Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars (16 page)

He looked up from the report he was reading and smiled. He remembered as a boy the day he cornered a fox in his hole and how a few smoking leaves brought him out of that hole and into his bag. He hoped that the American would not surrender—he would take much pleasure in killing him.

The Soviet commander opened a communiqué from Moscow confirming his appointment to the politburo after the end of the campaign against the Americans. This called for a cup of tea, which he brewed while listening to the song “Zhenshchina, Kotoraya Poyot,” by his favorite Russian artist Alla Pugacheva.

July 17, 1970—Fifteen Hundred Zulu

The Americans had the shell of their post HQ up. They were waiting for the transports to deliver the fixtures to finish the inside, as well as the environmental equipment to regulate the temperature and air pressure. The next fleet of ships would have all the fixtures they needed and most of the post’s men would be working to finish the interior construction.

The Soviet patrols had missed the minelayers, but the Soviet artillery escort didn’t know that. MAJ Ilya Tarasov of the artillery battery escort was keeping a close watch on his detail to make sure the Americans hadn’t planned any surprises for them. To lose even one artillery piece would end in a demotion for him. He’d been here since the Soviet post was constructed and had participated in obliterating the American post. With care, they should repeat their success, and the Americans would be through on Luna forever. They weren’t restricted to radio silence but were using an encrypted channel. By zero five hundred hours on the nineteenth he should have his detail safely to the front lines to start destroying the hated Americans. The landscape was boringly the same on this side of Luna, flat terrain with a thin brown layer of moon dust that kicked up in a small dust cloud when they passed by, and pock-marked with trillions of craters, some very wide and deep and others very small and shallow.

The Soviet detail was flying with tanks in front, back and sides of the artillery, ever watchful of possible attack from the Americans. MAJ Tarasov’s last communiqué from the Soviet commander assured him that the Americans were cowering behind their defensive grid and were no threat. But, the major was sure the Americans weren’t cowards. He’d seen that in the siege of Eagle 1. A cook had shot three of his best men with a handgun before going down. The notion that they were just cowering behind their defensive grid and doing nothing made him uneasy.

The proximity mine’s triggers were set so that the ones in front couldn’t be triggered by the smaller mass of a hovertank. This was done so that the lead tanks would drive over the front mines without triggering them. The artillery pieces with more mass would trigger the front mines, while the lead tanks would trigger the more sensitive mines further up. The moon shook violently under them as two tanks and an artillery piece were blown apart. No noise was made, but men seasoned in lunar warfare were accustomed to it. The officer in charge of the detail, MAJ Tarasov, was killed instantly, along with his wingman. The next in charge was CPT Yakov Dvorkin, who called a complete halt to the detail.

“Back up and leave the exact way that we came in. Once we are five kilometers due east, we will halt, and I will lead you to the front line.&rdquo

The Soviet detail carefully reversed their paths, and their new unit leader took them an hour north, to plot a new course to the front line. His best friend and unit leader had paid the price for carelessness with his life. COL Glaskov would be angry that an artillery piece was lost. Still, with no other losses of the big guns or their tanks, they should be able to beat the Americans.

“Sir, our satellite just passed over the Soviet artillery battery.”

“Well?”

“I'm sorry sir. The Soviet artillery count is now nineteen pieces led by eight tanks.” He turned around and grinned. “It looks as though they lost a big gun and two tanks at the minefield, sir. The Soviets have deployed twenty tanks from their line to rendezvous with them. The artillery will be an extra hour and a half delayed to the line. They took a detour after being hit.”

“Very good, inform my first officer.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

July 18, 1970—Zero Eight Hundred Zulu

The factory had finished building the artillery pieces. The count was seventeen armored
M110L (Lunar) hovercraft powered self-propelled howitzers
, with a barrel length of forty-five calibers, firing 155mm HE shells. COL Red Fangs hoped this counter artillery battery would do the job of neutralizing the Soviet artillery barrage, when it came. He knew such a battle of two nearly equal artillery forces would result in extreme losses of men and equipment on both sides. Since there was no cover or high ground for either side, it would be an artillery slugfest until most of the men on both sides were dead. He would wrestle with his conscience later. There was no other way to play this hand.

The factory was now busy building tanks with whatever scrap was found and the estimate was that only three more could be made. COL Red Fangs knew this was cutting it very close. The earlier comparison of Eagle 1 and the Alamo was made to raise the men’s fighting spirit. With all of the alloy-x scrap the Soviets harvested from Eagle 1, this was beginning to look like the Alamo. The only hope for survival rested on being able to destroy the Soviet artillery and whittle the Soviet tank regiment down to a number small enough to repel with five American tanks and their defensive grid. The colonel sighed. They had a big job before them, and timing was everything.

The post HQ building was complete. Within thirty minutes, the terminator would cross their post and plunge them into darkness, dropping the temperature down to -170 °F. The solar array would be out for another two weeks, leaving the fuel-driven generators to provide power for the post HQ until then. The power grid was ready to power the environmental control systems to make the dwelling livable. The electrical and environmental control teams had finished the inside. The new tactical operations room was complete, with all equipment moved in and installed. Some teams were still working on setting up the mess hall and finishing some of the interior. The last four freighters to be recycled were being unloaded. When finished, all construction hands awake and not building tanks or working on the post HQ’s interior would be moving in. The command officers had their personal effects moved to their new quarters.

