CHASING GHOSTS

If the enemy leaves a door open, you must rush in.

-Sun Tzu-

31 DECEMBER 2212

OSTWAND MILITARY BASE, SIEGPUNKT, ARABIEN PRINCIPALITY

MARTIAN FEDERATION, MARS

Ghosts, Gefreiter Nelson Lowe thought bitterly to himself as the Abdiel hovertank returned to the road that threaded its way through the minefields and defensive emplacements back to OstWand Base. Ghosts, his mind's voice repeated again, more vehemently this time. That's what we've been chasing.

And it wasn't ghosts of a spooky or supernatural kind. Nevertheless, that didn't make things any less unpleasant or discomforting. The Federate tank crew member fumed as the dull Martian landscape flashed past the vision slits and holographic displays around him.

Sitting in the cramped gunner's station aboard the PZKLF-17 'Abdiel' Luftpanzer, Nelson had spent the last two hours staring out at the bleak Martian landscape in search of bogeymen when he ought to have been back in the relative comfort of OstWand. It was just his luck that his grupen had been one of those on stand-by duty when the incursion alert had come.

Apparently, one of the thousands of sensors along the border had picked up an airborne contact flying nape of the earth and headed for Ostwand nearly three hours ago before it dropped out of sight.

The contact had been a fleeting one and a small miracle considering that the Republicans were always sneaking across the border to steal, shift or sabotage the remote sensor arrays almost as quickly as his fellow countrymen could install them.

The nearest Federate unit, a detachment of border guards, had closed in as quickly as it could but found nothing that could have accounted for the brief sensor contact. Normally, such an incident may have been overlooked, or the discovering unit may have been detailed to perform a sweep of all nearby sensor arrays to see if there were any signs of tampering.

Normally, it would turn out to be a sensor 'ghost', a glitch caused by faulty equipment or atmospheric conditions, since in the event of an actual incursion, the investigating unit was often too late. Whatever the case, unless the incursion pursued some sort of violent end, Federate commanders were seldom willing to deploy large forces in chasing ghosts.

But with the current crisis and the consequently raised threat levels, Nelson's superiors were taking no chances. It didn't help that the Arabien Principality sat adjacent to the troublesome Isidis Territory of the Martian Free Republic. Violent incursions had long been a way of life even before the Elevator Fall.

And so when the border patrol called in with their report, the duty officer in Ostwand's Operations Center didn't hesitate to send the stand-by hovertanks out into the Martian desert on a wild goose chase.

Nelson found himself seething. Somewhere back in OstWand's Operations Center was a pusillanimous officer on duty who would rather send a full obergrupen of hovertanks out on a meaningless hunt rather than call up his superiors - most who were at the New Year's Eve party being held in the Base's Officers' Mess - for instructions.

"Not exactly what I'd consider an auspicious start to this new year." Soldat Franks, the driver and the most junior member of the three-man Abdiel crew remarked in an attempt to break the monotony of the drive back to base. Franks had arrived less than a week ago after their previous driver was posted to another unit.

"Well, it's not like you've been in the BundesArmee that long now, have you?" Nelson retorted, looking down as the young driver. "How many years have you been in?"

"I . . . well, come this February, it will be my first year." The driver replies sheepishly.

"Pah!" Nelson guffawed and shook his head as he regarded the rookie with a superior gaze that the younger man didn't quite turn to see. "Less than a year in and you talk like the BundesArmee owes you a holiday."

"You mean you've never had a day off on New Year's Eve?" There was a note of incredulity in Franks' tone.

"Look, boy, I've been in this Army almost as long as the Feldwebel here," Nelson threw a thumb back at Feldwebel Simon Schneider, the tank commander. "Four years now, to be exact. And I've never had a New Year's Eve off."

"Never?" Franks asked in surprise.

"Never." Nelson repeated firmly. And it was one of those rare moments he was telling the pure, unadulterated truth. "The brass has always found some stupid detail or another to saddle me with. Every year, without fail. In fact, I don't recall ever spending more than a day or two off the bases that I've been assigned to. And come to think of it, I haven't gone home in four years. Not that it matters since home is, well . . . Like I said, it doesn't matter."

