Commandant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 8)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  Which can also be done by remote control, Ryck realized.

  Within five seconds, the second Armadillo had just reached 3/3’s front lines when it went up, probably hit by someone who had an oblique angle and could hit it in the sides. Once again, the blast was so massive as to cause the display to flicker.

  And immediately, the AI registered the carnage. Thirty-five Marines, including ten in PICS, were KIA. Another 62 were WIA.

  The third Armadillo, the one that had broken away from the other two, had just come up from a stream bed and turned into 2/3, only 220 meters away. It would be within the battalion’s lines within seconds.

  Ryck stood up as he watched the display track the Armadillo, willing the battalion to destroy it. He felt a surge of joy, then, when 90 meters out, the trac exploded. Two Marines were immediately listed as KIA, but no one else was even touched.

  “Son of a bitch,” Sams muttered while Ryck just stared at the data stream.

  Ryck was just about to step in when he realized that a stream of orders was being given to both 3/3 and 2/3. The AIs did not have access to individual loyalists (except for Sandy, who was well back from the fight), but there was more than enough surveillance to plot the main body of them. With the three blasts, their commanders evidently thought the Marines would be in disarray, and they were moving forward.

  That was a foolish assumption.

  Both battalions were not only ready, but they were also taking the fight to the loyalists. They were charging them—and wreaking havoc. The loyalist assault slowed, then stalled.

  “The second cargo shuttle has departed the planet’s surface,” the display AI passed to the room.

  In the lower right corner of the display (from Ryck’s perspective) a real-time view of the shuttle lifting off appeared. The shuttle would take a full 35 minutes to reach its ship. By the time it docked, Ryck wanted all the Marines off the planet. That was the plan, at least. But two battalions were in full contact. At some point, they’d have to break off.

  But it was the loyalist Marines who broke off first. En masse, the loyalists turned away from the Marines. The uniformity was indicative that they were breaking off under orders and not just running. Ryck thought that meant either the loyalist Navy was about to arrive on scene or that they realized it was too late and wanted to husband their remaining Marines. He hoped it was the latter explanation.

  Colonel Gruber ordered the two PICS companies to keep up the pressure while the straight infantry pulled back to their designated or alternate LZs for pick-up. It was a sound decision that made sure the loyalist retreat was not just a feint that could result in Marines being caught as they loaded the Storks.

  The two PICS companies did more than put on the pressure. They drove through the loyalists all the way back to the cluster of buildings that had initially shielded them. At one point, Sandy’s avatar grayed out. Ryck didn’t know how he felt about that, and he wouldn’t dwell on it until later.

  All of 2/4 and most of 1/1 were loaded and on the way to the ships before the colonel ordered the two companies to stop. They were ordered back to their LZs at top speed. Once again, the colonel had good instincts. The only loyalists who could match that speed were the remaining PICS loyalists, which the AIs put at an estimated 63.

  The loyalists didn’t give chase, though. They seemed to be done with the fight.

  At 42 minutes after the second cargo shuttle lifted off, the last Stork left the planet’s surface. Marines in the MCCC seemed to let out a collective breath of relief, but Ryck was very well aware that the fight was not over. The loyalist Navy was out there somewhere, and with more than enough strength to defeat the Third Fleet forces in the system.

  The Storks only required about 20 minutes to reach their ships, and Ryck watched the delicate ballet on the display that decried the chaos that had to be occurring among the ships. More than a few LSOs had to be about ready to suffer heart attacks as the Storks came in hot and fast into the hangar bays. Finally, even before the Storks were secured, the last ship was moving out of orbit.

  Ten minutes later, it was in bubble space, and only then could Ryck begin to relax.

  They had done it!

  Ryck stood up and the MCC went quiet. “Gentlemen, great job today. The fight today may not have seemed too important in the grand scheme of things, but it could change the course of the conflict. I want to congratulate all of you. Those Marines conducted the fight, but they could never have been there in the first place without you.

