Sergeant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 2)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  But why the Marines? Since when had they become Commerce Cops? The Marine Corps’ mission was defense, not being policemen. The Federation Charter forbade armed Marines from even stepping foot on Earth, so strong was the concept that the Marine Corps was not an instrument to use against the general populace. Yet here they were, being cops.

  All that was above Ryck’s pay grade—way above. He had a mission to accomplish, and he was going to get all his Marines through it and back home. That was a mission that he understood.

  This was Ryck’s sixth combat op, seven if he counted the NEO

  [16] on Soreau. Of the six, this would be the third time he was going underground. He’d done a paper on the war in Vietnam back in the 20th Century, old time, and he’d been fascinated by the tunnel rats of the US, Australian, and Korean forces. It looked like he was turning into a modern version of them, though, and he wasn’t sure he really wanted to be. He wasn’t claustrophobic, but fighting underground could give anyone the jeebies.

  Their guide, a local whose name was withheld, contacted the lieutenant. Three Marines from Second went out to meet him, then escorted him back. He was wearing a ski-mask, which had to be hot in the muggy, late morning heat. With no name and a mask, Ryck did not get a warm and fuzzy about the man. Supposedly, he worked in the complex, but NIS had turned him (for what had to be a tidy sum.) He could just as well be leading them into a trap, though.

  The two squads broke into columns. With Ryck’s squad 50 meters to the left of Second, they made their way through the forest. A column was not a secure formation for a movement to contact, but it did allow for a smaller front to any observers. There were sensors guarding the exit and surrounding area, of course, but the Marines had been assured that they had been deactivated.

  First Squad, in their PICS, would follow in trace, staying out of the complex itself while securing their rear. Any belligerent who somehow made it past the other two squads would be picked up by them.

  There was not much undergrowth, which surprised Ryck. Normally, with younger forests, thickets and other vegetation made movement difficult. Here, it was pretty clear. Evidently, many of the different kinds of plant life which could fill the forest floor had either never been introduced, or more likely, given the biogenesis teams penchant for a full bio-diversity, they just hadn’t established themselves yet. Terraforming was not like engineering. Nature had a way of asserting itself despite centuries of mankind’s experience.

  The two squads stopped 150 meters short of their objective to wait out the final 10 minutes. Ryck pulled up the map of the complex one more time on his display. His mission was to follow Third through the exit, then take the right-branching tunnel. They would move forward to the next intersection, secure it, then sit and wait for the ants to come scurrying out.

  There was no telling how accurate the map was, though. The best ground penetration sensors, both from space and from atmosphere drones, had only been able to discern the larger passages. NIS had acquired some hand-drawn maps as well, but who knew how accurate they were?

  At five minutes to go-time, the boomboom team from Weapons Platoon crept forward, covered by one of Second’s fire teams. Sergeant Kyle led them as they placed their charge on the door. Ryck half-expected someone to come out shooting, but all remained quiet.

  Second Squad crept closer while the boomboom team retreated back. They would not be detonating the charge. It was slaved to the charges that Third Platoon would be placing on the cargo bays. Once armed, the charge would detonate at the same time as Third’s.

  “Get ready,” Ryck sent on the squad circuit needlessly.

  His Marines would be watching the same timer as he was. When it got to 10 seconds, he gathered his legs under him and got into a crouch, ready to move. At exactly zero, a muffled explosion sounded in front of him.

  Second Squad was up and moving before the smoke and dust had cleared. Ryck gave them ten seconds, then sent off Cpl Rey’s team. He followed next with the other two fire teams and the automatic weapons team in back of him.

  Ryck should have waited another ten seconds. Rey’s team ran into the tail end of Popo’s squad, and they had to stop. Within a few heartbeats, though, the last Marine in Third was in and LCpl Keiji led the way for Second.

  Sweat was already pouring down Ryck’s back, faster than his skins could wick it away. His PICS was temperature controlled. Skins were not, unless a heavy environmental pack was carried.

  He scooted past the big steel door that hung ajar. The boomboom boys knew their stuff. Just enough explosives had been used to breach the door, but not enough to destroy it.

