Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars

by Morris Graham

  “They have killed our colonel!”

  “It is the American colonel’s tank, but where is he now?”

  “Where the tank of our colonel?”

  “The American has it!”

  “He is probably long-gone now in our colonel’s tank. Let us open his.”

  “What is this? There is something is written in Russian.”

  “Nyet, you fool!”

  I wondered who’d win the argument. I’d now achieved a comfortable lead and heard a very loud explosion over the radio. I guess they all lost. I heard some more talk that some of them were dead and that some of the remaining tanks had been damaged.

  My head finally cleared of my obsession. It dawned on me that if there was a town called Stupidville; I could get elected mayor. However, the scales were coming back into balance. LTC Matulevich killed COL Squid; Col Kiknadze had COL SEAL killed. Since I had become commander, I had killed them both and stolen a Soviet tank for our tech boys to pick apart. I still had to face the music when I got back. As commander, I had given standing orders that none of my men leave the post alone. I had issued those orders to my men, not to myself. Specifically targeting the opposing command officer was part of planning that usually included the chain of command. I had disobeyed no direct order. I had not consulted the chain of command on this decision, but that was a gray area. My standing order as a post commander was “to maintain the post and its integrity.” This was my only written and recorded order. The details of how I was to do so was verbally given to me by the protocol officer when I was promoted, but wasn’t part of any record. I was unsure what legal trouble I would face when I got back, but I was sure I was in trouble.

  I was deep into American territory, and I realized the error of flying into American territory unannounced in a Soviet tank. Putting my tank on autopilot, I stripped my suit down and removed the aluminum foil covering my transmitter chip, hotwired my transponder to the Soviet tank and turned it on.

  “LTC Ricochet, I have transmission signals from both COL Kahless’ transponder and transmitter chip on a heading of mark zero two zero from your position, on a course heading of one niner five. But get this—satellite feed shows it’s coming from a Soviet tank. Approach with extreme caution. You should have him on your radar in five mikes,” reported MAJ Norsemun.

  “Roger that, moving to intercept,” responded a hopeful but suspicious first officer. He keyed his mike. “Soviet vessel, identify yourself.”

  “American patrol, this is COL Kahless. I’m in a Soviet tank, headed your way. Please don’t shoot me.”

  “Please confirm your identity.”

  “Mr. Brown, I appreciated the toast.”

  “This is LTC Ricochet, we see you on radar,” responded the relieved but peeved first officer.

  The squadron escorted me back to the post, but on radio silence—not so ordered but a clear message, nonetheless. Once inside of the hangar deck, LTC Ricochet, MAJ Killer Instinct, and 1LT Janus Dread were the first to greet me. My wingman looked like a teenager who hadn’t been invited to the senior prom. LTC Ricochet spoke first. “Colonel, why didn’t you get some help?”

  I looked around at their concerned faces. “Colonel, I expect if we live long enough, we will all eventually do something real stupid. By the way, COL Kiknadze is dead. Have Chief Wolverine’s crew take Kiknadze’s tank apart and extract any information and resources that they can. LTC Ricochet?”

  “Sir?”

  “Tobias, I would like a word with you, privately.”

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  “Did you report my absence to GEN Spears?”

  “Yes, sir. It was a regrettable duty I had to perform.”

  “You did the right thing. I guess it is time to face the music.” I had some time to reflect on what I’d just done on the last leg home. Somehow even with the success I’d just enjoyed, it occurred to me I’d acted foolishly and could very well have been killed or captured. Now I’d have to address damage control for my own unit, brought on by my own foolishness and take full responsibility for my actions.

  “Are you quite through, sir?!” The last part was said in a condescending tone. I had betrayed his trust and would feel the same way if our roles were reversed. My whole career here I owed to Cadet “Brown,” who treated me like a brother and wouldn’t let me fail boot camp.

  “I’m quite through taking matters into my own hands. From now on you’ll know where I am at all times.”

  “Yes, sir. I assure you I will know where you are at all times.”

  I had a feeling he knew more than I did about that right now.

  “1LT Janus Dread, walk with me.” I looked at him as we got out of earshot of the others. “Lieutenant, I noticed that you seem to be upset by my actions. I owe you my life many times over. If you have anything to say, say it.”

  “Sir, my job is to protect you, and you didn’t let me do it. How would you feel if when you were COL SEAL’s wingman, and he had left you behind the day that he died?”

  “I suppose I would feel as you do now. I swore a blood oath the day COL SEAL died that I’d personally kill COL Kiknadze and as I said before, that was probably stupid. Going maverick may have cost me my career, but COL Kiknadze was hated by ASDC Central Command for the assassination of COL Seal. I may be forgiven.”

  “Sir, I take it you’re now through being reckless and will allow me to do my job?”

  “Lieutenant, I assure you that I’m through with taking things into my own hands and I won’t go anywhere without you in the future.” I glanced at CPT Black Ice heading my way, his expression set hard as flint. “You shouldn’t worry; I may not be going anywhere for a while.”

  “CPT Black Ice?”

