Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars

by Morris Graham

  “Sir. Mars, sir.” It wasn’t a secret that I was the commander of our forces on Mars. The young marine didn’t ask any special favors. He didn’t need to, for his shooting had already gotten my attention. Until my agreement with COL Red Fangs, this young sniper would have gone to Luna, or one of the other posts where marines served. If word got out about his sniping ability, COL Red Fangs would press hard to get him. He was a marine. I was a bit curious as to why his first choice was Mars.

  The range officer, CPT Halstead signaled me to join him in his office, as there was a fifteen-minute break before the next class.

  Once inside, 1CPT Halstead gave me an inside track on the best snipers, a favor for getting his brother CPT Bad Dog an assignment on Mars.

  “Colonel, that marine out there isn’t just good. He’s so good it’s phenomenal.”

  “I noticed.”

  “It’s more than that. I benchmarked all of those rifles personally with a bench vice at one hundred meters and logged them with their serial numbers. The rifle that marine is shooting with has a half-inch group at one hundred meters from a bench vice. He’s firing the same rifle at a quarter-inch group.”

  “Maybe the ammo lot he’s using is better than the lot you benchmarked it with.”

  “I thought so, too, so I pulled five boxes out of the lot he’s been using, cleaned the rifle and bench marked it again. Same results as the first time and he came back and out preformed the bench the next day. It didn't matter what I gave him to shoot. He consistently excelled on any weapon I threw at him. I’ve gotten him to shoot at moving targets, poor visibility, and at faster intervals and he’s just simply amazing. What he can do with that rifle isn’t explainable.”

  “It doesn’t seem possible, but what I need on Mars are men who can do the impossible. Excuse me, I need to run to my quarters before my next class and fill out a request to cut orders to have him assigned to my command.”

  He smiled. “Better hurry.”

  I made a beeline for my computer terminal in my guest instructor quarters and got on line and checked 2LT Boyer’s service record. He was loyal, smart, unwavering to duty, and never got into trouble. Good, I thought. This is the kind of man I’ll build a stronger squadron with. I checked and so far he hadn’t been assigned. I was not surprised, cadets were usually evaluated in their last week and assigned just before graduation, and we were down to the last week. After filling out a request form for assigning 2LT Boyer to Mars, I sent a communiqué to a friend in ASDC Command that owed me a favor, asking him to make sure no one else got him. Word of his sniping prowess no doubt would travel fast and I needed his orders typed right away to get him to Mars. Since I was leaving for Mars at the same time he was being assigned, we’d be traveling back together. Tkachenko was suspected to be a former sniper and one place where the Soviets beat us was with the sniper rifle.

  I planned to set up a mandatory sniper class for all the pilots on Mars, with this marine as the chief instructor. Under this phenomenal sniper’s tutelage, we’d be more than a match for the Soviets. Picking up a hot cup of tea I had placed in the microwave, I headed back to class and made it with fifteen seconds to spare.

  I spent the rest of the day teaching Soviet tactics. After class, I picked Blaze up from my aide, and we ran into 2LT Boyer headed for the basketball court. He was dressed in gym shoes, green shorts and t-shirt with USMC and the eagle, globe and anchor on it. The young marine brightened when he saw me.

  He saluted me. “At ease, lieutenant.”

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  “Were you serious about wanting to serve on Mars?”

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  “Why?”

  “They say a good sniper can fill his dance card there.”

  “And that you can. So, what call sign are you going to select, cadet?”

  “Pale Rider, sir. It’s from Revelations 6:8. ‘And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.’ ”

  “Very good, I believe you were going to exercise?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Dismissed, then.” The young man saluted me and went on his way. I had never been married, but was seriously thinking about adopting him.

  LTC YEKATERINA PASTUKHOVA

  Vacation has a way of upsetting my routine and getting me a little lazy. The gymnasium had a room off to the side for fencing. Since I’d not done any fencing since leaving Mars, I picked up a white fencing suit, mask, and foil from the attendant on duty. After changing, I called Blaze to heel, and we set off for the fencing room. We were the only ones there, so I commanded her to stay, and used the time to stretch and practice form.

  About ten minutes into my stretching, the object of my conflicted heart arrived, threatening to disturb my status quo. LTC Pastukhova walked in and I was caught between a feeling of elation and panic. She acknowledged me with a reserved nod, put her bag and foil aside and started stretching alone with a cool sense of detachment, which was making me even more uneasy. I remembered COL Red Fangs saying that she understands cat-and-mouse games. I was quite aware who the mouse was. In white, she appeared as the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. I continued to stretch. When I had finished stretching, I worked through a drill alone to try to make my muscles remember the right form. I knew that at some point doing this alone was bound to become embarrassing. She appeared to be finished with her stretches.

  “Would you do me the honor of drilling with me?” I asked her.

  “I would like that.” She put her mask back on, gave me the customary salute and assumed the en garde position.

  We did simple thrusts, derobements, disengage thrusts, one twos, doubles and parries. Finally, we’d drilled long enough and it was time for a few bouts. Since we were still alone, we’d have to judge touches.

