the columns of marines before going down, causing many more casualties and deaths than they were taking.
Wrath had been forced to level with the media and, through them, the citizens of WestHem to a certain degree. There was simply no other way to explain the delays in deployment of the rest of the force and the main thrusts of the invasion themselves. Of course he did not give out truthful casualty figures for either side of the engagement. The media were under the impression that the marines were fighting suicidal groups of poorly armed greenie terrorists who had been sent out in crude biosuits laden with explosives and automatic weapons. They were told that there had been less than fifty marines killed and, by best estimations, several hundred greenies killed. They were told the decision to bring down the rest of the landing ships was because the landing zones were finally being declared secured and not because the hovers, armor, and extra men were desperately needed to get the upper hand on groups of well-trained and highly motivated special forces units.
By now Wrath and the rest of the marines down to the platoon level knew exactly how the greenie teams were being deployed. The thermal signatures of the Hummingbird transport ships as they landed and took off from the drop points had finally been identified as the source of the teams and the means by which they egressed before sundown. This knowledge however did very little to help with the situation. The Hummingbirds were constructed of radar absorbent compounds that precluded detection from that particular active system. Their engine signature in level flight was so low that active and passive infrared could not pick them up either. The only time the aircraft were detectable was during the brief landing and take-off periods. This happened so quickly there was no time to get marines to the location before the soldiers the aircraft had transported scattered and disappeared. Nor could they hit them with artillery rounds since, despite seven straight days of trying, they still had not managed to break into the Martian Internet and gain access to the global positioning data to calibrate their guns. Artillery rounds that were fired were usually at least three hundred meters off target, sometimes as much as a kilometer. In more than one incident the marines who were directing the fire were inadvertently hit by it.
The marine intelligence units had also figured out just how the greenies were able to conceal themselves so well. Examination of the biosuits of the dead and captured greenies had shown how effective of a camouflage they provided during the daylight hours. Those suits and the soldiers within them were literally invisible to both visual and, more importantly, to infrared detection if the observer was more than a hundred or so meters away and the greenie was lying still. Again, the knowledge of how the trick was done did little to help counter it. If anything, it had created an almost supernatural fear among the marines that were fighting them. They felt almost like they were fighting ghosts, spectral images that appeared without warning behind a wall of gun flashes and then disappeared like smoke before an effective counter-attack could be mounted.
'Remember,' Wrath told Wild now, 'I want those hovers unloaded first. Within the hour I want flights in the air searching out and eradicating any greenie teams found.'
'Yes, sir,' Wild responded. 'They've been advised and the hover teams are already getting ready.'
'Good,' he said, nodding. 'And intelligence is certain the FLIR units on the hovers will be able to pick up those damn invisible suits from altitude?'
Wild hesitated for a second before answering. 'That's uh... what they tell me,' he said. Of course he could not discount the very likely possibility they were simply telling him what they thought he wanted to hear. As an aide to a top general he had had such a thing happen more than a few times in the past, including several times on this very mission.
'Good,' Wrath said, either not noticing the hesitant tone or pretending not to. 'And I want the rest of the hovers running escort duty for the evac shuttles. Every available shuttle is to head down to the planet the moment the hovers are ready. I want every one of those wounded men on the hospital ship by 1800 tonight. Every last one.'
'I'll see that it's done, General,' Wild responded. 'And what about the media? They've been asking that a pool group be sent over to the hospital ship to interview some of the wounded. We've been delaying them ever since day two of course since they don't know that none of the wounded have made it to the ship yet, but we really should set something up before they get too antsy.'
'Go ahead and assign someone to that as soon as the first wounded start arriving,' Wrath told him. 'Make sure whoever you assign finds someone
'I'll give it to Captain Hovel,' he said after a moment's thought. 'He's bucking for Major pretty hard. He'll handle it with the discretion it deserves.'
'Good man,' Wrath said. 'And how many correspondents went down on the landing ships?'
'A little more than half, sir. They were shuttled over to the transport ships this morning and distributed pretty evenly among the landing ships. Most of them went down to the Eden LZ since that's where the heaviest action is anticipated.'
'And my orders to keep them inside the landing ships were understood?'
'Yes, sir,' he replied. 'They'll be shut inside the VIP quarters until the greenies are completely eradicated on the perimeters.'
'What kind of bullshit story did we give them for why we have to do this?'
'Possible problems with the biosuits we reserved for them,' he answered. 'We told them a manufacturer recall has been issued and we haven't been able to determine if it applies to that model.'
'Nice,' Wrath said with a smile. 'I like that one. It has class. Give an attaboy to whoever came up with it.'
'Yes, sir,' Wild said. Of course Wrath didn't ask if the reporters had believed the excuse that was being offered to them. It went without saying that they would know it was nothing but a pretext to keep them inside. But, of course, none of them would question it, at least not publicly. Not if their corporate bosses told them not to.
'Major Wild?' a young communications officer suddenly spoke up from a nearby terminal, his voice timid, as if he was hesitant to interrupt the discussion Wild was having Wrath.
'What is it?' Wild said, somewhat impatiently.
'I have an urgent communications request for General Wrath, sir,' he said.
Wild gave him an annoyed look. 'Refer it to the mail system like all of the other requests,' he barked. 'Why are you even bothering us with this?'
'Sir, its from the Martian Planetary Guard command facility in New Pittsburgh,' he said. 'He says he's General Jackson.'
This got the attention of both Wild and Wrath. 'Oh really?' Wrath said, raising his eyebrows. Jackson had attempted no communication with Wrath or any other Earthling since his infamous 'flying fuck at Phobos' statement just before the first landings. Of course Marine intelligence was monitoring and recording his daily briefings to the Martian public, mainly for the purpose of splicing them up into inflammatory, out of context statements for distribution to the WestHem media, but there had been no direct talks of any kind.
Wrath turned to his aide. 'Surrender terms perhaps?'
Wild nodded wisely. 'They may very well be,' he said. 'After all, the rest of the landing ships are coming down. They have to know things are almost over for them.'
'Put it on the main screen,' Wrath said. 'Be sure to record it for intelligence.'
'Yes, sir,' the officer said. He spoke a few words to his terminal then turned back to Wrath. 'On screen now, sir.'
Wrath looked up at the large screen at the front of the room and saw the face of his counterpart on the planetary surface, the man he had grudgingly accorded a small amount of respect to for the surprises he'd pulled so far, but a man he still saw as a clear inferior. As always he was dressed in his MPG t-shirt. His eyes had bags under them almost as large as Wrath's.
'Mr. Jackson,' Wrath said, his words picked up by the microphone near the desk and transmitted, along with his image, to the open broadcast link. 'Rather interesting timing you have, communicating with us right now, while our ships are about to touch down on the surface.'
Jackson offered a slight smile. 'It seemed appropriate under the circumstances,' he said. 'Besides, there's not a whole hell of a lot going on at the moment, is there?'
'I assume that you called this conference to talk surrender terms,' Wrath said. 'If that's the case, you can save your breath. Any surrender will be without dictated terms. Unconditional is all we will accept. I believe I've
