Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars (14 page)

PVT Badger shut the machine down and the lead technician, SGT Journeyman was quick to start work diagnosing the problem. He took his meter out and started troubleshooting sections of the cooling system to isolate where the trouble was. Within five minutes, he had the answer. CSM Rainmaker was nearby to get the earliest status.

“What’s the verdict, Sergeant?”

“Sir, the compressor failed, sir.”

The command sergeant major was irritated that he had a breakdown on brand new equipment. They’d paid a premium to have them manufactured and tested to the highest military specifications. “You have a spare compressor; get it back up and digging.”

“Sir, right away, sir.” The repair team had the old compressor out and the new one installed in record time. PVT Badger was back digging again. They were only down for twenty minutes.

COMPANY CALLS

July 16—Zero Six Thirty Zulu

COL Boris Glaskov knew he didn’t have the resources yet to take the American post. The American commander would see that and would no doubt refuse terms of surrender. He had arranged the meeting so he could study the man and get a sense of whom he was fighting, above anything else. Usually he would be studying the man’s files, but he didn’t even have his picture, much less a file on him. He was alone in his tank, flying to meet with the American. Glaskov put some water into a metal cup, stuck the “stinger” into it and listened to the water hiss as he boiled water for a cup of tea. The stinger made a hiss as he dropped it in the teacup, the water made bubbling noises while it heated the water. After steeping his tea, he pondered what kind of man he had for an adversary.
Well
, he thought,
I will know soon enough
.

MEETING THE SOVIET COMMANDERS

COL Red Fangs, his aide PVT Ancillary and his executive officer flew to the bioshelter, entered the airlock, and took off their helmets. Their Soviet counterparts weren’t there yet, but radar confirmed their ETA was four minutes.

The post commander addressed his first officer. “Well Bob, have you figured out our response to the Soviets?”

“Yes sir, I thought we should should say no, politely of course.”

“What kind of answer is that? You know the meeting is recorded and sent to ASDC Command. I wanted a more memorable quote.”

“I wouldn’t eat more than one slice of chocolate cake.” His eyes twinkled, revealing that he was withholding the punch line, but wanting the colonel to ask for it.

“What’s special about this cake?”

“I was telling the mess sergeant it was a pity we couldn’t poison them, and he offered a solution which allows us to keep our honor as officers and gentlemen.”

“Which was?”

“He sweetened the cake with applesauce, pureed prunes and figs, and added a very strong chocolate to mask the other flavors.”

LTC Judgment Day retrieved a bottle of Pepto-Bismol from his pants pocket and began the shake it vigorously.

“You rascal! Since it is untainted food, it isn’t a violation to feed it to them, especially when we’re eating it, too.”

“Yes, sir. The best way to poison your enemy is to drink out of the same cup they do. Providing, of course, you have the antidote.”

“How much does the mess sergeant say we need?”

“A triple dose, just don’t eat a second slice.”

The colonel laughed at the thought. “I’ll bet that messes up their astronaut diapers.”

“Yes, sir. The mess sergeant assures me it works in about one-half hour, very suddenly with very little warning.”

“I wonder where he learned that trick?”

“The mess sergeant said he learned that from one of his drinking buddies in ‘Nam, another marine cook. It just so turns out his commander was a surly character who mistreated his men and the cook afflicted him thusly from time to time. The poor colonel thought he was suffering from bad water or bacteria.”

COL Red Fangs search his memory to see if he suffered from the runs while in Vietnam and decided it must have been another commander. “We’d better be nice to him,” he said, smiling. “But seriously, I’d like it better if we could poison both of them with something that caused unbearably agonizing torment that lasted at least three days.”

His first officer thought about Eagle 1. He considered such an act, and though tempting, knew it was not honorable. “Yes sir, me too.”

Both men dosed themselves up for the dessert at the meeting, hid the medicine bottle and waited for the Soviets.

July 16, 1970—Zero Six Thirty Zulu

The Soviets arrived at precisely zero six thirty. The colonel’s aide was finishing the final preparations. A coffee pot was busy percolating next to the chocolate cake on a table to the side of the conference table. The Soviets killed the jets to their hovertanks, and a cloud of fine lunar dust filled the “air” over them. The Soviet commander and his first officer entered the meeting room after the outside door of the foyer was closed.

As the Americans rose to their feet, COL Red Fangs greeted their guests. “Good evening, Colonel, please remove your helmets and make yourself comfortable.” He motioned to the second spare table as the place where they could lay their helmets.

