One Day on Mars s-1

by Travis S. Taylor

  "Full forward," Fullback said, engaging the engines. The ship began pushing forward further into the Seppy rust bucket that was now about to break into several larger pieces. She kept the throttle at max, driving the ship deeper and deeper into the hauler. The ship sung with a ringing, banging, clanking, and metal-on-metal screeching.

  "Captain, Sensor Engineer Lieutenant JG Morgen Kirby has repaired the power to the main sensor array. I've got forward sensors and navigation!"

  "Give me a continuous feed on our trajectory," Fullback ordered. Her crew members were nothing more than brilliant heroic gods and she loved every last one of them like the children she never had.

  "Aye sir!" The injured ensign moved her right hand about her console as best she could and what she couldn't do that way, she did through her AIC.

  The trajectory of the falling ships went online in the CO's DTM virtual mindview. Their present trajectory had them crashing just across the top of the main dome at Mons City and into the southeast where the Churchill had gone down. Fullback added ten percent upward force to the propulsion to see how the ship would react. The hauler began to collapse upward along the outer decks and metal buckled like a flimsy empty beer can. Fullback added more z-direction acceleration upping it to twenty-five percent. Secondary explosions and superheated plasma vented from failing systems on the hauler's outer decks. The trajectory calculations showed that they might just miss the southeastern dome by a slim margin if they could maintain the propulsion. The ships continued to screech and tear each other apart, but the supercarrier was faring far better than the Seppy rust bucket. The structural integrity fields were doing their jobs and holding the American warship together.

  "Going to full z accel!" Fullback said and put all the propulsion power into the upward direction. The Separatist hauler finally collapsed under the strain and buckled completely. A seam formed along a large buckling ripple in the center of the vehicle and then it tore itself apart. The larger aft half tumbled loose and the lower one simply peeled itself apart. Debris from the hauler's breakup smacked into the bridge windows and across the deck and exterior hull and in some cases pieces actually penetrated the hull and stuck there. But the U.S.S. Margaret Thatcher broke free of the hauler and began to rise away from the broken up Seppy ship.

  "Great flying, ma'am!" Ensign Lee yelled triumphantly.

  "We ain't out of the woods yet, Ensign!" The CO continued pouring all of the ship's normal-space acceleration power into the upward axis, buying them more time before they impacted the surface. The probable trajectories in her head now were showing that the Thatcher would miss the domes, but pieces of the hauler were going to scatter very close to the southeast dome. The southeast dome had been compromised anyway so if it had more damage it wouldn't be as devastating. Besides that, the Thatcher had done all she could to protect the Martian city. It was time to think about herself and her crew for once. The Iron Lady of the fleet had done her job.

  Captain, I've gone through all the possibilities. There is no way to pull the ship out of the fall and maintain flight. The best option is a controlled crash, her AIC informed her.

  I figured as much.

  Any suggestions?

  Yes, crash down the mountain.

  Of course! Good idea. Give me a trajectory?

  It would be easier for me to take the helm.

  Right. Captain's AIC take the helm.

  Aye sir! AIC has the helm!

  "All hands brace for impact!" the captain announced over the intercom.

  "Holy . . . " Alexander Moore began but was speechless from the sight. The glowing fireball split into several pieces. Some had fallen just south of the dome nearest them and threw dust plumes into the air. The fire falling from the sky scattered the retreating Separatist soldiers that were still trying to put up a fight, but this was the final straw that weakened them to the point that there was no longer any cohesive attack grouping of them. The Seppies were down to single or handfuls of snipers scattered about with maybe a handful of tanks and mecha left. The air had been cleared out by the Killers and the Gods of War and by the last few contingents of mecha that dropped in. The ground battle on this side of the city was over and the majority of the American fighters and mecha had moved on to the main dome. But what amazed Senator Moore the most was the sight of a flaming United States Navy supercarrier bursting out of the midst of the plummeting fireball.

