Belting nodded and then went on. "The three Panama class, pre-positioned ships have been inventoried and their contents downloaded to General Jackson. As soon as feasible I will undock those ships and start sending the landing craft down to the surface for disbursement. This will of course be done at the General's discretion."
"How long until you have the people to start doing that?" Whiting asked.
"Should be soon," he answered. "It depends on the cooperation of the Martian citizens that were part of the navy. They will be the ones who know how to fly those landing craft and put them down where they're needed."
"You'll be given first crack at all volunteers with naval experience," Jackson put in. "I'll formulate the list and send it to your office hourly when the recruits start signing up."
"I understand," Belting said to the General. "And hopefully I'll be able to make use of many of them. But without the people that were captured at TNB, I won't need any of them. My greatest need is going to be current naval personnel. If Interdiction is going to work, they're going to have to be the backbone of it."
"And that brings me to the issue of POWs.
"We are still sorting through the personnel that have been captured at TNB. As you are aware, there were more than seventeen thousand of them. As of my last briefing, which took place three hours ago, we are fairly certain we have identified and released all of the civilian workers at the base. The majority of them, in fact, were probably able to vote yesterday.
"The military personnel are being held in the housing areas and we are slowly sorting through them one by one. The WestHem citizens are being placed on ships and transported down to the POW camps that are being set up. The Martian citizens that are active naval personnel are being sent to separate parts of the housing complex and are still, for the time being, kept under guard and treated as enemy POWs." He saw the look of distaste on the faces of Whiting and the legislative members.
"I understand your misgivings about this," he quickly put in. "I don't like it either. But under the circumstances it seemed a wise move. Until we establish the loyalty, or lack thereof, of these people to Mars, we must assume that they are WestHems."
"We understand," Laura said. "But please facilitate this process. It's bad enough that these people were not allowed to vote. Don't treat them as criminals any longer than you need to."
"I intend to begin making contact with the ones we have identified later today," Belting said. "I am developing a list of likely candidates for Interdiction duty. I will talk to these people personally."
"How many people capable of command have you identified so far?" Jackson asked.
"Well," Belting gave a crooked smile, "the requirements are rather stringent you know; more than three years service on the bridge of an Owl; and we've only gone through a little more than a third of the prisoners."
"How many?" Jackson repeated.
"Just three so far."
"Well," Laura said brightly, "three is better than none now, isn't it?"
Belting shrugged. "In any case, I will begin talking with these people shortly. In fact I have a 10:30 shuttle to Triad this morning and will make contact as soon as I arrive. If these people agree to go along with Interdiction I'm going to need their help picking crews. There's a lot to do and little time to do it in."
"It sounds like you have things well in hand, Mr. Belting," Laura said, and then paused, as if puzzled. "You know," she said, looking at him, "it just doesn't seem right calling you Mr. Belting. How does Admiral Belting sound to you?"
"Excuse me?" Belting said, confused.
Laura grinned. "I am proposing you be named commanding Admiral of the Martian Navy. You will given all the rights and privileges of such a rank and you will be subordinate only to General Jackson."
Belting was stunned. Admiral? Commanding Admiral?
"I second the nomination," General Jackson grinned.
"Well, Admiral?" Laura asked. "Do you accept?"
"Uh..." Belting stared at them, not knowing what to say. After years of disgrace, after being labeled a traitor, after living in the slums off of tax dollars, they wanted to make him an admiral? "I accept," he finally said. "And I thank you for this honor."
"It's no honor," Jackson said. "You've earned it and there's no one else on the planet as qualified for the job as you are."
"You will of course have to be confirmed by the legislature." Laura said. "Those of us them that are true Martians anyway. But I don't foresee any problems with that and in any case that is for after the success of Interdiction. Until then the very existence of the Martian Navy is to be kept a secret. That is vital to Interdiction, is it not?"
Belting nodded. "Yes."
"Then for now, you will be appointed commanding Admiral in lieu of full confirmation. Congratulations, Admiral. Do your best."
"I will," Admiral Belting, near tears promised. "I will."
Matt Mendez and Jeff Creek were sitting in Jeff's living room, both smoking cigarettes and both sipping from their first Fruity of the day. On the Internet screen at the front of the room the MarsGroup main channel was tuned in, the reporters still talking about the speech Governor Whiting had given and the ramifications of the vote that had been taken the day before. Belinda, who had already consumed three bottles of Fruity this fine morning, was hovering nearby, clucking her teeth at what she was hearing.
"The people on this fuckin' planet are crazy as that bitch Whiting," she was saying sadly, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers. "Don't they know what they just done? Don't they know what them fuckin marines is gonna do to us when they get here?"
"Shut your ass," Jeff said to her, irritated. "We know what we're getting into."
"You don't know shit," she said. "She promises you you're gonna get a job or some shit like that and you vote to have them marines come down here and kill us all. Didn't you hear what those WestHem fucks said last night?"
"They're talking out their ass," Matt spoke up, just as irritated with his friend's wife — who had been one of the minute percentage to give a no on the independence vote — as Jeff was. "As long as people stick together and fight them, we'll win. Don't you want to be free?"
"Free," she scoffed, taking another large drink. "There ain't no such thing in this universe. That bitch used you two and the rest of this goddamn planet to set herself up as a fuckin dictator. You ever think of that?"
"I guess it's just a chance we'll have to take," Jeff said, letting loose a loud and extremely foul fart into the room. He took a drag off his cigarette and then turned back to the screen, where a field reporter was standing outside the entrance to the Shilling Munitions headquarters in New Pittsburgh.
"Obviously this factory here," the reporter was telling the camera, "is one of those that Governor Whiting and the interim government will need to get operating at full capacity if we're going to be successful in fighting off the WestHem marines when they get here. But today confusion reigned as hundreds of unemployed showed up looking for jobs while the WestHem management structure showed up and tried to take charge as normal in an environment that is far from what they left last week before the vote. It is reported that the Martian factory workers and security guards forcibly ejected all of the managers from the building, telling them that they were no longer welcome. As to just who is running the operation at this point, that is completely unknown. In the meantime, thousands of patriotic Martians are waiting patiently and not so patiently out front for their opportunity to work here. From what we've heard, this same scene is taking place at industrial and agricultural facilities all over the planet in the wake of the independence vote."