The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins: The Complete Series: Books 1-5

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  For a moment, Esther wished she wasn’t facing him. With five DOR’s from Fourth, Esther and two others in the platoon had been shifted to the squad. Esther was pretty sure that was so she could take over the squad when Vance inevitably lost the billet, so she hadn’t minded. It had the consequence, though, of pitting brother against sister.

  The pugil stick competition closed off Phase 1 of training. It also counted a full 10% to the final honor platoon and honor series standings, and the DIs embraced it to the core of their very being. First, the squads would face off against each other, First versus Second, and Third versus Fourth. The winners would face off against each other, and the winners of those bouts would represent the platoon against their counterpart in the lead series. They would each fight until a single company champion was crowned. Each win, whether from squad against squad or series against series counted as one point, and all those points went into squad, platoon, and series honor standings.

  If Esther had stayed in Third, she wouldn’t have faced Noah. But as the recruits were paired up in alphabetical order, she matched up with her brother.

  If she had a suspicious mind, she might have thought the DIs rigged it that way. Both of the other recruits transferred to Fourth with her had last names that came before hers alphabetically. If Uri Weiss, for example, had come over from Second instead of Paul Gandy, the pairing would have been different.

  The roar of the platoon let her know Jonas and Kong had begun. She didn’t bother to watch as she tried to call forth her inner warrior.

  Beating Noah wouldn’t be easy. He outweighed her by a full 20kg now, and he was much stronger. On the other hand, she was fitter, and she thought she was quicker. She also had a long history of competition, where unless it was gaming, Noah didn’t have much. Calling up her inner warrior was something she’d done thousands of times before thousands of matches.

  There was one more thing, and Esther almost hated to consider it. Noah had always been her protector. When they were younger, Esther’s bark had sometimes been bigger than her bite, and it had been Noah who had to constantly step in to save her little ass.

  A memory forced itself on her: on Luna base, when her father’s ship had touched down, and him walking out to give himself up to the old Council, in exchange for both their and their mother’s lives. She had broken down, unable to accept what was happening. It had been Noah who put his arms around her shoulder, Noah who had led them to the waiting ship to take them away to safety.

  Snap out of it, Ess! Focus on the fight!

  Noah still considered himself her protector, she knew. And because of that, she didn’t think he’d go full berserker on her. She could take advantage of that.

  She felt a little guilty about that, but maybe he needed the stark realization of what it took to win. Noah was smart—probably smarter than she was. He was bigger and stronger. But he didn’t have the killer instinct to succeed. He was simply too nice.

  Esther had set her goals high—extremely high. And she couldn’t let personal feelings get in the way of that.

  Besides, he cost me my squad leader’s tab, she told herself.

  She’d been reminding herself of that repeatedly, and she was finally beginning to believe it.

  A combined moan from 40 throats told her that someone had been hit hard. She heard a few more muffled thuds, then cheers erupting from some, catcalls from the others. She didn’t bother to look.

  A few moments later, the senior called out, “Lysander, E. Lysander, N. In the pit! Moudin, Padre, on deck!”

  Vance came rushing back to lead her forward, saying, “OK, we lost that last one, so we’re down two to three. You need to win this one for us.”

  She ignored his babble, ignored the hands slapping her back as she stepped into the sawdust filled pit. Sergeant Hermanez grabbed her by the faceguard and gave her helmet a twist.

  “You ready, Recruit?” he asked as he pushed and pulled on her chestpiece, and then gave her groin protector a smack.

  “Yes, Drill Instructor!” she yelled out, staring across the pit to her brother who was getting similar treatment from Chimond.

  Normally, the close combat TDIs would run the bout, and three of them were present, keeping hawk eyes on the proceedings, but by tradition, and maybe because of the impact on honor standings, the series DIs ran the competition.

  “Take your weapons!” Hermanez yelled, holding out the pugil stick.

  She jammed her gloved hands under the protected handles, and Hermanez gave it several hard yanks. He stepped back and gave Hoteah a thumbs up. It took Noah a few moments longer, but finally, Chimond stepped back and gave her thumbs up.

