Chapter 20B

The forty-eight hour pass was now expired and the members of the 17^th Armored Cavalry Regiment were back in their biosuits in the Jutfield Gap. They carried no arms or ammunition with them on this trip. Instead, they carried shovels, sledge hammers, chisels, jack hammers, bags of specially designed cement capable of being utilized in the atmosphere of the planet, and fresh ninety kilogram sandbags filled with fresh industrial shavings. Their task was to repair the defensive positions that had been damaged in the first phase of the conflict in preparation for the second phase.

Jeff, Hicks, and Drogan were atop Hill 611, in the central portion of the gap. It was only half a kilometer away from the hill they'd occupied in the first battle and it had fared about as well. Most of the original sandbags had been blown apart, some completely destroyed. The cement barrier beneath had taken an intensive pounding as well. They had been out here for eight hours now and were only about a quarter of the way through the first stage of the repair job — that of removing the old debris so it could be replaced.

"Take ten, guys," Sergeant Walker said to his squad. "Everyone grab a seat, catch your breath, shit if you need to."

Jeff put down the electric chisel he'd been using to pry loose damaged sandbags. Hicks put down the jackhammer he'd been using to break loose damaged concrete from the under-barrier. Drogan simply sat down the broken sandbag she'd been about to heave over the side of the barrier and down the hill. At this point in the process they weren't too worried about littering the landscape.

"Anyone got a smoke?" Hicks asked, eliciting a dutiful chuckle from the rest of the people on the channel.

"I got some back in my locker," Drogan told him. "Damned if I didn't forget to bring them out here."

This got a chuckle that was a little bigger.

Jeff, tired of being in the trench — it brought back some unpleasant memories — decided he needed to get out of it for awhile. He climbed through the large opening they'd created with their removal duties and sat on a heap of discarded sandbags that had collected just below. After a moment Hicks and Drogan decided to join him. They made a few hand gestures and then switched over to a short-range channel so they could talk without the rest of the squad having to listen to them.

"Look at those poor slobs down there," said Drogan, pointing downward to where several platoons from the 2^nd Infantry were collecting all of the dead WestHem marines that had been left behind — which meant all of them that had fallen out here since the marines had not had any place to store their dead during their retreat — and carrying them one by one to a flatbed, tracked agricultural truck that had been driven out for this purpose.

"Yeah," said Jeff. "I won't complain about this job. I'd rather be doing this than that."

Hicks only shrugged. "It serves 'em right," he said. "Those assholes down there never got their cherries popped at all. They sat in their trenches while we put the fuckin' hurt on the marines and drove 'em back. They never even had a goddamn arty shell land on them. They should have to come out here and grab all the dead ones we in the ACR fuckin' killed."

"It wasn't like they stayed out of battle on purpose," Drogan told him. "Cut 'em a little slack. They were prepared to fight, just like we were."

"Yeah," Hicks said grudgingly. "I suppose."

"What are they gonna do with 'em?" Jeff asked.

"I was talking to one of their guys on the way out here," Drogan said. "They're supposed to scan all of them so General Jackson can send their info back to Earth. Then they load 'em on the truck and drive 'em back to Eden and stick 'em in a freezer somewhere. When the war is over we'll send their bodies back home so their families can burn 'em with honor and all that shit."

"Well that's awfully fuckin' nice of us," Hicks said bitterly. "I say have a fuckin' bulldozer just plow them under. Why should we give a shit about those assholes or their families?"

"It's part of the rules of warfare, Hicks," Drogan said. "You collect and account for enemy dead when practical and feasible."

"You mean like the way they accounted for Sanchez?" he asked.

Sanchez's body had been found on the way out — fortunately not by those who had known him but by an infantry platoon on their way to collect marine bodies. Though the tracks of the tank that had run him down had long since been obliterated by the Martian dust that blew through the air, and though Sanchez's body had been nearly completely covered itself, there had been no mistaking what had happened to him. With the speed of a wildfire the story of the smashed MPG tank commander named Sanchez had spread through the net in minutes, fomenting sadness, outrage, and blind anger by all that heard it.

"Yeah," said Drogan. "You make a good point there."

"Yep," said Jeff. "Now we know what Valentine's not talking about. It must have been fuckin' awful to watch that."

