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

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  Suddenly, within five seconds, three Marines were KIA, including the lieutenant. Noah’s AI screamed an alarm, one that took Noah a few moments to recognize. He spun in the direction indicated by the big yellow avatars, and there, rushing out of a bunch of razor grass, were the battalion’s three Mambas.

  That’s not fair! Noah thought just before his world flashed bright, and his AI shut him down.

  Grubbing hell! I can’t believe it.

  His PICS slowly came to the ready position. Noah tentatively tried to kick out a leg, but nothing doing. He was a prisoner in his own combat unit.

  At least he had a good view of the remainder of the battle. The assault tanks, sleek sharks, tore up the battle space as the two squads scattered. One of the tanks sped past Noah, only five meters in front of him, its big gun flashing. He knew the tank’s AI would keep it from running over any Marines, but still, he flinched. He had to acknowledge, though, that the Mamba looked wicked fierce.

  Within two minutes, the tanks, combined with the remainder of the aggressor squad, wiped up the First Platoon squads. They wheeled and roared off to engage Third Squad. Noah couldn’t turn to watch, but he could follow the battle on his display. To his surprise, Third Squad managed to take out one Mamba, but with the aggressor squad leaving their positions to join the tanks, the battle was a foregone conclusion. Twenty-two minutes after Noah was KIA, the battle was over. Third Platoon had lost.

  Noah’s PICS came back to life, and all Marines were directed to the objective for an initial debrief. Third Platoon had to endure some catcalls from the lone Alpha Company Squad as they marched up, but Noah ignored them. His eyes were on the three tanks that swept up, each pulling a half donut to form a line facing the PICS Marines. A moment later, the hatches opened, one after the other, and the grinning faces of the tank commanders popped up.

  While growing up, Noah had attended more than a few birthday pageants and Patron Day celebrations, and he’d always taken an interest in the tanks and aircraft, which to a small boy and then young man were infinitely more interesting that massed Marines in formation. He’d never imagined enlisting the Corps, though, and have to deal with them. At the moment, Noah was royally pissed that he’d been killed, but he had to admit, the Mambas were grubbing cool.

  WAYFARER STATION

  Chapter 20

  Esther

  “Congratulations, Ess,” Noah said, coming up to shake Esther’s hand.

  “I’ve told you, no one calls me that anymore,” she said, more than a little annoyed.

  “Well, I’m not calling you ‘Lysander,’” he said. “I wouldn’t know which one of us I was talking to. Anyway, it looks good. Dad would be proud.”

  Esther felt a warm glow rush through her chest. Noah still raised uncomfortable feelings within her that she still couldn’t figure out, but he knew how to get to her. She looked down at the Battle Commendation 3 on her chest. It wasn’t much of an award, being the lowest combat medal. The Navy and Marine Corps Achievement Medal was the only lower personal award, and that was given for meritorious non-combat related service. With two Federation Novas, their father sported a far more prestigious chest. Still, she hoped Noah was right. She’d like to think her father would be proud of her.

  Three Marines had received an award for the retaking of the Excavator King. Lieutenant Uluiviva had been awarded a BC2, posthumously, and Lance Corporal Greg O’Brien-Tasker had been awarded a BC3. When Esther had found out she was being awarded the BC3, too, she’d been dumbfounded. All she had done was stick her M333 up against a firing slit and blasted off a round. In the back of her mind, she wondered if politics had anything to do with it, her father being who he was. The Marines were supposed to be above politics, but being a Lysander, she’d seen enough to realize that wasn’t exactly the case.

  The recovery of the Excavator King had not been a major operation. It probably hadn’t made much of a mention back on Earth or even Tarawa. But there had been three reporters and a camcorderman at the ceremony, one from the Australian News Agency, so the Corps could get some press. The Lysander name was still newsworthy.

  For the battalion, the operation had a much greater impact. With the lieutenant KIA, two Marines WIA and CASEVAC’d to Malika for regen, and two more walking wounded WIA who stayed on station, the recovery mission had resulted in its highest casualty rate during a mission in almost three years. The scuttlebutt was that the CO and the Navy Squadron CO had some very pointed discussions on when the Marines needed to be deployed and when the Navy could simply stand off and take care of a situation.

