Art of the Deal

Prologue

Brenner, Argentia Planum
Hanseatic League Territory, Mars
10 July 2245


         Artillery blew a crater where there once was a hilltop and a squad of soldiers. Shreds of their bodies were tossed into the air as the explosion tore the twelve men apart, the bloody pieces splattering their comrades as they fell from the sky. Oberst Otker Kessler grunted at the gory site from the confines of his mobile headquarters. Another squad ran up to secure the top of the hill only to be met by a hail of fire. The squad fought back, pouring bullets and grenades down at their attackers. Their battle cries could barely be heard of the din battle as they killed the enemy again and again. Kessler shook his head as he looked back down at the map in front of him.

         For three days the Blackline Conglomerate of Corporations had assaulted Argentia Planatia with almost everything they had. Day and night battalions and divisions would press forward into the Hanseatic League lines. Kessler’s Brigade, the Third of the Forth Panzer Division, had defeated each attack sent their way. The battle had become so heated and so close that at times platoons and companies would be forced to fight with bayonets and fists. Even Kessler himself had been caught up in several scuffs. Each time Blackline would send more soldiers, and each time the Third would defeat them.

         But when would it end? Kessler asked himself that question as a company on the Brigade’s right flank made contact with the enemy and attempted to repel them. The war itself had started in 2233 when Blackline and the warlord Hirohito Komatsu had allied together to expand their influence and expand their domains. The battles were always fought beyond the asteroid belt and only lasted a week or two at a time. It seemed like yesterday that Kessler was a brand new Brigade commander, and war on Mars was one of the last places he would have guessed to fight. Mars had always been safe and secure. Then Blackline had burned in from the outer planets straight to the inner planets and Mars had become free game. For the last eight months the two forces battled savagely. Hundreds would die in a day for only a few kilometers of ground.

         Kessler’s communications officer, Major Allen Mendel, looked up from his console.

         “Herr Oberst!” he exclaimed. “A battalion of Blackline armor is hitting our left flank. Hauptmann Lenz says he cannot hold.”

         “Tell Lenz he had better hold that ground or I will shoot him myself!”

         “Jawohl, Herr Oberst.”

         Kessler rubbed his eyes, the stress of prolonged combat seeping into his bones.

         “Major Pohl,” Kessler said, turning to his intelligence officer. “Do your drones see anything? Anyway we can go on the offensive?”

         Pohl scanned the consoles of the S-2 section, each of the four men piloting a small constellation of four camera drones over the battlefield. The images on their heads up displays were complimented by real time satellite video.

         “Nein, Herr Oberst. In fact, it seems Blackline has brought up another Brigade to reinforce their latest assault.”

         “Hauptman Sammer, what’s the status of my brigade?”

         The S-1 skimmed through his military personal data assistant, linked to the brigade command and control network, and shook his head.

         “We’re down to fifty percent strength and the three battalions we have on the line are skeletons of what we started with, Herr Oberst. They’re all low ammo and casualties are horrendous. Our medics are having a hell of a time getting wounded and dead soldiers off the line.”

         “Why aren’t supplies getting to the men?”

         “It seems the logistics commander, Hauptmann Videk, refuses to go, mein Herr.”

         Kessler had been an infantryman his entire life, slogging through mud and snow to engage and destroy the enemy, many times without sleep or food for days. How dare this pencil pushing blue blood, a subordinate, disobey standing orders because he was a coward.

         Kessler turned to his executive officer, Oberstleutnant Gleber.

         “You have control, Gleber. I’m off to take care of some business.” With that he nodded towards his political officer, Commissar-Captain Hackl.

         “Are you sure, mein Herr?” Gleber asked. “Do you want me to go instead?”

         Kessler shook his head. “No. I need to deal with this myself.”

         With that he stormed out of his mobile headquarters, Hackl close on his heals.


         Leutnant Morgan Fathom was loading as much ammunition as he could on six jeeps. That’s all he had control of. His commanding officer had denied his requests to go out to the lines and resupply the troops. Now he and his platoon were working furiously to bring relief to their buddies.

         “Hurry men,” he exclaimed as he lifted another box of rifle rounds and jogged over to an open jeep bed. “The infantry need these bullets badly, let’s not keep them waiting.”

         The twenty-seven soldiers surrounding him acknowledged with a loud “Jawohl, Herr Leutnant!” and began to pick up the pace.

         Morgan didn’t like disobeying orders. He had been taught from a very young age that he was always supposed to follow the orders of those appointed above him. But this was different. Morgan knew what he was doing was right, regardless of what the Hauptmann had to say.

         “Fathom!” a voice bellowed from behind. It was Videk. “Fathom, you son of a bitch, I told you to stay here. You are disobeying a direct order!”

         Morgan turned on the overweight aristocrat and stood his ground.