  “Recruits, Ah. . .TACK!”

  On the command, Esther rushed Noah, who took an inadvertent step back and barely blocked her buttstroke. Esther knew that with the power she put into the stroke, she was vulnerable to a counter-stroke with the red-painted “blade” end of the stick, but she was pretty sure Noah would be on defensive.

  Esther barely heard the laughter as Noah retreated, she barely heard the cheering. She tuned them out and focused on the attack. Two, three more times, she swung with all her might, the techniques hammered into them in a morning of training forgotten as she was in full amok-mode.

  Noah kept backpedaling, easily blocking her strokes but not launching his own. And that pissed her off.

  How dare he toy with me!

  She wound up as if the stick was a baseball bat and swung for the fences. Noah stepped back, and Esther missed him, the momentum twisting her until the padded end of her pugil stick hit the deck, leaving her back exposed to him.

  He started forward and lifted his stick to end it, when he hesitated, not delivering the blow. Esther unwound, using legs, back, and arms to generate power to reverse her swing, raising the padded end from the deck to head level just as Noah started forward again. He started to lower his stick to block, but he was a fraction of a second too late. Esther’s stick caught him alongside his head.

  He staggered to his left, then went down to one knee. Esther rushed him, stick raised high when the green-shirted TDI who was the referee stepped in front of her, blocking her from any more attacks.

  “You won, Recruit, so calm down!” he told her.

  Esther tried to push past him, but that was an exercise in futility.

  “I said calm down! The bout is over!”

  “Winner, Lysander, E. Fourth Squad!” the senior shouted out to both cheers and jeers.

  Noah was getting up, shaking his head as the corpsman rushed up to check him out. Esther turned to see her squad, shouting out their approval.

  “Are you with us?” the TDI asked.

  “Yes, Drill Instructor,” she said, taking a few deep breaths as her mind regained control.

  “Good fight, Ess,” she heard from behind her.

  She didn’t respond to her brother as her mind shifted to her next opponent.

  Chapter 11

  Noah

  “Hey, Noah, can you help me with this?” Fan asked, holding out his combat harness. “It’s kinda screwed up.”

  For a moment, he just wanted to scream at Fan, telling him to take care of himself for once. It took an effort of will to force that back down. Surprisingly, it seemed to work, and his flash of anger dissipated. With a resigned sigh, he left his own preparation and took Fan’s harness.

  “Grubbing hell, Fan,” he said. “Look. You’ve got the right side connected to the H-slot, the left to the J-slot. No wonder it won’t hang right. Let me show you.”

  He thumbed the release, pulled the left-side connectors free, and then reconnected them in the H’s. He shook the harness a couple of time, then handed it back to Fan.

  “Now it hangs straight. How did you even screw that up? I haven’t even disconnected mine at all since it was issued.”

  “I don’t know. I was just fidgeting with it, and it let loose. I tried to shove it back, but I didn’t know about no H or J whatever. Thanks, Noah.”

  Fan ha
d already defied the odds, in no small part due to Noah, he realized without any sense of accomplishment or pride. Most of their fellow recruits hadn’t thought he’d last a week, much less make it through Phase 1. Now, with Phase 2, their field training, starting in the morning, the grunt-stuff would start in earnest, and some of that training imposed risk. Fan was willing, but was he able? Would the DIs continue to carry him if he was a danger to himself and others?

  “No problem, Fan. Just be careful with your gear, OK?”

  “Sure thing, Noah. And thanks.”

  Noah went back to his list. Everything was going to be inspected before the 30 km hump to Camp Lympstone, where the Phase 2, Field Training, would be conducted. He looked forward to the change in scenery. Phase one hadn’t been horrible. Some of it, like the Marine history classes with Dr. Berber had been interesting. Dr. Berber had taught his father the same classes so many years ago, only now his father was part of the curriculum.

  The RCET[5] was pretty fun, too. Noah considered himself somewhat of a games connoisseur, but nothing he’d played before even approached the sophistication of the huge trainer.

