Blood Red Sand

PART 1:-2

“I mean,” Jenkins persisted, “We’re going to Mars, you know, the Red Planet. Won’t wearing white make us stand out to the enemy?”

Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at the private before checking their own equipment. Back at the Atacama Desert base, the Americans trained and drilled them using red-and-black khaki EVA suits. Here, every one of the suits were gleaming, pristine white. Set against the red and brown backdrop of the planet they were about to invade, that would make them easy targets for Nazi guns.

“Christ, he’s got a point,” Corporal Brown murmured when he approached McCabe. “We’ll stand out like a sore thumb. Fritz will shoot us like fish in a barrel.”

McCabe slid up the visor of his helmet as his mind raced for a solution to the glaring problem. “Send a runner to the CQ. See if he can rustle up any proper suits. Failing that, try to acquire red and black paint and have the lads do the best that they can.”

“On it, Sarge,” the corporal said with a nod and set off to grab the nearest soldier.

“Compliments of the lieutenant,” a voice said.

McCabe turned towards a young soldier standing at attention with a slip of paper in his hands. He took it, read the note in Lieutenant Barnes’ distinctive scrawl, and waved at the soldier to relax.

“Tell the lieutenant I’m on the way.” He turned to seek out Corporal Brown again. “Jim, I’ve been summoned to the bridge. Get everyone ready and make sure the drop ship is loaded with everything we need.”

“Understood, Sarge.”

Watching the flurry of activity continue around him, McCabe made for the exit. As he left, a group of American Air Force engineers entered their compartment, ready to perform final checks on the drop ship. The winding corridors outside looked to be busy, too, with rows of Mars Expeditionary Force soldiers hurrying about while the American crewmen of the USAF North Carolina went about their tasks. He turned the first corner and saluted a Marine lieutenant when he came into view. The officer returned the gesture in the American style.

McCabe worked his way through the packed corridor until he arrived outside the entrance to the bridge. Two heavily armed Air Force Air Police soldiers scrutinised his identity badge before clicking on a comm button to announce his arrival. A few seconds passed until a green light lit up and the doors to the USAF North Carolina’s bridge slid open.

McCabe took a step forward and tried his best not to marvel at the rows of intricate desk stations and strange equipment that lined the bridge. American Air Force personnel bustled in all directions, checking various computer screens or speaking loudly into their headsets, co-ordinating every facet of the Allied fleet’s operations. Scanning the crowded bridge, he spotted Lieutenant Barnes speaking with a small group of MEF officers. He moved to join his superior officer and snapped his hand to his head in salute when the lieutenant turned about.

“Ah, Sergeant.” Lieutenant Barnes smiled as he returned the salute and waved at McCabe to relax. “I’m glad to see you made it through our long sleep. Is the platoon all accounted for? Any fatalities?”

“Fatalities? No, sir. I wasn’t aware there was a risk of fatalities in this portion of the mission.”

The lieutenant gave a sombre nod as he stepped away from the group of officers and beckoned at him to follow.

“Yes, indeed,” Barnes continued. “Unfortunately, we suffered several deaths while in status. System failures and all that. Thankfully, not too many but still a nasty way to go if you ask me, Sergeant. I’m afraid to say that Lieutenant Colonel Fairfax was amongst them. Once the Second Battalion is fully awakened, an announcement will be made.”

“Understood, sir. May I ask who has command of Second Battalion now?”

“Major Wellesley is assuming command until further notice. You’ve heard of him, I trust?

“Only his reputation, sir.”

A knowing smile crossed the lieutenant’s face. Clearing his throat to change the subject, he pointed at something towards the far end of the bridge. “I thought you’d appreciate this before we go ground side, Sergeant.”

Barnes led the way through the crowds of gathering officers and crewmen and pushed his way politely towards the front of the bridge. He paused beside one of the long rectangular reinforced windows and pointed into the bleak darkness outside. A smile crept across his face as he gestured at McCabe to follow his gaze.

“You see, Sergeant? Mars.”

McCabe made a conscious decision to clench his jaws together to stop them from gaping in surprise as he drank in the sight. He had seen pictures of Mars during the mission briefings, but those images failed to do the planet justice. A swirling mass of red and brown dangled in front of him, almost within hand’s reach. Fascination coursed through him at the sight of the alien image. He tried to soak up every detail and commit it to memory.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” he said, while studying the scene in front of him, “but according to mission protocol, we were to be woken a week prior to entering orbit to get battle ready.”

The lieutenant patted him on the shoulder and guided him away from the window, towards the entrance to the bridge.

“Yes,” Barnes said with a sigh of exasperation, “that was the plan until system malfunctions prevented us. Approximately half of the task force were activated on time with the remainder being woken today. A terrible mess if you ask me, but…” He trailed off with a shrug as a crowd of crewmen separated from a small group of officers.

A tall, plain-faced officer spun around and, catching the lieutenant’s eye, gave a friendly nod before his gaze fell to McCabe. As quick as he made eye contact, he turned away and buried himself in a map spread out in front of him.

“Major Wellesley,” Barnes said under his breath.

