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

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  Noah didn’t reply. Chili had an iron stomach, which was probably appropriate for someone whose parents named him Cayenne.

  Sleep was evading him, so he opened one eye and checked the time. He had another 23 minutes before he relieved the staff sergeant. No time for a nap. He sat up and scooched over until his back was against the Anvil.

  Noah was pretty proud of the old girl and what they’d accomplished in both Glen’s Landing and outside New Antalya, but he was getting a little sick of using her as billeting. She was a monster in battle, but she was seriously lacking as a condo. When he’d moved to armor, he thought he’d have it better than the grunts. Little did he know.

  The grunts were all back at New Antalya, billeting in appropriated buildings, with only two platoons at a time moving forward to the border area. All of the armor, Davises and Aardvarks, had been deployed 200 meters from the border and placed in a line, guns pointed into Ataturk. No one expected another incursion. The Federation armor, along with a hodgepodge of Cennet armor, was merely window dressing to help spur along negotiations. Every day, the Cennet bio-diesel armor fired up, belching out black smoke, just to remind the Ataturk watchers that they were there.

  At first, the respite had been welcomed. A reaction team had slapped on a temporary patch on the gash in the Anvil’s driver’s hatch, which made the integrity of the tank whole again, even if not as strong. That had been a huge relief to the three crewmembers, and they started taking care of the more routine maintenance on the tank. Noah, with the servo-glove on his left hand, had been relegated to assisting the other two rather than working the tools himself.

  Almost as good as getting that patch had been the ability to get some sleep. They’d all been running on empty, taking vivostims to keep going and almost getting to brain wash territory. All the stimulants in the world could not take care of brain fatigue—the only way to combat that after the stimulants wore off was to undergo a wash, which relaxed the brain cells and allowed for the artificial cerebral spinal fluid to flush the brain awake. It was an effective and supposedly safe way to renew brain function, but no one liked the process. “Hated” might not be too strong of a word. Without the chance to sleep, they’d been about a day away from getting the orders, so it was a relief to let their brains rejuvenate through natural sleep.

  But what had been a relief was now utter boredom. There wasn’t much else they could do to the Anvil out in the field, so they just sat, taking four-hour shifts in the gun turret and spending the other eight either scrunched up inside the tank if it was raining or sitting outside directly behind her if the weather was nice. They got hot chow once a day and ate field rats for their other two meals.

  It had been quiet, too quiet, since they arrived, so the explosion 200 meters to their rear shocked the two Marines into action. Chili dropped the peach crumble pack into the mud and vaulted up onto the rear of the Anvil only a split second behind Noah.

  “Just EOD blowing up a mine,” Staff Sergeant Cremineli said as the two scrambled for their positions.

  “What?”

  “A controlled detonation. Nothing to get excited about.”

  “Well, you could have told us,” Chili said, his chest heaving as he slowed his breathing.

  “If you had your helmets on, you would have heard,” the TC said, turning back to look over the border.

  “Right,” Chili muttered, quiet, but loud enough for the staff sergeant to hear. “As if we sit around all day with them on.”

  He turned around and walked to the rear of the tank, then vaulted off.

  “Fucking great! My P-Crumb’s ruined,” Noah could hear him say.

  No great loss.

  Noah stood for a moment, taking in the line of armor. He had to admit that they looked pretty fearsome, arrayed as they were. The Cennet armor added to that. Nothing the Cennets had could stand up to a Davis, and they’d be hard-pressed in a fight with a Teresa, but the big Cennet tanks looked the part. Their ancient FBR-3’s were over 100 tons of metal, each sporting a huge 135mm main gun. Over a century old, unwieldy, not very maneuverable, and with limited range, they still looked fearsome. And with that big gun, if they could hit a target, that target would sure know it.

  Noah almost wished something would happen, just to fight the boredom. It was a stupid thought, and he knew it, but almost anything would be better than simply sitting there.

  “I’ll take over, Staff Sergeant,” he said, walking up to the gunner’s turret.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m ready. I might as well take over.”