  “Sir, it is my duty to inform you that you are under arrest for failing to maintain this post and its integrity, and abandoning your post. You are hereby relieved of your command and confined to your quarters. All communications to Earth are hereby subject to my approval. Do you need me to read you your article thirty-two rights?”

  The gravity of the situation hit me full force. “No, Captain, I fully understand my rights.”

  “Then these two men will escort you to your quarters. CPT Defender has been appointed as your legal counsel.”

  “Understood.”

  Kahless was brewing a cup of tea when he heard the knock on the door. “Come.”

  CPT Defender entered, with a briefcase and a tape recorder in hand—wearing an expression more like that of a funeral director. His lawyer was handsome, dark-haired; dark eyed, in his mid-thirties, and looked fit for a man in this profession, but walked with a pronounced limp. There was something about his bearing that spoke of a different past.

  “Colonel, I have been appointed to represent you.”

  The teakettle whistled, and Kahless turned the burner under the teapot off. “Captain, please have a seat at the table. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “No thank you. I just had a cup of coffee.” The attorney laid his briefcase and recorder on the table and took a seat. Kahless poured himself a cup of tea and took a chair at the table.

  “Colonel, I am here to take your official statement and discuss the nature of the charges against you.”

  “Understood.”

  “I have to advise you that even though I am assigned to defend you, I represent the interests of the ASDC. Please do not lie to me. I will defend and represent your interests strenuously as long as they do not come into conflict with the interests of the ASDC. In short, you know how this works. This is not a civilian matter. Understand that in these proceedings, you are not afforded attorney-client confidentiality as in civilian cases. If I find out anything that the prosecution needs to know, I must turn it over. Also let me advise you that as a decorated command officer, I shall strive to defend your reputation just as strenuously.”

  “Understood.”

  The captain turned the tape player on, held up one finger to cause his client to pause, then began to speak… “Before we be
gin, let the record so reflect that COL Kahless is a decorated command officer with an unblemished record. It is also not the purpose of this inquiry to malign or defame COL Kahless’ character.”

  CPT Defender directed his gaze at his client. “Colonel, state your name for the record.”

  “My call sign is COL Kahless, my given name is Eugene J. Bordelon, Jr., or it was.”

  “Do you swear that the statements you are about to make are true?”

  “I do.”

  “COL Kahless, do you understand the seriousness of the charges against you?”

  “I do.”

  “COL Kahless, on the twenty-fourth day of the Martian month Kumbha, Earth date March 8, 1980; did you willfully override the post’s security protocols?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you leave the post in a tank alone?”

  “I did.”

  “It is the position of the prosecution that in doing so that you jeopardized the integrity of and security of the post. Do you have anything so say concerning this?”

  “I did leave the post in a tank alone, but I believed I did so to preserve the security of the post.”

  “Please explain.”

  “The post itself was secure enough with or without me. My men do a fine job of defending her. COL Kiknadze had already sent a team of assassins after my former commander. In light of that, I viewed COL Kiknadze as a direct threat to the integrity of my post.”

  “For the record, are you saying that you did so in defense of your own life?”

  “Perhaps. In any case, as long as Kiknadze was alive, any American command officer was in jeopardy of an assassination attempt.”

  “I see. Did you have any assistance or aid from anyone else in this…” he hesitated, reconsidered, and continued. “… In this event?”

  “I did not.”

  “COL Kahless, what happened on the twenty-fourth day of the Martian month Kumbha, Earth date March 8, 1980?”

  “I overrode the security protocols on the post, took my tank and found COL Kiknadze and his two guards. I shot and beheaded them all. I wiped my tank’s computer, set my tank to blow if tampered with, then took Kiknadze’s tank and returned to my post.”

  The attorney paused and turned off the recorder. “Colonel, I find this quite amazing. You went into enemy territory alone, killed the Soviet commander and his two guards, stole the commander’s tank and hardly have a story to tell. I’ve heard men come back from a deer hunt with longer tales.”

  “My providing more details doesn’t change the truth as it relates to the charges, does it?”

  “I suppose not.” The captain turned the recorder back on again. “Colonel, is there anything else you would like to say?”

  “Only that I consider it an honor to have served my country up to this point and would like to continue to do so.”

  His lawyer turned off the tape, looked thoughtfully at his client. “Colonel, the prosecution’s case concerning the failing to maintain the integrity and security of you post charge entirely rests on the fact that you jeopardized the post’s most valuable asset—you. I believe I can win that argument. We may not be so fortunate with the abandoning your post charge. Normally no one would put their career on the line to order an unscheduled fitness exam for a decorated command officer, but you are due for a routine exam right now. If you do not pass your fitness examination, your detractors will win without going to trial.”

  “How strong are my enemies?”

  “In any military order, there are some high-ranking officers who are results oriented hard-charges. They think the rules can be broken, from time to time—if you win. Then there are those that are so focused on the process that they take it as a personal affront to their authority if you break one of their rules.”

  “Who’s going to be on the tribunal?”

  “The Central Command staff, minus your distinct commander BG Moore: GEN Speers, LTG Mondragon, BG Edwards, MG MacNeil, MG Whitacre, and BG Buchanan.”

  “Are the sticklers or hard-chargers in power?”

