She jumped up, wiping her hand on a dirty rag before thrusting it out. Noah took it, giving as good as he received from her firm grasp.
“You’re going to do real well there. I’ve got full confidence in you.”
“Well, I’ve got a head’s start, thanks to you. And the staff sergeant, of course.”
“Eh, no big deal. We’re always looking out for good Marines. Everyone wants to be a grunt, but someone’s got to pull their asses out of the fire, dontcha-know.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Something new.”
“How’s your girlfriend taking it?” she asked. “Nine months at school’s a long time, and I doubt you’re coming back to the station here.”
Jeez! Is that all anyone wants to know?
Noah had already told the Princess, Sampson, and Pad-Man, and the first thing anyone wanted to know was about Miriam. But now even Sergeant Phong? Was his personal life common knowledge in the battalion?
“I haven’t told her yet,” he admitted.
“Don’t put it off, Marine. And don’t lead her on.
“But hell, I know you won’t. You’re one of the good guys, right? You know what you have to do,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder—and leaving a smudge of black on his utility blouse.
I guess I’m going to have to get used to that, he mused.
“I’m on my way to the exchange now, Sergeant. She’s on her shift.”
“Well, then, I’m not going to keep you. Anyway, congrats. You’ll do well, I know.”
“And thank you, Sergeant. You were a big help.”
“My pleasure.”
Noah left the maintenance bay, took the elevator to AB, and headed down the passage to the exchange. His heart-rate started to rise and she tried, for the hundredth time, to formulate what he was going to say.
He’d only just now received his orders, but both Noah and Miriam had known that he was approaching the end of his tour. Once, they’d even discussed Noah getting out and staying on Wayfarer, but that was really a non-starter. It had taken Noah some time to find his way within the Corps, but now it felt like home. With his parents and Ben gone, and now with Esther not speaking to him, Turtle, Princess, Pad-Man, Sampson—they were his family now.
Noah paused in front of the hatch, took a deep breath, then waved it open. Miriam was with a new private, patiently explaining to him how to hack his rack with Springtime Air.
“But won’t that make the blanket, like, uncomfortable, ma’am?”
“What do you want, Private? Hospital corners that the gunny will love or a baby soft blankie?” she asked, catching Noah’s eye and winking.
“I guess the hospital corners, ma’am.”
“You guessed right. Let me ring you up.”
Noah watched her, the girl without a direction in life, now Mz. Marine, knowing all the tricks on how to get by in the Corps. She finished up with the boot, then waved Noah over.
“And how’re you today? I didn’t expect to see you until this evening.”
“I know, but I wanted to, well, I mean. . .uh. . .I’ve got something to tell you. I, uh, I got my orders to today. To Camp Ceasare. Forty-two-days-and-a-wake-up.”
He stopped, waiting for a reaction, just staring into her big brown eyes. Miriam said nothing, he said nothing.
Finally, she asked, “And?”
“Well, uh, we’ve been, you know, we’ve been together for almost two years. But Camp Ceasare’s a long ways from here, and tank school’s nine months long. I don’t even know where my next duty station’s going to be yet,” he managed to get out.
“And?” she asked, no emotion showing on her face.
“I know you’ve had a hard life, and I know you’ve found yourself, sort of, ending up here. This is your home now. You fit in here.”
“And?” she asked for the third time.
“And, and, I don’t want to lose you. I want you to come with me to Camp Ceasare. I’m not a sergeant yet, so we can’t get housing or anything like that, but we can figure out something. I know we can,” he spit out in a rush.
“What are you asking, me, Noah Lysander?”
“I want you to marry me!”
Miriam looked at him as Noah had a sudden need to hit the head as a spasm wrenched his gut.
Why isn’t she saying anything? Shit, I knew this was going to happen.
“Noah, I already turned in my notice. Forty-two days and a wake-up.”
“What? Whu. . .why?”
“Why? Because I found out about your orders, of course.”
“How?” he asked, totally confused as to what was going on.
