Greenies

tanks! And Waters and Hicks and all the rest of the dismounts up on the hills will be going after the APCs and the soldiers.'

'We're not using our tanks offensively,' Sanchez said. 'They're for defense only, specifically as mobile platforms for keeping WestHem tanks away from the dismounts when they're pulling back. We have hiding positions and cover all over the place out there. How many times have we pounded the OPFOR on training runs when we were defending? How many times did they pound us when we were playing offense?'

'We never practiced with a ten to one ratio before,' Valentine said.

'So what are you saying, Zen?' asked Xenia. 'Are you quitting?'

Everyone looked at him. Under orders from General Washington and Governor Whiting, any MPG member was able to quit the war for any or no reason at any time. Several dozen members of the 17^th had done just that over the past week, just walked up to the MPs guarding the room and told them they wanted out. They were being held elsewhere on the base, incommunicado, until the operation was over, but they would not be charged with any crime or otherwise persecuted in an official manner.

'No,' Valentine said. 'Fuck no! I'm in this for the long hall, for better or worse. The moment I heard Whiting asking for volunteers to fight this war I was down there at the MPG office, putting my fingerprint on the pad. I'm just wondering if General Jackson was really all that smart when he decided not to concentrate on tanks.'

'Tanks aren't gonna win this war,' Sanchez told him. 'Hicks and Waters and the rest of the grunts behind the sandbags are gonna win it.'

Eden Landing Zone

August 26, 2146

0600 hours Eden time

The inside of an armored personnel carrier was a very cramped space. The ten infantry troops and their weapons were packed like sardines into the rear compartment along with extra ammunition boxes, extra food and water cartridges, and extra tanks of breathing air. Beneath them, under five centimeters of steel flooring, was the hydrogen burning turbine engine that powered the APC and the tanks of liquid hydrogen and liquid oxygen that fueled and oxidized the engine. Forward of the infantry compartment was the command compartment, although with only two seats and less than 1.5 square meters of total space, compartment was probably too strong of a word. It was here that two seats had been installed, one for the APC gunner, who would control the ten millimeter heavy machine gun and the sixty millimeter cannon, and one for the squad leader of the infantry squad being transported. These two seats had a variety of controls and computer screens that allowed either position to survey the outside terrain. Above this position was a hatch that could be opened so the squad commander could poke his head out and look around. Sometimes a real-time, three-dimensional look around with a standard pair of eyeballs was infinitely more helpful than the digital images from the screens.

Lieutenant Callahan, as platoon commander, had usurped the sergeant of this particular squad's right to occupy the commander's seat. He had the hatch wide open and his head sticking half a meter above it. All around him were the other APCs of the newly reinforced 314^th ACR, hundreds of them. Beyond the APCs he could see the tanks, their lethal eighty millimeter main guns pointing forward, their dual laser cannons raised three meters above the main guns, mounted on retractable swivels. He could see the heat shimmer from thousands of engines rising into the thin, freezing air over the staging area, could feel the thrum of vibration coming from his own APC's engine. As cynical and scared as he'd become over the last week he could not help but be awed by the sheer numbers of armored vehicles he was looking at. Never before had he seen so many gathered in one place.

'This is what an invasion is supposed to look like,' he said.

'Goddamn right, Callahan,' said the voice of Captain Ayers, who had finally left the safety of the landing ship and was now standing in the hatch of his own APC about thirty meters away. He would be leading his company from the rear of the column, of course, but he was at least going to be out in the field with them, as were the lieutenant colonels in charge of each battalion. The full bird colonels who commanded each ACR would remain in the landing ships, which was probably, most of the lieutenants and captains thought, for the best. Most of them were too fat to fit into an APC anyway. 'We're gonna roll those greenies up like a rug.'

'Uh huh,' Callahan responded. He had noticed that those marines who had not done battle with the enemy in this conflict still called them greenies while those who had, like himself, had started calling them Martians, with a capital M. 'That's what we've been saying this whole time and so far we're the only ones getting rolled.'

'That's because we've been playing their game,' Ayers said. 'Now we're playing ours. Brute force slamming into their lines and overwhelming them.'

'I suppose,' Callahan said thoughtfully. It certainly seemed like nothing else could go wrong. Up to this point the Martians had used guerrilla warfare tactics — sniping at them from cover, drawing them away from their concentrations and safety zones in small numbers and then doing hit and run attacks. To give them credit they had done an admirable job of opposing the landings, of slowing down the assembly of the armored forces, and of decimating their air cover. The Martians had been underestimated, that was now quite clear and the lessons learned with blood on this campaign would undoubtedly be studied and taught in the WestHem military academies. But the speed bump tactics of the Martians — however effective — had now ceased to be a threat. The armor was down, was assembled, and was ready to move out, one hundred thousand marines marching against what Intelligence figured to be eighteen to twenty thousand weekend warriors. True, the Martian hovers had proved they could easily take down WestHem hovers, thus rendering the air wing of the invasion impotent, and true, Callahan's own platoon was now fractured and staffed with inexperienced NCOs and green private and corporals whose names he hadn't even had time to learn yet, let alone their strengths and weaknesses, but the sheer numbers alone couldn't be discounted. The marines had a ten to one advantage in tanks and a five to one advantage in manpower. There was no way they could be repelled. No way.

'I just got word from battalion,' Ayers said. 'It's time to move out. We and the 324^th are going to be the lead elements. Standard marching formation — APCs in the center, tanks on vanguard and both flanks. No rear guard is deemed necessary. We advance at best possible speed to grid 35-C and secure the area for a re-supply point and a forward air base.'

'Right,' said Callahan, glad that they would be moving soon. He switched radio frequencies and transmitted this information to his squad leaders. They all acknowledged it.

Soon the tanks assigned to the vanguard started to move, pulling out from their parking areas by platoon and forming up in a broad semi-circle out in front. Once they were underway the APCs rolled out, forming up in ranks of eight. Callahan and his platoon were in the second rank. The view to the front quickly became obscured by a thick haze of Martian dust kicked up by hundreds of treads. Callahan slid back into the hatch and shut it, turning on his infra-red view screen to help him see.

They were on their way.

MPG Headquarters, New Pittsburgh

0730 hours

'They're on their way?' asked a voice from behind General Jackson in the war room.

He turned and beheld his boss — Governor Laura Whiting. Her presence here alarmed him greatly. 'What are you doing here?' he asked. 'Why aren't you in the capitol building?'

She reached over and grabbed the half pack of cigarettes from his desk. She pulled one out and put it in her mouth. 'I heard you still had some smokes,' she said. 'Looks like the rumor was true. I ran out yesterday morning and no one else in the capitol has any.'

'Laura!' he said, exasperated. 'You shouldn't be out on the streets! Did you ride the MarsTrans to get here?'

'I'm just an ordinary citizen like everyone else,' she said. 'Why shouldn't I ride the MarsTrans?'

'Because every Earthling on the planet and about two percent of the Martians would like to see you dead. Without you this whole revolution falls apart! All it would take is one gangbanger with a gun and that's your ass!'

She shrugged, unconcerned with his concern. 'I had my security detail with me,' she said, nodding towards the three armed MPG special forces members behind her. 'You hand-picked them, didn't you? If I'm not safe with them, I'm not safe with anyone.'

He shook his head, knowing that trying to argue with her would be futile. Her stubbornness, after all, was one of the traits that had put her where she was today.