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

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  He brought Islington back to his office and explained what “suspended” meant to her. She read Esther’s judgment, stated she accepted it (not accepting it would open her up to a special court martial where the punishment could be much greater), and scanned that in.

  “You’re lucky, Islington. I hope you know that. No restriction to the ship while we pull liberty, no loss of money, no loss of rank—if you keep your nose clean. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sergeant Major. I understand.”

  “OK, go report back to your lieutenant.”

  He sat back down, the first moment he’d had to catch his breath since 0530. He leaned his head back when there was a rap on his hatch.

  “May I come in, Sergeant Major?” Lieutenant Eickbush asked.

  “Of course, Lieutenant, come on in.”

  Second Lieutenant Eickbush was one of the new “contract lieutenants.” He came in with his lieutenant’s bars guaranteed. He’d serve two years as an enlisted Marine before going to NOTC to be commissioned for four years as an officer. “Guaranteed” might be a strong word, too strong. If one of the CL’s messed up as a junior enlisted, such as receiving NJP or failing NOTC, the officer term of the contract was null and void, and it was the full six years enlisted.

  There had been quite a bit of pushback among the old salts, both retired and still in the service, but this had been a political decision meant to be more efficient and to bring the Corps in line with the Navy and FCDC. “CL” became a derogatory term, however, and each CL had to work harder to prove him or herself.

  “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

  “Sergeant Major, I know you’ve got much more experience than I do, and I realize that one of a SNCO’s job is to train lieutenants.”

  “Yeah . . .” Noah said, wondering where this was going.

  Is he nervous? Why?

  “Well, if I didn’t have PFC Islington in the right place at the right time, that’s on me. And I’d expect you to tell me that.”

  Which I did. What’s your point?

  “But . . . I mean . . .” he started before visibly gathering himself. “I don’t appreciate how you did that,” he said in a rush. “I may be a boot lieutenant, but I’m still a commissioned officer in the Corps, and as such, I deserve the respect and courtesy of my rank. If you need to correct me, I will absolutely listen to you and take in what you have to say, but if you need to correct me, that should be done in private, not in front of one of my Marines. You’ve compromised me, Sergeant Major, and that isn’t good for my platoon.”

  He stood up straighter and looked Noah in the eye as if waiting for an outburst.

  What the grubbing hell? Who do you think you are, boot? You? You’re calling me out?

  Noah stood and leaned over his desk, ready to lecture the lieutenant on the facts of life when it hit him. Lieutenant Eickbush was right. Yes, he was a boot, and yes, he had a lot to learn. But he was an officer, and junior officer became mid-level officers, then high-ranking officers. Discipline was one of the bedrocks of the Corps. It was the foundation of what kept the entire structure standing.

  Noah had been rude and disrespectful to the lieutenant. Not just him. To PCF Islington as well. He’d let this morning, he’d let his anger and frustration affect how he treated others. He’d let go of the respect all Marines should have for each other.

  No one doubted that Noah, even as a frocked sergeant major, knew more about the Corps than the lieutenant could learn in 20 more years. And part of what he knew was military courtesy. It took this boot lieutenant with barely three years in the Corps to remind him of that.

  “You’re absolutely right, sir,” he said, and he could see the relief rush over the young Marine.

  It had taken a pretty large set of balls for the lieutenant to confront him, Noah knew. The fact that he did so to support his conviction was a good sign, a very good sign.

  “I apologize for my actions. I can assure you it won’t happen again, sir.”

  “Well . . . I . . . thank you, Sergeant Major. I . . . I’d better get back to the company, then. Lots to do.”

  “Stop in any time, sir, if you want to chat. As you said, it’s our duty to help train up the junior officers.”

  “I sure will, Sergeant Major. And thanks.”

  He turned and started out of Noah’s office.

  “I’ll still correct you when I deem fit, sir, but not in front of your Marines.”