“How do you think? Who’s the camp gossip? Pokky, of course. She told me an hour ago.”
And it dawned on him what she’d just said.
“So you quit? To be with me.”
“Yes, to be with you, Noah. And yes, I will marry you,” she said, jumping up on the counter and sliding her legs around to straddle him.
She gave him a big kiss.
“Uh, PDA,[10] young lady,” Noah gasped as he came up for air.
He didn’t’ let go of her waist, though.
“What’re they going to do, Noah Lysander? Fire me? I already gave them my notice.”
“So, you resigned your job. How did you know I was going to ask you?”
“Really? You have to ask me? I’ve known you for two years. I know you couldn’t survive without me. Besides, you really had no choice. If you hadn’t asked, I would have come anyway. Like it or not, you’re mine.”
She leaned in for one more kiss. And she was right, Noah knew. He didn’t have a choice in the matter.
Not that he wanted one.
BOOK 2: ESTHER’S STORY: RECON MARINE
Dedicated to
Signalman First Class Douglas A. Munro, United States Coast Guard
Awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor
for actions on Guadalcanal as set forth in the following citation:
For extraordinary heroism and conspicuous gallantry in action above and beyond the call of duty as Officer-in-Charge of a group of Higgins boats, engaged in the evacuation of a Battalion of Marines trapped by enemy Japanese forces at Point Cruz, Guadalcanal, on September 27, 1942. After making preliminary plans for the evacuation of nearly 500 beleaguered Marines, Munro, under constant risk of his life, daringly led five of his small craft toward the shore. As he closed the beach, he signaled the others to land, and then in order to draw the enemy's fire and protect the heavily loaded boats, he valiantly placed his craft with its two small guns as a shield between the beachhead and the Japanese. When the perilous task of evacuation was nearly completed, Munro was killed by enemy fire, but his crew, two of whom were wounded, carried on until the last boat had loaded and cleared the beach. By his outstanding leadership, expert planning, and dauntless devotion to duty, he and his courageous comrades undoubtedly saved the lives of many who otherwise would have perished. He gallantly gave up his life in defense of his country.
Jordy Enclave, Nouvelle Bretagne
“Sergeant Hammerschott, where are you? You need to bring up your squad now!” Lieutenant Esther Lysander shouted into her mic.
She could see her Third Squad leader’s avatar on her display, so she knew that the sergeant was still 200 meters from the small raised edge of the roadbed where Esther had ordered him, but her frustration was mounting over his progress, or rather, lack thereof.
“Sorry, Lieutenant, but we’re under heavy fire. We can’t move,” the sergeant passed back, the stress in his voice evident despite the comms filters flattening out his words.
“We’re all under heavy fire, Hammerschott, and I need you to move now. If you won’t, I’ll put someone in charge who will!”
“Aye-aye, ma’am. I’ll try.”
“No, you won’t ‘try.’ You’ll do it and do it now! And get some return fire going. If they can see you, you can fire at them, too!”
Esther blinked her outgoing comms back to the platoon comman
d net and studied her display.
How in the hell has it gone to shit so fast? she wondered.
Esther had known that there was a possibility of action, and part of her had hoped she would see it. She was a proven combat veteran, after all, and a fight with the Legion would give her a chance to flex her command muscles under fire. Never in a million years, however, would she have guessed that it would all fall apart so quickly.
The mission had seemed so routine. While out on their initial orientation patrol, she’d received orders to check out a distress call from a farmhouse. She’d diverted the platoon off the highway and up the long dirt road leading to it, stopping on the near side of the open bottomlands. A dragonfly overflew the house, spotting nothing, and satellite scanning picked up no emissions. Esther placed Second Squad in the treeline to the south of the open area, Third to the east, and sent First to investigate. Once Sergeant Ngcobo entered the house, all hell erupted.
“Staff Sergeant Fortuna, I need you to stay on Hammerschott’s ass. I need him to provide the covering fire so First can disengage,” she passed to her platoon sergeant on the P2P.
“Roger that.”
