Battle Pod

mission.

Marten let a sneer slide onto his face. He spoke contemptuously. “Scamper home, Major? I wish to abort the mission before you kill the rest of the men the Secretary-General gave into my keeping.”

Diaz’s head swayed. “I only killed Social Unity swine.”

Marten sneered. “You were like a teenager with his first woman. You did everything in a rush. What might have been beautiful, you spoiled by finishing before her clothes were even half off.”

Livid, Diaz shot to his feet.

“I was still firing missiles when you led a madman’s charge at the airfield,” Marten said. “You pulled everyone with you. You lead unarmored skimmers straight into enemy fire. I lost a third of my men because of that. Did you count them, Major? Five skimmers lost out of twenty and thirty-one effectives left. We barely have a little over half our raiding force intact. Do you think I can hit each airfield in turn while losing almost half my men? Do you think I’m going to return to Secretary-General Chavez with handful of men left?”

“I killed no one—”

“Bah!” Marten said. “A third of our force was wiped out because you hunted for glory.”

Major Diaz blinked in shock. “I want to kill the enemy.”

“Good,” Marten said. “So do I. But this isn’t an assassin’s mission where we nerve ourselves up to face the cops, blow them away and run. This is a military strike. You do it by the numbers, not through heroics. You charged this base like a white knight on a mythical horse. The men followed you, forgetting everything I taught them. Because of that, a third of them are dead. Can you understand that? They are dead and we are too weakened to continue the mission.”

“Next time—”

“There won’t be a next time, Major. I’ve lost faith that you and your men want to learn how to fight like soldiers.” Marten began to stride back and forth, gesturing angrily. He had to drive this lesson home. “Not only do you act like a heroic fool, but you butcher those who could have given me important information. You even tried to kill those communications officers. We could have used those soldiers you killed to help us gain entrance onto the next airfield. I can appreciate that you’re a fighter Diaz. I like your hot-blooded courage. What I can’t abide is that you lose all sense while your bloodlust consumes your better intelligence. A good soldier has to stay cool-headed. That’s how he keeps his men alive for the next fight.”

One of the Unionists actually nodded. That gave Marten hope.

Major Diaz stared at the floor. He wore a puzzled look. Then he nodded the slightest bit and glanced at the men, glanced at Omi and finally at Marten. He opened his mouth, let it hang open and then shut it. Without another word, he headed for the outer door. He moved without his customary arrogance.

Omi watched the major as if he expected Diaz to whirl around and open fire.

Marten didn’t think Diaz would. Maybe there was hope for the man, although Diaz’s hate ran deep. For the moment, the major would think about this day.

After the door closed, Omi glanced at Marten. His look said: now what?

Marten crossed his arms, staring at the door as if he thought deeply about Major Diaz. He did it for the benefit of those watching. What he really wondered was what he should do next. And he wondered about the orbital launch station where the Mayflower was docked. If the SU Battlefleet was attacking the moons, what had they done to his precious shuttle?

-17-

The news was horrible and sent a shudder of fear through the surviving space defense forces of the Planetary Union.

The last defenders of Phobos had broadcasted strange images of battle-suited invaders. Those SU invaders had moved with insect-like speed and used inhuman cunning. To see them glide over the moon’s surface without bounding into space, no Martian could have done likewise. Nothing had stopped the space invaders, and their reactions had been brutally efficient as bunkers, missile-sites, laser batteries and shuttle hangers had all fallen before them. The last broadcast had shown invaders blasting surrendering Martians. The poor sods had crumpled and lain so utterly still. Then a helmeted invader had turned to a camera. For a moment, the metallic face inside the helmet had stared at the broadcast unit. That image had been frozen and set everywhere throughout the Planetary Union. Then the thing had lifted its weapon. There had been a flash, and nothing more had broadcast out of Phobos.

Shortly thereafter, Deimos had also gone offline.

Now Commander Zapata stood in his command center. He was ashen-faced and trembling. He watched the main vidscreen as harsh laser beams chewed through the prismatic crystal field around his orbital station. More crystals flowed from the supply tanks, trying to rebuild the field faster than the enemy lasers could chew through it. Soon, however, the station’s tanks would run dry. Then nothing could save them.

Those laser beams originated from big SU Battleships. Those warships accelerated hard for near-Mars orbit.

The prismatic crystals were the orbital launch station’s primary defense against such killing beams. The crystals were highly reflective and contained all the colors of the rainbow. Their purpose was to bounce or reflect the laser’s light and dissipate its strength. If deep enough, a prismatic crystal field could completely absorb a laser.

The intense strength of these battle-beams slagged the crystals by the bucketful. That stole the reflective power and meant the full force of the beam soon hit them. In space-battle terms, the lasers did a burn through.

Zapata shouted questions at the few people still at their screens.

“Eighty percent of the crystal supplies are gone, commander.”

To stop his hands from trembling, Zapata gripped a monitor as he stared at the main screen.

“Emergency deployment,” he whispered.

Computer keys told him someone carried out his command. He swallowed hard as sweat prickled his back. Most of the station personnel were abandoning the station. The last of the orbital fighters were even now catapulted from the hangers. He could have ordered them to burn for Phobos. Maybe a strafing run over the moon would kill some of those metallic horrors. Somehow, he doubted it. Besides, the Planetary Union needed those orbitals. Mars couldn’t give up just like that. It had taken so many grueling years gaining their precious freedom. To return to serfdom so easily—who were those metallic soldiers? What were they? Where had Social Unity found them?

Zapata made a sound deep in his throat. All those years of hiding, of gunning down PHC police, making secret plans.… He couldn’t throw it all away now on a gesture.

His hands hurt he was gripping a monitor so hard. He had elected to remain behind and run a last ditch defense. They had to save the orbitals and anyone else they could. He had to scrape something together out of this disastrous defeat.

He thought about the shuttle, the one the ex-shock troopers had used. Several days ago, he’d ordered its codes broken. Engineers had entered the shuttle, refueled the tanks and stocked it with supplies. He wondered who else knew about it. Surely, a few of those fleeing would have entered the Highborn shuttle and tried for somewhere.

“Burn through,” someone whispered.

Commander Zapata looked up with his one good eye. The power of Social Unity was too much. After everything the Highborn had done to Inner Planets, how was it possible that the SU military still possessed so many warships? He shook his badly scarred head. At least, Mars had tasted a few months of freedom. It had been a good feeling. For the first time in twelve years, a Martian had been able to hold his head up again. Despite their arrogance, he wished the Highborn had stayed at Mars. Social Unity would have never dared attack if a Doom Star had orbited the planet. Zapata frowned. Could the genetic super-soldiers have known this would happen? After a moment’s thought, he shrugged. They couldn’t have known. No one could have.