Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars (43 page)

BOOK: Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars
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Approximate age: 39

Weight: 165 lbs.

Height: 5’10”

Hair: black

Eyes: brown

Place of birth: assumed Ukraine

Unconfirmed widower with adult son

No data on Earth military service

Subject’s first assignment, which can be confirmed, was on Luna, where he served two terms. At the rank of captain, he was transferred to Titan. After the deaths of three of his superiors over a three-year period, he was promoted to colonel and given the command of Titan. His ruthless and brilliant tactics afforded him a complete victory on Titan within two years, and there were few survivors. The ASDC Command was able to re-establish a post there, but it was a hard struggle to keep it. He was later transferred to Ganymede, where the Americans were winning. Under his command, the tide was turning in the Soviet’s favor.

Personal details: Subject likes to play online chess weekly with his American counterpart. Skill level in chess ranked 1900. Physically strong and fit. Considered very dangerous and resourceful. Drinks alcohol but not considered an alcoholic. He is a highly skilled sniper, and thought possibly to have served in the Soviet Sniper Corps but unconfirmed. Tkachenko’s personality was characterized as strong, calculating, with strong leadership abilities, a creative thinker, stubborn but adaptable when the situation changes and calls for it. He’s warm with close friends, careful in planning but quick in execution of plans when needed. He is ruthless and merciless with his enemies but understands the importance of negotiations and diplomacy. He was reported to have made some veiled comments in the Titan accords to the American delegation that was threatening in the form of a joke. Personal DNA and dental bite pattern were acquired through dinner scraps after serving pizza to subject at Titan accord.

He was the Soviet’s
closer
. His transfer here now meant that the SCA was desperate to dominate Mars. It was the most desirable planet in the solar system as its climate was closer to Earth’s than any other. It has its own water, which makes it very, very valuable. It is close enough to Earth to be used as a refueling station and to move parts, supplies and personnel to points beyond. Sometimes the orbital alignments of the planets make it easier to ship parts, fuel and water from Mars instead of trying from Earth, though sometimes we have to wait a month or so until the orbital alignments are more favorable. Using Mars as a storage and shipping relay works very nicely. The ASDC prized this planet as well, and most officers and commanders wanted to serve here. I was anxious to talk with Tkachenko, but a good bargainer never makes the first move. I’d wait him out. Next I opened the file on Voronin.

Subject: LTC Vladimir Sergeyevich Voronin

Approximate age 30

Weight: 172 lbs.

Height: 5’, 9”

Hair: black

Eyes: brown

Place of birth: assumed Russia

Marital status unknown

No data on Earth military service

Personal details: Quiet, very studious in any setting, excellent pilot and sniper. He rose up the ranks on Titan and refused command of Titan when Tkachenko accepted the post on Ganymede. Considered absolutely loyal to Tkachenko and his right-hand man. Little is known of his personal life. No DNA, fingerprints or bite pattern acquired.

He was Tkachenko’s right-hand man and went with him everywhere. It was a foregone conclusion that he would be his executive officer. He was a quiet man who from all reports never quit calculating his next move. His greatest attribute as an executive officer was his absolute loyalty to his commander and honesty with him. He was just as dangerous, in a different way. It seems he leaves no leftovers. He had pizza with Tkachenko at the accord on Titan and we failed to get a DNA sample or bite pattern.

Unless a Soviet or American is captured, we don’t give up our fingerprints. In social situations as when we sign accords, both sides are extremely careful to protect their fingerprints. We both use clear, thin plastic coverings over our fingertips so that fingerprints cannot be lifted. We have false fingerprints impressed in those covers so even if they lift one, it matters not. The only way to get the real thing is to capture a pilot. My XO and I have never been captured, and neither have Tkachenko or Voronin. Oh, we’ve both been shot and hurt, but never captured.

COL TKACHENKO’S FIRST CALL

Three sols later as I was contemplating what to do next, I got a comm. call from the Soviets. COL Tkachenko’s image materialized on the screen, and immediately I was struck with the feeling that I was staring into the eyes of an apex predator.

The predator spoke. “I am COL Yuri Tkachenko and I would like to speak with the commanding officer.”

“That would be me, COL Kahless.”

“I am the new commander of the Soviet forces here. I would like to discuss the signing of a new accord.”

“We weren’t the ones who broke the accord first. The cowardly assassination of COL SEAL is what provoked our actions.”

“That was regrettable. You will find I have no need to violate any treaties. I am capable enough to defeat you without violating any Rules of Engagement.” His eyes showed the confidence of years of successful battles and his face playing host to a cold, calculating smile.

“Careful, boasting is for the one who takes off his flight suit, not the one putting it on.”

Tkachenko let out a deep belly laugh, making sport of my verbal counterattack and making me feel foolish.
Typical Russian,
I thought.
Russians were loud and they laughed louder.
“What I have heard is true. You have no sense of humor. Surely you understand American trash talk. I learned from Mohammad Ali. Seriously, I do very much wish to renew the accords. I will send a copy of the old accords to you with some proposed changes.”