I hope he can handle that, at least, she thought as she pulled up the known Legion firing points.
So far, her platoon sergeant had been less-than-impressive despite his sterling combat record. She’d address that, though, after the fight.
Think, Esther, think! she implored herself as if some magic solution would suddenly appear on her display.
It didn’t.
Facing her 33 remaining Marines were at least two platoons of legionnaires, one dug in along the high ground to the north, another maneuvering through the swamp to the west. Both units had been well-cloaked from surveillance, but as one platoon opened fire and the other started moving, their positions were revealed to the Federation scanners. The only saving grace was that the legionnaires were not in the Rigaudeau-4 combat suits, and the platoon approaching through the swamp was moving slowly through the tangled morass.
Sergeant Ngcobo was pinned down at the farmhouse at the base of the hill. He’d lost three Marines KIA and two WIA, and his only egress was right under the legionnaire platoon on the high ground. The singing of not one but two “chat-chats” was evidence enough that if he made a break for it, his squad would be cut down in the open. The Chauchat 46’s might be old tech, but the 7.8 mm rounds packed a big punch, strong enough to defeat the Marines’ STF[11] body armor, the “bones” inserts that went into their combat utilities (their “skins”).
Esther had taken her platoon into a trap, pure and simple. The call for assistance from the farmhouse had been staged at worst, monitored by the Legion at best. It was probably the former as Sergeant Ngcobo hadn’t found anyone in the house. Either way, First Platoon, Kilo 3/14 was in deep shit.
And the legionnaires had selected the terrain well. The farmhouse was 500 meters away from her across a wide, grassy bottomland, a decent-size creek meandering back and forth towards and past the house and the small vineyard. The creek drained into the swampy marsh to the west, widening and disappearing into the trees. To the north, on the far side of the house, was the high-ground, the 100-meter-high last gasp of the more gradually rising foothills to the east that eventually led to the Jaune Range, a series of 4,500-meter high peaks. A single road was cut through the bottom land on the east side, crossing the creek on a sturdy-looking bridge in front of the house. The only access in and out of the area was to the south. While it technically wasn’t one, it might as well have been a box canyon.
“Ter, I really need fire on that high ground,” Esther passed to the XO. “We’re getting chewed up.”
“I’m working on it. We’ve got a time-on-target of 27 minutes for air, and arty is still down.”
“Twenty-seven minutes isn’t going to cut it. We need it now!”
“I know, I know. But the Storks aren’t going in without cover.”
“Fuck those cowards,” Esther said, cutting the connection.
She knew she was being unfair. The Legion was well-armed, and their Cerf man-packed missiles were a huge threat for the lumbering Storks. They needed either Wasp support to neutralize the threat or Boomer drones to jam the Cerf’s acquisition systems.
But those were her Marines pinned down, Marines she barely knew yet, but hers none-the-less.
She knew she was running out of options. In another 25 minutes or so, the Legion platoon maneuvering from the west would emerge within 100 meters or thereabouts from the farmhouse. She could pull back Second and Third Squads and break contact to the southeast, but that would mean abandoning First Squad. That obviously was not going to happen.
She could engage the platoon from the swamp as the legionnaires emerged, but only two of her squads, along with her attached M449 HMG team would have fields of fire, and her chances of success with the other Legion platoon on the high ground were minimal at best. With two of the heavy machine guns, she’d have a better chance, but she only had one of the teams despite their SOP of going out in pairs.
She could go aggressive and mount an assault, but with a huge kill zone, her Marines would be sitting ducks.
She raised her head over the small mound and increased her magnification to try and get a better feel for the legionnaires on the high ground. The problem was that they were in defilade, probably in fighting holes, able to rain down fire on the platoon while remaining almost impervious to the fire from below. Esther’s AI pinpointed one of the chat-chats pouring a stream of fire onto Third Squad to the east. As she watched, one of Second Squad’s grenadiers launched a Bushmaster, the short, stubby anti-armor rocket fired from the M333 “dunker” attachment to the M99 assault rifle. The rocket rose to the Legion chat-chat, only to sail right past and over the high ground. It might have parted the machine gunner’s hair as it sailed by, but the firing never let up.
