Then Major Diaz’s voice roared over their headphones. Seconds later, the first skimmers zipped past them.
Marten glanced at Omi.
Omi shrugged, and said over the radio, “He’s eager.”
Marten turned, expecting to see their skimmer parked behind them. There was nothing but Martian ice crystals and shadows. In exasperation, Marten realized their driver had become too excited and had followed Major Diaz in his skimmer charge.
“They’re clumping together,” Omi said.
The fools, they were supposed to spread out, each team hitting their selected areas. Instead, as Major Diaz war-whooped over the radio, the other skimmers followed his like an old-time cavalry charge.
Omi crouched over his TAC-84. Marten did likewise. SU-suited soldiers appeared in the distance. They climbed out of hidden portals. There must have been underground barracks they’d failed to spot. That was just great.
Marten judged the skimmers, the SU personnel and took the risk. He sent another missile at the enemy. Then he deactivated his missile launcher.
“Shut it down,” Marten said.
“It’s a long run to the airfield,” Omi said.
“Yeah,” Marten said. “So we’d better start. Set your gyroc for sniper-fire.”
In moments, the two ex-shock troopers trudged across the cold Martian sand. With their gyroc rifles ready, they headed for the airfield.
Thirty seconds later, Marten cursed. The SU soldiers flung themselves behind concrete slabs, on the runway and behind corners. They began firing at the charging skimmers and immediately gained results.
A skimmer flipped as its driver lurched back hard in his seat, his helmet exploding. The three other occupants went flying. Upon landing, two lay still. The last lifted up and then slumped down again as bullets riddled his body. The skimmer exploded in a ball of fire.
Marten hurled himself onto the cold sand, steadied his gyroc rifle and used the scope. Three enemy soldiers far in the distance set up a plasma cannon. Marten fired. The gyroc round ignited and sped at the enemy. It missed, however.
Omi lay a little ahead of Marten, firing as well.
Another skimmer exploded as a heated ball of plasma hit it.
“Land! Land!” Marten shouted into his radio unit.
Someone in that cavalry-like charge finally began to listen. A skimmer dropped with a hard landing, plowing up cold dust and white carbon dioxide. Soon, four troopers spilled out. They began peppering the enemy with gyroc fire.
As the enemy plasma team swiveled their cannon, Marten held his breath and slowly squeezed the trigger. Three second later, another explosion released a heated ball of plasma. This one cooked the three SU soldiers, shriveling them as if they’d been insects.
Two reckless skimmers raced almost on top of the enemy. They landed. The security teams jumped out and charged, pumping shots. It was suicide. It was crazy. But maybe their recklessness favored them today. About a quarter of the security teams flopped onto the cold ground. The rest ran up to prone enemy and shot them at pointblank range.
With Omi and Marten acting as snipers, the short battle turned hard against the surviving SU soldiers. There had only been a few of them to begin with.
The victory was costly, however. And the terrible casualties left the Rebel Unionists in an ugly mood. The last Social Unity personnel tried to surrender. Major Diaz personally shot each of them in the back of the EVA helmet.
Later, Marten walked through the wreckage of the hangers and counted fifteen jets. He set demolition charges on any that looked in good shape.
The living were elated at their victory. The wounded with torn EVA suits had already died from exposure. Counting himself, there were thirty-one effectives left.
“These EVA suits are crap,” Marten told Omi.
The grim Korean grunted agreement.
Major Diaz poked into the barracks ruins, with a gyroc pistol ready. He was likely hunting for SU survivors. Five of the men were with him.
Marten collected everyone else and went down a hidden portal. As he’d suspected, it was an underground barracks. He found three men in a communications room. They were white with terror and begged for their lives.
Marten whispered to Omi, “If Diaz tries to shoot them, take him out.”
“Kill him?” Omi asked.
“Fast,” Marten said. He turned to the three shaking men. They were pale, wore PHC patches and had sweat-soaked tunics.
Before Marten could ask his first question, the PHC captain said, “You know the Battlefleet has attacked, right?”
Marten stared at the man. The PHC captain had gray sideburns, curly gray hair and looked as if he was ready to start crying.
“It-It’s on all the channels,” the captain stammered. “They stormed Phobos and Deimos.”
The door opened and Major Diaz entered the room. His brown eyes blazed. “Good,” he crooned. “There are more.” He lifted his gun.
“Do it,” Omi said, “and you’re dead.”
There were six other Unionists in the room. They looked up, surprised. Omi had a needler pressed against Diaz’s back.
Major Diaz scowled at Marten, who sat on a chair.
“Put away your gun, Major,” Marten said.
“I see vermin in the room,” Diaz said coldly. “I crush vermin to remove the infestation from Mars.”
“You took out the airfield,” Marten said. “Now we gain intelligence. You do know about that, right?”
Diaz laughed. “Then we kill them?”
“No,” Marten said. “There’s been enough killing today.”
Major Diaz had a crazed look. “There you are wrong.” He lifted his gyroc, aiming at the PHC captain.
Omi clutched Diaz’s elbow and made a sharp motion. Major Diaz cried out as the gyroc dropped from his hand and hit the floor with a crack.
“Take him outside,” Marten said. “Let him cool down.”
Omi put a hand on Diaz’s shoulder. The major tried to shake it off. Omi rabbit-punched Diaz in the solar plexus and Diaz groaned, going limp. Omi turned him around and pushed him into the next room.
“Stay here,” Marten told two of Unionist raiding party who had risen to follow Omi and Diaz.
They glanced at Marten and they must have seen something in his face that frightened them. They hurriedly sat down.
“Finish your story,” Marten told the visibly trembling PHC captain.
“Y-You’re not going to shoot me?” the captain whispered.
“I’m no murderer,” Marten said.
