Captain (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 4)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  “The Chinese Navy had been flexing its muscle in the Pacific Ocean, and the decision was made to free the fishing boat. The Heifei, a destroyer, was dispatched to Isla Clarión, arriving on February 20, where the ships commanding officer demanded that Lt(jg) Suarez turn over the shark fishing boat. Lt(jg) Suarez refused. His orders were to hold the boat, and that is what he was going to do.

  “The Marines were armed with M2 carbines and one Dodge Ram with a mounted M2 Browing .50 cal machine gun. The Chinese had 250 sailors and all the weaponry available to a destroyer.

  “When the Marines refused to release the fishing boat, the Chinese captain sent over two boarding parties. Four Marines—Oscar Fuentes, Rodrigio Alicante, Diana Sandoval, and Maria Pérez— were onboard the boat, and they beat back the attempt, losing both Sandoval and Alicante in the fight. Lt(jg) Suarez, realizing that the Chinese would try again, quickly took off the fishing crew and locked them in the Marine barracks.

  “The Chinese captain did try again, twice more, and both times the assaults were forced back, thanks to Petty Officer Nakumura on the Browning. Then the Heifei’s 5 incher opened up, and Nakumura was killed and the Browning destroyed.

  “The nearest reinforcements were on Isla Socorro, 314 kilometers to the east, and the Marines knew they could not hold out long enough. Yet they still refused to surrender. With the Heifei shelling their positions, the Chinese sailors boarded the fishing boat and steamed it out of the harbor.

  “Lt(jg) Suarez reported the developments one last time as the Heifei moved to within 500 meters of the shore and commenced shelling the station. There is no record after that of who fell in what order. The last transmission from the Marines was a single “¿Mi bandera? ¡jamás!” made by Lt(jg) Suarez. As we know, this means “My flag? Never!” in Standard.

  “What we do know was that all 14 Marines died defending their homeland. The Chinese casualties were not known, although there is evidence that some of the fishermen were killed in the Heifei’s shelling.

  “Thirteen of the Marines were found where they had fallen. It took two days, but the body of Lt(jg) Suarez was found by divers in the harbor, the Mexican flag stuffed inside his uniform blouse. He had been wounded several times, but just as Juan Escuita had done 182 years prior, he had leapt to his death rather than let the enemy capture the flag.

  “His last words became the new motto of the de Infantería de Marina, and upon the formation of the United Federation Marine Corps, First Battalion, Eleventh Marines, the “Tiburónes,” inherited their proud tradition.

  So, please, honored guests, ladies and gentlemen, give three cheers, in the Marine Corps style of “Oorah!” for the 14 Mexican Marines of the Isla Clarión garrison and all subsequent Marines and sailors who have served in the battalion.”

  As he raised his fist into the air, every voice was lifted in “Ooh-rah, ooh-rah, ooh-rah!”

  Immediately the crowd broke out into applause. Ryck was sure they all knew the story, but hearing it like this gave it a deeper sense of history. Ryck had served in four battalions, many with a more storied history than 1/11, but he was choked up as he applauded. There was no direct connection, of course, between the Mexican Marine Corps and the battalion, but there absolutely was an emotional connection, and it would be the battalion’s job, for however long it was in existence, to keep the memory of Marines such as Lt(jg) Suarez and his men and women alive.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel uKhiwa for that moving speech. You gave me a tough act to follow,” a portly man said as he stepped up to the podium. “My name is Justin Morales, and I’m the governor’s cultural assistant. Please, we’ve got more food coming out, and the bar is now open.”

  Ryck could see the Staff NCO’s move to position themselves among the men. The bar may be open for the civilians, but the sailors and Marines had to wait until the ceremony was over.

  “I take great pleasure in presenting our first entertainment, the Chavez Community College Flamenco Dancers!”

  “Hey, did you hear that?” Donte asked, punching Ryck in the shoulder.

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s still a Spanish dance,” Ryck said as he watched four musicians in costume position themselves in front of the dais.

