Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars

by Morris Graham

  I hard banked to port and did a one eighty to aid my commander and friend. During the two dogfights, we had been separated and were no longer back-to-back and close. COL SEAL had destroyed one ship and was trading punches with the other two. All three ships were smoking. I sped there as fast as my damaged tank would allow. My instruments indicated I was down to only three double blasts of my particle beam cannon, while my hull integrity was about thirty percent. My smoking tank was now in range where I felt my shots wouldn’t be wasted. Two Soviet tanks were hammering the colonel’s ship and I saw it explode. As he ejected I saw one of the enemy ship’s cannon blasts tearing right through his body, vaporizing him. With a shout, I pressed my attack with what little particle beam energy and hull I had left. My angle of contact was about forty-five degrees off the two Soviet tank’s port sides. Neither of the tanks had a good shot at me, and both were smoking badly. Taking careful aim, I emptied two rounds into the first tank, knowing I only had one shot left for the second tank. The tank must have been ready to explode on its own because it blew. The explosion caused some damage to the other ship. I quickly placed my last shot where I saw the smoke pouring out near his engine, and held my breath. Suddenly, the last ship’s hull ripped apart like peeling the skin of an orange, followed by the pilot ejecting and a loud explosion. There were five pilots that ejected from the enemy tanks. Although I was mad, I was still no fool. Vengeance would have to come another way. I couldn’t snipe them all, and my particle beam cannons were completely discharged. Logging my GPS coordinates, I called the post. CPL Disaster patched me through to MAJ Ricochet.

  “Sir, Ricochet here. Colonel, what can I do for you?”

  “I need a sweeper team to these coordinates south of our post approximately seventy-five kilometers. There are five snipers on the mountain there. Bring back their heads! I want no prisoners!”

  “Sir, what’s going on?” answered the taut voice. The gruesome image of decapitating our enemies and bringing their heads back as trophies was appalling to the major.

  “COL SEAL and I were ambushed. He is dead and I want vengeance. I have a practical use for the heads. I will dip my sword in Soviet blood until it is fully satisfied! Any questions?!”

  “No, sir!” I knew he felt like I did about COL SEAL and wouldn’t come back without all five heads, now more angry than appalled. COL SEAL was our leader and friend. We held him almost in awe because of his knowledge and abilities. In my mind, I thought he couldn’t be killed. I was in shock, grieving and felt pains of guilt about letting my commander get killed.

  Now that the fight-or-flight situation was over, I slowed my breathing and purposely attempted to relax to come off the adrenaline state-of-alert. I was still upset about losing the colonel, but I had to get my body and emotions under control. My computer announced that my engine was on fire. Reality intruded into my thoughts and I realized the immediate need of putting out the fire in my engine before it reached critical stage and blew.

  Once clear of sniper range, I stopped my tank, grabbed an emergency fire extinguisher and put out the fire in my engine. An examination of the back of my tank found no obvious electrical damage. My engine was undamaged, but my ship was leaking fuel from the forward thrust, jump jets and slow forward fuel flow lines. After I shut down the flow valves ahead of the leaks, it was safe to start my engine again without worrying about whether it would catch on fire. The only seals intact were on my reverse thrusters. I restarted my engine and put it in reverse. After swinging my tank into a circle and aligning my ship’s rear with the post, I started back to post flying backwards. The high from the adrenaline rush was over. I was soaking wet with sweat and all of my muscles ached. My travel back to the post in reverse had the feel of retreating, but retreating was the furthest thing on my mind. Soon—very soon—I’d even the score with the Soviets, with interest. My mentor and best friend was dead. I felt darkness cover me like a mist.

  The original accord signed by COL Squid and COL Kiknadze banned the use of stealth weapons. The ban on stealth weapons included the phantom which makes the craft invisible to cameras and the naked eye, by ‘reading’ the light images from one side of the craft and broadcasting them from the other side. It worked the same way from underneath the vessel, so it also fooled satellite cameras. That little bit of technological ‘sleight of hand’ was the work of a master illusionist, to be sure, but it did not fool the radar. The redfield generator was a different story. It absorbed the radar waves and did not return them back to the sender. However, it did not make the object invisible. Both devices had certain inherent flaws. They could not remove shadows on the ground, hide dust trails of moving vessels, or remove a vessel’s heat signature.

