Chapter 32: Götterdämmerung

Admiral’s Bridge

WHSS Idaho, Mars Orbit

Thursday, February 27, 2155

Rear Admiral Vincent Barbour looked at his Chief of Staff. “Are we really going to do this, Jerry?” He pointed at a chair across the table from where he sat.

Captain Gerald Whistler sat down and sighed. “What choice do we have, Admiral? If you say this is impossible, the New Pentagon is going to be sending orders to General Westford to have you relieved and arrested, and then he’ll order your Flag Captain to take command of the escorts, and he’ll order the assault regardless.”

“What the hell is going on, Jerry? I don’t understand this at all. The last two times we attacked, the Greenies concentrated on the transports. If they had concentrated their fire, they could have punched a hole in the escorts and flooded the interior with torpedoes. The Panama IIs are better than before, but not that good. They could have wiped out thirty or forty transports.”

“I can’t explain it either, sir. The latest out of Intelligence back home is just guesswork, and bad guesswork at that.”

Rear Admiral Barbour was the only surviving flag officer in the escorts, not that there were many left. Out of the forty-eight Californias and thirty-six Seattles, after the first attack twenty-three of the Californias and twenty of the Seattles were killed, leaving twenty-five and sixteen respectively. Now only two Californias and five Seattles were left. In addition, six of the Panamas and three Pegasus-class tankers were killed, and Barbour was certain that they were accidents. He was sure the Martian would have preferred to kill all the escorts, leaving the transports and support ships behind.

For the admiral, it made no sense. His staff had come to the conclusion the Greenies had shot their bolt and didn’t have any more ships left to fire torpedoes. It had been almost three weeks since the second attack, and now they were in Mars orbit. Why did they want the transports and support ships to survive? So they could attack with their fighters? They outnumbered the WestHem fighters eight to one, but the debris field would be fatal for Triad, their orbital city. The forty-four remaining Panamas held close to nine-hundred thousand Marines, the largest force yet to attempt assaulting Mars.

Moreover, that assault was going against New Pittsburgh, not Eden. New Pittsburgh was the Martian capital, and while it was not going to be easy, it was thought to be an easier assault than Eden. In Eden, any assault had to start south of the city in the flat equatorial plains, but then funneled north into a chokepoint, the Jutfield Gap. In Martian Hammer, the Jutfield Gap had been a deadly bottleneck, in Martian Justice it had stopped the Marines cold. The approach to New Pittsburgh was from the west of the city, and while hilly, was much more open. The hills weren’t like Eden’s either. At Eden the ridges surrounding the approach to the city were too steep for tanks and APCs. At New Pittsburgh, they were smaller and more of a rolling nature. Unlike at Eden, where the Martians had constructed a single defensive position straight across the Jutfield Gap, west of New Pittsburgh the Martians constructed a series of linked infantry trenches and anti-tank and anti-personnel ditches. It was a defense in depth. The approaches were also much wider than at Eden, where the Jutfield Gap narrowed to twenty-five kilometers. The New Pittsburgh approaches were three times as wide.

Something was going on with the Greenies. Nine-hundred thousand Marines was a gargantuan assault. The operational plan, as explained by Fleet General Westford’s liaison, was based on maneuver warfare, which played to the strengths of the Marines. Flood a section of the approach with tanks and APCs, and when they punched through a trench, funnel the armor through and roll up the flanks, then do it again with the next trench. It might start out slow and bloody, but as each trench was taken it would move faster. By the time they got near New Pittsburgh, the Marines would be taking trenches without even a pause.

The Martians had to know what was going on. The last time the Marines had tried attacking New Pittsburgh was during Martian Hammer, but they had been withdrawn for the second assault on Eden. Westford’s liaison told Barbour that there had been a lot of discussion about having the second assault take place at New Pittsburgh. None of the Marine or Navy officers present knew why Eden was selected, but they all knew it could have simply been AgriCorp outvoting Alexander Industries. It was firmly established that was why Eden was selected during Martian Justice, because Admiral Westover had said it during his court martial.

In the end it didn’t matter. They had arrived in orbit that evening. Barbour had no choice but to give the go-ahead order to Westford. The New Pentagon had specified that as soon as the convoy made it to Martian orbit, they were to immediately send in the Marines. The landers were to drop as close to New Pittsburgh as possible. If the Greenie 250mm artillery pieces had a hundred-kilometer range, then they were to land at the hundred-and-one kilometer mark. Further, each of the Panamas had extra landers bolted on the outside of the ship. They would all drop at once, and they would all unload at once. They could empty a transport in two drops. They would overload the Greenies from the get-go.