  The supercarrier's path was stabilizing and stretching as far up the mountainside as it could. If it hit near them at that speed the secondary fall of debris would kill them all.

  "Is it going to hit us, Alexander?" Sehera reached out to her husband's hand and held it for a second. Her daughter was inside one of the inflatable domes with her helmet off. She had needed a little break from the suit. "Should I grab Dee?"

  "Naw. Look at it. I think it is going to try and sled down the mountain over there." He pointed at the giant flaming ship. He could ask the Marine second lieutenant or one of the SARs pilots but they were busy dragging wounded around. The reporters kept their camera on the crash and had moved to a slightly better vantage point atop BIL the garbage hauler, but Moore didn't want to talk with them right now either. "Let's just watch. I'm tired of acting right now."

  "You did well, Alexander. Even the great President Sienna Madira wasn't as heroic," his wife said to him.

  "You're biased, in more ways than one." Alexander smiled at his wife.

  "Yes of course I am," Sehera smiled for a moment; a brief moment was all the remaining grim tasks would allow. They would soon need to get back to helping with the wounded and their break from this horrible messy day would be over. "Do you think there are people still on that thing?"

  "There must be. That is a controlled crash and a damned smart one," Moore said.

  The supercarrier impacted at about three-fourths of the way up the easternmost side of the mountain, a side that was unpopulated. Debris and dust and smoke plumed into the sky, creating reds and oranges in the early-evening sunlight that were breathtaking against the giant Martian mountain. The tough behemoth warship tore a gouge in the mountainscape as it sledded its way through rocks and soil and then it turned westward around the mountain toward them. There were flashes of secondary explosions and occasional glints of sunlight from flying chunks of metal, but after a long arduous ride of more than a hundred kilometers down the mountain the ship came to a stop less than twenty kilometers away.

  "Somebody should get into touch with them and see if they need help," Sehera thought out loud. Then they were quiet. The two of them stood there in silence holding hands looking out across the devastation, dust storms, and the giant crashed supercarrier up the mountain.

  "CO Madira! CO Thatcher!"

  "Goddamn it's good to hear your voice, Fullback!" Captain Jefferson answered.

  "Aye sir. We've got some serious damage and there are three dozen wounded on board that need attention. But we survived, sir. And we steered the hauler away from the city." Fullback's voice was clear but she sounded gruff, much more gruff than usual.

  "Goddamned if you won't make admiral before I will," the CO said. "Are you in any shape to take on crew and wounded? We've got a lot of troops on the ground that could use some help."

  "I'll put out a recall to the escape pods to return to duty, sir. We can't go anywhere right now, but we most certainly can take on wounded and act as a staging ground," Fullback replied.

  "Great work, Sharon. Madira out!"

  "CO, the Washington has DEGs back online and the Kolmogorov and Blair have propulsion and missile batteries back up. They are going full bore on the remaining Seppy ships," the XO reported. "The squadrons have pulled back to cover for the remaining fleet and are beginning to overwhelm the Seppy bastards, sir!"

  "Roger that, XO." The CO had the battlescape continuously updating in his DTM virtual mindview and knew that the fleet ships were coming back online from the fact that they were starting to reengage the enemy. But he hadn't been watching the DEG and mis
sile battery readiness readouts of those ships at the time. It was quite a pleasant surprise to see the brilliant blue-green bolts of directed energy blasting away at the two remaining Seppy ships.

  "Looks like they're on the run, Captain. Just like that time at Triton last year," the COB added. "Army Starlifters are loaded and ready to go to ground, sir. And Colonel Warboys is reporting that he thinks it's clear for SARs to drop."

  "Deploy them and have them stage back to the Thatcher's location."

  "Aye sir." The COB nodded at the Air Boss. The Air Boss took the information from the Army squads as the COB passed it along via the AICs and issued deployment orders to the squads.

