Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars (62 page)

Tkachenko and Kahless both slowly and with great difficulty stood unassisted to their feet as the ring announcer, MAJ Volkov stepped into the ring. He motioned to the two fighters to join him in the center of the ring. “In the fight between COL Tkachenko and COL Kahless, lasting forty-seven minutes and twenty-two seconds, neither fighter was able to stand to the count of ten. This match is hereby declared a draw. According to the agreement, both sides will divide the alloy-x material equally and return to their posts unmolested.”

The men in MAJ Norsemun’s office were both disappointed and proud. Though disappointed that their colonel did not defeat the Soviet, he did not lose, either. They were proud that he fought with courage and heart.

“Major, I suppose you can play the fight over the 1-MC at normal volume,” concluded CPT Black Ice. MAJ Norsemun nodded and contacted CPT Cipher.

“Captain, rewind the recording of the incoming transmission to the beginning and play it on the 1-MC at normal volume.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

Two minutes later the recording came over the 1-MC loud and clear. “Camp SEAL, we are broadcasting live from Hellas Planitia. This is CPT Two Horses, and I will be your commentator for this fight, assisted by 1LT Pale Rider…”

“MAJ Savenkov sighed. We missed good opportunity to prove Soviet superiority today.”

“It is true, Oleg, but our enemies did not get to show American superiority, either. I think we should play the recording now, yes? We can show Soviet courage in the face of adversity. It will still be good propaganda.”

“Yes, yes, Arkady, by all means play it on the intercom.” MAJ Ivanov rewound the recording and transmitted it “live” over the intercom. “Camp Lenin, this is SSGT Butkovsky. We are broadcasting to you from Hellas Planitia. The fight will soon begin…”

“Okay Colonel, raise both arms so I can tape up your ribs,” 1SGT Specialist said. Kahless slowly and painfully raised both arms. The medic retrieved an ace bandage from his medical bag and wrapped it around Kahless’ ribs. He placed tape on his patient’s nose and he thought he would pass out again.

“What is that old Russian saying when somebody says they are going to beat you mercilessly to teach you a lesson?” Kahless asked.

“I will show you Kuzka’s mother!” The medic smiled. “Did you see Kuzka’s mother?”

“Yes.”

“What did she look like?”

“Ugly! UGH-ly!”

“I’d say you must have seen her. You look like a raccoon with a broken nose and a busted lip. That is just what is visible: three of your ribs are broken and you have a boxer fracture on your right hand. If I were you I wouldn’t waste any money on a Halloween mask; your face will do nicely.“

“Do you know why I put up with your insolent attitude?”

1SGT Specialist smiled. “Battlefield 101, shoot the medic first. I am the highest priority target in the field and the first one to save your life if you are bleeding out.”

“So I take it that you won’t have a change of heart and start being more respectful?”

“I’m your surgeon. Do you want respect, or my putting my life on the line to save yours?”

“Can’t I have both?”

“Just this once—good fight out there. I didn’t lose my watch to the Soviet field surgeon,” he said, dryly. “Do you want a painkiller?”

“I’d like nothing better, but I want my head clear until the Soviets leave.”

“You don’t expect be doing anything as a command officer at the moment, do you?”

“I was going to wait until the Soviets were well out of range before handing over the reins to my first officer.”

“I thought so! As chief field medical officer, I am informing you that you are temporarily relieved of your command for medical reasons. Now, hold still while I give you a shot for pain and one to sleep.” 1SGT Specialist retrieved a vial and a syringe from his medical bag, took the cap off of the syringe and inserted the needle into the vial. He carefully drew the liquid into the syringe, turned it needle-point up and tapped the syringe with his finger to get all the air bubbles to float to the top. He pressed the plunger on the syringe until all of the air was gone and a single drop trickled from the needle’s hole. He was doing this slowly, because Kahless hated needles worse than Soviets and he was getting a bit of perverse enjoyment out of it. Kahless’ eyes grew big as he envisioned the medic as Captain Ahab looming over him with a harpoon, ready to spear the great white whale. The two were interrupted when security escorted a Soviet courier to see COL Kahless. Kahless lifted his hand to inform he was asking for a reprieve. His medic sighed and put the cap back on the syringe.

The Soviet messenger stood before the battered American at attention. “You have a message for me?” Kahless asked the courier.

“Sir, yes sir.” Normally he would refer to an officer as
comrade
, but he understood that this was how American military would be addressed. “COL Tkachenko and LTC Voronin request to meet with you and your first officer over a cup of tea, to commemorate the agreement.”