"Four years . . ." Franks gasped. "But the recruiters said I'd be given ten days of leave each year . . ."

"Promises, promises." Nelson shook his head again. "Like I said, less than a year in and you think this whole damn army owes you something."

"But I'm entitled. I mean, we both are, right?" Franks questioned, his tone and face uncomprehending. "How could they withhold your leave?"

"Oh, they didn't really withhold anything. It's all just for the sake of the current crisis, yeah? Same all over the Federation." Nelson remarked cynically. "You don't get anything unless you've crawled, slept, kissed, begged your way to the top. With four years in, I've got a fancy stripe on my sleeve and that's about it. Of course the recruiters will tell you that with four years, you'd probably be an Unterofficer, or better yet, a Feldwebel, just like ours here. But well, that's recruiters for you. They're not paid enough to tell the truth. Come to think of it, seems to be the case everywhere else."

"That's enough, Lowe." Schneider finally spoke. "Stop scaring the kid. You know as well as I do that the State treats everyone fairly – according to the contributions that they make to the State and the Party."

"Of course, Herr Feldwebel." Nelson answered sarcastically. "Now, see, boy? The Feldwebel here has put in his five years so now he's got more stripes than me and he gets to order us around."

Schneider sighed as he leaned back in his commander's chair. "Don't listen to him, Franks. Lowe's just like that because he was drafted."

"Drafted? But why?" Franks slipped a sidelong glance at Lowe through the bulky workings of the hovertank's main gun.

"Why?" Nelson laughed and threw his head back. "According to the State and the Party that you both extol without thought, I was considered a non-contributor to our utopian society, a drain on our glorious nation's resources, a reviled sloth running counter to the highest ideals of the Party . . . Well, you get the idea."

"In short, he was branded an Unbrauchbar." Schneider summarized, referring to the unofficial fourth social class of the Federation's three-class system. "Useless."

"Useless, you say? I'm a pretty decent shot." Nelson retorted testily. "I wouldn't call that useless."

Franks gaped at the gunner in wordless surprise. The silence in the hovertank's crew compartment was finally broken when Schneider said, "Eyes on the road, Franks."

"What's the matter, boy? Never met an Unbrauchbar before?" Lowe taunted.

Franks shook his head vigorously, his eyes fixed on the way ahead after the Feldwebel's mild reminder.

There were three social classes in the Federate society. The majority of its citizens were Verbundeten or Federates, similar to the blue-collar workers of twentieth-century Earth. One rung above were Fachleute or Specialists who were better-educated, most possessing a university degree and holding a better-paying job. At the top of the ladder were the Politikers or Politicals. These were citizens from either class who managed to claw their way up to the ladder to a position in the government where they enjoyed high pay and abundant luxuries at the State's expense.

"Don't blame you though. We're usually kept out of sight so as not to contaminate the rest of society." Nelson shrugged. "What are you then? A Politiker?"

"No. I'm just a Fachleute." Franks replied in what he thought would be interpreted as modesty. "My parents are both technical specialists with Ares."

"Ares as in the Ares Corporation?" It was finally Nelson's turn to gasp in surprise as the driver nodded, eyes still on the road. "Just a Fachleute? Just, you say? Damn, you must be loaded then! I was born a true blue Verbundeten, which is a far cry from all the creature comforts you must have grown up with. My old man was just a factory worker."

"I see . . ." Franks replied softly, unsure as to how to continue.

"What the hell is a kid like you doing in the BundesArmee?" It was Nelson who broke the silence once more.

"Well, it seemed like the right thing to do." Franks looked almost cherubic as he answered. "I mean, I guess I wanted to repay the State for the education and benefits it's given me by defending it against the Republicans. What about you and the Feldwebel?"

"Like I said, I've got no choice. It was either the army or some gulag. I got lucky. Most of my kind, those who don't end up on the wrong side of a gulag's walls or a firing squad, end up in the infantry. And I do mean the regular infantry. No fancy exo suits for us."

"Most of your kind who I've met ought to be shot. Save the Federation a whole lot of trouble." Schneider commented humorlessly. "I guess we should consider ourselves mildly fortunate that you're barely tolerable."

