"All right, folks," Jan said, looking them over. "Looks like we're ready to roll. I don't have time for any inspirational speeches or extended briefings so I'll give it to you straight. The MPG is in the process of capturing Eden and the entire planet of Mars from WestHem control. What we are doing is an act of treason. Right now we have some combat troops that are trying to pen the WestHem marines inside of their base to keep them from opposing our capture. They're going to need help badly in a few minutes. We'll probably be forced to fire on some of those marines in order to prevent them from breaking out. This will be seen as pre-meditated murder by WestHem authorities. Anyone who does not wish to participate in this action, put your weapons down and step to the rear."
There was a stunned silence for a moment as everyone comprehended what they were being told. Lisa had to run it through her circuits a few times to get it to clear. Capturing Eden? Capturing the entire planet Mars? Firing on WestHem marines? She waited for the punch line, concluding that it had to be a joke of some sort. No punch line came however. Jan was apparently serious. "Holy shit," she muttered, feeling a strange surge of fear and determination running through her. If there was going to be a fight to free Mars, she was going to be a part of it. She did not drop her weapon. Neither did anyone else.
"All right then," Jan said, smiling. "1st reserve platoon. Let's move it out! Triple time!" With that he turned and began jogging towards the door. His platoon of twenty-five men and women fell in behind him.
Lieutenant Rod Espinoza, a four-year member of the MPG, had been given the dubious honor of leading the Macarthur Avenue defenders. A simple platoon leader whose civilian job was head of security at a small office building, he rose to the occasion quite nicely despite his lack of previous combat experience and his usual reliance on his company commander for guidance. He had divided his forty troops into three sections. One squad was covering the south pedestrian entrance, one was covering the north, and two were covering the larger truck terminal in between. On the orders of Major Dealerman, these squads had held back, out of sight of the marine MP positions that guarded each entrance platform. Though they had aroused the curiosity of many a pedestrian walking by their shadowed forms - and more than one off-duty marine - the guards in their booths remained oblivious to their presence. That was about to change.
"Espinoza," Major Dealerman's voice told him over the command link, "move your people in and secure the platforms. Take those guards out without gunfire if possible. Disarm them and send them back into the base."
"Copy," he said simply.
"Information is that the marines are going to try a breakout within a few minutes. Once the platforms are secure, pull back to covering positions and get ready to drive them back in. Weapons are free, wartime rules of engagement are in effect."
"I understand, Major," he said assuredly, hiding the worry he felt. "What about reinforcements?" he asked. "We're pretty heavy on ammo but we're not gonna last long if they're determined."
"Reinforcements are on the way," Dealerman told him. "We've scrapped together some mixed units of combatants and non-combatants. Put them to use as you see fit, but use them. They're all trained in weapons and tactics."
"Yes sir," he said a little dubiously.
"We'll get you some armor out there as soon as it's available. Don't let those marines out of that base. The entire operation depends on keeping them penned."
"I understand," he said.
As soon as the transmission ended he began giving orders to his squad leaders. Less than thirty seconds later, his men began to move in.
The pedestrian stations were not terribly busy at this time of the day but still, there were upwards of fifty people, most of them working their way through the security checkpoints, at each one. At the truck entrance things were a little better. Since delivery trucks were a phenomenon of the night on Mars, this platform was virtually deserted. Each one of the stations was guarded by a four-man team of military police, each of whom was armed with a sidearm and an M-24 without combat goggle enhancement. Their command posts were glass-encased booths equipped with computer terminals and communications gear.
When the MPG troops stormed the stations, the squad leaders shouting at everyone to get down, one of the MPs at the north station reached for his rifle out of instinct. He was pummeled by rifle fire and dropped like a rock. The rest of the guards at that particular station, seeing this, immediately threw their hands up in surrender. At the other stations, all of the guards surrendered peacefully once they saw what they were up against.
"Civilians and non-uniformed personnel," shouted the squad leaders at each place, "off the platform and out of the area, right now! Move it!"
They moved it, rushing in a near panic down Macarthur Avenue and disappearing out of sight. The MPs were quickly disarmed and pointed in the direction of the base. "Get in there and stay in there," they were told. "Tell your commanders that we have the entrances guarded and that anyone trying to get out will be fired upon."
The MPs wasted no time in sprinting through the gates and down the entrance corridor. All three groups of them reached the main avenue of the base at approximately the same time. It was only the three that had guarded the north entrance, the entrance closest to the MPG base, that encountered marines massing for a march.
Colonel Frank Forrest was the commander in charge of the brigade that Sega had tasked with capturing the MPG base. He and most of his men were assembled on the exercise lawn undergoing final weapons checks and radio calibration prior to marching out. The men were in neat, precise military rows on the green grass, lined up by platoon and squad. Sergeants and lieutenants circulated among them, making last minute inspections and giving inspirational speeches. When the three MPs, stripped of their weapons and red-faced with terror, came bursting into the columns, they were very nearly shot by more than one startled soldier.
"What the fuck is going on here?" an angry sergeant screamed at the three men. "Corporal," he told the highest ranking of them, "you'd better have a goddamn good explanation for this!"
"Sir," he said breathlessly, coming to a partial state of attention, "greenies just stormed our checkpoint! They took our guns and sent us back in here!"
"Greenies?" the sergeant yelled. "What the fuck are you talking about, boy?"
He managed to spit out the story in a coherent fashion, coherent enough that the sergeant immediately brought him to his lieutenant where the story was repeated. From there they went to the captain of that particular company and from there, to the Major that commanded the battalion. Ten minutes after the storming of the guard posts, the three MPs were finally led before Colonel Forrest himself, by which point they had calmed enough to tell their tale without stuttering or repeating themselves.
"How many of them were there?" Forrest asked, only a little worried at the thought of armed greenies at his point of egress.
"Twenty or thirty," they all agreed, their minds wildly exaggerating their memories.
Forrest nodded. "And they were armed with M-24s?"