"Oh?" Zoloft asked, raising his eyebrows a bit.
"It's from General Dakota Dickenson," Smoker said. "He's the commander of the Eden area marine forces. Intelligence confirms that is his current position and the computer confirms voice-print analysis."
"I see," Zoloft said. "Did he say what he wanted?"
"He wants to talk to 'whoever is in charge of Eden', he says."
Zoloft chuckled a little bit. The fact that Dickenson didn't know who was in charge of Eden MPG operations spoke volumes about how much the Earthlings had underestimated them. They hadn't even bothered to develop dossiers on the MPG command staff. "Put him on my screen," he said. "Be sure to record for Intel."
"Coming on now, General."
The screen changed from a schematic of the battlefield area to a live shot of a balding, middle-aged man dressed in Martian camouflage fatigues. He had a single star on each of his lapels. His face looked tired, defeated, with bags under both bloodshot eyes.
"This is General Zoloft," Zoloft said. "Commanding officer of the Eden area MPG units."
"General Dickenson," Dickenson returned. "WestHem Marine Corps. I am commander of the Eden theater of operations."
"I know," Zoloft told him matter-of-factly. "What can I do for you, General?"
"I would like to discuss a cease-fire in this area of operation."
"We have already ceased firing," Zoloft said. "I'm sure you must have noticed that by now."
This seemed to fluster Dickenson a bit. It was obvious he was not used to being talked to in this manner by a greenie. "Well... uh... yeah, we did notice that. What I'm suggesting is that we come to terms for an official cease-fire agreement."
"Okay," Zoloft said, deliberately making his Martian accent a little thicker, "lay 'em on me and I'll consider it."
"Very well," Dickenson said. "I am willing to concede that my men will be unable to secure the liberation of the city of Eden in their current numbers under the current circumstances."
"Why that's mighty nice of you to concede that. Let's hear the terms."
Dickenson swallowed a few times, seemed about to say something, and then changed his mind. He took a few breaths. "We are willing to withdraw all of our men and equipment from the area of operations around Eden and move back to our landing zone. We would like to do this without being attacked by the insurgents you command."
"My insurgents, as you call them, have been ordered not to fire on you unless you fire on them or unless you start moving forward again. As long as you head back to your LZ and don't shoot at us, we will not shoot at you."
"Well, that is part of the problem," Dickenson said. "We have many wounded out on the ground out there. Those rebar traps and the mortar fire in the anti-tank trench are responsible for most of them. We also have many on the open ground between the anti-tank ditch and the pillbox positions. We need to collect them and load them onto the APCs for transport back to the LZ. In order to do that, we will have to move forward to some degree."
"You can collect all of the wounded in the anti-tank ditch and take them back to the LZ with you," Zoloft told him. "Any wounded east of the anti-tank ditch, however, will be attended to by my forces."
Dickenson shook his head. "That's not acceptable," he said toughly. "My wounded will not be used as further hostages in this conflict."
"They will be treated in our hospitals and given the best care possible," Zoloft said. "After that, they will be held as prisoners of war along with all of the other marines and naval personnel we captured at the beginning of this conflict until such time as a formal armistice is signed and prisoner exchange occurs."
"No," Dickenson said. "We will collect our own wounded."
"You seem to forget who is negotiating from a position of strength here, General," Zoloft said. "You are the one who got your ass kicked. You do not dictate terms to me. I dictate them to you. Your wounded will be collected, treated, and cared for as POWs under the terms of the Geneva Accords — which, I might add, is a courtesy not being returned for those of our forces that you've captured, but that's another story. In any case, the sooner we hammer out a cease fire agreement, the sooner we can go out and start hauling those wounded men in."
"I won't agree to that," Dickenson said.
"Then those men will die out there," Zoloft told him. "Any men moving forward from the main anti-tank trench will be fired upon. Now are you going to agree to this, or not?"
Dickenson remained silent for a few moments. Finally he nodded his head. "Okay," he said. "I'll abide by that. If any of my men are mistreated in any way, however, you will answer for it when this planet is liberated."
"Sounds like an ass-fuck to me," Zoloft said.
"Excuse me?" Dickenson said, genuinely shocked by this common Martian expression.
"That means I agree," Zoloft told him, suppressing a chuckle. "Anything else?"
"Yes, there are a few things."
"Lay 'em on me," Zoloft said.
"Many of my men are getting low on breathing air," Dickenson said. "Some do not have enough to make it back to the LZ. As a term of the cease fire I would like your forces to supply us with extra tanks so we can get everyone back."
"You're joking, right?" Zoloft said.
"I know that your biosuits use different air tanks than ours," Dickenson said. "But the Eden Marine Barracks had a supply of over fifty thousand tanks in one of the storage rooms. If you could put them onto some agricultural trucks and bring them out to us, that should be sufficient to get everyone back safely."
"Are you dusted?" Zoloft asked him. "You're suggesting I supply an invading army that I'm fighting with extra breathing air? Sure, I'll get right on that, Dickenson. Is there anything else you'll be requiring? I can call over to the Alexander Industries plant and see about getting you some extra ammo as well."
"Was that sarcasm?" Dickenson asked carefully.
"Yes," Zoloft said patiently. "That was sarcasm. We will supply no breathing air to your forces. Any of your men who do not have sufficient air to return to the LZ may cross the anti-tank ditch and walk forward to our lines with their hands in the air. They will be taken into custody and kept as POWs until a formal armistice is signed."
"My men will not give up to you," Dickenson said. "They all know how you treat prisoners. They've all seen the reports of you shooting the men from EMB, torturing them, using them as hostages. They will choose instead to die out there in the wastelands."
"Then they will be choosing badly," Zoloft said.
"This could be construed as war crime as well," Dickenson threatened.
Zoloft merely shrugged. "You have to beat us before you can try anyone for war crimes," he said. "I'll worry about that when it happens. No air tanks. You pass on the surrender instructions to your men and they will be treated well until they're released."
"You're being unreasonable," Dickenson said. "You are forgetting that we still have sufficient numbers to push forward and take your city. You're forcing me to consider utilization of that option."
"Don't try to finger my prostate, Dickenson," Zoloft told him. "If your numbers could have taken our city you would have had it by now. My troops are prepared to continue fighting if the need arises. Somehow, however, I don't think yours are. So do we have an agreement, or not?"
"There is one other thing," Dickenson said.
"This should be good. Go ahead."
"We have a number of tanks that do not have enough fuel to make it back to the LZ."
"Don't even suggest it," Zoloft told him. "If you think we're going to refuel your armor so you can take it with you when you go then you're even dumber than you look. Any vehicle that cannot make it back to the LZ becomes Martian property. I'm not going to discuss that one any further."