Commandant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 8) (22 page)

With one of the soldiers showing him the way, Ryck dragged Sandy to a small storeroom where six other bodies were stored. 

The previous crew, I presume?

Four of the bodies were ziplocked.  Two were pretty obviously too far gone for any chance of resurrection.

Ryck dropped Sandy’s body on top of a man whose head and part of his chest were gone.

“Sorry, Sandy, but it was your choice.  I tried to teach you over and over that to survive, you had to be the meanest son-of-a-bitch in a fight, and you never were that. Now you’re dead, and I’m alive.”

Then it hit him.

I’m alive!  I’m mother grubbing, sure as shit alive!

TARAWA

Chapter 33

The shuttle landed at the small Headquarters LZ, and Ryck was off before the engines wound down.  Various Marines were waiting, but Ryck ignored them, scanning the group until he saw a certain slightly overweight, somewhat aging woman who was the most beautiful sight in the world.  He rushed past Bert and the rest to sweep Hannah up in his arms.  A moment later, Esther rammed into them like a rugger, clinging tightly.

“I can’t believe it, Ryck,” Hannah kept saying, running one hand up alongside his face.  “I can’t believe it.”

A hand reached across his shoulder as his normally unresponsive son joined the family huddle.

He’d been waiting for this for too long.  Upon their escape from Earth and entering bubble space, the Confederation Special Ops team had fled not towards Evolutionary space, not towards Confederation space, but to the Outer Reaches and the Alliance.  They’d married up with a New Budapest-flagged freighter in the Void, transferred to that ship, and set the packet on self-destruct.  From there, the dead and ziplocked were left in an unmarked lifeboat and sent towards Brotherhood space with the rescue beacon blaring.

With plenty of time to kill as they made their roundabout way to Tarawa, Lieutenant Colonel Wispon-Franks had explained the rescue.  His team had been a sleeper cell emplaced within the Federation over seven years prior, on call, so-to-speak, for any needed operation.  Four of the team members had jobs at the spaceport as cargo handlers, and the others, including the team leader, worked within the local food service industry.  When Major Pohlmeyer activated them, they had swung into action, creating a pretty, well, simple plan.  With the packet sitting on the apron, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that it would be the vessel taking Ryck to the Cube.  And as the Federation had not yet publicized Ryck’s arrest, no extra security measures had been taken.

The port cargo handlers had been able to insert a worm program that sabotaged the coffee-maker on the packet—which had only the basic anti-virus protection, unlike the nav or power systems—figuring the crew wouldn’t want to sit for who knew how long without the coffee.  They were right.  An immediate call went out for a tech to fix it, which the team intercepted, and three members of the team had come in under the guise of repairmen.  Once inside, it had been quick work to take out the crew, and then for the others to join them.  Then all they had to do was wait for the notice from the court that “the package” was on the way and play the part of the real crew. 

The plan was too simple to work—except that it had, something for which Ryck would be eternally grateful.  And he planned to sit down with the good Major Pohlmeyer, find out how he’d known to swing his team into action, and more importantly, find out exactly what position he had within the Confederation. 

And looking over Hannah’s shoulder at the gathered men waiting for him, he’d meet with all of them and get caught up. But that would come later.  Right now, he had to reconnect with his family, to celebrate their reunion and grieve Ben’s death.

“Come on, Hannah, let’s go home.”

Chapter 34

“Our target is Hartford,” Ryck told his principal staff.

“Shit, nothing like grabbing for the brass ring!” Sams said.

“Do you have a problem with that, Master Gunnery Sergeant Samuelson?” Ryck snapped, his eyes blazing.

“Oh, no, sir!  It’s just that, well Hartford is, well Hartford.  That’s their second most important holding, and it’s pretty well defended.”

“So you think it should be hands off?  Do any of the rest of you think the same?” Ryck asked, looking around the table.

Only a few Marines met his eyes, and most looked uncomfortable.

“I’m sick and tired of this pattycake we’re playing with them.  And the longer we wait, the more the disparity between our relative economic might.  If we are at war, then we need to take it to them, pure and simple.  Earth as a target?  Well, our allies or pseudo-allies are not going to be too supportive of that.  So what’s next?  Hartford, that’s what.”

“I didn’t mean to disagree, sir,” Sams said.  “It’s just that it’ll be a tough nut to crack.”

“Anything worthwhile is.  And that’s why I’m tasking you, General Copperwait, to develop the plan that will crack that nut.  You’ve got two weeks and all the assets of the Corps, and I mean all of them.”

“Two weeks?” Tomtom asked.  “That’s not much time.”

“Well, then, I wouldn’t be wasting any of that time, General.”

“What about lift?”Jorge asked.

“General Nidischii’ is on his way back to the Doughnut as we speak.  He’s been tasked with getting us all the lift we need as well as the capital ships needed to hold off the loyalists.  For the sake of planning, assume you’ll get the lift.

For the next 45 minutes, various proposals were thrown back and forth.  And while Ryck had tasked Tomtom Copperwait with developing the plan, Ryck wanted to make sure his commander’s intent was understood.  Ryck and Bert had spent the previous night working out a general operation outline that Ryck thought had a good chance of success, and Ryck didn’t want to stray too far from that concept.

