Tales From a Far CountryChapter 13 A Day in Town
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The MPs guarding the main gate had the advantage of knowing exactly where their enemy was, in what numbers they were in, and what their plan most likely was. They knew that two squads and at least one battalion would push towards them from three directions, undoubtedly all at once. For many groups of trained soldiers this might have been enough despite the numerical and weapon superiority of the enemy. But the MPs were not trained as soldiers, they were trained primarily as a security force for the base, and while General Sega had issued orders on where they were to deploy in general, it was up to the on-scene officers to decide where at that spot to put the men. They thought that they had decided well by positioning the troops in groups behind planters, MP carts, and other obstacles facing all of the known egress points of the enemy. This seemed like it would keep the men safe from deadly crossfires. On the surface the defensive plan looked good; underneath, it was a deadly mistake.
On a given signal the two steel doors adjacent to the main gate were breached by primacord charges and came crashing to the steel floor. The MPs opened fire into the holes trying to drive the invaders back in, trying to pin them down as they'd pinned down the main battalion. The MPG troops inside held their rifle fire, returning fire only with short bursts from their SAWs while the men armed with grenade launchers on their M-20s crept forward as far as was safe on their bellies. They marked the position of the flashes and aimed targeting lasers towards the obstacles.
Horishito, one of the grenadiers under Lon's command was among the first to fire. Bullets pinged all around him and tracers from the friendly SAW behind him streaked less than two feet over his head as he concentrated on the MP cart in the main foyer area where the flashes were emanating from. His body was flooded with adrenaline and he was seriously wondering if he would live through the next two minutes but he went forward nonetheless. He pointed the targeting laser on his M-24 at the cart and sent it out. The reading flashed before his eyes, seeming to float in the air courtesy of his combat goggles. 93 meters.
He flipped the selector switch on his weapon to the grenade setting. A red targeting recticle appeared in his goggles. He centered it in the air about a meter above the cart.
"Ninety-three meter air burst," he said into his throat microphone, which was set to computer command mode. When his instruction was logged, he spoke a single word and switched it back to communications mode.
"Hoary, taking a shot," he told Lon.
"Weapons are free," Lon replied. "Get the fuckers."
He pushed the fire button on his weapon and it kicked harshly against his right shoulder as the 50mm high explosive fragmentation grenade was shot out of the stubby barrel below the M-24s main barrel. The grenade exploded precisely over the top of the cart and the weapons firing behind it went instantly silent. He inched forward some more, focusing on a planter where another group of flashes was emanating from. He pushed the target laser and began setting up the next shot.
From all three locations where MPG troops were facing the MPs from tunnels or corridor entrances, grenades came flying out, exploding with deadly precision over the top of groups of defenders. The steel shrapnel sliced easily through the armor and helmets of the MPs, killing many outright, horribly wounding others. The sounds of the explosions echoed loudly off of the steel walls, reverterbrating back and forth with jarring concussions. In between explosions the air was filled with the chattering of machine guns and the screams of wounded men.
When the firing positions in front of them were knocked out or forced into silence, the MPG troops were at last able to rush out of their hiding holes. The reinforcement squads came first, all at once. They ran into the main foyer area and spread out, diving to the ground and searching for targets. The remaining MPs reacted quickly, shooting at the choke points and hitting a few of the Martians as they exited.
Lon, positioned in the middle of his squad, his own weapon gripped tightly in his hands, saw rounds from the MPs' weapons go flashing within inches of his head, some of them close enough that he could feel the wind of their passage. On his right Jim Gantry, one of his senior men, suddenly gasped as two high velocity bullets slammed into the top of his head, drilling through his helmet and sending a spray of blood into the air. He slumped forward lifelessly, his weapon dropping from his hands, a puddle of blood forming beneath him. A part of Lon wanted to cry out at the loss of one of his men, one of his friends, but his training kept him from reacting. Instead he simply continued to crawl forward, placing his targeting recticle on the head of an MP and squeezing off a burst. Around him, the rest of his men were doing the same, including his newest member, Matza, who was spraying the MP positions with pinpoint bursts from his SAW, providing covering fire for the advance.
