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

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  “Couldn’t be helped. Had things to do.”

  “So do I, but you kept me from that. Next time you have the duty, be on time,” she said before turning and stalking out of the office.

  Corporal Sandoval dropped her eyes and refused to look up as Esther stormed past. Esther knew she shouldn’t have berated the pilot in front of the Marines in the office, but she couldn’t help it. It didn’t matter what he had to do. He was supposed to be there for the relief on time. Until evening, he didn’t even have to stay in the CP. He could be out on the flight line or wherever the flyboys spent their days, so “things to do” was bullshit.

  Esther held all Marines to a pretty high standard, but officers had to be held to even higher standards. Her father had always been clear on that. There were benefits to being an officer, but there was a price to pay for that.

  Esther went to Danielson Dorm, which was serving as the officer and SNCO quarters. Esther thought it a little risky to have all the leadership in one building, but the overall alert status was only 2, and Intel was sure the Legion wouldn’t launch an attack on their base. Evidently, there were “rules’ to these quasi-wars.

  Alert Status 2 or not, that didn’t do Portis or Lorne much good. They were just as dead as had this been one of the big full-scale battles during the Evolution.

  Esther entered her room. The walls had been painted a horrendous shade of magenta, but the color somehow struck a chord with her. It was so un-military, so unlike her. Normally, that would make her shy away, but she was getting rather fond of her little retreat.

  She sat on her rack, and almost immediately, its siren song began to call to her. She knew if she lay back, she’d be asleep in seconds. Esther didn’t like to take stim-tabs, much less a brain flush. She only had one body, and she didn’t want to abuse it. She had to do something to stay awake until after the mission brief, however, and that left one thing in her bag of tricks.

  Esther stripped off her clothes and neatly hung them up. She grabbed her PT gear from where it hung in the tiny shower and laid the shorts and shirt out on her rack. She caught her reflection in the vanity mirror over the small desk and stopped to look.

  Esther wasn’t vain—well, not too vain, she amended her thought. It was true she liked clothes, even if the Corps limited her in when she could engage in dressing up. But she wasn’t that concerned with her face, and she had never gone for some of the more flamboyant make-up and nanoskins. She was, however, proud of her body. She worked hard to keep it in shape, and she turned back and forth slowly, looking at her reflection. Slim but not skinny, she had the taut muscles of an athlete. Satisfied that nothing on her had slumped, she put on her shorts, then the Boudica shirt, feeling the “hugging” as the upper support settled around her breasts, giving the support needed for athletic activity.

  She snagged her bag and left, heading to the gym across the quad. The college actually had two gyms. One had courts and the pool, and both Marines and the local police made use of it regularly, with pick-up basketball, etherball, and volleyball, the regular bill of fare. Esther, though was heading for the smaller training gym.

  She sniffed the air as she pushed through the front hatch. It was a habit she’d developed over the years after going into countless gyms for matches. While the muggy, overripe scent of bodies might give some people pause, to Esther, they touched synapses deep within her insula that resonated with memories—in her case, memories of a home, of belonging. No matter where they moved as children, following their father’s orders, the gyms were always the same.

  The gym was almost empty. Esther figured that Marines who might normally be working out were catching up on a few Z’s they’d lost during the night watching the fight. She could hear someone going heavy on the free weights in the back as she settled on one of the padded mats to go through her Saturnalia Yoga. She’d been a proponent ever since she was introduced to it back at the University of Michigan on Earth. She’d planned a light workout on the weights, but even a light workout could result in injury, and she was convinced that the yoga helped stave that off.

  She sat down, legs out in front of her, hands flat on the mat behind, ready to lift her butt. From this vantage, she could see under the squat rack to see who was on the weights. It took her a moment to recognize her platoon sergeant. He wasn’t lifting heavy, but he was pumping out reps on the bench like a machine. The more he lifted, the more violent his lifts seemed, as if he was attacking the weights. He kept going, far beyond what Esther could do with the same 60 kg. She didn’t know how many reps he’d done before she started watching him, but she’d seen him do at least 30 reps, his arms turning red with the effort, his grunt sounding muted in the gym, but still very evident. He started to slow down, arms trembling, then with a shout, he threw the bar up in the air, letting it fall down to catch the stops.