"Anyway," said Hicks, "the WestHems still ain't never gonna know how many of their fuckin' marines we killed. Most of them are in those APCs and tanks out there and we ain't counting their asses, are we?"

"That would be considered impractical and unfeasible," Drogan said, looking out towards the armor in question. There were literally hundreds of dead WestHem tanks and APCs out there, all of them containing at least two dead marines, some containing as many as twelve. The engineer battalions from both the 17^th ACR and the 2^nd infantry were down there hooking each one up to a towing tank or wrestling it onto a tracked flatbed carrier. But, as Hicks pointed out, they weren't bothering with trying to collect the dead inside or even scan them since most were smashed and exploded by the lasers that had felled them. They were only moving them out of the way, dragging them to the north or the south portion of the valley and just dumping them there for all eternity so they wouldn't serve the second wave of WestHem marines as cover for their un-smashed armor or their un-shot infantry.

"They're already all accounted for," said Jeff. "We only killed a thousand or so planetwide, remember? That's what the big three are reporting anyway."

"Sure," Drogan said. "And they wouldn't lie, would they?"

"Fuck no," said Hicks. "They're the goddamn bastions of truth."

They all had a laugh at that — a slightly bitter one. Hicks was the first to mention what was really on their minds.

"They ain't lying about them coming for Eden though, are they?" he asked.

"No," Jeff said. "I don't think they are. Every military plan they announced to this point has been true."

"Sure has," Drogan agreed. "That's why General Jackson has us out here repairing all the positions in the Gap. He knows this is where they're coming."

"Almost four hundred fucking thousand of them," Hicks said. "And all their armor, all their hovers, all their artillery. We ain't gonna be able to stop them on our own."

"No," Jeff said. "Not a fuckin' chance in hell of that. Jackson needs to send us reinforcements."

"A lot of fuckin' reinforcements," Hicks said. "We need every MPG unit from every fuckin' city to fight that off. If they don't get here soon, it'll be a slaughter."

"No it won't," said Drogan. "Because if we don't get reinforcements, I'm not coming back out here. Neither are most of the others."

Jeff nodded. "I'm down with you there, Drogan. I signed up for the long haul here and I knew I was laying my ass on the line, but I ain't puttin' it in front of no fuckin' firing squad. Jackson needs to even these odds or he can count my ass out."

Hicks seemed relieved by their discussion. "I thought I was the only one thinking that way," he said. "I was keeping it to myself."

"No need to do that," Drogan said. "This is a voluntary war. Laura Whiting and General Jackson been saying that shit the whole time. No one's gonna throw their ass away against eight to one odds, me included."

"So when the fuck is he gonna start movin' those troops over?" Hicks asked. "The big three been saying that they're gonna bomb the train tracks around Eden, cut us off from supplies and reinforcement. They're probably getting ready to do that right now as we're having this conversation. So why ain't anything moving this way?"

Drogan and Jeff both shook their heads. They knew what Hicks was saying was true — MarsGroup was reporting that no reinforcements had been loaded or had even started the process for loading — but neither understood it.

"I don't know," Drogan said. "Sometimes I worry that Jackson's fuckin' lost it, that he's choking at the final moment here."

"I think maybe he bit off more than we can chew," Hicks said. "I mean, he was a smart motherfucker getting us to this point — I won't take that away from the man — but maybe WestHem was right all along. They're gonna jack this place back from us no matter what and maybe Jackson realizes that and just don't know what to do about it."

Neither of them had an answer for him. Neither wanted to admit that what he'd suggested might be the truth but neither could think of any other explanation either.

"Oh well," Hicks said, stretching his sore shoulders a little. "Enough of this depressing talk. I'm gonna go back inside and take myself a nice shit."

"Why don't you just do it out here?" Drogan asked. "We've all seen you squat and grunt a hundred fuckin' times."

"I know you like watchin' me, Drogan," he said. "And I'd love to accommodate you, but I also hear they got a new kind of food gel for us, something that's supposed to taste like cherry pie." He looked at her slyly. "You've eaten your share of cherry pie, ain't you, Drogan?"

She pushed him playfully, almost causing him to tumble off his perch. "Get the fuck out of here, asshole," she said.

