Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars

by Morris Graham

  MAJ Skullbasher was a very accomplished pilot with a reputation for being fearless on the battlefield, but couldn’t quite grasp the concept of diplomatic and negotiating courtesies that command officers must employ from time to time. To him, a Soviet was an enemy to be killed like a cockroach, not someone to drink tea with while making idle talk, smiling when you didn’t mean it. His methods were a bit crude, but he always got the job done. He would never be promoted to post commander because of his inability to negotiate and observe military politeness in certain situations with the enemy that called for it. But when you wanted a killer to eradicate the enemy, he was top on my list.

  LTC Chessmaster was quite different. He was a hunter of a different nature, who constantly calculates every angle, whether it is war or diplomacy. It was not hard to see him as a post commander, or even on the ASDC Central Command staff. I visited with them both and swapped war stories and general lies. COL Red Fangs didn’t show up to mess, so I left. From there it was a quick trip to the Academy’s vet clinic to pick up Blaze. The doctor confirmed she was indeed pregnant. She hadn’t had supper, and I was due to meet COL Red Fangs at the officers’ club, so I called her to heel and took her with me. This was even better. I’d have her with me when I negotiated with him about the pilot swap.

  We took a leisurely stroll to the officers’ club, and I observed that COL Red Fangs was already there. I took a seat on the barstool and called Blaze to heel. COL Red Fangs waved the bartender to see what I wanted. Since Blaze hadn’t had supper, I ordered her a steak sandwich, plain, a glass of milk with a bowl and a beer for myself. We chatted a bit, and the subject of my morning class came up. The bartender put the steak in the deep fryer to cook, the hot grease popping its report. He opened the cooler and brought out a long-neck beer, water droplets condensed on its neck and a drop of moisture ran down its neck. He popped off the top and a curl of carbonated vapor drifted out of the bottleneck like fog lifting off the damp ground on a cold morning. I accepted the bottle thirstily and took a drink.

  “I heard you washed out two cadets this morning. I thought you squids were soft,” he said with an amused look in his eye. I took a sip of my beer.

  “They washed themselves out. I just told them that if they couldn’t die for their fellow soldiers, they should look for a different job. My only concern was if some of them that should have walked, didn’t.” I took a long drink to accentuate my statement.

  “I wish a couple of young pilots they sent me had heard your speech. You might have missed your calling, Colonel. You should have been an instructor.” I thought about that for a moment, taking another drink.

  “It takes an experienced soldier to teach young soldiers, and I’m not through with my experience yet.” The bartender came out with Blaze’s steak sandwich and milk. I took the glass of milk and poured it into the bowl and laid the steak sandwich and bowl on the floor for her. The bartender gave me a look but said nothing. I shrugged my shoulders and told him she was pregnant, tipped him five bucks, and his mood improved somewhat.

  “So it is true,” said COL Red Fangs, looking very pleased at the prospect.

  “I just brought her back from the vet, and yes, it is true.”

  “Well, how about the trade?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it a bit, and no matter how special a dog is, to trade for a man is wrong. I’ll give you pick of the litter, and if your marine wants to serve with me, I’d be honored.” I knew the marine pilot would get his way in the transfer whether he said so or not. This was just a negotiating politeness. Now I’d given him something for nothing, with no strings attached. Now I was in a position to ask him a favor, and he couldn’t refuse.

  “I have a favor to ask you, though. I have a young pilot whose tour is up, and he’s very homesick. He said he wouldn’t re-enlist unless he can serve on the moon. Seems he wants to be just a few hours away from home. I need you to take him on. He’s a good man.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “1LT Powder Burns.”

  “I’ve heard of him. He has an impressive record.” Suddenly it hit me. He was familiar with my crew and probably anticipated I insist on him taking a naval officer to break the lunar marine club. It was obvious he’d reviewed the service records of my men and wanted to be sure he got a good man. Why shouldn’t he? I checked his man out. Here I was, thinking I was one step ahead of him, when I obviously wasn’t. He’d make a formidable enemy. I’m glad he’s on our side.

