But he wasn’t going to just walk into another trap. He dropped into a slow, careful walk, all his senses on alert. He glanced at his PA, but she wasn’t showing up. It didn’t matter. There were not many places for her to hide, and unless she had a spare tarnkappe on her, he’d spot her.
He pulled up behind a large tree, trying to push his senses ahead. She was up there somewhere, and he was going to find out where. His nerves were alive with potential. Ryck knew he was supposed to be the cool, collected soldier for justice. That was how men like him were portrayed in the flicks. But that wasn’t how it went, and he was sure most Marines were just like him. He frankly reveled in what was happening. This was mano a mano, the ultimate challenge. One professional against the other. This was how he proved himself. No one who had never been in combat would understand. Oh, he’d been scared shitless at times, but except with the trinoculars, he’d always been amped, always excited. The fear only heightened his senses, raising the stakes.
This time, he wasn’t afraid. He knew he could be killed, but from a deeper core, he just didn’t believe it. He was going to find the Ferret and remove her as an enemy of man.
He stepped from around the tree, angling for another 8 or 9 meters ahead, constantly scanning the area in front of him, trying to catch a glimpse of movement.
“Six, Team One in place,” came over the net.
Ryck tuned it out and didn’t respond. Nothing was going to distract him.
A movement caught his eye, and he swung his M77, but it was only a leaf slowly drifting down. He started to sweep his muzzle as he scanned when his instinct took over before his mind could react, and he dove forward into a roll as another round zipped through the space he’d just occupied.
She was up in the trees!
Another round impacted the dirt centimeters beside him as he swung his 77 up and fired a string of darts into the treetop. Leaves cascaded down, and something large jumped from one tree to the next. The trees had to be five meters apart, yet some 20 meters high, she had jumped like a grubbing monkey! He was impressed despite himself.
That wasn’t going to stop him, though. He kept firing, his darts chewing up the leaves and branches. One more shot rang out, but Ryck didn’t even register where it hit. He marched forward, just as the Royal Marines did online back at Belle Île. This was old school tactics, very old school. Just advance and fire, advance and fire.
He had a large magazine with over 3,000 of the tiny 6mm darts, but it was rapidly being depleted. His counter was passing 150 when something large crashed through the branches. The Ferret finally made an appearance as her body bounced off a large branch and was sent tumbling to the ground, where she landed with a thump. A rifle landed a couple of meters beside her.
Ryck’s adrenaline was pumping, and he almost lit her up, but he withheld and rushed forward, ready for anything. He stopped five meters from her, keeping her covered. She was motionless.
“Teams One and Four, to my pos now. Double time,” he passed.
He felt foolish, weapon trained on the unresponsive woman. She looked young and innocent, like a teenager. Ryck realized that no teenager would be the SOG #2, so her face spoofing was altering her appearance. He wondered what she looked like, who she was.
Blood was staining her brown peasant top from what looked to be two dart rounds that had hit her high on her left chest and lower in the middle of her belly. Through the torn blouse, he could see some sort of skinsuit, probably powered with the energy shield. Whatever it was, while is could stop a meson beam, it wasn’t proof against a simple dart.
Ryck broke a cardinal rule for this situation. He stepped forward, weapon still trained on her, and nudged her with his foot. There was no reason to so that. He should have waited for one of his teams, and then had one of them, weaponless, checked her. But he didn’t want to wait. She groaned, but didn’t otherwise react.
She was alive. For how long, Ryck didn’t know.
Standing orders were that all SOG were to be terminated without pause. This didn’t always happen, but if Ryck zeroed her, there would be no fallout over that decision. Ryck felt no compassion for having shot her, not like when he’d killed Greater France Legionnaires or Confederation soldiers. But if she really was the #2, she had to have Intel. Other high-ranking SOG had suicided before capture, but this woman was out cold.
Ryck switched to the command relay.
“I have Ferret under custody. She is alive, but seriously WIA. Unless I am countermanded, I am going to attempt to bring her in. Initiate transport of all hands.”
