Captain (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 4)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  LCpl Regent was given restriction for a month for sneaking out, but nothing that would reflect on his record. Donte told Ryck that the young Marine had gained a sort of cult status among the other Marines for actually snaring an attractive local sparrow.

  Ryck stood motionless in his PICS behind the lines of Marines, who were in turn behind a line of company security personnel. With the spies reporting that Camp Joshua was off the radar screens for the moment, the CO had ordered Ryck to attach two of his platoons to Bravo Company for the demonstration. Ryck left the XO in charge of the camp and accompanied his men. As the Bravo commander, Donte had nominal tactical control over Ryck’s two platoons and Jasper’s three weapons sections, but Ryck was not going to lose all control over his men. Besides, it was not as if Donte was in real command. If anyone thought the CO was going to stand back during any confrontation, then he was pretty naive.

  Ryck wondered if the CO had made a mistake. If Ryck was to augment any company, perhaps Alpha, all alone in Dundee, would have been a more logical choice. Reports had just arrived that there had already been a confrontation in the planetary capital with some deaths reported among the protestors.

  Ryck had his sensors on their highest resolutions as he scanned for any threat. If anything did threatened his Marines, he was going to act immediately regardless of the tactical chain of command. He’d apologize later rather than asking for permission first.

  The crowd had a cheerleader sort, gallivanting around in front, his voice booming out as he changed the chants. The current one was “Red Athena, Red Athena!” and the crowd seemed to be enthusiastically behind it.

  Exactly at 8:15, the cheerleader announced that it was time for the Propitious Interstellar anthem. The crowd booed, but as the music started playing, the crowd joined in with the most awful screeching and off-key singing Ryck had ever heard. He was glad he was in his PICS: it wouldn’t be too appropriate for a Marine captain to be spotted laughing as the protestors tweaked the company’s nose.

  This rally was being staged by the WRP, the Workers’ Rights Party, and Ryck was curious to see who would be leading it. The chairman of the party was actually a company spy. That secret had obviously not been as closely kept as the company had thought because this spy had been murdered the night before. Another man stepped up to the speaker’s platform. Ryck didn’t recognize him, but he knew surveillance cams would be sending his image to the company data banks, and they would have the man identified within seconds.

  Ryck didn’t like the fact that the Marines were working with a corporate security division, but the fact was that they had the best capabilities on the planet. If it took working with the devil to keep his Marines out of harm’s way, well, that was a price he was willing to pay.

  The speaker gave way to a camcording of Henry Jugos, the civil rights gadfly who was the bane of Federation companies. Ryck had listened to the man before, and while he usually made some good points, Ryck thought his methods were misguided. He seemed more inclined to listen to his voice than to get anything actually done. On Gallahad 3, Pelican Systems had actually come to an initial agreement with its work force until Jugos had arrived to throw sand in the gears. The agreement was rescinded, and the subsequent negotiations broke down as Jugos pushed for more than the company thought reasonable. As a result, Pelican pulled off the planet, costing over 100,000 jobs.

  A local comedian was up next, but Ryck only figured that out from his outlandish clothes and the laughter of the crowd. He wasn’t paying attention to the actual words as he scanned the area.

  Ryck knew he should be further back with his Marines, who were the second line of defense if the crowd stormed the company headquarters. But from back there, he’d have to ask to slave into Bravo Company Marines’ displays. He wanted his own where he could control what he was doing. So along with Private Çağlar, who had become his defacto bat boy,[14] he had edged up until he was behind one of Donte’s platoons.

  Çağlar pulled on Ryck’s arm, directing his attention to the rear. Ryck had been so focused on what was going on in the front that he’d forgotten the entire battle sphere, a potentially deadly mistake in an actual battle and a very bad habit into which to fall. Luckily, this time, there was no threat in back of him but rather a big Propitious Interstellar T2000 forklift moving forward. Ryck stepped aside as it moved up to stop right behind the front line of Marines.

  A civilian climbed on top of the forks, and the operator lifted him up above the Marines.