  “Well, thanks, Noah. I’d like to think he’d be proud, too.”

  “Hey, Lysander, looking good!” Woowoo said, making his way around the civilian mess attendants who were trying to turn the messhall back from a battalion formation to a serving space for the rest of the festivities.

  Of course, “battalion formation” was an overstatement. Wayfarer Station did not boast an area large enough for the entire battalion to stand in formation, except for maybe the commercial maintenance hangar, and the management would not be too conducive to emptying that out of ships just so the Marines could stand tall. The awards ceremony was conducted in the messhall, with only the company and the headquarters staff standing in the cleared area. The rest of the battalion watched from their quarters. And now, with the Patron Day activities still to conduct, the mess attendants were rushing to get the meal ready.

  “Thanks, Woowoo. It’s just a BC 3, though.” She looked up at her brother, who was slowly backing up, his face an expressionless mask. ‘Uh, Woowoo, do you know my brother?”

  “Sure, I know who he is. Noah, right?” Woowoo said, holding out a hand.

  “That’s right. You’re PFC Woutou. I’ve heard about you,” Noah said.

  “It’s all a lie, I promise you!” Woowoo said with a laugh. “I never even kissed that girl!”

  Noah looked confused, so Esther said, “He’s joking, Noah. Just joking.”

  “Oh, OK. Well, uh, I’ve got to get back to my company. We’ve got the parade in a few,” Noah said as he backed up farther. “Nice meeting you,” he said to Woowoo.

  “I bet he’s fun at a party,” Woowoo said as Noah made his way out of the messhall.

  Esther understood that Noah could seem like a stick-in-the-mud, but she suddenly felt defensive.

  “Oh, he’s OK. It just takes a bit of time to get to know him.”

  “That’s not what I’m hearing from some of the others. He’s a little full of himself, at least that’s the skinny.”

  Full of himself? Noah? No way.

  She wondered how Noah could give anyone that impression. If there was anyone who wasn’t full of himself, it was her brother.

  The rest of the platoon crowded around her, offering their congrats, and she quickly pushed Noah out of her mind. She happily accepted her due from the others. She regretted the lieutenant’s death, and she felt for the two Marines going through regen. However, the operation had done her well. She’d immediately lost the “boot” label after the fight and been accepted as a competent, capable Marine. And now with the BC3, she had that affirmation. Still, she kept telling the other Marines that it was nothing, that she didn’t deserve it.

  I guess we are all politicians when it gets down to it, she thought wryly.

  She might tell the others it was nothing, but she was damned proud of it all the same. She posed with Greg O’Brien-Tasker, she posed with the company commander. When the battalion XO escorted the ANA newsies to meet her, she ended up posing with the battalion CO and sergeant major. The ANA team was on hand to cover the Patron Day celebrations, but they were more than willing to record General Lysander’s daughter making good.

  “PFC Lysander, if you can tell all the Aussies back on the homeworld and scattered through human space, do you think your father would be proud of you?” the reporter, whose name she’d never caught, asked.

  “I hope he would be proud of me for being a Marine,” she told him.
“Yes, today, I was honored to receive this Battle Commendation 3, but I was simply doing my duty. I accepted it today only as a representative of my platoon, each of whom could just as easily been awarded it. All of my fellow Marines showed exceptional courage, and one, our leader, Lieutenant Uluiviva, paid the ultimate sacrifice.”

  I hope I didn’t lay it on too thick.

  “This is a memorable day for the Roos,” the reporter said, facing his camcorderman. “Making the Aussie universe proud. And I’m personally proud to be here with PFC Esther Lysander, daughter of the late General and Chairman Ryck Lysander. She’s been serving for only a very short time, and already she’s distinguished herself in combat. Her father, of course, was only one of two two-time recipients of the Federation Nova, and before he was the Chairman of the Federation Council, he was the Commandant of the Marine Corps. Who knows? Maybe like father, like daughter?”