“Pass the word to Westford. He can send down his landers whenever he wants,” Barbour finished.

MarsTrans Building

Fort Laura, Mars

Thursday, February 27, 2155

“It’s starting,” said Harlan Jones. He looked over at Slutty Hawkins, his girlfriend.

She looked nervously back at him. “They’re coming, aren’t they?”

“Looks like. They made it to orbit. I just got word to shut down the line.”

Her son, Joey, said, “You said you wouldn’t let them get us. You said you wouldn’t let them rape Mom and make me into a slave!”

Harlan looked at the boy and nodded. Joey was on the verge of becoming a man and hated WestHem. His father had died defending Mars during Martian Hammer. “Come with me, Joey.” He stood and headed for the door.

“Where are you taking him?”

“You can come, too.”

He waited for the small nervous family to put their shoes on before leaving the apartment and taking them down to the third floor. Once there, he took them to the offices of MarsTrans and laid derm on the door to let them inside. Inside, he took them to his office. Brewster Foreskin, one of his assistants, found him there. “You got the message? The boss is in New Pittsburgh at the moment.”

“I got it. Are we prepped?”

“Ready when you are.” Brewster looked curiously at the woman and young man with his boss.

“This is my girlfriend and her son, Slutty and Joey Hawkins. They want proof that I am doing what I can to protect Mars from the Marines. Slutty’s husband and Joey’s father was killed by the Marines,” said Harlan.

“And you used to be a Marine.”

“Yeah. Set me up a link to shut us down.”

Brewster nodded. A minute later, he said, “Hit the link. It will shut down the New Pittsburgh - Eden line, just like in our planning.”

Harlan moved to click on the computer icon but stopped. “Joey, come here.” The pre-teen came up to him and Harlan said, “Here, click on this icon. It will shut down the railroad and send all the trains to the nearest station.” He pointed at the icon.

“Me? You want me to push the button?”

“You want me to protect you and your mother and stop the Marines from hurting you. This is how I can do that. Push the button.”

Joey looked at his mother and clicked the icon. Suddenly, red lights began flashing and a bell started ringing. The bell and lights stopped, but throughout the office, people began calling out orders to trains and offices. “What’s happening?” asked Joey.

“You gave the order, Joey. We are shutting down this section of the line. Nobody is going to be riding a train and getting hit as it goes over the chasm. We are shut down until the Martians stop the Marines.”

“But you’re a Marine.”

“Maybe not, Joey. Maybe not.”

Joey began crying and wrapped his arms around Harlan’s neck. Harlan hugged him, and then hugged Slutty as well.

Brewster said, “Get out of here. We can handle it from here.”

Harlan looked at the others and said, “Come on, let’s go down and get some dinner. My treat.”

Joey headed for the door. Slutty took Harlan’s hand and whispered, “You are getting so lucky tonight!”

“How lucky?” he laughed.

“Buy some Reload. We are going around the world tonight.” Then she smiled and added, “Twice!”

Mama’s Boy, Launch Bay Fourteen

Triad Naval Base, Mars Orbit

Friday, February 28, 2155

“Status update?” The speaker was Lieutenant Travis ‘Tracer’ Matthews. He commanded the Twelfth Attack Wing of the Martian Navy, eighteen A-12 attack craft based at TNB. The Twelfth, like every other attack wing in the navy, was waiting for WestHem to launch their ground assault. A-12s were orbital bombers and attack craft. They had an internal bomb bay that could carry either a single nuclear torpedo or up to eight bombs suitable for ground attack; they also had a secondary fighter capability by switching out their internal ordnance for an internal laser package. He was currently strapped into his A-12, Mama’s Boy.

Commander Wallace ‘Hardcore’ Harding, commander of the Eighth Attack Squadron, replied, “No change, Tracer. It has to be soon, though. They didn’t come all this way to just jerk off in orbit.”

“Probably not.”

“As soon as I know something, I’ll let you guys know.”

“Roger that.”

As much as Tracer wanted to act like his five-year-old son and keep asking, ‘Are we there yet?’, he knew that wasn’t productive. Instead, he spent his time answering the same question from the Twelfth, generally with the same answer Hardcore had given him. In the meantime, he sat in Mama’s Boy and waited.

The wait ended at 0345. Hardcore came on the squadron frequency and said, “Just got the word. The Marines are launching their landing ships. They are planning to land at dawn local time. We have to wait until they settle on a target, but I’m being told we should know in fifteen or twenty minutes. Stay frosty, boys and girls.”