He laughed and then got the fuck out of there.

Drogan and Jeff both looked at their communications status screens once he'd walked away. When they saw he'd turned his set off of the private frequency they looked at each other.

"Well," Drogan said, "go ahead. You know you wanna ask me."

"Ask you what?" Jeff said, although he knew exactly what she was talking about and knew that she knew.

"You're wondering about me and Belinda Maxely," she said. "You're wondering if I made her fall so deeply in love with me that she's forgotten all about your good friend Xenia and her supple, suckable boobs, aren't you?"

"Well... I wouldn't exactly have put it that way," he said. "But since you brought it up... ?"

She laughed, a laugh that was full of pity. "Belinda and I are just fuck buddies," she told him. "It'll never go any further than that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said with a nod. "She's fuckin' premo in the sack, I'm here to tell you. She's on my top ten list of female pussy eaters and I made her scream when I returned the favor the first time." She sighed. "But you know what?"

"What?"

"When she screamed it was Xenia's name she screamed out."

"Really?" Jeff said, dejected and a little shocked. In Martian culture that was considered one of the ultimate faux pas, right up there with coming before your partner had a chance to.

She nodded. "That bitch is so in love with Xenia I'm surprised she even let me munch her muff out. If you were hopin' she'd fall for me and leave you in the clear with the X-girl, you can just put that thought right out of your horny little head."

Jeff didn't even bother denying that was what he was hoping. "Xenia never said she was that good in the sack," he said.

"Oh?" Drogan said, raising her eyebrows a bit. "They've done it before?"

Jeff clenched his teeth, knowing he'd just revealed more than he was really supposed to. "Keep that to yourself?" he pleaded.

She chuckled. "You know it, Jeffy," she told him. "You and Hicks saved my ass out here in the Gap, remember? I'd do anything for you, for either one of you. Why the fuck do you think I snatched Belinda away from Xenia in the first place? I was trying to open a corridor for your advance."

Jeff was surprised. "You mean... you mean you took Belinda away on purpose?"

"Fuckin' aye," she said. "She's not really my type anyway. I like... well... Xenia's type to tell you the truth. But I saw you was trying to get your weenie wet with her and thought I'd give you a hand. Turned out Belinda was a better fuck than I thought she'd be and I turned down what was probably a premo opportunity to lick a little X myself, you know what I mean, but I did it." She looked sharply at him. "You were supposed to take advantage of the opportunity and nail the bitch while I had her softer interest occupied."

"Well... yeah. I appreciate all that you did, really I do, but there are some complications."

"You mean that stupid-ass vow you made not to fuck her until she says she loves you?"

"Belinda told you about that?" he asked with a sigh, embarrassed.

"Yeah, she told me," Drogan said. "She told me she vowed the same thing." She shook her head in wonder. "I think both of you are out of your damn minds. Not fucking someone that you want to fuck and that wants to fuck you is a very un-Martian way to behave. I mean, for the love of Christ, what do you think we're out here fighting for if not our way of life, man?"

Jeff wasn't sure if she was joking or not but he got her point. She, however, wasn't getting his. "I'm not doing it just to be mean or to try and blackmail her and shit," he said. "I'm doing it because..." a sigh "... because I really love her. I've never felt anything like this for someone before. I didn't think I could feel something like this. I mean, look at me. I was a gang member in the worst neighborhood on the fuckin' planet. I used to sell dust and I've killed other gang members — just shot them right the fuck down in cold blood. I used to think I was the toughest motherfucker there was, someone my dad would be real proud of, and here I am now falling in love like some motherfucker in one of them stupid-ass daytime shows on the MarsGroup. Do you see what I'm getting at here, Drogan?"

"Not really," she admitted.

"I love her," he said. "I have a hard time thinking about anything but her. When those fuckin' marines were lobbing tank shells at us and hitting us with mortars, even when they were climbing those fuckin' hills to take us out, I was still thinking about her, worrying about her. That's what love is, man. You understand?"

"I think so," she said, smiling, pondering what he was saying.

