THE UNITED FEDERATION MARINE CORPS
BOOK 8: COMMANDANT
Colonel Jonathan P. Brazee
USMCR (Ret)
Copyright © 2015 Jonathan Brazee
Semper Fi Press
ASIN: B0196T6PCC
Printed in the United States of America
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Acknowledgements:
I want to thank all those who took the time to pre-read this book, catching my mistakes in both content and typing. I want to thank Christina Cutting, my editor, for her help in the book and for catching my many typos and mistakes. Any remaining typos and inaccuracies are solely my fault. Finally, I want to thank those in my mailing list who gave me invaluable advice and insight especially concerning this particular book.
Original Cover Art by Panicha Kasemsukkaphat
Christina Cutting can be contacted here.
Dedicated to Corporal Jonathan Yale, UCMS, and Lance Corporal Jordan Haeter, USMC, who on 22 April 2008, in Ramadi, Iraq, sacrificed their lives by taking down a heavily-laden truck driven by a suicide bomber. While local police at the checkpoint ran for cover, the two Marines stood their ground and took the truck under fire, killing the driver and detonating the truck. By destroying the truck at the cost of their own lives, they saved the lives of over 150 of their comrades.
Their actions were the inspiration for Chapter 24 in this book.
And in remembrance:
Staff Sergeant Thomas James, USMC
Guadalcanal and Chosin Reservoir Vet
Corporal Tomtom Copperwait, USA
Vietnam Vet
RIP
FS ADMIRAL KRAVITCH
Chapter 1
Major General Ryck Lysander sat in the ground commander’s chair in the back of the bridge, fingers white as they pressed hard into the seat’s arms.
Only a dreadnaught the size of the Kravitch had that small courtesy to the senior Marine on board. Usually, the senior Marine either had a station in CIC[1] or just occupied the desk in his stateroom. But a dreadnaught was a completely different creature, resplendent with pomp and circumstance, from the gold inlay on the bridge and in the wardroom to the requirement of six Marine guards in dress blues standing at attention while awaiting the admiral’s beck and call.
The admiral in this case was none other than Vice Admiral Marc Kurae, the CO of the Ark Royal when Ryck was a captain and who had ridden Ryck’s fight with the Confederation in the Cygni B system into his admiral’s stars. Ryck had thought Kurae was a flaming asshole then, and nothing he’d observed over the last two months had changed his opinion of the man. And the fact that Ryck was, well, Ryck Lysander, the only living man with not one, but two Federation Novas, the subject of three Hollybolly flicks, and now only one rank below the admiral seemed to grate on the man to no end. He might be the commander of Task Force 31, but Ryck was the star, the person the newsies wanted to interview.
Not that Ryck wanted to do much in the way of interviews, not on this mission. The Kravitch, along with two frigates and the Ballston Shore, a Falklands Class Integrated Assault Transport with a battalion of Marines and a battalion of FCDC troops aboard, was stationed off Ellison, the homeworld of Ryck’s parents before they had emigrated to Prophesy before Ryck was born. Unrest had been growing on the planet over the eight years since the government landed first the Marines, then the FCDC to break the impasse with the planet’s two main unions. The official numbers were never released, but close to 13,000 Ellisonians had been killed by the FCDC troops.
Ellison had long been one of the few planetary or national governments within the Federation not controlled by the People’s Rights Party, but the ruling Democratic Voice Party had always kowtowed to the federal government, and the Federation even pointed to the party’s power as proof that the Federation was, in fact, a free democracy. With the overwhelming election of the Freedom First Party, however, the new Ellison government had become decidedly an opposition party and a thorn in the side of the Federation. A plebiscite had been scheduled with the question of whether to cede from the Federation, a vote that was canceled by the Chairman—and whose decision was backed by FCDC troops—when polling showed the vote might swing to leaving the Federation. Riots had broken out, and 52 troops were killed in the fighting before they pulled back off-planet to await reinforcements.
Task Force 31.
Not that a single battalion of Marines and a battalion of FCDC troops could quell the unrest on a planet of 12 billion souls. But it was the specter of the task force, sitting off the planet and untouchable by the Ellisonians that was supposed to knock some sense into the people.
Ryck’s sudden assignment to the task force, pulling him out of his assigned billet as Junior Military Aide to the First Minister, had been a transparent effort to use his fame and public perception as a shield against what could be a messy operation, one that had already lit the ethersphere with criticism. He resented the assignment, but as always, he’d saluted smartly and reported for duty.
He’d hoped that the mission would end as it had with the prior year’s mission to Teller’s Reef, where a much smaller Navy-only task force had convinced the Judgment Movement to stand down. But no FCDC troops had been killed on Teller’s Reef, and there was an undercurrent of, well, revenge, as Ryck considered it, within the admiral’s staff as they planned for this mission. After a week of fruitless back-and-forth, Admiral Kurae had issued his ultimatum: a dissolution of parliament and the arrest and surrender of all individuals who had participated in attacks on FCDC troops.
