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

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  During her brief that afternoon, Captain Vansant had noted that one of recon’s SpecOps prime missions was to combat terrorism. It seemed like a good idea to Esther.

  So why am I thinking about recon?

  She watched for another five minutes, but the reporter was repeating himself. She put her tray in the cart and walked out into the evening. The weather was a comfortable 19 degrees, and the last remnants of the sunset lit the clouds in reds, blues, and oranges. It was a beautiful, peaceful evening here, but light-years away, on San Isidro Labrador, 32 people had been killed, people whose only crime had been to take the maglev to work that morning.

  She walked slowly through the Quad, past the company offices on her way to the Q. She didn’t have plans for the evening (which gave rise to the briefest of jealousies of Nok). There were some interesting fellow lieutenants in the battalion, and more than a few had expressed interest in her, but Esther thought it better to keep her social life separate from her professional life. It took discipline, but she knew it was the right choice.

  She’d had a few interludes over the last two years with Marines and one Navy ensign from other units, but not many, and none lasted past a couple of dates. She was too focused on her career to give much of herself, and she knew that was necessary for a serious relationship.

  Maybe later, after I’m more established.

  She suddenly didn’t want to be alone, so she pulled out her PA to call Ter, but then she realized she didn’t know what she wanted to do. She needed to think up something first or she’d sound like a morose baby who was lonely for company.

  Which I am, but I don’t have to let her know.

  She glanced at the company offices, which took the back right side on the bottom deck of Building 188. The corner office light was on, which wasn’t a surprise. Captain Hoffman might be married and with kids, all living out in base housing, but he often worked late.

  Esther’s feet changed direction before she knew it, and she headed to the building.

  “Evening ma’am!” the duty Marine said, jumping to attention and saluting as she entered the front hatch.

  “At ease, Lance Corporal. I’m just going back to Golf.”

  Esther didn’t return the salute as she’d taken off her cover as she entered. She turned left down the main passage and made her way to the end office, rapping at the doorjamb.

  “Sir, you got a minute?”

  “Sure, Esther, come on in. Take a seat, and I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  Esther sat on the couch while the captain’s fingers flew over his keyboard while subvocalizing into his throat mic. Most people used voice-to-word while writing. Some used qwerty keyboards. But the captain used both subvocs and a syl-keyboard to record his writing.

  Two minutes later, the captain turned off the keyboard projector and lowered his throat mic.

  “What’s up?”

  Esther hadn’t planned on bringing up switching the PICS to First Platoon yet. Nok still had more than three months left on station. But with the skipper working late, it seemed like a good time.

  “Sir, you’ve told us that Marine officers are generalists, right?”

  “Yes, I think I might have mentioned that once or twice . . . or 20 or 30 times,” he said with a chuckle.

  “I agree, but that means we have to have a broad array of experiences, right? I mean, we shouldn’t stick with the same things we’ve already done.”

  “I was wondering if you were going to come to see me about that.”

  “You were?” Esther asked, confused.

  “Yes, I saw you with Captain Vansant this afternoon. She’s pretty impressive.”

  Oh, crap! He thinks I want to go to recon!

  “And to answer your question, by all means, you should experience as much as you can. You’ve got two years with the platoon, and maybe it’s time you experienced something else. I know you’ve told me you don’t want armor or air, so recon would be a good choice while still keeping within the infantry.”

  A good choice? Did he say a good choice?

  “But sir,” she blurted out. “Recon’s well, it’s recon. It’s a dead end for officers.”

  “Your father was in recon, and I think things turned out OK for him.”

  But he got a Federation Nova out of it. That wouldn’t hurt anyone’s career.

  “He’s one of the few, with all due respect, sir. I understand that recon is important to the Corps, and to the Federation, too. With MARSOC, well, we’re doing more and more non-conventional warfare—”

  “Which sounds pretty exciting to me. “

  “Well, yes, sir,” she admitted, realizing that she meant it.

