Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars (37 page)

Both men were now lying on the ground. A cursory check with my spotting scope revealed that they weren’t moving. The Soviet commander was now on the ground and was running as fast as a man in full flight gear could manage to get into his tank. I fired again and caught him on the run, shattering his right ankle. He fell face-first onto the ground, and I followed up with another shot to his left ankle. Kiknadze dragged himself to one of his wingmen and grabbed his rifle. My third shot went through his right shoulder and he dropped the rifle.

Removing the camouflaged tarp from my tank, I hopped in and fired it up. Then I flew over to the wounded Soviet, unsnapped my sword and hopped out of my tank. One of the Soviet wingmen’s arms was still twitching, so I beheaded them both. Time was of the essence; Kiknadze had lost a lot of blood from his shoulder wound and soon he would be in shock. He’d had the presence of mind to patch his suit in three places before his suit depressurized. The strength spent on the suit repair left him too weak to resist when I arrived.

With the Soviet satellite down and their commander away from his post, would be on high alert and scramble their entire fleet. I wanted him to know who was doing this and why. He hadn’t lost consciousness yet. He was sitting up, so I put my boot hard into his wounded shoulder to force him to the ground. His eyes met mine. Despite his pain, he knew who I was. He knew it was over and he was making a show of being brave. The lust for revenge that welled up within me didn’t want to end this yet. Laying my sniper rifle down, I plunged the left end of my two-handled sword into his belly above his navel. Cutting in a circle, I continued to cut with the blade now moving toward his ribcage until I had finished disemboweling him. He would die a hideous death before the effects of decompression or suffocation took over. His bowels had spilled out of the slash in his spacesuit while his suit started decompressing. COL Kiknadze was now in excruciating pain, his face a grotesque death mask, his eyes revealing only madness. Something about the madness in his eyes awoke me from the madness driving me. Suddenly I realized that no man should die this kind of death. I lifted my sword and beheaded him right there. His head and helmet rolled three feet away and came to a stop against a rock. His headless body spurted blood, while his low-pressure air hose created ripples in the blood spray. I surveyed the macabre scene. One thing remained. Taking my utility knife from my suit pocket, I cut his blood-soaked name patch off of his suit and stuffed it into my pocket.

Next, I checked his tank and typed in the security codes that the young Soviet pilot we’d captured had given us. Everything looked good to go, so I started it up. Walking over to my tank, I removed the flight recorder, transponder and the pictures of my parents and grandparents from the dash. Taking my ship out of redfield mode, I accessed the partitioned part of my ship’s computer that controlled the actions of scuttling my ship. Next I released the quarantined virus and executed it so it would start eating all my ship’s data with the exception of the separate partition. From that partition, I activated the self-destruct sequence, specifying to blow the ship the next time the hatch was opened or being towed. Writing on a piece of paper in Russian, I stuck the note with some tape to the inside of the transparent hatch. I was hoping their curiosity would get them to open the hatch. Using the security codes we
extracted
from our prisoner, I fired up Kiknadze’s tank and was on my way. Radar showed four squads of Soviet tanks three minutes and closing.

My reason was beginning to return to me, so I decided to get the hell out of there. I flew south by southwest at maximum speed. Since I knew Russian, I accessed the proper console buttons and switches to get all the features I needed up, including their own redfield. I remembered the arduous task of learning to read and write Russian and how badly I wanted to skip those classes, but today I was glad I hadn’t. I needed to keep the redfield going until I was clear of Soviet territory and at least had a strong enough lead on them so they couldn’t catch me. Leaving the radio on the Soviet frequency, I kept my ears open. The radio reports that they have my disabled tank on their radar. I kept an eye on my radar, searching for what I thought was the first opportunity to call my post. I heard the Soviets saying they’d arrived at my tank. There was some real agitated conversation.

“They have killed our colonel!”

“It is the American colonel’s tank, but where is he now?”

“Where the tank of our colonel?”

“The American has it!”

“He is probably long-gone now in our colonel’s tank. Let us open his.”

“What is this? There is something is written in Russian.”

“Nyet, you fool!”

I wondered who’d win the argument. I’d now achieved a comfortable lead and heard a very loud explosion over the radio. I guess they all lost. I heard some more talk that some of them were dead and that some of the remaining tanks had been damaged.

My head finally cleared of my obsession. It dawned on me that if there was a town called Stupidville; I could get elected mayor. However, the scales were coming back into balance. LTC Matulevich killed COL Squid; Col Kiknadze had COL SEAL killed. Since I had become commander, I had killed them both and stolen a Soviet tank for our tech boys to pick apart. I still had to face the music when I got back. As commander, I had given standing orders that none of my men leave the post alone. I had issued those orders to my men, not to myself. Specifically targeting the opposing command officer was part of planning that usually included the chain of command. I had disobeyed no direct order. I had not consulted the chain of command on this decision, but that was a gray area. My standing order as a post commander was “to maintain the post and its integrity.” This was my only written and recorded order. The details of how I was to do so was verbally given to me by the protocol officer when I was promoted, but wasn’t part of any record. I was unsure what legal trouble I would face when I got back, but I was sure I was in trouble.

I was deep into American territory, and I realized the error of flying into American territory unannounced in a Soviet tank. Putting my tank on autopilot, I stripped my suit down and removed the aluminum foil covering my transmitter chip, hotwired my transponder to the Soviet tank and turned it on.

“LTC Ricochet, I have transmission signals from both COL Kahless’ transponder and transmitter chip on a heading of mark zero two zero from your position, on a course heading of one niner five. But get this—satellite feed shows it’s coming from a Soviet tank. Approach with extreme caution. You should have him on your radar in five mikes,” reported MAJ Norsemun.

