Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars (54 page)

The Soviet officer hailed his post. “This is LTC Voronin. Patch me through to tactical operations.”

“Yes, comrade Sub-Colonel,” answered the young radio operator and transferred the call.

“Yes, comrade Sub-Colonel?” asked MAJ Arkady Ivanov, chief of tactical operations.

“COL Tkachenko will be fighting the American colonel in a boxing match. COL Tkachenko wants us to radio a commentary of the fight while it is occurring. You will air it over the post intercom, for all to hear.”

“Yes, comrade Sub-Colonel.”

“We will radio the fight live to you in about and hour.”

“Yes, comrade Sub-Colonel.”

LTC Voronin turned to walk out. One of the things that made him a great leader was his ability to remember details about his men. He fixed his eyes on SSGT Vasily Butkovsky. “Sergeant, you were Olympic boxer, yes?”

“Yes, comrade Sub-Colonel. I was an alternate, but did not get to fight.”

“Then you will make a good sports commentator. The Americans have two commentators. Choose someone to help you.”

“Yes, comrade Sub-Colonel.”

“Good! Bring radio equipment and report to the bioselter that the Americans are building. You will be commenting and transmitting the fight via radio to Camp Lenin for live transmission over post intercom.”

“Yes, comrade Sub-Colonel!” he said as he moved quickly to gather up the equipment he would need.

MAJ Oleg Savenkov lifted an eyebrow as he heard only half of the conversation. “Comrade Major, what is going on?”

MAJ Ivanov looked around the room and considered the spot he was in. He just received a direct order that was passed down from the first officer from the camp commander. The order was a direct concern to MAJ Savenkov, since he was the chief political officer on the post.

“MAJ Savenkov, we should speak privately.” The chief of tactical operations led the political officer to an empty room and closed the door.

“MAJ Savenkov, COL Tkachenko will be fighting the American colonel in a boxing match. He wants us to radio a commentary of the fight while it is occurring live, to air it over the post intercom for all to hear.”

“What if he loses? Is he mad? No! I am the chief political officer here, and I say no!” MAJ Savenkov thought about the other side of the issue. “But then again, if he beats the American badly, it will be very good propaganda, yes?”

“Yes, comrade Major.”

“Record the fight, but do not broadcast live. We will wait until fight is over. If our colonel wins or at least fights to a draw, then we will broadcast fight over intercom. Our people here cannot tell if it is broadcast in
real time
or if it is recording.”

“Yes, comrade Major.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked the American first officer.

“Are you volunteering to take my place?”

“You know I would, but he challenged you. You let him trick you into broadcasting this live over our 1-MC.”

“Yes, I know. You’ll need to call the post and inform them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tkachenko tricked us concerning the live transmission. Let’s return the favor. When you build the ring, loosen the ropes and canvas. He appears as though he is a little stronger than I am and I want to be able to
make like a turtle
if I need to.”

“Gonna rope-a-dope, then?”

“Maybe. I just want to make my arsenal larger. I hope Tkachenko didn’t see the Ali-Foreman fight in Zaire or the Ali-Frasier fight in Manila.”

“Do you want me in your corner?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, I’ll be on my way, then.”

LTC Killer Instinct took a walk to the American’s constructor. Chief Hardcase yielded the radio to him.

“MAJ Norsemun, this is LTC Killer Instinct.”

“Yes, Colonel, what can I do for you?”

“It seems our battle on the field was a draw, and COL Kahless and the Soviet colonel have agreed to duke it our over the scrapfield.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No. COL Kahless has agreed to have a fight announcer radio back the fight to our post for you to broadcast live over the 1-MC.”

“Do you realize what this will do to morale if COL Kahless loses?”

“Yes, I do, but that is an order, and he is not going to lose.”

“Will that be all, sir?”

“That’s all, Killer Instinct out.”

“I need to speak with you privately in my office.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Close the door, Captain.” CPT Black Ice complied.

The post’s security chief took the offered seat. “What’s up Major?”

“I just received an order to broadcast a live fist fight between COL Kahless and COL Tkachenko over the 1-MC.”

