"Governor, I'm not sure that I understand..."
"I asked you," Laura said, raising her voice a tad, "if it was possible for your factory to turn out one hundred thousand model 459 military biosuits for the coming war. I don't give a damn if it's economically feasible or not. Your factory, as of today, is Martian property dedicated to the betterment of the Martian people. Profits and economic feasibility should be the absolute last things on your mind. I do not ever want to hear you mention such things again. We are in a state of war, Mr. Yee. War! We need biosuits to outfit our soldiers so we can fight this war. What I want to know is, economics aside, is your factory capable of turning out this number of suits? Is it physically possible?"
Yee seemed quite shocked by her words, but he answered her. "If we are able to obtain the needed parts, and if we put on an extra four hundred workers or so, yes, Governor, we can have the suits available by the time the WestHems arrive."
"Good," Whiting said, her voice returning to normal. "Do whatever you need to do. Hire all of the workers you need. We have millions of unemployed on this planet you know. Get the supplies you need to get sent to you without worrying about cost. This is common sense government and cost is not an issue. Production is the issue. This is a needed supply and common sense dictates that it should be produced no matter what the cost. So do it! If any of the suppliers have a problem with sending things to you, let us know immediately and we will deal with the problem. Do you understand, Mr. Yee?"
"Yes, Governor," he answered, looking like he'd just gone a round with a heavyweight. "I do."
"Good," Laura replied. She turned to Jackson. "It looks like you can count on one hundred thousand 459s, General."
Jackson suppressed a smile. "Thank you, Governor. And you too, Mr. Yee."
"As for your other requests," Whiting went on, "I obviously do not have representatives of FlightCorp, Dow Chemical, or Shilling munitions here today. Those were Earth based corporations as you know and are probably going through a bit of a shake-up right now. I will touch bases with someone over at those corporations tomorrow and make sure they are getting back into productivity. I will discuss my needs with them and..." she glanced at Yee, who was blushing, "... and persuade them gently if needed."
"That will be fine, Governor," Jackson told her.
"Okay," she said, "next subject. Triad Naval Base. Mr. Belting, you are in charge of that particular phase of this war. What can you tell me?"
Matthew Belting was fifty-eight years old and a third generation Martian of American descent. He had served more than sixteen years in the WestHem Navy, the bulk of it aboard Owls and their predecessors. He was an expert in stealth space warfare and had achieved the highest rank of any Martian in history in the WestHem armed services; that of Lieutenant Commander. During the Jupiter War he'd served as executive officer on board an Owl that had been responsible for the destruction of two heavy battleships and four support ships. When the Owl in question was finally cornered and battered with laser fire, crippling it and killing it's captain, Belting had assumed command. With no hope of anything but destruction of the ship and its surviving forty-two crewmen, he'd surrendered the ship, subjecting himself and his crew to POW status. They'd spent the remainder of the war in a POW camp in Berlin. For this decision Belting was given treatment by WestHem similar to what General Sega was now experiencing. He'd been labeled a traitor, a coward, and worse by the media. Upon being released at the end of the war he was court-martialed in a staged, televised show trial and found guilty, spending three years in a federal prison outside of Phoenix. Upon release he'd returned to Mars, his homeland, his name forever in the history books as a cowardly traitor.
Belting had lived in the ghettos of New Pittsburgh for the next twelve years, drinking alcohol, smoking marijuana, and living among the jobless as a ghetto dweller. Five years ago when a firm plan began to come together for the revolution, Jackson had contacted Belting. Jackson had felt the man up for more than six months, satisfying himself that Belting could be trusted and that he still possessed the expertise he once had. When he was certain the time was right, he'd casually asked him if he felt like planning a little 'operation' that may or may not take place in the future.
Since then Belting had been a welcome though secret part of Jackson's staff. He'd taken to his part of it with vigor, researching modern naval techniques and tactics fanatically. He was perhaps the most knowledgeable authority on space warfare in existence. Though the Earthlings had convicted him of incompetence and had cussed his name so much since the Jupiter War that they now believed their own lies, Matt Belting was quite possibly the man who might insure victory in the coming conflict.
He looked at the Governor, the woman who, despite his reputation and record, had always treated him with respect and had always sought after his advice in regards to naval strategy. He would have flown an Owl on a suicide mission for her.
"The operations on Triad are going very well, Governor," he answered, sipping out of his own coffee. "Colonel Bright's men have been of great assistance to me in securing the base and inventorying its holdings. You already have been briefed on the numbers and variety of ships we have captured there, so I will not go into that unless you wish me to."
"You needn't bother, Mr. Belting," Laura said.
"Okay. All of the combat ships, with the exception of one, were captured in a combat-ready state. This means they were fully armed and fueled. The exception is an Owl, the Mermaid to be exact, which had just made port hours before Red Grab took place. In that case the only thing missing is propellant for the engines and masking system; something that can be rectified rather quickly. And of course, all of the ships are minus basic consumables, although again, the replacement of this is a minor affair.
"The fuel bunkers at the base are nearly full. Apparently there was a delivery of fuel less than a month ago. We have a total of one hundred and sixteen million tons of liquid hydrogen, which is enough propellant for two month's worth of sustained combat operations including long term Owl deployment. However, as General Jackson pointed out, if we're going to go to war for a length of time, we're going to need more.
"The consumables stock for the base is a little lower but that is not of concern. We have enough for another two weeks and those stocks can be replaced once the agricultural industry gets itself back together.
"Weapons stocks are more than I could have hoped for as far as quantity. We have over six hundred nuclear torpedoes onboard the ships and in storage. The problem is that while the base was under siege, the base security personnel wiped the programming for them. We will be unable to detonate them or even launch them as they are now."
"Will we be able to use those torpedoes?" Whiting asked, concerned. The torpedoes were a vital part of the planned Operation Interdiction.
Yes indeed," Belting said. "We just need to make new interfaces for them. SpaceLab Corporation on Triad manufactures the torpedoes. We can just have the people that work there make another six hundred detonator computers and then have them send some people over to install them on the torpedoes. Like every other industry here on Mars, it should not be a problem if they get themselves together and get to work now that their Earthling bosses are gone. However if Interdiction is going to work, it has to be initiated within ten days, fourteen at the most. I suggest you contact SpaceLab as soon as you can and get them moving on this. We will need a minimum of eighty interfaces installed in the torpedoes by that time."
Laura made a note of that. "I'll contact them first thing in the morning," she promised. "I'll make sure you have what you need, one way or the other."