  “And with the Klethos war, with the rise of unconventional warfare, the MARSOC community should only increase in operational tempo.

  “You’ve had two major battles during your two years. How many other platoons have had even one?”

  “Fox’s Second Platoon had one, and . . . uh . . . well, maybe that’s it,” she said.

  “Esther, your career to date has been remarkable, and that’s not even considering your Navy Cross. If you want to experience recon, I don’t think it will hurt your career. In fact, I would say it would help you. As you become senior, it could give you a better perspective on how operators function.

  “If you came here to ask me for a recommendation, of course, I’ll approve it, although I don’t think that would be necessary. I saw Captain Vansant lassoing you. They want you, I’m sure.”

  Esther hadn’t come in to see the skipper to talk about recon, at least she didn’t think she had. She wanted the PICS platoon, right? But the challenge of becoming a recon Marine was intriguing. Maybe her subconscious had wanted to discuss it with Captain Hoffman.

  The challenge. That was the rub, though. Esther was athletic and capable. But so were many other women who hadn’t been able to get through the course. Most men couldn’t.

  “Sir,” she started quietly, “but what about the drop rate? I mean, if I can’t make it?”

  “If you can’t, you can’t. Neither can most Marines. Colonel Singh washed out of RTC as a captain, and he’s done pretty well for himself.”

  And rumor has it he won’t pick up a star.

  “Uh, don’t pass that around. I think I just let slip some confidential information.”

  “I won’t, sir.”

  But if it’s OK to try and fail, then why not pass it around? You’re telling me it doesn’t matter.

  “You won’t know what you can and can’t do until you try, Esther. And I have confidence in you.”

  “Would you try?”

  “I’d like to think I would. I’ve got orders to Tac 2, so those take priority, but after that? If they wanted an old fart like me? Who knows?”

  She could understand that. Tactical Warfare II was a required course for post-command captains and majors that had to be taken for any chance at lieutenant colonel or colonel-level command.

  Esther realized that she’d been mulling over Captain Vansant’s words all afternoon and into the evening. That was probably why she’d been a little listless. Something was missing.

  “Thank you, sir. You’ve been a big help. I appreciate your advice.”

  “Any time, Esther. Well, not now. I’m late, and Katie’s going to kill me, so I’ve got to run.”

  Esther thought the skipper’s wife had to have the patience of a saint. Captain Hoffman was almost always running late.

  She stood by while the captain turned off his desk PA. Together they walked down the passage and to the entrance where the duty Marine jumped back up to attention.

  “At ease, Lance Corporal Tennyson. You can log us out for the night.”

  The duty was from Echo Company, yet Captain Hoffman called him by name. It wouldn’t have been hard to query his PA to get the lance corporal’s name, but Esther hadn’t bothered to consider it. Now she felt embarrassed that she hadn’t.

  “Have a good night, Esther,” the skipper said as they rea
ched the walkway. “Let me know what you want to do, and I’ll support your decision.”

  “Thank you, sir. You have a good night, too.”

  She stood there, watching the captain stride away towards the parking lot.

  Recon? Would it be worth it?

  She realized that she’d never managed to bring up the PICS.

  Chapter 15

  “Holy Apples, Nok. Let him up for air,” Steel said in mock dismay.

  Bull broke his kiss and looked to Steel with a self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. The Echo Company lieutenant had to mass 120kg. Nok was maybe 40kg soaking wet, and sitting on his lap, she still had to crane her head up to mack with him.

  Esther rolled her eyes and pointed at the half-full pitcher.

  “How about filling me up, boot,” she said to brand new Second Lieutenant Gaylord Lincoln Masterson Nobo, IV.

  Yes, there’d been three other Gaylord Lincoln Masterson Nobos. Esther was surprised there had even been one saddled with such a pretentious name. It was straight out of the Bollywood School of Bad Casting and Writing.

  Nobo was technically Nok’s replacement, but he wasn’t getting the PICS platoon. Steel had moved up to Weapons when Patel had received orders, Second Lieutenant Jerome “Fish” Knightly had taken over Third, and now Captain Hoffman had shifted the PICS mission to the platoon.