  “How about five bouts, five points per bout?” she asked.

  “Sure.” I was playing with fire but the fire was irresistibly warm. “Yekaterina, is it?”

  “I prefer to be called Katya.”

  She was quick and graceful as a cat, and her form was perfect. It was difficult to concentrate; her beauty was so darn distracting. She, on the other hand, obviously didn’t have any problems with distraction and beat me soundly five to three in the first bout. The atmosphere was electric with excitement as fencing usually is, but there was chemistry between us that made it even more exciting.

  Fencing is a sport in which it is common for women to compete with men. Size and brute strength mean less than stamina, speed and technique. I determined to concentrate and the effort paid off. The next bout I won five to four and I was beginning to see ways to score. After a hard-pressed third bout, I won again five to three.

  I kept telling myself that it didn’t matter whether or not a girl beat me, but on some subconscious level, I knew it mattered. I don’t like being beaten by anyone, but I guess that deep down, like every man, I wanted to be looked up to by the ladies.

  Bout four was a complete turnaround. She pulled out all stops and beat me five to three again. Vacation had softened me somewhat. Whereas my usual routine was to run five miles a day and lift weights in four hundred millibar air pressure, the trip over had denied me the opportunity to train so hard. In truth, I had not gotten back on my schedule since being on Earth, either. The pace was beginning to grind me down. She was as fresh as a new spirited colt while I was beginning to feel like a plow horse that was long in the tooth.

  Sweat streamed down my face under the hot mask, and I was looking to end this as quickly as possible. She didn’t appear to be in a hurry and attacked, parried and continued to press me for any weakness that my weary body would reveal. First touch went to her, and then the second and I rallied for the next two. She got the next touch, then I did, and back and forth until we were four to four. I had right-of-way and was pressing a particularly fast riposte. At the end of the track, I took a gamble. It took exact timing to pull off, and it had to be executed before she had the right-of-
way again. As she started to move forward, I stopped. A fraction of a second before she achieved right-of-way by extending her foil, I extended mine and scored the last touch with a stop hit. She looked very surprised, but stopped, backed up, saluted and removed her mask.

  “Very, very good!” “Thank you for a good practice.”

  “You’re very good yourself. Where did you learn?”

  “My father was on the Olympic fencing team from the Soviet Union before he defected, and he taught me. I usually practice with MAJ Cheryl Garrett, but she’s on vacation.”

  I thought about the narrow escape in our last bout for a minute. She reminded me of the girl I dated from high school who lost two out of every three bowling games to me, every time. I wondered if she threw that last touch, just to preserve my delicate male ego.

  “I have a pot of rice cooked and was preparing to heat up my wok. Would you care to join me?” she asked. I was past the point of being able to resist and Mars seemed a long way away at the moment.

  “Sure, but I think I need a shower first.” I was sweating profusely, and she was too. Funny, I thought. With wet hair and a red face, she only looked more appealing. I wondered if being an instructor here full time wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  “Oh, I’ll have to get a cadet to keep my dog.”

  “Oh, no, bring her along.”

  I showered and changed, and Blaze and I went to her quarters. She opened the door wearing a beautiful blue silk dress and motioned for me to sit down on the couch while she started dinner. The apartment was furnished with fine hardwood furniture and some beautiful paintings on the walls. I took a seat on the couch and one painting in particular caught my eye: an officer form czarist Russia in dress uniform astride a white horse. I noticed the signature on the bottom of the painting was K. Pastukhova. All four of the other paintings bore her signature. The one I admired most was a desert sunset colored with red and blue sky, overlooking the desert and a mountain range. My silence was broken by her voice.

  “Ready in about fifteen minutes. Put on some music, will you?” She pointed the way to her stereo, and a collection of records and cassettes. I looked through her selections and found a record album that had some classical music, but qualified as easy listening mood music. While I put the record on the turntable, a picture caught my eye: an older couple on the wall, and I guessed it must be her parents. I made my way to the kitchen to move closer to her. Her sparkling eyes were the color of glacial ice, but the warmth radiating from them revealed a true paradox.

  “Have a seat,” she offered with a disarming smile and the wave of her hand.

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you spend all your spare time beating women in sports?”

  I laughed at her good-natured teasing. “Actually I’d call that one a narrow escape. You’re very, very good, and a worthy opponent.”

  She made a curtsy and laughed. “Thank you sir, but I’ll beat you next time.”

  “That’s possible, even likely, though the challenge is more fun than the winning or losing. A close match is always exhilarating.”

  She filled a bowl for Blaze and fed her in the kitchen. After setting the table, she scooped out some rice on each plate, followed by some Broccoli Beef, my favorite Chinese dish. She poured me a hot cup of my favorite tea before pouring Darjeeling in hers. Hmm, I thought, my favorite Chinese dish, rice and my favorite drink and she never asked me anything. The girl had been doing her homework, and this meal was calculated well in advance. Her cat-and-mouse games were actually negotiation skills; finding out about me was nothing more than research on her part. She had resources to know everything about me. Maybe I should have felt indignant, but I was quite flattered. As much as I resisted this meeting, there was nowhere else I’d rather be. I decided to play this hand and see where it took me. She sat down, and we prayed over our meal. It was delicious, and after I finished a plate, she filled it again. The vigorous workout had left me famished.