  Six young women in heavy make-up, bright black and red dresses, and slicked back hair strode forward. The musicians started playing, and the ladies started dancing. Despite himself, Ryck was captivated. He didn’t know if this really was a flamenco dance or not, but the ladies were doing a very credible job with the intricate steps.

  When the dancers stopped to the applause, Ryck thought they were done, but they formed a corridor, and a single dancer in a stunning white dress came to take her position between the two lines. She had very dark, almost obsidian-colored skin and looked very exotic in the white dress and framed by the other, lighter-skinned dancers. After only a few steps, it was obvious why she was the lead dancer, moving gracefully, but with a sense of power as she simply destroyed the dance. As the final strums of the guitars faded away and she slowly bent into a bow, Ryck enthusiastically joined in the applause.

  After the dancers came a string of others: a chorale group made up of Federation staffers, an old-fashioned ventriloquist, two ballet dancers, and a small boy doing what was described as a “Mexican hat dance.” A children’s choir was cute, but not very good, but they were noteworthy because a little girl went to present flowers to the battalion CO and had to be intercepted to give them to the Inchon’s CO. Ryck could understand the mistake. This was Marine Day, after all, and the captain was in the Navy.

  Ryck edged back to the table where a big warming tray of meatballs had been brought out. He was supposed to eat with the VIPs after the ceremony, but the meatballs were delicious. He stabbed two more with a toothpick when the lights went out. Even though he knew what was coming, he felt the goosebumps on his arm.

  After ten or fifteen seconds, a spotlight snapped on Sgt Horatio, who was standing perfectly still, one raised hand holding a drumstick. He waited another 20 seconds before he started slowly bringing the arm down, like a mechanical man in a giant Swiss cuckoo clock. At the last second, he flicked his wrist, sending out a single drumbeat reverberating through the hall. After a moment, that drumbeat was answered by another from somewhere back in the darkness.

  Sgt Horatio raised his hand, a little quicker this time, and brought it down for another beat. The answering beat followed almost immediately. Sgt Horatio repeated, and this became a 30-second case of dueling drums. With a shift that was hard to catch, suddenly, the two drums were pounding out an intricate beat together. More spotlights snapped on, illuminating 21 Marines standing in a V at the back of the hall.

  The beating had begun.

  When the Federation Marine Corps was formed from the 48 extant Marine Corps at the time, there had been a competition to see who would form the basis of the new Marine band. Not surprisingly, the US Marine Corps band, made up of who were essentially professional musicians, won the competition—as judged by senior Marine and Navy officers—and became the bulk of the new band. The members would no longer be professional musicians and would come from the ranks, but they would serve alternate tours with the band. “The Chairman’s Own” couldn’t be complete amateurs, was probably the thinking.

  However, the Royal Marine Band, especially the Corps of Drums, caught the attention—and hearts—of the rank and file. Almost immediately, separate Corps of Drums sprang up in almost every unit. They followed Royal Marine traditions, including the leopard skin worn by the members. All corps members were Marines first, drummers second. They were infantry, armor, artillery, support, or whatever and practiced when they could. Rank had no bearing, and they kept up a degree of mystery about themselves. Practices were almost always hidden from public view, and their performance plans might as well have been Corps-wide operation orders stamped TOP SECRET.

  Ryck had no idea what the corps had planned, only that it would be stirring.

  The 21 Marines in the back started a
slow, almost straight-legged march to close the distance with Sgt Horatio. As they beat their drums, each man paused in turn for two beats, drumsticks raised and frozen, before joining back in. Ryck couldn’t hear a difference in the sound, but it sure looked good.

  The second to last man, just in front of the bass drummer, was Major Tschen, the battalion XO. He was the second senior Marine in the battalion, but in the Corps of Drums, he was just another drummer.

  The Marines married up, and Sgt Horatio slipped into his position within the group. For the next ten minutes, the 22 Marines moved through a series of intricate maneuvers, never stopping their drums. When the two bass drummers came to the front and somehow performed a duet that would put a side drummer to shame, the crowd erupted into cheers.