Sams had been right, though, when he said Hartford would be a tough nut to crack.  The planet was well defended with ground to air systems, an 800,000-man militia, and according to the latest intel, a brigade of loyalist Marines.  Ryck knew that his Marines could take on and defeat the dispersed militia, but they had to get on the planet, all without space-to-ground weapons.  The proscription didn’t apply to atmospheric craft, though, according to his staff judge advocate, and Ryck was going to rely on that loophole.  If they could get enough Wasps, Ospreys, and Experions into the planets’ atmosphere, they should be able to neutralize enough of the defenses so that most of the landing craft could get through.

Ryck knew that Marines would die—probably in huge numbers.  But even if taking Hartford was not a knock-out blow, it should turn the tide of the war.  It would be a statement to the rest of humanity, and it would seriously degrade if not cripple the loyalists’ war effort.

Ryck would mourn each and every Marine death later, but that was the price of waging war. 

Chapter 35

The Klethos
d’relle
swung her mace at the Brotherhood gladiator.  The gladiator ducked, bringing up his sword to block, but the force of the queen’s swing neutralized the block, dealing a blow to the gladiator’s shoulder.

Ryck grimaced.  The mace was a new weapon the Klethos had started to bring to the fights, and in Ryck’s mind, a more effective one.  Even if the human gladiator reacted correctly to block it, the power generated by it was just too much.

“His shoulder is shot,” Jorge noted.  “This one is over.”

Ryck had to agree, and he was tempted to turn off the feed, but he felt he had to give moral support to the gladiator.  He’d never met the Brotherhood fighter, but he’d followed him somewhat over the course of his preparation, as he’d followed all gladiators.  It was hard not to with all the press detailing every meal, every training session, every moment of downtime.  Ryck was frankly amazed that the public didn’t get detailed reports as to the size and consistency of their shits.

Ishmael Franzoni fought on, but Jorge was right.  The fight was over.  Within 30 seconds, the queen brought down a tremendous blow that crushed the gladiator’s head.  The queen stepped on the prone body, then lifted her head in her victory screech.

“Grubbing hell,” Ryck said succinctly, wondering if Corporal Hailstone might have won the fight. 

This was the 25
th
duel between Klethos and humans since Ryck had won the first fight.  Humans had won sixteen of them, the Klethos nine.  But the Klethos had won four of the last five, and until the humans adjusted their genmods, it looked like they would be winning more.

What made this duel more significant, at least to the talking heads who covered the fights, was that it was for the Brotherhood planet of Belinda II—one of the two planets settled by the Trinoculars after the Klethos had driven them out of their original holdings.  A human gladiator had tried to defend them but failed, and now they’d have to evacuate again and find another home.

“Well, back to the real world,” Ryck said, switching off the holo.  “What’s next?  Copperwait?”

“No, Tomtom is going through a simulation right now.  He’ll be done at 2200 if you want to review the results.”

“He’s been busting his balls, huh?  I wasn’t 100% sure about him, but I think he’ll be fine as the force commander.”

Ryck knew that Jorge had wanted to lead the expeditionary force, which would be made up of almost 75% of the total corps strength, but as much as Ryck admired Jorge’s capabilities, he hadn’t much combat experience, and he would be more valuable back at headquarters making sure that all the support ran smoothly.

“Yes, it’s going well, better than I expected,” Jorge said.  “But now, we’ve got Sergeant Major Ito, Joab Ling, and your good buddy Montero.”

“All three?  What is Montero bitching about now?”

“It has to do with the women in recruit training now.”

It had taken Ryck a little longer to put in place the full suffrage he had promised Michiko MacCailín.  The Navy had been quicker to get women through recruit training, but with the Marines, the physicality of boot camp had to be examined and adjusted where practical.  Which given the “no weaker standards” directive Ryck had issued, meant not much was changed in the long run.  The uniform sizes had to be expanded to take into account a greater percentage of smaller recruits, and ergonomic testing of weapons conducted, but in the end, for the first recruit class with women, there were only a very few minor adjustments made.

“OK, let’s get this over with.  I want to make a call to Bert to see where we are on the lift.”

Admiral Chandanasiri had been against the plan to attack Hartford from the beginning, but he’d finally relented.  He still was dragging his feet, though, with providing the ship-support the Marines needed, and while Bert was doing a bang-up job, Ryck wanted to lend his weight if needed.

Ryck shook hands with the sergeant major and Joab Ling eagerly, and then Montero’s a little less enthusiastically.

“So, everything as Camp Charles going well?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Joab said.  “We just graduated a class of 958 with a retention rate of 84%.  I’ll be sending you the full report later tonight.”

“Eighty-four percent?” Ryck asked incredulously.  “With no lowering of the standards?”

“No, sir.  Not a bit.  As you know, the volunteer rate is skyrocketing.  Everyone wants to join, so Manpower can be more selective of who is accepted.”

