Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars (48 page)

“Come in, COL Kahless,” he said, and motioned for me to sit. “I trust your leave has been restful and enjoyable?”

“Absolutely, sir. I’ve gotten to go deep-sea fishing, watch a Cardinals game and ride my Harley. What more could a man ask for?” He chuckled with amusement at my comment, and then measured me to see if it was truly enough.

“Still living the life of a eunuch, I see.”

“Yes, sir. I’m leaving to go to Mars in one week. I just received my field command eleven months before I left. After thirteen years of military service, I don’t expect to get married and retire. As I see it, that would be a conflict of interest. After all, a man who’s home only one month every two years has nothing to offer. Besides, I have a dog.”

He laughed good-naturedly. “And Blaze is a very special dog.” He paused for a moment; a shadow of concern crossed his timeworn face like a cloud covering the sun. “I am glad that your survived your legal difficulties. I have high hopes that you will succeed me as commandant here someday. You know that I am not getting any younger. I think I will be taking my leave here in the next few years.” He exhaled as if he had been holding his breath since I had been arrested, relieved as I was that it was behind me.

“Thank you, and thank you for your support.”

The general smiled and nodded his head. “Now then, how is the war going?”

I spent more than an hour briefing him of our position and struggle on Mars. I spent more than an hour briefing him of our position and struggle on Mars. BG Edwards had been the first security chief of Nuclear Command Center 4, which repaired the first alien disc. He became the commandant here when the academy first started up. This was his mission and his life’s service to America, and he would do it until he retired.

I took leave of the general just as lunch was being served at the mess hall. I was scheduled to give a lecture on teamwork at thirteen hundred in the main auditorium, and all cadets were to attend. Instructors and visiting field officers were seated in one section of the mess hall; cadets were seated in another. I was able to sit next to COL Red Fangs, the commander of our post on Luna. He too, was on his last week here, though he was taking a different transport freighter home. We ate and made light talk and finally the conversation came around to Marines versus Navy.

“Now that I’m commander of our post on Mars, I think I will break the earlier tradition of
Navy only
.” If I’d meant to shock him, I couldn’t have done better with a stun gun.

“So what changed your mind about that?” he asked, seeming very interested.

“Well, we had some jarheads come through on the way to Ganymede, and they were stranded with us for a few sols because of a meteor shower, so I put them to work. I was impressed with their
can do
attitude. I’m going to seek to add marines to my command, especially, but not limited to, security.”

He looked at me with a sense of amusement, but he was clearly impressed with the compliment. He changed the subject. “I hear that your dog is rumored to be pregnant.” I couldn’t believe that I finally had some leverage over this jarhead.

“That’s the suspicion,” I said. It was obvious that my dog had become quite a celebrity among the personnel in the solar system’s various outposts, and he was quite interested in my dog’s condition.

“What kind of dog is the father?”

I had a hook in his jaw, and all I had to do now was reel him in. After all these years, he was actually asking a squid for something. “The father is a gray wolf. He didn’t hang around to show me his papers.”

He looked as though he was pained to be in debt to a sailor. “I sure would like to have a male from that litter.” This was rich! I wouldn’t have missed this for the entire world. This would make a real nice story at officers’ mess back home.

“What’ve you got to trade?”

He studied me for a moment and then he grinned. “I have a Marine Corps bomber pilot, top-notch, the best in the unit.”

I couldn’t believe it. He was going to transfer a marine pilot from his crew to my post—trading him for a dog, no less. Something wasn’t quite right, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it. “What’s his name?” I asked more to get to the bottom of this than anything else.

“CPT Luv2bomb.”

I mulled it over for a moment. I’d heard of him, a very good bomber pilot, a Chinese-American. This might be good. I might someday need a pilot who could speak Chinese and maybe this one did. My curiosity was killing me, but I wanted to check out his service record before committing to anything.

“If I don't hurry, I’m going to be late for class. That would set a poor example for my students. Why don’t we meet later and discuss it at the o-club at beer-thirty and hoist a couple of cold ones?”

“That sounds like a plan.”

I hurried to class. It wouldn’t provide a good example for an instructor to be late. The classroom was filled with pilots from various branches of the service, most of them with prior flight experience, some with combat experience. The ranking cadet called a crisp “Atten-shun,” and after they all saluted, I addressed them.

