"The cameras," Gravely barked. "In the tunnels. What do they show?"
"Nothing sir," Smack answered. "The power is out in them. The power supply for the tunnels comes from Triad, not from TNB."
"Those green sons-of-bitches," Gravely proclaimed, now beginning to feel fear himself. He thought for a second, wondering how bad this situation was. Greenie troops were moving through the access tunnels towards the main base. Why? What could they possibly do if they got there? A terrorist attack of some sort? How many of them were there? There couldn't be that many, could there? Where could you hide a large number of troops on Triad after all?
"What should we do, sir?" Smack asked.
"Move all available MPs to the three tunnel access points. Give them weapons free status and tell them that Martian infiltrators may try to break through. Send the bulk of them to the main personnel tunnel. That's right outside here and is the best access to the rest of the base. Alert TIRT and have them deploy with all of the heavy weapons they have." TIRT was the terrorist incident response team, a platoon of specially trained and equipped MPs kept on hand for just such an incident. Well, maybe not this sort of incident. No one had ever considered the possibility of an armed number of infiltrators attacking the base through the access tunnels.
"Yes sir," Smack replied, calmer now that someone else was calling the shots. He went to work.
Gravely sat down at an Internet terminal and activated it, giving his authorization code. "This is Commander Gravely," he told the computer. "On my authority set base to condition red zebra. All personnel to GQ stations."
"Order confirmed," the terminal replied. "Initiating condition red zebra."
Red zebra was the code for occupation of the city of Triad by enemy forces. Even during the Jupiter War it had not been initiated. All over the base doors between sections buzzed and slammed shut, latching securely and trapping people in their work areas or hallways between doors. Only MP personnel would be able to get through them and only after their IDs were confirmed both by the security computer and by visualization by command staff. The base was locked down tight as a drum.
"Get me Admiral Rosewood," Gravely told the computer next, referring to the commander of the naval base.
Rosewood was on the screen almost immediately. Obviously, when his door had slammed shut on him, trapping him with his secretary in his office and when the announcement came over his screen letting him know that his base was now on the highest level of alert it had ever experienced, he became a bit curious as to what was going on. A quick check revealed the source of the order. He could have instantly revoked it, and figured that someone had made a career-ending mistake, but he decided to see what the situation was first.
"Commander Gravely," he said, staring from the screen. "Did you order a condition red zebra?"
"Yes sir," Gravely answered. "I did." He then quickly explained the chain of events that led him to do this.
"That's absolutely insane!" Rosewood said after hearing the story. "Are you sure about this?"
"As sure as I can be, sir. I already saw the alarm displays on my screen. Sir, our tunnels have been breached and I have every reason to believe that MPG troops, unknown in number, are in those tunnels for unknown intentions. They do seem to have the ability to breach the doors when they wish however." He then explained the steps he had taken so far.
Rosewood seemed deep in a troubled thought. "Gravely," he asked, "what the hell would greenie troops want to attack this base for? Why would they risk the casualties it would produce?"
"I don't know, sir," Gravely answered. "I only responded to the information that..."
"Holy shit," Rosewood interrupted. "The ships in dock!"
"Excuse me, sir?" Gravely didn't see what that had to do with anything.
"Jesus. Mars and Earth are now nearly as far apart as they can get. Whenever that happens we move a large portion of our ships to Triad in case of trouble with the EastHems during this time. We have fifteen Owls and nine Californias in dock right now in addition to the pre-positioned container ships and all of the escorts. All of the personnel that man those ships are on this base right now. If they can take the base, they can deny us nearly a third of our naval forces. A third!"
Gravely stared blankly. "You don't really think..." he started.
"Why the hell else would they be attacking us?" Rosewood asked. "Your precautions should be enough to stop them, I hope, but send the TIRT to the dock entrances in case the Martians break out. I'm gonna have the crews report to their ships and scramble the fuck off of this base until this thing is settled. But you need to give me some time to do that and you need to allow ship personnel through the check points. Can you instruct the computers to do that?"
"Yes sir," he replied. "But it'll take a couple of minutes."
"Get moving on it. And call up all off duty MPs and have them report to either the docks or the gates."
"Yes sir. Should I..."
Alarms blared in the room, making everyone peer at their terminals.
"What the hell was that?" Rosewood asked.
Gravely looked at his screen and paled. "Sir," he told the admiral, "the tunnel doors into the base have just been breached."
"Which one?"
"All of them," he answered, fighting back panic. "At almost the same instant."
"Are your men in place?" Rosewood demanded, catching a little of the panic.
He consulted his screen briefly. "No sir. Most of them are still trying to get through the checkpoints. I have fifty men spread around the three tunnels with the heaviest concentration at the main."
"Shit," Rosewood said. "I hope that's enough."
Like before, most of the action took place at the main entrance. The primacord was detonated and a large hole was blown in the door. The MPG troops were deployed well back from the entrance, backs against the tunnel wall, bodies against the floor. The minute that the door was breached, automatic weapons fire began pouring in from the MPs stationed outside. Most of the shots simply ricocheted harmlessly off of the walls but some of them found their marks in the crowded tunnel. It was inevitable. Cries of "Medic!" began echoing over the tactical net.
The MPG machine gunners opened up, pouring fire through the hole as did the troops who's M-24s were equipped with grenade launchers. Their fire was marginal at best since they couldn't really see their targets too well, but some of the bullets found their marks and some of the grenades caused injury or death by exploding luckily near a deployed MP. Still the MPGs knew the same thing that the WestHem marines down in Eden had found out the hard way. They were vulnerable in the tunnel since they were pinned into a narrow corridor. Here the difference that kept them from being routed out and pushed back to the loading platform was the fact that the doors were not completely missing. There was still solid steel to either side of the hole that had been blasted, allowing cover and a firing position for a limited amount of soldiers. Using this small place of safety to best advantage, men were stationed there to keep the approaches clear of MPs. But still, it quickly became clear that an easy break out was simply not in the cards. There were too many MPs out there and, though they didn't have combat goggles or combat computer support, they were able to lay down a field of fire that was accurate and concentrated enough to make a casualty out of anyone who tried to push out. The invasion of the base would not take place as planned right here.
At the south freight tunnel things were going easier. Once the door was breached the fire was sporadic and light from the opposition on the other side. They had not had a chance to deploy in any significant numbers. The special forces platoons that made up bravo company pushed forward to the entrance and poured machine gun fire and grenades out into the deployed MPs with much greater accuracy and effect. Squads began to pour through the hole into the freight storage and unloading platform beyond it. Here the training that they had been engaging in on the inside of the MPG base — training that they had not understood while they were undertaking it — began to make sense and show its effectiveness in the fight. Like a well-oiled machine, man after man passed through the doorway and rolled either to the left or the right, their eyes searching to acquire targets, their hands and arms adjusting their rifles and than firing at muzzle-flashes and moving figures. There were some casualties taken of course but the sheer speed with which they exited the tunnel kept them to a minimum.