  “OK, your choice. There’s been the normal movement, nothing different. Three Ataturks have been up in the tower, glassing us, and there’s been some vehicular movement. You can check everything in the log,” the TC said, pulling himself out of the turret. “And shave yourself,” he added when he got closer to Noah. “Regs are still in effect.”

  Noah tried not to roll his eyes as he sidled past the staff sergeant and lowered himself into the turret. Who was going to see them out here in the boonies? The lieutenant had come by an hour before to check on them, and she hadn’t said anything.

  Sliding into the seat, he pulled up the log in the display. As the staff sergeant had said, there wasn’t anything noteworthy, but each sighting was notated. Noah deployed the sights, first zeroing in on the watch tower that looked over the border crossing. Three Ataturk soldiers were readily visible with one glassing the Federation lines. Nothing else stood out.

  The scan took him all of four minutes.

  Two-hundred-thirty-six minutes to go, he thought. No, belay that. I relieved him early. Two-hundred-forty-five minutes.

  With a sigh, he reached into his cargo pocket and brought out his shaving wand. Shaving would take him all of a minute.

  He’d never realized that combat could be so boring.

  QUINTERO CRAG

  Chapter 9

  The bus pulled into Camp Archuleta, home of the 11th Marines. Noah had barely spent time at the camp after reporting in, but still, it felt good to be back. The mission on Gaziantep had dragged on for almost nine weeks after the battle at New Antalya, with Noah and his crewmates living in the stationary Anvil. The Jerry-John had been a welcomed relief with showers and a real rack, even if they had to hot-bunk them, but the Navy ship was not as good as getting back home.

  The Anvil would be trucked back to the battalion at Camp Tainio, the division headquarters, tomorrow for Cat Four maintenance to repair the gash in the driver’s hatch, so the three Marines would be without a tank for at least two weeks. Which was fine with Noah. They had a 96[27] coming up, and he planned on spending every minute of that with Miriam.

  He scanned the faces of the spouses, children, girlfriends, and boyfriends who’d lined the parking lot, most with balloons, banners, and signs welcoming their Marine home. He didn’t spot Miriam, but there were a lot of civilians milling about, so that wasn’t surprising.

  “OK, as soon as we stop, get off the bus and into formation,” Gunny Torrington shouted out. “No one’s getting dismissed until the captain gets the OK.”

  “But I’m horny!” someone shouted from the front of the bus to the laughs of everyone else. “My man’s waiting for me!”

  “You’ll just have to wait, Corporal Sanders, like all of us,” the gunny said, but in a light tone. There were hoots and hollers and more ribald comments, which the gunny let go on for a few moments before shouting out, “OK, that’s enough with the language. We’ve got families out there.”

  The bus pulled to a halt and sank onto its skirts. Noah was in the back with Lessa Franklin and Chili, and it took some time for all 60 Marines and sailors to debark.

  “Over to the right,” Staff Sergeant Reiser kept saying, pointing the way. “In back of Weapons Company.”

  There were shouts from the crowd as they spotted loved ones, and several Marines “accidently” strayed close enough to catch a quick kiss and hug as they made their way to the formation.

  Noah walke
d slowly, trying to spot Miriam, but to no avail. He was one of the last Marines in the company to fall in. Shouts of “We love you daddy!” and “Welcome home” reverberated from the families as the buses lifted up and drove off. A little girl, probably three or four years old, suddenly broke from the crowd, darting past her mother’s grasp, and ran to Fox Company to latch onto the leg of one of the company lieutenants, much to the delight of the crowd. The lieutenant stood there stoically for a moment before bending over and picking her up. He gave the Fox Company commander an embarrassed look, then took the little girl forward and handed her back to his wife while the crowd broke into applause.

  Noah joined the rest of the Marines in laughter. Marines didn’t break ranks to laugh as a rule, but this was a homecoming, and those rules were different.

