Commandant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 8)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  Ryck rushed into the capitol building. He’d been in it several times before, mostly as an adornment for the then current chairman. This time, he intended to take it.

  He was confident of that part of the mission. History was replete with cases of hotels, factories, and government centers being taken by armed groups, mostly militants and terrorists. None of them had the same capabilities as modern recon Marines. But in almost all cases, those taking the buildings had been eventually killed and the buildings recaptured. Ryck knew they could seize the capitol, but could they keep it? There were too many factors that would affect their ability to hold the building that even the AIs couldn’t give a probability of success.

  A second breach was accomplished—this one on the roof via the air-conditioning units. Forty-eight Marines had landed on the roof, and they had just broken through the air ducts. Within moments, Ryck expected them to rappel down to the rotunda floor and secure the main entrance to the Great Hall.

  Ryck wished there had been a way to break into the Great Hall before anyone knew they were there, taking the Council by surprise. They hadn’t come up with any viable plan to do that, though, so those in the hall had ample warning that something big was going down, and the FCDC troops and jimmylegs were able to retreat back to the hall and form a hasty defense. There was little likelihood that the dwindling number of guards inside the capitol building could hold off the Marines for any significant amount of time, but they didn’t need to. All they had to do was delay the Marines until reinforcements from the city could arrive.

  The Marine AIs had given estimates between 16 and 23 minutes before the first wave of reinforcements could launch a counterattack. The assault was now six minutes old, which was unbelievably quick, but it still comprised a significant amount of the cushion the Marines had. On the roof and in the plaza, Marines with crew-served weapons were setting up, but it was vital that the Great Hall be seized ASAP.

  Ryck, Çağlar, and his phalanx of bodyguards were waved through the breach by a Marine. Five meters inside the door, the security scanner was still intact. Red lights flashed, and a siren sounded as the eight Marines ran through it. The two dead jimmylegs lying beside the detector weren’t in any position to do much about it, however, Ryck noted.

  Ryck’s display gave a full picture of the ongoing fight. There was a pitched battle going on at the east entrance to the Great Hall. Rounds were skipping off the granite flooring and hitting the walls in the corridor, sending chips of stone flying in all directions. As Ryck ran up to the nearest wall, a spent round came skittering down the passage spinning to a halt not a meter away from his feet.

  “Sir, we need to move back,” Çağlar said.

  “No, we’re here now,” Ryck responded.

  With his face-shield display turned to max resolution, the amount of data displayed threatened him with data overload, which in a combat situation could be deadly. But Ryck had years of experience with which to train his mind to be aware of his personal situation and any potential danger while still taking in the overall battle. Besides, he had seven Marines protecting him. He thought that was overkill, but he had bowed to the pressure from his staff.

  Ryck looked at the display timer; it has been nine minutes since the first round was fired. He could see the avatars for the secondary breach team clumped together up ahead, but the curve of the corridor kept them out of his direct line of sight.

  He needed to find out what was happening, but Kylton was heavily engaged in the firefight at the front of the hall, and Ryck knew he shouldn’t be interfering with a commander in the midst of the fight. But he just couldn’t stay in the dark, so he initiated contact with Sergeant Major Brasie on the P2P.

  “What’s the status with the breach?”

  “Given them one mike, sir, and they’ll be in.”

  “We’re at nine mikes now. We don’t have much time,” Ryck said.

  “Understood, sir. We’re working on it,” the sergeant major responded.

  Ryck knew they were working on it, and he knew his questioning the sergeant major would not speed anything up, but it was just not in him to stand around quietly surrounded by seven Marines whose sole mission was to keep his skin intact. He was a warrior, not some fragile figurehead.

  At last, the breaching device’s avatar started flashing red as the breach team hightailed it back down the corridor, three of them coming into sight just ahead of Ryck.

  “Fire in the hole, fire in the hole!” came over the general net.

  A few seconds later, a huge explosion rocked the building as smoke and dust rolled down the corridor, reaching and passing Ryck and his team. Ryck hastily deployed his filter to clean the air so he could breathe.

  No one had been quite sure how strong the walls to the Great Hall were, so the breach team had erred on the side of overkill. There were civilians on the other side of the wall, and should things go wrong for the mission, any Marine survivors could be held accountable for casualties. But there were also security personnel inside who were willing and able to resist, and it was hoped that the blast would either knock some of them out of the game or at least temporarily stun them.

  Immediately, a mass of Marines rushed the breach and stormed into the Great Hall. Energy beams lit up the dust as guards fired at them. Airborne dust, though, absorbed and reflected that energy, rendering the weapons far less effective. Return kinetic fire from the first wave of Marines took those guards out.

  “Let’s move it,” Ryck said aloud, jumping to his feet and rushing forward.

  Caught by surprise at their charge’s rush, it took them a moment to follow. Ryck ended up leading his team over the rubble and into the Great Hall instead of them making sure it was secure enough for him.

  A round of some sort pinged at Ryck’s feet, but he paid no attention to it as he took in the scene.

