Greenies

pointed out soberly. 'This is only supposed to happen when there is an imminent threat to the security of the planet, such as an EastHem invasion. Now since we see no signs of an EastHem invasion and there have been no reports of such a thing occurring, I'm forced to conclude that the deployment is in response to the attempted forcible removal of Governor Whiting from the capital building. As to just what Governor Whiting and General Jackson are going to utilize these troops for, well, only time will tell.'

Neither she nor any other MarsGroup reporter bothered speculating as to what the future mission of the MPG might be. As a general rule the MarsGroup stations did not present unconfirmed speculations as news even though the big three had no moral problems doing so.

One thing that nobody needed to speculate about was the fact that the call-up was quickly in high gear. In every city on the planet the part-time soldiers of the MPG left their jobs and made their way to the nearest public transportation station where they found MarsTrans trains waiting for them, each one full of other MPG members on their way to their bases. Most of those summoned were following the news closely on their PCs and strongly suspected that the reason for their activation had nothing to do with EastHem and everything to do with WestHem. They went anyway, many of them excited at the thought of defending their governor from being kidnapped and whisked away, anxious to fight for Mars and all it stood for.

Corban Hayes was frantic as he watched the live feed on his Internet terminal and listened to reports coming over his communications terminal. He still could not believe that the MPG had actually interfered in the arrest of Whiting and that they had captured the majority of his agents. And now the entire compliment of MPG members was being called to active duty. They were even now making their way to their bases all across the planet for God knew what purpose. What in the hell was Jackson going to do with them? He wasn't actually going to try something so mad as to take control of the planet, was he? To do so would be beyond asinine.

Whatever they were going to be doing, it was his job to get things back under control. He was the ranking federal officer on the planet and since communications with superiors back on Earth took more than three hours to accomplish, he was the man on the spot. His first step was to call Greg Jones, CEO of MarsTrans, to see if could slow down the deployment of troops.

'I can't,' Jones told him, his face pale and scared.

'What the hell do you mean you can't?' Hayes nearly yelled at him. 'Those commuter trains are yours aren't they? Shut them down! Stop them in place! Do whatever you have to but don't let them carry those men to the MPG bases where they'll pick up arms against us!'

'You don't understand,' he replied, sounding somewhat indignant at the thought of a mere civil servant talking to him like this. 'Once Whiting gave order 74-1, our command and control computers for the system were rendered useless and control was passed to the capital building. It's part of the plan for war deployment.'

'What?' Hayes said. 'What freakin' moron came up with that?'

'It's been in place ever since the inception of the MPG,' he explained. 'Part of the War Powers Act. There's nothing that I or my people can do, short of actually sabotaging the hardware of the train system, that will stop them from running.'

'Christ,' Hayes said, shaking his head in disgust. 'You'd better get your programmers working on this thing. Do whatever you can without actually damaging the system, but get those trains shut down.'

'I'll try,' he said doubtfully, 'but there is one little problem with that.'

'What's that?'

'Almost all of my engineers and programmers are greenies,' he said. 'And the greenies all support what's going on. How helpful do you think they're likely to be stopping this deployment?'

Hayes hadn't thought about that. 'Just do what you can,' he said and then broke the communications leak. He buried his head in his hands for a moment, reluctantly concluding that he would probably not be able to stop the MPG deployments the easy way. 'Get me General Jackson of the MPG online,' he told the computer next. 'Highest priority.'

'Attempting,' the computer told him.

He smoked a cigarette and continued to watch the Internet coverage while he waited. Everything was still quiet at the capital building. Armored MPG troops could be seen setting up barricades and clearing out all of the pedestrians within the perimeter that they had set up. Dip-hoe carts were being allowed through to bring out his wounded agents but as of yet none had emerged. He spared a moment to wonder if any of those shot would live and then put it out of his mind as an irrelevancy.

'General Jackson is not taking calls right now,' his computer told him. 'Priority push attempts were ignored. Would you like to access his vid mail system to leave a message?'

'No I would not like to access his vid mail system and leave a message,' he returned sarcastically. He then remembered that he was talking to a computer and took a deep breath. 'Just keep trying to access him,' he said. 'In the meantime get me the general in charge of the marine barracks. What the hell is his name?'

'General Norman Sega is currently the commander of the WestHem marine expeditionary unit on Planet Mars,' the computer replied. 'Is that who you wish to speak to?'

'Yes,' he said. 'Get him online. Highest priority.'

General Sega, unlike many of his peers in the higher ranks of the corps, was actually assigned to his position because of his military knowledge and experience and not because of family or political connections. That was how it had always been with the commander of the fast reaction division since the powers that be recognized that this division, more so than any other in the corps, needed to be ably led since it would more than likely be the first to make contact with the enemy in the event of war. That and the fact that no one who had any political or family connections wanted to be assigned for an extended stint on Mars guaranteed the efficiency of command.

Fifty-six years old and as fit as he had been at twenty, Sega had served numerous tours in Argentina, Cuba, and other trouble spots around Earth before being placed in charge of a battalion during the Jupiter War. Though his battalion, like all others in that troubled conflict, had been thrown forcibly off Callisto by the dug-in EastHem marines, it had suffered the least amount of casualties of any comparable unit in the conflict and had inflicted the most damage on the defending EastHem forces. Sega's career had been a slow climb uphill ever since. Not politically savvy, he had always been kept out of high profile assignments for fear of offending sponsors or the public and placed in commands where actual work and training needed to be done. As a colonel he had commanded the unpopular Northern Argentina brigade, the unit that had, for the past fifteen years, seen more combat than any other unit in the corps. From there he had received his first star and done a tour in charge of the troops on Cuba, which saw the second highest level of action. His second star had led to his current assignment and the promise of virtual banishment on Mars. He had gone as far as his connection-less status would allow him.

He, like most of the other inhabitants of the red planet, had been watching the events on the Internet channels as they unfolded. At first he had been pleasantly amused by the resistance the MPG troops had offered at the capital, chuckling as they took the feds into custody. As a professional soldier of the highest caliber, he had little respect for the part-time soldiers of the MPG or the man who led them. It had been his opinion that the hostage crisis would be over by dinnertime with Whiting either on a ship to Earth or dead, all of her supporters in the MPG under arrest and awaiting trial on federal charges. But when the news that a general call-up of MPG forces had been issued reached him through his intelligence chief, his opinion quickly changed to one of excitement. This excitement grew when he saw the camera shots of the MPG soldiers deploying around the capital building in their APCs. The excitement came not because he had any ill-will towards the federal officers that had been killed or captured — on the contrary, he had the greatest sympathy for them (at least that's what he would say in public) — but because the problem on Mars was no longer something that the federal officers would be able to take care of by themselves. In short, it would take real soldiers with real guns to take back the capital and enforce the federal warrant against that traitor Whiting. And that meant his marines would finally get to see some action. Granted it would probably be brief action, over in a matter of hours, a day at the most, but action was action and something that any soldier longed for. Here would be a chance to get some much-needed publicity for his forgotten division.

While the MPG platoons around the capital building were still securing the area, Sega had already been on his office terminal, telling his colonels to tell their majors to tell their captains to start arming up and getting ready for deployment. It had of course already occurred to him that the quickest, easiest way to diffuse the situation would be to have his marines march on the MPG base itself and capture it, cutting the incoming Eden reservists off from their weapon and ammunition supply. That would not prevent them from deploying in the other three principal cities of Mars but it would deny them of their most powerful division and sap the morale from those that were left.