Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars (41 page)

They say that hindsight is twenty-twenty. During our after-operations review, tactical operations rehashed all of the details and concluded that the unaccounted alloy-x scrap used to build the extra artillery units must have been imported from Luna, carefully landing the scrap transports during our satellite blackout window. Since all of the artillery was built and stored underground, we never saw what they had until we laid siege to the post. Our satellites saw only what the Soviets wanted us to see. Our count was badly off.

We recycled all of our fifty caliber guns and built an all-new fifty-five caliber artillery battery. It looked as if we were deceived, but such is the art of war. Our losses overall were light for a failed post siege, but the personal loss of my executive officer and friend weighed heavily on my spirit. The Central Command review board concluded that I did nothing wrong, but my heart convicted me of the loss of my best friend. LTC Ricochet was the last of my teammates from ASDC Academy. “Brown” was my best friend, and now he was dead. I’d never felt so alone.

We held a memorial service and paid honor to our dead. After the service, I called MAJ Killer Instinct into my office. I didn’t feel like talking, having lost COL SEAL six months earlier and my best friend very recently. I knew that my former wingman was the best choice for my executive officer. I was still officially a lieutenant colonel myself, so the promotion was green-lighted by ASDC command. I called him to my office and advised him of his promotion to lieutenant colonel. I tried my best to convey to him that I was pleased about his promotion, but my troubled heart got in the way, and I finally dismissed him. My new executive officer showed leadership skills and in time would prove to be invaluable to me, both as a comrade in arms and as my best friend. In time I would see and appreciate that.

THE GREENHOUSE

I had lied to MAJ Sawbones about having bad dreams, and I believe he knew it. He had no doubt cut me some slack on that last fitness report because the lawyers were trying to bury me. He would keep an eye on me and do his duty to protect the post and the men that served under me, now that the charges were no longer an issue. Killing Kiknadze didn’t cleanse me of my feelings of guilt, or stop the conflict within me. In addition to the turmoil I felt over COL SEAL’s death, my heart was heavy over the death of my executive officer. My inner struggles were taking a toll on me. I’d seen too much death. Guilt gnawed at my insides like a feeding lion every time I came back alive, and another man didn’t. There was no avoiding my annual physical if I wanted to stay in command. The wear and tear of all the stress I was under was revealed during my physical: irritability, stomach problems, and insomnia. When I did sleep, I had nightmares of dead comrades and murderous Soviets. The good doctor looked as though he’d been waiting for an opportunity to get me alone and examine me. I’d had been avoiding him since my fitness exam following my arrest. MAJ Sawbones poked and prodded me, drew blood and performed every test known to man. Returning to my office, I awaited the results. The next morning, I was summoned back to the doctor’s office, and I promptly returned. He motioned me to sit on the table and he sat in the chair next to me, not saying a word, just thinking.

We were alone. It seemed that the major had dismissed his staff for my visit. I studied his face, trying to discern if I was in trouble or not. The doctor was as quiet as a librarian and seemed to be thinking of what to do next. “Well Doc, what’s the verdict?”

“Colonel, you have what’s referred to as Wyatt Earp’s syndrome. The early symptoms were of course your rage and compulsion to kill the ones responsible for your pain. Now in the latter stages, you’re suffering from depression, brought on by feelings of guilt and anger, battle fatigue and headed toward breakdown. Of course, you probably knew that, if you were being honest with yourself. Our tests revealed nothing more than a man who’s carrying too heavy a load, and can’t physically bear it. If you don’t deal with what’s eating on you, you will die. My experience with you has shown that you aren’t the kind of guy to lie on a couch and bare your soul.” He reached into a cabinet and retrieved a bottle of Kentucky bourbon and two glasses, set it on the counter and poured two doubles. After handing me a glass, he called my XO on the comm. and advised him that he was in charge for the rest of the day and that I was taking the rest of the day off sick.

“To your health,” he offered as he raised his glass.

“Doc, you have an unusual way of practicing medicine.”

He laughed. “That’s why they call it practice. I haven’t perfected my craft yet.”

I was a bit apprehensive at his methods, but he refilled my glass a second time and I was starting becoming just a wee bit lit up. He must have been waiting for the walls I’d built over the years to fall before the power of his Kentucky elixir.

“Colonel, you came over here with eight other pilots from the Academy, right?”

“Seven.”

“Where are they all now?”

“Dead, every last one.”

“Your first wingman, what was his name?”

“2LT Grim Reaper.”

“Yes, I remember. He’s dead, too as I recall. Then there was COL Seal and LTC Ricochet. You’re suffering now from what I’d refer to as survivor’s guilt. This usually follows Wyatt Earp when all of his enemies are dead. You see, Colonel, you’ve killed almost every last enemy you have that’s caused your pain.” He rose from his chair and opened a drawer and handed me a mirror. “Look in that mirror, son. He’s the last one alive who’s causing your pain, and you’re trying to destroy him. You’re eating yourself alive from the inside out with guilt. I’m going to write you a prescription. If you don’t fill it, I will be forced to declare you unfit for duty and relieve you of your command. It isn’t an option,” he said gently but firmly. “Your welfare directly affects the welfare of all the men that serve under you.”

I sighed. “And what does the good doctor order?”

“You’ll report to the greenhouse at zero nine hundred each Sol Jovis and work under the authority of SGT Samurai until twelve hundred, where you’ll eat lunch with him. I’ll be making sure that you do. It’s for your own good.” I suppressed the urge to bristle up and try to buck his authority because I knew he was right.