  “Sure, I’ll take him. I understand homesickness. Hell, I may even make a marine out of him,” he laughed. So that’s how we broke the marine and naval clubs in the only two exclusive ASDC posts in the solar system. I guess Blaze getting pregnant was a good thing after all.

  “By the way, Colonel, the next time I layover on the moon, I’d like to go on a patrol with you.”

  “I don’t usually let visiting command officers put themselves in harm’s way, but I’ll make an exception in your case,” he said with a teasing smile.

  “Thanks, I think.” We shook hands over the deal. I guess I never got over being told that I was a squid and couldn’t ride in his tank as a junior officer.

  There was a chessboard on the end of the bar, and I’d heard he was a good player, so I invited him to play a game. In no time, we were in combat as tough as with any Soviet I’d ever fought. He was very, very good. I was right about him and was glad he was on our side. We played for a half an hour, hardly speaking at all. Our concentration was intense and Blaze made her, “I’m bored, and let’s go home” noise.

  At a point in the game where it looked like I might be beaten soon, I began looking for the one good move to do a reversal. It was COL Red Fangs’ move, but I lost all of my concentration.

  Into the officers’ club strolled a beautiful blonde-haired woman with sparkling blue eyes, finely arched eyebrows, full lips and cheekbones higher than the Kilimanjaro. She walked toward us with the grace of a cat and smiled at me, her teeth like two rows of perfect ivory. She stared at the board for a minute and said to COL Red Fangs, “May I?” Normally no chess player will let an outsider touch their board or make a move for them, but it is amazing what men will let a beautiful woman do when she smiles just right. She studied the board a little while longer and moved his queen, looked at me and said, “Check, and mate.” The word mate rolled off her tongue like a private joke. She was obviously flirting with me. She turned over my king on its side, looked me right in the eyes and smiled. My heart beat like a triphammer. It took all of my discipline to get control of myself.

  Then she turned and walked out, without so much as telling me her name. Her exit was even more intoxicating than her entrance. She was beautiful from all views and her perfume lingered long after she left. COL Red Fangs gave me an amused look.

  “Men melt in her presence. Rumor has it the Academy assigned a cleanup crew to mop up the mess. She’s LTC Yekaterina Pastukhova, an instructor here in Soviet language and culture. She’s Russian born, and a former CIA analyst. She still works part time for GEN Spear’s staff as an analyst. She was obviously very taken with you. You may be through with your field experience. I predict you’ll soon be a full-time instructor.”

  His words struck a nerve in me. I’d fought the pull to return to Earth my entire career and sometimes having a dog for a companion wasn’t enough. I was shook up, and I didn’t want him to see that. I turned both palms up and spread my arms wide. “I’m still solid. There isn’t a woman on Earth or elsewhere that can bring me home before my job is done,” I said, not convincing either of us.

  “So you say.” He rolled his eyes as if he thought I was full of it.

  I realized it was time to go and excuse myself and called Blaze to heel. I resolved myself to get through this week as quickly as possible and get back on that ship as scheduled. The idea of being afraid and running from a woman was beginning to gnaw on my insides like a wild beast. The whole thing was challenging my courage, and if I ran, could I in all honesty act with courag
e on the battlefield? I didn’t need this. For all these years I’d stayed unmarried, and with a single purpose did my duty. In the back of my mind, I knew this day would come again.

  Arriving at my quarters, Blaze laid down in her bed, and I checked my e-mail. Top priority was an encrypted e-mail by LTC Killer Instinct. His e-mail stated that he had a request from a bullet sponge to transfer in, and he wanted to know what was going on. He also said there had been a few skirmishes with the Soviets, but no major conflict and the post was still standing.

  I answered back, “I’m approving the transfer of the marine and I will explain when I get back. I want you to approve the transfer for 1LT Powder Burns to Luna, and he’s to leave on the next transport freighter.” I knew that would raise his eyebrows, but I’d explain the whole thing when I returned. I filled out the paper work approving CPT Luv2Bomb’s transfer request personally since his leave was up about the same time that mine was. I’d take him back with me.

  After a hot shower, I read my Bible for a while and hit the rack. I fell into a deep sleep while the sweet smell of her perfume etched itself into my memory like an engraver’s tool.