  The lieutenant had stopped at the Y in the main corridor. He was playing traffic cop, motioning Ryck’s squad off to the right. With Keiji on point, they moved quickly down their assigned corridor. A small room on the left slowed them down. The room was not on the map, but it had to be cleared. The room had a half-dozen drums, and each one had to be checked to make sure it was empty. That took time, at least 30 seconds. They still had another 50 meters to go before they reached their objective. Ryck had Mendoza’s team cover Rey’s as First sprinted the last interval.

  “We’re at Blue Whiskey,” Rey passed as he set his team.

  Ryck jumped up and moved forward. The intersection was too small for his entire squad. The main corridor was about three meters across, the side corridor two. He had 15 Marines, the 13 in his squad and the two in the heavy machine gun team attached to him. He sent the machine gun team to join with Rey’s team, told Mendoza to cover the side corridor, and told Cpl Beady to cover their rear.

  “We’ve got movement to our front,” Keiji passed before the machine gun team could get their M449 deployed.

  Ryck could see their renewed efforts to get the gun ready as other Marines took whatever cover they could find.

  “Halt! Put your hands up!” someone, probably Prifit, shouted in front of Ryck.

  A three round burst sounded, at least one round winging past Ryck’s head as it ricocheted along the wall of the corridor. Ahead of him, Ryck could see shapes hitting the deck as the M449 opened up.

  “Cease fire! Cease Fire! We surrender!” a panicked voice called out.

  “Push your weapon away from you, slowly. If you make one move, so help me, I’ll ghost you right there,” Prifit called out.

  Ryck was already moving. He slid past the M449 team, leaving them a field of fire in case they had to open up again. Prifit and Keiji were standing in the middle of the corridor. Cpl Rey and Hartono were hugging the wall, but covering the 10 or so people lying on the ground 10 meters in front of them. One man was on his back, leg twisted under him, one hand still grasping his Lancet. His dead eyes stared at the ceiling while blood pooled rapidly to his side. Two more men in military-looking utilities were slowly, ever so slowly, pushing their own Lancets away from them.

  Ryck touched Keiji’s shoulder and motioned him to move to the side. They had to leave the middle of the corridor open in case the gun team needed to engage again.

  “John, get your team up here,” he passed to Cpl Beady.

  “That’s far enough, you two. Hands behind your head,” Prifit told the two living gunmen.

  It took only seconds before Third Team was there. Ryck had Beady send two men, Holleran and Ling, to pick up the three Lancets, then slap zips on each of the prisoners. Once the last man had his hands secured behind his back, Ryck could finally turn down the stress a notch.

  Shots rang out, momentarily bringing the stress back until Ryck realized they were sounding from off to the left of his Marines, out of their area. Second Squad sounded like they were in it, but within 20 or 30 seconds, the firing died away. The last shots sounded like M99 reports, not Lancets, though it was hard to tell with all the echoing.

  Ryck had reported their catch to the lieutenant and was ordered to sit tight. One of the prisoners asked to have his zips adjusted. Ryck ignored him.

  It only took about 30 minutes for the all-clear to sound. The lieutenant t
old Ryck to move back, taking the prisoners out of the complex. A few of them had to be helped to their feet. Two had pissed in their pants, and the smell was getting ripe. That was another advantage to PICS that Ryck missed: filtered air.

  He released the zips on two of the men in overalls, then refastened them with their hands in front. They had to drag the body of the dead merc. The younger of the two, a heavyset man, looked like he wanted to throw up as they picked up the merc’s arms. The blood trail, which looked dark brown under the fluorescent lights, seemed to mesmerize him for a moment of time before the gag reflex took over him. Ryck heard Holleran bet Martin that the guy would lose it before they made it out. Ryck pushed to the front, and he never did find out who won the bet.

  Two Marines in PICS stood outside at either side of the exit, looking like ancient statues guarding a temple. Several of the prisoners tried to crowd the center, trying to keep as far away from the motionless Marines as possible. The two surviving mercs didn’t give the Marines a second glance.