The deadline for the ultimatum was in a few short minutes, and Ryck waited anxiously to hear the premier’s response. Ryck thought the ultimatum went too far and left no room to maneuver. A dissolution of parliament and new elections set were a possibility, but the arrest and extradition of what had to be thousands of Ellisonians, most of whom would probably be executed, would be too much for the government to bear, on both political and moral grounds. Several thousand Ellisonians had already been killed during this round of fighting, and any more being sent to their fates would seal the fate of the Freedom First Party, something Kurae and those giving him his orders undoubtedly realized. To Ryck’s growing suspicion and concern, the ultimatum could just be a sham and an excuse for a Federation response.
Over on the Ballston Shore, the embarked First Battalion, Tenth Marines, was ready to land and secure Jorgenson Hill, the Ellison government complex. Ryck didn’t like the mission one bit. Civil unrest was not in the Marine Corps’ charter. Posse comitatus,
[2] or rather the proscription of granting it to a military force, had been embedded in federal doctrine since the Federation was formed, even if it had been routinely ignored and bypassed over the last century or so.
The battalion was commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Naranbaatar Bayarsaikhan, “Genghis,” one of Ryck’s posse and one-time fellow recruit. Only this time, for once, Ryck had nothing to do with them working together. His late orders to the task force would have precluded that, but it was a happy coincidence that Genghis had been in command of 1/10 for close to two years already, and the battalion had already been deployed on the
Ballston Shore for a training mission and was ready to be absorbed by the task force.
Ryck had spent much of the last week on the comms with Genghis, and Ryck had stressed that if the battalion landed, extreme care would be taken to minimize violence. Ryck was damned if he’d let Marines be killed under his watch, and if the Ellisonians resisted, Genghis was to reply with as much force as was needed, but the Marines would not initiate a heavy-handed response unless absolutely required to save life and limb.
This was not in line with the many briefs Ryck had attended aboard the Kravitch, but if they didn’t want him to put his own thumbprint on the actions of his Marines, they should not have assigned him as commander. Ryck was a pretty well known quantity, and they had to have understood that he was not just going to be a smiling figurehead.
Ryck looked around the bridge as the deadline approached. Admiral Kurae had taken over the captain’s command chair, which was somewhat of a breach of Navy tradition. Captain Brian Plummer, the ship’s CO, had moved to the navigator’s console while the admiral’s senior staff grabbed whatever seat they could find or simply stood. Other than routine reports, no one said a word. There was an open line back to Brussels, and for all anyone knew, the chairman himself was listening in.
“Captain, we’ve got an energy bloom, coordinates 10243 by 73527. It looks like a launch!” one of the junior officers shouted out from his console to Ryck’s left.
“Spook, give me a visual!” Captain Plummer shouted out.
Before the words were out of the captain’s mouth, the Intel chief had already switched Surveillance 2 to the coordinates. The nose of a chemical rocket was clearly visible to the ship’s hi-res cameras, a cloud of exhaust following the rocket as it climbed.
“It’s a Blackbeard Buster,” the same junior officer shouted out in a less-panicked voice. “Probably a Gentry V-22 or clone.”
Ryck let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. A Blackbeard Buster was the slang for any number of low-tech chemical rockets that served as point defenses for a planet, able to reach into low orbit to take out satellites or ships. They could be effective against pirates or jumped-up converted freighters, but they posed absolutely no threat to Navy ships-of-the-line.
There were more than a few chuckles from around the bridge as the men realized what had been fired at them.
“Guns, take it out,” Captain Plummer ordered his weapons officer, almost cavalierly.
Within five seconds, the ship’s meson cannon reached out, and the screen displayed a flash of light as the rocket was destroyed.
“Well Admiral, I guess they answered your demand,” Plummer said with a chuckle, joined by most of the bridge.
The Ellison government knew that their Blackbeard Buster would stand no chance against any of the Navy ships, but by sending it off, they were giving the Navy—and hence the Federation itself—the proverbial finger.
Ryck hadn’t joined in any of the derisive laughter. He knew now that he’d have to send in the Marines to seize Jorgenson Hill and secure the two main spaceports in the capital. He pulled out his PA to glance over the planned course of action, despite having the thing pretty much memorized. He’d hoped for a better outcome, but it was what it was.
Ryck looked up at the admiral, only the back of the man’s head visible above the back of the command chair. He hadn’t moved. Ryck figured that the admiral was taking this as a slap in the face.
Well, don’t give out ultimatums you know won’t be accepted, he thought.
He shook his head and started to look down at his PA, when quietly, almost too quietly, the admiral said, “Initiate Option 109.”
What the fuck? Ryck asked himself in shock. Did I hear that right?
The genial mood in the bridge vanished as it went deathly still.
“Sir?” Captain Plummer asked, rising out of his seat.
“Initiate Option 109,” the admiral repeated as if asking for a second cup of coffee.
“But sir!”
“But nothing. They have attacked a Navy vessel. There are consequences for that.”
Ryck stood up, his mind reeling.