  Overall, though, Noah was more along the lines of just wishing it was over. The constant haranguing by the DIs, the physical toll, and more than that, his emotional toll were draining. It was just not Leto and the rest. What hurt most of all was Esther’s distancing herself from him. During their pugil stick fight, he’d seen something in her eyes that he’d never seen before. He’d tried to hold back in the fight, but she looked like she wanted to kill him.

  Noah was sure he could make it through recruit training, even without the battalion COs inference that they would put him through no matter what. But what if he DOR’d? He could, right now.

  Was he really meant to be a Marine? He was confident he could perform adequately as a rifleman. But beyond that was another question. He just wasn’t a hard-charging gung-ho kind of guy. He wasn’t sure he could lead anyone.

  As he got back to his gear checklist, he could feel eyes boring into him. He looked up to see the Chipmunk looking at him. When she caught his eyes, she motioned him over.

  What now?

  He pulled down on the bottom of his utilities blouse, then double-timed up to her.

  “Come with me,” she said in her high-pitched voice.

  Noah followed, his eyes on her back, but that wasn’t enough to keep him from seeing Leto lean out as the Chipmunk passed, making a fist and rotating the spot between his thumb and forefinger around his nose.

  I’ll grubbing brown-nose you, asshole.

  Noah hadn’t told Leto and the rest that he’d overheard them in the head, and he sure as hell didn’t want to put up with any of their shit.

  Noah followed her into the office and was surprised that she closed the hatch. With all the recent cases, most of the DIs were gun-shy about being alone with a recruit without witnesses. They might lament the passing of the “Old Corps,” but they weren’t going to jeopardize their own careers with a real or imagined case of abuse.

  “Stand at ease, Recruit,” the DI said.

  Noah came to a parade rest, wondering what this was about.

  “How’re you holding up?” she asked.

  Noah almost choked. DIs simply did not ask recruits that.

  “I. . .this recruit is fine, Drill Instructor Chimond!”

  “I’m not really too sure about that,” she said in a casual voice. “I’ve been watching you. I may not be a doc, but I think I recognize depression. Do I need to send you to sickbay to get checked out?”

  Oh, shit, that’s all I need!

  “No, Drill Instructor Chimond. This recruit is fine. Ready to excel!”

  She moved in front of him, staring up at his face. Noah began to tremble.

  Finally, she nodded, then said, “You’re a good recruit, Lysander. I’ve watched you with Recruit Lueng. You could have left him to figure out what was wrong with his combat harness. You could have left him when he falls back on runs, but you don’t.”

  “Recruit Lueng is doing fine, Drill Instructor! I just, well, I just encourage him a bit.”

  “And the other recruits? Smith? Mamoud? Vasilakis?”

  She’d just picked Leto, Boris, and Mouse.

  At random? he wondered.

  “They, uh, they are. . .friendly with this recruit.”

  “Yes, I’m sure they are,” she said with what sounded like a small snort of contempt.

  “Look, Lysander, I know when a recruit is wavering, when he is thinking about DOR’ing. And you’ve got that look.”

  “I’m not a quitter—”

  She held up a hand, palm out, stopping him.

  “I’m not saying you are. But DOR’ing is not necessarily a bad thing. Some people just aren’t cut out for service.”

  “So you think I should quit?” Noah asked surprised, forgetting protocol.

  “Not at all. You see, I think you belong in the Corps. Not because of your father, but because you care. You care about others; you care about your unit. When combined with competency, with military skills, that makes a hell of a Marine.

  “Don’t, well, how should I say this? Don’t be concerned if you’re not the most testosterone-laden recruit out there. Learn your craft, but never forget your fellow Marines. OK?”

  Noah stood there silently, taking it in. He had been concerned that he wasn’t joining in the maneuvering to be the alpha wolf. He frankly didn’t care who was in the limelight. He took pride in a job well done, but his pride was focused inwards. But that was giving him his second thoughts. It didn’t seem to jibe with the accepted picture of being a Marine.