I looked him over and measured him. I didn’t trust any Soviets, much less this one, but he seemed to be in earnest. “COL Squid discussed the original accords with COL Kiknadze, halfway between our posts, at the place you Soviets refer to as the Lenin Plain.” (We refer to the locale as the Eisenhower Plain, but it was an irritation to the Soviets to bring that up) “All of both side’s ships were ordered to appear halfway between each post and stand-down. This is so our satellites could account for everyone and to ensure there wouldn’t be a trap. If we were to talk, I’d insist on the same. Just the two of us, our first officers and one aide each would meet. We could meet tomorrow at twelve hundred. If all goes well and no treachery is found, we can negotiate a new accord like civilized men.” I offered to meet at twelve hundred hours because the second Soviet satellite blackout occurs between fourteen hundred and eighteen hundred and they would never agree to a meeting then.

“Dah, very good. I hope to build trust between us.”

“Colonel, I doubt I’ll ever trust you, but if your word is good, I might respect you. I wish the agreement to be known as the SEAL Accords.”

“This is acceptable. Oh, I have an officer of yours to bring to you tomorrow.” According the old accord and the new one we proposed signing, he wouldn’t have to bring him without a trade. It appeared as he was showing a measure of good faith.

“I have one of yours to bring, too.” He looked surprised. He’d obviously not known that any of the pilots survived the ambush at the canyon. No more information could be extracted from the pilot. Keeping him wouldn’t help any longer. He didn’t trust us, and we felt he couldn’t be won over. I decided that one day I’d capture one of their pilots and take my time
converting him
.

Tkachenko asked, “Do you play chess?”

“Yes, a little.”

“Very good. I’ll meet you on the plain as you asked, tomorrow at twelve hundred—and bring a chessboard. Tkachenko out.”

I called LTC Killer Instinct into my office. “Jim, have a seat.” I motioned to the coffee tray I had my aide bring in earlier. He accepted a cup and added cream and sugar. My mess sergeant supplied real cream at my request, not soy today, as a treat while I take the time to visit with my new executive officer. As my former wingman 1LT Dutchman, he had been good at backing my play on the battlefield and would make a fine first officer.

My new executive officer was a very good blend of all of the qualities a combat officer needed to have. A natural leader, he’s very organized, hates inefficiency and incompetency, and is unquestionably loyal. A great pilot, sniper and team player, he’s also quite intelligent, understands strategy, hard-working and follows through with his assignments. Men looked up to him and followed his lead. They respected his strength and courage in battle. However, it was more than that. A straight arrow, he’s honest to a fault and unafraid to tell me what he thinks, but respectful enough to keep criticisms private. He cares for the men as if they were family, but is still able to make hard decisions when the need arises. LTC Ricochet was a very good leader, but our unit dynamic had improved since my new XO’s promotion. I surveyed the man before me. An athletic man of medium height and build, he had reddish-blond hair and green eyes with a straight nose, a mixture of his Connecticut–Dutch descendants and his Irish national mother. “We will be meeting the new Soviet commander to renegotiate the old accord at twelve hundred tomorrow. Has the Soviet prisoner told us everything he knows?”

“I examined all the files that LTC Ricochet kept, and I talked with him before the assault. I’d say yes, I believe so,” he said, taking a sip of hot coffee and then blowing it to cool.

“Inform him we will be returning him to the Soviets tomorrow and tell him if he doesn’t want me to tell the Soviets what he revealed to us, he’ll act like it didn’t happen. And Colonel, he may tell them what he’s told us. Keep any information that he told us that’s changeable or damaging if they know we know, under suspicion.”

I outlined how and when the meeting would take place, and he pledged his support. Dismissing him, I called 1LT Janus Dread and promoted him to captain.

On Sol Martis, the tenth day of Aries during the Martian summer, Earth year 1980, my aide, CPL Gray Eagle and LTC Killer Instinct traveled with me ahead of the others. All of our satellite reconnaissance indicated we weren’t heading into a trap. My first officer, my aide and I met with our counterparts at the agreed location. We’d set up a bioshelter in the center of the Eisenhower Plain three hours before the meeting. The Soviet security officers examined it before the meeting. COL Squid signed the first accord before I arrived on Mars. Today I was the commander negotiating the Rules Of Engagement with our adversaries. I took some comfort knowing that at least I wasn’t sitting across from COL Kiknadze or LTC Matulevich.

The meeting was cordial, and a certain politeness was observed, which was uncharacteristic of Russians. My long hours of being coached on how to deal with the Soviets in negotiations seemed as if it had been a waste of time. Tkachenko did none of the usual table slapping, fit-throwing, bullying and threatening to walk out that I had been warned about by my coaches. This was no ordinary Soviet. The absence of the usual Soviet antics was a sign that he was a skilled hunter, patiently taking his time to stalk his prey.

The meeting went well and there was no trap. We renewed the old accord and established the seven holidays in our agreement, May Day, October Revolution Day, USSR Constitution Day, Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Year, and the Fourth of July. On those sols, there would be no hostilities at all, and no more than two fighting vessels could travel together. Up to two ships could travel together to places outside of our territory, but they couldn’t come within one hundred kilometers from the other post. This made it possible for a pair of ships to go sightseeing outside of the Tharsis Plain for pleasure during a holiday cease-fire.

The fair treatment and exchange of prisoners and a ban on all stealth weapons and protecting all of our agricultural projects were easily agreed upon. Scientific studies wouldn’t need an armed escort, but archaeological digs weren’t protected as we dug precious alien technology from some of them, and it was worth fighting for.

BOOK: Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars
9.44Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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