“Eighty-four percent?  That’s amazing.  But General Simone here told me you wanted to see me about the women in training?”

“Well, actually, sir, Mr. Montero wanted to see you.  The sergeant major and I had a meeting with General Della Cotta, and since this concerns recruit training, we tagged along, if that’s OK.”

Della Cotta was Ryck’s Deputy Chief of Staff for Manpower, one of the two generals with direct control over Joab and recruit training.

“OK, Mr. Montero, since you requested this, what do you want?” Ryck asked.

“If I may?” the public affairs liaison asked, synching his PA to the display.

A moment later, the image of a talking head sitting behind a desk appeared.  Ryck recognized him as one of the GBC News commentators.

“Another sign of the desperation in the criminal faction is the fact that they are forcing women into their military.  Women!”

A scene, obviously recorded at Camp Charles, showed a young woman running up to the wall climb on the obstacle course.  She tried to jump up and grab the top, but she missed.  Stepping back a few meters, she ran up again, jumped, and managed to get one hand on the top.  She hung on for less than two seconds before she fell to the ground.  A DI came into the recording field and told her to go around the wall.  The woman slowly got up, brushed the hair back around her ear, and slowly jogged around the wall and out of view.

“As you can see, this is hardly a force to be feared,” the commentator said with an obvious smirk on his face.  “The traitors are merely tyrannical bullies who force women to fight where men are too frightened.  I don’t think our professional military men are too concerned.

“On other news—” he started before Montero cut the recording.

“I thought you told me standards were not lowered,” Ryck said, his anger beginning to rise.

“They weren’t.  That recording was made during our ergonomic testing.  That woman was one of our DI’s wives who volunteered to help out the evaluation.”

“She was not a recruit?”

“No, sir.  We were testing all aspects of training for women of various sizes and shapes as well as uniform and armor fit.  I can assure you that the actual recruits are performing to the same standard as the men.”

Ryck let that sink in for a moment, glad for the reassurance. 

“So, Mr. Montero, what do we do about this?” he asked.

“Embrace it, sir.”

“What?  That made us look like idiots, incompetent idiots.”

“Oh, we let it be known that Ms. Reynolds is a middle-aged mother of four who was just trying to experience what her husband goes through—you know, a family day.  Then we show video of actual recruits.

“I can’t believe those bozos actually opened themselves up to this.  The latest surveys show that 68% of the population approve of women serving,” he continued, unable to hide his glee.

“Sixty-eight percent of our side, not the loyalists,” Jorge corrected.

“No, the loyalist side.  For us, we’re over 74%.”

“How do you know about the loyalist side?” Jorge asked.

“Please, sir!  We’ve got connections everywhere.  We just asked someone on that side to do the research.”

That slightly turned Ryck’s stomach, even though it didn’t surprise him.  He knew he needed Montero, but if he had such easy access to the loyalist planets, what else did he know?  And what might he be providing them?

“Did you take this up with General Della Cotta?” Ryck asked Joab.

“Not yet,” Montero answered for the colonel.

“He’s your boss.  Brief him, and he’ll coordinate.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

“General?  I think you need to look at this?” Jorge said interrupting, his voice low and barely audible.

His chief of staff was looking at his command PA.  Ryck’s PA was back at his desk, and he didn’t want to get up, so he reached over for Jorge’s.  Jorge handed it over, his face white.

What the. . .?

Ryck felt the blood rush from his head as he read the message.  It was from the naval command center on
Prometheus Station
.  452 ships had emerged from bubble space within a million klicks of the station.

“Get to the MCCC.  All hands!  And put us on Class A alert!” he shouted at Jorge as he bolted from the office.

By the time Ryck reached the MCCC, the battle was in full tilt.  The loyalist ships were swarming the few Third Fleet ships on picket duty.  A few loyalist ships were taken out, but the picket ships were outnumbered and knocked off, one-by-one.  The station defenses opened up, taking out more of the attackers as ships docked at the station started to pull away to get into the fight.

Ryck and the rest of the Marines, and joined by Admiral Mendez, watched in horror as one Third Fleet ship after another fell.

“I’ve got him, sir!” one of the comm techs shouted, holding up a phone.

Ryck grabbed it and said, “Bert!  What’s happening?”

“It looks bad, sir.  Our shields are failing, and we can’t get our ships out and into the defense.”

“Can you evacuate the station?”

“I don’t think so, sir.  I’ll—”

Bert was cut off as the display showed the station in full fight mode one moment, then an exploding sphere of light the next before everything went black.

“What the fuck?” a voice shouted out clearly among the gasps and murmuring.

An image started to show up as AIs routed to surviving sensors.  It wasn’t as clear, but it was clear enough to show that
Prometheus Station
was gone, along with most of the ships of the fleet.

“What the grubbing hell happened?” Ryck yelled out.

“They used a planet buster, sir!  A planet buster!” one of the station techs answered.

“The agreement!” another voice shouted out.  “It was proscribed!”

Proscribed or not, the loyalists had just murdered 30,000 civilians and wiped out the Third Fleet.  And General Bert Nidischii’.

The war had just taken a horrible turn for the worse.