Somewhere in high orbit over Fresh Beginnings, a heavily shielded relay pod picked up Ryck’s message and forwarded it to the overall operation command.
“Çağlar, get off the roof and double time over here now. The lieutenant’s been hit.”
“Sandy, you hanging in there?” Ryck sent on the circuit P2P.
“Ah, forever, if, OK, I’m OK,” Sandy mumbled in return.
He opened his comms back up to the operational circuit.
“Doc, I’ve got two down here, one friendly and the Ferret. Get your ass over here ASAP, Code Two.”
“Roger that. I’m on my way.”
Doc Lyon had been “assigned” to the Natural Plantation dispensary, logically enough. Code Three meant that all hands were to retrograde, but through normal company procedures. It might take a day or two for work orders to be cut, but everyone had their retrograde procedures. Code One meant drop whatever they were doing and get out, even if that meant fighting their way out. Code Two was somewhere between the two. Action was to be taken immediately, but without drawing attention to themselves if possible. Ryck thought Doc could get to his pos in 20 minutes if he took an ambulance, something that had already been cleared as a contingency.
He took a quick glance back towards Sandy. He couldn’t see him through the trees, and he wanted to rush back to see what he could do. But the Ferret was his mission, and until his teams got there, this is where he had to be.
TARAWA
Chapter 23
“Well, that was fun,” the CO said sarcastically as he, Ryck, and Major Cleo Davidson, the Charlie Company commander, left the conference room.
The debrief had taken no less than 10 hours with only two short breaks, and Ryck was both famished and exhausted. He was looking forward to getting home and seeing his family.
Ryck had initially thought it would be more of a simple accounting of the operation. They had the Ferret under custody, and that was the main thing. He had forgotten, though, that this was not just an assassination operation (or snatch, as it turned out), but a trial run of the new Raider type of mission. So along with Cleo (“Guppy”), whose men hadn’t gotten involved, they had gone through all the minutia they could remember, then more that the de-briefers had managed to pull out of them.
The operation itself had run smoothly. Doc had arrived on the scene where he stabilized both the Ferret and Sandy, putting both into ziplocks. The zipsicles had been loaded the ambulance and extracted to Morning as “industrial accidents” for evac off-world and to a Federation facility—Sandy to the Navy hospital on Tarawa and the Ferret to the tender ministrations of the FCDC. The Marines of the two Raider companies filtered their way back to Morning as normal business movements. Half of the Marines left the next day, the rest the day after for transport back to Federation space. The men rendezvoused at the Firebird space station, to return to Tarawa together.
Ryck had met up with the CO in the Firebird, wondering what his reception would be. He’d been pretty much a gunslinger on Fresh Beginnings, not something too many majors did. But after he’d given Bert a slightly more detailed brief, the CO seemed to take it stride. Ryck had wondered if their friendship had anything to do with it, and he’d finally asked, telling Bert to let him have it if necessary.
“Why?” Bert asked. “You did what you had to do and accomplished the mission.”
They’d been in under a comms blackout during the mission, but once they�
��d reached Firebird, Ryck was able to call home and let Hannah know he’d be back soon. Ben had inserted himself into the conversation, though, blocking out his mother as he related the sins of one of his crèche classmates and how well behaved he’d been in comparison. With Ben on her lap, Hannah had rolled her eyes at that, and Ryck knew his son’s pronouncement of good behavior might not be an accurate representation. Ryck tried to suppress a smile as his fireball went on with his story. He was developing into quite a character—and quite a handful—but Ryck felt a touch of pride. His youngest was going to make his mark on the universe someday, he was sure of it.
After landing on Tarawa, most of the Marines went straight home as there were no weapons or equipment to turn in. The three commanders, though, were not so lucky and had been taken right to the debrief. At last, it was over—for round one, at least. Ryck knew the comptroller analysts would have more questions and they poured over the first debrief session. This may have been a military operation, but the bean counters were the ones who would eventually recommend if this were a viable—and cost-effective—method of waging war. Until they gave their approval, the new SpeOps mission was merely an experiment.