"Now, you know I resent that, Feldwebel." Nelson grinned. "I just don't see why I should work so hard just so some lard-assed Politiker can continue sip on Martian Red whenever he likes. Besides, if you shoot the lot of us, who's going to make up the BundesArmee? Our Boy Hero, here?"

"One of him would probably be worth a hundred of you." Schneider retorted. "They'd take up a lot less space and eat a lot less food."

"Oh, you're just jealous that you've worked your butt off and you're still a Feldwebel while I'm a Gerfreiter even though I'm slacking off."

"So why are you in, Feldwebel?" Franks directed the question at the vehicle commander, ignoring Nelson's comments.

"My parents were both miners till they died in an accident." Schneider explained. "There wasn't a great deal of money left for me to get an education so I decided to sign up with the BundesArmee. At the time, it was really attractive with food and accommodation included and free vocational training thrown in."

"Oh . . ." Franks' reply had an unspoken, incredulous and disappointed 'That's it?' attached to it.

"Oh," Nelson mimicked the young Soldat. "You were expecting the Feldwebel to be some poster boy for the BundesArmee?"

"Well . . ."

"I'm just here to make a living." Feldwebel Schneider said humbly. "The BundesArmee provides for me and I keep my end of the bargain by defending the State. Nothing more and nothing less."

"Bravo. Spoken like a true patriot of the State." Nelson declared sardonically. "You see, boy. You've got to be desperate or crazy to join the BundesArmee on your own free will. And if the Feldwebel is desperate, I think you know where you stand."

"Hey . . ."

"Your parents weren't too thrilled about you enlisting now, were they?" Nelson continued, unwilling to give the driver a chance to formulate an angry retort.

"Funny that you should mention it, Lowe." Franks said thoughtfully, his anger momentarily forgotten. "Yes, they were telling me it wasn't worth it and stuff like that."

"Typical Fachleute thinking. Pretty smart thinking too, if you ask me," the gunner shrugged. "But what do I know? I'm just an Unbrauchbar. Though I'd give you my two Marks worth if you asked me."

"I haven't asked and you've probably given me a small fortune as it is." Franks snapped.

"Whoa . . ." Nelson was genuinely surprised. The rookie was finally showing his claws. "Well, then. Here's just a bit more advice, belated as it may be. You want to hear it?"

"Do I have a choice?" Franks shrugged and sighed in resignation.

"Guess not." Nelson chuckled. "Though I don't normally advocate this, I'm going to make an exception today. You should have listened to your mommy, boy. Honest. You should have just stayed home instead of running off to play soldier."

Franks was in the midst of formulating a reply when a dull boom reached their ears even as they sat in their enclosed crew compartment.

"What the hell was that?" Nelson sat up suddenly, whole body tensed as he stared into his targeting scope.

"Franks, come about one-eighty now!" Schneider snapped, leaning forward in his seat to stare at the holographic displays lining his command cupola. The young driver sent the hovertank into a wide curving arc that led back in the direction that they had come. He may be a young fool, but he sure can drive, Nelson thought as he hung on to a nearby stanchion for support.

"Driver, stop! Look! At our one o' clock!" Schneider called out as he stared at his commander's display. The other two crewmembers were staring at the same thing through their scopes and vision slits.

Almost a thousand meters away from their current position, there was an expanding fireball. Jacking up the magnification for their assorted visual sensors, they could see a fireball expanding from the blown-out roof of a defensive emplacement. Raining down from the butterscotch sky were chunks of debris, the smaller, lighter bits spinning spectacularly in Mars' reduced gravity. Nelson thought he recognized several chunks as human body parts.

"Mein gott!" Franks exclaimed.

"Is that . . ." Nelson squinted in an effort to identify the outpost that had been violently destroyed.

"Damn, they got Bunker Eighteen." Schneider swore softly before getting on the radio to try and raise someone who could give some orders.

"Are those . . ." Franks gasped in horror at the shower of debris, inorganic and otherwise, swallowing audibly.

"Yes." Nelson nodded grimly as he watched the remnants of Bunker Eighteen and its occupants impacting onto the red dust. "You should have listened to your mommy and stayed home, boy."