One Day on Mars

'Shit!'

'Angels, anybody want to volunteer to rescue a little girl from a firefight?' Lieutenant Junior Grade Seri 'Vulcan' Cobbs asked over the rescue-net.

'Vulcan. Yo-yo. Angel Seven will go if somebody'll take our wing!' Ensign Bobby 'Yo-yo' Jones replied.

'Ok, Yo-yo. You're on my wing. Let's get on the deck and stay fast and stay low,' Vulcan ordered. Vulcan turned to look back at her gunner, Flight Gunner Petty Officer Third Class Sammy Jo Tapscott. 'FG3 get ready to start laying down fire.'

'Yes, ma'am!'

The two SH-102 Starhawks pulled away from the rest of the Angels' orbit and went to maximum descent toward the red planet beneath them. Vulcan brought the search and rescue vehicle to the edge of its flight envelope and continued to push the throttle forward. The two ships slammed through the Martian atmosphere, heating up the noses of the boxy rescue vehicles from aerodynamic friction. Klaxons and the 'Bitching Betty' started blaring through the cabin.

'Warning. Approaching maximum g-load limit. Warning. Enemy targeting systems detected. Warning. Surface collision threat. Warning . . . ' the 'Bitching Betty' announced.

'The deck is coming up fast, Yo-yo. We'll flatten out and full-throttle to the evac,' Vulcan ordered.

'Right behind you, ma'am.' Yo-yo gritted his teeth and hoped his gunner was strapped in. Otherwise, he was having a shitty day. And from the threat alarms sounding in the cabin, it was about to get worse.

'DeathRay, DeathRay. Vulcan.'

'Go Vulcan.'

'If you can give us cover that would be nice. We're slamming air and about to make a run at the evac!'

'You sure about that, Vulcan?!'

'Roger that, sir! You can court-martial me if we survive.'

'Good luck, we will plow the row a little for you.' Goddamn Vulcan, he thought.

Senator! Fleet Angels Search and Rescue dropping in from orbit in thirty seconds! Abigail informed her counterpart.

About goddamned time!

'Second Lieutenant Washington!' Moore said over the QM almost at a scream to sound over the HVAR spitap spitaps, fighters careening overhead, and the mecha explosions and collisions.

'Yes, Senator?'

'My AIC has confirmed two SARs vehicles incoming. Can you spread the word to the tanks to give them cover?'

'There!' Joanie Hassed pointed out the two dust trails streaking across the edge of the escarpment.

Senator! I've got the AI Kitty information from BIL.

And?

The AIK is a wireless AI that rides the Kitty robot and controls it through the wireless.

So?

Don't you see, sir . . .

At that moment a missile flared across the overhead and detonated not far from the other foxhole where his wife and daughter were. It was followed by enemy cannon fire and other missiles tracking onto the incoming evac ships. The SH-102 Starhawks yanked and banked as best they could and returned fire but it was too hot for them to attempt any type of landing. Cannon fire flared against the boxy Starhawks with splashes of metal sparks and fiery red plasma venting away as parts of the metal hull plates vaporized.

Over the side, Abigail! Tell the SARs to go over the side of the escarpment now!

Yes sir! I understand sir!

 

Warboys had pounded into the middle of the largest steady mass of Seppy drop mecha leading his Warlords into the valley of death. They were bringing more than they were receiving. Once they had fully engaged the enemy tanks in the full frontal attack it had thrown the Seppies off guard, briefly. The initial insertion through the line allowed them to do a lot of damage but as the enemy regained their composure it was quite clear that the Warlords were outnumbered with odds they could not overcome.

'Warlord Three is gone! Warlord Three is gone!' Warlord Seven cried over the tac-net.

'I'm hit! I'm hit!' Warlord Four spun over backward onto its back with a gaping hole in the right side of the mecha's torso. The cockpit vented atmosphere into the low pressure outside and the DTM interface inside the cockpit was blinking in and out. Viewscreens on the HUD went dark as electronics spewed sparks and began to smolder and then flame dully in the light Martian atmosphere. Warlord Four, Captain Salma Rodriguez, looked down at the gaping hole in her e-suit that ran from her abdomen to where her left leg and pelvis used to be as she bled out and coughed blood into her visor. 'Oh Jesus . . . cough . . . oh fuck.'

Vallery . . . self-destruct authorization as the Seppy motherfuckers overrun us, Warlord Four ordered her AIC.

It was an honor, Captain. I'll maximize the damage to them.

You too, Lieutenant. You were . . . a good friend.

Thank you, Salma. Are you sure you wish to self-destruct, yes or no?