Ryck didn’t like it that civilians who had never heard a shot fired in anger would have final say over a military capability, but there was no use griping about it. Nothing was going to change.
“So, sir, how do you think it went?” Cleo asked. “The general seemed pleased, right?”
“That’s his job to seem pleased,” Ryck interjected. “We want the mission.”
“He’s pushing the commandant to recommend you for a Distinguished Meritorious Service Medal,” Bert told Ryck, then stopping Ryck’s protest with, “I told him to make it a Bronze Star, if anything. The colonel doesn’t even think that will be awarded, as hush-hush as all of this is supposed to be.”
Ryck had been awarded a DMSM for the action back on G.K. Nutrition Six, where Joshua had been killed and Ryck had lost 29 Marines. He’d sworn then he’d never wear the medal, something of which Bert was well aware.
Once again, Ryck’s awards had taken on a political bent, which is why Ryck discounted most of them. One faction evidently wanted a medal as a public affirmation of the new mission while others wanted the new mission to be low-key and out of the public eye.
“But to answer you, Cleo, I think we did fine. We caught a pretty big fish, after all,” Bert said.
“Any ID on her yet?” Ryck asked.
“You know as much as I do,” Bert said. “Just because we caught her doesn’t mean the FCDC will be telling us anything.”
The three men left the headquarters and walked down the granite steps. It was late afternoon, and Ryck figured he could catch dinner and eat with his family.
“You going back to Donahue?” he asked the CO, hoping for a negative response.
“Ha! Not very subtle there, Ryck. No, you two go on home. I’ll see you in the morning. No, make that on Thursday. If I need either of you, I’ll give you a call.”
Ryck didn’t need to be told twice. He said his goodbyes and then called the hospital to check on Sandy. The lieutenant had already been induced under the forced coma, so there was no real reason to detour there. Instead, he called Hannah and told her he was on the way. The Ferret was forgotten. Now was family time.
Chapter 24
Ryck dropped his assault pack at the door and flopped on his couch, putting his boots up on the coffee table before guiltily looking around to see if anyone saw him. He bent over with a groan and took off his boots before putting his feet back up and leaning back, eyes closed.
Today had been a first class, no-question, grubbing bitch. He’d taken the company out on a 20k run with full rucks, and frankly, every muscle in his body was screaming at him for being such a fool. Recon was really a young man’s game, and even if Ryck was in great shape for someone his age, he was still 38 years old, and his body had reminded him of that after every step.
He really wanted a cold beer, but he wanted the Lacto-No he’d just taken to ease the pain, so the beer would have to wait until the little lactic acid-eating organos had done their duty. Alcohol killed the little buggers, unfortunately. He’d have to wait another hour at least before he could pop the top on a cold one.
He heard steps in the room and opened his eyes to see Noah walking by, his head buried in his PA.
“What, no ‘Hello, Dad?’ for your father?” Ryck asked his son.
“Oh, hello,” Noah said, not looking up as he climbed the stairs to the second floor.
Ryck just shook his head. Noah confused him, some. The boy almost seemed autistic with his lack of interest sometimes, but at other times, he could be very outgoing and personable. Hannah told Ryck not to worry about him. Noah was just an intense kid who tended to focus on whatever was on his mind.
Ryck heard him say “Dad’s home” at the top of the stairs, then the heavy clumping as someone ran down.
“Daddy! Look at me!” Esther said, twirling in a green unitard onto which large spots had been drawn.
“And what are you supposed to be sweety,” he said, pulling in his daughter to his lap.
“Pee-ew! You stink, Daddy! An’ I’m a frog. I told you before. I was supposed to be a tree, but Lyreesha, she can’t do a walkover, an’ I can, so I’m a frog now.”
“Frogs do walkovers?” Ryck asked.
“Of course, let me show you!”