         “The Oberst’s standing orders are to continuously resupply the troops. His orders outrank yours, Herr Hauptmann! You’re a coward!”

         “Why you little…” Videk began, pulling back his fist. He never had a chance to finish.

         “Stay that hand, Videk, you worthless sheisse!”

         Kessler just about broadsided the brute of a Captain as he charged towards the supply depot.

         “My orders were clear, Videk! The Leutnant knew better than you. A Leutnant! A junior officer! You are the commander of this company, you are supposed to lead from the front, both physically and morally.”

         Videk tried to fight back. “B-b-b-but mein Herr…”

         “Don’t “but” me, Videk. You are a thorn in my side and you will be removed.”

         At that point Hackl strode up, his PDA held so that it could record what was happening.

         “Hauptmann Rudolf Videk,” Hackl began. “You have been found a coward and lacking in service to the Hanseatic League.” Hackl drew his .45 caliber pistol and pointed it at Videk’s head. “May God have mercy on your soul.”

         Videk had fallen to his knees and had been begging for mercy. His blubbering cries were swiftly cut off by the report of Hackl’s sidearm. Videk’s limp form fell unceremoniously to the ground, blood pooling around his exploded head.

         Kessler turned to Morgan. “Leutnant, you’re in charge now. Get this company in shape and get these supplies to my troops.”

         “Jawohl, Herr Oberst!”

         With that Kessler stomped away back to his headquarters, Hackl by his side.

         “You heard the Oberst!” Morgan exclaimed. “First Platoon, keep loading these jeeps. Second and Third, start up those trucks and load them with as much ammo and equipment as possible. Leutnant Franke and Leutnant Bruns, make sure your platoons get those supplies out ASAP. I’m going with the first run. Let’s move!”

         With that Morgan hopped into the lead jeep and the six vehicle convoy shot out from the supply depot and into the forested hills. Morgan looked over the force tracking computer to pinpoint where the line began.

         “Alright,” he yelled to his driver, Unteroffizier Abt, over the roar of the engine. “Turn left four degrees and we should come up on Charlie Company, Forth Battalion.”

         Abt gave him a thumbs up and veered slightly to the left. The string of jeeps behind followed and a few minutes later they drove up on a group of haggard infantrymen.

         “Boy, are we glad to see you, Herr,” one soldier proclaimed.

         “Where’s your platoon leader?” Morgan asked.

As he spoke his platoon dismounted and began distributing ammunition, food, and water to the beleaguered troops.

“Dead,” the man said. “Shot six times in the chest and stomach in the last attack.”

         “What’s your name, soldier?” Morgan asked as he moved to help his platoon.

         “Oberfeldwebel Reimer, mein Herr,” he replied.

         Before the two could become better acquainted a series of explosions filled the air.

         “Incoming!” the soldiers around yelled as they dove for cover.

         Morgan and Reimer shot under Morgan’s jeep to wait out the mortar attack.

         “Leutnant!” Reimer roared over the destruction. “Those bastards are going to hit us soon. Can we use those crew serves mounted on your jeeps?”

         “Yes! I’ll get my men to move up to your line.”

         The moment the attacks stopped Morgan and Reimer were moving to organize their soldiers.

         “First platoon! Get in those jeeps and move them up, we’re going to give the infantry some cover!”

         “Alright, Third Platoon, share that ammo and spread out, we’re about to get some help!”

         Just as the last jeep moved into position Blackline units could be seen advancing through the light forest. At first they were just black forms, but as they moved closer Morgan could see what they were.

         “Panzer!” Morgan yelled.

         One of the Blackline tanks fired a round from its deadly 125mm rifled gun. A moment later one of Morgan’s jeeps burst into flames as it was lifted off the ground and thrown backwards.

         “Reimer!” Morgan bellowed. “Reimer! We’re not going to last long against those!”

         “I know, Herr. But we have to. There’s no reinforcements, and the rest of Charlie Company is about a half kilometer away trying to deal with the same problem.”

         Morgan had to think quickly. He had never been an infantryman. Living in a warrior-merchant society the skills of soldiering had been drilled into him since the age of five, and basic training, and later basic officer training, had reinforced that. But he never had to apply it in real life, and especially not against a battalion of armor.

         “Reimer! I’m going to keep three jeeps here. Mount a squad into the back of the other two jeeps and have them open up the missile launchers. We’re going to try to flank them!”

         “Jawohl!”

         A moment later the two jeeps were charging away from the battle to the enemy’s left flank. For several seconds things began to quiet down as they drove further from the action. Morgan felt more fear than ever in his life. He wanted to cry out and drive even further away, but he pushed those feelings down and tried to concentrate on the mission at hand. If this didn’t work, Third Brigade would be overrun. Morgan’s friends and fellow soldiers would die. He couldn’t let that happen.