At the entrance of the pedestrian station the two companies that had been pinned in place for nearly forty minutes now finally were able to attempt a break out. With the defenders of the entrance occupied by the flanking squads, they began to pour out of the tunnel using the same entrance maneuvers that the rest of the teams had. One by one, from each side of the entrance, they hurled themselves outward, diving to the ground and then rolling clear for the next man, firing as they went. They drew some fire from the MPs of course, some of it quite heavy, and several of their numbers were struck by bullets, but within thirty seconds enough of them were out to lay down a vicious blanket of gunfire on the MPs.
Hit from three directions at once, and unable to find anywhere on the entrance platform where they could be safe, even for a second, from bullets smashing into them, the MPs gave up the field very quickly. Those who had not been killed or wounded retreated in disarray towards the main corridor of the base, desperate to get to a place of relative safety. Many were shot down since Evers had given the order to keep the pressure on them. Targeting recticles were placed on their backs and rounds reached out, cutting them to the ground. But the MPG could not get them all and more than twenty made it through the wide door at the far end of the platform before the steel door was shut and locked. Battered and terrified, they were ordered to the control building to help with the last line of defense.
The foyer area, for the first time since the doors had been blown, was now silent of gunshots and explosions. Men were screaming in pain and despair and the air smelled thickly of gunpowder and burned explosives. Expended shell casings were everywhere, marking every point that someone had fired from. The MPG soldiers, weapons trained before them, fanned out through the platform to secure it. For the first time they saw the results of the battle they'd been engaged in. They saw it in graphic detail as they came across dead MPs with their heads torn open and brain matter leaking out, armor ripped apart by steel fragments with intestines, kidneys, livers protruding through the holes. They saw heads blasted apart by high velocity bullets and higher velocity, larger caliber SAW bullets. They saw wounded MPs screaming in pain and fear and they kicked their forgotten weapons away from them. They saw their own comrades dead on the steel deck or wounded by the same weapons they carried. They looked at each other with haunted eyes, the gravity of what they were a part of coming home to them in a big way. Thoughts of shouting "Free Mars" at the MSG base a few hours ago entered some minds. They were hard pressed to believe the ease with which they'd shouted that incantation.
Medics went to work on the wounded, treating the MPG first before they even headed for the worst of the MPs. Captain Evers, himself somewhat shaken by the mayhem that had taken place, did his best to put it aside and immediately issued orders for the attack to continue towards the base control room. Within three minutes of securing the platform, primacord was being placed on the door that the surviving MPs had escaped through.
Admiral Rosewood had watched the entire battle on the security cameras. He was numb with disbelief and fear. He could not believe how quickly his MPs had been overwhelmed and soundly slaughtered by the MPG troops once the break out had occurred. The entire thing had taken less than eight minutes. Only twenty of the ninety-three MPs that had been deployed at the main gate had made it through the corridor at the end of the battle. They were now rushing to join the defense of the control building. He had forty-five MPs already in position there. 115 more, including the elite TIRT team, were moving in from other parts of the base but their deployment was pitifully slow, hampered by the very security procedures that had been initiated by the Martian attack.
He checked his computer, looking at the time display. The marine reinforcements would arrive in less than an hour now. Would they make it to the control room in time to prevent the MPG from gaining entry?
As if in answer his Internet screen came to life, showing the face of General Sega. Sega did not look happy at all, in fact, he looked downright miserable. This did little to allay Rosewood's own fear.
"General," Rosewood enquired, "did you see the results of the main gate battle on your display? Those MPG troops killed..."
"I saw it, Admiral," Sega said with a nod, his voice strained. "I'd hoped your MPs would have held longer, but I suppose it doesn't matter now."
