“He can’t be that tough,” Ryck said, sliding an arm around her belly.
“Yes he is, but if we get out of here quick, he won’t be knowing where we’ve gone.”
Ryck turned her around and gave her a kiss. “Missed you,” he said.
“I missed you, too, but I’m here now. I want to see this resort hotel you’ve picked out. Care to escort me there, Marine?”
“Your wish is my command, my lady,” he said, taking her suitcase.
Outside was something of a madhouse with people breaking the line to grab autocabs. Each autocab was programmed to wait its turn despite the admonitions of those who’d jumped the line to get going on their way. This was a tourist destination with heavy influxes of arrivals, so Ryck would’ve thought they’d have it more organized. It took them a good twenty minutes before they got their own cab and were on their way.
Hannah snuggled up against Ryck on the ride, hands roaming a bit in a promise of what was to come. If the windows on the cab could be darkened, Ryck thought they might not have waited until they got to the Spruce Look Resort.
It took almost an hour, but at last, the “We will be arriving at your destination in approximately two minutes. Fergusson’s Autocab wishes you a pleasant stay, and we want to remind you to press Star 5558 for your future travel needs,” came over the autocab’s speakers.
Hannah leaned forward to look out the window as the resort came into view. Ryck had to admit that it was pretty impressive. Huge conifers—which had to be genmodded, they were so big—surrounded a white two-story building with extensive brown wood molding and trim. Behind the resort, a picture-postcard lake could be seen through the trees. It looked quiet, inviting, and just like the type of place where the two could lose themselves in each other.
There was a human receptionist to check them in, which was a nice touch. “Byron” was a young man, but his manner was impeccable. He reminded Ryck of some of the characters in any of the recent flicks taking place in 19th Century Britain. Ryck knew that the resort was a meticulously planned product from the Brilliant Travel Experiences Corporation. In many ways, it was a facade of sorts. The fanciful Hollywood version of English life at the time may not be accurate, but it fit the company’s vision of what its customers wanted. Ryck tended to be a bit cynical about Corporate Federation, but when an actual bellhop came to take their bags, he couldn’t help but feel impressed. It may have been a show, but it was working.
The room was beautiful, and Hannah actually made an audible intake of air as she saw it.
Score one for Ryck!
Kreicher—the bellhop—went around the room, explaining the features. Hannah was listening with rapt attention, but Ryck wanted Kreicher to wrap it up and get out. When he finished, Ryck wasn’t sure how to tip the bellhop as he didn’t have a PA on his uniform. Kreicher had out his own PA, and the bellhop had obviously been through this before.
“Captain Lysander, assisting you is our pleasure. We do not need a gratuity, but if you insist, there is a recpad over here,” he said, pointing to a small screen by the door that Ryck had missed. “So with that, I will leave you alone now. We at the Spruce Lodge hope you have a very enjoyable stay.”
Kreicher left, and Ryck tapped in 20 credits on his PA.
“Oh, more than that,” Hannah said as she watched. “He was so helpful.”
Ryck had thought that 20 was more than generous, but he dutifully increased it to 25, then tapped the recpad. Done and done, and now for more important things.
He grabbed Hannah and pulled her in for a kiss. She returned the kiss, but only briefly before pulling away.
“Not like this, Ryck. I’m a mess. Let me get prettied up, OK?”
Ryck wouldn’t have minded if Hannah had just come out of the gym, but as dense as he could be, he’d learned a few things about being married. He gave her a kiss on the forehead and let her go. She took her suitcase and disappeared into the bathroom. When he heard the shower turn on, he contemplated joining her but decided she would rather he wait. It was OK—they had four days together.
He took a seat on the foot of the bed, thought about turning on the holo, and once again, with his married self the voice of caution, figured that wouldn’t be the most romantic thing to do. He cupped his hand over his mouth and took a whiff. His breath seemed OK, but he threw down a breath bud anyway, feeling the explosion of mint as the little nanos cleaned his tongue and throat.