The wing frequency filled with excited chatter, so Tracer interrupted. “Can the chatter and stay frosty, just like the boss said.”

Eighteen minutes later, Hardcore came back on the squadron frequency. “It’s definite, they are going for a polar orbit and landing path. We do this just like in training. When I give the word, we launch. Twelfth, you’re my killers. Sixteenth and Eighteenth, you protect them like they’re your babies. Other wings and squadrons will be screening you in case those last two Californias get stupid. Now, just like in training, we wait until they are on final approach to the landing zone. When I give the word, we go.” Two minutes later, he was on the commlink again. “Launch in five, four, three, two, one ... launch, launch, launch.”

Tracer Matthews punched his launch button, and a puff of high-pressure gas pushed his bomber out of the launch bay. “Twelfth, on my six! Punch it!” Tracer pushed his throttles forward and the bomber moved out at maximum acceleration, following the path displayed on his helmet display. The rest of the wing followed, and two wings of F-22-M fighters cocooned them from all sides. This had also been practiced in training and the sims. No matter what happened, the A-12s needed to get into position and make their attack run. After that, they just needed to make it home. The survivors would refuel and rearm.

Cockpit, Orbital Lander BC2-15

New Pittsburgh Approaches, New Pittsburgh, Mars

Friday, February 28, 2155

Ensign Cole Thornton looked out his windscreen at the bleak Martian landscape. It looked stark and uninviting, though some liked the solitude of it. He had practiced landings in any number of Earth environments, and there was always something around that was alive. There was nothing alive on the surface of Mars. It was a dead planet.

Ever since launching from Boxcar II, Thornton had been wondering what sneaky trick the fucking Greenies would try next. Somehow, they had hammered the fucking Californias, so the fighters that should have been escorting them were now all fucking dead. All he knew for certain was that he wanted to get the fucking Marines off his fucking lander, so he could launch and get off this fucking planet and get back to the fucking transport. Then it would be time to reload the fucking lander and launch again, to repeat the fucking cycle. In any case, that would be the end of it for him. The Marines on Boxcar II would be on the surface. Maybe they would die and maybe they would take New Pittsburgh, but he didn’t fucking care. When he made it back to Earth, he was going to leave the fucking Navy and go somewhere that he never had to fly again!

Cole Thornton had a major attitude problem.

Cockpit

Mama’s Boy, Mars Orbit

Friday, February 28, 2155

Tracer Matthews put Mama’s Boy on the track projected by his attack computer. Unlike some of the other attacks the Twelfth trained for, this one was totally automated. He flew a predetermined approach, and when it was time to attack, the computer opened the bomb bay doors and dropped the munitions. Then it was time to punch the throttles again and climb back to Triad’s orbit. They would land, refuel, and rearm, in case a second strike was necessary. He kept watching out the cockpit, looking for the WestHem fighter that was planning to kill Mama’s Boy, and the real mama’s boy, Mrs. Matthews favorite, and only, son. Eventually the counter on his display went to zero and he felt a shudder as his bomb bay doors opened and the special attack packages dropped away. A final shudder and green lights indicated his bomb bay doors had closed.

“Twelfth Attack, sound off!”

“Twelve-Oh-Two, bombs dropped. All green.”

“Twelve-Oh-Three, bombs dropped. All green.”

“Twelve-Oh-Four, bombs dropped. All green.”

The entire wing reported in, amazing Tracer, and he ordered the wing to return to base. Their escorts followed along. Half an hour later, they were back in their launch bays.

Cockpit, Orbital Lander BC2-15

New Pittsburgh Approaches, New Pittsburgh, Mars

Friday, February 28, 2155

Two minutes after BC2-15 landed on the surface, Thornton hit the egress button and the hatches opened. The landing ramps extended, and he gave the order to Colonel March, the CO of the Marines that were on Boxcar II. He did that politely, though, because he just knew Colonel Fucking March would bitch if he was anything less than polite. Finally, he hit the armaments button and the weapons hatches popped open. Automatic anti-aircraft lasers rose from their hidden positions, as did the 150mm automatic artillery pieces.

Two minutes after the ramps extended, tanks and APCs began rumbling down the ramps. Before the convoy ever began the transit to Mars, every driver and every pilot had trained on a new simulator at Departure City. It had computerized screens to simulate the Martian landscape and variable gravity fields, to simulate the g-forces of landing and driving off the landers. The survivors of Martian Justice all swore that it was the best training they had ever seen, and they wished they had it before they went to Mars. It felt real to Thornton, but if those fucking Marines were so smart, why did they lose the fucking war?