  “We’ve all put in a lot of hours. And we’re going to go over this again, but not now. Go home, see your family, have a beer. I’m going to want to see all headquarters staff back here at zero-eight, no make it ten-hundred tomorrow.

  “General Kim, the MCCC is yours again. Everyone else, get out of here.”

  The MCCC burst out into applause. It had been a dicey mission, and it had gone off better than could have been expected. A success or not, still there were 42 Marine KIAs with a yet unknown number of them who could be resurrected. And while Ryck would have gladly accepted that number prior to the operation, to the families of those men, the devastation would be just as powerful as had the brigade suffered far more during the fight.

  “Sams, get me the casualty list,” Ryck said.

  He’d personally add a letter of condolence to each Marine and sailor’s family.

  “Well, that went about as well as we could have hoped for,” Ryck remarked to Jorge as Marines began to gather their belongings and leave the MCCC.

  “Yes, I’ll agree with you there.”

  “No small part in thanks to you,” Ryck added.

  “I’m not so sure about that. It was Colonel Gruber’s plan, his and divisions.”

  “Codswallop, Jorge, and you know it. You need to learn to take credit when it’s due. Your fingerprints were all over the plan, not the least was to have a full company of PICS in each battalion.”

  Jorge gave a small, non-committal grunt and shrugged his shoulders. Over his shoulder, Ryck could see Sams returning, a physical printout of the casualty list. His expression was something Ryck hadn’t seen before, sort of shocky, sort of frightened.

  “What is it, Sams?” Ryck asked, wondering what could have affected his stalwart friend.

  Without a word, Sams handed over the printout.

  Ryck glanced down at it. Forty-two KIAs as he had thought. Seventy-one WIAs, which was a few more than he’d thought, but still quite reasonable. He looked at some of the names. There wasn’t anyone he’d known in 2/4, but he’d find out about them before he’d write the letters.

  Three-three’s list was more extensive, and Ryck personally knew four of the Marines. One of them was Gunny Nunci, someone he knew Sams knew as well.

  “Gunny Nunci?” Ryck asked.

  Sams shook his head and pointed at the list.

  Ryck looked at the final unit, 2/3, the Fuzos. Corporal Yale Haerter and. . .

  Ryck dropped the sheet, the world closing in on him.

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” he vaguely heard Sams say just before everything went blank.

  The final name on the list was that of Private First Class Benjamin Hope-of-Life.

  Chapter 25

  “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t let you pass,” the nervous lance corporal said, twitching as he blocked Ryck’s way, M99 at the ready.

  “Do you know who I am, son?”

  “Yes, sir, I do, sir. You’re the commandant.”

  “And you still won’t let me pass?”

  “No sir. I can’t. The gunny, he said don’t let anyone except him or the lieutenant pass, and he said even the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and that’s you, so I can’t let you pass.”

  Part of Ryck wanted to blow up, to take out his anger on the young kid. And another time and place, he might see the humor in it. But right now, there was a pretty miserable looking lance corporal standing in his way, and he couldn’t take it out on him.

  “I tell you what. How about you get your gu
nny on your comms and ask him to come over here,” Ryck said calmly.

  “Uh, right sir. I mean aye-aye, sir,” the young Marine said. “Uh, Gunny, this is Lance Corporal Davis. I’m on post, and the commandant is here and wants to enter the C-hut,

  [12] and you said that even if he comes, he isn’t supposed to come in. I think you need to get over here.”

  Within 45 seconds, not only the gunny, but a lieutenant and a major came pelting over the tarmac at a dead run.

  “Sir!” the major shouted as he slid to a stop. “I’m so sorry about this! Lance Corporal Davis is over-reacting!”

  “Did you tell Lance Corporal Davis that ‘even the Commandant of the Marine Corps’ wasn’t to get past him, Gunny?” Ryck asked the gunnery sergeant.

  “Well, yes, sir. But I was exaggerating. I didn’t mean to say you don’t have access, sir!”