  “It’s split down the middle. The two ranking officers, GEN Speers, and LTG Mondragon are solidly for you, along with BG Edwards. In the opposing camp, MG Whitacre, and MG MacNeil strongly oppose you. Even though they are not the two ranking officers, two major generals won’t be ignored.”

  “Where does BG Buchanan stand?”

  “He’s MG Whitacre’s nephew.”

  “I see.”

  “Understand this—the sticklers want you found unfit for duty and expelled from service. The hard-chargers admire what you have done, but feel that you’ve left them out of the loop by striking out on your own.”

  “How can I keep my command?”

  “The act was obviously premeditated. That works against you. The fact that you appear to have planned it a long time ago speaks to possible emotional instability. Your first hurdle is to pass your fitness examination with MAJ Sawbones. If the doctor gives you a green light, we’ll discuss the next step.”

  “Understood.” Kahless launched and then aborted a smile. “I guess I’ll have to study for my sanity test,” he said, dryly.

  CPT Defender rose, gathered up his tape player and briefcase. “Colonel, even if you pass your fitness exam, the sticklers will try to force some censure or demotion upon you.”

  “Why is it so important to them?”

  “You’ve been locked up since you got back, so I guess it won’t hurt to tell you. Our satellite was in position during the “event” and recorded it all. Your story has spread like wildfire from Earth to Titan. From what I’ve heard all ready, you are being referred to as some sort of superhero, ten feet tall and bulletproof. It is important to the sticklers that you are not venerated as being a law unto yourself. They must bring you down a notch.”

  “The hard-chargers?”

  “They like superheroes. They rally the men and give them someone to emulate. They will not let you be destroyed, but they will compromise with the sticklers to appease them. The failing to maintain the integrity of your post charge is weak, but abandoning your post is the one we have to worry about.”

  “Where do we go from here?”

  “Pass your fitness review first, and then… I’ll fight for your career.”

  “What if I am crazy?”

  “Then the fight is over before it starts.”

  “One more thing… May I have visitors?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I be allowed in-house communications?”

  “Only if you go through security, but you can relay verbal messages of course through your visitors.”

  “Thank you. Will you please contact my aide and ask him to come by for a visit?”

  “Of course. One more thing—you may not be visited by anyone who is being investigated for your “event”: LTC Ricochet, MAJ Norsemun, CPT Black Ice, Chief Wolverine, or any officers in security, or any technicians who maintenance the hangar door locks. They haven’t been cleared yet, and they may yet be called as witnesses.”

  “Very well.”

  “You will get your examination with MAJ Sawbones in the morning. In the meantime, I have a lot of work to do.” CPT Defender left the room, passing between the two guards outside Kahless’ door, who were gravely quiet with expressionless faces.

  CPT Defender promptly advised PFC Gray Eagle that the colonel wished to see him. The young man picked up Blaze from tac ops and walked her to the colonel’s quarters. As the young private passed by, men stopped moving, stopped talking and stared after him, him, hoping to learn news of their commander. He arrived at the colonel’s quarters—one guard on each side of the door wearing very serious expressions. The ranking guard conceding that entrance was acceptable: PFC Gray Eagle was not on the restricted visitor list. Gray Eagle knocked on the door.

  “Come.”

  The young man walked Blaze into the room. The colonel had been watching Star Trek on his TV. The colonel turned the volume off on the TV set.

  “You know
, Private, Kirk cheats death and sometimes defies authority, but at the end of the story, he always winds up on top.”

  “Yes sir.” Gray Eagle looked awkward as the colonel looked intently into his eyes as if looking for an answer.

  “You want to know what I think?”

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  “William Shatner had control over the script. It’s science fiction, not reality. Me—I don’t get to write the script. I’m just a man in trouble and that’s the truth of it.”

  “Sir, is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Just stop by and pick up Blaze and drop her by tac ops in the morning. No doubt MAJ Norsemun is upset that I bypassed his system to take leave of the post. Blaze will help him adjust to his world being disturbed.”

  “Anything else, sir?”

  “No, thank you, Private. Have a nice evening.”

  The young man sighed, saluted and left Kahless alone with his dog.

  Blaze looked at Kahless, trying to interpret his mood. “You know Blaze, I should have negotiated for script control,” he sighed and went to make them both supper, but was interrupted by a knock on his door.

  “Come.”

  The door opened, and SGT Gutshot pushed in a food cart. He stopped, sharply saluted, and then rolled the cart to the table. “Good evening Colonel, Blaze.”

  “Good evening, Sergeant. You could have had someone else deliver that. You didn’t have to bring it yourself.”

  “Sir, this is an honor. I have never felt so proud to be an American as I am today.” He wiped a tear from his eye and pointed at the cart. “Enjoy.” Embarrassed by his display of emotion, he quickly excused himself, and left the colonel and his dog to their supper. The colonel took the stainless steel cover off of the food cart to reveal some of his favorite dishes, steak and chicken smothered in onions over rice, a spinach salad, and pecan pie for dessert. There were two cold long-necked beers in an ice bucket, and a sizzling-hot steak for Blaze.