that they were getting a lot of visits, especially from the artillery battery.

  The colonel unpacked his personal effects and arranged them in perfect marine precision. The rest of his personal effects would arrive on a later transport once the permanent post HQ was constructed, and there was more space for the men’s possessions. He popped an Elvis tape in his cassette recorder and “Love Me Tender” played in the background.

  He opened his book The Art of War and read a passage of interest. “Without deception you cannot carry out strategy, without strategy you cannot control your opponent.” He turned out the light and resolved to discuss strategy with his XO in the morning. He put away his book, then fell into a deep sleep while Elvis serenaded him.

  July 18, 1970—Eighteen Hundred Zulu

  2LT Codecracker had just returned from the head and picked up two cups of coffee on the way back to the bridge. 2LT Algorithm was staring at the monitor.

  “Look at this!” He showed the recording of the last satellite flyby, which showed twenty Soviet tanks flying to meet eight tanks flying escort for the nineteen Soviet big guns. Then he brought up the live satellite feed to show eighteen Soviet tanks escorting nineteen artillery pieces. The other ten tanks were nowhere on the radar and the telescoping camera view couldn’t find them.

  “I hate to wake the colonel up, but if he finds out later, they’ll be hell to pay.”

  “Agreed.” 2LT Codecracker grinned. “You discovered it; you do the honors.”

  “I know.” 2LT Algorithm’s call woke the colonel out of a dead sleep.

  “Yes?”

  “Colonel, we have something on the satellite.”

  “What is it?”

  “The twenty Soviet tanks that were rendezvousing with the artillery battery?”

  “Yes?”

  “Sir. Eighteen tanks are leading the artillery to the line, ETA zero five hundred tomorrow.”

  “Where are the other ten tanks?”

  “That’s why I called you, sir. They were not on radar on the last pass. They could be hiding in craters, or employing redfields.”

  “Very good. I’ll be on the bridge in five mikes.”

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  Col Red Fangs washed the sleep out of his eyes. He was waking up very quickly, and his excitement level was climbing. He was beginning to believe that they would win. He quickly threw on his uniform and headed to the bridge. Both technicians rose to salute as he entered the bridge.

  “As you were. Let’s see what you have, son.” He walked over to the young officer’s workstation and 2LT Algorithm showed him both replays. COL Red Fangs grunted his approval and ran his finger along the printed map posted nearby. “They’re most likely going to the north of Landau through the Wood Crater, then down through Landau to the back of our post. I want you to analyze all flyby data, and keep looking for them with the radar, to the east of us, and later tonight toward the north side of Landau. If they don’t pop up anywhere, I need you to calculate their probable location at all times. Can you do that?”

  “Si
r, yes sir. We know what their top speed is, where they’re going, and how often and how long they have to drop out of sight when the satellite flies over. Right now they’re right about there, he said, tapping the map on his computer screen.”

  “Very good work, son. Keep me informed of anything interesting.”

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  The colonel called his first officer. His call roused his XO out of a deep sleep.

  “Sir?”

  “Bob, twenty Soviet tanks met their artillery escort ten minutes ago about eleven hours east of us, then ten of the twenty-eight tanks dropped off of the radar. Only eighteen tanks are bringing the artillery to the front line.”

  “Good! So, they’re taking the bait, and there are ten of them.”

  “Get back to bed. I need you sharp for tomorrow’s battle.”

  LTC Judgment Day yawned. “Sir, no problem, sir.” The younger man fell right back into a deep sleep.

  The post commander terminated the call and left the bridge. He was too excited to sleep, but it was vital that his wits were sharp for the big battle. He suited up and went to the Sick Bay on the next freighter. The medic gave him some sleeping pills that were potent but reputed not to cause groggy aftereffects in the morning. He took the recommended dose and turned on a Dolly Parton music tape. The childlike quaver and soulful delivery of Dolly’s voice and the sleeping pills put him back to sleep in twenty minutes.