  “Well, then, I guess Lance Corporal Davis was doing his job now, wasn’t he. And I’d advise you to be a little more accurate when giving orders in the future. Now, if you would like to adjust your orders so I can pass, I would appreciate it.”

  “Certainly, sir! Davis, let the commandant pass,” the gunny managed to get out.

  Lance Corporal Davis stepped aside in obvious relief, bringing his M99 to present arms. The major jumped forward to hold open the door as Ryck stepped inside the C-hut.

  C-huts were expeditionary shelters, and no matter the configuration, they always had that expeditionary feel to Ryck. This one was no different despite the stacks of pallets that filled it.

  This one did not have its own flooring—Ryck stood on the tarmac plasti-crete. By tomorrow, Ryck knew, the pallets would be gone, distributed to the divisions. The C-hut would be disassembled, and there would be no sign of the raison d’etre for the mission. Before that happened, Ryck had to see the pallets, to stand among them.

  Forty-one Marines and a sailor had died to obtain the pallets. An amazing 28 of them were in the process of being resurrected with very good prognoses.

  Ben was not among those 28.

  Ryck had watched the recording more than a dozen times. He hated watching it, but something drove him to do it.

  Ben and Corporal Yale Haerter had been sent forward 150 meters to emplace mines in front of 2/3’s lines when the first two Armadillos hit 3/3. The two Marines were informed that the third Armadillo was heading their way and to take cover. They did not obey that order.

  As the remote-controlled Armadillo launched itself out of the depression it had used as an axis of advance and oriented on the battalion, it would be able to reach the lines within eight seconds. The two Marines, without looking at each other, chose to stand and engage the Armadillo. The impacts of their first four grenades were clearly visible as they hit the armored plate bolted to the front. Several larger impacts were also visible from the battalion’s heavier weapons, but they had no better luck in stopping the trac.

  Other men, seeing the behemoth bearing down on them and knowing that they were having little effect on it, would have dove out of the way and let it past. Neither Yale nor Ben was one of those kinds of men. Not only did they stand their ground, they leaned into the trac, pouring fire into it. And as the Armadillo churned toward them, mud flinging from the tracks, its front armor still protected it. But not the side, and from less than 20 meters away as the trac passed them, both Marines fired their grenades. Corporal Haerter’s grenade hit the trac a split second before Ben’s, and that was enough. The heavily-ladened trac exploded in an immense fireball, momentarily whitening out the surveillance. As the AIs adjusted, parts of what used to be an Armadillo fell back to the muddy ground.

  As for Ben and Yale, they had simply disappeared.

  Even had the two Marines been in PICS, they would almost certainly have been killed as a result of the blast. In their skins and bones, there was not much left for the rest of the Marines to find to bring home.

  Ryck looked at the Hwa Win combat knife he’d carried into the C-hut. It had been recovered from the field and given to Ryck earlier in the day. The sturdy blade was warped, and the heat had turned the tungsten-carbide blade hues of blue and gold. Other than a fused M219, the knife was the largest piece of Ben, or at least Ben’s gear, that had been recovered.

  Ryck looked back up and surveyed the pallets. They had come at a cost—not too high, all things told, to General Ryck Lysander, Commandant of the Marines Corps. But it was unbearably high for Ryck Lysander, father.

  The Hwa Hin was warped, but it didn’t have a problem with the strapping of the nearest pallet. With a snap, the strapping fell away. Ryck pulled down the top bundle and cut it open. Inside the bundle were eight PICS cold packs.

  He picked one up and turned it around, just looking at it. All that pain for two kg of a fairly old-tech piece of gear. They weren’t much, and cost only 128 credits each, but without them the multimillion-credit PICS would be dead in the water within ten minutes. Ryck’s operation had bought the Marines time. Each PICS in the inventory now had a month’s worth of operating potential.

  He carefully placed the coldpack back into its position.

  I’m so sorry, Hannah!

