Commandant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 8)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  The final disposition of the naval forces, which did have the potential to turn the tide one way or the other, still hadn’t become completely clear, even four days after the Articles of Assumption. First and Third Fleets, the two largest and most capable, had split largely along geographic lines, with First, which was headquartered at Station One in Earth orbit, supporting the Council and Third with the provisional government. Second had declared support for the Council, and Fourth had issued a strong condemnation of the schism and vowed to remain neutral, focusing on their task to defend the Federation from a possible change of strategy from the Klethos. But while the commanders had issued statements, individual ships and forces had been breaking away and making treks to join whichever side they felt was right. Currently, that meant 410 naval combatants supported the Council while only 283 were for the provisional government, but those numbers constantly shifted as individual ships broke away from their fleets and showed up with either force.

  Even the ground forces favored the old government. Some 6,000,000-plus FCDC troops and, to Ryck’s chagrin, 69,212 Marines declared their loyalty to the Council. Facing them, on the provisional government side, were about 35,000 FCDC troops, and the bulk of the half-a-million-strong Marine Corps.

  The major’s list showed 36 planets as still undeclared, and under the neutral column were 26 planets and 238 ships. One of those 36 planets was Ellison, which frankly made Ryck’s blood boil.

  Just the evening before, Ryck had called the president of Ellison to plead for the planet’s inclusion. Ellison, with 12 billion people, would easily be the largest planet from a population standpoint to declare for the provisional government. But while the president expressed his sincere gratitude for Ryck’s actions in saving the planet, he said his people were done with the Federation no matter who won out. Ryck asked him to declare for the provisional government until after things were settled, and then declare for independence, which Ryck would support. The president laughed at that, saying that assumed the provisional government would prevail, something he thought was a long shot.

  “This is what we’ve been able to compile, and we would appreciate your input as to its accuracy,” Major Pohlmeyer said.

  The list was very accurate, at least as far as planets, stations, and ships. The numbers of ground personnel were not 100% accurate, but they were close enough for government work. Whatever else could be said about the Confederation, their intelligence gathering was top-notch.

  “That’s about right, Major. We’re still hoping to sway most of the undeclared, and we are still in talks with the Fourth Fleet. . .” Ryck said.

  Not that we are gaining any ground with them, he admitted to himself.

  “. . .and that can swing the balance of power somewhat.”

  “With all due respect, sir, we don’t think Admiral Tinsley is going to change his mind. He’s had some very high-level contacts with other governments who do not want that sector left open to the Klethos—”

  “Who are still abiding by the agreement,” Ryck interrupted, “Even if they changed the rules.”

  “Be that as it may, an unprotected frontier could be an invitation that is too sweet to ignore,” the major said. “As you said, they’ve already changed the rules once, so who’s to say they won’t again?”

  Ryck knew the major was right, but he didn’t want to concede the point. After four years of almost complete domination by Marines in PICS over the Klethos d’relles in their gladiatorial combat for planets, the Klethos had demanded that humans meet them without armor, hand-to-hand. Unable to face a full-out war with the still unknown Klethos order of battle, the combined governments had to acquiesce, although they had been able to extract a two-year cease-fire agreement to enable humanity time to genmod fighters to match the Klethos in size and strength. Given the Klethos sense of honor, Ryck was not surprised that they had agreed. There was no pride in beating someone unless they posed a reasonable challenge.

  “I might add that the Confederation of Free States feels it is vital that your Fourth Fleet remain in place. But we do understand the inequality this creates with your forces, so I am pleased to tell you that the president has authorized the deployment of our own naval forces to these locations—at your invitation, of course.”

  The major was still using the screen, and it took Ryck a few seconds to take the 2D image and get it straight in his mind as to the sector of space controlled by the provisional government. Then it became pretty clear. The naval forces would be deployed along several axes, and those centered along some vital commercial routes, routes that were vital to the Federation, true, but also for the Confeds themselves. If they did deploy, this would free up some of Admiral Chandanasiri’s forces, but it would also serve to ensure there was no interruption of trade vital to the Confederation.

