this time since Wrath is confined to the brig and refusing to answer questions until his formal court martial proceedings are begun, but is has been suggested that Wrath sacrificed critical storage space for these staples of combat in order to accommodate private suites for an oversized staff that consisted mainly of female 'secretaries' and 'transcription technicians'. In any case, the marines used up the majority of their ammunition and breathing air in the first phase of the operation, leaving a severe shortage for the second phase landings at Eden and New Pittsburgh.
'Of course the blame cannot be wholly placed on General Wrath for this most critical of failures. General Todd Browning, who replaced General Wrath after phase one and who was regarded by many as a military genius for his innovative plans to liberate two of the Martian cities despite the earlier failure of his predecessor, somehow failed himself to notice that he did not have sufficient supplies on hand to complete these ambitious missions. Browning, when interviewed earlier today, placed the blame for this oversight on one of his aides — a Major Thomas Wilde — stating that Major Wilde supplied him with inaccurate figures prior to the latest landings and vastly underestimated the minimum air and ammo consumption expected during phase two of the operation. Browning acknowledges that he was ultimately responsible for these figures and admits that he did not order a double-check of them before releasing the landing ships for the operation. Both General Browning and Major Wilde have been relieved of duties and confined to the brig pending further investigation by the JAG's office. General Dakota Dickenson, who commanded both futile attacks upon the city of Eden, has replaced General Browning. Interviewed earlier by one of our imbedded reporters, Dickenson expressed anger and frustration at the mistakes made by Generals Wrath and Browning, saying they were directly to blame for the loss of the hundreds of marines lives in both phases of the operation and for the capture of more than a thousand marines by the Martian insurgents. 'It's our darkest hour' Dickenson was quoted as saying.
'In other developments on Mars, reports of the most brutal of atrocities against those marines that were captured due to lack of breathing air are starting to filter out. Martian citizens loyal to WestHem have reported that all of the wounded men captured at Eden were fed alive into the city's cremation furnaces feet first in order to extend their suffering. This has got to be one of the worst...'
The door buzzer to Brett's cabin suddenly sounded, interrupting the stream of lies and quarter-truths.
'Computer, mute SNN,' Brett said. It did so without replying. Brett pressed the intercom tab on his screen. 'That you, Sugi?' he asked.
'Fuckin' aye,' was the reply.
'Computer, open door,' Brett said.
The door slid open and Sugiyoto came drifting in holding something wrapped in a napkin. He propelled himself across the room, did an agile forward somersault in which he kicked off the ceiling of the cabin and plopped right down in the chair next to Brett.
'Nice maneuvering,' Brett said.
'Thanks,' Sugi said, taking a little bow. 'You never lose it, you know?'
'Especially after only two weeks.'
Sugi held out the napkin to his boss. 'You gotta try this shit, Brett,' he said. 'The best fuckin' thing you've done so far is getting a real chef on this tub of bolts. That bitch found a way to heat oil in an enclosed container and she cooked up a bunch of chili verde chimichangas.'
'No shit?' Brett asked, taking the deep fried burrito from his executive officer. It was still warm as he took a bite. It was delicious, up to the usual standards of Martian cuisine — which were quite high. 'Mmmm,' he grunted with pleasure. 'The is fuckin' premo shit.' He took another bite, chewing noisily.
'Yep,' Sugi agreed. 'No matter what kind of orders they got for us, at least we'll be eating like Martians.'
'Speaking of which,' Brett said, swallowing down his latest bite. 'How about we see just what they have in mind for us?' He looked up at the ceiling. 'Computer, myself and Commander Sugiyoto are both present. Decrypt our operation orders and display on the main screen.'
'Commander Brett Ingram's voice is recognized,' the computer said. 'Lieutenant Commander Sugiyoto, please speak for the voice authentication process.'
'Sugi likes erect clits,' Sugi said.
'Voice authenticated,' the computer said. 'Orders decrypted and on the screen now.'
They both looked at the screen.
TO: WSS BALLBUSTER, COMMANDER BRETT INGRAM
FROM: MARTIAN NAVAL COMMAND (NAVCOM), ADMIRAL MATTHEW BELTING
ORDERS FOR BALLBUSTER DEPLOYMENT ARE AS FOLLOWS:
PROCEED UNDER STEALTH CONDITIONS TO APPROXIMATE POSITION OF -010.000 x +087.300 x - 240.000
DECELERATE TO SOLAR ORBIT VELOCITY AND CONFIRM WITHDRAWAL OF ALL WESTHEM SPACE VESSELS.
AFTER VERIFICATION PROCEED TO HIGH POLAR EARTH ORBIT FOR STEALTH OBSERVATION OF WESTHEM AND EASTHEM ORBITAL INSTALLATIONS UNTIL RELIEVED.
RULES OF ENGAGEMENT: WEAPONS TIGHT. FIRE IN SELF-DEFENSE ONLY.
STANDING BY TO EVACUATE ANY CREWMEMBERS UNWILLING TO GO ON THIS MISSION. PLEASE ADVISE ANY CREWMEMBERS ELECTING TO REMAIN THAT, FOR SHIP SECURITY, THEY WILL BE HELD IN ISOLATION UNTIL SUCH TIME AS BALLBUSTER RETURNS.
AWAITING YOUR REPLY, NAVCOM.
MESSAGE ENDS.
'Hmm,' Sugi said, reading it over. 'I thought it was gonna be something hard. It's just back to business as usual for one of these tubs.'
'Yep,' Brett said, 'only this time we're flying for new bosses, ain't we?'
'Fuckin' aye,' Sugi agreed.
Brett passed the orders onto the crew via the intercom system. He told them that since the Martian Navy was a voluntary service, anyone who thought the mission too dangerous was free to resign and leave. No one took him up on the offer.
Less than an hour later the acceleration alarm was sounded and the fusion engines lit up, pushing the
MPG Base, Eden
September 20, 2146
The last of the WestHem landing ships had departed the surface six hours before. Though there was much work to be done — not the least of which was collecting their dead from the trenches — all MPG combat troops had been pulled back inside and given a seventy-two hour pass in celebration of their victory over the WestHem marines. Some worried what would happen if the landing ships decided to come back down during this seventy-two hour period. After all, the armada was still up there in orbit. Intelligence assured them — and the Martian citizenry — they had nothing to worry about. The landing ships had already come down and gone back up twice since arriving. This was the absolute limit of their operational parameters. It was theoretically possible that they could borrow enough hydrogen from the armada ships to make another controlled landing but there was no way in hell there could be enough liquid oxygen left to oxidize that hydrogen. The landing ships were stuck up there for good. Mars was safe from all but space bomber attack, and even that was thought unlikely at best.
The MPG cooks had once again outdone themselves in serving up a veritable feast for the returning combat troops. They had assembled a buffet filled with filet mignon slabs, prime rib slices, chicken parmesan, and stuffed pork chops. There were fresh artichokes with garlic mayo, asparagus, corn on the cob, and broccoli covered with cheddar cheese sauce. There were baked potatoes by the thousands, mashed potatoes with rich beef gravy, various kinds of rice dishes, and, of course, that tried and true Martian favorite: macaroni salad with egg slices. The only things that weren't available were any kind of alcoholic beverages, any kind of tobacco, and any kind of coffee drink. Currently none of these items could be found for sale on Mars, not even on the black market.
'Premo fuckin' chow,' Xenia said, munching on the garlic mayo smeared heart from her second artichoke.
'I have never felt so full in my life,' said Belinda, who was leaning back in her cafeteria chair, sipping from a bottle of AgriCorp root beer.
