they informed of it. By the time two hours had gone by since the first touchdown, each landing site had four squads of special forces troops on the ground and moving in towards them.
Corporal Carl Jefferson was Lon's electronics and communications specialist. In addition to his M-24 he carried a powerful communication receiver and transmitter set that was capable of making contact with their command center and receiving radio, infrared, or radar signals from the enemy forces. He was atop a large boulder near the base of a small hill half a kilometer from where they had been dropped. Lon was crouched just below him, clutching his weapon. The rest of the squad was spread out in a circular pattern that had a perimeter of two hundred meters, their eyes alert for enemy patrols.
'What are you getting, Jeffy?' asked Lon as he watched Jefferson peruse the display on his screen.
'All kinds of shit, sarge,' Jefferson replied. 'I'm getting radar sweeps of the sky every ten seconds, active IR every four seconds, and a shitload of radio waves coming from bearings 96 through 120.'
'Can you interpret any of the radio waves?'
'Negative,' Jefferson said. 'It's all encrypted. I'm just getting bursts of signal that come across as static. The frequency suggests that they're probably biosuit combat computer communications between individual field soldiers. And they're sure chattering a lot out there too. Those communications sets that they use are a lot more powerful than they need to be.'
'Well, you know how the Earthlings are,' Lon said. 'They think more power is better. We should thank them for making their signals strong enough for us to pick up.'
'I guess we should,' Jefferson agreed.
Of course the Martian forces were communicating with radio signals as well, signals that could potentially be detected by passive sensors in the hands of the Earthlings. The difference however was that the Martian engineers who had designed the MPG tactical sets had made them extremely low power and short range. Tests in the field had shown that even the most powerful receiver could not pick up the radio signals if it was more than a half of a kilometer away. And that half-kilometer distance was under ideal atmospheric conditions and with a direct line of sight.
'Can you lock onto a com sat from here?' Lon asked next.
Jefferson checked his map display for a moment. Unlike what the Earthlings were experiencing, the Martian combat computers were receiving GPS data from the satellites in orbit and, as such, geographic and elevation data, accurate to within fifteen centimeters, were showing. 'Yes, we should have a direct line with the 11-C bird from here,' he said. 'I'll get it set up.'
Lon gave him a thumbs-up instead of verbally responding. Despite the fact that the Earthlings wouldn't be able to pick up their transmissions, special forces doctrine was to speak as little as possible in enemy territory, just in case.
Jefferson set his radio down on a relatively flat portion on the highest part of the boulder. The set was twelve centimeters square and plugged into the front of Jefferson's suit. Small legs on the bottom automatically leveled the device. Once level, a tiny laser transmitter extended from the top. Speaking softly to his combat computer, Jefferson commanded the device to lock onto communication satellite 11-C, which was in geosynchronous orbit over Eden. The communications set, utilizing the GPS data, spun the transmitter around to the correct position.
'Ready to go, sarge,' Jefferson said.
'Okay,' Lon said. 'Tell them that we're down safely and in position. Moving in for recon now. Will report composition of enemy forces and make attacks if conditions are favorable.'
'Got it,' Jefferson replied. He repeated this message to the computer and ordered it transmitted. His words were converted into binary code and then the laser flashed for four tenths of a second. The message hit the dish on the orbiting satellite six centimeters off center and was then transmitted to MPG headquarters in Eden. An acknowledgment was returned two minutes later by an encrypted radio signal from the same satellite.
'No further orders,' Jefferson read once his computer decrypted the message. 'Just 'proceed with mission, utilize best judgment. Free Mars'.'
'All right then,' Lon said. He flipped his radio to the command channel, so he could talk to everyone. 'No change in orders,' he told them. 'We're getting a lot of chatter from our Earthling friends coming from bearing 96 through 120. Let's get a little closer and see what there is to see. Matza, you're on point.'
'Right, sarge,' Matza said, standing up from his position.
'Wong, get that laser charged up and ready. They probably don't have any hovers on the ground yet but we don't know that for sure. Remember doctrine. We hide from them if we can.'
'Right, Sarge,' she said, pulling a battery from her pocket and sliding it into the tube. She hit the charge button and the energy began to transfer to the laser. Ten seconds later, it was done. 'Charged,' she reported, putting it back in her pack with the safety switch engaged.
'Good,' Lon said, climbing down from the rock. 'Let's move out. Wedge formation, ten meters of separation.'
They formed up and began to move across the surface. They stepped carefully and confidently, with the air of people that had spent countless hours training in their environment, moving from one hill to the next, not climbing them, just using them for cover. As they walked they left footprints in the dusty surface but within a minute of their passage the constant wind would obscure these tracks with fresh dust. All had their primary weapons out before them, their gloved fingers near the firing buttons, the red targeting recticles bouncing up and down in their combat goggles. Their pace was brisk despite the cautiousness of their steps and they covered more than two kilometers in twenty minutes. As they neared the area of their targets, Lon motioned for them to spread out a bit more.
Soon they were spread at the base of two large hills, which rose thirty to fifty meters above them. Jefferson was still getting bursts of radio transmissions and active sensor sweeps although the bulk of the hills were blocking much of it. Lon gave a series of hand signals to his team and they split up into two elements, half trotting over to the adjoining hill, half staying put. Lisa remained with Lon at the first hill, her M-24 in the firing position as she scanned the hills beyond their position for opposition.
'Everything clear over here, sarge,' said Horishito, who was in charge of the group that had gone to the adjoining hill.
'Copy, Hoary,' Lon replied. 'I think we're getting close. Go on up and let's see what we can see. We'll head up from here. Weapons tight.'
'On the way up,' Horishito said. 'Weapons tight.'
Lon gave another signal to his half of the squad and they started up the hill. They made it up in less than three minutes, all of them moving with sure-footed ease. After the hills that they had regularly climbed during their training missions, this particular thirty-degree rise was nothing. When they got within ten meters of the summit, they dropped down to their bellies and crawled, careful to keep their heads close to the surface.
As they peered over the top the view opened up considerably, showing them what they had come to see. Stretching out before them were two small ranges of shallow hills with a broad plain beyond it. The broad plain, they already knew, was where the landing ship had come down. They could see it now, in the distance, a large, straight-edged shape, obviously man-made, in a landscape full of hills and curves. The sensor mast and the three 150 millimeter artillery guns could be plainly seen poking out. Around the ship, moving about here and there, were the tiny figures of men, visible both visually and in the infrared spectrum. Closer in, on most of the hills before them, other soldiers could be seen. Many were in the process of digging into the surface and stacking sandbags. Others were standing around and watching. Almost all of them were carrying objects that were undoubtedly M-24 rifles.
'They're digging in,' Lon said. 'At least company strength just on this series of hills.'
'Standard doctrine?' Lisa asked.
'Standard WestHem doctrine,' Lon said with a nod. 'Secure a perimeter around the LZ, send out patrols to secure everything out to five klicks, and then bring down the rest of the forces.'
'How long until the patrols come out?' Matza asked.
'Probably not until they have their foxholes done. They'll want secure positions to fall back to in case they have to make a stand.'
'Seems reasonable,' Matza said.
'Yes,' Lon agreed, increasing the magnification on his goggles so he could get a better look, 'marines are nothing if not by the book. Unfortunately for them, that also makes them predictable.'
He continued to stare at the hills before them, his eyes moving from one magnified view to the other, trying