  Ryck kept his expression neutral as he felt a small rush of satisfaction. The Confeds needed this, too. Ryck would accept it as a starting point, and he thought Chandanasiri would, too, but if the Confederation needed it, then Ryck hoped to extract more in exchange for the “invitation,” as the major put it.

  “Well, Major, we do appreciate your offer, but I was wondering if perhaps a better place for your ships, if they came, might be in the Franzonni Group. . .” he began as he settled in for some old-fashioned horse trading.

  Chapter 11

  Ryck hit the rewind and ran the clip one more time.

  “This is the man who claims to be fighting for the common man? I think not,” the talking head said as an image of Marines rising out of the water and opening fire on the people hugging two-meter-high berm played behind him. Bodies were blasted apart in high definition, brought into the living rooms of billions of households. “Over 2,000 citizens of Kakurega, slaughtered, just because they were protesting work conditions, conditions, I might add that were voluntarily changed by Propitious Interstellar once those conditions became known.”

  The carnage of Charlie 1/11’s fight outside the old powerplant continued for a few moments, the editing skillfully removing weapons from the hands of the rebels who were attacking Ryck’s company. Then the view switched to another scene and to a close-up of a Marine in a PICS, “Captain Rick Lysander, UFMC” captioned beneath him. The recording, taken at Prosperity Square in Tay Station, panned out as the Marines of Alpha Company advanced into the crowd, which had been unarmed, trampling many of them as they marched forward.

  “Turn it off,” Ryck ordered.

  “So you see, sir, we’ve got a problem. But it is a good problem,” Deke Montero, the civilian advisor on loan from LRP Marketing, said.

  “How can this be a good problem?” Ryck growled. “It isn’t even true. I mean, those people were armed, and I stopped the fight as soon as they broke!”

  “Truth doesn’t matter. It’s the perception that counts. And if they show you as a murderous psychopath, then who will trust you when you declare yourselves to be their real government?”

  “And just where does the ‘good’ come in with this problem?”

  “It means they’re panicking. They need to smear you, which is going to be hard considering they’ve given you two Novas, not to mention The Aliens Are Here and The Warrior. And if those people were armed, we can prove the images were manipulated. Believe me, sir, we can smash them on this. I can’t believe any PR firm would let this weak shit out,” he said, his voice rising with excitement.

  Knowing the Council, Ryck doubted very much that any PR advisor was in a position to “let” or not let something go out if the chairman thought it was a good idea. Montero had a grandiose sense of the importance of his field, a field that Ryck sometimes despised. But maybe the guy was right in that truth mattered little in the long run. It reflected a sad state of affairs, though.

  “Mr. Montero, why don’t you come with me,” Hecs said. “I’d like a full briefing on how you want to address this.”

  The PR flack looked to Ryck, obviously wanting to speak with the big man himself, not a sergeant major.
>
  “That’s a great idea, Sergeant Major. You can give it your undivided attention. I want this a top priority,” Ryck said. “And Zeke, I trust you on this. You let the sergeant major know what you need.”

  Montero looked unsure, but with Sams assisting, he and Hecs escorted the man out. Ryck mouthed “Thanks” to Hecs as he left.

  Ryck leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment. He snapped back up and asked, “OK, what’s next?” he asked Bert who brought up his PA to check.

  “What’s next, sir, is your son, whose been sitting in your outer office for the last 90 minutes,” Vivian’s voice filled the room.

  Shit! How the grubbing hell did I forget that!

  Ryck hadn’t been home in two days, and he felt guilty for that. He was just having a hard time facing a house that almost screamed at him that his wife and two of his children were gone. But Ben was still there, and he needed support. And Ryck was abandoning him.

  “Gentlemen, if you would give me a few moments,” he said, dismissing the men sitting at the table.