  My body clock was back on schedule and I awoke at the zero six hundred, shaved and greeted the day. After morning prayers and scripture reading, I fed and watered Blaze. Since she wasn’t an officer, she wouldn’t be able to eat in the officers’ mess. I took Blaze out for a walk and then took her to my aide, Cadet Wilcox. Resident instructors on staff don’t get an aide, because they live here and their lives are pretty much settled.

  After the young officer had taken Blaze, I made my way to the officers&rsquo mess, took a tray and sat down alone. COL Red Fangs spotted me and sat right next to me, much to my chagrin.

  “Don’t worry, she never eats here. She always takes breakfast in her quarters.”

  “I wasn’t concerned,” I replied, trying very hard to believe the lie.

  “Sure,” he said, dropping the subject. “Well, how many cadets are you going to wash out today?”

  “Actually, today I teach Soviet warfare tactics, and that should go fairly smoothly.”

  “Hmmm, Soviet tactics. I hear you got COL Tkachenko from Ganymede. Are you sure you don’t want to become an instructor? I hear he killed the American commander and all the senior staff and most of the officers on Titan.”

  I thought on that for a moment. “I killed COL Kiknadze personally with only a sword, and I believe I’ll be a formidable opponent for COL Tkachenko,” I said, trying to convince myself that I was indeed Tkachenko’s equal.

  “Maybe, just maybe, but LTC Pastukhova looks much nicer and smells better too.” He lifted an eyebrow, enjoying my discomfort again.

  “Whether it is the Soviet colonel or the Russian–American lieutenant colonel, I’ll meet every challenge with courage.”

  He raised his coffee cup as a toast. “I’ll drink to that, but having courage with her may cost you your command. Personally, the only thing I’m afraid of is women. That’s why I still have my command,” he finished with a smile.

  We parted ways after some more war stories, news and general lies. I had my first class in fifteen minutes. Yesterday’s class had forty cadets; today’s had thirty-eight. I made it to class on time and the senior cadet called for attention. I started the class with prayer, which would be my practice for many years to come.

  “It is no secret that Soviets are smart. Never forget that. Some of the world’s greatest chess players and mathematicians are Soviet and their military commanders are very good at plotting their moves in advance.”

  I put a picture of COL Yuri Tkachenko on the screen. “This man is the single most successful Soviet in the solar system, nicknamed the “Butcher of Titan” because of his success against us on Titan. He’s courageous, brilliant and especially ruthless.

  When COL Kiknadze died, the Soviets transferred Tkachenko to Mars. Some of you will be engaging him in combat in a few months. Tkachenko had only been on Mars five months before I left, so I am not an expert on him. Our analysts on Titan, Ganymede, and Mars have compiled an analysis which we will discuss. From my short experience with him, I can tell you he’s everything they say he is. The reason we mention him specifically is that his tactics are being taught in the SCA Academy. You’ll be met with his tactical philosophies on the battlefield regardless of where you serve. Tkachenko stresses chess-like maneuvering of his opponents into position until he has his enemies exactly where he wants them. He also stresses the importance of timing, position and surprise. He makes his officers think like chess players and is unusually creative in strategy, in a country whose main system is to tell you what and how to think. His methods are catching on. He’s the most famous and respected field commander the Soviets have and the SCA Central Command fawns on his every move.

  This is where you come in. As young officers, you must think smarter, train harder and learn from your enemies as well as your peers. First you must know your ship and become a skilled pilot and sniper. You must also learn how the enemy thinks, how he plans and be able to know what he’ll do next. If he thinks four moves ahead, you must think five. If you engage this man in combat, you must work together as a team and fight smart if you want to live to tell about it. Forget about the idea of being the most famous pilot for killing him. A pack of wolves take down more game that a single wolf does. Oh, did I mention, his other nickname is the “Ukrainian Wolf.” They don’t call him that for being a Labrador Retriever.” The class broke into laughter over that.

