Commandant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 8) (3 page)

Chapter 4

“Atteint!” Genghis said, slapping the five cards down on the table and raking together the chips.

Ryck folded his cards in disgust and dropped them face down.  They’d been playing for only a little more than an hour, but he was already down over a hundred credits to the other three men.  Ryck didn’t even like playing cards that much.  Hannah was into bridge, and he’d played with her, but he’d rather be kicking back in front of the holo with a Corona in hand.  But with the
Kravitch
in a Mendoza Cage, there wasn’t much else to do.

The Mendoza Cage was not a physical cage but rather an impenetrable array of pulsating electromagnetic waves that covered the ship.  As long as the station provided power to the cage, the ship had no way of receiving or sending comms other than a single optical cable now connected to one of the ship’s docking hubs.  When the station wanted to contact them, it would.  Until then the ship might as well have slipped into an alternate, unpopulated universe.

Only they were still in their universe, just blind.  For all they knew, the Federation could be gathering a fleet of ships, ships that could be orbiting the station right then, weapons trained on the
Kravitch
and the
Temperance
.  Not knowing what was happening was excruciating, and Ryck’s imagination had taken a turn to the worst possible scenarios.

It wasn’t just Ryck.  After the thrill of breaking away from the Federation, reality had begun to rear its head among the Marines and crew as the gravity of the situation sunk in.  Men started thinking of home, of family.  Thoughts drifted to the penalty for mutiny.  And isolated, without knowing what was going on, the negative thoughts fed upon each other, growing into a tsunami of self-doubt.  Add the fact that it was crowded, with Marines and sailors hot-racking
[4]
it, fights broke out every few hours, and the chiefs and SNCOs had their hands full.

With two days in the cage so far, Ryck was second-guessing himself to death.  He’d hoped that Meister Henricks-Pata would grant them a safe haven, but the longer they were held in the cage, the more it seemed as if the choice had been a bad one.  The
Juliette Station 2
might be an amazingly powerful bunker in space, and the Juliette Group controlled important mineral resources that the Federation needed, but the station could not stand up militarily to the Federation.  Self-preservation might be trumping the reasonable-to-expect kindred spirit connection Ryck was hoping to exploit.

Ryck had accepted Genghis’ offer for a game of lances more just to be doing something, anything but the planning sessions that had taken up most of his time since arriving at the station.  Along with Captain Plummer and Lieutenant Commander Xanci, the ship’s chaplain, the four went through the motions of playing.  Ryck’s thoughts kept straying to Hannah and the twins, and his lack of concentration had cost him a full day’s pay so far.

Shit.  A day’s pay?  Who do I expect to be paying me now?
he asked himself.

The dealer duties rotated to Ryck, so he collected the cards, fed them into the shuffle-master, and dealt them out to the other three.  Lances was pretty much poker, to Ryck’s inexperienced mind, not much different than seven-card chutes or Texas hold ’em, but it was the current flavor of the month that periodically swept through human space, only to fade away as a new fad took hold.  Ryck might not be as big a fan of bridge as his wife, but at least that game had remained basically unchanged for centuries.

Captain Plummer took one look at his hand and immediately folded, a look of disgust on his face.  Ryck took a peek at his; not bad, and something with which he could work.  He hesitated only a moment before hitting the double-down button.

“Levée,” he said after momentarily forgetting the proper term to send the hand into mêlée.

“Oh, feeling frisky, eh, General?” the chaplain asked.  “What could you have, there?”

“Well, Father, you’re going to have to play to find out.”

“So says the man who’s lost about every hand so far this evening,” the chaplain said to the laughs of the other two.

With the captain out, Ryck dealt two cards to Genghis and three to the chaplain before dropping one and dealing himself another.

Damn!  That’s what I’m talking about,
he thought, trying to keep his face devoid of visible emotion. 
Time to get some of those credits back.

Ryck was just about to double down again when there was a knock on his hatch, followed immediately by Lieutenant Feinstein sticking his head in the stateroom.