CPT Watchful Eye and 2LT Surveillance stayed on the bridge while 2LT Codecracker and 2LT Algorithm set up and tested the new tactical operations equipment. After equipment testing and installing software on the workstations, it was time to test all systems. They ran quality tests to the satellite uplink, radar array, surveillance cameras, and the two radios in the working tanks. After proving their workstation computers performed as needed, they routed all surveillance, tactical and command functions to the new tac ops room.

The men quickly unloaded the food, medicine and other supplies from CPT America’s command vessel into the post HQ building. CPT America bid his goodbyes, and within minutes the fire and smoke from the freighter
America’s
exhausts disappeared into the night sky. Only the barest and most essential things were built until after the Soviet siege could be beaten back. The main focus was on post defense, and meager but livable quarters; the rest was on
beans, bullets and bandages
.

July 18, 1970—Fourteen Hundred Zulu

The demolition team used lasers to measure from a “witness line” in the center of the post to each mine hole. The tactical team loaded the coordinates to their computer. Whenever a Soviet tank rested over or crossed it, they would be ready to blow it manually if they wished, or set it to go off if passed over by a target. For now, the mines were armed but had electronic
safeties
preventing them from going off prematurely. COL Red Fangs would send the electronic command to remove the safeties on them all just before the battle, and decide if he wanted them set to manual or automatic activation. Burying them in solid rock was akin to loading a charge into a cannon: the rock walls being the barrel. The minefield was just outside of guntower range and would help reduce the number of enemy tanks that could threaten the post. Anything that survived the counter artillery battery and the minefields would face the American defensive grid and whatever tanks the Americans could muster. The defensive grid was comprised of artillery, mines, guntowers and gun turrets essential for their survival. Fifty-three tanks had to be reduced to a number the American tanks could handle.

The post’s first officer joined his commander in the cargo hold for supper before turning in. LTC Judgment day was carrying his last two beers.

“Thank you, Bob. Sit down.” He gratefully accepted the beer and pointed to the food cart. His first officer filled his plate and popped the cap off of his beer bottle, found a crate to sit on, prayed and started to eat.

COL Red Fangs took a swig of beer, and considered the battle to come. “We should come out with an artillery piece or two left when the Soviets have lost all of theirs. Once the artillery is done with, they will most likely charge us. We will use any remaining artillery to fire upon the invading force. Combined with the heat sensors on the spy drones, we should be able to keep track of all three of their command officers. Status on the back door plan?”

“Done, I have all of the MTS mines deployed on the trail under the ledge. The mines aren’t heat sensitive, but the ledge explosives are. We’ve done all of the drilling, but since our explosives don’t like temperatures of 265 degrees, we’ve had to wait for the ground to cool. The terminator has now crossed, the temperature has dropped and we’ve finished placing the ledge charges. When the time comes, I’ll have snipers on the ledge in case we need to deal with anyone popping out of the tanks.”

“I’d like some prisoners if we can pull it off, but I want all of the tanks intact. Only blow the ledge and drop the rock on them if and only if you can’t stop them from getting up the ledge. I repeat; I want those tanks.”

“Understood.”

“I understand that the Soviets use transponders to keep track of the location of all of their units. If you can capture the tanks, have a crane haul them up, but not until after you remove the transponders. Make sure you don’t destroy the transponders. Remove them from the tanks and keep them transmitting from below the ledge.”

“Yes sir, I can have the Soviet tank’s computer hard drives removed and replaced with one of ours in about thirty-five minutes. We can have multiple teams working simultaneously on several tanks at once. We can have all of the software installed and the controls relabeled in English.”

“Very good.”

July 18, 1970—Fourteen Thirty Zulu

COL Glaskov had sent twenty tanks to rendezvous with the artillery detail five hundred kilometers east of the front line. Twenty-five tanks stayed at the line, making sure the Americans didn’t leave their post. MAJ Maksim Speshiloff relieved CPT Dvorkin of his detail while two of his tanks joined the captain on his mission to flank the Americans. The mission called for ten tanks, and the replacement tanks had been similarly equipped with redfield generators. The redfields could remove their radar signatures from the tanks but couldn’t fool the American satellite. The Soviets knew exactly when the American satellite would fly over, and how long it could view them. They used the same technique that the American minelayers used, drop into deep craters and pull black heat shield tarps over them until they flew over. It would take approximately eleven hours for the slower artillery detail to arrive at the front lines. Even after stopping for the enemy satellite, the unit flanking the rear should arrive at the American back door at about the same time.

COL Red Fangs had been up for eighteen hours and was about to grab some rack time in his new quarters. This was the last rack time for the first crew before the battle, and all of the construction and preparations for the Soviet attack were complete. He’d given orders to give all personnel eight hours of rack time on their last sleep schedule. He did a neck roll to relieve the stress of sitting in one position staring at a computer all day, yawned, stretched some more and moved toward the door. The private from the mess crew retrieved his tray and dishes.