"Doesn't matter?" Rosewood exclaimed. "Are you mad? We have to hold until your reinforcements..."
"There will be no reinforcements," Sega said simply.
Rosewood stared in disbelief. "No reinforcements?" he demanded. "What the hell are you talking about, man? Didn't you tell me that they launched and were on the way? Where the hell are they?"
"They were shot down by MPG air defense batteries," Sega told him. "340 of my marines went crashing to the ground from seventeen thousand meters in the sky. That's 340 E-mails to 340 families that I have to write. General Jackson contacted me right after that and informed me that any other ships launched from my base will also be shot down."
"They can't do that!" Rosewood yelled, outraged.
Sega blinked. His patience was obviously at a minimum. "John, I'm not sure exactly what you mean by that statement. If you mean that it is morally and legally wrong to shoot down WestHem armed forces ships and kill WestHem marines, I agree with you, but as for the Martians abiding by that code, I'm afraid that they've already proved that they don't. If you are referring to the physical possibilities of the greenies doing this, well, I'm afraid they've got the upper hand there too. My barracks is located directly adjacent to Eden and the city is virtually ringed with anti-aircraft lasers of varying caliber. There is no way for me to launch a vehicle of any size without their noticing it and engaging it. In addition, they have my pedestrian access tunnels blocked in by armed troops and armored vehicles, making it impossible to exit into the city to retake it. I intended to move my men overland through the airlocks to seize the base from that direction, but Jackson has assured me that that avenue of escape is covered with infantry, tanks, and artillery. While I have not actually checked out this statement, I find myself inclined to believe Mr. Jackson in this instance. In short, my men are stuck here on this base, as useless to what is going on as a cock on a cow."
Rosewood sat silently for a moment, letting the information he'd just been given sink in. Faintly, even through the steel walls of his building, he could hear gunfire erupting from the street level below as the battle for the control building began.
"What do I do now?" he finally asked. "I have the MPG right outside my building now."
Sega stared levelly at him. "Surrender your forces," he told his naval counterpart.
At first Rosewood was not sure he'd heard him correctly. "Did you say surrender?"
"I did," he repeated. "You have a grand total of about two hundred poorly armed and poorly trained MPs, many of whom are not even in position yet. Pitting this against a battalion of trained infantry soldiers with machine guns and grenade launchers is like sending a Boy Scout troop to defend South Korea during I-day. Without hope of reinforcements all you can accomplish is the needless deaths of your MPs. Surrender your men right now, before any more of them are killed."
"And just turn the base over to the... the greenies? I will not!"
"You will!" Sega commanded. "I am the highest ranking WestHem military officer on the Planet Mars. As of now I'm assuming command of all WestHem forces stationed here and that includes your naval base. I'm giving you a direct order to surrender the base peacefully to the MPG."
"Sega, do you know what you're saying?" Rosewood was outraged and terrified. "A third of the WestHem navy is in dock here right now. You would turn that over to the greenies? You'll be imprisoned for ordering such a thing!"
"We can't win this battle, John," he said, seemingly near tears. "All we can do is get a shitload of our forces killed and give the greenies valuable combat experience in the bargain."
"But what about..."
"John, sit there and think for a minute. What are the greenies going to do with all of those ships? They don't have the personnel or the know-how to man them. Are they going to use them against us? Please. And did you think that WestHem is simply going to relinquish the planet to them because their guard force managed to overwhelm the pitiful number of troops that are stationed here." He shook his head firmly. "Mars has enough armor and trained men to hold back a few divisions of EastHem troops for a week or so. Our intelligence estimates have always been that it was doubtful that they could even do that. Do you really think they can stand up against the full fury of the WestHem armed forces when they come to re-occupy this planet? WestHem will send five times the number of men the MPG has and will equip them with five times the armor. Sure, we'll be taken prisoner for about five months or so, the amount of time it will take for WestHem to send over a task force, but believe me Rosewood, there will be a reckoning for this and the greenies are gonna pay a stiff price for fucking with us this way. That cunt Whiting and that nigger motherfucker Jackson are going to have their heads on spikes on top of the capital building in New Pittsburgh. The MPG will be disbanded and its officers will be imprisoned for life, some of them even executed. As the old saying goes, they may have won this battle, but they don't stand a fart's chance in a windstorm in the war."
