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

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  His simple proximity alarm indicated that the Ball Shot was ten meters to his left, and the Kiss of Death was 15 to the right. He’d feel better if he could see them, but the water was way too murky for that.

  Grubbing hell, I didn’t join the submarine Navy, he told himself for the hundredth time.

  Noah didn’t know what was going on up there on the land. They were lying quiet, all systems turned off. When it was time to move, they’d get the word via a very old-tech low-frequency message blast. Noah just hoped that the order would come sooner rather than later.

  The sunlight had earlier turned the water a yellowish-brown, and as it started turning darker, he knew the sun was getting closer on the horizon. They’d been in the river for 16 hours now, approaching their limit. One way or the other, they’d be emerging, and Noah hoped it would be in daylight. He didn’t want to spend any more time sitting underwater in the darkness.

  He’d just reached for the piss-tube when the order came. Dropping the tube, Noah flipped the switch, sending power surging to the motor. Displays turned on, but he couldn’t make much of what data was streaming in.

  “Go, go,” the lieutenant passed on the now active comms.

  “Wake up, Fulford,” the TC said, then to Noah, “Let’s take her out. Give me a 280-degree heading as soon as you can.”

  Noah glanced at the display as both friendly and enemy vehicles appeared, but he couldn’t study it. He had to watch where he was going, even with almost zero visibility. Despite all the Anvil’s capabilities, he didn’t have a kind of sonar that could map out the river bottom ahead of him. Coming down the river, they’d crept along, but now, with surprise paramount, they had to get out of the water immediately.

  He gunned the big tank forward, feeling the lurch as his treads, with the elevations fully extended, dug into the muddy bottom. They should be 40 meters from the shore, which on land could take mere seconds, but this wasn’t land.

  His stomach flew into his throat as the Anvil dropped down into a hole, but to his relief, immediately climbed back out. He could tell they were rising, and the brown water turned more to yellow as they rose closer to the surface. Noah hated the fact that he was driving blind, but the closer to the river bank, the better he felt. And then, the short barrel of the Anvil’s 90mm broke the surface right above Noah’s head.

  “Release the Kraken,” he muttered as he goosed the accelerators, and like the legendary creature breaching the ocean, the Anvil emerged into the afternoon sun.

  “Tank, two o-clock!” Staff Sergeant Cremineli shouted out.

  Noah concentrated on the best spot to climb the low bank, but he could see the muzzle of their main gun traverse. There was a blast, and then a “Target destroyed” from Chili.

  The Ball Shot emerged from the water, and Corporal Vestle, her driver, swerved to her right, bringing her tank too close to the Anvil for comfort, but Noah reacted by pushing the Anvil forward and up on the bank. The elevated treads grabbed into the bank and almost threw the tank up and onto the semi-forested land beyond the bank. They hit with a thud, and Noah reduced the elevation to better manage on dry land.

  “Weapons free!” Lieutenant Huang, the Second Platoon commander passed.

  If the Second Platoon commander was giving the orders, then that meant both the skipper and the XO had been taken out.

  “Wedge, on the Anvil!” Lieutenant Moore passed.

  Noah’s display was flashing with avatars and streams of data. He had to concentrate on driving, but at first glance, things were not good. There were too few blue avatars and too many red. Within 3,000 meters, there were only two more friendly tanks, both from Second. There was no sign of the Ba-Boom, which was supposed to have been the bait to draw the enemy in close. Within that same 3,000 meters, there were nine enemy tanks.

  It looked like the surprise had been total. The nine tanks seemed to be focused on Lieutenant Huang in the Saber and Staff Sergeant Juarez-Akito in the Winston United. Within moments, two of the red avatars switched to black as Chili and Cliff fired up their rears. Noah’s elation faded immediately when both the Saber and the Winston United were knocked out.

  Noah extended his range out to ten clicks as he charged the enemy force, but no blue avatars appeared. It looked like it was the three of them against seven of the opposing forces.