The captain gulped as a tear leaked from an eye. In a quavering voice, he told Marten what had come in over communications.
Marten knew the truth when he heard it. He told Squad Leader Rojas. “Watch these three, but let them live. That’s an order.”
“I understand,” Rojas said.
Marten motioned the other Unionists into the next room, leaving Rojas with the three enemy communications men.
Diaz glared at him. This was a central command room with vidscreens and a small cooler to the side. Many of the other Unionist raiders were piled in the room, their manner ugly and angry as they stared at Omi.
“You have dared lay hands on me,” Diaz pronounced. “You have shamed me in front of Social Unity swine. I will have my revenge, I promise you.”
“You had your fun,” Marten said, “blowing holes in men who wanted to surrender.”
“It is a war to the death!” Diaz shouted. “They sought to make us slaves. Now they pay the price for their arrogance.”
“The Battlefleet has moved,” Marten said.
Major Diaz shook his head as if to shake off a fly.
“Space commandos have stormed Phobos and Deimos,” Marten said.
“PHC lies!” Diaz spat.
“Not this time.”
Diaz’s eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting we scamper home with the mission only a quarter completed?”
Marten took his time answering. They were under a communications blackout so no eavesdropping equipment could pinpoint them. Social Unity would know about them now. Marten debated radioing Chavez, and he saw how the other Unionists listened intently. Several fingered their weapons as if thinking about turning them on him. Marten debated with himself on how to do this. Diaz was a man of rage. So shouting and raging at him likely wouldn’t work. Likely, nothing would work with Diaz but determination and the upper hand. Marten realized he had to win the other Unionists to him. They had to realize he was right and that Diaz had horribly compromised the mission.
Marten let a sneer slide onto his face. He spoke contemptuously. “Scamper home, Major? I wish to abort the mission before you kill the rest of the men the Secretary-General gave into my keeping.”
Diaz’s head swayed. “I only killed Social Unity swine.”
Marten sneered. “You were like a teenager with his first woman. You did everything in a rush. What might have been beautiful, you spoiled by finishing before her clothes were even half off.”
Livid, Diaz shot to his feet.
“I was still firing missiles when you led a madman’s charge at the airfield,” Marten said. “You pulled everyone with you. You lead unarmored skimmers straight into enemy fire. I lost a third of my men because of that. Did you count them, Major? Five skimmers lost out of twenty and thirty-one effectives left. We barely have a little over half our raiding force intact. Do you think I can hit each airfield in turn while losing almost half my men? Do you think I’m going to return to Secretary-General Chavez with handful of men left?”
“I killed no one—”
“Bah!” Marten said. “A third of our force was wiped out because you hunted for glory.”
Major Diaz blinked in shock. “I want to kill the enemy.”
“Good,” Marten said. “So do I. But this isn’t an assassin’s mission where we nerve ourselves up to face the cops, blow them away and run. This is a military strike. You do it by the numbers, not through heroics. You charged this base like a white knight on a mythical horse. The men followed you, forgetting everything I taught them. Because of that, a third of them are dead. Can you understand that? They are dead and we are too weakened to continue the mission.”
“Next time—”
“There won’t be a next time, Major. I’ve lost faith that you and your men want to learn how to fight like soldiers.” Marten began to stride back and forth, gesturing angrily. He had to drive this lesson home. “Not only do you act like a heroic fool, but you butcher those who could have given me important information. You even tried to kill those communications officers. We could have used those soldiers you killed to help us gain entrance onto the next airfield. I can appreciate that you’re a fighter Diaz. I like your hot-blooded courage. What I can’t abide is that you lose all sense while your bloodlust consumes your better intelligence. A good soldier has to stay cool-headed. That’s how he keeps his men alive for the next fight.”
One of the Unionists actually nodded. That gave Marten hope.
Major Diaz stared at the floor. He wore a puzzled look. Then he nodded the slightest bit and glanced at the men, glanced at Omi and finally at Marten. He opened his mouth, let it hang open and then shut it. Without another word, he headed for the outer door. He moved without his customary arrogance.
Omi watched the major as if he expected Diaz to whirl around and open fire.
Marten didn’t think Diaz would. Maybe there was hope for the man, although Diaz’s hate ran deep. For the moment, the major would think about this day.
After the door closed, Omi glanced at Marten. His look said:
now what?
Marten crossed his arms, staring at the door as if he thought deeply about Major Diaz. He did it for the benefit of those watching. What he really wondered was what he should do next. And he wondered about the orbital launch station where the
Mayflower
was docked. If the SU Battlefleet was attacking the moons, what had they done to his precious shuttle?
The news was horrible and sent a shudder of fear through the surviving space defense forces of the Planetary Union.
The last defenders of Phobos had broadcasted strange images of battle-suited invaders. Those SU invaders had moved with insect-like speed and used inhuman cunning. To see them glide over the moon’s surface without bounding into space, no Martian could have done likewise. Nothing had stopped the space invaders, and their reactions had been brutally efficient as bunkers, missile-sites, laser batteries and shuttle hangers had all fallen before them. The last broadcast had shown invaders blasting surrendering Martians. The poor sods had crumpled and lain so utterly still. Then a helmeted invader had turned to a camera. For a moment, the metallic face inside the helmet had stared at the broadcast unit. That image had been frozen and set everywhere throughout the Planetary Union. Then the thing had lifted its weapon. There had been a flash, and nothing more had broadcast out of Phobos.
Shortly thereafter, Deimos had also gone offline.
Now Commander Zapata stood in his command center. He was ashen-faced and trembling. He watched the main vidscreen as harsh laser beams chewed through the prismatic crystal field around his orbital station. More crystals flowed from the supply tanks, trying to rebuild the field faster than the enemy lasers could chew through it. Soon, however, the station’s tanks would run dry. Then nothing could save them.