  For once, Navy intel seemed to have been right. This had been an easy mission, all things considered. A Marine in Third Platoon had been slightly wounded, but that was the only WIA from Golf. Two Marines in Second Squad had been hit, as had Hartono, but their bones had hardened as they were designed to do, and none of the three had been hurt. Ryck looked over at Hartono who was showing the boot, PFC Ling, where he had been hit.

  Ryck thought Ling didn’t show enough gumption as a member of the squad. He wasn’t sure how the PFC had even made it through boot camp. To Ryck, this mission was barely worth mentioning, but to PFC Jeb Ling, this was a pivotal moment in his career. He had been blooded. Maybe that would stiffen up his backbone.

  The mercs and workers had not fared as well as the Marines. Ryck didn’t know how many had fallen before Third Platoon, but a three had died facing Second. There was the merc killed by the M449 with Ryck, and Third squad had killed two of the workers. A merc with them had been gut-shot. Doc Steuber was working on him, and he didn’t seem too concerned, so the merc was probably going to pull through.

  “Good job, Sergeant Lysander. Your Marines did well. We’ll wait for recall instructions, but meanwhile, work on your after action report. I’d like it by 2200,” the lieutenant told him, cool as could be.

  This was the lieutenant’s second combat action as an officer, discounting the rescue of the Legion officers on Soreau, and he acted like this was simply another training exercise. With two Silver Stars, he’d been in the shit before, and this was nothing to compare with that, but still, Ryck expected a little more emotion.

  “Aye-aye, sir,” Ryck responded. At first, he’d hated the after action reports he’d had to draft up after every training evolution. When he started treating them like homework for his academic classes, though, they became less of a burden, just one of those routine things he had to do.

  “Hey, what unit are you guys?” one of the mercs asked from where he was sitting.

  Ryck caught his eye, then looked away.

  “Come one, what harm is there? Let’s see, one heavy squad, two light. From where we are, you’re, what Third Marine Division? Ninth Marines maybe? So not a heavy company. I’m guessing Alpha, 1/9,” he went on.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Holleran told him, stepping up and bending over to address the merc.

  “Calm down there, Joe. Just making conversation,” the merc said, seemingly nonplussed by Holleran’s aggressive stance over him.

  “Name’s not Joe, worm, and I said shut up,” Holleran said, leaning over further to put his face right in the merc’s.

  “Remember Paragraph 2002. You don’t want an international incident, do you?”

  “Lips, stand down,” Ryck said, putting his hand on the lance corporal’s shoulder and turning him around. “Go wait by Doc and bring him here when he’s done. This guy’s been hit, too.”

  “But what about what he said?” Lips protested.

  “Go,” Ryck told him, giving him a light shove.

  “Lips? That’s precious,” the merc said as Lips strode off.

  “What do you know about Paragraph 2002?” Ryck asked.

  Paragraph 2002 was part of the Harbin Accords, the agreement in which the interplanetary rules of combat were delineated. That paragraph specifically prohibited any maltreatment of civilian prisoners.

  “I used to be a Marine. LCpl Jerry Damien, at your service,” he said with a smile. “I’d offer you my hand, but I’m kind of tied up at the moment.”

  Ryck just stared at him, mouth falling open.

  “Yep, thought that might surprise you,” the merc said.

  “You, what, you deserted to become a mercenary?” Ryck asked, still stunned.

  “What? No, of course not. I did my time. Didn’t get recommended for re-enlistment, though, so I got out. Thought about the Legion, but got picked up by Phoenix Security, instead. They sent me here.”

  “But you’re a mercenary,” Ryck protested.

  “And you are . . .?” the man asked, waiting for Ryck to reply.

  “I’m not a grubbing mercenary, that’s for sure!” Ryck answered.

  “Really? So what mission of ‘defense’ are you on right now? Who are you saving? At least I know what my job was. I was hired to protect a legitimate business enterprise. You, on the other hand, were sent to close it down. Sounds like a corporate mercenary to me,” he said.

