Captain (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 4)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  Ryck craned his neck to try and look upstream. The refinery was about 15 klicks from the city. He’d seen the photos and holos, of course, but he wanted to see his new home with his own eyes. Unfortunately, the Stork swept to its right and the river swung out of view.

  Bravo and Weapons Companies were going to be with the CO at the stadium. They were the point of main effort and would conduct most of the local operations. Charlie was going to be at the refinery, ready to react as needed as well as provide a force on the main route from Tay Station to other cities. Alpha was going to be independent at Dundee.

  If Charlie wasn’t going to be the point of main effort in the city, he wondered if it might be better to be completely away in Dundee. He wouldn’t have the CO breathing down his neck on a daily basis. The point was moot, however. The decision had been made, and the refinery was where he’d be.

  John Levin brought the Stork over the wall of the stadium, flaring the bird perfectly at its designated landing spot. Ryck got a glimpse of one of the other Storks flaring in about 40 meters off the port side. It looked like at least these two pilots nailed it, coming in together. Ryck imagined that the other two were synchronized as well.

  They didn’t rush out as if this was an assault. The Storks shut down, and the Marines took their time to unbuckle and stand up. Top Forrest stood at the back ramp, waiting for the CO’s bird to commence debarking. Ryck wondered if all the choreographing was necessary, but it was not that big of a headache, so he let it slide.

  The Top suddenly stepped back and spun one finger in the air. It was go time!

  Major Tschen was the senior man on the bird, and he led the rest out and to the right where they had a truncated formation. This was going to be a top-heavy formation as most of the main body was taking the shuttles. Ryck wondered if this plan had been a good idea. If the intent was to impress the natives, then possibly a bunch of officers and senior staff were not the best choice at looking good in formation. A couple of platoons of infantry would fare much better.

  It didn’t turn out quite a bad as Ryck had thought, but it was still a bit of a gaggle as the Marines moved into formation. Luckily, there was no marching, no pass in review. It was just get into formation behind the CO and his senior staff officers, then wait for the CO to report aboard.

  In the first row of spectators’ seats, a small entourage awaited the CO. Ryck knew that the Governor and Federation administrator had arrived from Dundee, and with them, the Propitious Interstellar CO would be accepting the report. He kept his eyes forward, but he could see the worthies standing up.

  “Battalion, Atten . . . HUT!” the CO shouted out, his voice reverberating nicely within the stadium.

  Ryck thought everyone was already at attention.

  The CO conducted an about face, then shouted out, “Sir, First Battalion, Eleventh Marines, “The Tiburónes,” reporting for duty!”

  A voice responded, but too softly for Ryck to make out the words. The CO responded with, “Aye-aye, sir.” Then after conducting another about face, “Commanders, carry out your orders!”

  And that was that. Ryck had to admit that the Storks had probably been a nice touch, but the so-called formation was sort of a joke. The people they were trying to impress (read, to cow them) couldn’t even see into the stadium. Holo cams had been recording, of course, but still, they couldn’t make emeralds out of farts.

  Ryck looked around for Hecs. He and the first sergeant had to catch a ride to the company, and Ryck hoped the brotherhood of senior enlisted had rustled something up.

  He saw his first sergeant and started over to meet him when a woman’s voice called out, “Captain Lysander, may I have a word with you?”

  He turned to see an immaculate woman fitted out with a designer suit. She had a small directional mic on her lapel, and a man with a bulky holo cam trailed her. He kept a smile plastered on his face while he inwardly groaned. The ship’s PAO had warned him that his presence within the battalion was not a secret, and the press had already reported his imminent arrival. Ryck had hoped that he might escape media attention, at least for awhile.

  First Sergeant Hecs smiled and mouthed out “Better you then me” from over the reporter’s tailored shoulder.

  Ryck steeled his nerves. This might take awhile.

  “Yes, ma’am, how may I help you?” he said, ready to do his duty.

  Chapter 11

  “So this is our home for the next whatever,” Ryck said as he looked around the old refinery.