  The down side to these stealth weapons is that they can’t be used at the same time. One makes the vessel impossible to see; the other stops radar from picking it up. We tried once. The cloak worked briefly, and then burned out both units. For years, we’ve pursued the Holy Grail of stealth, to marry them both together, but without success. The traitor Dr. Eichmann deciphered a Ktahrthian relic while on an archaeological dig on Luna, which revealed the secret of the ultimate stealth device. The Chinese had just established their presence on Luna, aided by alloy-x cleanup on some of the fifty-nine smaller of Jupiter’s moons that hadn’t been mined by the Soviets or Americans. Dr. Eichmann stole the secret, and the Chinese picked him up at the site, after killing everyone else there, including the squadron assigned to defend it. Before the Chinese left, they destroyed the entire dig site, including the relic. The Chinese call it Youling Doupeng, translated as “Ghost Cloak.” It was the successful “marriage” of the two stealth devices. They were devastating if used right. As with any stealth device, heat signatures, engine exhausts, dust trails and shadows were still a problem.

  The Chinese are actually making inroads on planets and moons where it was previously just the Soviets and the Americans. In any case, all agreements of civilized engagement were done. It was just as well. I was not feeling very civilized. It caused no little stir to see me arrive at the post flying my tank in reverse without COL SEAL. I parked my tank in the Hangar and told the chief to have her fixed and equipped with a redfield generator and two mag cannons.

  “Is it an all-out war?”

  “Affirmative,” I quipped and took leave of him with no further comments. Then I went straight to my office and accessed the 1MC. “Attention, this is LTC Cowboy. We’re on the highest state of alert. This morning COL SEAL was killed in an ambush. We will be waging a full-scale war. GEN Spears will be informed and a post commander will be chosen. In the interim, I’m your commanding officer. Cowboy out.”

  MY PROMOTION

  I established a secure link to ASDC Command priority one. GEN Spears, the ranking officer of Central Command answered. “What can I do for you, LTC Cowboy,” he said in a polite voice. He had an idea what this was about as protocol wouldn’t have me calling in.

  “I regret to inform you COL SEAL was killed in an ambush today about two hours ago. I’ll send in a report and you may download the satellite account at any time.” For a brief moment I saw a fleeting expression on his face that made him look very old.

  “Very well, let me access some records. After a long pause, he spoke again. Let’s see, I don’t have a senior officer I can spare. Your last fitness report by COL SEAL showed that he recommended you for a command on Callisto, but you refused. Why did you refuse?”

  “I was loyal to my commander and didn’t want to leave.”

  “Excellent, I like loyalty in a soldier. I’ll review the satellite account of the incident and your report. For now, you’re the commander of this post. What do you intend to do?”

  “I expect the Soviets to test my mettle by swiftly launching an aggressive campaign to take our post. I intend to keep their hands so full dealing with our field forces that they won’t have the opportunity.”

  “The colonel was right about you. Will be in touch, Spears out.” The screen faded to the ASDC symbol
.

 

  I suspected GEN Spears knew what I intended to do. COL SEAL was a favorite of his, almost like a son. I purposely didn’t tell him of my plans. I planned to wage war with all the brutality I could muster. I was not waiting for the Soviets to test my mettle. As long as Kiknadze and Matulevich were alive, there could be no new accord.

  I stopped by my quarters and retrieved an obsidian knife from my collection. Holding up my hand, I cut into it until the blood droplets splashed to the floor and I swore an oath. “I swear by my blood that I will kill COL Kiknadze and LTC Matulevich or die trying.” This was not a practice I learned in Sunday school; revenge was not a Christian teaching. I felt lost and outside of God’s shadow. Retrieving a bandanna from my dresser, I wrapped my hand.