  Esther’s mouth dropped open. That was an extremely dangerous thing to do, especially when Fortuna thought he was alone. If the bar had missed the stops, it would have come down on his neck. Even 60kg could do him some serious damage.

  The staff sergeant lay there for a moment, then suddenly sat up, bending over, elbows on his knees and putting his forehead into his hands.

  Esther knew she wasn’t the most empathetic person in the galaxy, but even she could tell that something was seriously wrong with the man. Yet he was cleared for duty. On the one hand, Navy Medicine was outstanding. It had saved her father a number of times. On the other hand, something obviously wasn’t right.

  Esther slowly edged back, pulling her bag with her, around the half-wall before standing up. Staff Sergeant Fortuna hadn’t moved, so she didn’t think he’d seen her.

  I’m not a doctor, she thought before taking a deep breath. What the hell do I know?

  She started whistling, then a few moments later, came around the half-wall as if she’d just arrived. She threw her bag to the mat, then looked up.

  “Oh, Staff Sergeant, getting a good work-out in?”

  He was sitting up straight, looking much different. Not happy, not excited, but almost normal.

  “Yes, ma’am. Sergeant Ngcobo’s doing a junk-on-the-bunk for tomorrow, so I came to work up a sweat.”

  Esther picked up her bag, then walked around the squat rack and up to the bench. The gym had six benches, but only Fortuna’s had plates on the bar.

  “Mind if I work in with you?”

  “Sure thing, ma’am.”

  Esther hadn’t warmed up, and while 60kg wasn’t much, she still would have rather had done her Saturnalia first.

  Oh well, the enemy doesn’t give you chance to stretch out first, she thought as she lay down, taking a moment to push her shoulder blades flat on the bench.

  Normally, she placed a towel on benches. Noah had given it to her, a goofy, purple Air Fairy towel he’d received in a goody bag at one of his gaming tournaments. She didn’t particularly like lying in another person’s sweat, and the towel was a good barrier. She left it in her bag, though, though, wanting to keep things as simple as possible.

  She reached up, positioned her hands, then lifted the bar, bringing slowly down to her chest, before starting her reps. She did ten, then racked the bar in the stops.

  Most men had a habit of moving to spot her when she was on free weights. Whether this was because they didn’t give women the credit to be able to lift or they were in the low-key gym flirting mode, Esther hadn’t been able to figure that out. But the fact was that most men either offered or moved into position without asking.

  Staff Sergeant Fortuna just stood there, arms crossed over his chest as he watched. Esther didn’t know what to make of that. Possibly it was their position as subordinate and senior that kept things at arm’s distance.

  She’d felt a twinge in her shoulder on the ninth rep, but nothing major. Esther didn’t lift free weights often in a well-equipped gym. She liked the dynamic machines, which varied the weight throughout the range of motion. But Marines had a traditional affinity for free weights (proba
bly because they could make them out of almost anything no matter to where they were deployed), and if Fortuna was on the bench, she would be, too.

  She stood up, then motioned to the staff sergeant. His next set had none of the frenetic quality of his last. Esther wanted to know what was going through his head, though. Other than her initial interview with him, they hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences at a time together, and he was still an enigma to her.

  Esther tended to be direct, but she knew that was not the way to go here. She had to break the ice.

  “Did you see the fight?” she asked in a rush, trying to say something, anything.

  “No, ma’am. I don’t like them much.”

  Which wasn’t what she was expecting. Almost all Marines watched the bouts, and this fight featured a Marine.

  “You don’t?” she said, her surprise leaking through into her tone.

  “No, ma’am. Don’t like to see someone die. It’s your rep,” he added without pause, pointing to the bench.