  Five minutes after they formed up, the commanding general and the regimental commander made their way to the front of the formation. Colonel Bhekizizwe called the task force to attention, and the general put them at ease.

  “Welcome home, Task Force 54/03!” the general said to the “ooh-rahs” of the Marines and sailors. “I’m very proud of all of you, not that I expected anything less. You were given a tough task, and you accomplished it in the best tradition of the Corps. Now I’m not going to keep you standing here long. I think I’d get mobbed by the families gathered here who want to welcome their Marines and sailors home,” he said, turning with a theatrical sweep of the arm to indicate the crowd.

  The general might have said he wouldn’t keep them in formation very long, and maybe 20 minutes wasn’t long for him, but for the Marines in formation, and for those family members who were there waiting, it might as well have been an eternity. The general went on about tradition, then recounted the push toward New Antalya. As was usual, most of his comments were centered around the grunts, barely mentioning any of the other units, which stuck in Noah’s craw just a bit. But he just wanted the CG to shut up and let them go. He wanted to find Miriam.

  A baby starting squalling, his or her little lungs putting out an enormous amount of sound. The general turned around to spot the child, hesitated, then seemed to give up. Turning the task force back to the colonel, he stepped back to the applause of the crowd.

  Within moments, the order to dismiss was passed down. The officers were dismissed, and the first sergeant reminded each platoon about its weapons turn-in time, and at last, the company was dismissed. Already, a good third of the Marines were rushing to meet their families, and families were rushing forward.

  The tank company was made up of more senior Marines, and so a better percentage of them had families there. The junior Marines in the line companies were mostly single, and they initially stood around, slapping each other’s backs and loudly making plans to meet out at the various bars outside the main gate.

  Sucks to be you, Noah thought as he pushed his way through the gaggle of single Marines. I’ve got someone waiting for me!

  But try as he might, he couldn’t see her. He pulled out his PA and tried to call her, but all he received was a message.

  “Hey, Sergeant! Where’s your fiancé?” Lessa asked as she saw him walking aimlessly about.

  “I can’t find her.”

  “So, call her.”

  “I did,” he said, holding up his PA. “No answer.”

  “Ah, she’s around here somewhere. We’ve got weapons turn-in in 20, though.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Noah was sure Miriam was around somewhere. She’d told him she’d get off work early, that she missed him, that she’d be wearing something sexy. But he was getting a little depressed. He’d returned from deployments before, but never with someone special waiting for him. When his father had come back from deployments, it had been a pretty big thing with the family. They’d made signs, decorated the house, and their mom, who never paid attention to fashion, hair, and the like, had gone through the process to look her best. They’d gone all out for their dad, and now, Noah was expecting Miriam to have done the same for him. But she was nowhere to be seen.

  As if to add salt to the wound, Cliff Bloomer, the Ball Shot’s driver, stopped to introduce his fiancé to him. Roseapple was a good 10 cm taller than Cliff, and judging by the way she was clinging to him, along with an amazing outfit that left nothing to the imagination, as soon as his weapons were in the armory, they couldn’t wait to be alone with each other.

  Roseapple was an impressive-looking woman, but Noah wanted to be with his woman. But he couldn’t find her.

  He kept trying to call her until it was time for the platoon to turn in their weapons. That took about twenty minutes, and then they were technically free until noon tomorrow. They had some admin to take care of before being released on their 96.

  The single Marines were rushing back to the barracks to change, and the married ones were quickly leaving for hovers or the shuttle to the main gate. Noah wasn’t sure what to do. Miriam still wasn’t answering.

  He sat on one of the tables set up in front of the company office, butt on the tabletop, feet on the bench, to wait for her. Marines started to pour out of the barracks, flowing like lemmings out in town to celebrate a safe return and to toast the few Marines who’d fallen. Several shouted to him to join them, but he just waved and sat.

  Almost an hour-and-a-half after they’d returned, and with the area almost deserted, a sultry voice from behind him asked, “Hey, Marine. You looking for a good time?”

