Chapter 20: “Somebody Up There Knows What He’s Doing”

Flag Bridge
WHSS Nevada, Mars Orbit
Wednesday, March 18, 2150

“Just how bad have you fucked up, Admiral?” asked a seething Shelley Turner. She had moved beyond screaming to pure icy fury. “What else can we expect?”

Before Westover could answer, the CAG interrupted them. “Phase Two just started.”

“What is Phase Two?” demanded Turner.

Westover looked mystified; it was the Commander Air Group who answered. “According to the operations plan loaded in the fighters, the railroads are next.”

“The railroads? What the fuck are you talking about?” she yelled.

“We figured out the problem. The ops plan on the drive Admiral Jacobs installed was a preliminary version. It was based on an early attack plan before Senior Adviser Turner gave us her ... guidance. It’s not the correct plan.”

“What is Phase Two?” asked Fuller.

“The AA-71s take down the railroads and isolate Eden. That way we’ll be able to assault Eden without them getting reinforcements.”

“You’re attacking MarsTrans? Are you insane? Call it off!” Turner demanded.

The CAG simply shook his head. “It’s too late. We can’t call them back. They’ve already launched.”

“You fucking idiots!”

Cockpit, Lady Luck
WHSS Florida, Mars Orbit
Wednesday, March 18, 2150

Lieutenant Colonel Harrison ‘Hangdog’ Dodge settled into his seat, wriggling his butt to get the best feel for the launch. He was in his AA-71, Lady Luck, and was minutes away from launch. He had spent twenty years training for this moment and was both thrilled and nervous. He had been a fresh nugget during the Jupiter War, a second lieutenant so green he left grass stains whenever he sat down. He had been to Mars then, fighting EastHem as they tried to destroy the Martian cities. The last war he sat out, running a training squadron in Rio de Janeiro. Now he was back in Mars orbit. This would be his last war and his last chance in combat. He was maxed out as a light bird. You needed friends in high places to make colonel and he liked flying more than paperwork. Now he commanded Attack Wing 67-84, the Rattlers.

The AA-71 was probably the last winged airplane that would be built. She had been designed as a space plane, capable of flying in outer space but with the wings needed to maneuver in an atmosphere. She could take off from the surface of Earth and fly direct to orbit. Taking off from orbit was even more efficient, allowing an AA-71 to descend in a screaming dive at hypersonic speeds and attack ground targets while maneuvering and then climb back to orbit.

“What’s the target, Hangdog?” asked his weapons officer, Lieutenant Marcus ‘Markie Boy’ Boatman.

“Considering I am still reading the ops order, I’m not sure, but it looks like we are going train hunting.”

“A railroad run? Cool! Sounds like fun!”

Hangdog replied, “Sounds like. If I am reading this correctly, we are tasked with taking out the main track between New Pittsburgh and Eden. Give me a link to the rest of the wing.”

Markie Boy flipped a switch and said, “You’re on, boss.”

“Rattlers, we got our orders. We’ve been assigned the maglev railroad between Eden and New Pittsburgh. We are to cut the line and destroy any traffic we come across. You can expect heavy antiaircraft fire, and don’t be surprised if we get hit by fighters on the way in and the way out. This is a high priority tasker,” Hangdog said. “We are dropping any moment now, so familiarize yourself with the route package as we drop in. I’ll fly lead, everybody follow in pairs, combat separation.”

“Hey, Hangdog, can I change that volunteer status on my enlistment form?”

Laughter came over the radio net. Hangdog shook his head wryly. “Glad to hear you’re awake, Smitty. Feel free to put in for retirement after we get back here.”

“Roger that, Skipper.”

A green light flashed on Lady Luck’s console and Hangdog said, “This is it, boys. Stay on my ass by the numbers. Let’s go.” He punched the throttle and dipped the nose. It was time to go to work.

MPG Headquarters
New Pittsburgh, Mars
Wednesday, March 18, 2150

“General Jackson, I have Admiral Belting on the line.”

“Put it on the monitor. Thank you.”

Jackson looked at the screen as Matt Belting came on. “Matt, what’s up?”

Belting said, “These guys are getting cute. We just tracked a dozen different groups launching, AA-71s, all heading for ground level.”

“Ground level? Are they going for the cities?”

“Not really. I think they are trying to take out the railroads. Most are doing an equatorial drop, but a few are doing a polar route. I think they are going to try to isolate the cities!” Belting replied.

Jackson tried to imagine what they were aiming for. During Martian Hammer the Marines and WestHem Navy had scrupulously avoided hitting targets owned by WestHem corporations. Now they were taking down the satellite network and looked to be hitting MarsTrans. Could the corporations be so desperate to recapture Mars that they were sacrificing their assets? Or was something else going on? Was there a WestHem general who knew what he was doing? “Can you intercept them?”

Belting shook his head. “Not now. It’s too late. They are already dropping. I can probably scramble some fighters or AA-71s of our own, hit them on the way out, but they got the jump on us.”

“Do that. We might not stop the first attack, but we can stop a second.”

“Kevin, what do you think is going on?”

“I think somebody up there knows what he’s doing.”

Cockpit, Lady Luck
500 Meters above New Pittsburgh - Eden Rail Line
Wednesday, March 18, 2150

The ride down from orbit to the IP, the ingress point of the attack on the rail line, was the wildest trip Hangdog had ever taken. Even though it was computer controlled, it had been rough and bumpy - and incredibly exhilarating! His weapons officer, Markie Boy, said it best when he let out a bloodcurdling ‘Yee haw!’ as they flared out 500 meters above the rail tracks just outside the range of the antiaircraft lasers ringing New Pittsburgh. Hangdog had laughed and said, “Roger that! Now get your ass in gear and get your head in the game!”

“On it, boss, but you have to admit, that’s a ride you could sell tickets for and make a million!”

Hangdog snorted and smiled, even as the rest of his command checked in. Most did, but not all. The last man in the descending file flew slightly too close to New Pittsburgh and caught a laser through the engines. He exploded and flew into the red Martian soil on the outskirts of the city. Hangdog led the remaining sixteen attack planes down the rail lines.

The rail network had long been recognized by the Martian Planetary Guard as a critical component of their defense plans. They had military forces spread out across the planet, and while the air components, the Hummingbirds and Mosquitoes could fly from city to city, they weren’t enough to defend a city. For that you needed tanks and APCs and soldiers, and they could only be transported by rail. They knew they had to protect the network, and they knew that was a monumentally difficult proposition. All along the rail lines automated antiaircraft lasers were mounted, and SAL-50 antiair vehicles were positioned and manned along the rails.

“Listen up, Rattlers. Standard formation. Smitty and I will take out any lasers. The rest of you guys cut the lines. I want lasers on tracks and lasers on trains,” Hangdog told his attack wing. On his internal comm he said, “Markie Boy, I want to know if you get any radar hits. Don’t even think about it. You get a hit, just fire, got it?”