"Tomorrow morning, after the WestHem commanders have had time to brief the WestHem Executive Council on their defeat, I will be contacting that body myself with an offer to open negotiations for a formal armistice in this conflict. I will stand firm in my demands for this planet. Mars will remain free and separate from the WestHem or the EastHem economic system. Prisoners of war will be exchanged in accordance with standard Geneva Convention rules. Most important, WestHem will recognize our planet as an autonomous government.
"I don't expect them to agree to these terms. They will make up the stories they need to and try to convince their populace that this was not really a defeat for them. At some point — probably sooner than later — they will send more troops to this planet and they will try to take it from us again. If we stand together, if we continue to cooperate with each other as we've done since our vote for independence, they will not succeed.
"We are free, people. You all know what it feels like now and you all know that we can fight well enough to maintain this freedom. That is all I have to say for now. We've freed Mars, people. We've freed Mars."
She signed off a moment later, not taking any questions from the reporters. Within minutes of the end of her speech the streets of every Martian city were swarmed with the citizenry as they danced and celebrated victory.
Chapter 27
Aboard the MSS Ballbuster (formerly the WSS Mermaid)
Mars orbit, 24 kilometers from Triad Naval Base
September 18, 2146
"We're in the departure corridor, Brett," said Ensign Mandall, who was in charge of the helm. "All set to align for our de-orbit burn once get a heading."
"I'm down with it," said the now official Commander Brett Ingram of the now official Martian Navy. The Owl-class stealth attack ship that had once been known as the WSS Mermaid had returned in triumph to Triad Naval Base two weeks before. Its battle damage had been repaired and its crew augmented with an additional thirty-seven recruits, bringing it up to more than two thirds of normal staffing. As the first captain of the ship, Brett had been given the honor of naming it. Most of the crew — especially those who had served aboard it during Operation Interdiction — felt he had chosen wisely. The MSS Ballbuster it now was and it was preparing to depart for its first mission under that moniker.
"The LRD is deployed and ready, Brett," said Zorba Frank, the communications technician. He had just raised the three-meter Laser Receiver Dish that would allow Naval Command to transmit their deployment orders via encrypted communication laser. For security reasons no one aboard — not even Brett — had been told Ballbuster's mission beforehand.
"Static," said Brett, who was wearing red MPG shorts and a red MPG t-shirt with the recently created Martian Navy emblem on the breast. He was velcroed into the command chair and sipping from a cup of tea. He hated tea but currently there was no coffee of any kind available on Mars at any price. "Lock our laser transmitter on NAVCOM's dish."
"Locking," Frank said. A few seconds later — "Done."
"Transmit our current position, speed, and alignment so they can send back our orders."
"Fuckin' aye, Brett," Frank said. He pushed a few tabs on his screen. "Sending. I've got an acknowledgment via encrypted radio link."
"Static," Brett said. A minute went by before Frank reported a com laser had been received. He ordered it shipped unencrypted to the terminal in his quarters and then activated the ship's intercom system. "Wassup, dawgs?" he said. "This is Brett, your lovable yet competent captain. Our orders have been sent from NAVCOM. Sugi, if you'll meet me in my quarters we'll decrypt and review them and then give everyone aboard a chance to refuse them. Is everyone down with that?"
There was no answer to his rhetorical question. He unstrapped from his chair and floated upward, electing to leave his tea behind. "Mandall, you've got the con."
"I've got the con," Mandall replied automatically.
Brett propelled himself across the bridge to the sliding hatchway that led to his cramped but private quarters. Before he could touch the panel Frank called to him.
"Sugi on the com, Brett," he said. "You want me to patch him into your quarters?"
"Fuckin' aye," Brett said. He touched the panel, opening the door, and floated into his quarters. He spun around and pulled himself down to a seat at one of the chairs before his desk. The computer terminal had lit up, showing an audio link with Lieutenant Commander Sugiyoto, his executive officer. He touched the link. "What's up, Sugi?"
"Hey, Brett," Sugi's voice replied. "I'll be about five minutes or so if you're down with that. Got a waste tube down here in the shitter next to the kitchen that's not sucking real well. Spilled little piss droplets all over the fuckin' place when someone tried to use it."
"Can't someone else fix it?" Brett asked.
"Nobody else aboard this ship has the experience with zero gravity toilets that I do," Sugi said with a chuckle. "Remember, I spent a lot of time fixing the motherfuckers before our people were nice enough to liberate us from the WestHem Navy."
"That is true," Brett said. "Come as soon as you can, and be sure someone is watching how you fix the damn thing. I don't need my XO floating off all over the ship every time someone clogs a relief tube."
"Fuckin' aye, Brett," Sugi said. "I shouldn't be long."
He signed off. Brett leaned back in his chair and fastened the velcro strap to keep himself from floating away. He was more than a little curious about their orders in this hastily assembled mission but he guessed he would have to wait a few minutes. Working toilets took precedence over orders any day.
"Computer," he said, "give me InfoServe prime bank. SNN feed."
"Coming up," the computer replied.
"Replay the last top of the hour update recorded."
"Replaying," the computer told him.
Not many Martians watched the big three channels. This had been true before the revolution and was even more true after it. Those who did watch it, particularly the news channels, usually did so out of amusement more than anything else. Brett was one such person. He got a perverse sense of enjoyment out of seeing the spin WestHem was trying to put on every defeat or setback they suffered. He had been too busy preparing his ship for deployment over the last three days to even listen to rumors about their "official" explanation for the ass kicking they'd endured by the MPG down on the surface.
The transmission — collected from a communication satellite in Mars orbit by one of the many receivers on the Ballbuster and then recorded — began. Kathleen Condor, the latest anchor for the popular Satellite News Network appeared before him. SNN was widely accepted by Earthlings as the epitome of integrity in news reporting and had enjoyed a greater than forty percent market share of the news audience for more than a generation.
"Good evening," Condor said, looking seriously into the camera. "This is Kathleen Condor, live in Denver to update you on the latest developments on Earth and throughout the solar system.
"Topping our news tonight is the latest from Mars regarding the shocking and surprising pullback of the troops from Operation Martian Hammer — Phase Two. For that we go live to Stephanie Campbell aboard the Martian Hammer flagship, the WSS Nebraska. Stephanie?"