  Ryck focused on the man and blinked twice. His AI identified the man as Dr. Keller, the Tay Station deputy mayor.

  “People of Tay Station, this gathering is illegal and you are ordered to withdraw,” he said over his bullhorn. “Despite no permits being issued, we have used patience as a show of good will. That good will has been exhausted, so as law abiding citizens, you must go home.

  “If you have reasonable grievances, you may come down to the city offices during normal working hours and file them.

  “As a member of the city council, I am issuing the order to cease and desist as per City Proclamation 19.815.3062, the previously declared imposition of martial law. Failure to do so can result in arrest and imprisonment for a period of no more than ten years.”

  Ryck’s AI caught something arching up out of the crowd, and he tensed for a moment as the round, red object sailed from the crowd and arched over to strike the deputy mayor on his thigh. It was a tomato, and it had been ripe enough to splatter, covering him in juice and seeds. The crowd roared with laughter and the deputy mayor hurriedly motioned for the forklift operator to lower him.

  “Second Platoon, prepare to advance,” was passed over the tactical net.

  “Jeff, get ready,” Ryck passed to his First Platoon leader.

  First platoon was the Bravo Company’s Second Platoon’s back-up, and Ryck wanted them ready to move in an instant if needed.

  The crowd’s laughter broke off and faded to nothing as the company security forces, who had been lining B Street, split in the middle of the line and marched smartly to each side of the street, leaving the center open. A few people moved forward as if to enter the opening the jacks had made.

  “Advance and hold,” the command came over the net, and the Bravo Marines started marching forward.

  All three ranks of Marines passed through the jimmylegs and formed up in front of the crowd, looking menacing. Some of the people tried to back up, but with many more behind them, the press of the crowd kept them locked in place.

  “This is your last warning. Leave the square now and return to your homes or you will be forcibly evicted,” an amplified voice reverberated over the crowd.

  “Move your men up,” Ryck ordered Jeff on the P2P, “but stop on my position. Do not enter the square.”

  “Roger that, sir,” his platoon commander replied.

  Ryck focused on what was happening in front of him at the same time as he watched First Platoon’s icons on his display start moving up from behind him.

  The crowd was not evacuating the square, but Ryck didn’t think the people could. There were just too many people packed in it. He started to report that back to the Three

  [15] when the order came over the net.

  “Bravo-Two, move to Phase Line Lilac,” came over the command circuit.

  In battle, phase lines were used to control movement and area. This was not a contested battle over vast tracts of land, and Ryck thought the use of the term “phase line” was a little grandiose for what was merely the far side of the square. But military habits died hard, so “Phase Line Lilac” it was.

  The PICS Marines started moving forward. As a sergeant, Ryck had led his Marines forward against a crowd on Alexander to evacuate a Legion negotiating team, and he knew how effective a line of PICS Marines could be. There was nothing a crowd without heavy weapons could do to stop them.

  In this case, the people in the front could not move out of the way fast enough as those in the back realized what was happening t
oo late. It takes time to overcome inertia, and as those in the rear turned to flee, many of the people in the front were stuck in front of the advancing Marines.

  With nowhere to go, quite a few were trampled by the Marines, only to have eager jimmylegs pounce on their broken bodies as the Marines passed over them. Those still moving bore the brunt of the jimmylegs’ batons.

  Ryck steeled himself as he witnessed that. These people were out of the fight, if a fight it even was. There was no reason to beat them. Part of him wanted to march forward and take the batons out of the security forces’ hands and break them in two, but he held his position. His mission was to wait and react only when ordered to.

  Within a few minutes, the Marines were at Lilac. Ryck thought they had slowed down as the people offered no resistance, but he was not privy to what might have been passed on a Bravo Company P2P. Except for a dozen or more broken bodies littering the square, it was empty of protestors. The jimmylegs scurried around, collecting the wounded. At least Ryck hoped they were only wounded. He hoped no one had died here this morning.