  In my mind, a plan was taking root. I called the hangar deck. Chief Wolverine answered, “Yes sir, Colonel.”

  “Chief, I need ten more ships equipped with two mag cannons and redfield generators, and I need them yesterday,” I ordered.

  He didn’t question me or act surprised. This was indeed a violation of the accords, but he knew me well enough by now and probably guessed this was coming. “Yes, sir. I’ll get all hands on it now.”

  It was already arranged by COL SEAL that MAJ Intercessor would conduct his memorial service. I called him and advised the memorial services for COL SEAL should be soon, which would include my giving a eulogy honoring our fallen commander. It was important to have our memorial service before the next confrontation with the enemy. Something to make his death seem real would help these men to focus. Something like, “let’s win one for the Gipper.” But, time to make the first strike was running out. I knew that if we didn’t strike first, they would. I wanted the psychological advantage of the first strike. MAJ Intercessor was willing to have a service this evening as I convinced him that we’d soon be at war.

  The service was set for nineteen hundred, and I transmitted the announcement on all channels. Afterward I went to the colonel’s quarters for a couple of his personal items to include in the memorial room. I chose his black belt, some pictures, and his favorite knife he used as a Navy SEAL. I could feel the colonel’s presence in his room, almost as though he was looking over my shoulder. Yesterday I was good humored and life held promise. Today my reality shifted, and like quicksand, grief was trying to plunge me into the depths of despair. Shaking it off, I left his quarters and tried to shake the grief that was trying to plunge me into the depths of depression. I focused on the service tonight and the battle ahead. I could grieve later. Right now I had to get through the service and then exact retribution for this cowardly attack.

  MAJ Ricochet hailed me over the link from his tank in the hangar deck with his report. “Mission accomplished, sir. What do you want me to do with the five objects?”

  “We are not barbarians. Just pack them in cold storage and don’t show them about to anyone who hasn’t seen them. I personally don’t want the post personnel thinking that I’m worse than the Soviets. I have a practical use for them, which I’ll explain later. Thank you for the faithful execution of your orders.” I didn’t want MAJ Ricochet thinking I was losing my mind. He was my best friend, and now my right-hand man here.

  I went to my quarters to write the eulogy, which I completed in twenty-five minutes. COL SEAL wasn’t hard to write about. I tried to focus on his life as a commander and as a friend. I purposely tried not to inflame the men out of respect for MAJ Intercessor. I realized how easily we could become a bunch of animals and that we may not be able to transform back into men. An instant message arrived, advising me that I had a video letter from COL SEAL. I accessed the link where it was stored and played it on my computer.

  “LTC Cowboy, greetings. If you’re viewing this, then I must be dead. I never told you my real name, though you were my best friend. My name is Benjamin Begay, of the Coyote Pass People, born for the Bitter Water People. My maternal grandfather was of the Towering House Clan, and my paternal grandmother was of the Water Flows Together Clan. I hereby bequeath to you my knife and gun collection; all my other property I leave to my mother and my two sisters, Jannalee and Victoria. Please do me this one last honor. When you visit Earth again, go see them and tell them I died with honor as a warrior.

  I have the utmost confidence that you will command our men with strength and honor. I’ve recommended you for post commander to GEN Spears. Thank you for being my friend. SEAL out.”

  COL SEAL’s family thought that he was still a Navy SEAL on SEAL Team Two and that he was still doing work on Earth that he couldn’t talk about. They lived in Taos, New Mexico. His mother, both sisters and their husbands had a business together that sold authentic Navajo turquoise and silver jewelry, baskets, paintings, blankets and rugs. Jannalee and her mother were weavers and Victoria painted Navajo life in oil and pastels. Other items, like pottery and baskets were made by other Navajos and sold on consignment. Their husbands, Joseph Tso and Jimmy Bluehorse worked as silversmiths, making all the silver and turquoise jewelry.