  Ryck had noted this very point to himself earlier, so the merc’s statement hit him hard. He could not admit that, though.

  “Sorry, you’re all fucked up. I’m a Federation Marine,” he stated with conviction. “and this ‘business,’ as you call it, is not legitimate. It’s a smuggling operation.”

  “Smuggling? Because it doesn’t pay Federation protection money--excuse me--tariffs? Who do you think runs this operation?”

  Ryck shrugged.

  “Greater France, that’s who. They’re not part of your vaunted Federation.”

  “But the Mutual Defense Treaty. They have to kick in for that, right?” Ryck asked.

  “Do you know your history, Sergeant? The American Revolution? ‘No taxation without representation?’” the merc asked, continuing before Ryck could reply. “Well, Greater France doesn’t feel that they have to kowtow to the great Federation. I know you’ve been following the news. You’ve seen the goings on back on Earth. Things are coming to a head, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see war break out.”

  War, with France? No, it’ll never happen, Ryck thought. What am I doing arguing with him?

  “ Enjoy your time in prison, asshole,” he said.

  “Prison? Won’t happen.”

  “Yeah, right. You attacked a Federation military force. You’re going to a POW camp somewhere in the far reaches of space. Enjoy the rest of your life,” Ryck told him.

  “Attacked? No, as bonded security guards, we reacted to what we thought was a criminal action taken against our clients. When we realized that you were Marines, we laid down our weapons. No, I’ll be back out on the street within a week,” he said confidently.

  Ryck went over the events in his mind. With a sinking feeling, he realized that this merc was probably right. The lawyers would get them all freed.

  “On the other hand,” he said, looking around to see if anyone else was listening in, “I don’t really want to spend a week as a guest of the Federation, so if you could see to let me walk, I could get a cool 10k to you, more if you walked with me. When you and the Legion go head-to-head, no one’s going to win, so you might as well look out for yourself, and we pay much, much better.”

  Ryck just stared at him for a moment, not believing what he’d heard, before answering, “Are you freaking high? You think you can offer me anything at all? Look at you. You’ve been shot in the arm. Your buddy over there, he’s dead!”

  “He was an asshole anyway. Good riddance. But this is about you. What’s it going to be?”

  “Fuck you,” Ryck said as he turned away and walked off.


  “What was did that guy want?” Popo asked as Ryck joined him.

  “He wanted someone to put a round through his grubbing brain, and I came close to granting him that,” Ryck said. “Forget it.”

  But Ryck couldn’t forget what the guy had said. He was afraid it might be true.

  Alexander

  Chapter 7

  With one simple click, Ryck closed his exam—his last exam. What had started as a means to combat boredom while going through his first regen had somehow grown into a full student status. With this exam, Ryck had completed the requirements for a degree—if he passed, that is. The school was pretty quick on letting students know their grades, so Ryck should know within a couple of days.

  He got up from the testing station and walked up to the proctor. This was McBored, the proctor who always seemed to wish he was somewhere else. The identities of the two proctors for Camp Kolesnikov were guarded, as per SOP. Ryck thought that was pretty funny, as if this was some top secret spy mission. Someone had to know who they were just to give them base access, after all. Instead, they were anonymous figures who were supposedly above corruption and who monitored both military and civilian testing on the base. McBored and Goat, two nameless cogs in the Federation bureaucracy.

  Ryck smiled as he handed McBored his ID and put his thumb on the reader. Unlike Goat, who at least made a show of checking the pic to the face, McBored simply waited for the green light over the thumb reader before leaning in for his own retinal scan. Once that was done, the outgoing was unlocked, and Ryck’s exam was off to the University of Phoenix for grading.

  Getting a degree would mean nothing to Ryck as a Marine, but in the civil service, any certified education meant an increase in salary, and after several grand corruption schemes were uncovered, the exam processes had been changed. The military had been caught up in those changes. It didn’t really matter to Ryck one way or the other, but he usually had to withhold a laugh at the super-spy-like procedures. It was just an exam, not the plans for a new bubble space projector.