'Yes, Mr. Sanchez. Open them now please.'
'Carla,' Sanchez said to the proper technician. 'Open access hatches 3127 through 3150.'
'Yes sir,' Carla said, speaking to her terminal. 'Hatches are open.'
'And now,' Bright said, 'please cut power and Internet to section 29-50.'
'The FLEB office,' Sanchez said, repeating the command to another tech.
When this was done the waiting began.
They had marched for nearly six kilometers through the musty, smelly underworld of Triad. It was a dark, damp, crowded place, narrow and confined. Rats lived down there as well as entire species of bugs and spiders. Their combat goggles allowed them to see in what otherwise would have been complete darkness. Each member of each squad had a map of the complex as well as a map of Triad Naval Base and of their individual objectives programmed into their combat computers. The maps could be superimposed into their goggles allowing the image to seemingly float in the air before them. Each platoon of forty men was equipped with six hundred meters of primacord and the detonation equipment. They fanned out in the tunnels when they reached the staging point, every platoon going to a certain ladder beneath a certain access hatch.
Lon and his squad, who were assigned to second platoon, bravo company, took up position beneath hatch number 3140, which was directly below the southern passenger tram entrance to the naval base. 'Okay, guys,' he told his men as they waited, 'we're gonna be less than sixty meters from the guard positions when we come up. The lights will be out and there will be a lot of confused civilians on the platform, so be careful. If we have to shoot be sure you have a positive ID on your target and be cognizant of where your stray rounds are going to be heading.'
They were given the execute command and fifteen seconds later the access hatches slid open, directed to do so by the control room five kilometers away. Men began to climb as fast as they could, hefting themselves up the steel ladders in a controlled manner, separated from each other by a space of only two rungs. From twenty-three hatches, armored and armed men began pouring into the streets of Triad near the tram station that led to the Naval base.
The streets above were in chaos. People were huddled everywhere in corners and on the streets in fear of the pitch blackness that had suddenly engulfed them. Power outages were not unheard of in Triad but they never lasted more than five seconds or so, the amount of time it took for some computer to route a supply around whatever damaged area had caused the failure. In the buildings around them, elevators would be stopped, electric doors would be jammed shut, people would be in panic. It was a pity to do this to fellow Martians but it was needed.
The troops pouring from the access hatch formed into their squads and platoons as they emerged and handed up their heavier weaponry and their equipment packs. They began to move to their first objectives; the entrances to the tram tunnels that led to Triad Naval Base.
The main force, which consisted of two companies, headed for the primary personnel tunnel, since it would lead them to the main foyer of the base and drop them close to the vital control room. Another single company headed for the northern tunnel, which was a secondary entrance for ship crews and dock personnel. The last company of the battalion took the south tunnel, which was a freight tunnel though which fuel, supplies, and other staples entered the base after being shipped from the Triad civilian docks. It was this entrance where the first contact between MPG and Navy military police took place.
The freight loading platform was large and was staffed with a squad of MPs whose job it was to check each incoming train for infiltrators, bombs, or anything else. The MPs were no less confused than the civilians. They had no combat goggles so they were as blind as everyone else in this section of Triad. Their Internet screens had gone dark and they were trying to reach someone on the base over their back-up radio frequency, which did not rely on Internet cables, when the sounds of many feet and clanking armor appeared all around them.
'WestHem MPs!' boomed a voice from an amplifier. 'You are surrounded by MPG troops! Surrender immediately or you will be fired upon. Drop your weapons to the ground, walk to the center of the platform, and lay down!'
Sergeant Broker was the twenty-three year old MP in charge of the five-man squad. He heard the voice just as he'd succeeded in getting through to the Naval Base MP barracks inside the main gate. He had heard the number of feet clomping around on the platform and knew that he held a useless position. His people were blind and horribly outnumbered. The greenies would have combat goggles on and probably had beads drawn on all five of them.
'Do what they say, guys,' he commanded, his voice shaky with fear. 'Do it now.'
'Broker!' A voice replied from his radio channel. 'What is going on there? Did you say the lights were out? I have reports from the main gate and the secondary of the same thing.'
'This is Broker,' he said. 'My position is under attack from a large number of greenie troops. I am surrendering to them.'
'Broker!' the voice yelled. 'What did you say?'
He had time for no more. He left the link open so that they would at least be able to hear what was going on. He then walked to the center of the street with his hands in the air, moving gingerly in the darkness. His men did the same. They were quickly handcuffed with plastic ties and left lying on their bellies for the moment. The south gate had fallen without a shot being fired.
At the main gate platform things went a little differently. The MPs were more numerous and more confused by the unheard of darkness. There were also many more civilian and military people standing by the security checkpoints awaiting access to a train that was now stopped in the tunnel. When the MPG troops rushed onto the platform their commander yelled through the intercom for everyone to get down immediately.
The commanding MP was talking on his radio at that very moment.
'Lieutenant Beal,' barked the confused voice of Lieutenant Smack back at the barracks. 'I've just received a report that the main freight access platform is under attack by greenie troops. Expect trouble at your position, take up defensive positions.'
'Greenie troops? But...' It was then that the announcement to get down boomed across them.
Beal was young and inexperienced at his job, only recently having been promoted to officer. He had no idea how many troops the MPG was throwing at him and did not consider the fact that they would have the advantage of sight on their side.
'We're under attack by the greenies,' he yelled at his men. 'Defensive positions, now!'
His men scrambled in the darkness, training their M-24s outward, unable to see a thing but able to hear the stomp of steel-toed boots and the clank of raising weapons. There were screams from the civilians trapped on the platform, the cries of children.
'MPs!' The voice boomed once more. 'You're surrounded and your position is hopeless. Drop your weapons and move to the center...'
It happened fast and was over in seconds. One of the MPs unleashed a blast from his M-24 at the general direction of the voice. The bullets arced out and hit several civilians, putting them on the ground. Fortunately most of the civilians had taken the first piece of advice and gotten down. The other MPs opened fire also, Beal included. The darkness was filled with the thunder of automatic weapons and the nightmare strobe-light effect of the flashes.
The point platoon of the MPG reacted in less than half a second. Through their goggles they saw each MP and the flashes emitting from their weapons. They saw the white streaks of the hot shells flying at them. Thirty-six M- 24s and four SAWs opened up as one, drowning out the roar of the MPs weapons. The Martian soldiers were trained well, each knowing what their field of fire encompassed. Eight of the fifteen MPs went down with the first bursts. Of the remaining seven, four of them tried to return fire and were cut down with the second burst. The remaining three, one of whom was wounded, threw down their weapons and cried surrender.
'Hold your fire,' the platoon lieutenant barked over his command channel. The Martian guns fell silent at once, their thunder replaced by the hysterical cries of the civilian and military personnel that had been caught on the platform between the two groups of soldiers. He flipped on his intercom system again. 'Civilians on the platform, remain where you are and do not move. MPs, walk unarmed to the center of the platform and lie down. NOW!'
The remaining MPs stood and, with hands raised, walked towards the center.
'Objective Green is secure,' came the voice of Captain Evers, the commander of that section, over the command channel. 'We had contact with the MPs and there are wounded enemy and civilians on the