“Yes, sir.” I was the post commander and outranked the doctor, but still he could declare me unfit for duty. Such is the paradox of command. I set down my unfinished second drink and got permission to leave.

Today was Sol Mercurii so it looked like I was in for my first
therapy session
tomorrow.

SERGEANT SAMURAI

After breakfast in the morning, I did paperwork until zero eight thirty and left for the greenhouse. I’d given my aide, CPL Gray Eagle, the half day off with no explanation.

The greenhouse complex was actually more than one building. It was seven buildings. There were five greenhouses, one soybean processing facility and one composting facility. I walked down the corridor from my office to the greenhouse complex, resigned that I would cooperate fully with the doctor’s orders.At exactly zero nine hundred, I arrived at the main greenhouse of the complex. The greenhouse complex was all underground, to keep the temperature just right for the plants and fish. The walls of the buildings were all concrete, and topped off with a two foot thick layer of special glass designed to filter out radiation and cosmic rays on the top that was both very clear and insulated. We also used reflectors around the buildings to maximize the sunlight coming in through the roofs. Maintenance did cleaning sweeps twice daily to clear off the dust that accumulated on the glass roof. During dust storms, we used electric grow lights. We kept the whole complex pressurized at four hundred millibars, forty-five percent of Earth’s atmospheric pressure at sea level, which worked for farming and people.

The greenhouse was more than just a place to grow plants. Two of the seven greenhouses have very large fish tanks in the middle of them, full of fish and aquatic plants, with its own filtration and aeration system. We have three water wells drilled underneath the greenhouse and food processing plant. When the post was established, there was a large gulley with plenty of water under it, so the Americans widened the gulley, drilled some wells and build underground installations over the top of the wells. This became the greenhouse complex. Around the edges of the greenhouse were rows upon rows of plants of all varieties, mostly dwarf soybean, rice, and barley plants, along with some fruits and vegetables. The soybeans kept us from starving in case our supply lines ever got cut off. We weren’t set up to raise grain to feed animals for meat. It simply wasn’t efficient enough. We imported what products we couldn’t make from soy: real meat, spices, dairy, hops, and yeast to brew our own beer. But we could make a great deal of soymilk, meat substitutes, cheeses, soy oil, and even soy flour. It is a matter of survival, and we intended to survive and flourish.

Martian regolith is unsuitable for farming because of the high levels of peroxides and salts, not to mention a complete lack of biomass. The same peroxides that guarantee our survival as a source of raw material for oxygen here are a bane to farming. Once the oxygen production facilities extract all of the peroxides and salts, we have a rough product to start constructing soil. To that base product we’ve had to add a couple of minerals that were lacking, and add composted human and plant wastes. We add imported worms to work the new soil to leave more castings and aerate it. We also remove the nitrogen from our urine to make fertilizer.

I found SGT Samurai alone, transplanting a young soybean seedling to a larger pot. He greeted me with a stiff salute, and I returned his salute and looked around. Of course, I’d inspected the building before, but not with the idea of working in it. The large fish tank in the middle was surrounded by thousands of plants. A pipe above them, running along the sides of the greenhouse, was spraying a mist of water through pinholes, operated by a timer. SGT Samurai spoke again, and I quit looking around to give him my full attention.

“Welcome, Colonel. That salute was the last one you’ll receive in the greenhouse, during the hours of zero nine hundred to twelve hundred, on Sol Jovis. You don’t need to salute me, but I’m in charge here. Doctor’s orders. If you don’t do as you’re told, I’ll simply fill out a report and send it to the good doctor. There will be no excuse for being absent, or late, unless the post is under attack, or a defensive action is needed in the field.”

“Understood. I’ll cooperate fully.”

“Good, let’s get started,” he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling like he’d waited all his life to order a colonel around.

“Where’s your staff?”

“They’re working in the other buildings today, but not here.” I have all the help I need to clean fish tanks,” he said, looking at me and grinning.

Then suddenly it hit me. This was designed to have as few people present as possible, in case I needed to talk with someone, or confide something that didn’t need to be repeated.

“Then do I understand that anything I say isn’t to be repeated?”

“Absolutely, that was also doctor’s orders, and I have a level six security clearance.” I stared at him for a moment. His job title didn’t require that kind of clearance. He laughed. “You see, some time ago, a certain COL Squid got the same assignment and I was transferred here from ASDC security to work with him, too.”

“And you’ve been running this greenhouse ever since in case I needed you?”

He laughed. “Not just for you, but any of the men. I also have to manage the greenhouse complex. Anyway, I love this kind of work and I love my country. I’m proud to serve it, even if it’s just cleaning fish tanks.”

“SGT Samurai?”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“Call me Kahless. Since I can’t be a colonel in here, I’ll just be Kahless.”

“Then you can call me Sammy.”

The fish tanks had a filtration system, with collection tanks, which we used to fertilize the plants and an aeration pump. Today we’d be emptying the filter traps and applying the fish offal to the plants. We emptied all the filter traps, tested the tanks for ph balance, added chemicals to the water and checked the aeration pumps. Sammy showed me how much fertilizer to add to each plant and we spent the rest of the morning applying fish offal to them. I found the work real satisfying at a basic level. This work touched feelings inside of me, bringing up memories of working on my dad’s farm. I worked silently, quietly, and let the memories of a more peaceful time play through on the screen of my life.