  Not good odds.

  Prissy, on the Kiss of Death, took out another of the enemy tanks before they seemed to realize what was happening and started to swing around to meet the threat.

  As the center tank in the wedge, Noah pushed forward, not worrying about the other two. It might be better to break up and conduct a hide-and-seek attack, taking out the enemy one-by-one and not letting them concentrate their forces, but until the lieutenant changed her order, it looked like it was going to be a full frontal assault, and if he could close quickly, he could minimize the number of tanks that could fire on the Anvil at any given time.

  “Grubbing hell, you mothers!” Noah shouted as he closed the distance.

  He juked to the right just as Chili fired, throwing off the shot.

  “Damn it, Noah! Keep me steady!”

  That made them an easier target, but Noah simply shrugged. If that was how it was going to go, so be it. There wasn’t much hope that Charlie Company was going to come out on top, but they could take out as many of the opposing tanks as they could.

  Chili got in one more kill before the Kiss of Death was knocked out. That left Staff Sergeant Cremineli as the acting company commander.

  “Break off!” the TC immediately shouted. “Get some cover in the forest.”

  Noah was in berserker mode, and with the way things were playing out, he just wanted to continue the charge. He wasn’t surprised, though, that Cremineli wanted to bug out. And maybe that was a sound tactical decision, but it rubbed Noah wrong. He didn’t argue, though, and swung the tank to the right—only to be hit as soon as he presented the Anvil’s left side.

  “Fuck!” Chili shouted as the Anvil shut down. “I could’ve got me another one, Staff Sergeant!”

  “That was the right decision, Sergeant!” the TC protested.

  “In your dreams,” Chili said, pushing the envelope with the rank-conscious tank commander.

  “The Ball Shot’s still in it,” Noah said. “They’ll kick some Alpha ass.”

  And as if in response, the Ball Shot was hit and knocked out.

  “And that’s that,” Noah said, disappointed.

  This was the second time that they’d gone up against Alpha company over the last three weeks, and it was the second time they’d had their asses handed to them. All 15 Charlie tanks were killed, while only 10 of the Alphas had bit the dust. The fact that they’d managed to come out on top over Bravo meant little when they were oh-for-two against Alpha. Noah had even heard that unless Bravo managed a win against Alpha, the battalion commander was going to pit the company against a combined force of Bravo and Charlie Companies. Noah would be professionally mortified if that came to pass.

  It looked like the small river force had been a good decision, and they’d managed to knock out four of the opposing force tanks, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered. They’d still lost.

  Power came back on to the drive train and turret.

  “All hands, return to the ramp for debrief,” was passed over the net.

  “Well, at least we got two of them,” Staff Sergeant Cremineli said as Noah opened his hatch and headed for the main track that would lead back to the range ramp.

  “Maybe, but we still got our asses shot off, and to top it off, we’ve got some heavy maintenance to do after sitting in the fucking river for a day,” Chili said in a sour tone of voice.

  Shit, he’s right, Noah realized. It’s going to be a long night.

  One of the Alpha company tanks reached the trail from the opposite side at the same time as the Anvil. Noah didn’t know if that was one of the surviving Alpha Company tanks or not, but he motioned for the other driver to precede him.


  It may have only been a training exercise, but to the victor belonged the spoils.

  Chapter 11

  Noah looked at the table one more time, then made a minute adjustment to the fork’s placement. Miriam wouldn’t notice, but he was stressing out, and that nervous energy had him going anal on the meal.

  He’d made veal piccata, one of Miriam’s favorites that he could whip up on short notice. The veal was fab veal, not real, but by going heavy on the lemon, not even he could tell much of a difference, much less his fiancé. The veal had been browned and was in the warming tray, and the sauce was done. All he had to do was throw in the spaghetti in the water and put the veal in the pan once she arrived, and within ten minutes, they’d be eating.