  “But seriously, you’ll get all the combat you can stand. Fight resourcefully, fight together, and live to fight another day.” I motioned for the lights to dim and the projector to put up a set of slides. “This is Titan. The Soviets had a cave not too far from the midpoint from both of our posts. This slide shows a burned out tank, and a dead American pilot. What we didn’t know is there was a cave with a mouth large enough to hold a squadron of tanks, and they’d lined the roof of it with lead. This was the trap that got the post commander of Titan, his XO and most of his senior pilots killed. When they got there to investigate the burned out tank, they were outnumbered and ran into a minefield, to boot. There’s an old saying, ‘curiosity killed the cat.’ It works on people, too. Under your desks are copies of The Art of War, by Sun Tzu. He was a Chinese general who lived between three and five B.C. Men of war and businessmen have studied his principals for thousands of years. Two notable ones were Generals Patton and MacArthur. This special copy has quite a few battles over the ages critiqued in the light of Master Sun’s principals, and the book has plenty of blank pages for notes. Before we reference the work itself, I have to offer one disclaimer. The Art of War is the definitive book of strategy for war, but not the definitive book on how we should live. That would be your Bible. To continue… concerning the tactic Tkachenko used on Titan, I’ll quote from The Art of War. ‘All warfare is based on deception…’ ”

  I spent the rest of the morning expounding on Soviet tactics and advising that if their theater of war included the Chinese, then they would be given additional instruction in a separate class. At lunch I got my tray and COL Red Fangs moved to sit with me again. Lunch was fried chicken, corn on the cob, a salad and peach cobbler. I decided I better have an exceptionally strong cup of tea, or I’d fall asleep during afternoon class. We ate our meal and discussed the war effort, shared about students and told more war stories.

  Then I noticed her and my heart skipped a beat. She was getting her tray with a salad and an ice tea. After looking around, she sat at the end of the officers’ table. She never once acknowledged I was there. This was making me crazier than her obvious flirting of last night. COL Red Fangs regarded my discomfort with amusement.

  “I hear she’s the best analyst the ASDC has. Her specialty is negotiating with the Soviets, so she understands cat-and-mouse games. On the other hand, she probably doesn’t like you at all,” he said, flashing me a wide grin, enjoying my torment.

  “Then, there probably isn’t a
nything to be concerned about, is there?” I said curtly. Finished with lunch, I put my tray up. I left to go, purposely not making eye contact with her.

  I was not going to be teaching this afternoon. Each pilot shipping out for points abroad had to be cleared by the flight surgeon with a physical exam, eye test and to make sure their shot records were up to date. The pilots were also required to requalify on the sniper range and in the tank. I wasn’t the range officer of this class, even as a visiting command officer of higher rank. CPT Halstead was in charge here. I had to drop by and fire at least hundred rounds to requalify. Every two years this has to be done, as well as requalify on my tank. There was classroom time and I picked up some useful things I’d forgotten.

  I reported as a student to the rifle range, where I shot my mandatory one hundred rounds. My scores were good enough to requalify, and high enough to qualify as a line coach. Once I’d finished, I was expected to help the instructor for the rest of the afternoon as a line coach, training the cadets.

  Some of these pilots have never used a rifle outside of basic training in their original branch of service. One of the cadets, 2LT Boyer, was a former Marine Corps Scout/Sniper. He was already instructor material, but he wanted to go fight the Soviets. He was shooting picture-perfect. The instructor was pressing him hard to stay and teach, but he had his heart set on filling his kill ledger.

  I took up my position as line coach over my group of four shooters, 2LT Boyer being among them. I observed and coached three of the four, but soon became aware the marine should have been coaching me. His shooting was extraordinary, like nothing I’d ever seen before. I looked over my shoulder at SGT Clark, the Block NCO over my part of the line. He usually didn’t move a muscle unless the line coaches asked for help. He returned my look with a brief nod, and I knew he was impressed. The shooters continued until the end of class. Once the Block NCOs had signaled all clear, the range officer, CPT Halstead, turned his signal paddle to the red side facing the young private in the tower above. He, in turn, signaled all clear with his megaphone. Once we retrieved all of the targets downrange from the pit, I was even more impressed with the marine. “That’s some nice shooting, son. Where was your first choice to serve?”