Major Diaz had led them down the eight kilometers. It had been six hours of harrowing maneuvering. One skimmer had flipped and killed all four passengers.
Omi folded the tent as other raiders opened theirs, the oxygen-rich air escaping like cloudy genies. EVA-suited men began trudging to the parked skimmers. This was the last leg of the journey. Forty kilometers away was the first airstrip. None of them knew anything about the cyborg assault on the two moons.
“Look!” Diaz shouted into their helmet receivers.
Marten looked up. In the distance and leaving lines of vapor streaked four jets.
“Where are they headed?” Diaz radioed.
Marten watched the specks in the pink sky. Unlike Earth, which scattered the blue part of sunlight better than the other colors and thus made a blue sky, Mars had a reddish tinge. The reason was all the reddish dust in the air. The SU jets climbed to get out of the vast canyon. If those jets turned and burned down for them, it would be a mad scramble for the anti-air rockets. Marten mentally kicked himself for not having several of them rocket-armed at all times. He gave the order now.
The jets kept streaking higher, however, until they disappeared over the distant edge of the canyon. Were they headed for Olympus Mons?
As Marten strode for his skimmer, he began issuing commands. Soon they were going to find out if a mob of security personnel could pull off a commando raid. Maybe the thing to do was only take Omi with him and hit the airfield alone. He doubted Major Diaz would agree to that. No, Diaz would be sure they were turning traitor against the Planetary Union. That would bring about a gunfight Marten didn’t want to explain to the men or later to Secretary-General Chavez.
An hour later, Marten lay on a rock, using an imager on the airfield. There were two machine-sweepers on the runway, clearing it of dust and any thin layers of carbon dioxide ice. The airfield had a tower, four hangers, what might have been a barracks and then several long buildings behind that. Around the airstrip were low bunkers, likely automated weapon systems.
Marten slid off the rock and jogged back to the parked skimmers. He had the squad leaders gather around him. Using a holopad, he dumped the imager’s pictures into it and outlined the plan of attack.
“Any questions?” Marten asked later.
There were a few. By the quaver in the voices, Marten knew the squad leaders were scared. It was the right emotion. None of them had likely ever made a raid like this. Most had nerved themselves up in the past in the underground city streets they had grown up in. Then they would have walked up to PHC police and needled them to death. Hopefully, they were tough enough so they wouldn’t panic and freeze today. Marten was more worried they’d panic and shoot their own by mistake.
The men climbed into the skimmers as Omi and Marten strode back to the rock. Both of them dragged mobile missiles. They were TAC-84s, the latest in raiding tech and left behind by the Highborn. Without them, Marten would never have agreed to the raid.
Marten set his up with practiced ease, his training from the Free Earth Corps days returning as if it had been yesterday. An excited feeling ran through him, competing against the fear. Highborn training was the best in the Solar System, and Marten had taken two doses of it, once for FEC and the second time as a shock trooper. He unfolded the tripod legs and then swiveled the launch tube, using the comp-scope until he had the nearest bunker in sight. The missile launcher was like a giant gyroc rifle. It was easy enough to shoot these that one of the men could have done it. But in battle, what should have been easy quickly became difficult.
Marten looked up at Omi. Omi swiveled his launcher and looked over at him. Marten waved his finger to the left.
Omi glanced at his launcher and then at Marten’s launcher. He nodded, likely seeing now that they had both targeted the same bunker.
Marten waited for Omi to adjust, wondering how many of his men were going to die today. It would have been safer having his men crawl to the airfield. But they weren’t real soldiers and he didn’t know what they would do once under fire. Too many might jump up and run away. He’d decided to keep them together in the skimmers. Hit the enemy hard and hit fast, so fast that none of his men would think about jumping out of the skimmer. If Social Unity had posted tough military personnel here, however…
Omi gave him the thumbs up.
Marten returned the gesture. He sighted the first bunker, pressed the firing stud and watched the first TAC-84 leap out of the launch tube. It ignited immediately and whooshed at the target. Beside him, Omi’s missile roared a second later.
They targeted two other low bunkers each and let fly before the first missile hit with a terrific explosion. Concrete flew into the air and the concussion wave soon reached them. On Earth, the concussion would have been greater because of the greater density of the air.
“Hit the barracks,” Marten said over the radio.
Omi and he swiveled their launchers and let missiles zoom at the buildings in the distance.
Then Major Diaz’s voice roared over their headphones. Seconds later, the first skimmers zipped past them.
Marten glanced at Omi.
Omi shrugged, and said over the radio, “He’s eager.”
Marten turned, expecting to see their skimmer parked behind them. There was nothing but Martian ice crystals and shadows. In exasperation, Marten realized their driver had become too excited and had followed Major Diaz in his skimmer charge.
“They’re clumping together,” Omi said.
The fools, they were supposed to spread out, each team hitting their selected areas. Instead, as Major Diaz war-whooped over the radio, the other skimmers followed his like an old-time cavalry charge.
Omi crouched over his TAC-84. Marten did likewise. SU-suited soldiers appeared in the distance. They climbed out of hidden portals. There must have been underground barracks they’d failed to spot. That was just great.
Marten judged the skimmers, the SU personnel and took the risk. He sent another missile at the enemy. Then he deactivated his missile launcher.
“Shut it down,” Marten said.
“It’s a long run to the airfield,” Omi said.
“Yeah,” Marten said. “So we’d better start. Set your gyroc for sniper-fire.”
In moments, the two ex-shock troopers trudged across the cold Martian sand. With their gyroc rifles ready, they headed for the airfield.
Thirty seconds later, Marten cursed. The SU soldiers flung themselves behind concrete slabs, on the runway and behind corners. They began firing at the charging skimmers and immediately gained results.
A skimmer flipped as its driver lurched back hard in his seat, his helmet exploding. The three other occupants went flying. Upon landing, two lay still. The last lifted up and then slumped down again as bullets riddled his body. The skimmer exploded in a ball of fire.
Marten hurled himself onto the cold sand, steadied his gyroc rifle and used the scope. Three enemy soldiers far in the distance set up a plasma cannon. Marten fired. The gyroc round ignited and sped at the enemy. It missed, however.
Omi lay a little ahead of Marten, firing as well.
Another skimmer exploded as a heated ball of plasma hit it.
“Land! Land!” Marten shouted into his radio unit.
Someone in that cavalry-like charge finally began to listen. A skimmer dropped with a hard landing, plowing up cold dust and white carbon dioxide. Soon, four troopers spilled out. They began peppering the enemy with gyroc fire.
As the enemy plasma team swiveled their cannon, Marten held his breath and slowly squeezed the trigger. Three second later, another explosion released a heated ball of plasma. This one cooked the three SU soldiers, shriveling them as if they’d been insects.