  He took a quick look inside their small oven where the Canadian Cobbler was bubbling away. Miriam still wasn’t 100 percent sure on just where or what Canada was, but she loved the dessert made from ghostberries and raspberries, the red and white berries that matched the colors of the Canadian flag and gave the dessert its name.

  He kept watching the clock on the wall in the living room, waiting for Miriam to show. Unable to keep still, he checked the veal five or six times, lifting up the top cutlet, and poking the next one with his finger before letting the top one back down. He fretted that they would become too soggy, and wished he’d waited to sauté them.

  When Miriam finally opened the door, still dressed in her lime green and pink waitressing uniform, he jumped up to greet her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She smelled like old frying oil, something that continually bothered him since she started working at Harstons, but that he never voiced to her.

  “What’s this?” Miriam asked, dropping her bag on the floor.

  “I wanted to make something special for you,” he said.

  Her brows furrowed together for a moment, then asked, “What’s the occasion,” her suspicion obvious.

  “You’ve been working so hard, lately, and I thought you’d like some piccata.”

  Hearing what he said he’d made, she perked up.

  “I had a bombburger at the restaurant. It was sent back to the kitchen for being overcooked, so I just helped myself. But I can still eat.”

  “Good. Why don’t you just sit down and relax. Dinner will be ready in ten.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair and said, “I should shower up, but that’ll take half-an-hour to get Harstons off of me.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just sit for a few minutes.”

  “OK, if you say so,” she said, flopping heavily in their overstuffed couch. “I need to get off my feet.”

  Noah dropped the pasta in the water and turned up the heat in the pan. He had piccata programed into their fabricator, and with a simple code input and a push of a button, he could have dinner in 30 seconds, but he enjoyed cooking, and he thought it was more personal when he home-cooked food, even when like this evening, some of the ingredients were fab-food.

  He dropped the veal back in the pan, cut a lemon in half, and squeezed the juice into the dish.

  “Smells pretty cope, honey,” Miriam said from the couch, not bothering to turn toward him.

  “I know how my lady likes it,” Noah said.

  “I’m such a lucky girl marrying such a good house-husband,” she said.

  Noah snorted. He could cook, but as for the rest of the daily chores that kept their apartment running, he was somewhat helpless. He could screw up putting his uniform in a Wrinkle-free, which was supposedly foolproof.

  If he hadn’t enlisted, he’d probably have gone into the culinary arts, either as a chef or as an engineer. And nothing like Harstons, where every dish was fabricated. The restaurants didn’t even need a wait staff—they could have the dishes automatically delivered to the tables, but the owners thought the waiters and waitresses would make them more popular with the Marines on base as well as the longshoremen from the port.

  Enlisting had delayed his passion for cooking, but he realized that cooking at home for Miriam was a far cry from running a real restaurant. The hours were rough, maybe worse than being a Marine, and taking any passion and making it a chore was a good way to cool the ardor.

  He finished off the piccata, drained the pasta, and set up the plates.

  “It’s ready, honey.”

  Miriam got off the couch with a sigh, then came over to sit down, her eyes lighting up when she saw her meal.

  Better than a bombburger, right?

  “I’ve got a Canadian Cobbler in the oven, too.”

  “Yeah, I can smell it. You outdid yourself. Did the lieutenant let you out early today?”

  “No, normal time, but these are quick dishes.”

  She dug in, slurping loudly as she ate. Neither of them said anything. When they first started living together, they talked non-stop. But now, even though they weren’t married yet, eating, watching the holo, or reading in bed seemed to take precedence.

  The word “married” in his thoughts brought him back to why he was nervous. He toyed with his meal, barely eating, while Miriam shoveled in her veal as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks. Finally, with a satisfied smile, she mopped up the last of the sauce with the last of her spaghetti, put it in her mouth, and swallowed.

  She leaned back and said, “Cope to the max, Noah, cope to the max. Now how about the Canadian Cobbler.”

  “Uh . . . another ten minutes, I think.”