  The lieutenant stopped, smiled, and said, “I’m sure you’ll have more than a few opportunities to correct me, Sergeant Major. And I welcome that. The better commander I become, the better my platoon will be.”

  Noah followed the lieutenant to his hatch, then watched the young man walk down the passage.

  “What was that all about?”

  Noah turned to see Esther standing beside him.

  “Oh, nothing much.”

  “OK, if you say so.”

  “He’s going to be a good one, though,” he said, more to himself than to her.

  “Well, with those out of the way, what’s the story on the Cinderella UAs?”

  Back to reality, Noah.

  “Not good, not good at all. We’ve got the 13 from Charlie, then eight from Bravo—” he started before she interrupted him.

  “I want the names, Sergeant Major, on my desk, now. Then I want the company commanders. I’ve got to brief the chief of staff at 1100, and I want the answers to all of the questions he’s going to ask me.”

  “Aye-aye, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll have them to you in ten.”

  “XO! In my office now!” she called out, stepping back across the passage and through her hatch.

  Chief of staff? Better you than me, Ess.

  He’d been concerned about telling his sister about the UAs, but that was nothing. Now that they were within a month of deployment, Esther no longer reported to the regimental commander. Her boss was the CG himself.

  Heavy is the crown, he thought to himself.

  His day had sucked big time so far, but he had a feeling that Ess’ was soon going to be a lot worse.

  FS MOUNT FUJI

  Chapter 8

  Esther

  Esther dropped her assault pack on the deck, then flopped on the rack. She was exhausted, pure and simple. The last two or three weeks had been one crisis after the other competing with the normal frenzy of getting a battalion deployed.

  It seemed that they had barely made it to the ship. If they’d been the Space Alert Battalion, they could have deployed within 12 hours. It would have been a frenzied evolution, but it would have been done. With six months to prepare, even given that much of that time was in the field with training and evaluation ops, a rational outsider would think that it would be easy to get the battalion on the ship and ready for duty.

  A rational outsider would be wrong.

  Nature abhors a vacuum, and the military abhors free time. Every moment was filled with one more requirement from division, one more emergency situation that needed Esther’s personal attention. She’d been on stimsticks for the last week, surviving on fewer than three hours of sleep a night.

  The idiotic Cinderella liberty issue had been typical of the crap that had been thrown at her. The CG had even questioned her leadership abilities and if she was capable of leading the battalion on deployment. She knew it had been too late for her to be replaced lacking an actionable transgression on her part, but she hadn’t enjoyed being questioned, especially by General Lace-Reimer, who knew her well.

  Luckily, Noah had grabbed the reins on that. He’d said he’d take care of it, and Esther didn’t ask how. Fifteen Marines were scheduled for NJP during transit; the rest had been handled at the company level.

  There’s going to be a lot of sad faces when they miss out on Kukson, she thought, a smile creeping over her face.

  Kukson, along with Vegas, Ramp it Up, and Pattaya, were considered the four premier liberty ports in Federation space, and that was where the turnover with 3/12 and the FS Sin
gh Harbor was to take place. More than a few Marines would be stuck on the Mount Fuji with extra duty while the rest of the battalion enjoyed the pleasures of what Kukson had to offer.

  Esther glanced up at the small clock above the hatch into her stateroom. She had two blessed hours before chow, two hours where she could catch some Z’s. Stimsticks were all well and good, but they couldn’t keep a person going forever, and extended use extracted a price on the body. Not bothering to get undressed, she brought her feet up to her rack and told the room to wake her ten minutes before first call for the wardroom.

  Two minutes later, the ship’s 1MC interface said, “Lieutenant Colonel Lysander, Commander Anderson welcomes you aboard, and he’s requesting your presence in his stateroom for your joint deployment statement.”

  Esther groaned as she struggled to open her eyes. It was traditional at the start of a deployment for both commanders to issue a joint statement over the 1MC, stressing the teamwork required for a successful mission, that they were representatives for the Federation, blah, blah, blah.

