Ian Douglas - Semper Mars: Book One of the Heritage Trilogy

S EMPER M ARS

B OOK O NE OF THE H ERITAGE T RILOGY

Ian Douglas

v1.0 (2011.05)

C ONTENTS

Christ, CJ! You cant let them do this to us!

This wasnt the first time the Marines had ventured into

Hows it working now? Garroway asked, slipping into the seat

Kaitlin Garroway took the second-floor door out of Herb Simon

Sergeant Gary Bledsoe, USMC, stood at his sandbag-encircled post on

Snakebite, this is Basket. Excalibur. I say again, Excalibur.

All right, people! Colonel Lloyd bellowed. Listen up! We got

Kaitlin Garroway peered out the cabin window at a sky

I never thought Id see the day, Garroway said, when

The last pale glow of the sunset had long since

It was just past midnight, the time of the day

Most of the Marines in the barracks area were asleep.

I talked to Doc Casey, Garroway told the others at

So, you got your lines down? Garroway asked. It was

It had been eight days since Kaitlin had seen Yukio,

According to the data displayed on the seatback screen, the

It was, Garroway thought, one of the oddest-looking marches in

Mark Garroway watched his daughters face on the Mars cats

The president looked a lot older now than he had

The Star Eagle Michael E. Thornton, a single-stage-to-orbit SCRAMjet transport,

So, Mark Garroway said in what hed intended to be

Cheyenne Mountain, Shepard, Colonel Dahlgren said, peering into the telescopic

Theyd broken out of the narrow canyon that stretched across

Thirty hours after the MMEFs triumphant return to Mars Prime,

Down! Caswell cried, throwing herself facedown into the sand. Were

Kaitlin was on the floor in the den playing chess

Marine Lieutenant Kaitlin Garroway walked through the automatic doors of

2039

P ROLOGUE

Monday, 6 June

Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (CJCS)

The Pentagon, Washington, DC

0950 hours EDT

Christ, CJ! You cant let them do this to us!

General Montgomery Warhurst teetered between radically opposing strategies, storming and pleading. The five-star admiral seated behind the broad and brightly polished oak desk before him was not only his commanding officer, but his friend. He and Admiral Charles Jordan Gray went way back. Theyd been middies together at the Naval Academy, Warhurst in the Class of 08, Gray in the Class of 07. Since their postings to the five-sided squirrel cage, theyd attended one anothers social affairs, had barbecues in each others backyards, and shared the same wry disdain for Beltway politics. For them, the old Marine-Navy rivalry was a seal on their friendship, banter and laughing bluster over a couple of beers.

But, by God, Warhurst wasnt going to let them kill the Corps, wasnt going to let C. J. Gray kill the Corps, not if he had one thin, ragged breath.

Gray gave him a sad smile. Whats the matter, Monty? Trying to save your job?

Thats not funny. I may be commandant of the United States Marine Corps, but every Marine is a rifleman first. Id resign in an instant if it would change this. You know that. Id give my life for the Corps, CJ. I goddamn would.

The smile vanished. Jesus, Monty, I know how you feel, but

Do you? Warhurst gestured at the four-meter flatscreen dominating the wall behind Grays desk. The display repeated in hand-high letters the document called up by the admirals wrist-top. The words HR378637: The Unified Military Act showed at the top of the neatly formatted document in punch-to-the-stomach bold. The BBsve been whittling away at us for years now, cutting our appropriations until were damn near running on empty. Now its this.

Warhurst stopped himself. He was breathing hard, and he could feel the rising flush in his face, feel the blood hammering at his temples. His meds monitor would be kicking in any second now if he kept this up, but, damn it, the BBsPentagon slang for Beltway Bastardsnever failed to raise his blood pressure.

And now they were trying to kill the Corps. His Corps!

Theres not a damned thing I can do about it, the admiral said, shaking his head. His gaze flicked to the left, to the large, 3-D image of a grinning civilian on the wall to his right. Archys backing this thing, and that means itll have the presidents approval.

Severin is a political hack. Hes also an Internationalist

May I remind you that Archibald Severin is secretary of defense, which makes him our political hack. That means you, me, and the rest of the Joint Chiefs answer to him and after him the NSC and the president. They pass the word, and we snap to attention, say Yes, sir, and politics never rears its ugly face.

Everything in Washington is politics, CJ, and that includes the Pentagon and everyone in it. You know that as well as I do.

Maybe. But the final word comes from a document you may have heard of: the Constitution, remember? It says we work for the politicians. Not the other way around.

I never suggested any different. But this Unified Military Act is political. You know it. I know it. And theres a political way to fight back.

And what might that be?

Public opinion.

The admiral groaned, shifting in his chair. Jesus, Monty

Its worked before. Truman? A century ago? President Harry S Truman, a former artillery officer in the Navy, had come that close to shutting down the Marine Corps in the years immediately after World War II, declaring it to be unnecessary. Public opinion, howeverthe opinion of Americans who remembered names like Wake, Tarawa, and Iwo Jimahad secured a place for the Corps, by law, in the National Security Act of 1947. And that wasnt the first time Washington politicians had tried to kill or dismember the Corps. Congress alone had tried it on no fewer than five separate occasions between 1829 and the 1940s.

And each time, public opinion, in one way or another, had played a part in rescuing the Corps from the budget cutters hatchets.

I know that look, the admiral said. Youve got something in mind, or you wouldnt be in here waving your arms at me.

Warhurst bent over, picked up the briefcase hed set on the thick-carpeted floor when hed entered the CJCSs office ten minutes before, and set it on Grays desk. Touching the lock points, he opened it wide and extracted his PAD, which he slid across the desk, screen up.

Gray picked the thin panel up, his touch awakening the screen. He frowned as he read the document displayed there.

Mars? You want the Marines to go to Mars?

To safeguard American interests there, CJ. The same way the Marines have safeguarded American interests all over this world.

Gray touched the turn-page corner of the PAD. How big an operation is this?

The logistics are laid out on page five, Warhurst said. Im suggesting one platoon, twenty-three men. Plus an HQ element. Thirty men in all.

The admiral paged through several more screens. Very complete. He looked up at Warhurst, one white eyebrow askance. And its certainly topical. But you cant be serious.

Warhurst reached across the desk and tapped a touch-point on the Personal Access Device. There was a moment while the PAD searched for the offices network channels, and then the flatscreen behind the admirals desk flashed to a new set of uploading images. Gray swiveled in his chair to watch the display, which tinted the room with its ruddy glow.

Red sand and ocher stones littered an uneven, rolling ground as far as the eye could see, beneath a sky gone eerily pink and wan. An American flag hung from a mast in front of a cluster of pressurized domehuts, a tiny symbol of national defiance stirring listlessly in the thin wind. On the horizon, miles away but looming large enough to seem much closer, was the mountain. It reminded Warhurst sharply of Ayers Rock in the Australian outback, monolithic, vast, and red in the distance-chilled sunlight. The surface was sand-polished and smooth, its original angles, planes, and swellings worn down by the wind erosion of five hundred millennia, but the features were still discernible.