“This is not a security issue, unless COL Kahless gets hurt or killed. However, it would be bad for morale if he lost. I wouldn’t worry. The colonel is in my karate class and he can take care of himself. You have no choice, though, right?”

“It was a direct order. I must broadcast the fight over the 1-MC live.”

“Major, you don’t want to do this, do you?”

“I will follow orders, of course. I will also record the fight in case of technical difficulties.” CPT Black Ice wondered what kind of
technical difficulties
the major might be planning.

“Sir, yes sir.”

Chief Hardcase had completed the bioshelter, bleachers, ring, two tables for the sports commentators, and two dressing rooms for the fighters. Both fighters were readying themselves for the fight.

Most of the senior American pilots were somehow involved in the fight: COL Kahless, LTC Killer Instinct, MAJ Luv2bomb, and CPT Two Horses. The American spectators comprised of four combat pilots, constructor crewmen, scavenger crewmen, and medical ambulance crewmen. The ranking American spectator sat on his side of the bleachers, flipping his challenge coin bearing his unit information between the back of his fingers, lost deep in thought. The challenge coin was typically awarded combat personnel to help identify them as
friendlies
to local civilians. Mars had no civilians, but the tradition ran deep and the men took pride in their challenge coins. CPT Janus Dread looked over at the Soviets on the other set of bleachers and addressed his men. “Look—we may not be able to get a beer here, but nothing says we can’t gamble a little.” He arose, and the other men followed him to the Soviet bleachers. The bleachers were each twelve feet from the ring on both sides, and the ring was twenty feet across. The Americans closed the distance of forty-four feet before security could arrive. Security from both sides moved to intercept them. They were too far away from the Americans to get there on time.

The Americans reached the Soviet bleachers and CPT Janus Dread addressed the ranking Soviet, MAJ Pavils Jankauskas. “We would like to make a friendly wager with you concerning the fight.” Just then the security teams arrived.

“We are not going to have any trouble here, are we Captain?” 1SGT Justice and SSGT Zhukov tensely watched the group for signs of trouble.

“Nyet, our American hosts have come to make a friendly wager. All in the spirit of sportsmanship, yes?” asked MAJ Jankauskas. Both security teams relaxed a little.

“So what do you want to bet that our commander beats your commander?” queried the Soviet.

CPT Janus Dread realized that they probably only had script or at best, rubles. He noticed the Soviet glance at his flight watch. Time was short; the match was soon to begin. He pulled his sleeve up and showed his watch. “My watch for your watch.”

“Dah, I agree,” said the Soviet with a cold, mocking smile. No doubt he imagined being in possession of a genuine American pilot’s watch by the end of the match.

One by one the Americans and Soviets paired off with their Soviet counterparts, and bet their time pieces against the outcome of the match. Finally, even the security teams got in on it.

Kahless put on his blue boxing trunks that bore the dove on an American flag crest of the Keichu-Ryu dojo he was affiliated with he was in high school and college. He had removed his shirt and finished stretching and getting mentally prepared for the fight.

1SGT Specialist finished wrapping Kahless’ hands with tape, and he smeared a light coating of grease on the colonel’s cheeks under his eyes. Finally, he took a syringe out of his medical bag and prepared a shot.

“I can’t be doping up,” Kahless protested.

“This is not dope. It's just a shot of vitamin C and B-12. The ‘C’ will keep your legs from cramping late in the fight, and the B-12 will give you some extra strength when you need it.”

“Very good.” Kahless’ medic gave him his shot, and he was ready.

“There you go, Colonel.”

“Thank you, it’s good to have you in my corner.”

Ring announcer MAJ Volkov and referee MAJ Luv2bomb examined the tape on COL Kahless’ hands, then once the Soviet was satisfied, the American’s second laced on his gloves. The two men went to the Soviet dressing room to perform the same inspection on the Soviet fighter.

His executive officer returned from making his call to MAJ Norsemun, and laced his gloves on his commander. The two men prayed together, and his first officer broke the silence. “Sir, it’s time. You know what you have to do.” He nodded and walked to the ring with his first officer and his medic.