  Ryck was caught up, and he thought he could feel his heart beat in time with the corps. He’d been at many beatings over the years, but they never failed to move him.

  Too soon, the Corps of Drums went into their finale, the crescendo rising as they moved like Dervishes, sure to crash into each other, but never doing so. The crowd was calling out and cheering, but the drums’ pounding beat drowned the crowd out.

  Just when Ryck thought their drumsticks surely had to burst apart, they stopped dead, one stick raised, the other on their drum. Ryck shouted himself hoarse as he cheered. He had the rhythm of a drunk with one leg, so there was never a hope that he could be in a corps, but even listening, he felt that he was part of them, that they had somehow invaded his body and taken him over.

  The drummers stood like statues, not moving. The applause started to die out, and Ryck took a look back. The Navy shore patrol was motioning to the civilian stewards to start uncovering the booze. With his throat raw, Ryck started to edge his way to the tables, anxious to be one of the first in line as soon as the governor declared the ceremony over.

  A huge crash made him jump—not startle, but actually jump. He spun around to a sight that at first, just didn’t register. Four PICS Marines had entered the hall. Around each one was an enormous leopard skin—Ryck didn’t realize fabricators could make skins so large—and under each PICS’ left arm hung a huge kettle drum.

  The 22 Marines broke their position to beat out a “Forward, march!”

  The four PICS Marines started forward, their long legs quickly closing the distance, one of the other drummers keeping a cadence. Within moments, they reached the rest of the drummers, and somehow spun around in unison on one leg, the other leg up in the air and splayed out.

  A PICS was an amazing piece of fighting gear: strong, powerful, and fast. But it was not really nimble, and Ryck’s mouth dropped open at this display of dexterity. Ryck didn’t think he could do it, but right then and there, he vowed he would try as soon as he could.

  With the four PICS drummers facing the crowd, they started a booming tattoo that Ryck could feel in his bones. The other drummers moved to form a semi-circle behind them, and their beatings, so powerful before, seemed like that made with child’s toys.

  Ryck had never seen, had never heard, of PICS in a corps of drums. They were just too unwieldy. They were combat units, not musical units. But then again, all Marines were “combat units.”

  What amazed Ryck even more was the juxtaposition between the PICS and the other drummers. The normal drummers in the back were crisp and robotic in their movements, mechanical. The four PICS drummers were fluid, more like dancers who had been on the stage earlier. While pounding on their drums, they swayed and moved with the beat. They were the human drummers and the others were the mechanical ones.

  This time, when the finale approached, there was no question. The combined pounding of 26 Marines, four of them augmented by their PICS, simply blew the huge hall away. Ryck wasn’t sure what he was hearing and what he was feeling. All he knew was that this was the best beating he’d ever attended.

  Someone pounded his back, but he was too into the moment to even look to see who it was. He was a Marine. He’d been led in combat, and he’d led men into combat. That’s what Marines did. But somehow, this beating, something taken from Marines long past, transcended the “job” of a Marine and touched on the soul of a Marine. Just as ancient homo erectus sat with hollowed logs around a campfire, this set off a sympathetic beating in his very DNA. At this very moment, he was not a man who was a Marine; he was the Marine Corps. A small cell in the bigger organism, to be sure, but still, he was the Corps.

  The Corps of Drums stopped with a deafening silence—at least that was how it felt—a silence that was almost painful. The cheering erupted once again as the drummers marched out, Sgt Horatio the only one keeping a steady cadence. Up on the dais, the governor was pounding LtCol uKhiwa’s back. Ryck knew that the battalion had made an impression on the people of Sierra Dorado.

  The Inchon’s CO, Captain Rotigue, was flushed and smiling as he quit clapping and leaned into the podium mic. “Sailors and Marines, there is nothing I can say after that except the bar is open!”

  This was one grubbing amazing beating!

  KAKUREGA

  Chapter 9

  “Another corporate police mission,” First Sergeant Hecs grumbled. “We might as well put on company uniforms.”