"I just think that fucking her like she was just another bitch I made a connection with... well... I think that wouldn't be all that fun, that it would take away from what sex with Xenia is supposed to be like for me. I think maybe that sex between people in love is better than just the normal sex we all have and I don't want to fuck that up by doing it too soon."

"Wow," Drogan said, beaming now. "That's some romantic-ass shit you're spouting there."

"So you see where I'm coming from now?"

She nodded. "I do. And you know what?"

"What?"

"I think I kind of like the idea."

Mars Capitol Building, New Pittsburgh

As soon as Laura Whiting entered her outer office Cyndee — her secretary — glared at her in a most unfriendly way. It was understandable. She had been worried about her, just like always.

"Where have you been, Governor?" Cyndee demanded. "You were gone for three hours!"

"Sorry, Cyndee," she said, actually feeling bad. "I had some business to take care of. Everything is under control."

"You left your security detail behind!" Cyndee said. "Governor, this is the fourth time in the past week you've done this. We were all frantic!"

"I apologize for disconcerting everyone but I'm back now. No harm no foul. How's the planet been holding up while I was gone?"

"General Jackson is requesting to talk to you immediately," she said. "He's called six times."

"Oh really?" she said. "Did my so-called secret service rat me out to him again?"

"Well... you ran off without telling anyone where you were going, Governor. What did you expect them to do? It's their job!"

She nodded amicably. "Yes, it is, and I'll never come down on anyone for doing his or her job. Anything else I need to know about?"

"Jack Strough called twice just after you left," she told her. "He said something about you needn't bother trying to interfere this time. His people are committed."

"Uh huh," she said, smiling in amusement. Jack Strough was the head of the cargo handlers union — a virulent, anti-revolutionary, self-interested asshole who had been a thorn in her side ever since her inauguration day speech. "I've already taken care of that particular problem. That is, in fact, where I was all morning. Anything else?"

"Nothing terribly pressing," she said. "You're getting the usual emails from the citizenry who are concerned about the upcoming bombing raids and why General Jackson is not moving reinforcements towards Eden yet. There are also several com requests from the various plant managers who are concerned about the same thing. David Reed over at the Alexander Industries plant is the most prominent of them."

"Ah yes, Mr. Reed," she said. "He and I had a most interesting conversation once. I can certainly see the source of his concern since the WestHems are intending to wipe his plant off the map. Did he leave a detailed message?"

"He did," she said. "He wants to evacuate his plant immediately. He says he's sorry about the loss of production this would entail but that he refuses to risk his employees' lives in the event of a WestHem bomber strike. He has given you five hours to reply with a coherent plan for strike forewarning or he will shut the plant down and move all of his workers to safety. And that was two hours ago, Governor."

"That's about what I would expect from him," Laura said. "He's proving to be much more of a Martian than his background would dictate."

"His background?" Cyndee asked.

"Never mind," Laura said. "I'll talk with General Jackson and then have a little chat with Mr. Reed when I'm done. Hopefully I'll be able to ease his mind and keep that plant in operation as long as possible."

"Very good, Governor," she said. Her face softened. "And, Governor?"

"Yes, Cyndee?"

"I'm glad you're safe. I was worried sick about you being out there all by yourself. Anything could happen to you out there. You've made a lot of enemies."

"I know," she said. "I appreciate your concern, Cyndee but I'm a big girl. I know what I'm doing."

"Yes, Governor."

Laura turned and entered her office, letting the door slide shut behind her. She sat down at her desk and leaned back for a minute, looking at the ceiling. Finally she pulled out a pack of Earth cigarettes — one of the workers at the train yards had laid them on her after the speech she'd given them today — and pulled one out. She sparked up, taking a deep drag and slowly exhaling the smoke into the room.

"Heaven," she said as she savored the rush of nicotine to her head. This was the first smoke she'd had in days.

She turned and looked at her computer screen, which was showing a screen savor that consisted of various views of Mars, Phobos, Demos, and the skylines of each Martian city. "Computer," she said. "Com General Jackson."

"Comming General Jackson," it dutifully replied.

He answered less than five seconds later. "Where in the name of ass-fucking and clit licking have you been?" he demanded.

"That would be ass-fucking and muff-munching," she replied dryly. "Let's not start using offensive terms in our communications now. Remember, all of this is being recorded for posterity."