Esther's Story: Recon Marine (The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins Book 2)

by Jonathan Brazee

  “That may end up being your only choice. Just hang tight.”

  “It’s not like we’re going anywhere soon.”

  Esther could hear the pounding of a jackhammer of some sort as it sought to break into the small compartment where Monty, Doc Juno, Hank, and Sputter were holed up. Monty was watching where the Uni troops were breaking down the metal bulkhead, so Esther switched her feed to Hank, who’d been hit and was sitting against the far wall. She could see the other three now. Monty looked calm, as if they weren’t in deep shit. Sputter, a sergeant, just two months with the team, was trying hard to look collected, Esther knew, but his bioreadouts revealed a different story. Doc Juno looked back at Hank, and for a moment, Esther wondered if he was looking at the wounded staff sergeant or if he knew she was watching and he was looking at her.

  This entire mission had been a clusterfuck. The platoon had been attached to the task force in direct support of the 3/14, her old battalion. The mission was to quell the fighting on Saint Teresa between the Progressive Coalition and the Unified Party. The Federation wasn’t even taking a stand as to which side was right. Twenty-one percent of the planet’s property was Federation-owned, and a nascent Federal bio-research complex had just begun operations there. The Federation’s prime objective was that nothing threaten its holdings on the planet. All of the planet’s FCDC troops had been consolidated on Federal property, and that led to the Navy and Marines providing a show of force to convince both sides to put down their arms.

  Except that the Unified Force wasn’t convinced. Three days after the task force arrived in New Goa, two Marines had been killed by a Uni suicide bomber, and the lines were drawn.

  A single battalion was nowhere near big enough to pacify an entire planet if it erupted into full-scale war. There wasn’t a single entity that could match up man-for-man to the Marines, but ten thousand army ants could bring down a lion. The Marines had to find the ant’s burrows and stamp them down before the ants could emerge.

  The Unis had seized the spaceport, where there had been six Ramhead fighters. The Ramheads were old tech even for frontier worlds, but even one could feasibly damage or take down a Navy ship-of-the-line in orbit. The Task Force commander was extremely concerned about that.

  Esther had tried not to be cynical about that considering the commander was aboard the Fairfield Bay. She knew that the Federation valued a frigate and the sailors aboard as more vital than a single Marine battalion. That was simply a fact of life to those in the Corps.

  With the Ramheads missing, Esther had been ordered to send a team to the area around the moon base, which was controlled by the Unis, to see if they Ramheads were stashed there somewhere. Esther had chosen Third Team, which Monty had split into two four-man teams. One was to the planetary north of the base, high on a peak, where it was monitoring emissions. Monty had breached the farm tunnels and had been physically searching likely spaces that could be serving as temporary hangars.

  Esther didn’t know whether the Unis had detected the initial breach or not, but when fighting broke out on the planet, a platoon-sized force had assaulted Monty’s team at the same time. Esther had ordered Monty to surrender, but the Unis were having none of it, and Hank was hit. Monty had managed to retreat into an empty tunnel, hoping there was an exit somewhere. Dragging Hank, all four had made it to what they discovered was a dead end. As with most tunnels, an airlock was placed at the terminus as a safety measure. The four Marines were now barricaded in that airlock while the Unis were pounding away at it to break in.

  “The Navy’s not going to release the Experions,” Top Gann said as he walked up to Esther. “The cowardly mother fuckers.”

  “Do you have any ideas?” Esther asked, not expecting much.

  She’d been wracking her brain trying to come up with a strategy, but unlike in the flicks, there was no hidden trap door, no cavalry right over the horizon. She was sitting in the CP, safe and sound in New Goa, while four of her men were facing their deaths.

  “That’s it, then,” Monty said as the hammer-head broke through the wall, splitting the metal fabric. “Top, it’s been an honor. Captain, you, too.”

  “Let’s kick some ass,” he said, turning to the other three, Esther’s view bouncing a bit as Hank struggled to his feet.

  “We’ve got Osprey-Two lifting off. ETA in 15 mikes,” the FAC shouted out.

