Belting smiled again. "Of course, commander," he told him. "Anything you want."
Salta, Argentina Sector — Southern WestHem
May 28, 2146
Lieutenant Eric Callahan and his platoon of marines had received their orders the previous day. They, along with the rest of the 314th Armored Cavalry Regiment, were being redeployed as part of Operation Martian Hammer, the operation to retake the planet Mars from the greenie terrorists that had assumed control of it. Since the word had come down the entire regiment had been in a constant state of motion as they prepared to ship more than 3000 men up to Departure for deployment onto the transport ships. Thankfully only the men, their bio-suits, and their light weapons needed to go up. The brigade's heavy equipment — the helicopters, the tanks, the APCs, the artillery guns — would all be staying behind as it would be worthless on the surface of Mars. Special extraterrestrial tanks, APCs, hovers, and self-propelled artillery pieces were being moved from warehouses and storage ships in orbit to replace them.
Callahan and his men had been at the Marine airport for the past twelve hours now, not so patiently awaiting their turn to board an aircraft for the two-hour flight to Buenos Aires, where the spaceport was located. They had spent most of that time in the waiting areas watching Internet broadcasts from the big three. Occasional MarsGroup blurbs were shown as well but they were carefully edited shots, meant to inflame the WestHem populace, not present a fair and impartial analysis of the Martian situation. Needless to say the marines — Callahan included — were outraged by the reports of what had occurred on the planet, particularly the reports about their brother marines, the fast action division.
It was said that the rogue elements of the MPG, who had captured EMB with the help of that traitorous bastard Sega, had already executed hundreds of soldiers, lining them up and mowing them down with machine gun fire and tank shells. These reports came from eyewitnesses who had managed to escape the base and somehow transmit their accounts over a side channel of the Internet.
"No one is exactly sure just how many of the marines on the base have been killed," a reporter, speaking live from Denver, explained to the audience, "but it is feared that the intention is to eliminate all of them to prevent an uprising."
"Motherfuckers," one of Callahan's sergeants spat, his eyes glaring murderously at the screen. "I can't wait until we're there, you know what I'm saying. I can't wait to smoke me some greenie ass."
"No mercy for those bastards," a corporal agreed. "No mercy. I say we put every last one of them down."
Callahan said nothing. He was too tired to be enraged any further. He sincerely hoped however, that the greenie forces wouldn't surrender in the next few days as was being predicted my most of the government and military officials that were being interviewed. He wanted to smoke some greenie ass as well and he wanted to do it by leading an actual armored assault, just like an ACR was supposed to fight. There would be no marching around in the mountains and trees, picking at an enemy that hid like a coward. They would be pitting tanks against tanks, APCs against entrenched infantry troops. And since they would outnumber the greenies by more than four to one it would be a pushover battle, something that would offer some valuable experience that would be helpful in the event a real war ever occurred with the EastHem fascists.
EastHem Capital Building, London
May 28, 2146
The Martian Declaration of Independence was a short document, less than a page in length. It contained no flowery speech, no legalese terms, in fact very few adjectives of any kind. It was a simple statement proclaiming that the Planet of Mars had forcibly broken ties with WestHem and now considered itself a free and sovereign nation, with all of the rights and privileges that went along with such a thing. It asked that the two governments of EastHem and WestHem immediately recognize the Planet Mars as such and that they publicly acknowledge it. The document was fingerprint signed by Governor Laura Whiting, the loyal members of the legislature, and General Jackson. Attached to it as a separate file were the certified results of the Independence vote. The declaration and the file had been digitized and sent over an unencrypted frequency to both EastHem and WestHem.
The upper echelon of the EastHem government had been following the events on Mars very closely over the past two weeks. They had watched with glee as the reports had come in regarding the takeover of the planet and the capture of a third of the WestHem navy at anchor. A certain trepidation had fallen over them when they'd received the text of Governor Whiting's address the night of the capture however. She had told the solar system that in order for their revolution to succeed that they would have to engage in trade with EastHem. She had admitted that on an open channel for all the people of both worlds to hear. That had forced the powers-that-be of EastHem into a frenzy as they tried to figure out how to respond to this.
Though EastHem was portrayed by the WestHem media as a fascist dictatorship, in truth the government there was very similar to the government of WestHem. Primarily EastHem was a capitalistic society in which huge corporations controlled the vast majority of the wealth. The official head of the government was a ruling council of nine representatives. Like on WestHem, these politicians were merely puppets for the corporate money that had purchased them and their votes.
Anthony Billings was the chief executive council member. A handsome, charismatic, fifty-five year old Londoner, he was owned quite thoroughly by A&C Hydrogen, the biggest producer of fuel in the hemisphere. He had called a special meeting of the council to discuss a matter of great importance in regards to the Martian situation.
"My fellow councilmembers," he said to his colleagues. "Forgive me for pulling you from your offices in the middle of a workday but I have received word from Mr. Jennings..." he pointed to Kelsey Jennings, the EastHem national security adviser, "... that an encrypted message from the Martian governor has arrived just thirty minutes ago. This is a message that has great bearing on the questions that we have been debating since the Martian revolution took place and one that needs a quick decision."
"Is she asking for trade?" asked Barbara Cassidy, another senior member of the council. Kiev Food Products, the agricultural giant of EastHem, owned her. Her sponsors, and therefore herself as well, were quite eager to participate in trade with Mars as it would easily increase their profits by more than a hundred percent.
"I will play the message for all of us to see in just a moment," Billings replied. "We will then open a discussion on the matter. I have taken the liberty of inviting Mr. Jennings to this meeting as well as General Hans, the chairman of our joint chiefs." He nodded towards a uniformed general sitting at his left. Like most of the EastHem military leaders, he was German in ancestry. "Both of these gentlemen possess some expertise that we will need in order to decide the next step in this process. And now, with no further ado, I will play the message for you."
He spoke a few words to the computer terminal, which caused the lights to dim down and the large view screen at the front of the room to come to life. Everyone watched attentively as Laura Whiting's face, a face that looked tired and drawn from the recent stress that the woman had undergone, filled the screen.
"Greetings, honored ruling council of EastHem," the image said emotionlessly. "By now I'm sure you're aware of the recent events on the planet Mars and I trust that you have received our declaration of independence — a document that was sent out two hours before this message — and had a chance to look it over. I am also confident that you have been monitoring the news broadcasts that have been generated, including the one that portrayed my Independence Day speech to the planet.