Beyond Mars Crimson Fleet (41 page)

“Such things come at a
very high price, Mr. Trager.”

“Perhaps,” Trager agreed,
“but it’s better to die a free man than to be something else’s
slave!”

“You know,” Winslow
interrupted again, “you sound just like a Martian!”

Wakinyan looked over at
Gris, knowing he had another crisis to face. Richard then quickly
stuck out his hand to Trager. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Trager, and good
luck to you!”

Richard shook his hand,
along with the other two officers. He then turned and marched
towards Gris and the other mutants. As he approached the group, he
realized that his idea of their contribution to the operation did
not sit well with them at all. Within a minute, however, he stood
before them like a guilty man standing before a judge awaiting his
verdict.

The face of each mutant
readily showed displeasure with Wakinyan, unsure of him and his
motives. Even Tara was disappointed, believing she was just fooling
herself about Richard, refusing to look into his mind to see the
truth. The Lakota’s expression was filled with regret over this,
but was steady in courage. Richard waited for Gris to speak first,
however.

“Why Wakinyan? Why did you
volunteer my people in front of everyone to lay those mines?” Gris
toned both angrily and with some cynicism.

Richard sighed. “I know
what your people have endured—how they’ve been treated in the past
by other normals. I know what it is like to be an outcast, and I
didn’t want that to happen again! I didn’t want that to happen to
you!” Richard confessed emotionally.

“Don’t give me that bull!
You’re no better than the rest of them!” Jerome exploded. “You just
want to put a few more of us out of our misery!”

“You’re wrong about that!”
Richard implored. “Don’t you see, this is something you have to
do!”

But Gris just shot him
questioning glance.

“Look, this battle will
always be considered the most crucial moment for this world. And
the Martians some day will ask you: why didn’t you help defend
Valamars from the Earth fleet? And if you don’t have a good excuse,
the next question will be: if you don’t want to defend the planet,
then what the hell are you doing here?” Richard bluntly pointed
out. “How will you answer them?”

Gris reflected on this, but
was at a loss for words. The other mutants were just as unsettled
and stared blankly at each other as none did reply.

“So I see,” Richard
observed, “You can’t!”

Silence filled the air once
more.

“Gris,” Wakinyan offered words from his heart, “this
battle will define us as one people united! When the Martians see
your crews risk their lives along side the Martian fleet, how can
anyone ever speak against you then—and deny your rightful place
here as citizens?”

Wakinyan continued. “Also,
combat creates bonds between people. That’s why the military is
always at the forefront of positive societal change. We will be
working together, living together, and fighting together—while
respecting and relying on each other. And because of that, we will
merge as one world!”

“There is no denying the
danger in all this. Particularly, the task I am asking of you. But
it is of such paramount importance that the plan cannot succeed
without it. And so this transfers to all of you. Your bravery
becomes a major reason for our victory!”

Jerome’s expression began
to change, enlightened by Richard’s views as well as intrigued by
them.

“Finally, there is one
other thing to consider,” Richard alluded to. “The monsters that
murdered your families and mutated to you—have sent one of their
fine fleets to finish the job. I can’t think of a better way to
paid them back, then to make trillions of particles out of
it!”

“He’s telling the truth!”
Tara spoke out in defense of “her knight” as she stepped forward
and in front of him.

Gris was surprised by
Tara’s assertive behavior. He never saw her like this before. The
woman’s face was a mirror of her passion and her steadfast belief
in the Martian leader. Above all, she was not about to back
down.

“How do the rest of you
feel about this?” Jerome quizzed his officers.

Again the mutants glanced
among each other, but it was Martin Pearl who spoke up first.
Unaccustomed to being center stage of things, he naturally grabbed
everyone’s attention.

“I know Wakinyan risked his
life and ships for us! No one else has ever done that before!”
Martin was adamant. “Besides, I lost my whole family because of the
plague. I want them to feel the same agony they caused us! I say,
we do it!”

The other mutants quickly
agreed unanimously.

Gris slowly broke into a
grin, which turned into sudden a laugh. “Wakinyan, you do have a
way with words. Alright, we’re in.”

Richard stuck out his hand. “For all the
people of Valamars!” he vowed sincerely.

Jerome took Richard’s hand
and shook it heartily. “For all the people of Valamars!” Jerome
pledged as well.

* * * * *

It had
taken over an hour and a half to reprogram the cipher scout, but it
had been successfully accomplished. Yet, the chancy procedure had
proved to more perilous than first realized. Both Abner and Captain
Benson had sweated through several heart-pounding minutes as the
device for no reason armed itself and raced to detonation. Yet,
through the cool headedness and technical skills of
Quinton’s
former chief
engineer, the final sequence had just been narrowly avoided by
seconds. It had been no wonder and with great relief that the pair
had happily relinquished the mechanism back into depths of space
after they had finished.

With
their mission thus accomplished, they were picked up by the bigger
Martian ship, which then headed back towards the fleet. As the
vessel approached and then anchored near Valamars and the
collective of Martian vessels, the shuttle was then released for
its rendezvous with the
Crazy
Horse
.

“What the….” Benson loudly
vocalized his confusion as the small craft cleared the ship
tender.

Although Abner was
relaxing in his seat in front of his shutdown instruments, he
turned away and wondered what had so startled the otherwise
collected and cool marine. Curiosity beckoned as the engineer left
his post and came forward to see for himself. The answer was found
shockingly through the craft’s forward windshield: the Martian
fleet was teeming with active.