  “Too fucking late,” Top said.

  “Hank, you ready? You’ve got the coup de grace.”

  “Sure thing, Monty. I’m ready.”

  “Wait!” Esther passed. “You can try to surrender again.”

  “They shot Hank last time we tried that. No, Captain, this is for keeps.”

  All attention was on the four Marines as the breach in the wall grew. Monty fired a burst through the hole, but that only delayed things a moment.

  “Maybe we can recover enough for regen,” someone said from behind Esther.

  That was about the best they could hope for, Esther knew. She kept watching the feed with growing foreboding. She felt helpless, watching events unfold when there was nothing she could do.

  With a horrendous screeching, the bulkhead gave way, almost crushing Doc Juno. Blue-uniformed figures started to dart in only to be cut down by the four team members. Three, four dropped. An explosion rocked the room, and the feed jerked despite the compensators. All four were still standing, but Sputter’s avatar now joined Hank’s as light blue.

  Two more Uni soldiers tried to enter and were cut down.

  “Think they can hold out?” the major asked to no one in particular.

  Esther hadn’t thought so, but with what looked to be six Unis down, she had a glimmer of hope that they would retreat. It wasn’t as if the team was going anywhere, and they were proving to be a tough nut to crack.

  That was dashed when the compartment erupted into smoke and flames. Hank fell to the ground, and it took a moment for his cam to pick up Doc down, too. Monty was leaning up against the wall, and Sputter was not in the field of vision.

  All four avatars were now light blue, and Esther quickly switched to Sputter’s feed. He was sitting, looking at the stump where his hand had just been. Esther switched immediately back to Hank’s feed.

  A mass of blue bodies rushed into the compartment. Some of them fell, to be trampled by those rushing behind them. In a mass of confusion that was hard to make out through the feed, Sputter, Doc, and Monty were killed, their avatars turning gray. Hank was the last one. Up against the back bulkhead, he rolled four small grenades to the middle of the compartment. Esther didn’t even think the Unis noticed them as they shot and killed the Marine. He fell to the ground, his cam still capturing the scene. Three seconds later, view erupted into an even greater display of explosive power. It took a good twenty seconds for the compartment to clear enough for an image to be seen.

  From deck level, it was hard to grasp the full scene, but there were bodies—and body parts—everywhere. Some of those parts belonged to Doc and the Marines, but most were in tatters of what had been Uni blue uniforms. The death of the four Federation warriors had come at a very, very expensive cost.

  Several more Uni soldiers could be seen poking their heads through the breach, weapons ready. They edged out, looking in horror at the carnage. Another Uni with the insignia of a senior sergeant on his collar, walked up to what was left of Monty. With sure movements, he drew his sidearm, a bulky Wallen Python.

  “That mother fucker!” Top said just as Esther realized what the soldier was doing.

  She stood up, helpless.

  The soldier aimed the big energy weapon at Monty’s head and pulled the trigger. There was very little to see, but Esther knew what he’d just done. Monty’s body had been ravaged, but there was always hope of a resurrection and regen. With his brain fried, that hope had just disappeared.

  The sergeant walked over to Doc as he stared at the Python’s readout. When it had recharged, he fried Doc’s brain as well.

  “OK, back to your s
tations. We’re still fighting a battle out there,” the colonel said to the entire CP. “Focus on your mission.”

  Esther couldn’t tear herself away, though. She tried to switch the feed to Sputter again, but his cam was out. Back on Hank’s she watched the sergeant disappear to where Sputter was, then reappear a few moments later, heading right to Hank. He stopped, so close that only his legs were visible in the feed. Esther held her breath when the soldier bent down and aimed the Python right at Hank’s head.

  And the feed was cut.

  Gut-punched, Esther didn’t know what to do. She struggled to find a degree of normalcy.

  Esther turned to Top. He was bent over, elbows on his spread knees, and staring at the deck. He’d been up for close to 30 hours now. She’d relieved him several hours ago, but he’d stayed in the CP.

  “Why don’t you get out of here for awhile. Maybe get some sleep.”

  “You think I can sleep now? After that?”