  Esther, ever aware that the camcorderman was still recording, kept her face still. This was the first time she’d heard anyone else voice the goal she’d set for herself after her parents were murdered.

  General Esther Lysander, Commandant of the Marine Corps, had such a nice ring to it.

  Chapter 21

  Noah

  Noah slowly backed away from his sister as her platoon-mates came up to congratulate her. He felt a growing certainty that something had come between them, something he couldn’t quite understand. It had started at Camp Charles, and while he’d hoped things would get back to normal at Wayfarer, her “no one calls me Ess” comment seemed to be an attempt by her to cut off her past.

  What does she expect me to call her? She’s been “Ess” ever since we both could speak.

  He’d been only half-joking when he’d told her he wasn’t going to call her “Lysander,” as it seemed the rest of the Marines had adopted. Not “Esther,” not another nickname, but as if she’d inherited the family legacy, simply “Lysander.”

  Noah, on the other hand, was simply “Noah.” A few, mostly more senior Marines had approached him to mention serving with his father, but for the most part, his peers either didn’t know or ignored that aspect of his background. For the most part, that was fine with him; however, a small piece of him was jealous that his sister was considered the heir to the Lysander name while he was seemingly cut off.

  He turned and left the messhall. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Esther he had to get ready. He’d been given permission to attend her awards ceremony in person, but the company would now be getting ready for the parade, and First Platoon was going mounted. The Marines couldn’t very well run their vehicles through the station, so the PICS would serve to represent the power of a Marine infantry battalion.

  With the Marines and the rest of the station living in such close quarters, the Patron Day celebration, along with the Marine Corps-wide birthday pageant and ball and the Remembrance Day ceremonies, was a time for public relations, to share with the civilians and Navy what it meant to be a Marine. But there was also a warning in there. Some of the civilians at the station at any given time were criminals, pure and simple. Some could be plotting against Federation worlds or installations. It was also a good idea to remind all of the people at the station of the Marines’ fighting capabilities, capabilities that could be unleashed should the call come up.

  “’Bout time you got here,” Tad said as Noah rushed into the four-man berthing space.

  “I needed to wait until you guys were already in your long johns before I got here. I don’t need your fat ass in my face while I’m dressing.”

  “You’d better hurry. We’re the last squad to get suited up.”

  Noah was only a little disappointed that his jibe was evidently considered too weak for a response. He’d thought it was a good one when he’d come up with it the week before and was only waiting for a time to unleash it. Their small compartment was narrow, with barely enough room for all four of them to stand and do anything at the same time, so it had only been a matter of time when the situation would come up.

  His three roommates left, leaving Noah to strip and change. A few minutes later, he was hurrying to the PICS closet. He needn’t have worried. Not only was the squad lined up outside, Second Squad hadn’t even entered. Noah joined the end of the queue and waited. Up ahead of him, Mayhem was huddled with Lance Corporal Omaru, the same Omaru who’d come aboard the with Noah and with whom he’d gotten fitted with his PICS. Mayhem was, well Princess Mayhem, one of the guys. Omaru, though, was in Second Squad, and the long johns left absolutely nothing to the imagination. And with nobody talking to him, his own imagination took flight. Noah was not a complete negat—he’d had a few girlfriends before, one from school and the other two fellow gamers. That didn’t mean he was some sort of Don Juan, though, and he knew Omaru was out of his league. Still, it was hard not to let certain thoughts enter his mind as he took in her figure.

  “You here with us, Noah?” Turtle asked.

  “Uh, what?” he stammered out, suddenly embarrassed at the direction of this thoughts.

  “I asked you if you’re coming with us to the Alibi after the ceremony and chow, but you’re off in lala land.”

  “What? The Alibi? OK, yeah,” he answered, sure his face was turning red.

  He kept his eyes averted as the line moved up, and ten minutes later, he was in the rack, sliding into his PICS. He was getting to be a pro at it. Within 15 seconds, quicker than even some of the smaller guys and gals, he was inside and initiating his boot-up. Thirty more seconds, he was stepping off the platform and stepping out of the closet, following handwritten signs to the receiving dock where most of the 78 PICS Marines were waiting for the signal to move out.