  Esther felt a twinge of regret, looking at Fish, who was deep into conversation with Monica Dupuis. He was a good lieutenant, and Esther was sure he’d do well. But she’d still have liked time in PICS as well.

  The battalion officers had met at the O’Club for a hail and farewell earlier in the evening. Two lieutenants, to include Nobo IV, and a captain had come aboard that week. And the CO had introduced them before they each had the floor. Nobo IV had given his full name, to include the “IV,” which had elicited a laugh from the other officers. Nobo IV had to be used to it. He’d made it to staff sergeant before getting his commission, so he wasn’t some wet-behind-the-ears recruit, yet he still willingly entered the lions’ den. Either he was oblivious to societal norms, or he just didn’t care and was making a statement. Esther wasn’t sure which, nor did she care much, if she was being honest.

  Two officers were leaving. Nok had her orders, and she’d ship out on Saturday. She gave her speech, the CO gave her her plaque, and then the lieutenants gave her the traditional gag gift—in Nok’s case, a basketball and step ladder. A sign on the ladder read “For Dunking.” Nok had scrambled up the ladder and executed a wicked windmill dunk, slamming the ball to the deck—and which still wouldn’t have reached a regulation rim.

  “Hey, Lysander, good luck,” Greg Yashua said, putting his hand on Esther’s shoulder. “I’m taking off, so if I don’t see you . . .”

  “Hey, Greg. Thanks. Take it easy.”

  She reached behind her and pulled out her plaque, running her finger over the engraving. The battalion emblem of the burning lion, a book in its paws and crossed swords and an anchor behind took up most of the shield-shaped plaque. Above the emblem, the words “Second Battalion, Fourteenth Marines” were emblazoned in an arc with “Serenissima” in smaller letters underneath. Esther’s attention was on the smaller brass inlay under the emblem on which was engraved,

  FIRST LIEUTENANT ESTHER LYSANDER, UFMC

  7 March 412 to 9 July 414

  “Per Mare, Per Terram”

  Esther had been the second officer leaving the battalion. She hadn’t been as eloquent as Nok had been, and she just wanted to get it over with. But when the CO had handed her the plaque, she’d been struck with the heavy weight of tradition for maybe the first time in her life. Her father had understood it. Noah understood it. But tradition hadn’t been important to her before. Looking at the emblem, which she now knew was taken from the both the old Lagunari Battalion and the San Marco Brigade, she felt the connection reaching back more than 700 years, and with her name on the plaque, that made her part of that tradition. She knew all of this on an intellectual level, but for the first time, she felt is on a visceral level.

  The platoon had chipped in to get her plaque as well, which they’d presented to her that morning. She appreciated it, probably more than the battalion plaque. It had been given freely by her Marines, after all, and that made it personal. But the battalion plaque bespoke history, and that was daunting.

  Esther had received her plaque from 3/16 on Wayfarer Station, but it had stayed in its box. She’d never started her “I Love Me” wall. She had a feeling that was going to change.

  Her gag gift had been a sealed display case with an oversized set of stars inside and a “Break Glass When Needed” badge attached. Not as clever as Nok’s, and possibly a little too close to home, but she had dutifully laughed.

  “You gonna drink that?” Steel asked, pointing at her refilled stein.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry. And thanks, boot,” she said to Nobo IV.

  “Lost in sweet memories?” Steel persisted.

  “Yeah, lots of them. None of you, though!”

  “Ah, you wound me, madame!” Steel said, bringing his hand to her heart, earning him a thrown napkin from Patel.

  “You know, you never did tell me how you got your nickname,” Esther said. “You keep putting it off, and now I’m leaving. Is there a dark past to you?”

  “Oh, nothing so dramatic. It’s just my last name. Ganbaatar. It means “Steel Hero.”

  “You’re shitting me, right?”

  “I shit you not. That’s what it means. Pull it up,” he said.