  “I need you alert. We’ve still got teams out there.”

  He looked like he was going to argue, but he nodded his head and stood up.

  “The Wasp is almost on station. What do you want me to tell him, sir?” the FAC asked the CO.

  Taking out the compartment wouldn’t affect the four team members. There was no hope now for resurrection for any of them, so whatever the Wasp did now would do them no more harm.

  To go through with the attack would only be revenge at this point, however. There was no real tactical or strategic value in doing so, and it would be expenditure of ordnance that might be needed later. The logical thing to do would be to recall the Wasp and save its efforts for another day.

  All the Marines in the CP looked toward the CO to hear his answer.

  “Carry on the mission,” Esther said in a loud and clear voice.

  Lieutenant Colonel Bertolucci stared at his Reconnaissance Platoon commander for a long moment while she held her ground, staring back.

  Finally, he nodded, and said, “You heard her.”

  Top sat back down, and together they sat in silence, following the Wasp as it acquired the target and made its run. They sat in silence as the Mole Missile did its thing, burrowing into rock until it either ran out of fuel and detonated or hit open space and detonated. They sat in silence until the Wasp made a second pass and forwarded a damage assessment. The Mole had reached the compartment and demolished it.

  Top Gann slowly stood up once again and said, “I think I’ll try to get some sleep now. Call me if you need me.”

  Esther sat there for a moment, then keyed in First Team on her hadron handset.

  “First, give me an update.”

  There was a hollowness in her heart that she didn’t know how long it would last, but there was a war going on and she had a job to do.

  OMAHA

  Chapter 27

  “I just thought, you know, that it would be more hands on,” Esther said.

  “You’re too senior. Hell, I’m too senior. All we’re here to do is to provide training and support for the teams,” Top Gann said.

  “But my father, when he was in recon, he was in the middle of the action. That’s where he got his first Nova.”

  “Yes, we all know that,” Top said. “But that was a different era. Now, we’ve got MARSOC, and that has split recon into the two groups. Here in battalion, we support the infantry. And that means we deploy in the teams. In MARSOC, we support the Corps, if not the Federation,” he said, not telling her anything she didn’t already know.

  “Recon, Force Recon, Raiders, Rangers, Deep Surveillance, Special Operations, MARSOC . . . it seems like we change the name every few years. What kind of consistency is that?”

  “Commando, Dragoons, Scouts; don’t forget those. But to be fair, the Raiders aren’t part of recon,” the Top said.

  “Not to bring up my father again, but yeah, I know. He helped stand up the Raiders when he was a captain. But in other militaries, in other times, what we call recon had all the names we just mentioned and more. My point is what we call something has an impact. How can we function when our very organization changes every time we turn around?”

  The two had been having much the same conversation since their return from Saint Teresa. Esther’s attitude was in a downward spiral. She hated being in a support billet, and losing Monty’s team had been the final nail in the coffin to her morale.

  “I should have tried for the Raiders. I’d be a company commander now.”

  “What, and not earned the crossed paddles you wear on your chest?

  The Raider comment had been Esther’s newest refrain, and she’d probably said it once a day for the last month. The Top’s reply was equally as worn.

  He did have a point about the crossed paddles, though. She wore the badge with pride. Not many male Marines had earned it and only 14 females. Esther was the second female officer, and she knew that was an accomplishment. But she was chafing at the bit. Each of her teams had gotten into combat on Saint Teresa while she and the Top sat back at the CP. No other Marines had been KIA, but four had been WIA with Grayback undergoing long-term regen.

  But she was handcuffed. Esther wasn’t going to the Raiders or anywhere else. Her tour with Recon wasn’t close to being completed, and while there was cross-pollination between Recon and Raider Marines, the organizational commands were separate. Even after this tour, the Raiders would be a long shot. As a new captain, she’d be going to Tac 1 and then staff billet somewhere.

  And she knew she was just bitching. Top was her sounding board, the one person with whom she could get things off her chest. She wasn’t going to rock the boat. There were plenty of other junior officers who would kill to be in her position, and if she was going to be in support, then she was going to be the best support Marine she could be.