  THE SIEGE OF EAGLE 2

  The alarm woke the post’s first officer at zero three hundred. It was estimated that the Soviet tank regiment would be knocking on their back door by zero four thirty, and he wanted to be awake for it. He rubbed his eyes and willed his body to comply. He was glad that he was accustomed to six hours of sleep; the pace had been grueling since they arrived. Last night was a luxury, getting eight hours of sleep was helping his body recharge for the day’s critical events. After cleaning up and getting dressed, he suited up, save for his helmet and gloves, and headed for the mess hall. Their post’s main building wasn’t large enough to have a separate mess hall for officers and enlisted men, but there were officers’ and enlisted men’s tables.

  SGT Marches On Stomach already had his crew up making breakfast. The mess hall was already serving some of the men whose jobs required early preparation for the battle ahead. Sniper Det Alpha had been ordered up early to accompany him to the rear of the post to greet their visitors, along with the crew who’d operate the crane, one of whom was a master Russian linguist. LTC Judgment Day found COL Red Fangs picking up a breakfast tray and a cup of coffee, and he followed suit.

  “Sleep well?” asked the post commander.

  “Yes sir, ready for the day.”

  Sitting down his tray of hash, eggs, hot biscuits and gravy, he carefully placed the strong cup of coffee on the table. The breakfast was the best they had in their stores, for many it would be their last meal.

  “I want church services started for all artillery gunners starting zero five hundred. Make sure all of the men who want to go have the opportunity They need to be concluded with all services by zero seven hundred. By then, the entire artillery line must be ready to engage the enemies’ artillery battery.”

  His first officer nodded. The artillery gunners would be taking breakfast at zero four hundred and the post chaplains, Captains Father Mike, Reverend Joe and Rabbi Aaron were holding their respective services. The chaplains were advised that the casualties on the artillery line were expected to be extreme, and to prepare their services accordingly. All three had served in the US Marines for over twenty years, and always assumed that today might be each man’s last day. They took their ministries seriously and were heavy of heart for the men who’d soon die.

  LTC Judgment Day, Sniper Det Alpha and the rest of the back door detail went to the first Catholic Mass. LTC Judgment Day asked CPT Father Mike to hear his men’s confessions and bless them in an early service so his team could be on their way.

  After services, they took their position above the ledge at zero five forty. He knew the Soviet ships wouldn’t have a radar signature, so they set up a concealed camera looking down the ledge. There they were just below the MTS mines, with their engines off. They probably had orders not to attack the rear of their post until the artillery battle was over. The trap couldn’t be sprung until the enemies’ ships were all over the MTS mines. LTC Judgment Day left 1LT Relentless in charge of the detail, with orders to inform him if the Soviets moved into position. The first officer headed to join CSM Rainmaker at the fire direction center.

  The men who didn’t go to any services reported to the line. After the early service, the artillery gunners had climbed into their self-propelled howitzers—the big guns, and double-checked all systems one last time. Each team had a vehicle commander, a gunner, and two gunner’s-mates. The vehicle commander analyzed all the data fed to him from the control center, and in turn gave the firing solution to the gunner. The control center gathered their info from the radar array, the spy drones and forward observer posts using both radar and lasers to identify targets. The forward observers and spy drones were constantly moving to keep the artillery from hitting them, avoiding the Soviet tank patrols looking for them. Both targets were high priority, so they made their measurements on the run, stopping no longer that they absolutely than necessary.

  Each self-propelled unit had enough HE shells inside the big gun to fire without having to be resupplied for one hour, firing four shells a minute. The big guns that survived the battle would be given special shells disbursing anti-tank mines for the charge that would follow.

  The men knew that it was safer inside the Howitzer than operating a towed vehicle—at least it was armored. This way they could only be killed if the big gun itself was destroyed. They also knew it was likely that most of them would be destroyed.