  Ryck had to agree. He had taken an oath to protect the Federation, not break up labor strikes.

  “Come on, First Sergeant. If the people on Kakurega are rioting, don’t you think that is a public threat? And what if PI is burned down or something. You heard the brief. Look how much the company makes. I’ve seen you munching on Paradise Bars. What are you going to do if you can’t get your ice cream?” the XO asked.

  “He’s got you there, First Sergeant. You take more of those bars out of the chief’s mess than anyone I know, and guess who makes them? Cool Swiss is a Propitious Interstellar brand,” Sams said with a chuckle.

  “So I like my ice cream bars,” Hecs said. “Big deal. The point is that our mission is to protect the Federation, not to act like some corporate jimmylegs.

  [10]”

  “I’m with the First Sergeant on this,” Ryck interjected. “But ours is not to reason why—”

  “Ours is just to get shit on,” the first sergeant interrupted.

  Ryck involuntarily looked around his small stateroom, packed with his five lieutenants, First Seregeant Hecs, and the gunny. He wouldn’t put it past the Navy’s political division, or even the FCDC, to have had the stateroom bugged, and he didn’t want the conversation to get any further into something actionable.

  “Be that as it may, we’ve got our marching orders. XO, I want you and Gunny to start preparing an equipment and supply list. We could be on the planet for months, maybe even up to the end of our deployment.”

  “You don’t think they’ll extend us, do you sir?” 2dLt Gershon Chomsky asked.

  Gershon had gotten married just prior to this deployment, and the XO had told Ryck that the young lieutenant was not taking the separation well.

  Get used to it, Lieutenant, Ryck thought, but responded with “We don’t know. That’s a possibility, but I would imagine that if it got to that, another battalion would be relieving us.

  “Platoon commanders, I want you to start briefing your men. We need to get them in the proper mindset. This isn’t like the Julianna’s Dream, much less the Trinocular War. The people on this planet are Federation citizens. They are not our enemy. We’ll protect ourselves, if need be, but we are not going in to kick ass and take names. The ROEs will be followed to the letter. Am I understood?”

  There was a chorus of “yes, sirs,” in response.

  “This is going to be more a show of force than anything else. At least that’s what I hope will happen. We need to be prepared for anything, though. I’m not about to lose any Marine to a labor strike.”

  For a brief moment, he recalled the CO’s admonition on being too cautious.

  Screw him, he thought. He’s never lost most of his men in combat.

  That wasn’t fair, he knew. He still respected the CO, and it wasn’t hi
s fault that his units had never been in combat, but Ryck still smarted from the CO’s dressing-down. Besides, this was not going to be combat. This was a police action, nothing more, and he’d be damned if he lost a single Marine to it.

  Suddenly in a sour mood, he decided to end it at that. The platoon commanders had work to do anyway, and it was time they got on to it.

  “That’s it. Get you men briefed, then let’s get them ready. I want us to look professional when we make our grand entrance. XO, I want that list in three hours. If there’s anything else we need from battalion, we’ve got to get that submitted.

  “This may not be the mission we wanted, but we’re going to conduct it like Marines. That’s going to take every one of you to make it so.

  “Let’s get cracking. Dismissed.”

  Chapter 10

  The stork swooped down low, and Ryck’s stomach rose in his throat. Null-G was easier on him than these atmospheric acrobatics. He wished he was on one of the shuttles used to take his company to their temporary (he hoped) home at the old refinery. But the CO wanted all his enlisted and officers to make a grand entrance over the city. He wanted there to be no question that the Marines had landed, and that meant the MAU’s four Storks were to come in from various directions and then meet for a synchronized landing at the city stadium.

  Ryck looked out the windows to both keep his mind off of his stomach and to get the lay of the land. The city was like any other industrialized city he’d seen. While it was bigger than his own home town of Williamson, and it was much greener with vegetation, it still wasn’t impressive. Generic high rises formed the center of the city, bisected by the River Tay.