Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars

by Morris Graham

  The orientation video piqued my interest. I had a lot of questions, and I felt I’d find most of my answers in the video. The other pilots were curious, too. The video viewing room was big enough for three people, and it was finally my turn. We were looking for some answers, to change the uncertainties of the unknown into the certainties of the known. The screen flickered announcing the beginning and the narrator began to speak.

  “The struggle between the Soviets and Americans isn’t new. While the Americans have a public war going on in Southeast Asia and a very public space race, we’re conducting a secret war on other worlds in our solar system with the Soviets.

  The ASDC uses technology and materials from an alien race called the Ktahrthians. The technology we have extracted is either from crashed spaceships we’ recovered on Earth, or from archaeological digs for relics on Luna and Mars. From the relics we’ve deciphered, we’ve determined that the alloy-x we do have comes from a vessel about the size of Earth’s moon, which served as their space station, home world and ship. The relics cipher told the story of a race who had to abandon their home world because their star went into nova stage. The Ktahrthians built the great vessel to transport their colonists, ships and technology to look for a suitable home world. The disc that crashed on Earth in 1959 was part of an exploratory expedition. They’d hoped to colonize Earth. They’d built a base and started an aqueduct system on Mars, only to have their colonial ship blow up from some kind of mechanical failure, killing all of the colonists and sending the material from the station flying into space.

  According to the archaeological digs historical account, only a few ships that were away from their space station survived. That included only a handful of discs along with the technicians and support staff on a couple of bases. From what we read, the ships and their crews left our solar system. The technology from the archaeological digs on Luna and Mars is the basis for much of the technology we use in our ships and buildings.

  We also have other advanced technology in medicine, computers, communications and mechanical engineering that we’ve gleaned from the relic ciphers from different archaeological digs. We use the controlled-release strategy to market some of the technology, using the cash to finance our war efforts. The ASDC mission focuses on both the fight to obtain any alien technology left in archaeological digs and the possession of alloy-x. Alloy-x still falls in meteor showers, and we still fight battles over it.

  Luna has no atmosphere and the atmosphere on Mars is nearly one hundred percent carbon dioxide. Fortunately alloy-x can also be used for constructing ships and weapons based on alien designs. We’re limited to hovercraft physics, because of the weight of the fighting vessels and weapons. The hovercraft we use have antigravity drives to hover and conventional carbon-based fuels for propulsion. The original alien discs as well as the transport freighters we use for space travel are completely antigravity driven. Our brass use a faster antigravity transport freighter with hyperdrive, but it actually consumes the alloy-x antigravity drive after a time. It may cause the transport freighter to fly twice as fast, but it wastes the very valuable alloy-x.

  We use heavy transports to move everything from troops, machine parts, water, food, medicine, tools, and everything from toothpaste to live fish and plants. Luna is far from self-sufficient. Mars is as close to being self-sufficient as it gets.

  An expedition will soon establish the newest post on Ganymede, one of Jupiter’s moons. Eventually all of the Galilean moons of Jupiter will have posts, as well as Saturn’s moon Titan.”

  The rest of the video was technical in nature. It covered how we maintained and built life-support systems, and other operational details. I was particularly interested in the Rules of Engagement, negotiated by accords struck with the Soviets on Luna and Mars.

  Sixteen hours later we arrived on our first stop, Earth’s moon, and I was utterly amazed. I’d no idea we could travel that fast. On the lunar post, we met some other pilots who manned the post there. None of them used real names. Names like 2LT Joystick, CPT No Name, and SGT Slingshot were some of the names we encountered.

  Afterward we were all given our bunks, and told to report to mess at eighteen hundred. I grabbed a tray and looked around. I had the sense of awkwardness a kid has in a new school on his first day. Finally, my eyes met up with someone, who looked as if he’d give me the time of day. I wanted to know what I’d gotten myself into. A post on the moon, I thought. The American public had no idea. What else didn’t they know about? I sat my tray next to the lieutenant. “2LT Cowboy,” I announced.