He was wondering what was taking her so long when his tether sounded. The “tether” was the nickname given the Personnel Communications Receiver given to each Marine and sailor while deployed. It looked like a small, old-fashioned watch, but its purpose was to enable anyone to be reached within a planetary system. With a sinking feeling, he flipped open the cover.
His heart sank. It was a Class 1 recall. Something was up, something big.
He stood up, went to the closed bathroom door, and opened it.
“Hey!” Hannah protested, a toothbrush in her mouth, her hair in clips sticking in all sorts of directions. “Keep your pants on . . .” she started until something in Ryck’s expression registered with her.
“Recall?” she asked with a resigned tone, but one in which she was hoping she was wrong.
Ryck just nodded.
“What class?”
“Class 1.”
Her expression fell, as she put the toothbrush down. Toothpaste foam still bubbled around her lips as the nanos went about their mission, oblivious to the drama.
“Do you think it be a drill?”she asked without too much hope.
“The sergeant major promised us no drills. No, I think it’s real,” Ryck said, not knowing if he was more disappointed for himself or for seeing his wife’s expression.
Being married to a Marine was tough. The separations and demands put on a Marine had destroyed more than a fair share of Marine marriages. Hannah actually worked for the military in her civilian capacity, so she might have a better feel for the Corps than some other wives, but that didn’t make it any easier. They’d been married now for almost ten years, and they had spent exactly two anniversaries together. Ryck had missed countless birthdays and other holidays. He had missed the twins’ birth.
“Well, that be life, I guess,” she said. I’ll wait here until we know for sure. If I don’t hear from you by evening, I’ll be getting on the next ship out.”
Ryck slowly walked over and leaned in to kiss her. The toothpaste foam filled his mouth. She returned his fierce hug.
Ryck loved the Corps, but sometimes, he resented its demands on him.
He tugged at the towel Hannah had wrapped around her, dropping it to the floor. He pulled Hannah in tight, forcing the air from her lungs. She eagerly sought his mouth with hers before breaking off.
“Ryck, I want you, but the recall. . .”
“Screw the recall. I’ve got two hours to report back to the shuttle, and I’m going to use every single minute allotted to me so I can spend time with my wife. I assume that’s OK with you?” he asked facetiously.
She didn’t verbally respond, but her physical response was more than enough.
This wasn’t as he had imagined it. Her hair was a mess. She had foam all over her mouth. She didn’t have on the sexy negligee he could see hanging on a hook by the sink. But she was his wife, and he loved her.
He took her by the hand and almost dragged her out into the bedroom. He’d have to be quick, but he figured he was more than up to the task.
Chapter 5
“At 22:15 MST, the FS Julianna’s Dream, a registered Federation yacht was seized by the Confederation System Guard while in neutral space. It was taken under traction and towed to the CF-32 system where we have learned through the Brotherhood embassy on Neuvo Bogata that a Confederation Navy cargo vessel, probably the CS Prince of Celeste, will bring it back to the Firenze Station,” LT Brisco Telemark, the ship’s intel officer, briefed the gathered staff.
“We have lodged a complaint with the Confederation of Free
States and demanded the ship’s immediate release, but the Confederation has accused the Julianna’s Dream of being on a spy mission in their space. Since that response, the President of the Confederation has recalled his ambassador and pulled our ambassador’s credentials.
“Here is the CF-32 system,” he said, pointing to an image over the portable holo base that had been put on the wardroom table.
The Inchon was extremely advanced in most ways, but for a troop transport, there was no central briefing room. Each stateroom was connected for conference briefs, but the sailors and Marines quickly abandoned the system except for entertainment. A briefing needed to be face-to-face for the best conveyance of information, so the wardroom was quickly chosen as a defacto briefing room. It was crowded with all the required staff, but it was better than the alternative.
“The system has no habitable planets, but it has two research stations, one which is experimenting with methods to mine the atmosphere of its gas giant, CF-32-5.”
The holo centered on a ringed planet.