  Now? Can’t this wait until after chow?

  It was his ship and his call, however. They may be the same rank, but he was god aboard the Mount Fuji.

  “Please tell the captain that I’ll be there directly,” she said.

  She swung her legs off the rack, stepping up to the tiny sink and splashing water on her face. It didn’t do much in to refresh her.

  Leaving the stateroom, she gave one last longing look at her rack. At least she had first seating in the wardroom, and she’d be free after that.

  “Three more hours,” she told her rack. “Three hours and you and I have a date.”

  KUKSON

  Chapter 9

  Noah

  “Eight Agathas, three house ciders, and a Manhattan,” Cory told the tablewaiter. “I’m buying this round.”

  What am I? Noah wondered as the green light chimed the tablewaiter’s acceptance.

  He and Gunny Raison were not drinkers. The gunny was drinking water, and he had a soft cider, but as usual, they were left out when someone was buying a round. Noah never understood that. Non-alcoholic drinks were less expensive than the draft beer, cider, and the lone cocktail, and Noah had bought the first round to celebrate a liberty port without a single liberty incident. Yet the two of them were left out when it came to getting drinks from the others.

  He shook his head slightly, but he remained quiet. Nothing was going to spoil his good mood. He checked the time. The last shuttle up to the ship left in a little over two hours. After that, assuming no one missed it, he’d be home free. An entire reinforced battalion, a Marine Expeditionary Unit of 868 Marines and sailors, had managed to spend three days on Kukson without a liberty incident. Esther had tasked him with that almost impossible result, and they’d just about managed it.

  It had been surprisingly easy from a senior staff level point of view. Noah had called the entire battalion into the mess decks before the first liberty was called. Kukson was one of the premier liberty ports, and the troops’ excitement had been palpable. Noah had given them the normal “have fun, but you are representing the Federation Marines” speech before he lowered the boom. Any liberty incident would result in the immediate and total curtailment of liberty—for all hands.

  The look of shock on the Marines’ faces as he said that almost made him laugh, and he had to keep control.

  “By liberty incident, I mean as reported by the local police. If Lance Corporal Schmuckatelli gets plastered and falls down puking in the gutter and gets hauled away by the police, that is a liberty incident. If Lance Corporal Schmuckatelli gets plastered and falls down puking in the gutter and some of his buddies, that means you out there, haul his ass back to the shuttle and pour him aboard, that is not a liberty incident, and then his buddies can go back out and enjoy themselves. And as far as Lance Corporal Schmuckatelli, if he’s on the shuttle, no harm, no foul.”

  He paused for a second to let it sink in. It took a moment, but he could see it on their faces as they began to understand. It was really a pretty straightforward concept. A Marine took care of another Marine, pure and simple. If the Marines policed themselves, then they could party to their heart’s content. If they could not police themselves, then liberty would be curtailed.

  He told Command Master Chief Rajput his plans for the Marines, and the ship’s senior enlisted sailor decided she was going to put the same plan in place for the ship’s crew. Together, they’d discussed how strict they were going to be with the rules, and if an incident on day one would affect liberty on day three, but to both of their surprises, there had not been a single reportable incident.

  If he did nothing else on this entire deployment, Noah was going to take that as a major win.

  The bar they’d picked had a trolley system, like a miniature roller coaster, that led the drinks to the table. Twelve covered glasses, like cars in a train, trundled down to land on the table. As it was his round, Cory took over, spreading the beers, ciders, and the Manhattan to the other Marines.

  “Another Sunhills Green and a water,” Noah said quietly into the tablewaiter, waiting for the green light of acknowledgment.

  Gunny Bill Keating was an avid golfer, and he was trying to describe some supposedly amazing shot he’d made that morning. No one else was paying much attention, and the gunny took to standing, grabbing Top Dwaine McCurry by the shoulder. First Sergeant Khan threw a wadded-up napkin at the gunny, who ignored it.