  He wasn’t supposed to worry about that, he knew. He was a Marine, and he followed orders, orders that went up the chain of command all the way to the Federation Council. It was the duty to which he had sworn to uphold.

  Still, these people had not been a threat. They were Federation citizens, too, people he was sworn to protect. What was a Marine supposed to do when there seemed to be a conflict in his sworn duties?

  Ryck felt dirty. He was glad that no Charlie Marine had actually gotten involved—yet. Hog and his Third Platoon were with Jasper’s Weapon’s Company, and Ryck didn’t know if they were facing anyone.

  Ryck was suddenly happy that he’d been exiled to Camp Joshua. No one had bothered his Marines there. Routine patrols might not be exciting, but they were good enough until they were recalled off this grubbing planet.

  Chapter 14

  Ryck and the first sergeant were making the rounds. He tried to stay out of the barracks, preferring to leave those areas to the SNCOs, but frankly, he was bored. This whole mission sucked hind tit, but if the battalion was going to sit on this cesspit, he wished that they’d do something.

  He was glad they hadn’t really gotten involved with the latest protest in Tay Station, but the routine patrols along Route 2, along the river, and at Ledges Park were getting old pretty quick. They’d encountered a big fat zero as far as any trouble. That was good, of course. No trouble meant all his Marines were safe. But Marines did not have sitting on their ass in their DNA. Marines were meant to do things, to be aggressive, to take it to the enemy.

  Ryck wasn’t even involved with the day-to-day running of the company. Because of the daily briefings, most of that had been ceded to the XO and the first sergeant. Today, however, there was a top-level meeting with the Federation governor and company CEO, and that was way above Ryck’s pay-grade, so he had a day off. He was going to use it to get out among the Marines.

  “We’re getting better bedding in here, compliments of Gunny Coudry,” Hecs was saying as they entered the barracks.

  Gunny Coudry worked in the armory, but he was a scavenger extraordinaire. It seemed he could get anything.

  “Attention on deck!” a voice called out as the two came into sight of the Marines in the squadbay.

  Ryck was about to put them at ease until he realized that about a dozen of them were gathered around a rack, most looking guilty. He held off and walked up to them. Several looked about ready to pass out or go into seizures.

  “How are we doing today, Marines,” he asked, trying to see beyond them.

  He received a chorus or “Fine, sirs,” and “Ooh-rahs.”

  He put one hand up against Corporal Sympington’s shoulder and gently pushed him aside from where he was blocking Ryck’s view of the rack. Ryck thought Sympington rolled his eyes ever-so-slightly, but he did not resist.

  On the rack was a simple Sanyo film screen. The screen could be folded up or rolled into a small package, then unfolded when it was needed. With a simple press of the power button, it got rigid and became a display screen for flat vids, photos, documents, or whatever.

  Ryck picked it up, then almost dropped it. The screen displayed a woman, obviously naked. Only, not everything was shown. The screen had been broken into 320 small sections, and almost half of them had been filled in. This deployment was scheduled for 320 days. This was a shortimer’s calendar.

  Most of the borders of the pic had been filled in, as had most of the model’s face. Enough of her arms and legs had been filled in so give Ryck an idea of what was still hidden. Number 320, the last small section to be filled in was strategically placed over the model’s most private part.

  “Whose is this?” Ryck asked.

  “Uh, mine, sir,” Cpl Sympington managed to get out.

  “And who is the young lady?”

  Sympington hesitated, and Hecs had to prompt him to answer his company commander.

  “My wife, sir,” he blurted out, face red.

  Ryck swallowed hard and placed the screen back on the rack. Pornography of any kind was expressly forbidden in the Corps. But soldiers going back to the Babylonians had probably kept little mementoes of what, or rather who, they were fighting for.

  “Well, Corporal, I’m not so sure that this is really a group calendar. Why don’t you put this back in your seabag and fill it in when you have a bit more privacy,” Ryck offered.

  “Yes, sir! Aye-aye, sir!” Sympington shouted, grabbing the screen and powering it down.

