"That's nothing more than grand theft," Dickenson accused.
"As I said, I'm not going to discuss it any further. Let me summarize the terms I'm offering you, Dickenson. We will not fire upon you unless you move forward from the anti-tank trench in attack posture. Unarmed men will be allowed to cross the anti-tank trench for purposes of surrender as long as they have their hands in the air. In turn, we will collect your wounded from the area between the anti-tank trench and the city itself. This means my people will be moving about in that area, exposed to your men. If so much as a single bullet flies towards any of my people, this cease-fire will be considered null and void and we will unleash everything we have upon you. Do you understand my terms?"
"Yes," Dickenson said. "I understand them, but..."
"No buts," Zoloft said. "Do you agree to my terms?"
Dickenson sighed. "I guess I have no choice," he said. "But believe me when I say, you'll answer for this later."
"Whatever," Zoloft said, making a jerking off motion with his hand. "So it sounds like an ass-fuck then?"
"Uh... yes," Dickenson replied.
"Then say it."
"What?"
"I'm a Martian, Dickenson. I like to hear things in my own language, you know what I mean? So say it."
Dickenson's face was red with anger. Nevertheless, through clenched teeth, he replied, "it sounds like an ass-fuck."
"Very good. I'll send the order out immediately and we'll start getting your wounded in."
Jeff's platoon, as part of the reserve, had been tasked with venturing out into the open area beyond the pillboxes in order to clear and secure a landing zone for the evac aircraft that were coming in to remove the WestHem wounded from this sector. Two main battle tanks were sent out to accompany and support them. They parked themselves about twenty-five meters apart, forward of the LZ location, their main guns and their cannons pointing in the direction of the WestHem forces.
Jeff was nervous at first as he walked out into the open. Never had he felt so exposed. Sure, there was an official cease-fire in place at the moment but there were literally thousands of WestHem marines less than two hundred meters away from him, gathered at the edge of the anti-tank trench. If they decided to break the cease-fire, tanks or no tanks, he and his companions would be easy fodder. But after a few minutes of dragging dead marines out of the one hundred meter circle they were establishing, he began to relax a little. The WestHems were obviously not interested in fighting anymore. They moved slowly, with their heads down, none of them carrying any visible weapons, none of them showing even the least bit of aggression.
Clearing the LZ took about fifteen minutes, during which time they found two marines who were still alive. Once that was complete other squads accompanying teams of medics began to fan out across the field, working in sectors, scanning the dead marines and treating those they found alive. The former category was very much in the majority. The wounded were brought over to a triage area adjacent to the LZ where other medics began to work on them, preparing them for the hovers and the Hummingbirds that were on the way.
Jeff was positioned near the front of one of the tanks, his M-24 slung across his chest. He was sipping from his water every now and then but mostly staring out at the mass of fallen marines, wondering which ones he had shot down. Probably, he figured, quite a few of them since he had manned the 7mm through most of the battle. He wondered if he should feel some sort of regret about having killed so many people. He wondered if he should feel guilty that he didn't. He was about to get around to wondering if he should feel guilty for being happy that he'd killed so many marines when something hit him in the back of his helmet.
He spun around in an instant, bringing his M-24 to bear on whatever the threat might be. What he saw was a Martian soldier sticking up out of the driver's hatch of the tank that was guarding them. A closer look at the soldier's face revealed the all-too-familiar features of Belinda Maxely. She was smiling in a mischievous way.
"Motherfuck," he muttered, lowering his weapon, looking down to see what it was she had thrown at him. Without surprise he found that it was a used waste pack.
She signaled to him to come over to her. Reluctantly, he did. When he arrived she held up two fingers. He nodded and switched to short-range channel two.
"You found that funny, I suppose?" he asked her.
"As a matter of fact I did," she said. "I was kind of hoping it would break open when it hit your helmet."
"Nice," he said. "Do you have any idea how close I came to shooting you? It's not really a good idea to startle someone in a combat area during a war."
She chuckled a little. "I think I just found that out," she said. "I can't believe how fast you turned around. You had that rifle pointed at me before the waste pack even hit the ground."
"We get a little jumpy out here," he said.
She nodded. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know you were going to react like that. I thought I was being funny. Thank you for not shooting me. That would've been your golden opportunity you know."
"Yeah," he said whimsically. "And I passed it up. I'll probably really be pissed at myself later."
"Probably," she agreed. She hesitated for a second. "You heard from X?"
He nodded. "She sent me a text right after the cease-fire was announced. She said she's safe and she's glad I am too."
"She sent me the same," Belinda told him. "I'm sure you've been checking her position on the forces screen every ten minutes like I have."
"Yeah," he admitted, although it had actually been about every five minutes. She was over by pillbox 43, guarding the evac operation in that sector.
"Listen, I really am sorry about throwing that at you. I was being childish. When I saw you were out there I wanted to get your attention so that maybe... you know... we could talk a little."
"About the state of the war?" he asked.
"Don't be a butt-plug," she said. "You know what I want to talk about. You up for it?"
He walked a little closer and sat down on the tread guard next to her hatch. "Yeah," he said. "I guess I'm up for it."
That sat in silence for a few minutes, both of them staring out toward the WestHems, not meeting each other's eyes, both waiting for the other to start. Finally Belinda broke the ice. "We're both in love with Xenia," she said.
"Yes," he agreed. "That seems to be the situation."
"I've admitted that to myself. I don't think you realize how hard that was for me to do. I'm primarily a muff-muncher, although I'm not above a little schlong every now and then for variety."
"Okay," Jeff said, unsure where she was going with this.
"My point is, I love Xenia. I've loved her almost since the first moment I laid eyes on her. I would give anything to be with her, to have her be with me. And I know that she loves me too."
Jeff wanted to dispute this but he didn't. She was right. Xenia loved her as well. It was apparent to anyone who saw the two of them together. He said nothing.
"So since I'm primarily muff-muncher," Belinda went on, "I had a tendency to assume that what Xenia felt for you was something other than love. Infatuation, lust, call it what you will. Since I find it inconceivable to feel anything other than physical attraction for a man, I was trying to convince myself that the woman I'm in love with was the same way. Am I making sense?"
"Somewhat," Jeff said. "I'm not sure what you're getting at though."
"I was wrong," she said simply. "Xenia does love you. She loves you just as much as she loves me. I didn't want to believe that, but I have to because it's true."
"Yes," he said, making the painful admission himself. "She loves us both. That's kind of the problem, wouldn't you say?"
"Well... maybe it's a problem only because we're making it a problem."