“I’m probably not supposed to tell you all this, but fuck it,” Jackson said around a mouthful of white chili. He’d changed and ducked into the shower while I fixed his dinner, and now he shoveled it into his mouth while he talked.
I cradled a cup of herbal tea, Calming Chamomile for the record, because I had a feeling I’d need some of thetranquility in a cupthe package advertised. “I promise you, I do not have a secret Russian spy counterpart to which I am feeding intel.”
“Pretty sure I’m relieved by that, but I think a little disappointment’s natural.” He smirked behind the spoonful of chili he’d been about to shove into his maw. “Probably just as well. Anyway. Our intel brains have been putting together information puzzle pieces since the start of my last deployment. Few troop movements here. A couple supply drops there. You know. The usual kind of shit that looks innocent but builds up to bad news.”
I nodded and sipped my tea.
“It’d started to look like they meant to make a move on facilities we have at- Okay, I can’t tell you that part, but there’s facilities, right? Important ones. They’ve got vital equipment in them. Not too far from them, there’s a bunch of supply depots set up by both us and our allies. Losing any of that would set us back years. It would also threaten the lives of anyone we station up there, because people need to eat and drink.” To punctuate the statement, he took a bite of dinner.
Wars on other planets are tougher than land wars in Asia, though they’re bad for similar reasons. Reason the First: Bad terrain. The entire place is hostile. No air, radiation, unhealthy temperatures, toxic dirt, you know all that. Reason the Second, and the reason most applicable here: Difficulty with resupply.
The hardest and most expensive part of space travel rests in the generous ass of every cargo hauler. Weight limits slam a hard ceiling onto any missions’s capabilities for troop movement and resupply. It costsa lotper pound to launch stuff into space, and it takes time to assemble supply drops, test them for weight distribution, then fill up fuel tanks to send them on their way. That doesn’t even factor in the raw travel time to get from Earth to Mars.
We’ve built bases on Mars and sent years of supplies there already. Presupplying affords our forces an important buffer against catastrophe or weather emergencies. When a planet can whip up dust storms that can ground launches for months or prevent forces from hitting up convenient supply depots, you learn to stock the larder a little heavier than you would in ideal circumstances.
In short, we can’t just throw a few boxes of protein bars into a crate, shove it on a spaceship, and kick it out to Mars. Our space agencies have made amazing strides towards cutting down the time necessary to get supplies to our troops, but there’s only so much they can do. Physics is a stone cold bitch.
Our logistics nerds account for every item already on Mars in their plans. Losing supplies and equipment means we have to get replacements to the troops on the double-quick. These then become vulnerable to attack, accidental destruction, and sheer bad luck. Starvation on Mars is a real concern for troops.
So is suffocation. They have to transport breathable air up there, too. Napoleon had it easy.
“So your intel services have been tracking threats to important facilities and supply depots,” I said. “Slow threats.”
“Slow enough we didn’t think they’d even materialize for another half a year,” Jackson acknowledged. “If they ever did. Part of what my unit did was block some of those threats. Command was pretty sure we’d put an end to that shit.”
“And Command was wrong.”
He inclined his head. “Very wrong. Word came down today that there’s been a major troop launch, headed for Mars and on a trajectory to land at the opposition bases closest to our facilities. A couple inside sources say there’s gonna be a push to take those assets.”
Not good. Very not good. “The people stationed there now can’t handle it?”
“That’s the other problem.” He shook his head. “We’re on a real light troop rotation right now. We thought we had time. Too many soldiers have been up there for too damn long.”
Convenient. Too convenient. “They thinking you have a leak?”
“Not yet. They seem to think it was some good, tactical forecasting. Maybe a smart set of plays on the opposition’s part. Force our troops into fights, make the situation seem quiet, wait for us to send our experienced soldiers home, and then…” He stuck his thumb up and hiked it into the air to mime a rocket launch. “We got lucky we sussed out what was in that launch. They’re not letting on we know.”
“So you can surprise them with a counteroffensive. I can see that. What I can’t see is sending exhausted troops.” Another sip of the Calm in a Cup I needed so much.
His spoon clattered into his empty bowl. “They don’t have much choice. Most of our fresh troops are alsonewtroops. We have to send seasoned folks with them, or casualty rates climb through the roof. Not just combat casualties. Environmental ones. Canceling our downtimes is their only play.”
I still believed Mars sat at the bleeding edge of science and history. I still believed in the necessity of missions there, and the administrative presence of people who believedanyonehad a right to use that precious resource to promote the betterment of mankind. But looking into the tired, worried eyes of my husband, I hated Mars with every fiber of my being.
Mars was going to take him away from his rest. Mars was going to take him away from me and send him to a place I couldn’t follow.
Fuck Mars.
21HOURS TICK BY LIKE YEARS AND SECONDS
We should have had moretime to prepare for this. We should have had more time together in general. Heedless of whatshouldhave been, the hours ticked by, and they felt like both years and seconds.
Jackson hadn’t had enough time with a counselor, or frankly without responsibilities that tied directly to the Red Planet. He’d only just started to relax and settle back into civilian life when his commanders called everyone back to full duty, and it showed. His temper thinned. His fuse shortened. Bad days followed him home from work and manifested as miniature arguments that blew around like malicious dust bunnies in our lives.
Or maybe it wasn’t just the abbreviated time off work and impending deployment. A pattern developed that eventually tipped me off to the truth.
“What are youreallyupset about?” I asked four nights later, after another bout of sniping that would lead to a fight if I didn’t put a stop to it. “Because it’s not about whether we should store your truck here or with your parents again while you’re gone. Please tell me what it is so we can have a fight about the right topic instead of this displacement crap.”
For a moment, he puffed up, ready to dive right back into that argument. Then he deflated and sunk into the couch. “I’m sorry, Bastian. I’m- I’m really sorry. I’ve been a total shit these last few days.”