  No one wanted to see anyone die, but that came with the territory, whether “regular” Marine or gladiator. Whether a gladiator lost or won, maybe particularly if she lost, most Marines thought they had to watch to support her.

  She didn’t know how to respond, so she watched him complete another set before switching places with him and completing her next set.

  “How’s your family?” she asked.

  Shit, that sounds lame.

  “Fine, ma’am.”

  With that curt response, the talking ceased as they took turns on the bench. Esther didn’t know how many sets Fortuna had done, but after six, she was feeling it. She needed to move to something different, but there was still unfinished business here.

  She barely got up the last rep, her arms trembling, while Fortuna watched silently. Her arms were shot.

  I don’t need to pussyfoot here. I’m the commander.

  “How’s your therapy going?” she blurted out.

  His eyes narrowed, but he said, “OK, ma’am.”

  “You think it’s helping?”

  “I just go where they tell me, do what they tell me.”

  “But is it helping?” she asked again.

  He turned away, and Esther thought he was going to stride off, but after a moment, he turned back, pursed his lips, then said, “I don’t know.”

  “Sit,” she said, swinging her legs over to one side and giving him room.

  He didn’t argue and sat down heavily. He held out one hand, seemingly fascinated with his fingernails.

  “Look, Conrad,” she said, using his first name. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t have access to your therapy, but I do see you here. I’ll be blunt. Your performance has not been good. You almost disappeared at the farm, and I never know where to find you.”

  He started to stiffen up and pull away, and Esther hurriedly added, “But I know that’s not you. I’ve gone over your record. You are a top-notch Marine. So something is getting in the way, and if there is anything I can do to help, well, that’s what I’m here for.”

  She watched him for a moment, glad that he wasn’t still pulling away, at least. He wasn’t offering anything, though.

  “Do you need some time off? I can make it happen. Nothing on your record.”

  He shook his head and muttered, “Just what I need, to be alone with my demons.”

  An almost electric wave ran through her.

  Demons?

  “What do you mean, Conrad?”

  “Oh, nothing. And no, I don’t want time off.”

  “Are you having problems at home?” she asked, her mind full of sickness, dying relatives, an unexpected pregnancy.

  “No, ma’am.”

  Then what?

  Esther knew she wasn’t a professional, she knew she should leave it to them, but she had a duty not only to him, but to the platoon as a whole. She didn’t want to, but she’d get rid of him if she had to for the good of the rest of the platoon.

  “There has to be a reason for, well, for your performance. You’re not 100% there. I know what you’ve done in combat. I’ve seen your awards. You’ve got 14 confirmed kills as a sniper, for goodness’ sakes.”

  He leaned back and looked at the ceiling, his mouth in a smile, as he sardonically said, “Ah, yes, my kills. Fourteen of them.”

  Another electric wave ran through her.

  It’s his kills! Something about them.

  “What, do you think you should be credited for more?”

  “Oh, God, I hope not, Lieutenant, I hope not. Anything but that.”

  “Is there . . . I mean . . .did you do something wrong?” Esther asked, her heart dropping.

  If he broke the rules of warfare, and he told her, she was duty-bound to report him. Suddenly, she felt out of her league. There was a doctor-patient confidentiality with the Navy psychiatrist, but that didn’t exist between the two of them within their chain of command. She wanted to stop this conversation immediately.

  But the dam suddenly broke, and the staff sergeant said, “No, nothing ‘wrong,’” he said, and Esther could almost hear the quotations marks around the “wrong.” “Nothing according to the Corps. I had fourteen kills, all righteous.”

  A wave of relief swept through her.

  “But wrong? Yes. No. Does it matter?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean, ma’am, is that I killed fourteen people. I watched them die. But they weren’t just people. They were Federation citizens,” he said, turning his body to look Esther in the eyes.

  “They were loyalists,” Esther said, a hitch in her voice as she tried to process what he’d just said.

  “From the Federation.”

  Esther sat back for a moment, letting that sink in.