  The refinery had once been used by the early settlers to crack organics from oil and natural gas. When Propitious Interstellar had taken over the planet, the cracking was moved to more efficient company plants. The old refinery, located downstream from Tay Station, was not abandoned. The cleared area so close to the River Tay itself was a good spot to grow the algae that was so vital to a significant percentage of Propitious Interstellar’s fabrication. The company’s genpatent for its line of algae was for “Blue-99,” which Ryck knew only from the brief. Like most people, he gave little thought to the products that came out of the big fabrication companies. As he looked over at the racks and racks of tubes where greedy algae soaked up the sun and fresh water, it was somewhat hard to realize that the company made everything from steaks to cosmetics to chairs from it.

  For the hundredth time, he wondered if Charlie had been exiled to this position. Preston’s Alpha Company had been sent to Dundee, the planetary capital. Donte’s Bravo Company and Jasper Yeoung’s Weapon’s company were the main forces in Tay Station, the financial and population center of the planet. Charlie, on the other hand, was positioned in this out-of-the-way refinery. Ryck’s AOR

  [11] was larger than any of the other companies’, but there was not much there. The main highway between Tay Station and Dundee was his main concern, but other than the refinery, the local park, and a few scattered farms and homes leading to the outskirts of the city, there wasn’t much to oppose the company.

  Maybe it’s better this way, he thought. This mission sucks, and I don’t want to play riot police.

  While Ryck didn’t think the mission was in keeping with the Corps’ charter, he knew there was precedence. During his own career, he’d been on operations that seemed more in line of keeping internal order than protecting the Federation. And on Ellison, before Ryck was even born, to be sure, the Marines had been used to put down a worker’s rebellion.

  “I don’t know how long we’ll be here,” Ryck told his staff. “Gunny, let’s get the men settled in. Hook up with the PI liaison and confirm just where we’re allowed to set up our barracks. Make sure we’ve got water and power.”

  “Roger that, skipper,” Sams said as he stepped away, motioning for Sgt Contradari, his police sergeant.

  Ryck turned back to the rest of his staff, knowing that Sams would get billeting and logistics squared away. “Jeff, I want your patrol out within 30 minutes. Ephraim, I want your men bedded down. You’ve got the next patrols in eight hours.”

  Ryck didn’t expect that there would be any security issues out here in the booneys. Even in the cities, there hadn’t been much of anything concrete. But Marines did not live to ripe old ages and retirements by being complacent. Ryck had to make sure the area was in fact secure.

  “You two,” he said, pointing to the other two lieutenants, “The first sergeant’s got the duty roster. Until we get a regular rotation set up based on the situation, you two’ve got security.”

  Ryck could see the disappointment flicker across 2dLt McAult’s face and made a mental note of it. Hog McAult didn’t want his Third Platoon to be relegated to standing guard around the camp.

  “This is only temporary,” he told them. “We’ll be getting frags from battalion, I’m sure, and once we have the lay of the land, everyone will be rotated in and out of camp security and whatever other mission comes up.

  “Any questions?” he asked. When neither lieutenant had one, he added, “Then let’s get going.

  “First Ser
geant, XO, let’s take a little walk around our new home. I want a warm and fuzzy that we know everything, and I mean everything about this place. I don’t want any surprises to come up and bite us in the ass.”

  Chapter 12

  The battalion staff watched silently as the company liaison made his way out the hatch. As the door closed, the silence was broken as chairs shifted and they turned to the CO to see what he would say.

  LtCol uKhiwa held up his hand to quiet everyone, then said, “So, Captain Ward, two of your Marines damaged one of the company hovers, and that has upset our hosts. You should have trained your Marines to get out of the way of hovers quicker. Did you hold jumping-over-moving-hover training? No? I thought not. I am extremely, extremely disappointed with you, Captain. Consider yourself duly chastised, something I am sure has shaken you to your very soul.”

  Laughter broke out. Propitious Interstellar, the very company they had been sent to protect from virtual hordes of angry rebels, had made it their practice to submit demands for compensation for imagined or even real damage to company property done by the Marines. In this case, a small two-man company hover driven by one of the company senior management had run into two PICS Marines. The Marines had barely been moved, but the hover had been totaled.

