Chapter 20A

Aboard the WSS Nebraska, Mars orbit

September 5, 2146

Rear Admiral Mitchell Spears was the commander of all of the task force's F-22 space fighters. Each of the California Class superdreadnoughts housed a wing of ninety-six of these saucer-shaped craft for a total of 192 of them — or at least that was what they'd left Earth with, they were currently down to 147.

Like most of the command rank officers involved in the conflict, Spears was somewhat upset and disillusioned by the losses and defeats his forces had taken in what had been promised a slam-dunk conflict. His spacecraft had not had to perform their primary mission of fleet defense since the Martians had not been so dumb as to attack the armada with their A-12s based in Triad but even so he had lost more than forty spacecraft and twenty crews, most of them escorting AA-71s on useless photo-recon missions of which only three had been successful since establishing orbit. The reason for this was twofold. The first was that the Martian pilots had turned out to be much better at their jobs than even the most pessimistic pre-war reports had given them credit for. The second was the fact that political and economic concerns had not allowed him to take the most basic precautions of any orbital space campaign — that of removing the enemy's ability to detect outgoing launches and sorties.

But now Spears was finally starting to sense a turnaround in the conflict — something that would put orbital space superiority back in his hands where it belonged. Two days ago he'd been asked by General Browning's aide — Major Wilde of the marines — to formulate a plan to destroy the Martian's navigation, communications, and, most importantly, their space reconnaissance satellites, a mission his F-22s had been specifically designed to undertake, that his crews regularly trained in as it was a vital part of EastHem vs. WestHem doctrine. This was the plan he was now presenting in detail to the good major by means of a holograph generated in his main pilot briefing room. The holograph showed a two-meter globe of Mars with the cities showing on the surface and each and every known satellite in both geosynchronous and low-Mars orbit represented by constantly moving red dots. The positions of each of these satellites could be updated in real-time, shown in past time, or projected forward into future time.

"Basically, the plan is this," Spears explained to Wilde, who had a digital notebook open on his laps and was making constant notations. He used a laser pointer to show the location of the armada. "We start with the geo-sats first, hitting the recon birds that are closest to our own position and then moving outward from there. The rationale behind this, obviously, is to eliminate their closest assets first which will cripple or destroy their ability to detect our spacecraft launches and flight paths on subsequent missions."

Wilde nodded. "Space operations are not exactly my specialty," he said. "But my understanding is that our losses so far on the recon missions have because we have not been allowed to hit these satellites?"

Spears looked at him carefully. The rumor at the top was that this man — a mere major — was actually much more than just an aide to former General Wrath and current General Browning. It was said he was actually a brilliant military tactician who had been trying to keep this war steered on the path it was supposed to have been on the entire time, only to have most of his advice disregarded again and again by political concerns. It was said that he now had pretty much a free hand in planning the next phase of Operation Martian Hammer and that his "suggestions" to General Browning had already been approved. That was the rumor anyway. But this was the WestHem military after all so it was possible the rumors were wrong and Wilde was actually nothing more than a sneaking, back-stabbing, two-faced weasel like most aides to command rank officers (including Spears' own aide) and he was only trying to get Spears to spout off something negative about the war to date so he could report it and use it as the basis for finger-pointing in upcoming reports on the losses.

"Look, Admiral," Wilde said, seeming to pick up on his thoughts. "I'm not here to start finding blame or to pin the responsibility for past mistakes on anyone. I'm not composing any reports on what went wrong or why we lost what. I'm simply trying to put together a cohesive and logical plan to achieve the objective of capturing the city of Eden with the least amount of friendly casualties as possible. Now I know your forces took some significant losses on those recon missions they escorted. Logic and common sense tells me it was because of the real-time recon those satellites provided the Martians as you launched and headed for the IP. I just want to know if this is true or not."

Spears nodded, his respect level for this man climbing upward a few notches. "Yes," he said. "Basic doctrine for orbital space warfare around an enemy planet or moon is to take out the enemy's satellites first and foremost. Since we weren't allowed to do this in the initial phases, everything my ships do is transmitted immediately and in real-time to Martian Space Command at Triad. No matter how many spacecraft I sent to escort a recon mission, they knew about it the moment they leave the bays and send more."

"So once we take out the nearest satellites?"

"We'll be able to hit the rest with near impunity," Spears confirmed. "Not only that, but our bombing missions — when they go — will also be able to launch and enter the atmosphere unseen and unchallenged, therefore almost insuring their success in their missions. It's the same thing the EastHems did to this very planet during the Jupiter War."

Wilde smiled. "That's exactly what General Browning wants to hear, sir. Please proceed with your briefing."