“With a Blackbeard Buster, sir! Nothing that could hurt us. It was a message!” the captain continued.
“And I am going to send a message back. Initiate Option 109,” the commodore repeated.
Captain Plummer looked over at the cam pick-up that was broadcasting back to Brussels as if waiting for a reprieve. Ryck waited, too, waited for the voice of reason to cancel the admiral’s orders.
“Sir, I can’t—”
“Captain, you are relieved. Commander Xhosa, you now have command. Initiate Option 109.”
“Yes, sir,” the XO, no, now the ship’s CO, said. “But we will need a Level 6 release.”
“You will have it. Initiate the sequence,” the admiral told him.
“Aye-aye, sir,” Xhosa said as he moved to the weapons officer’s console.
He looked into the pickup, had his eyes scanned, and then spoke, “This is Commander Lester K. Xhosa, P92845566, Commanding Officer. Initiate Option 109.”
Ryck hoped the ship’s AI wouldn’t accept the order. But it had heard the admiral assign the commander the command, and it started the process, the lights in the bridge slightly dimming momentarily as the ship’s systems were shifted to power up the weapon in its bay.
Option 109! For what? Ryck asked himself, taking several more steps forward.
Option 109 was the code for a planet buster. One had been used on G. K. Nutrition Six after the Trinoculars had taken over the planet, but none had been used against a human foe for over 30 years, when the Federation and Brotherhood had jointly interdicted what was then the SOG homeworld. The Brotherhood had since sworn off their use, as had more than half of humanity. The Federation had retained the right to use the weapons, but supposedly only as a weapon of last resort. It was supposed to be deterrence, not a weapon to use against Federation citizens.
Twelve billion Federation citizens!
“Admiral Kurae!” Ryck shouted out.
“At ease, General,” the admiral said, not bothering to turn around.
Ryck looked around the bridge. Half of the officers and ratings seemed shocked. The rest? Those from the admiral’s staff? They did not look surprised.
Grubbing hell! They knew this was going to happen!
“Initiation complete,” the AI’s flat voice filled the bridge.
Ryck looked to main hadron comms speaker, almost willing the voice of reason to come out and order the admiral to stand down.
“Admiral, about that release?” Commander Xhosa asked.
“Green 7659807-tack-88 rose petal,” the admiral said, still sitting in his seat.
“Acknowledged,” the AI intoned. “You are cleared to launch.”
“Admiral, you can’t do this!” Ryck shouted again, stepping up to the center of the bridge as several of the Navy officers mumbled their agreement.
“This is beyond you, General. It is beyond me. This has been made at the highest levels, so it would be better if you just shut up and sit down,” Admiral Kurae said, finally turning to look at Ryck, his eyes blazing.
As Ryck shifted to look at Commander Xhosa, trying to will the man to refuse. The XO shrugged, and then turned the red key that had risen from the weapon’s officer’s console.
“Admiral?” he asked, stepping back.
The Admiral leaned forward into the console pickup and said, “Vice Admiral Marc V. Kurae, L77549201, Commanding Officer.”
Ryck wanted to rush the man, to pound him into a pulp, anything to stop what was about to happen.
“Corporal, your sidearm,” he said to the Marine guard who’d stepped forward as well.
Ryck hoped the Marine hadn’t stepped forward to stop him, and he was relieved when the worried-looking Marine readily handed over his Ruger.
“Gentlemen, this is a grave decision, but one brought on by those down on the planet’s surface. They killed Federation troo
ps, and now they have fired upon the Navy. We have no choice. May God have mercy on their souls,” the admiral said to the rest of the bridge before starting to turn around to reach the second key, the one that would send the planet buster on its way.
“Don’t move, Admiral, or I will kill you where you stand,” Ryck said striding forward, finger tightening on the trigger of the corporal’s Ruger.
He knew he should just shoot. With the admiral down, it would take some time for someone else to be authorized to turn that last key. But years of ingrained behavior kept him from killing his commander.
Ryck almost laughed at the thought. He was already a dead man. He’d just threatened his commanding officer, and that was a capital offense. And now he was worried about pulling the trigger?
But the admiral froze, still a couple of meters from the planet buster’s trigger. He put up his hands, and then slowly turned to face Ryck.
“I think you need to put that weapon down,” he told Ryck calmly.
After I shoot your condescending face I will, Ryck thought.
“I’m not going to let you kill 12 billion people,” he said instead.
“Ryck, put the gun down,” the familiar voice of Hopkins Garrison, the Federation First Minister and Ryck’s boss, filled the bridge.
“I can’t do that, sir,” Ryck answered, his eyes and Ruger never wavering off Kurae.
“I told the chairman it was a mistake putting you on this mission. You’re too moral for your own good,” the first minister said. “Look, there are things in motion about which you have no idea. This is the way things have to be. It’s bigger than you. It’s bigger than me. It’s bigger than the chairman himself.”
“Is it bigger than 12 billion Ellisonians? That’s 12 billion, sir!”
Commandant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 8) Page 1