  What she did know, however, was that once this tour was over, and once her staff tour was over, it was back to the regular infantry. Maybe she could wangle a PICS company to get that under her belt before she got promoted.

  “Of course,” the Top said, “there is one more option for you, if you were interested in getting back in the thick of things.”

  The Top had changed the script. He listened while Esther bitched, told her to be proud of what she’d accomplished, and Esther agreed until the next day when it all would repeat. Nowhere was there another option in their set lines.

  She looked up at him, waiting to hear what far-fetched idea he might have. She’d be able to shoot it down within moments. Still, her interest was piqued.

  “And what might that be, oh Master Sergeant Extraordinaire?”

  “There is another part of the community where officers are operators.”

  Esther’s interest vanished like a puff of smoke.

  “Yes, MARSOC. I know. I also know that you have to be invited in after your first tour with battalion. I’ve told you, Top, that even if I was somehow invited, after my next tour, I am back with the infantry.”

  If Recon was the premier branch of the Corps, then MARSOC was the premier of the premier. To be assigned to MARSOC, there wasn’t some ass-kicking school like RTC that had to be conquered. If a Marine got orders, he or she went to MSOC for three months for advanced training, and then was in, just like that. But getting the orders was problematic. A battalion recon Marine had to be invited in, and any such invitation came after first proving himself or herself in the battalion. A mysterious MARSOC “mafia” did the selections, which were always approved by HQMC.

  “Occasionally, I repeat, occasionally, Marines are invited before their first tour is completed,” he said as if discussing the weather or what he was going to have for lunch.

  Esther looked up in surprise, though.

  “Uh . . . interesting. But that would mean someone would have to know said Marine, or said Marine might have done something remarkable,” she said, trying to keep her voice collected.

  Could it be possible?

  “Normally, yes. But there can be many reasons for an invitatio
n.”

  “So why are you telling me this?”

  Just say it, Top. Say it!

  “Well, it so happens that you do know someone from the community. Yours truly,” he said, sweeping his arm over his head as if conducting a regency bow. “And you will be offered an invite.”

  Holy Christmas! How? Why?

  She gathered herself, cleared her throat, and asked, “Why am I being offered this opportunity?”

  Top Gann hesitated as if gathering his thoughts.

  “The truth, ma’am? Or do you want me to blow smoke up your ass?”

  Hell. He never says “ma’am.” What’s going on?

  “The truth, Top.”

  “Well, first, the decision wasn’t unanimous. As you said, you haven’t completed a tour in battalion yet, and you haven’t done anything remarkable in the billet.”

  It’s not like I’ve had an opportunity.

  “But, you proved yourself in RTC, and you’re a good officer. No one doubts that you can be an effective operator.”

  “But . . .”

  “Someone who’s served with you thinks you’re too self-centered, too much out for yourself.”

  “What?”

  Esther wanted to argue, to take issue with that, but she realized this was not the time for that.

  “Others disagree. I disagree, if it matters to you. So did Gunny McNeill back at Prettyjohn. But beyond that, there are three reasons.”

  She was only somewhat surprised that the gunny would be involved. It made sense that the mafia keep track of what was going on at RTC.

  “And these three reasons are what?”

  “First, you are a woman.”

  “What? Why does that matter?” she asked, getting a little angry.

  “It does matter. There is only one woman in MARSOC now, and she’s been a great asset to her team for more reasons than she’s a kick-ass warrior. But right now, too few women enter the pipeline. To have another Marine, and an officer at that, in MARSOC, could convince other kick-ass warriors to go to RTC.”

  Esther wanted to argue with that, but as much as she tried to preach gender-blindness, there was some truth to what the Top was saying. The Marines had adopted the old MARSOC designation for more reasons than having a clandestine capability. MARSOC was an answer to the longer and better-established SEALs, and the Corps took every opportunity to tout its achievements when it could without compromising security. If she was in MARSOC, other women in the Corps would know that, and it could convince some of them to apply to RTC. She still had problems with the concept, but now wasn’t the time to get into another long conversation on gender.