  “Good name. I’m known as 2LT Undertaker. I guess you’ve got a lot of questions. What did they tell you?”

  “They said that I’d be fighting Soviets, and I wouldn’t have any politicians or antiwar activists to worry about. They showed us an orientation video that answered some questions. My duty post is Mars.” I took a bite of scrambled eggs and washed it down with a sip of coffee.

  “US Navy, I’ll bet,” he stated, as though it should be have been obvious.

  “Sure, I am or was a sailor.”

  “The first Commander of Luna was COL Cavender, a marine. Luna is a Marine-only post by tradition. Mars is a Navy-only post; they are a little more relaxed. You’ll hear an occasional aye instead of yes, and it usually regarded as a correct military courtesy there.” He paused to let it sink in, and attacked his eggs and biscuits. “How was your first spaceflight?”

  “I’m still thinking if I pinch myself that I’ll wake up and learn it was just all a dream. It is hard to believe that space travel on short notice already exists. I feel like I left Vietnam and woke up in a science fiction movie. As far as the ride over, re-entry was pretty rough.”

  His eyes twinkled like firelight and a knowing smile played across his lips. “Only VIP transport freighters that carry the brass are exact replicas of the original alien discs. Our tanks use a combination of antigravity technology and hydrogen gas combustion propulsion. Troops are moved with hybrids of conventional and alien supply transports unless the need is particularly urgent. The real differences in flying alloy-x ships using strictly alien technology are in the amount of weight they can carry and how smooth the landing and takeoff are. ASDC command isn’t worried about soldiers having a smooth ride. To be sure, antigravity technology makes re-entry and launch as smooth as silk. Rocket technology is a real rough ride by comparison. Everything hinges upon the economics of alloy-x, and we can’t waste any.”

  “I can’t believe I’m actually on the Moon. Tell me about the post here.”

  “The space race was not what it seemed. ASDC’s first commander, GEN Colson took the picture of the Ranger 6 Lunar Lander in ‘64 with a camera. The first American post, Eagle 1 was later destroyed by the Soviets and this post is Eagle 2. The first battalion on Luna was called the Black Dogs, with all marines under COL Cavender. The marines of Eagle 1 died rather than surrender. Marines here are very proud of them. You’ll hear of the Black Dogs from time to time. There is a Bronze statue of CPT Smith facing down a Soviet tank with his service pistol in front of this post.” His eyes shown with pride, and it was clear that because CPT Smith was a marine, my new friend shared in his historic and courageous stand. “To keep our secrecy from lunar probes and Landers, we have people working inside NASA, providing the codes for the transmission feeds. This way whenever a probe or Lander tries to take live pictures, our computer actually takes the equipment over and gives them archive feeds of old pictures before we got here. Luna was the first world the ASDC colonized, and the most important.”

  “Tell me about Mars.”

  “The commander on Mars is COL Squid, a former Navy SEAL. He prefers to have naval personnel working for him. He’s a tough one, a fourth-degree black belt in Okinawan Karate, and makes his men work out three times a week. If you’re going to serve there, it is because he chose you, not the other way around.”

  “I understand I’m officially dead and have a new identity. How did they do that?”

>   The young marine flashed a knowing smile as if he were about to reveal a club password or secret handshake. He stabbed some scrambled eggs with his fork and pointed it at me. “One of the big shots on the Central Command is LTG Amidio Mondragon. He job is information and influence. Think CIA, only without government controls. If you need records created or destroyed anywhere, he’s your man. The ASDC has secured a large amount of social security numbers over the years and has built identities when needed around them, complete with work and tax records, driver’s licenses, high school diplomas and the like.”

  “What happens if I’m ever fingerprinted back on Earth? My fingerprints are in the Navy’s database as belonging to a certain dead junior-grade lieutenant.”