  Ryck had been the first on the chopping block for one of PI’s claims. In order to power up the barracks, he had authorized the re-routing of power transmitters, something he had done only after the company liaison had authorized it. When the bill was presented to the battalion, Ryck had expected the CO to use it as an excuse to ream him, but the CO had gravely listened to the battalion liaison, then shit-canned the demand as soon as the liaison left. The CO had asked him if the re-routing was necessary, Ryck said yes, and that was that. Nothing more was said. Over the next two weeks, this had almost become a routine, and whoever was responsible for the company getting its collective panties in a wedgie would be heartily scolded, much to the amusement of the entire staff. There was now even an unofficial contest between the five company commanders to see who could rack up the highest dollar amount in claims.

  Ryck still didn’t like the CO. He respected him to an extent, but he didn’t like him. But he had to admire how this little act of faux punishment was forming a bond within the officers and senior SNCOs. That was something that Ryck filed away in the back of his mind to use later when and if it became appropriate.

  “Well, now that my duty as commanding officer has been fulfilled—uh, Lieutenant Tuapao, make sure you note that in the battalion log,” he told the adjutant as an aside, “let’s get down to business. Two, what do you have for us?”

  First Lieutenant Maurice “Mary” Abd Elmonim, the battalion intel officer, stood up to begin his brief. Ryck settled down and attempted to pay attention. As always, though, he had to wonder how the big S-2[12] had acquired his nickname. Even the CO, who was careful with military etiquette, occasionally resorted to calling him by it.

  If Ryck had thought that being out at Camp Joshua, the name Ryck had anointed the old refinery after his brother-in-law, would give him time to act on his own, he was sorely mistaken. Each and every day, he had to make the trip into Tay Station for the battalion staff meetings. The CO demanded his physical presence as well. No conference calls would be accepted without a very valid reason. At least he wasn’t Preston. Dundee was too far for a drive, so he had to fly in each morning for the meeting.

  And not much was said. He’d heard Mary’s brief more than a dozen times now, and it rarely varied. After the first initial problems in Dundee, things had quieted down. There were protests, but these were minor affairs. The company spies kept reporting that people were organizing, but not much had transpired.

  Ryck took a quick glance at his watch. The meeting would drag on for another hour or hour-and-a-half. He’d grab a quick bite in the mess hall, which had better food than they had at Camp Joshua, then make the trip back. Say 1630, and he’d be at camp, so 1700 could be his brief. It wasn’t lost on him that as much as he thought the constant meetings were a waste of time, as soon as he would be back, he’d have his own meeting with his staff.

  The battalion meetings were long and boring, but usually there were several pertinent pieces of information that had to be disseminated. They served a function, Ryck knew. He just wished he could attend via conference call.

  Lost in his thoughts, Ryck hadn’t realized that Mary had stopped talking about ten minutes too soon given his previous briefs. Master Sergeant Wojik, the comms chief, had come into the meeting and was quietly speaking to the CO. Everyone else in the room had his eyes locked on the two Marines, wondering what was going on.

  The CO glanced at the XO and sergeant major as if he wanted to speak to them alone, but instead, said, “No, pipe it here. I want everyone to see this as I do.”

  Lieutenant George, the top’s

  [13] boss, tried to catch Wojik’s eye, but the master sergeant was keying in something on his PA. Evidently, George was in the dark on whatever this was as well.

  “Gentlemen, it seems as if something has just come up. This was just broadcast a few minutes ago, and I’m seeing it for the first time as well,” the CO said, nodding at the top to start whatever it was he had to show.

  A holo flickered into life over the conference table’s platform. This wasn’t a true 360-degree holo, but the type recorded by news teams. With all the Marines around the conference table, that would leave the ones in the back looking through the “rear” of the recording, but built in compensators refracted the recording so that each Marine was presented with the head-on view.