He proceeded, explaining the order of attack, times of attack, and methods of attack one by one. He was only halfway through, however, when Wilde's PC began to buzz, indicating an urgent communication request from Browning.

"Excuse me for a minute, Admiral," Wilde said, pulling the PC from his waist and flipping it open. As expected, Browning's face was on the screen. It looked a bit nervous and upset. "Yes, General?" Wilde asked.

"I need you to drop whatever you're doing and come to my office right away," Browning told him.

"Uh... well, sir, I'm receiving a briefing on the upcoming anti-sat campaign from Admiral Spears at the moment. Can it wait until I'm done?"

"No," Browning said without hesitation. "Tell the admiral you'll hear the rest of the briefing later."

Wilde suppressed a sigh. "Yes, sir," he said. "I'll be there in five minutes."

Browning didn't acknowledge him. He simply ended the communication, his face disappearing from the screen to be replaced by the Marine Corps emblem. Wilde flipped his PC closed and looked up at Spears. "My apologies, Admiral," he said, "but could we finish the briefing later? General Browning needs me for an urgent matter."

"Of course," Spears said. "I think you've got the basic feel for the plan anyway, don't you?"

"I do," Wilde agreed. "As you said, the important part is to hit the nearer satellites quickly and simultaneously in a coordinated initial strike. After that, it will be nothing but mop-up."

"You've got the feel for it all right. Assuming that General Browning approves this attack plan my flight crews can be ready to launch that initial strike in forty-eight hours."

"I think you can be assured the general will approve the plan," Wilde told him, meaning, of course, that if Wilde recommended approval it was as good as done.

"Excellent," Spears said. "Now all that's left to do is come up with a suitable starting time for the first launch and a catchy name for the operation itself. You know how the media eats up stuff like that."

Wilde wanted to shake his head and roll his eyes. He didn't. "I'm sure whatever you come up with in that regard will be fine, sir," he said. He braced and gave a smart salute. Spears returned it and dismissed him.

Wilde walked quickly through the halls of the Nebraska, making his way from the naval operations section to the main operations deck, wondering just what Browning — who was almost completely incapable of tying his own shoes without assistance — thought was so urgent. He passed effortlessly through the layers of dense security and directly into General Browning's office.

"Major Wilde, reporting as ordered, sir," he proclaimed, giving a half-assed salute.

Browning returned it in half-assed fashion and motioned for him to sit down. He looked at his aide a little guiltily, as if he didn't quite want to share the news he had to share. Finally he just blurted it out. "I need you to prepare a press briefing for me on the upcoming second stage of Operation Martian Hammer."

Wilde's eyes widened. "A press briefing?" he asked. "Begging your pardon, sir, but you don't mean a... a press briefing, do you? Sharing details of our war plans with the media?"

"I'm afraid so," Browning said. "I've been exchanging communications with the Executive Council and the joint chiefs of staff all morning and they have ordered me to provide the big three representatives with a summary of our plans."

Wilde was aghast. "Sir... that's... I mean... that could destroy our entire plan! Why would they order such a thing?"

"Apparently lobby groups for the big three and their CEOs have been hounding them ever since the pull-back for us to release details to them. The public back home is demanding to know what happens next and the big three are afraid that if they don't keep them apprised of the current situation that ratings will start to slip on the primary news channels. If that happens the other corporations will not be willing to pay as much for advertising and product placement spots."

"Advertising?" Wilde said. "They want us to compromise operational security for advertising revenues?"

"The big three are recording record advertising revenue since the start of Martian Hammer," Browning said, in all seriousness. "It's understandable that they would want to protect those profits."

"But, sir," Wilde pleaded, "the very success of this plan depends on the Martians not knowing what we're going to do until we do it. If they know we're going to start hitting their satellites, they'll double or triple their combat space patrol. If they know what city we're going to launch at they'll reinforce it with troops from the other cities before we have a chance to put their rail network out of commission. This could turn into an even worse disaster than phase one!"

"I'm not an idiot, Major," Browning said, irritated. "And neither are the council members. We all realize that secrecy is paramount in this operation and the council has taken steps to insure it is maintained. The big three have all promised to release the information to the public only as it occurs. They just want advance notice of our intentions so they can have their assets in place and get rough drafts of their stories composed."

"The big three hold on to information?" Wilde said doubtfully. "Do you really think they would honor such an agreement?"

"Of course they will," Browning almost shouted. "The council has given me their word on this."

Great, Wilde thought. A bunch of lying, cheating, backstabbing politicians have given their word. "Listen, General," he said. "What if we gave them misinformation instead?"

"Misinformation?" Browning said, appalled. "You mean lie to the media?"