She got up and moved to in coffee table where she did a very credible job for an eight-year-old.
“I can do it too,” Ben said from behind Ryck.
“Hey, my man,” Ryck greeted his son.
Ben ignored the greeting but imposed himself in front of his sister.
“Hey, it’s not your turn. This is for me!” she shouted at him.
Ben, with determination, ignored his big sister and tumbled over into more of a summersault than a handspring. Ryck tried not to laugh.
“Mom! He’s doing it again!” Esther shouted. “He always has to do everything, an’ I want to show Daddy!”
Ben stood and backed up into Esther, then proceeded to tumble over again, falling flat on his back.
“Mom!”
“Ben! Leave your sister alone,” Hannah said, coming down the stairs. “And you, Esther, Mylana didn’t make that for you to get it ruined before the show.”
Show? Grubbing hell, is that today?
Hannah must have seen the expression on Ryck’s face, because with a look of not quite anger, but something close, she said, “And Daddy wants you to look just right for the show, right Daddy?”
“Uh, yeah, I’m just resting here for a few minutes before I get dressed. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
“But can I show Daddy just one? Please?”
“OK, just one, then Daddy has to be getting himself showered. I swear, I be smelling him from here.”
Esther and Ben both laughed uproariously.
“Daddy smells BAD!” Ben shouted gleefully.
“OK, OK, Daddy, look it!” Esther shouted, then stepping into a front walkover.
Ryck was surprised at how gracefully she performed it, how, well maturely. When did his little baby girl get this old? He felt a pang for missing much of her childhood.
He was tired, dead tired, and sitting in front of the holo and getting a beer after the organos did their work had seemed to be the ultimate evening just a few minutes ago. Now, sitting through a school play seemed a much, much better option.
LIVINGSTON
Chapter 25
“Mr. Alexi Stanislovski” presented his documents at the Livingston immigration booth.
“Look into the scanner, sir,” the agent told him as he captured the card on his reader.
Ryck leaned into the retinal scanner, nervous despite himself. The subtle modification in his irises coupled with his extensive, if completely fictional background, should make it through the scan, but that was theory, not proven fact. So Ryck was relieved when a short beep accepted him as the
Realtitude Sympatico businessman.
“Welcome to Livingston, Mr. Stanislovski,” the immigration officer intoned. “You are welcome to stay for 30 GMT days. If you wish to stay longer, please report into any Level 2 government office for an extension.”
He handed Ryck back his card and was motioning up the next person in line, who happened to be “Evgeni Sidorov,” known to Ryck as Corporal Hans Çağlar, UFMC. Evgeni was registered as a personal bodyguard and so was allowed to carry a non-lethal handgun. Sams had laughed when the assignments had come out, calling Çağlar’s persona form after function.
This mission was real in the sense that no one on Livingston was aware of their real identities. However, there was no mission other than certifying the procedure. There was no Intel to gather, no fight to be had. It was simply get in, spend a few days moving about, then get out, all without being detected as Federation Marines.
Ryck’s leg bones still carried the mod from the mission on New Beginnings, and Ryck barely even thought about it anymore. His face, though, had been altered again. He still felt weird looking in the mirror. The reflection still looked like him—sort of—and that subtle difference was more disconcerting to him, he thought, than had it been a completely different face.
Ryck waited just beyond the immigration station as Çağlar—no, Sidorov, Ryck reminded himself—went through his screening. His took longer as he had to turn over his Douglas to get its serial number recorded and for the immigration armorer to take it to the ID booth for a beamprint. If the weapon was ever used while on the planet against anything organic, that beam pattern could be traced to the weapon.
It took a few minutes for Sidorov to pass through, and he immediately moved in front of Ryck and led him to the luggage claim. He really looked the part, Ryck had to admit. Ryck had known Çağlar for several years, from the private who had been nervous about screwing up his first mission to the quiet, but competent Marine he was now. But from an outsider’s point-of-view, Ryck knew the big Marine could look intimidating.
Major (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 5) Page 13
