Up at Triad Naval Base, things went just a little differently. Thanks to communications difficulties between Rosewood's command center and the MPs that were deployed throughout the base, it took nearly twenty minutes before all of them got the word that the brief war was over. Several skirmishes occurred in the corridors near the housing area and the ship docks resulting in more than fifteen deaths - all of them MPs, and more than thirty wounded - twenty-five of them MPs. At the control room itself, the MPs here were among the last to hear about the cease-fire. Finally, however, after more than twenty of them were shot down, the proper radio frequency was located and the order was given. The word was quickly passed and their guns fell silent one by one. More relieved than anything else, they dropped their weapons and allowed themselves to be taken into custody. They were handcuffed with plastic ties and stripped of their radio gear. The MPG troops then moved to the control room itself.
They did not have to blow open this door with their primacord. Admiral Rosewood opened it for them voluntarily. A platoon from Charlie Company entered the building, their guns ready for action. They didn't need them. Everyone inside was unarmed and sitting peacefully in their chairs, some of them weeping softly in fear or anger, most stoic. Admiral Rosewood was one of the stoic ones.
"You will all be executed for this you know," he told the troops as they searched everyone, one by one.
"We all have to die sometime, don't we, Admiral," a voice replied. "I'm Captain Evers, the commander of the group that hit this part of the base. You put up a much better defense than we gave you credit for in the planning stages. You should be proud of yourself. You cost me a lot of good men."
Rosewood said nothing. He simply glared at the captain.
Evers was unoffended. He had seen too much in the last hour to be offended by much. He tuned his radio to the command frequency and keyed it up. "Evers here," he said to Colonel Bright, who was still back at the Triad Control Center. "We have the TNB control room secured. We'll start working on gaining control of the security functions."
"Copy," said Bright. "We've restored light and power to the main tunnels. We're offloading all of the passengers on the trains that were trapped at this end and then we'll be sending them back empty to start transferring the wounded. I've got the dip-hoes moving to the platform to help our medics and start transporting them. How many are we talking about from your section?"
"I've got nineteen dead and thirty-three wounded," Evers told him. "We're still getting a count of the MPs but it looks like upwards of seventy dead and almost a hundred wounded."
"Could've been worse I suppose," Bright said with a sigh.
"Yeah," Evers agreed. "We could've lost and had them die for nothing."
Brett Ingram and his group of Martians that were unloading supplies from the Mermaid were as surprised as anyone when the security alarms had activated in response to the condition Red Zebra. Still, they had followed the protocol that was established for such an event, which stated that any ship personnel in the immediate vicinity of their vessel at the time of the alarm would return to their vessel and assist in its individual security. They hadn't done much to assist in the security but those of them that had been in the supply room at the time had come back just seconds before the base computer system automatically closed and locked the docking door, sealing them inside for the duration of the crisis. And so, as the MPG special forces troops were forcing their way through the access tunnels and engaging in battle with the MPs, Brett was sitting on a small chair in the supply room.
Trapped in the ship with he and his offload crew were two security personnel — who's presence were required at all times due to the nuclear warheads on board — and Lieutenant Commander Braxton, the executive officer, who had been overseeing the details of extended docking. They too had been quite confused at first, with the security personnel grumbling about ill-timed drills and Braxton complaining about missing a lunch date with his wife. That confusion came to an end when they scanned through the radio frequencies and happened across the MP force's tactical channel. Upon discovering that Martian troops were invading the base, their grumbling had turned to rage that had quickly been turned upon the six members of the off-load crew. Guns had been pulled and Brett and his people had been ordered into the crew quarters.
"Sit the fuck down there!" Ordered Braxton, pointing at the floor next to the folded-up sleeping racks. "If any one of you green motherfuckers so much as twitches I'm gonna kill you!"
Braxton kept the two security men with him, putting the three of them between the Martians and the hatch. Their guns remained in their hands while they monitored the developing situation on their com-links. Brett was able to overhear enough information to gather that the MPG had attacked the base in force and were overwhelming the base security teams.
What the hell was the meaning of it? he wondered silently, trying to figure things out. Obviously the attack was related to the events going on in the capital but what was the purpose of attacking TNB? Whatever it was he was very fearful as he watched the faces of his captors. They were scared stiff and they were holding guns on them. As reports of company strength incursions moving towards the docks surfaced, they became even more nervous.
Finally came the order for all WestHem forces to surrender.
"Surrender?" Braxton yelled in disbelief. "What the fuck are they talking about? Surrender the base to greenies?"
"What's gonna happen to us now?" one of the security men enquired. "Are the greenies gonna kill us all?"
"What about the ship?" asked the other one. "What about the torpedoes on board?"
Braxton ignored their questions, fixing his eyes on Brett and the others sitting next to him. His gaze was murderous as he raised his pistol and pointed it at them. He began to walk forward.
"Your fuckin' people did this," he said, his finger firmly on the trigger of the gun. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill every fuckin' one of you green bastards!"
To Brett the 3mm hole at the end of the pistol looked as big as the tunnels the MPG had used to infiltrate the base. He swallowed nervously, staring back into the furious madness of Braxton's face.
"Sir," he finally said, fighting to keep his voice calm and reasonable. "We are WestHem naval personnel. We are not MPG members. If you kill us you'll be committing cold-blooded murder and you'll be court-martialed for it when this is over. Don't do anything rash. We didn't attack the base. We're spacers, just like you are."
"You're fuckin' greenies!" Braxton yelled, stepping closer and training the pistol directly on Brett's forehead. "How dare you say you're just like me! You are lowlife pieces of shit and your people just killed hundreds of my people. You fuckin' terrorists!"
"Commander," Brett said, "we may be of Martian descent, but we are WestHem naval personnel. We are not enemy soldiers. We are not terrorists. If you kill us you will not be a hero, you'll go to prison for the rest of your life. Think this through, sir!"
"Commander," said one of the security men, who looked even more nervous than Brett felt, if that were possible. "He's right. They may be greenies but they're spacers in our navy. You can't kill them."
"C'mon, commander," The other security man chimed in. "Put the gun down. Think about what you're doing."
Braxton took a deep breath, his hand trembling a little on the barrel of the pistol but not wavering in its aim. "You're the little green prick that's always making me look bad in front of the captain," he said. "I bet you just love what's going on here, don't you? I bet you just love that your terrorist buddies have taken over this base."