Ryck wasn’t up-to-date on all mining research, but he was basically aware of the drive to develop an economically viable method to pull substances such as hydrogen deuteride, which increased efficiencies in modern fabrication, out of gas giants. Most of the gas giants’ atmospheres were simple hydrogen, but with such huge volumes of gasses, even trace amounts of hydrogen deuteride resulted in tremendous amounts of the gas.
If the Julianna’s Dream strayed too close to the system, then Ryck wasn’t surprised that the ship was detained. Why the Confederation wouldn’t release the ship now was another story, though.
“The Prince of Celeste is a Tonder class heavy hauler, and we don’t think it can arrive on station before 05:15 on June 8, MST. It could be preceded by a warship, of course, but we’ve had no indication of sudden unplanned departures of capital ships in the region.
“That leaves the System Guard ship. We do not have a firm identification of the ship yet, but it is probably a Wrym class packet, which would put it at 50,000 tons, armed with a second generation 50 KJ plasma cannon, four torpedo tubes, and a 50mm railgun.”
Ryck could almost see the slight easing of the tension among the Navy staff. While that ship might be more than enough to be a deterrent of pirates and tax runners, it was hardly a match for the Inchon.
“The Julianna’s Dream is a Cessna 900,” he went on perking up the ears of all the ship groupies. Ryck was not up on all the newest and greatest in the yacht fleets, but even he knew the Cessna was top-of-the-line.
“The owner-pilot is Mr. Terrance Gilbreath, a businessman. Onboard are his wife, three children, and four personal staff.
“That’s all for my initial assessment. I will feed more out as I receive it. Let me turn it over to Commander Marsov.”
“So are we going to show the flag, you think?” Donte asked Ryck as they sat in the second row of seats.
“You’ve got me,” Ryck said as he looked at the other staff crowded around.
Over half of the men were in civvies. At least everyone had gotten back on the ship before it left orbit, which was a minor miracle. Ryck had made it back to the shuttle port with minutes to spare, but both the battalion and the ship’s CO, along with several key staff had been out on some alpine lake, and the LCDR Wyzusky, the senior watch officer, had sent one of the ship’s Storks to pick them up. That was sure to result in an official complaint from the planter officials, but they couldn’t very well leave without the senior officers on board.
Luckily for those who had been enjoying themselves a bit too much, Doc Shabah had met them at the hatch to the wardroom with Soberups. They would pay the price later, but the pills were considered mission essential for a good portion of them.
Ryck hadn’t really met the commander yet. Along with most of the junior officers, Ryck was on the wardroom’s second seating. The ship’s XO presided over the seating, but all the other senior officers were on the first seating. According to the other navy officers in his seating, the commander was competent, but a flaming asshole. Ryck looked on interestedly as the Ops Officer took the small portable podium.
“Captain, colonel, gentlemen,” he began. Technically, he was the same rank as LtCol uKhiwa, but as the colonel was the commander of troops, military etiquette stipulated that the Ops O address him separately.
“We left orbit 25 minutes ago, and we will enter bubble space in 12 minutes.”
That brought a low murmur from the wardroom. That was no time at all, and the ship would still be in close proximity of Colt 45. To enter bubble space that close would have required clearance at the highest authority.
“According to our calculations, we will emerge from bubble space within the CF-32 system at least five hours before the Confederation heavy hauler. Our mission upon arrival is to rescue the ship’s company, retrieve the ship, if possible, destroy it if it is not.”
The murmur rose again, and the commander raised a hand to quiet them down.
“If the Confederation releases the ship before our arrival, we will attempt to re-enter bubble space undetected. We’ll be the first ship to use the new cloaking systems in an actual operation, so even then, our mission is vital.”
Since the human cloaking systems had proven to be inferior to those of the trinoculars, there had been a mad rush to improve the human systems. Both the Falklands and the Han Class destroyers were the first two classes of ships to get the upgrades.
“By the Grace of God, we are one of the closest ships to CF-32, and we are the most capable of performing the mission. Our Marines will make the crossing and take down the ship. If we need it, the Inchon herself will try out her new meson canon that Lieutenant Commander Jewel has been so anxious to break in. And if anyone tries to stop us, we are authorized to use maximum force to complete the mission.