“General, the station is requesting your presence.  Yours, Captain Plummer’s, and Commander Kaawa’s.”

Ryck dropped his game control, his bet forgotten.

“How much time do I have?” he asked, jumping to his feet.

“There will be a guide at Starboard 3C in 20 minutes—uh, 18 minutes now.”

“Hell, they could have given us a little warning after having us sit here for two days.  Brian, let’s get moving.  Service dress, OK?”

“Roger that, sir.  I’m on my way,” Captain Plummer said, bolting for the hatch.

Ryck had a private head, and he was tearing off his shorts and shirt as he told his AI, “Water, fine mist, 45 degrees.”

By the time he slid into the shower, the water was already at temperature.

“Genghis, can you get out my alphas?” he shouted out as he triggered the soap.

Thank God some things never leave you
, he thought as he jumped out of the shower a minute later, thinking back to his recruit training and the “Navy showers”
[5]
he’d had to take then.

Genghis had laid out his alphas.  It wasn’t a lieutenant colonel’s job to dress a general, but the ancient practice of having an orderly had disappeared ages ago, and time was a-wasting.

It took another minute-and-a-half to slam on his uniform.  Ryck opened his sea locker, and there on the top shelf, his two Federation Novas glinted in the LED lighting over his desk.  The Novas were worn on ribbons around the neck.  Ryck handed the medals to Genghis, and just as Ryck helped Hannah with her pearls, the lieutenant colonel played husband and fastened the clips.  Ryck was facing the desk, and as Genghis finished up with the medals, Ryck’s attention was caught on the sea locker.  Almost without thinking, he reached out and took the small PA that he’d had for close to 15 years, a PA he’d never used, and slid it into his trousers pocket.  He turned around, and with Genghis running alongside and still adjusting the hang of Ryck’s Novas, the two Marines were out the hatch in just under five minutes.

“Get your ass in gear, Captain!” Ryck shouted through the ship’s CO’s closed hatch as he hurried down the passage. 

The
Kravitch
was a huge ship, and while elevators plied the engineering and weapons spaces, there were none in officers’ country.  Ryck checked his watch; he should make it in time, but it would be close.

With two minutes to spare, Ryck reached the designated hatch.  Genghis fussed over his uniform like a mother hen, which annoyed Ryck to no end, but he did want to make a good impression, so he stood there and endured it.  With only 30 seconds to spare, Captain Plummer showed up, breathing heavily.

“You ready?” Ryck asked.

Plummer took a deep breath, then said, “Doesn’t matter if I am or not.  I just want an answer.”

Commander Bortello showed up huffing and puffing and immediately bent over to catch his breath.  Captain Plummer leaned over to give the commander some last-second guidance.

Ryck looked to Genghis.  Ryck’s inclusion in the task force had been purely political, and he’d never had a real staff with him.  Genghis was the next senior Marine.  Both of them had enlisted at the same time, so they were the same age.  But it was asking a lot of a lieutenant colonel to shoulder the burden of a mutiny should something go wrong out in the station.

“Look, Naranbaatar,” he started, for once addressing Genghis by his real name.  “If something, well, if things don’t go right out there, well, it’s your call.  Do what you think is right for the men.”

“Hell, General, we’re in this together.  Whatever happens, it happens to all of us.”

“I’m not holding you to that.  Do what’s right, that’s all.”

Genghis didn’t have a chance to respond as the bosun mate in charge of the hatch called out, “Opening S-C3.  Stand by.”

With a whoosh, the hatch swung back.  Air rushed in, the breeze cooling the slight sweat that had formed on his face in the rush to the hatch.  Exotic smells almost assaulted his nose after the sterile air of the
Kravitch
.  Like all stations,
Juliette Station 2
used overpressure to keep from being invaded by pathogens from visiting ships, but unlike most stations, open-air markets, replete with food stalls, kept the air full of aromas that were not scrubbed.  The Juliette Group liked it that way, and it gave visitors a feel of how Ryck imagined an ancient casbah might strike people for the first time. 