“At ease, please be seated, gentlemen.” I collected my thoughts quickly and prepared for the class. I’d requested that each cadet bring a Bible. “Please turn in your Bibles to Ecclesiastes 4:12.” I read aloud from the New American Standard Bible, “ ‘And if one can overpower him who is alone, two can resist him. A cord of three strands isn’t quickly torn apart.’ ”

I motioned to turn off the lights, and then the film clip started. The satellite film clip of a battle about ten years old was being displayed. Two American pilots were dogfighting with two Soviets. As the fight went on, both American ships took heavy damage, and both pilots lost their ships. The finish of the clip was a break to the memorial room of the American post on Mars. The close-up showed two plaques, CPT Thor and 2LT Chill of Death. Then the next footage started to run, showing two American tanks fighting with four Soviet tanks. The two fought hard and smart, took damage, but vanquished all four of the enemy tanks. I then signaled to turn the light back on. “Can anyone tell me the difference in the fighting styles of the two pairs of pilots?” Several hands shot up, and I picked a young cadet with a knowing look in his eyes.

“Sir, the first two fought as if they were fighting their own personal battle; the second two fought as though they were brothers.”

“Well said, cadet. He’s exactly right. The first two pilots had a quest for individual glory and the second became like brothers, willing to die to protect the other. In fact,” I pointed to the back of the room, “let me introduce LTC Robertson, formerly known as MAJ Chainsaw, who was the senior pilot of the second pair, as well as one of your instructors.” I motioned my old friend to come to the podium.

LTC Robertson took the podium and at my direction stood to speak. His speech was more polished today since he’d spent his last few years in public speaking at the academy, but his southern accent was still as strong as the day I first met him.

“One thing every senior pilot on Mars has to do is to take on a new pilot as his wingman and try to teach him enough to keep them both alive. I was assigned a young pilot fresh from Vietnam as my wingman. During orientation, I had him slip on his flight suit and put his sidearms on over his suit. I surprised him by drawing the pistol out of his holster and plugging a mannequin three times. I thought he would fill his astronaut diaper. The look on his face was priceless,” he chuckled.

“My new wingman followed me everywhere except to the head. He seemed to make it his life’s mission to know me, so he stuck to me like glue. He became my little brother, and we fought side-by-side as one, with one purpose. I never had such teamwork and unity of purpose with any other pilot. 2LT Cowboy was figuratively integrated with me and we were one on the battlefield, and he’s still alive today.” He waved his hand toward me, “I give you 2LT Cowboy.”

“I was given an order by my first commander on Mars to keep that man alive. As you can see I faithfully completed that mission. It is essential that if you’re to survive and win that you learn teamwork. You can learn knowledge and develop skills, but you must learn teamwork first. If you learn teamwork, we will teach you the rest, or you’ll learn it with experience. I want you to try an exercise. Pair off with another cadet and share what your motivation is for serving in the ASDC. Also decide if you can put the other cadet’s safety and welfare before your own. If you can’t, no one will blame you if you decide to leave the ASDC now. Anyone who desires to leave the ASDC, come see me after class.”

About forty cadets paired off and examined their motives. I had only two cadets who decided to leave. Boot camp did a good job of weeding out most of the ones who couldn’t work as a team. I was surprised that two men were leaving, but was relieved that they were leaving before they failed their teammates. I was grateful for their honesty. I just hope there weren’t others that should have left. Afterward I addressed the cadets for about forty-five minutes on the value of faithfulness and honor.

Classes were finally over for the day. Tomorrow I’d be teaching on Soviet warfare tactics. The academy had a very good officers’ mess. I decided that I would have supper there, instead of trying to eat in my quarters, but first I wanted to access the PC in my quarters and pull the service record on CPT Luv2bomb. Here it was. He was twenty-nine, had an excellent service record and his re-enlistment was coming up in a month. He had a request in his file that re-enlisting was conditional on his being assigned to Mars. This was funnier than the idea of trading a pilot for a dog. He was trying to trade me something he didn’t have, but then again, so was I.

1LT Powder Burns was homesick and said he wouldn’t re-enlist unless he could be within sixteen hours of Earth. He preferred leave times every year. I smiled. Two can play this game, and I’ll see that he takes a sailor in the process. I checked my e-mail, and LTC Killer Instinct said everything was okay, and not to worry. Like any administrator, I took the news as a mixed blessing. My post was still there, but they could do all right without me. Well, that was part of my duty, to make sure that I had good men to hold down the fort (literally) when I was not there.

Logging off of my PC, I strolled over onto the officers’ mess. Good, I thought. COL Red Fangs was not here and I preferred talking about this over a couple of beers. Today’s special was Mexican food. My students might not appreciate that in the morning when I have to look over their shoulders in the flight simulator. I knew it was unkind, but I decided that they needed to get accustomed to hardship and ordered a double-order of beans and chilies. I got to chat with a couple of the other visiting instructors.

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.