Another MPG MP was standing on the other side of the shower. He looked Callahan up and down for a moment and then directed him forward. "Go see the doc over there," he said, "and then we'll get you some clothes."
Callahan simply nodded and stepped forward. A medic ran a scanner over him and asked him a few questions about the wounds on his back.
"I got 'em in phase one," he said. "Shrapnel. It's healing."
"Sounds like an ass-fuck," the medic said. He reached into a bin beside him and pulled out a pair of green shorts, a green T-shirt with the letters POW on the front and back, and a pair of leather moccasins. "Put these on and then you can hit the chow line."
Callahan took them. "No underwear?" he asked.
"We don't wear underwear on Mars," the medic said with a chuckle. "Now hurry along or your food will get cold."
Callahan hurried along, stepping forward and putting his new clothes on. He walked to the next station where another MP stopped him and ran an identity scanner over him once more.
"Captain Eric Callahan?" he asked.
"Yes," Callahan said, hiding the fact that he was impressed they'd updated his rank so quickly.
"Hold out your right wrist please."
He did as told. A small bracelet was clamped onto it.
"This is a GPS tracking bracelet," the MP told him. "It can locate you no matter where you go and it will alarm our control center if you step outside of your authorized area. It's programmed with your name and rank. Don't try to remove it or destroy it."
"I won't," Callahan said.
"You're good to go," the MP said. "Your authorized area for now is anywhere inside that white line. If you go outside the white line the alarm will go off and we'll be very upset with you."
"What happens when you get upset with me?" he asked, unable to help himself.
"You end up locked in a cell somewhere," the MP said. "What did you think?"
Callahan didn't answer him. He stepped inside the white line and made his way through the other prisoners, his nose leading him to the barbeque area. His eyes widened in amazement as he saw what was being prepared.
A team of five MPG cooks were flipping hamburgers on the grill. Fresh-baked buns were stacked in bins next to this. On the other side of the grill were fresh tomatoes, pickles, lettuce, and mountains of cheddar cheese slices. Beyond this were tubs full of potato salad, macaroni salad, and baked beans. Beyond this were large tubs filled with ice and plastic bottles of water, juice, and soda.
"Is this some kind of interrogation trick?" the man next to Callahan asked.
"Or maybe a last meal?" Callahan replied.
They looked at each other and then Callahan shrugged. "Oh well," he said. "I'm going with it for now. If it's a last meal I might as well enjoy it."
He stepped forward and picked up one of the thick, hemp paper plates. The MPG cook manning this section of the line nodded at him in greeting. "How you doin', my fine ass-buddy?" he asked. "What you down with? One burger or two?"
"Uh... can I have two?" he asked quietly.
"Fuckin' aye," the cook said. "You can have three of the motherfuckers if you want."
"Uh... two then," he said.
"That's the shit," the cook told him. He pulled two of the fresh buns out of the bin and peeled them open, setting them on Callahan's plate. He then used his spatula to remove two of the beef patties from the grill. "Medium okay with you?" he asked.
"Yeah, sure," Callahan replied.
The patties were put on the buns. "There you go," the cook said. "Sorry it's not the best quality of meat we have but production in the stockyards has been down a bit during the war. You know how it is?"
"Yeah," Callahan said, refusing to say anything else. He moved down the line and put every available vegetable and condiment onto his burgers. He then grabbed a large spoonful of the beans and the potato salad. He was given a packet with plastic silverware and hemp napkins in it by one of the other cooks. He then grabbed a bottle of AgriCorp lemon-lime soda from the ice.
He sat down at one of the tables and dug into his food. He didn't know if it was because he'd spent the last few days eating nothing but food paste, but the hamburgers were delicious, the best he had ever tasted. The potato salad and the baked beans were also a culinary experience to be reckoned with.
"This is some good fuckin' food," the man next to him — he had introduced himself as Lieutenant Dan Baker from the 327th ACR — proclaimed. "Do you think this is some kind of a trick, Captain?"
"I don't know," Callahan said, unsure what to think anymore. "I guess we'll find out soon enough, won't we?"
Aboard the WSS Nebraska, Mars orbit
September 15, 2146, 0330 hours
General Browning had been hiding in his office ever since Dickenson had disobeyed his orders and negotiated a cease-fire in Eden. The only communications heard from him were orders to Major Wilde to make sure that the marines in New Pittsburgh attacked as soon as possible.
"Since that coward Dickenson refuses to go up against Eden like a man, I need to make sure we at least take New Pittsburgh. I will not leave this planet in defeat, Wilde. Do you hear me?"
"I hear you," Wilde had assured him. "The New Pittsburgh units are still trying to resupply and refuel so they can make their attack on the line. They're being hampered by fierce artillery fire, special forces attacks, sniper attacks, and air attacks. APC losses are nearing critical."
"Exactly," Browning had said. "So the sooner they attack, the better. I want them moving the instant they have sufficient supplies and fuel. The second!"
"Yes, sir," Wilde replied. "I'll see what I can do."
That had been five hours ago. Now, Wilde entered Browning's office to find him sipping from a whiskey drink. Judging by the redness in the general's eyes, it wasn't the first one.
"What do you want?" Browning asked. "Are they moving on New Pittsburgh yet?"
"No, sir," Wilde told him. "They're not... and uh... well... they're not going to be moving on it."
Browning's face began to turn red. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"I just got off the com with General Blackwood," he said. General Blackwood was the commanding officer of the New Pittsburgh operations. "He says his men are refusing to advance against the line. They know what happened in Eden and they've apparently decided that retreating sounds like a good idea."
"They heard about what happened in Eden?" Browning thundered. "Who the hell told them about Eden? It's not like they're sitting out their with view screens and Internet access!"
"I don't know, sir," Wilde said wearily. "Most of the command staff back in the landing ships probably knew about the cease-fire in Eden. All they would have to do is mention it to one of the field commanders. If two or three field commanders started talking about it on the radio frequencies some of the lower ranks would have overheard the conversation. It wouldn't take long before everyone heard about it."
"That's treasonous!" Browning exclaimed. "Loose lips sink ships. You ever heard that one, Wilde?"
"A time or two," he said.
"That's exactly what happened in New Pittsburgh. We need to tell those marines down there that any rumors they've heard about a cease-fire in Eden is a bald faced lie. We need to tell them that Eden will fall within hours."
"That's already been tried, General," Wilde said. "It seems the men don't believe that."
"Get me Blackwood on the com," Browning ordered. "I'll tell him what he needs to do."
"Blackwood is not taking any calls from command, General. He has already contacted MPG command in New Pittsburgh and asked for a formal cease-fire. His request was granted and the firing stopped five minutes ago."
"He asked for a cease-fire without orders?" Browning cried. "At least that traitor Dickenson asked me first before he disobeyed my refusal. That's why this goddamn war was lost, Wilde. Because men won't obey their fucking orders!"