  The Fleet Angels were already in space and immediately started dropping the SH-102 Starhawks in for search-and-rescue operations. The Army Starlifter squads would drop in on the Army M3A17 tank squads and either resupply or load and transport them to the staging grounds depending on the needs of the ground commanders. Typically once the Starlifters were deployed the battles were well in hand. Captain Jefferson was glad that this battle was finally coming to a close.

  "Senator. Mrs. Moore." Vulcan stretched her arms and legs as she stepped up behind them. Alexander hadn't heard the SARs pilot come up behind him and it startled him some. His nerves were shaky as hell from the events of the day.

  "Shit, Lieutenant, don't sneak up on me like that." He smiled at her.

  "Sorry, sir. Thought you would like to know that we've got full-up coms open again. The naval base up the mountain has been retaken and most of the Seppy forces on the ground are dead. What is left of the 34th Marine Mecha division that had originally been deployed in the northwest domes have regrouped with several Army squads and are taking the main dome back as we speak," the Starhawk pilot told him.

  "What about up there?" Moore nodded toward the sky.

  "The tides have turned there too. But they are still fighting."

  "Lieutenant, shouldn't somebody help them out?" Sehera pointed to the crashed supercarrier.

  "Unbelievably, ma'am, they are in pretty good shape. In fact, what I came to tell you is that we are about to move this staging area to there. That ship has a full hospital facility in it. There are no doctors there but they are on the way." Vulcan pointed to the east at the swarm of escape pods that were descending on the crashed supercarrier and about the same time several Starhawks screamed overhead, flying westward toward the dead-mecha-littered battlefield.

  "Then we should go with you to help," Sehera told the young rescue pilot.

  "Thanks, ma'am. Don't take it the wrong way, but there are trained professionals landing there now that can work more efficiently without you," Vulcan said. Sehera looked as if she were about to let the young pilot have it, so Alexander stepped in.

  "You're right, Lieutenant. But we might can help with morale and to keep the press at bay. Although, now that the long-range is back up, that will soon get to be a full-time effort. We should go with you," Senator Moore said with Southern politician's charm.

  "Yes, sir."

  Chapter 27

  2:47 PM Mars Tharsis Standard Time

  "Don't move a muscle," Vincent warned his friends. The railgun fire into the sea of Mons City residents that had been corralled into City Park was continuous and relentless. The screams of victims were getting worse and worse as wounded piled up. The force fields continued to push inward on the remaining survivors and had collapsed to an area smaller than a football field. Vince, Rod, Carla, and several others lay helplessly but unharmed for the moment at the center of the mess, playing dead. At first people had scattered from the gunfire and left the pockets of dead and wounded lying about the park, but unfortunately the collapsing force field was pushing them toward the center where Vincent had led them. Soon they would be overwhelmed with terrified people trampling over them. Vince and Rod could probably handle that, but Carla's unborn baby most certainly could not.

  "They're getting closer, Vince. Think of something!" Rod panicked.

  "Bud, I'm fresh out of ideas now. It's out of our hands," he replied. A wave of panic-stricken people pushed its way over the bodies toward them and the railgun fire splattered all around them. One of the rounds passed through Vincent's right thigh and then on into the ground beneath him. Vincent screamed at the burning sensation and grabbed his leg. Blood poured profusely out both sides of the wound. He sat up screaming in pain and wrapped both hands around his legs as the red blood squirted around his fingers. The railgun fire continued to track in on the herding people and he could see Rod doing all he could do to cover the pregnant girl with his body.

  I'm proud of you, bud. He started feeling light-headed and then several people kicked and trampled over him and somebody fell on top of him. Vincent's leg continued to burn with pain but the weight of the body and the trampling herd of terrified people on top of him kept him from being able to do much about it. He could hear Carla weeping close to him. The wounded's cries all around him was one of the most horrible things he had ever heard in his life and he couldn't help them. He couldn't help himself. All he could do was to wait until one of the railgun rounds had his name on it or he bled to death. All he could do was lie there and wait to die. "Fuckin' Seppy cowards."

  The herd moved farther to their left and behind them and Vincent could feel the weight on him move. He pushed at it and it rolled off him. Rod was pushing at the body from the top side.