  The tears were not there, though. He was numb, he was angry, but he was not grieving. That bothered him to no end. He felt the presence of the grief, it seemed to him, deep down inside of him, down where he was pushing it. He didn’t think he should be able to do that, and that made him wonder if he was normal, or if he was just an automaton formed by years in the Corps. For the sake of his humanity, he wanted to let it out, to let it consume him. But he was the commandant now, and he couldn’t afford the time. He hoped that if—when—the grief did strike, it would be at a time when it wouldn’t get in the way of his mission.

  He looked down one more time at the Hwa Hin in his hand for a moment, before he suddenly whirled and sunk the warped knife to the hilt in one of the cold-packs. Without a word, he turned and strode out of the C-hut.

  The war was not over yet.

  Chapter 26

  For the next two months, Ryck never left Headquarters. He had a bed put in his office, he ate in the cafeteria when Top Ekema could not entice him with favorites, and he hit the weight room and bikes late at night when he could be alone. Jorge, Sams, and Çağlar tried to draw him out, but they’d given up, instead, just hovering around to be there if needed.

  Without his family, Ryck told them, there was no reason to use his quarters. The more time he spent at his job, the sooner he’d be reunited with Hannah and the twins.

  And despite a direct link to any specific causation, things were going well from a military standpoint. While the Navy battled essentially to a draw in three skirmishes since the ambush off Corinthia, the Marines had won a flurry of limited battles, taking two stations, and destroying facilities on three planets and a loyalist country.

  Others were taking notes. Two planets declared for the evolutionaries, and emissaries from all over human space were making contact. With the prohibition against massive Naval strikes on planets, the situation favored the provisional government and the Marines, and Ryck was not about to let up. Admiral Chandanasiri had asked Ryck to slow down the tempo—it was his ships and chartered civilian ships that had to transport the Marines overall—but Ryck said they had to fight while momentum was on their side.

  And now, Ryck was going over the after action report of the capture of Geilgud. Intel (provided by the Confederation) had revealed that this stalwart loyalist planet, close to the home system, was not as loyalist as they had been led to believe. With First Marine Division, in whose AO Geilgud lay, in the process of taking the huge PTA Mining fields in the Stravonskiya Belt, Fourth Marines, en masse, “snuck” in behind the loyalist major defenses and quickly took down the capital, defeating a much larger FCDC and local militia force. There were not enough Marines in the Corps, probably, much less in Fourth Division, to hold the planet, but the Confeds had been right. The citizens were not hard-and-fast loyalists. Far from it. They welcomed the Marines,
in fact, and within two days, the Fourth Division was leaving a planet that was being organized as the newest member of the “legal” Federation.

  Ryck was proud of how quickly Major General Hank Uttley, the Fourth Marine Division commanding general, had reacted. Between Hank, Jorge, and Ryck, they were the only flag officers from their NOTC class.

  What with Geilgud and the other planets declaring for them, there was now close to a parity between those who supported the loyalists and those who supported the evolutionaries. And with the navies somewhat hobbled, the balance was shifting away from the loyalists.

  Yes, things were looking up, and for once, Ryck had a true hope that they would prevail.

  He was glad for that, and he felt a sense of justified pride. But as he settled into his cot in the back of his office to try and get some sleep, he was not a happy man.

  Chapter 27

  “Shit happens, sir, in war. That’s the way it’s always been,” Zeke Montero said.

  “That ‘shit’ was 11,000 civilians,” Ryck said coldly.

  “Loyalists,” Montero said.

  “They were civilians, and we don’t fight civilians,” Ryck said, rising to his feet.

  I hate this guy!

  Jorge interrupted before Ryck could explode. “Zeke, those people did not deserve to die. We targeted the complex, and we leveled it before we realized who was in it. Yes, ‘shit’ happens in war, but we need to rise above the level of barbarians. We’re the good guys, right?”

  “Of course,” the public affairs liaison said as if brushing it off. “But issuing an apology won’t do anyone any good, and it will stop the momentum we’ve been experiencing. We can’t just say we fucked up. Maybe later, after we’re in power, we can run an investigation, and you can slaughter a sacrificial lamb, but not now.”