  Noah sat back and just drank in the scene. They were a good crew, he knew. He couldn’t have assembled a better bunch of senior SNCOs. He’d been worried about how he’d be accepted, both for his relationship with the CO and with him being merely frocked, but after some initial awkwardness with a couple of the E8’s, things had settled down. He wasn’t particularly close to any of them, but they seemed to accept him as the sergeant major.

  His PA buzzed. He took it out of his pocket and saw that he had a message from Esther. He made his excuses, then stepped into the hall leading to the heads where the ambient noise was a little less.

  “We’ve got a mission,” Esther said.

  “Ok,” Noah acknowledged. “Um . . . should we recall the troops?”

  He wondered what the mission was, but this was his personal PA, and she couldn’t pass that over the commercial net. With a simple command, however, he could initiate a recall over that same commercial net.

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Noah. Let’s just let the normal shuttle schedule run. But I want you and the two tops ready for a 0200 meeting aboard the Fujiyama.”

  Noah glanced back down the hallway to where he could see their table. Top Reston, the Operations Chief, was tottering in her seat.

  “OK, I’ll stop the spigot on those two,” he told her. “Uh . . . how are you?”

  Noah had quit drinking after Miriam filed for divorce, and he’d been pressuring Esther to cut back, at least, without much effect.

  “A little tipsy, but I just took a Soberup.”

  Noah shuddered. During his downwards drinking spiral, he’d had to resort to the little pill more than once, and frankly, he’d rather suffer through the hangover.

  “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll see you at 0200.”

  Noah started back to the table. He had no idea what the mission was, but the enlisted leadership had to be ready.

  “The drinking light is out, folks,” he said as he reached the table.

  “What? Why? We’re just getting started,” Cory said, lifting his beer.

  “Duty calls.”

  Faces immediately sobered up even if bodies did not.

  Noah held up his hand to forestall them, palm out, and said, “No recall. Liberty ends as usual. But make sure every swinging dick left is on that last shuttle. Missing movement is, well, I don’t have to tell you. And you two,” he said to the two master sergeants, “we’ve got a meeting at 0200 with the CO. I don’t know how far into your cups you are, but they’ve got Soberups at th
e bar.”

  “Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do,” Cory said without rancor as he took another long swallow of his beer.

  “This is what we do, folks. So, enjoy your last two hours, because it’s about time we earned our salaries.”

  VANITY

  Chapter 10

  Esther

  “Mr. Ambassador, I’m Lieutenant Colonel Lysander. We’re here to evacuate you. This is Sergeant Major Lysander, and if you follow him, he’ll take you to the Mount Fuji.”

  The harried looking white-haired gentleman looked up at her from his large, opulent desk as if he didn’t understand. His eyes went from Esther to Noah to the four armed Marines who had accompanied her into his office.

  “Sir, I told you about this. These are the Marines, and they’ll take care of you,” Kirk Fehrenkamp, the deputy chief of mission said.

  “But, I thought the commander is the last to leave,” the ambassador said, his voice wavering.

  “This is a Federation embassy, sir, not an old wet-water Navy ship,” Esther told him, glancing at the DCM.

  He’d met her at the landing pad and explained that even in the best of times, the ambassador could be somewhat “scattered,” was the phrase he’d used. The current situation only exacerbated that condition.

  “It’s time, sir,” the DCM said. “You go, and I’ll take care of the loose ends here.”

  An explosion from off in the near distance rocked the office windows, the sound muffled only somewhat by the embassy’s sturdy construction. The ambassador didn’t seem to notice.

  “We’ve got at least 200 people at the gate now, begging to come in,” Major Ralph Kurtzman, her S3, passed to her on the P2P. “The ones in the rear of the mob are taking sporadic fire.”

  With the ambassador looking right at her, she kept a slight smile on her face as she sub-vocalized, “Our orders remain in place. No one gets in until the embassy and the ambassador are secure.”