"Yes, sir," Wilde said, making little effort to sound placating. "In any case, the withdrawal from New Pittsburgh has just begun. Like in Eden, we have many wounded and not enough APCs to get everyone back to the LZ. Although we're not short on supplies and we do have the ability to replace air tanks, the Martians have refused to let the APCs make more than one trip. Any men that can't be carried out on the withdrawal with have to surrender."
"And Blackwood agreed to this term?" Browning asked. "That's as bad as Dickenson agreeing to leave nearly nine hundred of our tanks out there for the Martians to capture."
"Sir, there really wasn't much of a choice in either case I'm afraid. We've lost. We should be grateful the Martians granted the terms they did."
"Grateful," Browning spat. "They engineered this whole thing by refusing to fire on our troops when they pulled back the first time. They deliberately encouraged cowardice in order to foment this disgusting withdrawal."
"Yes," Wilde said. "That's exactly what they did. And it worked."
Browning was shaking his head, seemingly near tears. "I lost a war to a bunch of fucking greenies," he said. "I'll be the laughing stock of all time. They'll drum me out of the service and put me in the ghetto with the vermin. I'll go down in history texts as the man who couldn't beat a fucking bunch of vermin descendents when I outnumbered them eight to one!"
Wilde didn't quite know what to say to this. Everything Browning had just told him was true, of course. He decided to bring up another subject. "Sir," he said, "the media reps are quite upset that they haven't been updated in the past eight hours. They keep comming me, demanding to know what's going on down on the surface. As you'll recall, you promised them you'd be in Eden by sunset. And... well... since you're not briefing them any longer they've started to send off speculation."
"What kind of speculation?" Browning asked.
"The most prevailing rumor is that we've entered Eden and are experiencing heavy insurgent resistance in the streets there."
Browning shook his head. "If only that were the truth," he said. "Okay, I guess its time for me to bite the bullet. Have someone bring me a cup of coffee and I'll send a briefing off to the Executive Council. My guess is I'll be arrested shortly after and I won't have to worry about briefing the fucking press."
MarsGroup had been reporting on the battles for Eden and New Pittsburgh non-stop, on nearly all of their video channels, for the past forty-eight hours, pre-empting most of their regular programming to broadcast updates as they came in. MarsGroup reporters were located in various places throughout the fringes of the battle. Several teams of them had been allowed onto portions of both bases, including the flight lines and the wounded triage areas. Pictures of Mosquitoes and Hummingbirds taking off on their missions or returning for refuel were one of the staples of the war coverage. So were pictures of wounded MPG troops being brought in from the field. Though General Jackson or General Zoloft or General Montoya or Laura Whiting had given no official briefings, the reporters had plenty of unofficial contacts and during the course of the battle had been able to tap these sources in order to present the Martian citizens with a fairly accurate picture of what was going on.
Greater than ninety percent of the Martian viewing audience had stayed awake all night, watching as the reporters told them that Eden was within thirty minutes of falling, that WestHem marines were within sight of the MPG base and then, later, that they'd suddenly lost their taste for the battle and had turned away at the last second. It had been rumored that a cease-fire had been arranged by General Zoloft in Eden and then, later, by General Montoya in New Pittsburgh. There were even shots of hundreds and then thousands of WestHem marines being brought in as wounded or marched in as POWs. But still, everyone held his or her breath, waiting for some kind of official word.
That official word came at 0700 hours on the morning of September 15, 2146. For the previous thirty minutes the reporters, after hashing over already reported information and showing the same old file shots, had been reporting that a briefing was being scheduled from the Martian Capital Building in New Pittsburgh. When the appointed time came, the view changed from a shot of WestHem prisoners being led into the Eden MPG base to a live view of Laura Whiting's desk. Laura herself was sitting there, looking tired, worn, but cheerful, dressed in her now-customary half-shirt, her face without make-up, her hair carelessly styled. As she began to speak the media computers were logging a record-breaking ninety-nine point three percent viewer rate.
"My fellow Martians," Whiting said, a smile forming on her face. "I am proud to report to you that we have apparently succeeded in our endeavor to keep this planet in our hands and out of the hands of the WestHem corporations who have ruled us for so long. As of 2035 hours last night, an official cease-fire in the Eden area of operations has been in place. As of 0325 hours this morning, an official cease-fire in the New Pittsburgh area of operations has been in place. For the moment, all hostilities have stopped, none of our cities have been breached, and the WestHem marines who tried to jack them from us by force are in full retreat back to their landing zones. Mars will remain free, people. We have done it."
From every building in every city on Mars, from every bar, every factory where workers toiled, every patrol car belonging to every police station, every hospital, every tenement-housing complex, wild cheers erupted as the word officially became official.
"I can hear cheers coming up from the lower levels of this very building right now," Whiting went on after pausing for a moment to let her news sink in. "I think all of you know me enough by now and have been watching enough MarsGroup reports to realize that I am not exaggerating in any way. We've beaten them, people. All of us, together. We have kicked the invading forces off our planet through sheer force of will. They have just lost their best chance to return us to their corrupt system of rule.
"The price for this victory was not cheap. As you've seen from the MarsGroup reports, we had frighteningly high casualties during the past forty-eight hours. The latest figures I have — which include those casualties taken in Operation Red Grab at the beginning of the conflict and those in Operation Interdiction — are three thousand, two hundred, and thirty-seven men and women killed in this conflict. Six thousand, four hundred and ninety-three have been wounded. Seventy-four combat soldiers are reported missing in action, which means they are most likely captured by the WestHems. And, not to be forgotten, there are currently forty-four thousand, eight hundred and sixty-one Martian citizens who were on Earth, Ganymede, or serving in the WestHem armed forces when the conflict erupted. My information is that all of these people are being held as enemy insurgents by the WestHem government as well.
"We have no accurate count of the WestHem casualties we inflicted in this struggle but our best estimates put it in the neighborhood of one hundred and seventy thousand dead, perhaps half that many wounded. We have destroyed over three thousand tanks and five thousand armored personnel carriers in the ground conflict alone. And, as of five minutes ago, we have captured more than twenty-five thousand WestHem marines and sixteen thousand WestHem naval personnel.
"Those are the numbers, people, and I've reported the figures as accurately as I could. I'm not proud of the fact that we've killed so many young marines in this struggle and you shouldn't be either. We did what we had to do and our goal in doing it was ultimately successful. For those who want to know the ins and outs of the battles for Eden and New Pittsburgh, General Jackson — the primary author of those battles — will be giving a briefing on it early this afternoon. But for the time being, the WestHems are pulling back and I'm told they are incapable of mounting any sort of offensive against us that would have any hope of succeeding. Most of our combat troops will remain in their positions outside Eden and New Pittsburgh until those landing ships actually leave our planet. That will be anywhere from forty-eight to ninety-six hours according to General Jackson and his staff.