Beyond the normal tenders
and supply ships moving about, a multitude of shuttles dangerously
zigzagged at high speed in every direction. Their movements gave
urgency to their flight, and everywhere, spacesuited crewmen of
every warship worked feverishly on the outer hulls of the huge
vessels. Particularly around the bows of the ships, the laser
weapons, and engine rooms; the arcing of laser torches burned
constant and brightly like a million candles flickering in the
night. Even some of the civilian craft seemed immersed in this
madness. It was quite a spectacle, but to Captain Benson it left no
doubt, the Martian fleet was gearing-up for war.

“What the hell is going
on?” Abner questioned.

“Beats the crap out of me,”
Benson replied. “Hang on! This is going to be rough!” Benson then
throttled-up the craft and shot into the mass insanity of careening
vessels and quickly vanished within.

* * * * *

Five
minutes later, the shuttle set down in Bay One of the
Crazy Horse
. As the two
men departed the craft, they were amazed to find that the activity
outside the ship was a mere prelude to the massive effort that was
being performed inside.

Shuttles
were being ripped apart by marines and apparently armed with
missile tubes and canisters bolted to their sides and roofs along
with other weaponry. Not surprisingly, the engineers who had
deserted the
Quinton
aided the marines in this task,
but
they were predominately engaged in rewiring the vehicles to make
the deadly weapons operational.

These projectiles were
conceived for one purpose: to kill ships. Each single large tube
sported an individual missile with a massive warhead, while the
canisters held twenty smaller ones. Yet, both require more than a
squad of marines to heave them around into position. There was much
yelling, cursing, sweating, and muscular strain, but through it
all, they toiled relentlessly like a colony of ants.

Both Abner and Benson were
awestruck. Safety was abandoned for time while calamity waited
diligently in the shadows. The missiles were precariously stacked
together in numerous pyramids that were about six feet high. Even
with the precaution of every missile fuse removed and stored
elsewhere, it was a dangerous process—one born out of
desperation.

“About time you two showed
up!” the familiar voice of Major Franks boomed from behind
them.

As the two new arrivals
turned to face the commanding marine officer, Captain Benson
noticed that the rank of “Oak Clusters” was gone from Franks’
collar, each replaced by a single star.

“Major?” Benson was
surprised by the change in rank.

Franks grinned. “It’s
general now, thanks to Wakinyan. Captain, was your mission
successful?”

The stunned Captain Benson,
however, did not utter a single word.

“It’s primed and ready,”
Abner interjected.

“Excellent!” Franks was
pleased. “By the way, Mr. Strephon, you’re desperately needed in
the engine room. Do you think you can find your way
there?”

“I’ll manage,” Abner
strangely felt a part of this unusual crew and battered Martian
warship. He quickly sprinted off to make himself more
useful.

Franks then glanced back to the still stunned
Captain Benson. A big grin broke out across Franks’ face. “You’re
out of uniform, Benson!” the general critiqued the marine.

Benson looked himself over, but did not see anything
wrong.

Franks held out an open hand where two small objects
rested. “Here, put these on,” the commanding marine said.

Benson gazed down upon two subdued eagles that lay
in his Franks’ palm. Slowly it dawned on him that he was being
promoted to colonel.

“Why, Sir?” Benson asked confused.

“According to Wakinyan,” Franks replied, “it’s to
put the Corp on par with the fleet. But personally I think that’s a
lot of BS,” the older marine officer confided. “I think he’s
promoting the people who he feels are leaders—in the hope that some
of them will survive.”

Benson hesitantly removed his old “railroad bars”
and replaced them with the eagles. He wasn’t sure what to make of
this, but if it was true, it meant that there wouldn’t be much of
the fleet left after tomorrow.

“By the
way,” Franks continued, “don’t be surprised at some of the other
promotions Wakinyan made. For example, Gunnery Sergeant Gagarin is
now—
Captain Gagarin
!”

Benson shot Franks another look of incredulity.

“Yup! Did it right in front of me,” Franks
acknowledged as he thought back, but his face became suddenly
twisted in puzzlement. “You know, as Wakinyan pinned those bars on
him, he made some comment about welcoming Gagarin to the—goat-screw
club. I wonder what he meant by that?”

Benson shook his head. “I haven’t a clue, Sir.

Franks turned back to the sight of the shuttles
being refurbished. “Well, let’s get to it. These things are not
going to arm themselves.”

The two marine officers then joined in the task of
transforming the shuttles into weapon platforms.

* * * * *

Captain James Randall’s eyes were transfixed upon
the alien ship as it oscillated in glowing colors. The brilliance
was almost that of a star, and it obscured most of its hull’s
details in blinding illumination. From his vantage-point on the
bridge, it seemed that the aliens had repaired the breach in the
outer skin and were possibly now testing or troubleshooting their
engines, but this was all speculation on his part.

Mesmerized by the
exhibition, he had not noticed Squadron Leader Colette Boussard
standing next to him. She had quietly slipped onto the bridge and
had joined him as a spectator.

“Have you ever seen anything like that before?” she
asked.

“Never in my entire life,” James answered.
“That’s really weird. The breach in the hull just seemed to slowly
disappear.”

“What do you think they’re doing?”

“Who knows? Maybe their giving themselves a tan,”
Randall joked.

“I hate to see what they look like with or without
one,” Boosy’s mind imagined several ghastly and unearthly forms,
prowling the darkened inner depths of the ship. “Does Rich know
about this?” she wondered.

“Yup. Even tried to communicate with them,” James
informed her, “but the conversation was a bit one-sided.”

“What did he say?”

Randall paused for a moment. “Well, he thanked them
for protecting our ships and said they were welcomed here. He said
they were free to leave at anytime. And then he told them that the
Earth Fleet was on its way here, and that we were going to engage
them in battle. If they couldn’t get out, we would protect
them.”