“Thank you,” replied COL Glaskov. With that the two Soviets removed their helmets and placed them on the offered table.

“Coffee?” the American commander offered.

“Yes please,” he answered, eyeing the cake on the table.

The server poured both Soviets a hot cup of coffee, placing cream and sugar on the table. COL Glaskov put a spoonful of sugar in his cup, but his first officer added a little cream, no sugar. They were both tea drinkers, but COL Glaskov had developed an appreciation for coffee when he was posted in Georgia close to the Turkish border by the Black Sea. COL Glaskov sipped his coffee, entering into an awkward silence. He didn’t have much in the way of small talk to say to the Americans. Elevator talk was being quickly exhausted. Both of them knew the whole purpose was to offer the Americans the terms of surrender and let them make their decision. The Soviets believed that if this American post failed, they wouldn’t have any alloy-x to send another landing force. The Soviet satellite on Luna had closely estimated the amount of material the Americans had shipped back to Earth for the Mars post construction.

The Soviet commander began, “I do not have pleasant words to say to you. I thank you for the coffee, but I am here on business. I am offering you the terms of your surrender. We will spare your lives if you surrender unconditionally. We will take possession of your post and all of your equipment and resources. If you cooperate fully, you will be transported home to a neutral country where you will all be free to go, provided you swear never to return.”

COL Red Fangs glanced at his executive officer. “With all due respect, we cannot accept your offer.”

“Then you will all die, just like the first Americans.”

“Perhaps, but we will keep our honor and fight you with all of the resources we possess. We believe we have a strong enough defense to hold off your attack.”

“We have artillery and more tanks coming.”

“The answer is still no,” he replied calmly.

The Soviet rose to his feet and slammed his palm on the table. “Then you will all die!”

LTC Judgment Day lifted an eyebrow and looked at his commander. To his credit, COL Red Fangs seemed calm, most likely enjoying the idea of the Soviets changing their astronaut diapers.

The American commander calmly nodded. “We may be enemies, but I respect you. Since we now know where we all stand, then this meeting is concluded. Would you like some more coffee? I had my mess sergeant bake us a cake, which would be a shame to waste just because we can’t come to terms.”

“Are you attempting to poison me?”

“No, if I’d wanted to do that, I’d have put it in the sugar and cream, while we took our coffee black. I have four slices cut. You can choose your pieces; we will eat the slices you don’t choose.”

The Soviet delegation relaxed a little and decided that a freshly baked dessert would be okay, a diplomatic courtesy. They chose two of the slices and had another cup of coffee. The server had cut the small cake into six slices, so there were two left over when the four men were served.

“This is very good, I have never tasted cake so moist,” commented the Soviet commander. His executive officer agreed, in between bites, and sips of coffee. Finally, they were all through eating and drinking.

“We only get one chance to act toward one another in a civilized manner,” said COL Red Fangs. “Why don’t you finish off the last of the cake? The next time we meet we will be trying to kill each other.”

The Soviets had the last two pieces with another cup of coffee, put on their helmets and departed back to their line. The American construction crew broke down the meeting room unmolested and returned back to the post.

COL Red Fangs smiled trying to imagine the two Soviet command officers changing their diapers on the way back. Maybe there was nothing memorable to quote for the historical record, but they would laugh about this for years.

On the trip back to the Soviet front line, suddenly and without warning, COL Glaskov lost control of his bowels. COL Glaskov fumed as he cleaned himself up, wondering if it were a deliberate act of the Americans. He radioed his first officer.

“LTC Averbukh?”

“Comrade Colonel, I cannot talk. I seemed to have eaten something that disagreed with me.”

“Did you have to change your underwear?”

“Yes, Comrade Colonel.”

“It seems we have been tricked! We have obviously not been poisoned, but the Americans have made sport of us!” With that, he terminated the radio call.

It was zero seven fifteen and the first shift was on duty. COL Red Fangs arrived at the bridge, and his technicians rose and saluted. “Captain, did you isolate and log the heat signatures of the two Soviet officers’ tanks?”

“Yes, sir,” CPT Watchful Eye said, cracking a smile. “Got ‘em dead to rights, sir.”

“Excellent! As you were, then. Make the information accessible to all artillery teams, defensive positions, forward observers and spy drones. I want to know where these three are at all times on the battlefield.”