  Ryck turned around, and with Hecs beside him, walked out of the squadbay.

  “They’re pretty hard up for excitement, aren’t they?” Ryck said as they left.

  “Not much to do here,” Hecs said. “The patrols are it, and they’re getting pretty routine.”

  “Routine isn’t a word I want to hear about Marines on patrol. We need a break, something to shake it up,” Ryck said.

  “Battleball?” Hecs offered.

  “My thoughts exactly, First Sergeant. My thoughts exactly. Say on Sunday? Not full platoons, but ten-man teams.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Hecs said.

  As they made their way back to the CP, Ryck asked, “Do you think I did the right thing with that?”

  “Ah, if you nailed Sympington, you’d have to nail half of the company, I’m thinking. I dare say even some of the senior Marines might be guilty of a little flesh collection. Sympington is no different, except that he shouldn’t be letting his Marines partake in it. I’ll have Sergeant Rios talk to him about it.”

  The first sergeant was right. Ryck knew others had their little reminders of home, starting right at the top. The big difference was that Hannah’s pic, with the same strategic placement for number 320, was 10-level password protected on his PA. Ryck’s shortimer’s calendar was for his eyes only!

  Chapter 15

  When Ryck had set Sunday for the company battleball tournament, he’d forgotten about A-Day, Adjustment Day. Officially, everything in the Federation went by Greenwich Mean Time back on Earth. And while most inhabited worlds in the Federation were within spitting distance of a 24-hour rotation, none were exact. Small doses of synthetic hormones kept people attuned to their planet’s particular diurnal cycle, but nothing was going to force a planet to match the Earth’s rotation exactly. So, depending on each planet’s rotation, a day was either added or subtracted as required from the calendar as a rough way of keeping the planets in synch. For Kakurega, that meant adding an A-Day every 23 planet days or so. An A-Day was usually a day of rest on most planets, so the battleball tourney was moved to that day. Sams had arranged for a BBQ with the best steaks and links Propitious Interstellar manufactured, and somehow, he’d even put together cheerleaders from two Tay Station universities.

  The patrols were still out, but for the bulk of the company, this was going to be a day to let off some steam. And Marines being Marines, battleball was the perfect way to do that.

  B
attleball’s origins were somewhat lost in time. Some said it came from rugby, some from American football, some from world football. The first recorded game was shortly after the Federation was formed. A battalion made up from mostly ex-British Royal Marines played a battalion formed up from mostly Chinese Marines. Almost immediately, the game caught on and became part of the new Corps’ DNA.

  The allure in the game was probably in its simplicity. Teams lined up across either end of the playing field. A large, three-meter inflatable ball was placed in the middle. At the ref’s whistle, both teams tried to push the ball into the opponent’s goal line. That was about it. Rules were minimal. If the ball went out of bounds, play stopped until the ref brought the ball back in and commenced play. There was no striking of another player. Other rules were up to the ref to enforce as he saw fit.

  The game was a game of brute force. Oh, there was always someone pushing some strategy or the other, but basically, it was which team was stronger and more aggressive. This was the penultimate Marine game.

  Games could be and often were brutal, and regen was always a possibility for some players. Several times, the top brass had tried to ban the game, and General Fitch, the 13th Commandant actually did ban it—until General Maracopa, the 14th Commandant and a huge fan and player in his day, brought it back.

  Ryck wanted his men to shake off the complacency, and the game was only one part of the day’s activities. But he had to remember that they were on combat footing, even if there hadn’t been any combat. He could handle a couple of sprained ankles or cut lips, but massive amounts of injured Marines needing regen could not only land him in trouble, but more importantly, diminish the company’s ability to perform a required mission. So he limited the size of the teams to ten men and drafted Bravo’s gunny, Dove “PICS” McTanish, to ref. Dove was 2.3 meters of rock-solid Marine. No one was going to argue with Gunny PICS, and the gunny understood that he was to keep the violence to a minimum.