There was silence as Rosewood considered these points. He found that Sega's words made sense, as much as he was loath to surrender his beloved base to those green traitors. He had to admit that there seemed no other option. Already he was envisioning his testimony before the justice subcommittee that would inevitably follow this heinous act.
"Okay," he said to Sega. "I'll reluctantly surrender."
Sega nodded. "Good. Do it immediately so that not a single soldier is unnecessarily killed or wounded. Send a report off to Earth before the greenies take control of the base and for God's sake, be sure to disarm and scramble all of the nuclear weapons on your ships." He smiled. "Perhaps we'll see each other in whatever POW camp they send us to."
"Perhaps we will." Rosewood nodded miserably.
General Sega got General Jackson on the computer and told him his intention to surrender the forces on the planet and above it, effective immediately.
"Very wise decision, General," Jackson said amicably. "I must say that I'm relieved. Our intention is to make this transfer of power as bloodless as possible."
"The marines are going to come take this planet back from you," Sega told him. "If you truly want it to be bloodless, then you'll surrender to me immediately before they deploy."
"Why don't you let me worry about the marines?" Jackson said. "In the meantime, we have some shooting to stop, don't we? Things are quiet at the base right now. I'll instruct my troops guarding it to take defensive measures only for the time being. You need to instruct your troops to disable their weapons and put them back in storage. Nobody is to leave. When things stabilize around here, we'll be entering the barracks to take control of it."
"I want my men to be treated as POWs," Sega said. "With all the rights and privileges that come with it. I don't want any of them beaten or killed by your thugs."
"They'll be treated under the Geneva Accords, you have my word on that," Jackson assured him. "In fact, they'll be held right where they're at. EMB will make an excellent POW camp once we get all of the computers and weapons taken out. Now, shall we discuss the situation on Triad? We still have heavy fighting taking place outside the control room. The navy personnel and my men are being needlessly killed as we speak. I'll order my men to hold in place and take defensive measures only. You get Admiral Rosewood to have his men cease fire immediately and disable their weapons."
"It'll be done," Sega said.
He signed off a moment later and then began composing a hasty email video that would be sent to Earth.
No further shots were fired at the Eden Marine Barracks. The MPG troops holding the perimeter continued to build up at each stronghold, just in case Sega's surrender offer was nothing more than a deception, but they kept their weapons down and their lasers uncharged.
Up at Triad Naval Base, things went just a little differently. Thanks to communications difficulties between Rosewood's command center and the MPs that were deployed throughout the base, it took nearly twenty minutes before all of them got the word that the brief war was over. Several skirmishes occurred in the corridors near the housing area and the ship docks resulting in more than fifteen deaths - all of them MPs, and more than thirty wounded - twenty-five of them MPs. At the control room itself, the MPs here were among the last to hear about the cease-fire. Finally, however, after more than twenty of them were shot down, the proper radio frequency was located and the order was given. The word was quickly passed and their guns fell silent one by one. More relieved than anything else, they dropped their weapons and allowed themselves to be taken into custody. They were handcuffed with plastic ties and stripped of their radio gear. The MPG troops then moved to the control room itself.
They did not have to blow open this door with their primacord. Admiral Rosewood opened it for them voluntarily. A platoon from Charlie Company entered the building, their guns ready for action. They didn't need them. Everyone inside was unarmed and sitting peacefully in their chairs, some of them weeping softly in fear or anger, most stoic. Admiral Rosewood was one of the stoic ones.
"You will all be executed for this you know," he told the troops as they searched everyone, one by one.