  Noah turned around and almost fell off the table as he scrambled to hug Miriam, who was standing there in her waitress uniform. Horrible thoughts of what might have happened to her had been flooding his mind, and relief flooded over him to see that she was OK.

  And then a bit of anger replaced that relief.

  He pulled back out of the hug and said, “I’ve been waiting for you. Where were you?”

  “I’m so sorry, babe. I told Fanny that I needed to get off early, but we got slammed, and I had to take my tables. I didn’t even have time to go home and change.”

  Their financial situation was a little better than it had been on the Itch, but not by much, and until they were officially married, they wouldn’t be drawing Family Support Allowance. So, to help with the budget, and to keep from going stark-crazy mad, Miriam had taken a job at a restaurant.

  “But I tried to call you!”

  “I’m sorry, baby. We can’t use our PA’s at work, and I forgot to turn it back on when I left. I was in such a hurry to get here. Forgive me?”

  “I was worried. Really worried.”

  She snuggled closer to him, pulling him back into a tight hold, and whispered into his ear, “I think I have a few ways to make it up to you. While you’ve been gone, I’ve been coming up with some very, shall we say, ‘interesting’ things to do together?”

  Her hands fell to grab his butt and pull him in closer, and she bit his earlobe.

  Noah wanted to protest. He was still upset. This was his time to experience what his father always did, what military men and women have experienced for thousands of years. He wanted that homecoming, and he felt cheated out of it.

  But he also realized that Miriam had taken the job for both of them, and it hadn’t been her fault that she was late. Her hands on his butt excited him, and passion began to push disappointment away. Making more out of her being late wouldn’t do anyone any good.

  He made a conscious decision to forget it. He loved her, and that was what mattered.

  “So, you’ve come up with ways to make it up to me?” he asked. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go home!”

  Chapter 10

  Noah watched out of his blocks, expecting to see something, anything, even a shadow, but there was nothing. His display was off as the Anvil was powered down, so he was blind from that as well. Noah wasn’t sure how anyone could pick them up, even had the internal systems been powered, but their orders had been specific.

  Noah was usually relaxed inside the Anvil, but for the first time, he was claustroph
obic. He was not feeling comfortable.

  The Anvil, along with the Ball Shot and the Kiss of Death, were at the bottom of the Gold Strand, the top of their turrets eight meters below the surface of the murky water. They’d been sitting there like huge snapping turtles waiting for prey to wander too close for over seven hours, slipping into the muddy river a klick upstream under the partial cover of darkness and carefully navigating the river bottom to their present position. Blind in the darkness and the water, and relying only on the Anvil’s proximity alarm to keep from colliding with the Kiss of Death, the underwater march had been among the most stressful things Noah had ever undertaken in a tank, and that included combat on Gaziantep.

  Now, as they sat on the bottom, Noah’s mind wandered, bringing up images of water pouring in. He kept glancing at the lip of his hatch, running his finger alongside the rim to make sure it was dry. His eyes told him that, but he needed to feel for confirmation. The Cat 4 techs had assured him that the entire new hatch they’d installed was as good, if not better, than the one that had been damaged, but that was hard for him to accept.

  Noah knew the technical abilities of the Davis as well as anyone. They could stay completely submerged for up to 20 hours, longer if they used auxiliary O2 tanks. He’d even been completely submerged before, doing river crossings on the Itch. But this was different. He wasn’t actively driving with his mind focusing on what he was doing, but simply sitting, and he imagined he could feel the weight of the water pushing down on them. He had an irrational fear that once he powered up, the Anvil wouldn’t respond, and they’d be stuck down there forever.

  Chili evidently didn’t have the same problem. His snores reverberated throughout the crew compartment. The staff sergeant didn’t seem to mind if his gunner was asleep, so Noah didn’t say anything. If he could, he’d catch a few z’s, too. They’d been up for three days and were running on stims, and he knew he could use even an hour of sleep, but he also knew there was no way he could sleep with the river pressing down on him.