  SGT Rolling Thunder and the crew of gun number six bravo platoon were already loaded, and the vehicle commander was waiting for the first firing solution. The two gunners were responsible for handling and loading the 155mm shells weighing 7.1 kg., or 15.8 lbs., Lunar-weight. The gunner’s mates were by regulation supposed to wear their spacesuits, with their helmets nearby, in case of a hull breach. They also wore hearing protection. The gun may not make any noise outside, but it sure was loud inside. The men didn’t attempt to talk while firing, but pulled their muffs off during reload. The calm before the storm bore its own level of tension. SGT Rolling Thunder decided to find something positive to say about their present situation.

  “You know, I find this assignment a bit better than Vietnam. Here, we don’t have to sort out civilians and enemies, and there isn’t one politician interfering with what we’re doing here. Hell, we aren’t even fighting second-hand communists. These are the original dyed-in-the-wool communists, Marxist-Leninist who started this whole mess: in China, Vietnam, Cuba and everywhere else. Yes, sir boys, we get to strike a blow for freedom today. Ooh rah!”

  ARTILLERY BATTLE

  Like the Supreme Court of the USSR, the Soviet artillery battery approached the line, ready to deliver socialist justice to the American dogs. Their forward observers already had the first coordinates to fire for effect and the guns were already loaded with the first round. It would take the big guns just under forty-five seconds after reaching their spot on the line to be fully operational. SGT Anton Magnovska of gun six of The Lunar Soviet 3rd Artillery Platoon was ready. His crew had been travelling for over four days—now the wait was over. His crew had won honors for being able to deploy their gun in under thirty-five seconds. It was critical to get his gun ready quickly to return fire. Losing an artillery piece en route was demoralizing, as the Americans would no doubt take some of their pieces before they could deploy them. After losing one piece, they only had two more guns than the Americans, which could change as rapidly as the Russian weather. Of Soviet superiority in battle, he had no doubts, but he’d been warned by his platoon commander not to underestimate the Americans. Now over their firing position, they cut po
wer to their hover-drive and started their deployment.

  The Americans now had the Soviet targets within range. The radio squawked the first firing solution into the vehicle commander’s radio piece on his headset. SGT Rolling Thunder relayed the coordinates to his gunner CPL Long Reach, who in turn entered them into the computer and fired. The big gun jerked back in recoil, and shook the moon beneath it, but the stab hooks and recoil spade held the piece firm. Self-ejecting shell casings could have injured the men inside of the long gun, so the design provided that the men had to remove each casing manually. The first gunner’s mate opened the breech, removed the old casing, and handed it to the second gunner’s mate. The second gunner’s mate accepted the casing, dropped it behind him, manually took the next HE shell off of the rack, armed the fuse, and handed it to the first gunner’s mate. The first gunner’s mate manually loaded the armed shell into the big gun’s ramming device, loaded into the breech and locked it down, giving a thumbs up sign to the vehicle commander and stood to the side to avoid the big gun’s recoil. While the shell was being fired, PVT Powder Monkey shoved the spent casing out the back of the Howitzer through a hole affectionately referred to by the gunners as the bung hole.

  It was a good thing that these shells, weighing ninety-five pounds on Earth, only weighed roughly sixteen pounds here, thought first gunner’s mate Powder Monkey. It would make it easier to handle the shells if their battle lasted over two hours, with no breaks. No difference. The Soviet and American artillery were so evenly matched that he doubted if any of the cannon cockers on either side would live to see tomorrow.

  The first Soviet self-propelled, armor-plated Howitzer made contact with the lunar surface and spread out its side stabilizers and recoil spade in nearly record time. Even so, a shell landed right next to them—the shock of the ground beneath them taxed the ability of the recoil spades to absorb the shock, and the vehicle shook as if an earthquake had rocked it. The sergeant’s gunner already had the firing solution loaded into his computer for the first round, and quickly fired it as soon as his gun was operational. Within two minutes, the Americans had managed to destroy four of the Soviets guns, losing only one. The Americans were ahead by one artillery piece, but the advantage was fragile at best. The explosions on both sides were like some silent picture, but the men knew they were real. The impact of each HE shell created a ground tremor and a brilliant flash of light, contrasted by the fact that night had provided only starlight to see by.