“But time is short. I’d like everyone except for my staff and Major Snæbjörnsson’s staff to clear out. We need some elbow room to hash this plan out. The rest of you, you’ve got lots to do, so I suggest you get at it. Captain?”
“I’ve got nothing for all of you now. But you heard the Ops O. Better get going.”
He stood up, immediately followed by the rest of the wardroom.
“Holy shit!” Donte whispered beside Ryck as everyone started filing out the hatch.
Going into Confederation space? “Maximum force” is authorized? Holy shit indeed!
Chapter 6
Ryck rushed down B deck to get to Hanger Bay 2. He’d just received the final brief, and L-hour was less than 15 minutes away. He forwarded the updated operations order to his own staff which should be waiting in the rekis[6] for the crossover.
The mission was pretty straight forward despite the time crunch and the close entry and exit from bubble space to planetary bodies. With the new cloaking system, the Inchon would pull to within 100 km from the Julianna’s Dream, which was spitting distance for ships in space. The Marines would use the rekis to close the distance before debarking and flying their EVA vacsuits the last kilometer to their objectives.
Charlie Company was to secure the Julianna’s Dream, Alpha would disable or isolate the System Guard ship, while Bravo was the task force reserve. If the System Guard ship offered any resistance to Alpha Company, they were to back off and let the Inchon herself disable or take it out.
Ryck was disappointed that he wasn’t taking on the opposing ship. Frankly, he had wanted and expected that mission, and he wondered if the CO was sending him some sort of message by not giving him the mission.
He dashed into the locker room where his vacsuit and a Navy suit tech were waiting for him.
“You need to hurry, sir,” the tech said as Ryck stripped to his cotton longjohns. He’s spent most of his time in the Marines either in PICS or in recon, but sliding into the vacsuit was almost second nature to him. Within a minute, the tech had sealed him in, ran the check, then gave the thumbs up. He stepped into the lock, cycled it, and entered the hangar where Sandy Petlier-Aswad, h
is XO, and the first sergeant were waiting for him.
“We’ve got you in B-6,” the XO said, pointing the way.
Ryck knew what reki he had, but the XO was earnest and trying hard, so he said nothing as he was led to the reki and clambered aboard. The reki was nothing more than an open sled with a propulsion system. Marines in their vacsuits stood like sardines in old fashioned-cans while the sleds transported them up to 50,000 klicks. There was no life-support. Men were kept alive by their suits. There was nothing around each Marine but the vastness of space.
During basic training, several recruits had freaked out, mentally unable to take the sensation. Ryck rather liked it. Once his sole plates were locked in, he glanced up at the open hangar doors. In this section of space, the interstellar gases put on quite a show, and even from within the lighted hangar, they were sensational.
His timer display slowly ticked off the seconds until launch. Ryck did a quick check of his own systems. It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust the sailor’s word, but it was going to be his ass out there, and he wanted to make doubly sure he was good to go.
All suit specs were at 100%. He was ready.
Now, he pulled up the company specs. Without going into the weeds with specific Marines, he noted the overall numbers. Overall readiness was at over 99%, with only a few Marines dipping below 97% in any category. Ryck felt the urge to remind his leaders to monitor those few Marines, but with an effort, he bit that back. Gunny Sams and the platoon sergeants would be on that.
The tendency to micro-manage and be an NCO again was something he’d had to fight ever since getting commissioned. It had almost been his undoing at NOTC,[7] but while the urge was still there, he had it under control—mostly.
He set his comms on monitor and listened in as the timer clicked down. He could hear all the chatter over the company nets, and with his AI assisting, could pull specific conversations. If Ryck had known this was possible as a corporal or sergeant, he might have been a bit more circumspect in his own conversations, and he still felt a little guilty for listening in to others’ conversations now. However, the mission came first, and if knowing what was happening could help, it was a valid course of action.
Captain (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 4) Page 3