  “Vivian, please send him in,” Ryck said as the men filed out and he started to move to his desk.

  He thought better of it and stood in front of the couch in his sitting nook. He put his hand in his pocket, then took it back out, suddenly unsure of himself.

  “Hi Dad,” Ben said as he came in the door.

  Ben seemed a little nervous himself as he started to raise his arms for a hug, then change it to a shake.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been, home, son. You know,” Ryck said, sweeping an arm around the office.

  “Oh yeah, I know. Of course,” Ben said.

  “Let’s sit,” Ryck told him. “Are you doing OK? I mean, with. . .” Ryck asked, not even able to vocalize the fact that Hannah and the twins were prisoners.

  “Yeah, I am. No. Fuck no. I’m not. I’m pissed at those bastards,” Ben said, his voice rising with pent up emotions. “I’m not going to lie, Dad, but I want to hit back at them. I want to kill them.”

  “Me, too. I feel the same. But like I told you, they’re safe.”

  “For now.”

  And there was the rub. “For now.”

  “I’ll be doing everything I can to get them back, I promise,” Ryck said.

  “And I want to help, too,” Ben said.

  “I appreciate that, and knowing you are here with me is a big help.”

  “No, more than that,” Ben said, pulling out a rolled up plastisheet from his back pocket and handing it to Ryck.

  Ryck took a quick glance and almost dropped it. It was an enlistment contract.

  “But, you’re still in school,” was all he managed to get out.

  “I’m almost done, and I can finish in the Corps. You need more Marines, and I want to do it.”

  The Corps did need more Marines. With those that declared for the old government, and the projection of a possible shooting war, Ryck has instigated a directive two days earlier to actively seek out recruits and not just wait for them. He had also authorized a waiver for non-high-school grads if they could pass the entrance exams.

  “Yeah, but, you should finish,” Ryck said automatically.

  “Why, Dad? You know I’m going to be a Marine. You’ve always known it.”

  Which was true. Unlike Noah and Esther, Ben ate, drank, and breathed Marines. There had never been any doubt in Ryck’s mind that his son would follow him into the Corps, something that caused no end of pride in him as he watched Ben grow. Fathers were not supposed to have favorites, but deep in his heart, it was this connection to the Corps that made Ben his favorite—not that he would ever admit that.

  But now? He wants to enlist now?

  Ryck looked down at the contract. The name on it was not Benjamin Lysander, but Benjamin Hope-of-Life, which was a gut shot. He quickly looked back up at his son.

  “I, uh, I want to go in as myself, not as the son of the commandant,” he said nervously, not meeting Ryck’s eyes.

  And Ryck felt a surge of pride sweep over him. He had imagined the Lysander name carrying on, but his son had just validated the high opinion Ryck had for him. Ben was his son in spirit as well as in blood.

  “You know, some people will make the connection,” he said without conviction.

  “Some, maybe, but not most,” Bens said.

  The Federation allowed minors to choose either their father’s or mother’s last name, a change that was implanted with the admission into the Federation of several planets where property was passed down along the matriarchal line. Choosing a fake name would invalidate the enlistment contract, but using Hannah’s family name was completely legal. And while he might not have considered it, choosing the Hope-of-Life name could also be a tribute to his uncle, Joshua.

  “You could just wait for seven more weeks, you know. You wouldn’t need my permission, and you could change your name to anything you want.”

  “I know, but I want. . .I’d really appreciate it if I had your blessing, Dad. And I want to keep my family ties. I’m proud of being a Lysander, but—”

  “No buts. I understand.”

  “And I don’t want to wait.”

  Ryck laughed out loud at that. Yes, Ben was his son, all right. Impatient to get on with his life, just as Ryck had been back on Prophesy so many years ago.

  “You know, your mother will kill me if I sign this. You’re still her baby.”

  “So you’re going to sign it?” Ben asked hopefully.