Kahless hurt all over so badly that he did not want to get up. It was a matter of pride now. Tkachenko no doubt had gotten his injuries cared for and wanted to try to convey to Kahless that he was hurt less than he was. The American decided to play the game and try to pretend he was not hurt very badly. Kahless pondered it for a moment, “Tell Col Tkachenko I must get dressed first, but to meet us here in twenty minutes.” The courier left him, and despite his injuries, pride took Kahless over. Kahless’ wingman 1LT Janus Dread had been hovering nearby.

“Lieutenant, find my first officer and get him here ASAP.”

“Sir, yes sir,” he replied and headed for the exit.

“Medic! Take all of the visible tape of me ASAP! You can tape me up again later.” The tape came off of his hand with little trouble. Kahless slipped on a shirt to conceal the ace bandage.

“Sorry, Colonel” he said as he carefully peeled the tape from his broken nose. Pain exploded through his nose like a fourteen pound rocket and tears fell to his shoulders like mortar fire. “You do realize that Tkachenko was present when your nose was broken? I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten.”

“I know. I just don’t want to appear like a fugitive from the hospital.”

“Officially that is what you are. Remember, I declared you relieved of duty for medical reasons and was about to treat you. You should be glad I am an understanding sort and will let you have your little tea party. As soon as it is over, I have a couple of shots for you and some bed rest.”

“Understood.” The medic was giving him a pathetic look. “I know what you’re thinking. Am I considering taking up prize-fighting full time?”

“I wouldn’t quit my day job, sir.”

“Duly noted. Help me up and back to the meeting room quickly.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

It was a good thing Kahless had been treated in the bioshelter. The American commentator table was still up and had two chairs, so they would have tea there. Kahless did not want Tkachenko to see him walking, so he had his medic help him to the table. He fully intended to remain until the Soviet left so he could not see Kahless walk out. The battered American sat down at the table and advised the medic to keep an eye out for Tkachenko. He wanted to keep the ice pack on his face until the last possible moment. LTC Killer Instinct arrived five minutes later with Kahless’ wingman in tow.

Fifteen minutes later the medic announced that Tkachenko and his first officer were coming and Kahless put the ice pack under the table. Kahless’ wingman showed COL Tkachenko and LTC Voronin in. Tkachenko walked in without any difficulty it seemed, but gone was the arrogant swagger he had before the fight. With all of the discipline the American possessed, he arose and motioned for them to take a seat at the table. Tkachenko’s whole face appeared swollen, sporting a black eye which was swollen shut, and a split lip. His right hand was still taped up after the fight, so Kahless assumed he’d broken it. He almost smiled at the humor of the situation; Tkachenko had damaged his hand on Kahless’ ribs. Whatever other damage he’d incurred, he was no doubt concealing it to save face, the same as the American was.

Kahless’ wingman did the honors and poured each man at the table a cup of tea, and retreated discreetly and stood against the wall behind his commander. Tkachenko took a sip of hot tea, and it was evident that it bothered his busted lip. “You know, you saved the lives of some of your men today, by settling it this way.”

“And you saved some of yours.”

“Perhaps, maybe there’s some lesson to be learned here.” They continued with diplomatic politeness and elevator talk until our teacups were drained. Tkachenko announced it was time to go, and Kahless nodded.

Kahless rose to satisfy diplomatic courtesy, but was using all of his discipline and strength to show no pain. He experienced a bit of difficulty as the he arose, but steeled himself to show no emotion. “It has been an honor,” the American offered as the Soviets nodded in agreement. “I’ll remain here and speak with my executive officer. My junior officer will show you both out.”

Tkachenko looked as he had been robbed of being able to survey Kahless’ walking out, but said nothing and left. The way he moved indicated Kahless was right when he thought he’d broken or cracked some of his ribs. The American made a show of sitting at the conference table with his executive officer until the Soviets left.

Kahless complied with the medic’s orders, and command was passed over to his executive officer. After the scavengers cleaned up the American half of the alloy-x, LTC Killer Instinct commandeered his commander’s tank and took charge of the procession. All of the men doubled up in utility vehicles for the ride home.

When the Soviets were gone, the medic taped his commander up again. This time, Kahless submitted to a shot for pain and one to sleep. It was decided that the American commander would sleep better in the medial ambulance. Kahless wrapped up in a blanket on a stretcher in the medical ambulance and put an ice pack back on his face and one on his ribs. His medic put one of the colonel’s favorite music discs in the player. The words of the song seem to summarize the day: “He was badder than old King Kong and meaner than a junkyard dog.” As he fell into a deep sleep, one thing became clear to him. He had met his nemesis, and one day one of them would surely die at the hand of the other.

THE END