  The parade had been a tradition since before the Evolution. It wasn’t long—most of the station’s corridors and passages were simply too small to accommodate a battalion of straight-leg Marines, much less two platoons in PICS, as they marched through. So the route left the battalion area, entered Alamagordy Boulevard (the station’s main passage), around the restaurant district, then up and back each of the station’s four main terminals. All told, the parade route was about five klicks long.

  At 1500, the color guard led off the parade—not that Noah or any of the other PICS Marines could see. They waited in the loading bay, watching the progress on one of the monitors.

  Headquarters Company, with the battalion staff, followed, then Alpha—minus their PICS platoon, came up next. Bravo was next in line, and Noah zoomed his view to see if he could spot Esther. But either he missed her or the monitor just didn’t have the resolution for him to spot her.

  As Charlie Company started out, Alpha’s Second Platoon left the PICS assembly area. The route from the loading bay into the main passage was slightly convoluted, so they were moving before Weapons Company and the arty, tank, and air detachments began to move. And right on Second Platoon’s asses, Noah’s own platoon started moving out.

  Noah resisted ducking as he left the loading bay and entered the first passage. He knew the top of his PICS was just under the overhead, and he had to shuffle along, almost scraping his feet along the deck as he moved forward. After a couple of twists and turns, he passed through the final hatch out onto Alamagordy. Second Platoon was just stepping off as Noah rushed into position. They’d be marching four abreast through the course of the parade.

  Noah was focusing on taking his position of the right side of his rank of four. It wasn’t until they actually stepped forward into the parade that he realized the route was packed with people. They were lined five or six deep, and all cheering. Some were waving Federation flags; some were even waving Australian flags.

  “Yepper! They love us now!” Tad passed on the team circuit. “Think I can score tonight with some lovely honeywa?”

  “Keep off the circuit, Tad,” Corporal Inca Saint Fyodor, Noah’s team leader passed from her position on the left side of their rank. “You never know who’s listening in.”

  He’s right, though. They do love us! Noah
thought, surprised at the turnout.

  Someone slapped him on the arm as he marched, which did nothing to impede his progress, but still surprised him. Noah turned to look where a burly man, his face red with the effects of too much alcohol, gave him a thumbs up with one hand while sloshing a cup of beer with the other.

  All of the Marines’ parades, save one, that Noah had seen before had been formal affairs, out on a parade deck while spectators sat in bleachers. The one more “normal” parade had been at a Founder’s Day celebration where the Marines had joined others to march down the middle of a city street. Nowhere had he seen the, well, jubilation, it seemed to him, that he saw now.

  The common perception among the Marines in the battalion was that the civilians on the station were ambivalent to the Marines at best, hostile at worst. More often than should be, Marines and civvies knocked heads together at the station’s night spots. What he was seeing now belied that.

  Some of the Marines in front of him were waving, at the crowds. It probably wasn’t proper—they were in a formation after all, but Noah tentatively waved once, then again. Pretty soon, he was in full beauty queen mode.

  “This is grubbing cool as all git-out,” he told Turtle on the P2P.

  “This is only me second Patron Day here, and yeah, it gets good. We might not even have to pay for a single drink tonight.”

  “Is that why you picked the Alibi?”

  The Alibi was a large, mostly civilian bar, not one Marines usually hung out in.

  “Damned right it is. Can’t get free drinks if there’re only a bunch of jarheads there now, right?”

  “Good thinking. That’s why this poor boot bows to your experience,” Noah said, only half-joking.

  “You’ll learn Boot, you’ll learn.”

  Technically, Noah wasn’t even the platoon boot anymore. Private Padam Bhandry, “Pad-Man,” had only joined the platoon three weeks before (and already had a nickname). Noah was even due to be promoted to PFC on the first. But Turtle was the closest he had to a friend, and Noah knew he wasn’t serious.