  After I finished the second plate and concentrated on my teacup, I decided to take the bull by the horns and get this to a level of openness. I pointed at the wok and teacup. “It seems I have been the target of an intense investigation. This took some effort. I’m flattered.”

  “I do research and analysis for a living. I simply made a comm. call to your aide, and advised that we needed to know some of your likes and dislikes, to plan a dinner in your honor. He was very forthcoming, and he’s a very nice young man.”

  “I’m curious about one thing. Was our meeting tonight planned?”

  She giggled like a schoolgirl, and by degrees I saw my free-will slipping away, like sands in an hourglass. “The attendant was to page me if you checked in to fence, but I had a couple of alternative plans.”

  “Touché again. That was very nice work. I wonder if it is worth all the effort. I leave for Mars by the end of the week, and will be gone for two years, plus travel time.”

  “I know, but relationships are difficult for me as I work on very sensitive projects for the ASDC. I don’t need any civilians asking questions about where I go, or what I do for a living.”

  “What exactly do you do? So far all I’ve heard about your job is intelligence.”

  “I do analysis of how our command officers fare against their Soviet counterparts and present it to my boss. I also work on a round table think tank, with my specialty being Soviet culture, language studies and politics. My input is received as part of discussions on deciding overall strategies. I have a very high-level security clearance, so I can just about be privy to just about any company conversation. I fill out my spare time as an instructor here in Russian language and culture.”

  “Analysis of command officers’ performance you say? I’m betting that I was being watched carefully after I went after Kiknadze.”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, officially. But personally, don’t you ever think of doing anything like that again!” She sounded like a schoolteacher scolding a student for shooting spit wads, and I laughed a little.

  “What’s funny?”

  “You sound like my old fourth-grade teacher in grade school when I misbehaved.”

  “Well, leaving the end of the week or not, I don’t want to think of you dying out there. Have you ever thought of teaching at the academy full-time? BG Edwards is getting older, and someday he will retire. When he does, there will be an opening for commandant here.”

  “So the general has said. The thought entered my mind when you intruded on my chess game in the officers’ club, but…”

  “You’re leaving for Mars at the end of the week,” she finished.

  “Exactly, I have unfinished business.”

  “Do you see an end in sight for this business?”

  “Perhaps, but I just became post commander eleven months before leaving Mars. With the post came COL Tkachenko. I feel as if my unfinished business is with him. Who knows, he may get transferred elsewhere, or we may put an end to him.”

  “I just hope he doesn’t put an end to you. He’s a very dangerous man.”

  “So am I,” I said, trying to convince us both that I believed it. “In any case…”

  “I know, you leave for Mars by the end of the week.”

  By now this was becoming a joke, and we both laughed. Clearing the dishes from the table, she said, “I have something you just have to see. Being a Soviet culture expert and Russian-born, I have access to some interesting things.”

  She retrieved a VHS tape in the living room and popped it into her player. “I know you speak Russian, so sit,” motioning to the couch. She set the tape up and sat close to me. We watched a Russian opera filmed in Moscow for the next hour. I put my arm around her about half way through and she looked at me with those blue eyes. “You’re leaving for Mars by the end of the week.”

  “Yes, and I believe you should walk me and my dog to the door before I act very foolishly.”

  She frowned. “Will I see you tomorrow night?”

  “Yes, how about di
nner at the officers’ club, around eighteen hundred?”

  “Sure,” and with that she walked me to the door. I was well aware that I was leaving soon. I couldn’t resist taking her into my arms; the smell of her perfume was intoxicating. When we kissed, I felt the struggle within me immediately. Part of me wanted to stay forever, and that other part of me was struggling to stay the course.

  She saw it too as our eyes met, and she whispered, “Good night.”

  I walked Blaze back to my quarters, and took another very hot shower, followed by a cold one for good measure, considering the company I’d kept tonight. The workout was tough, and I’d be hurting very badly tomorrow if I didn’t. Sleep eventually took me, but my last thoughts were of her.

  I couldn’t concentrate on my classes at all the next day and avoided COL Red Fangs altogether. I knew that he would recognize the conflict within me, and tease me about it. The day seemed to drag on forever as I watched the clock, waiting for the last class to finish. My aide would be keeping Blaze for the evening. I dressed in the best dress uniform I owned and hurried to the officers’ club. She wasn’t there yet, so I sat down at a table as far from the door as possible for privacy, but where I could still see her come in. She showed up right on time, wearing a white evening dress with silver high heels, her blond hair hanging loosely past her shoulders. This was going to be real difficult, I thought. Her swaying walk, bouncing blond hair and the sound of her high heels clicking against the o-club’s floor was chipping away at my will as surely as a stonemason cutting granite with a mallet and chisel. I rose, and pulled her chair back. She smiled sweetly, thanked me and sat down.