"We all have to die sometime, don't we, Admiral," a voice replied. "I'm Captain Evers, the commander of the group that hit this part of the base. You put up a much better defense than we gave you credit for in the planning stages. You should be proud of yourself. You cost me a lot of good men."
Rosewood said nothing. He simply glared at the captain.
Evers was unoffended. He had seen too much in the last hour to be offended by much. He tuned his radio to the command frequency and keyed it up. "Evers here," he said to Colonel Bright, who was still back at the Triad Control Center. "We have the TNB control room secured. We'll start working on gaining control of the security functions."
"Copy," said Bright. "We've restored light and power to the main tunnels. We're offloading all of the passengers on the trains that were trapped at this end and then we'll be sending them back empty to start transferring the wounded. I've got the dip-hoes moving to the platform to help our medics and start transporting them. How many are we talking about from your section?"
"I've got nineteen dead and thirty-three wounded," Evers told him. "We're still getting a count of the MPs but it looks like upwards of seventy dead and almost a hundred wounded."
"Could've been worse I suppose," Bright said with a sigh.
"Yeah," Evers agreed. "We could've lost and had them die for nothing."
Brett Ingram and his group of Martians that were unloading supplies from the Mermaid were as surprised as anyone when the security alarms had activated in response to the condition Red Zebra. Still, they had followed the protocol that was established for such an event, which stated that any ship personnel in the immediate vicinity of their vessel at the time of the alarm would return to their vessel and assist in its individual security. They hadn't done much to assist in the security but those of them that had been in the supply room at the time had come back just seconds before the base computer system automatically closed and locked the docking door, sealing them inside for the duration of the crisis. And so, as the MPG special forces troops were forcing their way through the access tunnels and engaging in battle with the MPs, Brett was sitting on a small chair in the supply room.
Trapped in the ship with he and his offload crew were two security personnel — who's presence were required at all times due to the nuclear warheads on board — and Lieutenant Commander Braxton, the executive officer, who had been overseeing the details of extended docking. They too had been quite confused at first, with the security personnel grumbling about ill-timed drills and Braxton complaining about missing a lunch date with his wife. That confusion came to an end when they scanned through the radio frequencies and happened across the MP force's tactical channel. Upon discovering that Martian troops were invading the base, their grumbling had turned to rage that had quickly been turned upon the six members of the off-load crew. Guns had been pulled and Brett and his people had been ordered into the crew quarters.
"Sit the fuck down there!" Ordered Braxton, pointing at the floor next to the folded-up sleeping racks. "If any one of you green motherfuckers so much as twitches I'm gonna kill you!"
Braxton kept the two security men with him, putting the three of them between the Martians and the hatch. Their guns remained in their hands while they monitored the developing situation on their com-links. Brett was able to overhear enough information to gather that the MPG had attacked the base in force and were overwhelming the base security teams.
What the hell was the meaning of it? he wondered silently, trying to figure things out. Obviously the attack was related to the events going on in the capital but what was the purpose of attacking TNB? Whatever it was he was very fearful as he watched the faces of his captors. They were scared stiff and they were holding guns on them. As reports of company strength incursions moving towards the docks surfaced, they became even more nervous.
Finally came the order for all WestHem forces to surrender.
"Surrender?" Braxton yelled in disbelief. "What the fuck are they talking about? Surrender the base to greenies?"
"What's gonna happen to us now?" one of the security men enquired. "Are the greenies gonna kill us all?"
"What about the ship?" asked the other one. "What about the torpedoes on board?"
Braxton ignored their questions, fixing his eyes on Brett and the others sitting next to him. His gaze was murderous as he raised his pistol and pointed it at them. He began to walk forward.
"Your fuckin' people did this," he said, his finger firmly on the trigger of the gun. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill every fuckin' one of you green bastards!"
To Brett the 3mm hole at the end of the pistol looked as big as the tunnels the MPG had used to infiltrate the base. He swallowed nervously, staring back into the furious madness of Braxton's face.
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