  “So why all the secrecy?”

  “‘Cause I like pulling your chain, Esther,” he said with a huge grin on his face. “You should know that by now.”

  Esther reached over, took Steel’s stein, and refilled it for him.

  She lifted her own stein, clinked glasses, and said, “It’s been real, Derrick Ganbaatar. Thanks.”

  “You’re going to kick ass, Esther,” he said with none of his normal bantering tone.

  Esther felt a lump forming in her throat, so she nodded and broke eye-contact, looking instead at the four tables the lieutenants had commandeered. The official hail and farewell had been at the club on-base, but the junior officers had abandoned the club as soon as they could and taken over the rear of The Haunted Hound. The “Hound” was not specifically a military bar, but it was off the beaten path, and it was generally left alone by senior officers as well as the shore patrol. When there was heavy drinking to be done, the Hound fit the bill.

  Not that the drinking was excessive. Fox Company was scheduled for their BRQ, or Battle Readiness Qualification, recertification starting at the beginning of next week, and most of them had already slipped away for some last-minute prep time. Nok and Bull could barely contain themselves and looked about ready to pull chocks.

  Still, it was another two hours before the party started breaking up. Steel insisted on paying for the last two pitchers.

  “You can’t drink at RTC, you know,” ha managed to get out, “so I’ve got to cover these.”

  Esther wasn’t sure if drinking really was prohibited, but as hard as the course was supposed to be, she didn’t think anything that could affect her performance negatively would be a good idea. Besides, she wasn’t going to stand in his way if he wanted to pay.

  “Got to pay the rent on the beer,” he said too loudly, before heading off to the head.

  “So, Esther. This is it, I guess,” Ter said.

  “I’m not leaving until Sunday, but yeah. We can still do something tomorrow.”

  The XO reached over and put her hand on top of Esther’s.

  “I’m going to miss you, you know.”

  “I’ll miss you, too, Ter. Maybe after, you know?”

  “You’re gonna be a snake eater, a kick-ass recon Marine. I’m going to be babysitting recruits. It’s a big Corps and an even bigger galaxy. We can say we’re gonna get together, but you know . . .”

  Ter was pretty deep into her cups, not plastered, but certainly happy.
She reached up with her other hand, now with both hands cupping Esther’s right hand.

  “You know, I think we made a good team, me and you. We showed them.”

  Esther wasn’t sure who “them” was, but Ter was right. They had been a good team. And good friends. That wasn’t going to change just because they had orders to different duty stations. The Corps might be big in most ways, but it was also small enough that they could run into each other again.

  “Yes, we did, Ter. And I’m grateful to you, for your guidance. You’re someone special to me.”

  Ter stood up, kicking her seat back, and leaned in to Esther, who looked up to hear what the XO wanted to say. But Ter didn’t want to say anything. She dropped Esther’s hand, grabbed her on either side of her head and pulled her forward—giving her a huge kiss right on her mouth.

  Esther was shocked, and she froze, not knowing what to do. After an eternity, Ter broke off, and with her hands still framing Esther’s face, backed away so she could stare into Esther’s eyes.

  What the . . . ?

  A smile formed on Ter’s face, but a wistful, sad-looking smile.

  “Ter, I . . . I, uh, I’m not—”

  Ter raised her eyebrows for a moment and said, “Aye-yah, I knew it, always did. But I just had to make sure, sweetie, you know, or I would have regretted not taking the chance.” She sighed, then added, “It took more than a few glasses of liquid courage just to get up my nerve.”

  “I . . . I’m sorry,” Esther said.

  “No reason to be. I’m sorry. I knew what would happen, but I still did it.”

  “I like you, Ter. I really do. You’re the sister I never—”

  Ter put her forefinger on Esther’s mouth, stopping her.

  “No need to explain. I love you . . . like a sister, I mean,” she added when she saw Esther’s eyes widen. “And I love Steel, too, even if he is a gallump sometimes,” she said as he returned from the head.