Marten watched the men, shouted corrections into their helmet’s headphones and cursed their stupidity. He raged at their Martian weakness and the impossibility of achieving anything with morons like them. He used the techniques used on him in the Free Earth Corps boot camp by the HB.
Later, back at the barracks at the base of Olympus Mons, Marten showered and played cards with Omi in their room. It was an old deck from Highborn days, the edges worn and frayed. They played at a small table, their equipment sprawled on their bunks.
“What do you think?” Marten asked Omi.
“Gutierrez is deranged.”
Five days ago, Gutierrez had charged Omi each time during the hand-to-hand testing. The big Martian still had bruises around his eyes from Omi’s blows.
“Gutierrez reminds me of the kamikaze troops we faced during the Japan Campaign,” Marten said.
“Seeing that PHC ran this planet for so long,” Omi said, “I’m surprised he’s still alive.”
Marten drew a card, examined his hand and slowly pulled another card. In disgust, he threw his hand down. “I’m over by one.”
Omi put the discards under the deck and flicked himself two cards from the top and Marten two.
“There will come a time when we need someone like Gutierrez,” Marten said as he examined his cards.
“You don’t care if he dies?”
“If he fights under my command,” Marten said, “I’m going to do my best to bring him back alive. I’m just saying that it’s good to have at least one madman along. That makes him a treasure compared to the rest, a treasure I plan to horde.”
“Gutierrez is a walking dead-man and he doesn’t even know it,” Omi said softly.
“I don’t agree. Sometimes it’s the madman who makes it through everything.”
“There’s only one Marten Kluge,” Omi said dryly.
“I’m nothing like Gutierrez.”
“No,” Omi said, “of course not.”
Marten scowled.
Omi drew a card and spread out his hand. “Twenty-one,” he said.
Marten’s scowl intensified. He grabbed the deck to reshuffle. Halfway through the shuffle, someone rapped against the door.
The two men exchanged glances. Marten reached to his bed and grabbed a gun. Omi stood up, moved onto his bed and sat down amidst his sprawled equipment.
The knock came again, harder.
“Enter,” Marten said as he shuffled cards.
The door opened as Major Diaz entered. Behind him followed Secretary-General Chavez.
“This is a surprise,” Marten said.
Diaz scowled, and he opened his mouth.
“No, no,” Chavez said. “Their customs are different than ours.”
Marten raised an eyebrow.
“Usually, people stand as a superior enters a room,” Chavez explained.
“Ah,” Marten said.
There was a pause.
“…may I?” Chavez asked as he touched Omi’s vacated chair.
Marten nodded, and he wondered how long Major Diaz would stand there, upset and glaring at him.
Chavez sank into the chair as if standing had wearied him. His eyes were haunted today and more red-rimmed than during their meeting five days ago. Marten was glad the Secretary-General didn’t pull out any stimsticks. He hated the mildly narcotic smoke.
“I will be brief, Mr. Kluge,” Chavez said. “My intension was that you train all fifty of Major Diaz’s men. I only learned about this oversight an hour ago. I decided a face-to-face encounter would be more productive. I flew here exclusively to speak with you.”
“I’m honored,” Marten said.
Major Diaz moved a step closer. He seemed angry.
“You have a problem?” Marten asked the major.
Chavez cleared his throat. “Mr. Kluge, we all have a problem. The SU Battlefleet has engaged in odd behavior. My chief military officers suggest that something fateful will happen this week. If that is true, I can no longer allow Social Unity the possession of the planetary aircraft. I’d hoped to send a demolition team. I realize fifty men can achieve little compared to our planetary scale. Yet fifty men can achieve much more than ten can.”
“So that’s what has you worried,” Marten said, thinking fast. “Maybe I should have explained myself better to Major Diaz. I need to train those most able to absorb what I’m trying to teach. Then, when I take on the rest of Major Diaz’s men, the trained ten will help teach the rest.”
Secretary-General Chavez looked up at Major Diaz. Diaz’s scowl had lessened so he almost seemed abashed.
“You said the Battlefleet is moving,” Marten said. “Does that mean my shuttle is in danger?”
“Your shuttle?” Chavez asked. “Mr. Kluge, there is a war going on, or about to erupt. Your shuttle hardly matters in the equation of planetary freedom.”
Marten’s kept his features the same, but his heart-rate increased. He didn’t agree with the Secretary-General.
“I cannot allow Social Unity to choose the time of its attack,” Chavez was saying. “The Planetary Union must strike first. Unfortunately, our space assets are minimal. Thus, we must strike where we can. I wish you to hit four of the seven airfields and destroy all the aircraft you can.”
“Ten men—”
“Not ten men,” Chavez said stiffly, “but fifty. You will take the rest of Major Diaz’s soldiers—”
“I’m sorry, sir. But they’re not soldiers.”
Chavez leaned back, the closest to glaring at Marten that the Secretary-General had ever been. The force behind his eyes was considerable. His stare also said that he had ordered the death of many enemies. Quietly, Chavez said, “They’re the most loyal fighters Mars has.”
“That’s fine,” Marten said. “But they’re not soldiers. They’re killers, gunmen, assassins. A soldier is something different.”
“I don’t follow you, Mr. Kluge. Soldiers kill. Major Diaz’s men have all killed the hated enemy. Therefore, they are soldiers. Perhaps they lack your training. But that’s why I hired you. Now that we have an emergency, we cannot afford the luxury of taking our time. We must strike with what we have and hope to forestall a combined attack.”
Marten thought about that and finally nodded.
“You will leave tonight,” Chavez said. “The skimmers are loaded and the men are waiting. By tomorrow night, I wish you to strike the first airfield.”
“I’ll have to inspect the skimmers and the loads,” Marten said. “And we don’t dare skim straight there. We will use some subtlety in order to achieve surprise.”
“You’ll do exactly what the Secretary-General orders you to do!” Major Diaz snapped.
Marten stared at Chavez. “You hired my expertise, sir. That means I have to do things my way. Attack tomorrow? I’ll do what is militarily wise. First, I’m going to make sure we have the needed equipment to ensure success. Your men are killers, but they’re not soldiers. The two soldiers you have need to make sure that this operation is run properly. Like a real, military operation.”
Chavez forced himself to his feet as he wearily waved a hand. “Yes, yes, inspect the skimmers. And make certain my supply officers give you everything you need. I feel the weight of oppression, as if something terrible is about to happen to Mars. I hope you can understand my position. I need you to attack tomorrow, or if not then, in two days time.”
Marten suddenly felt sorry for the Secretary-General. The man used what he had. Chavez and his Martian Union were cornered. The fact that the ruler of a planet personally came to speak with two Highborn-trained soldiers showed that Chavez understood his grim situation fully.
Marten stood up, and he saluted crisply.
Secretary-General Chavez asked, “What was that for, Mr. Kluge?”
“You have earned my respect, sir.”
“Ah,” said Chavez. “Thank you.” He turned to Major Diaz. “Make sure you follow his orders, Juan. He is a soldier, and he knows what he is doing. However it is done, we must destroy those attack-craft.”