  Several small groups of guards, FCDC and jimmylegs, were making last stands refusing to surrender and being cut down where they stood. Marines were also falling, but it was obvious that the fight was won—for the moment. Ryck ignored these last life-and-death struggles as he focused on the front of the hall where a group of twenty or so men were standing and looking desperate. At a full run, Ryck charged down the nearest aisle as the first, then the second guard around the group fell to Marine fire.

  He started sucking air as he ran, so he spit out the filter. Alongside him, the spectators and hangers-on were trying to retreat from the hundreds of Marines who were pouring in, but Ryck didn’t give them a second thought. His attention was on the power brokers.

  Two of the men in the front bolted. They didn’t get far before being cut down, either by design or in a crossfire. Ryck hoped neither was someone vital.

  By the time Ryck reached the front of the hall, the fighting was petering out. A dozen Marines surrounded the group, who were moving against each other in an attempt to reach the center, like a school of sardines surrounded by sharks.

  Ryck slowed to a walk as he approached, looking for his target.

  One man was pulled from the group by two Marines who began to hustle him to the aisle.

  “Thank you for your help, sir, but now we’ve got to get you out of here,” one of the Marines said loud enough for the rest to hear.

  The Brotherhood ambassador started to protest, but he was dragged away before he could say much.

  “Gentlemen,” Ryck said as he came up taking off his helmet. “Cooperate, and no one else will be hurt.”

  All eyes locked on him as he was recognized.

  “Well, well,” the first minister said. “You’re much more resourceful than some of us imagined. Not all of us, but some,” he added, looking daggers at the chairman who nervously stood tall, trying to look defiant.

  “If all of you can take a seat, please?” Ryck asked, expecting to be obeyed.

  Backed up by the armed Marines, he was obeyed.

  A final flurry of shots sounded out, followed by a moment of silence before murmuring broke out among the 200
or more men and women in the hall.

  “You are now prisoners of the United Federation—”

  “You are not the Federation! You are rebels! Traitors!” the chairman shouted as he came to his feet, his anger overcoming his prior apprehension.

  The chairman was “assisted” back to his seat by a helpful Marine.

  “As I was saying, you are now prisoners of the United Federation. Your resistance is at an end. More and more of your forces are laying down their arms, and the bulk of humanity has weighed in, declaring the provisional government the true government of the Federation.”

  “Bullshit!” the chairman said, halfway getting out of his seat before a glare and a wave of the muzzle of the weapon from the Marine standing by him made him think twice about standing up. “No major government has sided with you traitors,” he said only slightly more controlled.

  “Oh, like the Brotherhood? The ambassador of which so conveniently gathered you here this morning so we could sweep you up?”

  Ryck could see comprehension dawn on half of the men sitting before him.

  The Brotherhood ambassador had called for the meeting, but not to assist the provisional government. Five days before, Ryck had given Vice-Bishop Hadad what amounted to a surrender offer and asking him to get it couriered to Earth and the Council. Knowing that the Brotherhood would dearly want to be the force behind a peaceful cessation of hostilities, it was only a matter of following the proposed peace settlement. Once the meeting between the ambassador and the Council was set, the operation was launched. The ambassador had, in fact, gathered the Council and senior officials but without knowing the Brotherhood was being manipulated. And with him hustled out of the hall, he was not around to protest Ryck’s assertion.

  “Touché,” the first minister said quietly, earning a glare from the third minister sitting beside him.

  The man seemed to be enjoying himself despite the situation, a smile fixed across his face.

  “So what’s going to happen to us?” a man who Ryck did not recognize asked hesitantly.

  “Aye, there’s the rub, now, isn’t it,” Ryck said. “Well, for starters, just to clean up loose ends and to reassure the citizens, the chairman is going to sign a transfer of power, acknowledging me as the sole and legal chairman.”

  “The hell I will!” the chairman shouted, standing up before being shoved back into his seat.”

  “As I was saying, while it isn’t really needed, the chairman will sign a transfer of power. As for the rest of you, after you swear allegiance to the Federation, which means me, you can be on your way and back to your duties.”

  “Unharmed?” the same man asked.

  “Of course. Why would you be harmed? We need you back at your posts.”

  That seemed to cause a stir among the men. The air of apprehension started to shift into both relief and something more calculating.

  The man asking the questions broke into a satisfied smile while others started to glance at the rest as if to gauge their reactions.

  “And the Council?” Third Minister Geoff Forsyth asked.

  “For now, you will return to your duties. A new temporary council will be formed, and some of you will be asked to serve on it.”

  Ryck glanced down to where he held his helmet. The display was still on, and he picked out 17 minutes gone. The reinforcements could arrive any moment now. He listened with half an ear for the sound of crew-served weapons opening up outside.

  “And me?” Admiral Blankenship, the Chief of Naval Operations asked.

  “You’ll go back to your duties for now.”

  “For now?” the CNO asked sourly.

  “You’re slated to serve on the temporary council, if you’re willing,” Ryck said, trying to keep his throat from seizing up as he said the words.

  “He’s playing you, Jerry. You too, Geoff. Can’t you see that?” the chairman said. “And what about me?” he asked Ryck. “No going back to my duties for me, right?”