“Roger that, moving to intercept,” responded a hopeful but suspicious first officer. He keyed his mike. “Soviet vessel, identify yourself.”

“American patrol, this is COL Kahless. I’m in a Soviet tank, headed your way. Please don’t shoot me.”

“Please confirm your identity.”

“Mr. Brown, I appreciated the toast.”

“This is LTC Ricochet, we see you on radar,” responded the relieved but peeved first officer.

The squadron escorted me back to the post, but on radio silence—not so ordered but a clear message, nonetheless. Once inside of the hangar deck, LTC Ricochet, MAJ Killer Instinct, and 1LT Janus Dread were the first to greet me. My wingman looked like a teenager who hadn’t been invited to the senior prom. LTC Ricochet spoke first. “Colonel, why didn’t you get some help?”

I looked around at their concerned faces. “Colonel, I expect if we live long enough, we will all eventually do something real stupid. By the way, COL Kiknadze is dead. Have Chief Wolverine’s crew take Kiknadze’s tank apart and extract any information and resources that they can. LTC Ricochet?”

“Sir?”

“Tobias, I would like a word with you, privately.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Did you report my absence to GEN Spears?”

“Yes, sir. It was a regrettable duty I had to perform.”

“You did the right thing. I guess it is time to face the music.” I had some time to reflect on what I’d just done on the last leg home. Somehow even with the success I’d just enjoyed, it occurred to me I’d acted foolishly and could very well have been killed or captured. Now I’d have to address damage control for my own unit, brought on by my own foolishness and take full responsibility for my actions.

“Are you quite through, sir?!” The last part was said in a condescending tone. I had betrayed his trust and would feel the same way if our roles were reversed. My whole career here I owed to Cadet “Brown,” who treated me like a brother and wouldn’t let me fail boot camp.

“I’m quite through taking matters into my own hands. From now on you’ll know where I am at all times.”

“Yes, sir. I assure you I will know where you are at all times.”

I had a feeling he knew more than I did about that right now.

“1LT Janus Dread, walk with me.” I looked at him as we got out of earshot of the others. “Lieutenant, I noticed that you seem to be upset by my actions. I owe you my life many times over. If you have anything to say, say it.”

“Sir, my job is to protect you, and you didn’t let me do it. How would you feel if when you were COL SEAL’s wingman, and he had left you behind the day that he died?”

“I suppose I would feel as you do now. I swore a blood oath the day COL SEAL died that I’d personally kill COL Kiknadze and as I said before, that was probably stupid. Going maverick may have cost me my career, but COL Kiknadze was hated by ASDC Central Command for the assassination of COL Seal. I may be forgiven.”

“Sir, I take it you’re now through being reckless and will allow me to do my job?”

“Lieutenant, I assure you that I’m through with taking things into my own hands and I won’t go anywhere without you in the future.” I glanced at CPT Black Ice heading my way, his expression set hard as flint. “You shouldn’t worry; I may not be going anywhere for a while.”

“CPT Black Ice?”

“Sir, it is my duty to inform you that you are under arrest for failing to maintain this post and its integrity, and abandoning your post. You are hereby relieved of your command and confined to your quarters. All communications to Earth are hereby subject to my approval. Do you need me to read you your article thirty-two rights?”

The gravity of the situation hit me full force. “No, Captain, I fully understand my rights.”

“Then these two men will escort you to your quarters. CPT Defender has been appointed as your legal counsel.”

“Understood.”

Kahless was brewing a cup of tea when he heard the knock on the door. “Come.”

CPT Defender entered, with a briefcase and a tape recorder in hand—wearing an expression more like that of a funeral director. His lawyer was handsome, dark-haired; dark eyed, in his mid-thirties, and looked fit for a man in this profession, but walked with a pronounced limp. There was something about his bearing that spoke of a different past.

“Colonel, I have been appointed to represent you.”

The teakettle whistled, and Kahless turned the burner under the teapot off. “Captain, please have a seat at the table. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No thank you. I just had a cup of coffee.” The attorney laid his briefcase and recorder on the table and took a seat. Kahless poured himself a cup of tea and took a chair at the table.

“Colonel, I am here to take your official statement and discuss the nature of the charges against you.”

“Understood.”

“I have to advise you that even though I am assigned to defend you, I represent the interests of the ASDC. Please do not lie to me. I will defend and represent your interests strenuously as long as they do not come into conflict with the interests of the ASDC. In short, you know how this works. This is not a civilian matter. Understand that in these proceedings, you are not afforded attorney-client confidentiality as in civilian cases. If I find out anything that the prosecution needs to know, I must turn it over. Also let me advise you that as a decorated command officer, I shall strive to defend your reputation just as strenuously.”

“Understood.”

The captain turned the tape player on, held up one finger to cause his client to pause, then began to speak… “Before we begin, let the record so reflect that COL Kahless is a decorated command officer with an unblemished record. It is also not the purpose of this inquiry to malign or defame COL Kahless’ character.”

CPT Defender directed his gaze at his client. “Colonel, state your name for the record.”

“My call sign is COL Kahless, my given name is Eugene J. Bordelon, Jr., or it was.”

“Do you swear that the statements you are about to make are true?”

“I do.”

“COL Kahless, do you understand the seriousness of the charges against you?”

“I do.”

“COL Kahless, on the twenty-fourth day of the Martian month Kumbha, Earth date March 8, 1980; did you willfully override the post’s security protocols?”

“I did.”

“Did you leave the post in a tank alone?”

“I did.”

“It is the position of the prosecution that in doing so that you jeopardized the integrity of and security of the post. Do you have anything so say concerning this?”