  What they saw took a moment to register. Some sort of cosplay heroine stood in the middle of the recording. A redhead, she stood tall and had a rather remarkable physique, and the pseudo-military costume left nothing to the imagination. Behind her, in a rumpled bed, a young girl, obviously naked, but with a sheet covering her front, sat, head down. What caught Ryck’s attention, however, was the naked, subdued-looking young man just to the cos-play woman’s right. Something about the man screamed “Marine.”

  “Shit, he’s mine,” Donte whispered, confirming Ryck’s fear.

  The woman stared into the holo cam and started, “I am a member of the Free Kakurega Militia. We have been formed to protect our rights under our Federation Charter, rights that have been abrogated by Propitious Interstellar Fabrication, Inc. Not only have they broken the charter, but they have brought in Federation Marines to crush our legal right to protest.

  “Today, we have stopped one of their Marines, Lance Corporal Thane Regent, from abusing a free citizen of Kakurega.”

  Donte held up a hand and pointed back down on himself, letting the CO know the Marine was from Bravo Company.

  “The Federation Marines have the power here. They killed three of our citizens when they arrived. They are enforcing martial law. And now they take our citizens for their own perverted pleasure.”

  At the word “killing,” a murmur of protest erupted from around the room. Three civilians had died that second day in Dundee, true, but that was hardly the fault of the Marines. Some civ a-hole had decided to make a Molotov Cocktail, filled with who knows what, to throw at a line of Marines. The bottle ignited before he could throw it, engulfing ten of the closely-packed protestors. Preston’s Marines managed to get the flames out on seven of them and get them off to medical care, but three people—two men and one woman—were too badly burnt and were killed at the scene. The idiot who made the bomb was among the three killed. Whatever he put in the bottle was wickedly effective and was difficult to put out. The irony was that even if he had thrown it before it ignited, simple flames would have no effect on Marines in PICS.

  The woman continued. “It is up to you, people of Kakurega. Will you stand for this? From First Families and all Free Citizens, from employees and indentureds, this is our home, and Propitious Interstellar cannot break the charter as they deem fit.

  “If you agree, on this Saturday, at 9:00 AM in the city, we ur
ge all of you to take to the streets. We are not advocating violence. We leave that to the Marines and Propitious Interstellar security forces. But let your voices be heard. Let the Federation know we will not stand for this.”

  With that, the woman swept one hand back to indicate the naked girl whose sobs were shaking her body. The holocam lingered on her for a few moments before the recording cut out. The assembled staff broke out into talk, and the CO had to hold his hand up for silence.

  “Captain Ward, prepare your men. I want Regent located, and we will recover him with whatever force is required. Sergeant Major, I want everything on this Marine. Lieutenant Commander Pillbury,” he said to the Navy staff judge advocate attached to the battalion from the Inchon, “please brief Captain Rotigue and prepare for a General Court Martial if this Marine was abusing that girl. XO, the company and the government are going to be screaming about this. Calm them down and tell them we are acting. Principal staff, stay put. I want a course of action in 15 minutes. The rest of you, you’re dismissed. You’ve got things to do.”

  Ryck jumped up and rushed out the door, signaling Private Çağlar on his PA to get the hover running. He had to get back to Camp Joshua before everything exploded.

  Chapter 13

  The crowd was large, and its mood was aggressive. Company spies reported that the camcording of the “Red Athena,” as she was being called, had galvanized the population against both the company and the Marines. Flash-surveys showed a majority of the population now resented the Marines’ presence and wanted them off the planet.

  Lance Corporal Regent had been guilty of nothing more than falling in love. Interviews with the so-called victim confirmed that. He had broken regulations by sneaking out for his nooner, but that did not demand a formal court martial. He was trotted out in front of the camcorders after numerous rehearsals by the Navy, Marines, and Propitious Interstellar handlers, but unfortunately, the young Miss Osterson refused to go on cam, afraid for her family’s safety. Ryck thought that without her testimony, the official rebuttal fell flat, but CAPT Rotigue, as the senior military in system, backed by the Federation governor, refused to allow the company to try and force the girl to speak. Ryck thought that was the right decision.