  “Not to worry—we have people in the Navy and other branches of government that take care of that. The real magic starts with one of several coroners whom we have in our employ. Every time a dead body shows up, they scan the fingerprints and send them to our spook group. The spooks run them through all known databases. If they have no previous military, government service, or arrest record, the prints are proclaimed “clean.” Those fingerprints are then swapped with the ones in your own file. Then they attach your real fingerprints to your cover as an active duty naval officer, in your case—alive and kicking.”

  “Amazing.”

  “LTG Mondragon is one good friend to have—definitely not someone you want as an enemy.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. When my tour of duty is up, then what?”

  “Eagle 2 has been here since July, so we haven’t been here long enough so that any of us has finished a tour yet. However, Eagle I was here since November of 1963, so we have a little history to go on. If you are ready to retire, they will magically resurrect you as though you’d never died. If not, you’ll go back to the Academy as an instructor, or accept a promotion and another duty assignment. Some of them retired to some civilian or government job, with a selective type of amnesia if you get my drift. Believe me, if you still alive after four years, you’ll be instructor material.”

  I held my fork up to indicate I was about to bring up an important point. “I haven’t seen any women here.”

  “Yeah, that’s a serious drawback. This is a hardship post, no women or children. The next time I’m on leave, I intend to spend a lot of time in their company.”

  “If my understanding of planetary science is right, sometimes Mars is a very long way from Earth. What about my leave time or discharge?”

  “Well, with Luna being only sixteen hours away we’ve been promised two weeks every year. Mars is a different story. You are a minimum of two months away from Earth, and can be up to four. Mars is a very new post, but I’ve been told Mars only will only get leaves every two years, one month plus travel time. So far no one has been there long enough to go on leave. On Mars, they only intend to launch transport freighters when the orbital alignments make for a shorter flight. There’s been talk that we are soon to start a new post on Ganymede, one of Jupiter’s moons, which is even further away for travel time. It’s twice the size of Luna. There is enough water ice on the surface to melt for water, and an oxygen atmosphere, though it is very thin. The reason they’re going there first is the geological survey team sent out reported that there is more alloy-x there than in the other moons combined. I was offered a transfer there with a three year enlistment and a six-month leave in between if I re-enlist and a large cash bonus.”

  “You didn’t volunteer?”

  “No, I’m a marine, and marines serve here.”

  “The new commander setting up the post on Ganymede is not a marine or a sailor?”

  “No one knows yet.”

  “Hey, I’m not shipping out for a couple days. Any chance of my flying patrol while here on the moon?”

  “Not a chance, if we lose one of you boys before you get to your post, there will be hell to pay. Besides, COL Red Fangs is a former marine, and we’re all former marines. He doesn’t like squids in his tanks, sorry.”

  The next three days were spent in Russian language class. We were informed we weren’t tourists, and we had to get prepared for our service ahead. On the third day, CPT Ripsnort said, “Okay children, we’re going to your new home. Pack your gear.”

  I got to know the other young officers fairly well. 2LT Ricochet, who was my friend “Brown” in basic training, became my best friend. It was a long trip. We arrived sixty-six days, sixteen hours and eight minutes after we shoved off. CPT Ripsnort announced, “Okay children, we’re home, and may God help you.” As the transport freighter made its rough descent, we saw an ever-growing image of a post similar to the one we left on the moon. There were differences. The terrain around Eagle 2 on Luna was tan, and the surface was pockmarked with craters. As we approached Mars, the globe resembled Arizona, albeit without any plant or animal life, and with fewer craters than Luna. I looked out of the ship’s porthole, and the sight the Martian Grand Canyon left me breathless. It made Earth’s Grand Canyon look very small indeed. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the terrain. As we made our descent, I ventured to look out of the window, and saw flames reflecting off of our heat shields. As we neared our landing, I noticed that the ground color was that of whitish sand. I didn’t know what else lie in store, but to me it was beautiful and knowing where I was settled my spirit somewhat. It reminded me of the Sahara desert, but with a red sky and some mountains to the distance. I was told that Mars usually had a blue sky. It was only later that I learned that the red sky color was caused by the presence of dust particles that were suspended into the thin Martian atmosphere by a recent dust storm, effectively diffusing the blue spectrums and creating the red sky effect. It was only later that I learned that the red sky was due to the presence of dust particles from a recent dust storm wind that was suspended in the thin Martian atmosphere, effectively diffusing the blue spectrums and creating red sky effect.