McCabe observed the officer but said nothing. Tales of Major “Mad Jack” Wellesley were rife amongst the rank-and-file of the Mars Expeditionary Force. The stories ranged from Mad Jack single-handedly taking out a string of bunkers during the D-Day landings to facing a platoon of Nazi soldiers armed only with a Bren light machine gun.

The more colourful recitations varied from Mad Jack murdering captured prisoners to wiping out entire villages in retaliation for the deaths of soldiers under his command. McCabe didn’t believe any of those tales. Yet, something about Major Wellesley’s presence sent a chill up his spine. True or not, the officer didn’t strike McCabe as someone he’d willingly cross in defiance with anything less than an armoured division behind him.

Barnes opened his mouth to speak again when a series of high-pitched wails rang out from every console on the bridge. McCabe, the officers, and soldiers of the MEF froze in position at the sound. The bridge crew of the USAF North Carolina sprang into action, furiously roaring orders into their headsets and punching commands into their workstations.

Red lights flashed in time with the blaring alarms that shrieked from unseen speakers, drowning out the panicked shouts of the North Carolina’s crew. The captain of the North Carolina raced towards the helm station right when the massive view screen at the front of the bridge came to life.

McCabe watched in confusion as an image of a red and yellow inferno consumed the entire screen before fading away, leaving dots of debris hanging against the background of a twinkling night sky. It took a further moment for him to realise he had witnessed the destruction of the fleet’s ships before the scope of what was happening struck home.

“We’re under attack!” someone screamed.

The sound of the alarms finally died, although the flashes of red remained.

The captain of the North Carolina took over the helm. “Battle stations!”

A split second later, the entire bridge shook. Anyone not strapped into a workstation stumbled about while the ship rumbled from a hidden force. Consoles hissed and exploded from energy surges, knocking the bridge crew to the deck.

Without any information and with no clue what to do, McCabe gripped a nearby railing for dear life as the ship rocked and shuddered from an unseen assault. Smoke choked the bridge as crew members battled to put out sporadic blazes carving through the machinery. Over the din of strange popping noises that echoed throughout the ship’s hull, the crew shouted to one another.

“k******e attack.”

“Venting atmosphere.”

“Hull buckling.”

“Main power offline.”

“Engines gone.”

A hundred other words blended together over the cries of the men who desperately fought to regain control of their ship, but two words spurred McCabe into action.

“Abandon ship!” the captain roared.

The faces of his platoon screaming in terror moments before they were blown into the vastness of space pushed McCabe past the stunned officers of the MEF. As the ship vibrated from what sounded like another volley of attacks, he raced out of the bridge area and ran down the corridor towards their sleeper pods. The lights flickered and dimmed, casting an eerie aura on the halls of the dying vessel. Dozens of wounded or dead crewmen slumped along the debris-filled corridor. Shattered wall panels hissed electrical sparks at him.

Like a horrendous death rattle, a drawn-out screech of twisting metal filled McCabe’s ears from another thunderous round of explosions. He hit the ground and nearly lost his helmet in the process when he tumbled into a pile of corpses. He pulled himself up to the sounds of shrieks and fastened his helmet tighter before staggering through the darkening halls towards his platoon. He reached the entrance to their compartment when the final death blow landed.

The vessel shuddered upwards as if lifted into the hands of a giant before slamming back down, sending cascades of screeching throughout the hull of the ship. McCabe stumbled into the confused mass of his platoon and made right for the entrance to their dropship.

“Abandon ship!” he bellowed over the backdrop of explosions.

His platoon and anyone in the vicinity sprang into action and rushed towards the hatch of the dropship. Standing by the entrance, he shouted and urged them on, grabbing and pulling at anyone within hand’s reach. Screams of pain and confusion resonated from all around the darkening room, but in the dim light, McCabe couldn’t see anyone else within reach. A series of booms lanced through the ship, picking up speed and fury as the sound roared closer to their position. With the drop ship crammed, he stepped in and banged on the airlock control panel.

Moments later, a final boom threw him to the deck when the dropship burst from its launch port on the outer hull of the USAF North Carolina. Through the tiny window port on the airlock, the once-hulking figure of their mothership disappeared in a crescendo of flame and shattered metal.

GOVERNMENT DISTRICT, NEW BERLIN COLONY, MARS

09.29 MST

DAY 1

Reichsführer Ernst Wagner repressed a smile as he studied the physique of the woman held behind the reinforced glass walls of her cage. Like a tigress, she stalked back and forth. She eyed the ring of SS guards waiting to extricate her from her prison cell. The pristine hospital robe she wore covered the contours of her body, yet the elegance of her movements was breath-taking. He had known many women before and after their exodus to Mars, but none compared to Anna Bailey.

The thick glass door slid open, and two SS guards stepped in with their batons at the ready. Anna stopped her pacing and stood to face them head on. Her bruised knuckles tightened into fists at her side when four more guards entered to form a picket in front of the entrance to the cell. Wagner watched in silence as she eyed them one at a time before a slight smile cracked across her swollen face.