"Oh, now that is fucking disgusting," said Drogan. She and the rest of the squad had moved up behind him.
"I almost feel sorry for them," Private Clipjoint said sadly.
"Fuck that shit," said Drogan. "They tried us and they fuckin' lost. They shoulda stopped back at the line and this wouldn't have happened to them."
"Yeah, but still..."
"Could we wax philosophical a little later?" Walker asked. "For now, how about we clear the rest of this position before the marines change their minds and start heading back."
They moved up the stairs, trying as hard as they could to avoid stepping on body parts or entrails or kidneys or livers and mostly succeeding. They found more bodies on the next section of stairway and a lot more in the lower level defensive position.
If anything, the scene was even more gruesome here. Those marines that had been near the firing positions at the front of the position had been blown into pieces which were now scattered throughout the floor. Arms, legs, heads, and torsos were everywhere. Those who had been near the back, where the large openings were, had merely been ripped open. They were lying mostly intact, with hundreds of holes in them. A few were still alive, as was evidenced by the slight movements they were making and the outgassing of their exhalations. None were in any shape to put up resistance although Jeff and the others made sure to kick any weapons well away from them and to remove any grenades or ammunition clips from their biosuits.
"Doc, start sorting through them," Walker ordered their medic. "Get some medivac teams up here to get them out of here."
"Right," Tom Huffy, their medic, replied. He went to work.
"The rest of you, man those firing positions and keep an eye on the WestHems. Second squad is coming up to secure the top."
Jeff tore his eyes away from the gore around him and walked over to the firing position he'd occupied during the battle. The 7mm gun was still there but was far from functional. Its body had been broken in half by the exploding tank rounds and its barrel had been bent. Not only that, most of the ammunition drums had been cracked open, spilling the rounds out onto the concrete floor.
One look outside the firing port told him he wouldn't be needing the 7mm, or any other weapon. There were no marines anywhere near the position. Three hundred meters away, he could see them lined up just on this side of the anti-tank trench, slowly working their way inside of it in small groups and then emerging from the other side. Only then would they put their hands down.
It was then that he realized he had actually managed to live through this war.
Aboard the WSS Nebraska, Mars orbit
2015 hours
"What do you mean they're giving up?" General Browning demanded of General Dakota Dickenson, commander of the Eden forces.
"The men have left their positions," Dickenson's image replied. "All along the length of the line they've thrown down their weapons and have walked back to the anti-tank ditch and the APCs."
"Who in the hell ordered that?" Browning yelled. "Did you order it? If you did..."
"Nobody ordered it, sir," Dickenson told him. "They did it on their own, just like they did during phase one."
"They're marines, goddammit! They can't just give up a fight without orders! You order them to go back, pick up those guns, and open that goddamn corridor to the MPG base!"
"I've already tried, sir," Dickenson said. "I've sent my orders through the colonels in command of each brigade and I've even opened a channel to all troops and broadcast my order in the clear. I've threatened to prosecute every marine who turned away from his duty for desertion, cowardice, even treason. They're simply not listening."
"What about the greenies?" Browning asked. "What are they doing?"
"Nothing," Dickenson said. "They stopped firing as soon as our men started to retreat. There hasn't been so much as an air attack since they turned around."
"Those greenies are just encouraging this behavior," Browning said, as if he thought the greenies should be encouraging the marines to attack them more.
"I agree, sir," Dickenson said. "So what are your orders? It would seem at this point that an organized withdrawal to the LZ would be the only thing we can do."
"No," Browning said immediately. "We will not withdraw. We came here to take Eden and we're going to take Eden. I order you to make those marines resume their attack!"
"Sir," Dickenson said, his voice sharpening, "you can't order me to do something that's impossible. The men are refusing to push forward. The men that were in the rear are refusing to go forward now that those in front of them have given up. The only thing we can do at this point is concede defeat and start getting our men and equipment back to the LZ — all of it that we can salvage anyway."
"That is unacceptable!" Browning yelled.
"It's also reality, General," Dickenson said. "I've got thousands of wounded down here that need to be evacuated. I've got thousands more that are going to start running out of breathing air soon. I don't have enough APCs to transport them all back. We need some kind of official cease-fire with the Martians in this sector so we can salvage what we can."
"There will be no cease-fire! If those men want to breathe they'll go forward and take Eden like they were goddamn ordered to."
Dickenson sighed. "I'm sorry, General," he said, "but if you won't make contact with the Martians for an official cease-fire, I will be forced to contact them myself."
"If you do that you'll be tried for treason!" Browning threatened. "I order you to make those men take their objective!"
"I think this conversation is over, General," Dickenson said. "I take full responsibility for my actions."
"Dickenson, don't you dare..." he started but was unable to finish. The screen went blank. Dickenson was gone. "Goddammit! Wilde, get him back on the line!"
Wilde had been standing behind Browning and had watched the entire exchange. "I can try, General," he said, "but I'm afraid he's right. The men have lost the will to fight. There is no way they're going to go forward. It's too late now even if they wanted to."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Browning said, turning his anger toward Wilde now. "They were within sight of the MPG base! They were less than two kilometers away. All they had to do was clear one more position and we would have taken that city!"
"I know, sir," Wilde said. "Unfortunately the Martians fought back much too hard. They destroyed our morale and robbed them of the will to fight. We're not going to take Eden. Dickenson is correct. We need to concede defeat to the Martians so we can get out as many men and machines as we can."
"Do you hear what you're saying, Wilde?" Browning asked. "This was your goddamn plan in the first place!"
"I was trying to do the best with what the suits in Denver left us with," Wilde said. "Mathematically it should have succeeded. But war is not just about math, as we're finding out."
"That's a copout. Those men are cowards! Treasonous, yellow-bellied cowards!"
"Call them what you will, sir. The fact remains, we've lost at Eden. Refusing to acknowledge that is not going to change anything. Now will you allow me to coordinate with General Dickenson on cease-fire terms with the Martians? The air supply situation is going to get critical down there before much longer — probably already is. If we don't come to some sort of arrangement with the Martians they're going to capture a sizable portion of our men."
"Permission denied," Browning spat. "Let the cowardly fucks get captured. I hope the greenies torture every last one of them. They deserve it for what they've done."
MPG regional headquarters, Eden
2030 hours
"General?" said Major Smoker, General Zoloft's aide in charge of communications. "I'm getting a transmission from the Eden LZ."