"We've been lying to the media the entire time," Wilde reminded. "They still think we've only lost a thousand soldiers in this conflict. They still think Martian suicide crews killed our Panamas. Why don't we just tell them we're going to be attacking New Pittsburgh or Libby instead?"

"That's a different kind of lie," Browning said. "The suicide attacks and the casualty figures are official lies designed to help protect the public from a truth they would not be able to handle. You're suggesting we be deliberately deceitful."

"There is historical precedent for it," Wilde said. He was about to start citing examples — the most famous of which being the Persian Gulf War of 1991 in which the media had been told the ground attack would start with an amphibious invasion instead of the overland campaign intended all along — but Browning wanted to hear nothing about it.

"The media would crucify all of us if we did something like that," he said. "If we told them we were attacking Libby and then attacked Eden they would smear me, you, Admiral Jules, and the entire Executive Council. We would all end up as vermin at best, in prison doing hard labor at worst."

"But what if told them we changed our mind at the last minute? What if we..."

Browning was shaking his head. "It would never work," he said. "Besides, the Executive Council is having the Joint Chiefs draw up their own briefing papers so ours needs to match theirs."

Wilde was fuming. "Sir," he said. "I must protest this in the most stern manner possible. There has to be a certain degree of military secrecy here or all may be lost."

"Lose to the greenies?" Brown scoffed. "Impossible. Not with an eight to one advantage. You drew up a good plan, Wilde. You should be proud of yourself. I hardly see how giving the media advance notice of the stages of it will have any effect on the outcome. Like I told you, they are not going to release any information until the plan is already underway."

"Sir," he said. He had to try one more time. "I find it hard to believe that the media, once they get hold of this information, will keep it quiet."

"I'm not asking your opinion of what we should do, Wilde," Browning told him. "I'm ordering you to prepare a press briefing. Now are you going to do it or are you going to be relieved of your position and sent down to the surface to command a company?"

Wilde shook his head. "I'll have something for you in two hours, sir," he said.

"Very good," Browning said. "You're dismissed."

The briefing documents were prepared and distributed, both to the big three representatives accompanying the task force and to the representatives back on Earth. The documents were a truthful and comprehensive summary of the plan, outlining each step of the process including target order and preference, what facilities were being marked for destruction on the surface, and which railheads, bridges, and tunnels would be struck. The document was marked Top Secret and every representative that received a copy was required to put his or her fingerprint to a secrecy document that threatened prosecution under the WestHem code and prison time if the information was released prior to official authorization. As such it took almost six hours before the first reports of the document were aired to the public on one of the big three channels.

It was an InfoServe station in Denver that broke first. They published a copy of the document on their website and reported its existence on their main news channel claiming an "anonymous source within the military complex" had provided it to them. Within an hour of this the other two of the big three were reporting the same thing. Within twelve hours of the document's release, nearly everyone in WestHem and everyone on Mars knew what the plan was.

"I knew this would happen!" Wilde told Browning in the latter's office. He was yelling at his commanding officer and didn't even care. "The goddamn Martians know what we're going to do now! They have a complete and detailed copy of our war plan for the next phase!"

"Surely you don't think one of the media representatives went back on their word, do you?" Browning asked him. "It had to have been one of the staff members of the joint chiefs or perhaps some lowly secretary in an Executive Council office."

"It doesn't matter who leaked," Wilde hissed, resisting the urge to slap the man across the face. "Don't you understand that? It doesn't matter! The information is now out there and the Martians are going to start responding to it. We need to begin initiating the plan immediately, before they have a chance to take steps to counter us."

"But it's not scheduled to start for another twenty-seven hours," Browning said. "It begins at midnight with the coordinated anti-satellite missions. The media need to have time to set up their cameras and microphones in the F-22 bays so they can get shots of the fighters heading out on their missions."

"General," Wilde said, "if we wait until the scheduled start time the Martians will be waiting for us out there with their own F-22s. We have to launch within six hours if we want to avoid a slaughter of our pilots and the destruction of the bulk of our ships."

"Do you really think its that bad?" Browning asked him. "I mean, even if they do have advanced notice, they're still greenies who only fly part-time. We should still be able to plow right through them."

Wilde clenched his fists and then his teeth. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. "General, listen to me," he finally said. "If we don't launch our anti-sat missions in the next six hours, we might as well not launch at all. They'll kill us!"

Browning sighed. "All right, Wilde," he said. "If you really think things are that bad. Let me get online with Admiral Spears and we'll see if his crews can start launching in six hours."

"Very good, sir," Wilde said, relieved. "And as soon as we get the nearer satellites taken out — that should be about twenty-four hours — we need to get those bombers moving on the rail targets before General Jackson starts shifting his forces to Eden."

WestHem Capital Building, Denver

September 6, 2146

1430 hours.