  I’d have to collect all of his unclassified personal belongings to transport them home. An ASDC officer would take the things to one of our lawyers to execute his will. All pictures of him on Mars would be excluded, of course. There were plenty of old unclassified navy photos which we could send to his family for keepsakes. I’d have to clean out his quarters and box up his personal possessions. I couldn’t put it off for long, but his quarters haunted me with an eerie, surrealistic presence. It was like opening a grave that my mentor would never have. I felt like a ten year-old boy, with eyes wide as saucers, hands in his pocket, whistling as he walked past a graveyard and telling himself that everything was all right. But everything was not all right. I knew that I would not ask someone else to do something so personal. Uneasily I rushed through the chore of packing up his belongings, and then quickly vacated the room and returned to my office.

  I wrote a letter of condolence to his mother and sisters and added them to the personal effects to be shipped. My mood needed to be lightened; an inspection was just the distraction I needed. Maybe I had just lost my best friend, but I hadn’t lost my only friend. Chief Wolverine had befriended me as a junior pilot and was one of my closest friends. I walked down to the hangar deck to check on progress. The Chief was in his usual position, his lanky frame crawling under the console of a tank, with an adjustment tool in his hand.

  “Hey Chief, how’s progress?”

  “Sir, be ready in a couple hours, sir.” The sadness in his eyes was not just empathetic—he felt the loss, too.

  “Then your men will have time to clean up before the service.”

  “Yes sir, we’ll all be there.” It was important that the spirit of heaviness that shrouded the post be dispelled.

  “Very well, carry on,” I said as I departed.

  COL SEAL’S MEMORIAL SERVICE

  NINETEEN HUNDRED HOURS

  The chapel was packed out at nineteen hundred as MAJ Intercessor brought words of comfort to the men. He delivered a message on a man’s legacy. It touched each of us deeply as the chaplain expounded on how every man leaves something of himself behind in the good he imparts to other men.

  Following the chaplain’s message, I told stories of how COL SEAL had impacted my life and that it truly had been an honor to serve under him. I also expounded on the theme of COL SEAL’s life: duty, honor, discipline and courage. I concluded my eulogy and nodded to the bugler and honor guard. The bugler, in his dress uniform and white gloves, was cradling the bugle against himself as though it was a sacred object. He solemnly stepped forward and blew taps. The sound of it was as mournful as a mother bereft of her child. The honor guard of eight men led by Chief Wolverine, fired three volleys of blanks outside of the chapel. There was perfect silence while the shots were being fired and I knew that tomorrow they would be ready. The service was concluded with a prayer. MAJ Intercessor sought a word with me afterward, but I avoided him. What I intended to do had no room for the vo
ice of reason or a conscience.

  I stopped MAJ Ricochet in the hall after the service was over. “Major?”

  “Sir?”

  “In the morning after breakfast, send the usual two squads on patrol. Here is a list of pilots that I want to remain behind to form up two squads. Have the men on that list in my ready room at zero nine hundred.”

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  I ate breakfast alone in my quarters and lingered over a second cup of tea, contemplating the merits of the plan I had concocted. It was risky, but I believed it would work, I finally decided. I arrived exactly at zero nine hundred to find all the men I had requested were already there.

  “Attention!” ordered MAJ Ricochet.

  I returned their salutes. “At ease, gentlemen. Please have a seat.”

  MAJ Ricochet was now my right-hand man and second-in-command, even though neither of us had yet been officially promoted. There were two long tables in my ready room, one for senior officers and one for junior ones. Since I only had two squads in attendance, only one table was needed, each man seated according to rank. COL SEAL’s death had moved me from the first officer’s place on the camp commander’s right, to my new place at the head of the table. MAJ Ricochet was now occupying my old seat.

  “First I want to thank the sweeper team for quick completion of the task assigned. I also hope to convince you that I am still in command of all my faculties.” There were some smiles over that remark, but they were fleeting as the mood soon became serious again. “I have a practical purpose for taking the enemies’ heads. So here is what we’re going to do…”