  CPT Ripsnort skillfully landed our vessel, and the aircraft conveyer moved our freighter through the transitional airlocks, and then into the freighter hangar. After unloading, we were met by LTC Exit Wound. Immediately his wingman, 1LT Night Hawk announced, “Attention!”

  We all snapped to attention. The post’s first officer looked like a bull, but my internal klaxon alerted me that this man was as dangerous as a tiger stalking his prey. In boot camp, MSG Darkside was intimidating, but was a pussycat compared to this man. I controlled myself and remained stiff as a board, eyes forward.

  “Men, this theater of war isn’t cold, and the battle lines aren’t confused. Cowardly politicians haven’t compromised our mission. Protestors won’t harass you. Here, there are no innocent civilians that you have to keep an eye on to see if they’re in reality the enemy. Everyone on Mars is either your friend or your enemy. Our turnover rate is high. We’re in a desperate struggle with the Soviets. Keep alert and fight as a team alongside your fellow pilots. 1LT Night Hawk will show you to your quarters, schedule and duties. Each one of you will be called to meet COL Squid personally after you’re settled in. The colonel is currently out on maneuvers. You’ll find this unit is the best in the solar system and we all stick together. Dismissed.”

  1LT Night Hawk led us to our quarters. “LTC Exit Wound is as tough as boot leather. You’ll all do well to remember that. The same is true for COL Squid, though he’s more of a thinker than LTC Exit Wound. We’re a brotherhood here, and we’re all family. We live together, eat together, drink together, fight together and sometimes die together.” He dropped me by my quarters. “It’s all about loyalty. You watch your brother’s back, and he watches yours. Understand?”

  I nodded as he handed me a printed copy of my schedule and a map of the post. “The buildings on this post are all underground and constructed of concrete, bricks and Martian steel. The cement for concrete we import from Earth, but we make the bricks and steel here. Martian steel is high in magnesium which we mine from regolith. It’s light and very strong. We get basaltic sand from here to add to the cement to make
concrete. The main building you’re in now is our post HQ. It contains the command officers’ offices, barracks, mess hall, sick bay, exercise and rec rooms.

  This post is built like a wheel underground, with spoke-like corridors from each building to the post HQ in the center, and a corridor around the outside circle of the wheel. There are only two structures outside of the wheel. One is the above-ground satellite tower, though there is an underground corridor from the wheel to get there for the technicians who have business there. The other structure, or structures, rather, is the green house complex, where we grow and process food. It also has a corridor from the main wheel to get there.”

  Once his speech was over, I thanked him and entered my new quarters. It appeared as though one other pilot was already living here. The room had a TV and two PCs, two bunks and some sparse furnishings. I saw some pictures of a tall, blond man holding up a big fish and another of him kneeling before a Virginia whitetail deer that he’d killed. A placard next to one of the computer desks said CPT Chainsaw. I didn’t know it then, but there was a reason for this. I was going to be his wingman and he would be teaching me. I unpacked my bags and opened my pistol carrying case, taking pleasure in the dark glow of the polished walnut. No shells, I thought. I guessed I’d have to hang them on the wall as ornamental. I’d spent the short time in Vietnam flying and wearing them on my hips, as Seawolf pilots weren’t armed. If an enemy got past the door gunners, they were already in the helo. For a pilot, the only sensible weapon for a pilot was a pistol. I had given up my share of the family farm to my brother. The pistols my grandfather had given me were now my only inheritance, and as such—my most prized possessions. My familiarity with them gave me confidence, and were a symbolic bridge to my family.