“Grenades on blow-down,” she passed to Sergeant Daniels-Graves.
The Bushmaster rocket was only semi-intelligent. It worked well against armor but was not as effective against soft point targets, especially those in defilade. The dunker could fire three different munitions, but its primary round was the 30mm grenade which could be programmed to detonate above a target, spewing its load of soft pellets downwards onto a waiting enemy.
Before the squad leader could acknowledge, Esther was reflexively moving as the first round impacted beside her, diving back. Mounds of dirt showered down around her as a dozen heavy rounds chewed up the ground where she’d just been. The Legion’s battlefield optics were as good as the Marines’, and they had easily spotted her. Luckily, at 600 meters from the high ground, she was out of range of personal energy weapons, and so far, there’d been no sign of crew-served plasma guns.
“You OK, Lieutenant?” one of the Second Squad Marines, Corporal Meyers, she thought was his name, yelled at her.
She gave him a thumbs up, her sides heaving in the adrenaline rush.
If this was the company’s PICs platoon, I could assault right up that hill, she thought. Hell, I might as well wish for a destroyer in orbit with her big guns at my beck and call. PICs probably wouldn’t work, anyway. They’d be exposed climbing the hill, as big as they are.
The Legion wasn’t some piddly-ass, jumped-up local militia. Smaller than the Corps, it was still a professional, capable force. Esther’s father had fought both with them and against them during his career, and he’d thought them the best fighters other than the Marines. And just as the Marines, the Legion infantrymen had weapons to knock out combat-suited opponents. The Marines’ own Banshee anti-armor missile was basically a copy of the Legion’s Gazelle.
Another Marine’s avatar grayed out. Her command display identified him as Lance Corporal Kenneth Portis. She hadn’t even met him yet, and now he was gone. She could only hope that Doc Quisenberry could zombie him for a possible resurrection. At least she’d put the corpsman with the First Squad. Bad for him, good for the squad.
She replayed the last 20
seconds, trying to spot from where she’d taken fire. Something caught her attention, but she wasn’t quite sure what. She replayed the same clip.
There!
She scooted over five meters, then popped up, scanning and recording the high ground, then ducking back before she could draw any fire. She directed her AI to pull in whatever overhead images it could gather, and almost immediately, she had a 3D image of the jutting high ground. She rotated it back and forth through a range of angles.
“Esther, you’ve got the three Aardvarks inbound. Give them 20 minutes if the route is clear,” the XO passed to her.
“Roger,” she replied, as she continued to study her image.
The Aardvark armored personnel carriers were nice pieces of gear, and she could use them to medivac the wounded, but they were not suited for taking the high ground, and certainly not to enter the swamp. She was frankly amazed and impressed that the legionnaires were maneuvering through it. They’d made a tactical blunder by hiding too deep into the morass, she thought, but all that did was give the Marines more time before the inevitable fight.
Then as she rotated the image on its Z-axis, she saw it. The overhead image, or images, most likely, were very good. When combined with her lower-quality ground-level image, she hoped the topographical image on her display was accurate. Even being off by half a meter would screw her plans—and screw First Squad.
Using her eyes, she traced a route. A mortar round landed ten meters away, and she jerked, ruining the trace. She blinked it clear, then tried again.
“Sergeant Ngcobo,” she passed on the platoon command circuit along with the 3D topo, which went to each of the squad leaders as well as her platoon sergeant. “On my command, I want you to hightail it forward along this route.”
“Towards the legionnaires, ma’am?”
“Towards them.”
Her third option, of going on the offensive, was the only reasonable course of action after all.
“Take a look. By my calculation, you’ve got 50 meters of open area where anyone on top can fire at you, mostly those legionnaires on the east side of their line. Once you’re inside that, you’ve got a window of cover.”
The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins: The Complete Series: Books 1-5 Page 24