  "Don't move, Vince. We gotta stop that bleeding somehow." Rod looked around not sure what to do.

  "Bandage it with something," Carla told him.

  "Right. Bandage it." Rod crawled around on his hands and knees trying to find something to use for a bandage and for the moment didn't think about the possibility of being shot down. A blue ion trail streaked across the park overhead and tore into the third-floor balcony where the concentration of sniper fire was coming from. Then the balcony exploded in a bright orange flash and an echoing thunderous sound. Following that explosion came several more and then a continuous spitap, spitap, spitap and zip, zip, zip of massive amounts of railgun fire from all around. The ground began pounding rapidly with the sound of large chunks of metal stamping the sidewalks and pavement in the distance.

  "Missiles!" Vince exclaimed and raised his head just enough to see where the fire had come from. There were more than twenty armored transfigurable tanks standing like giant metal gladiators running and firing weapons in different directions. Vince could see armored soldiers with jumpboots jumping across the park and from building to building, street to street, tree to tree, and anywhere else he looked.

  "The military is here!" Rod yelled. Carla squeezed Vincent's hand and her whimpers began to turn from sobbing to cheers of joy. "About fucking time," Rod said and started to stand up but his friend stopped him.

  "Don't make yourself any more of a target than you already are, bud. Let the soldiers do what they came to do before we start running about all happy and shit." Vince paused and let himself enjoy the possibility that he just might live after all. "Pull that dead guy's shirt off and wrap it around my leg."

  "That's right, sir, we've got tens of thousands of wounded here in Central Park and many more than that dead. The goddamn Seppy cowards were just killing them mass-murder style. Women and children, hell, there was even a couple of dead dogs we found. It is just fucking awful, sir," Armored E-suit Marine Gunnery Sergeant Tamara McCandless told her commanding officer, who had taken a group of AEMs to the shelter on the north side. The gunnery sergeant had the assignment of supporting the Army tank squadron in retaking Central Park.

  "Yeah, gunny, it's the same pile of shit over here. There has to be fifty thousand dead and as many wounded in the shelter. We're getting word that it is the same all over the city," Captain Roberts responded over the quantum membrane net. The QMs' range had picked up once the jamming had been stopped and full tac-net coms were available. They would be needed just in the mop-up of this horrendous mass murder. Marines, Army, Navy, and Martian Air Force were dropping what
ever support they could to help. It was the worst disaster in more than a century.

  "What should we do, sir?" Tamara asked her CO.

  "Shit, gunny, that is way above my pay grade. But if you've got the area secured then start helping whoever you can help however you can help them," Captain Roberts said. "We're trying to do the same here but it's a goddamn clusterfuck."

  "Yes sir, copy on the clusterfuck. We'll do what we can." Tamara couldn't believe that something like this could happen to America. But it had and she had to make certain that the Marines did what they could to help.

  "Excuse me, Marine." A civilian with a bloody T-shirt wrapped around his leg approached him.

  "Corpsman!" Tamara called a few feet over to the Navy corpsman tending to another wounded civilian. That one was more critical.

  "I'm busy right now, gunny!" The corpsman worked diligently in an open chest wound of the victim trying to stop the bleeding.

  "Are you still bleeding, sir? Here," Tamara pulled the instaseal bandage from her own pack. "Let me see your leg."

  "Uh, no ma'am. I'm fine. Save that bandage for somebody else. We just wanted to know how best we could help." The wounded civilian pointed a thumb over his shoulder at a handful of other civilians including a very young-looking pregnant lady. "And . . . "

  "And?"

  "You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette on you, would you? I'm dying for a freakin' smoke."

  "I don't smoke sir. Hold on." The gunnery sergeant smiled at the man. "PFC Young!"

  "Yes, Gunnery Sergeant?" one of the AEMs called from a few meters behind them.

  "Give this man a cigarette and show his friends how they can help out."

  "Right away, Gunnery Sergeant!"