         A second more and the jeeps swerved back, barreling straight into the advancing armor battalion. The gunners in the jeeps’ turrets shot missiles at one tank from man pack launchers. The twin warheads streaked forward with a deafening roar and detonated on impact. Flames instantly burst from within the tank, cooking both man and machine. Rolling a few more meters, the tank came to a slow halt. Ammunition suddenly cooked off inside. For a moment the tank seemed to bulge, then instantly it exploded, sending metal shards everywhere.

         Morgan cheered as Reimer and his men deployed and began pouring missile fire into the oncoming armor column. Three more tanks were destroyed along with their crews. They had made progress, but more tanks were still moving in.

         Morgan got on the radio. “Depot One-Seven, this is Depot One-Six, come in, over,” Morgan called to his platoon sergeant.

         “Depot One-Six, this is Depot One-Three, the Hauptfeldwebel is gone, taken out by shrapnel from that exploding tank, over.”

         “Depot One-Three I need you to move up with those infantry , then one of you take another squad and flank the tanks on the right. Missiles and grenades, over.”

         “J-jawohl,” One-Three replied shakily.

         “One-Six out.”

         “Hey, listen up,” Morgan called to his soldiers and the infantry. “They’re going to move up. We’re moving another two hundred meters forward.”

         “You heard him!” Reimer bellowed before anyone could protest. “On you feet! Feldwebel Cresp, get them moving, the vehicles will be overwatching us as we move. Double time!”

         Just as they began to move the sounds of battle came from their right. The main section had made contact again. The infantry sprinted forward with the jeeps close at their heels. When they were in position they moved up and took aim at the oncoming tanks with their missile launchers.

         “Fire!” Morgan yelled.

         A dozen rockets soared through the air and into multiple tanks. Another flight of missiles streaked out from the right. Two tanks came to a halt, destroyed from the volume of fire. One tank lost its track to a missile and attempted to fight in place. The others continued on into the Hanseatic League lines.

         “Leutnant!” one of Morgan’s soldiers, a Hauptgefreiter Mann, called. “We have spare fuel we can use!”

         “Do it!” Morgan replied as he loaded another missile into his own launcher. With a press of the button the warhead screamed out of the launcher and straight into another tank.

         A moment later Mann ran from the back of the jeep, a flaming, cloth wrapped bottle of fuel in his hand. Mann threw the bomb with all his might, then was cut down by a tank’s machine gun. The bomb flew true and exploded on the turret of one of the tanks. The flaming diesel fuel began spread over the armored hulk, seeping into crevasses. The crew inside could be heard screaming and yelling as they were cooked alive in their tank. Moments later the fire touched the fuel and the entire tank was engulfed in hellish flame as the vehicle was torn apart by the explosion.

         Slowly the rest of the armor battalion began to retreat. A loud cheer rang through the forest as the mixed infantry and logistics soldiers moved forward. Four of the infantry mounted the tank that had thrown its track. One trooper placed two white phosphorous grenades on the troop hatch and let them burn. The white hot canisters seared straight through the armor and into the crew compartment. Yells of despair could be heard as the white phosphorous began to cook the tank’s systems. The trooper on top of the tank cooked off two grenades, dropped them down the two holes, and hopped off the tank. A second later twin explosions went off inside, and then there was silence.

         Oberfeldwebel Reimer walked over to Morgan after repositioning what was left of his platoon. Morgan was calling up the situation to Brigade.

         “Loki Actual this is Depot One-Six. We made contact with a battalion of Blackline tanks, all Demon models, advancing on our position vicinity bravo hotel two-seven-six-five-eight-one-niner-six, time one-four-tree-fife hours. Break. We destroyed eight, the rest retreated. We are now reinforcing our position. What is your guidance?”

         Normally Morgan would report to his company commander about the situation, but Morgan was the company commander. He took a shot in the dark about who he reported to.

         “Depot One-Six this is Loki Actual,” Kessler replied. “Hold there with the infantry. Coordinate with your company from there. We’ll try to have some sort of relief over there for you, over.”

         “Roger, Loki Actual. Depot One-Six out.”

         “Hell of a job today, mein Herr,” Reimer said as Morgan put down the handset to the radio.

         “Vielen dank, Oberfeldwebel,” Morgan replied with a sigh. “I thought for sure we were all dead.”

         Reimer allowed his weapon to drop to his side and held out his right hand.

         “Leutnant Fathom, I would be honored to serve under you any day.”

         Morgan grasped the staff NCO’s in a firm hand shake.

         “Danke, Oberfeldwebel. It was an honor to fight by your side today.” They released their grip and Morgan looked out into the woods in the direction the Blackline tanks had come from. “Who knows what the future holds. Maybe you’ll get your wish.”


Christopher Meyer
Writer of Fortune