  “Oh. OK. I can wait. And thank you. I appreciate the effort.”

  He hesitated, then decided just to get it over with.

  “We got new orders today. A month-long mission to Opal Lexus 3. Training.”

  She looked up at him, and asked, “Training? No combat?”

  “Just training.”

  “A month, though? Well, that’s the life of a Marine, I guess. And a Marine wife’s. Uh, when is it? I will be a wife then, right?”

  “That’s the thing—”

  “Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like this? The dinner, and now the look on your face?”

  “We’re deploying October 3.”

  “The third? Of October? So, you’re going to be leaving me before the wedding? So, I’m going to have to get everything arranged with your family?”

  “Uh, baby. We’re scheduled to come back on the 19th.”

  “The 19th? Oh, that’s not so bad. That’s less than a month.”

  “Of November. November 19th.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and she looked at him for a moment before saying, “And we’re getting married on the eighth? How’s that going to work?”

  “It isn’t. We have to re-schedule.”

  “You’ve got your leave request in. It’s already been approved.”

  “And the first sergeant told me today that the approval’s been rescinded.”

  Miriam stared at him, with an expression he couldn’t decipher. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

  Finally, in a brook-no-nonsense tone, she said, “Noah Lysander, I agreed to marry you, and I was fine with just going down to the city center and getting it done. You were the one who wanted the family wedding, not me.”

  “We can forget about the wedding. We can go to the city center tonight, if you want—”

  She held up a hand to stop him.

  “I’ve already been working on this with your family, mostly your grandmother. If we cancel, they’ll think it was because of me, and that will put me at odds with them. With your father and mother gone, and with your sister evidently not the marrying type, this wedding of yours . . .”

  “Wedding of yours.” That’s not good.

  “. . . is a big deal. You’ve been paying no attention to any of this. And if we just cancel the wedding now, after they’ve gotten so embedded in it, well, I’m the bitch who doesn’t want a family. I’m the bitch who turned you away. And that’s not going to happen. We’ll just re-schedule it and make the Marine Corps the bad guy. What with your father, that’s already a given.”

  She hadn’t raised her voic
e, but the steel in it couldn’t be missed. She was adamant about it.

  “Uh . . . uh, OK. We can reschedule, if you want.”

  “If I want? This is all on me? Not a good way to put it, Noah. Not good at all. What I want is not to be put into this situation,” she said before standing up. “And what I want right now is to take a shower.”

  She strode off to the bedroom, not saying another word. Noah sat there, wondering how he’d blown it so bad. He wasn’t sure what he could have said differently.

  It’s not my fault.

  The dinger rang, and he was tempted to ignore it, but wasting food was not in his DNA. With a sigh, he stood up, went to the oven, and removed the cobbler. It smelled great as he put it on the sideboard to cool. He wanted to pout, he wanted to be mad, but he couldn’t help but bend over to let the aromas wash over him.

  He got out some bowls and scooped out two helpings of the steaming dessert. The white and red berries had formed a pinkish syrup that held them together. They needed something else, though. Stepping over to the fabricator, he dialed up two portions of vanilla ice cream, plopping them on top. They immediately started to melt, sending a thick white stream into the cobbler.

  The simple act of making the dessert had calmed him down. He knew Miriam had every reason to be upset. She’d put a lot of work into the wedding, a wedding that she hadn’t wanted in the first place. And Noah, using his duties as a Marine as an excuse, had not helped much.

  He placed the desserts on the table, walked to the bedroom, and knocked softly on the door.

  “Miriam? The cobbler’s ready.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Miriam?”

  Silence.

  With a sigh, Noah went back to the table and sat down to wait. The ice cream had half melted, the pool of vanilla now covering the rest of the cobbler. He picked up his spoon and ladled some of the melted ice cream back to the top of the remaining frozen part, but it slid back down. He scooped up another spoonful, this time picking up a few of the berries, but instead of dumping it back over the top, he shrugged his shoulders and put the spoonful into his mouth.