  “You’re right. After you sign the transfer, you, your family, and anyone else who so desires will go into exile with the Brotherhood. You can change that as you wish if you can find another government to accept you.”

  Poker face, Ryck. Make them believe the Brotherhood is on board with this! he stressed to himself, trying to look natural.

  “And what makes you think I’ll sign? Any moment, reinforcements will come and free us.”

  “Because if you don’t sign, I will cut off a finger. If you still don’t sign, I will cut off a hand, and I will keep cutting off parts of you until you are no more. So for you, it’s really a pretty simple decision. Sign and live a luxurious life within the Brotherhood, or get chopped to pieces.”

  Gasps greeted Ryck’s words. The men had started to relax. Ryck had seemed reasonable, and it looked like they were in no immediate danger. To hear him so calmly discuss cutting the off the chairman’s fingers had to be a shock to them.

  “You, you wouldn’t,” the chairman managed to stutter out. “And what about the rest. You going to chop them up when the reinforcements arrive?”

  Some of the men blanched at that.

  “No, I won’t chop them up. Just kill them—humanely, but they’ll be dead none-the-less,” Ryck said matter-of-factly.

  “Bullshit! Look, he’s not going to do that!” the chairman shouted at the other men. “No civilized person will do that.”

  “You better listen to him,” the first minister said calmly as if they were discussing the latest agricultural reports.

  Ryck looked deep into the chairman’s eyes before he turned and shot the first minister right in the chest.

  The first minister’s eyes registered surprised shock as he slid off his seat to collapse in a heap on the floor. Several other men jumped up and away from the body as if his death could be contagious.

  “But. . .why. . .but he liked you!” the chairman said, his voice incredulous.

  “And I liked him. But if I can do that to someone I like, think what I will do to you,” Ryck said, putting as much malice in his tone as he could.

  The chairman blinked, his mouth gaping open and shut like a beached fish.

  “Sign it, Charlie! Sign it you bastard! This is all your fault. This is because of Ellison!” the third minister shouted, taking a step towards the chairman.

  The chairman stared at the first minister. The first row of seats was slightly higher than the front aisle, and the first minister’s blood started to flow forward. The chairman had to step aside as the blood flowed up to his feet.

  “Gunnery Sergeant Çağlar? The transfer?” Ryck asked.

  Çağlar stepped forward, pulling the document out of his cargo pocket. The podium was up on the stage, and the seats of the chairs folded up when no one was sitting. Ryck hadn’t thought of that problem.

  “Turn around,” he told Çağlar.

  The big Marine turned and presented his back as a platform while holding out the stylus.

  “Sign it!” several men shouted out.

  In a daze, the chairman took the stylus and looked at the transfer.

  “This won’t hold, you know. It’s under duress,” he said.

  “Whether it holds or not will be up to the courts, not us.”

  Ryck put his hand suggestively on the Buck combat knife at his side. The chairman stared at the knife for a second, then shrugged. He scribbled out his name where indicated.

  “Your scan?”

  The chairman gave the slightest of smiles and looked into the scanner. As soon as the green acceptance light signaled, Ryck took the stylus and signed his name. He held the document up, and within a moment, his retina was scanned.

  It was done.

  The chairman look resigned, as if he knew he was a dead man walking. Ryck so much wanted that to be true, but his word had been given, and more than that, other governments frowned on the executions of heads of state. Ryck would need their support if he was going to pull this off.

  As if in counterpoint to his thoughts
, the chatter of a machine gun reached him from above.

  “Do I have full authorization as Chairman of the United Federation?” he queried his AI.

  As soon as the transfer of power was complete, the entire AI system should have noted that, giving Ryck the full author granted to chairmen.

  “Affirmative. You have full authority.”

  “Open the general military and security net,” he ordered his AI, then, “All hands all hands, cease firing. This is the Chairman of the United Federation. All hostilities have ended. I repeat, all hostilities have ended. Remain in place until further orders.”

  He followed that with the authorization code given to him by the AI. This code would clear his message as authentic.

  Above Ryck, the machine gun chattered away.

  Shit! What’s wrong?

  He started to give the order again when the firing above petered out. Silence took over.

  He caught the former chairman’s eyes. There was resignation in them and more than a little anger.

  “Gunnery Sergeant, please have the former chairman escorted to his quarters. Ensure that no harm is done to him or his family. And get a corpsman to ziplock the first minister.”

  Ryck didn’t care one way or the other whether the first minister was resurrected or not. He was too numb at the moment, but he knew he was under the spotlight, and benevolence might go a long way in calming the high officials for the short term and until they started plotting against him.

  Ryck should have been feeling elation, joy, pride—something. The battle was won, against all odds. But he knew the war wasn’t. One-and-a-half fleets were still out there, fleets loyal to the old chairman. There were hundreds of thousands of FCDC troops just on Earth, and while Ryck may have stayed their hands for the moment, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t raise them again. If the Navy or the FCDC decided to fight, then the war had just begun.

  Chapter 43