Ryck didn’t have time to contemplate the sociological implications of how the Juliette Group ran their holdings, though.  Waiting outside the hatch were four well-armed police, their faces hidden by helmets and dark visors.  A lone young man in a silk suit stood one step in front of the muscle.

“This way, please,” the man said.

Ryck stepped through the hatch, followed by Captain Plummer.  A technician punched something into a control box, and with an audible snap, the Mendoza Cage snapped shut around the opening that had allowed them to open the hatch.

Ryck felt an emotional connection severed as the cage closed.  He and Plummer were cut off.  If something happened to them, no one on the
Kravitch
would ever know.

Without a word, Ryck and Plummer stepped off on the heels of their young escort.  With two of the police leading, the other two fell behind, effectively keeping the two mutineers surrounded.

For a fleeting second, Ryck was tempted to spin and jump one of the two men behind them and then make a break for it.  But to what end?  Even if he could immobilize one of them, something that was not a sure thing given their air of deadly competence and Ryck’s aging body, there would be three others.  And if he did get away, he was in a space station.  Hollybolly flicks notwithstanding, people just cannot hide on a station where every living being is monitored 24/7.

The sheer size of the
Kravitch
—which would normally keep it off-station, but with the need of a Mendoza Cage requiring station-provided power, it had to have a physical docking—kept the ship at the very end of the terminal arm, a huge ball stuck on the end of a tube.  That made it about as far away from the main station as was physically possible.  The walk down the terminal arm, however, was shorter than Ryck had expected; as was logical, a small cart was waiting for them at the security checkpoint for the gate, and all seven men clambered aboard.   The shuttle took off smoothly, whisking them to the end of the terminal.  After two right turns, the shuttle sped down the adjacent terminal arm, stopping at a security point outside Gate B6 and where Commander Kaawa, the Temperance’s CO, stood waiting, along with four more police guards.  At least those guards did not get on the crowded shuttle as it turned around to take them into the heart of the station.

At the end of the terminal arm,
Juliette Station 2
boasted a large window, some 40 meters long.  This was a favorite spot for locals and visitors alike as it offered a view of three of the station’s four terminal arms, and when the orientation was right, of the enormous hulk of the gas giant Gardenhaupt.

Ryck was no different, and he looked out the window to try and spot the
Kravitch
, which was pretty hard to miss.  Something else caught his eye, though, and it tickled a warning.

“Is that—” he started to whisper to Captain Plummer.

“Yes,” the captain whispered back quickly, cutting him off.

Far off in the distance, probably 30 or 40 kilometers, a vast sphere caught the sun’s rays.  The unique outline, even at that distance, left no doubt.  Another
Admiral Neung
-class dreadnaught was out there.  And where the Navy sent a dreadnaught, other ships would accompany it.

The Navy only had five of the
Admiral Neungs
, the
Kravitch
being one.  The
Kravitch
would be an even match for the ship out there, but the
Kravitch
was in the Mendoza Cage.  Even if the cage were shut down, the
Kravtich
would be a sitting duck for the other dreadnaught even without considering the other ships that had to be accompanying it.

Ryck turned to look back forward, his stomach in his throat.  With the Federation Navy there, his options were limited.  While he’d known their chances were minimal, to have that confirmed was heartbreaking.  This wasn’t some flick where some improbable miracle and feats of derring-do could extract them.  The jig was up.  And now, he could only offer himself as a way to save the 6,000 men on the two ships. 

The Federation had him, no matter what.  And they could eliminate him and execute the rest of the men as they chose.  They’d been willing to murder 12 billion, so what was a mere 6,000?  But the Federation was aware of the media and public opinion (although that hadn’t seemed to enter into the equation when deciding to interdict Ellison).  If Ryck would publically admit to his sins, he might be able to negotiate at least exile to a prison planet for the enlisted.  It was worth a try, at least.