  But if Drill Instructor Chimond thought he was doing well, maybe he should just take that at face value.

  “Thank you, Drill Instructor. I appreciate your insight.”

  He waited, wondering if that was all.

  She seemed to hesitate a second, then said, “Dismissed. Get your gear ready for tomorrow.”

  “Aye-aye Drill Instructor!”

  He started to turn when she said, “Wait.”

  “Do you know where I earned my Purple Heart?”

  Noah’s eyes drifted down to her chest. The deep purple ribbon with the small silver “R” for regen was between her Silver Star and her Combat Mission Medal, the campaign ribbon with the Gold “E” for serving during the Evolution. His dad had been awarded two Novas, but Noah was still impressed with her ribbon bar.

  “No, Drill Instructor.”

  “I was on First Step. With 2/3.”

  Noah took a step back. He immediately knew what she was going to say.

  “Yes, you understand. But what you might not know was that I was in the path of the Armadillo that your brother and Yale Haerter took out. We were firing everything at it, but nothing had any effect. If your brother and Yale hadn’t, well, you know. I wouldn’t be here today.”

  “But you. . .” he said, looking at her Purple Heart again.

  “I got zapped after that, covering the retrograde.”

  Noah nodded, then came back to a position of attention. He didn’t know what to say, so he kept silent.

  “I don’t know why I told you that, Recruit. Maybe I just wanted you to know how selfless your brother, he and Yale, were. They cared more about us than for themselves. Your sister is a hard-ass, and I know she’ll go as far as she wants in the Corps. Some of the other DIs think she’s like your father.

  And I’m not, I know.

  “I never met the general, so I can’t say. But I knew Ben, and I see him in you. If I’m right, then the Marine Corps can’t ask for a better Lysander to carry on.

  “Now, it’s lights out in 20, and I didn’t see you even close to being ready. You’d better get moving. Dismissed!”

  As he turned and started out, she added, “I’m going to ride your ass hard, Recruit, so stand the fuck by.”

  “Aye-aye, Drill Instructor Chimond!” he shouted as he double-timed back out into the barracks.

  He was smilin
g as he sprinted back to his rack, noticing Leto as he tried to give him a ration of shit only long enough to give him the finger.

  Fuck him and his games!

  “You about done, Fan?” he asked as he picked up his camelbak. “Lights out in 20!”

  Chapter 12

  Esther

  “Assignments are in!” Uri shouted as she darted to their table.

  Esther took one more bite of mystery meat, then stood up. Finally, she’d know where she’d be spending the next three years. She’d put down 2/3 and 2/9 on her dream sheet. Two-three was her father’s battalion, the one he’d commanded. The Third Marines, and the entire First Marine Division, for that matter, were based right here on Tarawa, and being under-the-flagpole, any battalion in the division was considered one of the Corps premier units. Two-nine was her father’s first battalion, right out of boot camp. Third Marine Division was headquartered on Alexander, which might not be as prestigious as First, but still, it had a long and storied history, and her father’s connection to it resonated with her. Esther wasn’t superstitious, but she thought either battalion would be a fortuitous start to her career.

  Along with most of the series, Esther rushed to return her tray, the food only half-eaten. Once outside the messhall, she had to restrain herself from sprinting across the grinder to the barracks. Double-timing was allowed and even expected, but full-out sprints were frowned upon.

  By the time she reached the barracks, a crowd of recruits had gathered around the posting. If recruits were allowed PAs, it would have been a simple thing to promulgate, and Esther chaffed at not being close enough to read the posted plastisheet. If she were shorter, she could worm her way in, but as it was, she had to wait.

  “One-one,” Vance shouted in front of her, happy with his assignment.

  One-one, “America’s Battalion,” due to its patron being the U.S. Marine Corps, considered itself the premier battalion in the Corps. The rest of the Corps might vehemently disagree, but that didn’t stop them—and they had a proud history that could make that claim legit. If Esther hadn’t wanted 2/3 or 2/9, then 1/1 might have been a good choice.