  “They were fighting us. No one wanted to go to war with them, but it was their choice.”

  “They were still Federation citizens. Half of my school beatball team joined the FCDC. Those were my friends, guys I grew up with. Were they my enemy?”

  “Well, yeah, to be honest. Look, you know my father, right?”

  The staff sergeant rolled his eyes.

  Of course, he knows. Stop being stupid!

  “Well, during the Evolution, he gave the orders to take out a loyalist complex on Watershed, and 11,000 civilians died in the attack. That ate him up, but he had to do it for—”

  “. . .for the greater good. Believe me, I’ve heard it before. And no offense to your father, but he gave an order. He didn’t pull the trigger. He didn’t watch.” He put a hand on her thigh and leaned closer. “On Kaptchaka, in Solsi Town, I was overwatching one of our security teams. I saw three troopers on the building above them. I took all three out.”

  “Saving the team on the ground.”

  “One of them was a little girl, I swear it. OK, she had to have been 18, but she looked 12. She’d been struggling to carry two Ogres. I took out the first two guys, and the girl, she just stood there, looking at them in shock. She was scared shitless. I told her to leave. I wanted her to leave. But she picks up one of the Ogres she dropped, and she carries it to the edge of the building. I wanted her to run. I wasn’t going to kill her. But the stupid little bitch, I can see she arms the Ogre. Her eyes are so big, I don’t need my scope to spot them. She drops the ogre again, and I hope she’s going to run. But I know she’s not. When she comes back up and starts to swing the Ogre around, I drop her. Bam! The top of her head is gone. A little girl, three years younger than me maybe. We could have been in school together. And now, she’s dead meat rotting on the top of some abandoned roof.”

  He stopped his story, holding up his hand again, examining his fingernails.

  Esther didn’t know what to say. This was way beyond her pay grade. Hell, no matter how high she went, this was not what she was trained for.

  “You had—” she started before he suddenly turned into her, head on her shoulder as he broke out crying.

  Slowly, Esther put her arm around him. S
he was lost. She never should have opened him up. Part of her knew he wanted to vent, probably to a fellow Marine, not just a Navy psychiatrist. But she didn’t need a psych degree to know her platoon sergeant was in deep waters. And she didn’t know what to do.

  He cried almost silently for two minutes, and Esther could feel hot tears soaking into her shirt. Finally, he pulled back.

  “Sorry about that, ma’am. That was unprofessional of me. It won’t happen again.”

  He stood up, wiped his face with his forearm, and said, “I’ll see you at the mission brief.”

  “It’s OK, Staff Sergeant. I’m glad we talked.”

  But it wasn’t OK, she knew as she watched him leave the gym. But she didn’t know what to do.

  Chapter 8

  “Yanghu, eyes forward, not back,” Staff Sergeant Fortuna yelled out to the PFC.

  “Sergeant Ngcobo, how about watching your Marines. Any threat is going to come from out there, not back at the municipal center,” he passed on the command circuit.

  Esther watched her platoon sergeant closely as she’d been doing since they left the camp. She hoped she wasn’t being too obvious, but he had to feel her eyes on him. For his part, he studiously ignored her unless there was a specific reason to interact.

  She had spent an hour with Ter the night before, asking for advice. Esther knew she shouldn’t be sharing confidential information with the XO, but then again, she shouldn’t have received that information in the first place. Part of her really wished Fortuna hadn’t shared it.

  The XO didn’t have any easy answers, either. A Marine’s medical situation was personal. If it were going to get in the way of his or her duties, a medical officer or independent duty corpsman would bring as much of the subject up as needed, but for the most part, officers did not have access to medical histories.

  What it boiled down to was that for the moment, Staff Sergeant Fortuna was cleared for duty, and the day’s operation was a low-risk mission. Between the two of them, they decided not to broach the subject with the skipper, but Esther was going to keep a close eye on her platoon sergeant. Depending on how he seemed, the two would decide on a course of action.