  “And say no and have to live with your pouting for seven weeks? I’d rather be going back to boot camp all over again!” Ryck said with a laugh. “Give me a stylus.”

  Ben whipped one out and gave it to Ryck, who without hesitation, signed on the parental consent line. Under the second line, Ryck signed for Hannah, and added as a lump in his throat formed, “POW, not available for signature.”

  “When do you report?” he asked, handing the form back to his son.

  “On Tuesday. They’ve got to clear the new barracks at Camp Charles, but we’ll be the first accelerated recruit class to form.”

  With the current situation of the conflict coupled with the loss of about a fifth of the Corps who opted for the loyalists, each recruit class was expanding four-fold for the duration. Ryck hoped that this would only be a very temporary measure.

  “Tuesday? So soon? Hell, I can’t let my son go off without a send-off. Sunday, come hell or high water, you and I are going out on the town.”

  “I’m still only 17, Dad. I can’t drink.”

  “I’ve got connections to people in high places, Ben, or so I’ve heard. I think I can get that rule bent just this once,” Ryck said, punching his son in the arm.

  “Hah! I guess you do,” Ban said. And then, more soberly, added, “And Dad, uh, you know, Camp Charles is only an hour away, and I don’t want, I mean, I don’t think it would be good if you, like, show up? With the accelerated camp, I won’t have time to see you, I mean.”

  And you don’t want anyone to know you’re the commandant’s son, Ryck thought.

  “I’ll be pretty busy here, fighting the war and all, so you’re going to have to be on your own, son. Get used to it.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Well, poolee,

  [9] get the hell out of here. I’ve got work to do!” Ryck said.

  Ben came to attention, and beaming a huge smile, did a credible about-face and marched out of the office.

  Grubbing hell! My son’s going to be a Marine!

  Chapter 12

  Ryck leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his forehead cradled in his hands. Dres Lemon, one of the many former Federation bureaucrats to offer his or her services and now Ryck’s trade advisor, blathered on, mindless of Ryck’s complete lack of interest.

  Just get it over with, Ryck pleaded before he sat back up and tried to look engaged.

  He had never really imagined what it took to run a government. As a Marine, even a high-ranking Marine, he had to worry about more than just
the X’s and O’s of battle, to be sure. But basically, what the Marines did was request funding and equipment, then given what they received, decided best how to train and conduct missions.

  The Federation, even just the part under Marine Corps and Third Fleet control, was a far more intricate beast, and one to which Ryck as taking a strong dislike. It was a yammering, greedy baby, constantly demanding more and more. Ryck was almost tempted just to surrender and give it all back to the Council—not as a reward, but as a punishment.

  “So you can see, sir, that given the embargo and our lack of major industrial players committed to us, we will begin to run out of Class A materials within approximately four months. I’ve highlighted the most vital to the war effort in green, the most vital to the subsistence of the civilian sector in purple for easy reference,” Lemon went on.

  He’s enjoying this shit, Ryck realized in amazement. He’s in hog heaven.

  General Copperwait interrupted the advisor with “I don’t see iridium on the list. Certainly that’s a Class A. We can’t fight without it.”

  Shut the hell up, Tomtom. You don’t need to bullshit me that you’re up on all of this, Ryck thought, trying not to groan aloud.

  “Certainly, iridium is a Class A material,” Lemon said with just a hint of condescension in his voice. “But we have all the sources for it within our control. It is the loyalist forces that might run out, especially if no one else trades with them for it.”

  Over 80% of the iridium was mined by the Federation and the Confederation, and Ryck made a mental note to bring the matter up with Major Pohlmeyer later that afternoon. There were other sources of it throughout human space, but no other government had yet developed the processing needed to actually make use of it to any great extent.

  “Now, on this next slide, I’ve listed some of the possible trading partners to acquire some of the vital materials, but as you know, the central bank’s freezing of funds means barter might be the only way for us to pay for them, and that assumes we have the goods another government will want. It’s a predicament.”