Blood United (The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins Book 5)

by Jonathan Brazee

  Noah had been ignoring his hand, but he couldn’t help glancing at it for a moment. The weirdest thing to him was that there was no pain at all. It was just a useless lump of flesh at the and of his arm.

  “Wish we had a couple of grenades,” Hilborn said.

  “If wishes were gold, we’d all be sitting . . .” Noah started before an idea hit him.

  He leaned forward so that his mouth was close to the hole and shouted out, “Sergeant, get ready with the grenades.”

  Within a few seconds, the torch cut out, and Noah could hear shouts and scrambling on the other side.

  Hilborn smothered a laugh.

  Their reprieve was short, however. Within two minutes, Noah could hear movement, and he fired a ten-round burst through the hole.

  “Very funny in there. Enjoy it while you can, assholes, ‘cause we’re gonna cut your guts out while you watch—”

  The voice cut off with a shriek after Hilborn fired a burst through the hole.

  “I guess he shouldn’t have gotten so cocky,” Noah said.

  The torch started cutting again, turning the corner and starting up. Noah knew the end game was coming. In a few minutes, there would be a good-sized hole in the door, big enough for a man to get through. If he and Hilborn could defend the hole, they might live. If they lost their position, they would die.

  “Short bursts, Hilborn. Don’t waste darts.”

  “I’m ready.”

  With only ten centimeters or so for the cut to be complete, the torch went out.

  “Oh, just get it over with,” Noah said. “Let’s get it on.”

  There was some shouting on the other side, but nothing that Noah could make out. He couldn’t imagine what they’d be discussing. Surely, they already had a plan on what to do once the breach was completed. If they hadn’t figured it out yet, all the better for the two Marines. Better yet would be if they had no plan at all, and just wanted a brawl. He didn’t know how many men were out there, but if they were a mob, he and Hilborn had a much better chance of pulling it off.

  Finally, the commotion on the other side seemed to die off, and the torch started up again. Just before the cut was completed, Noah, his nerves on edge, fired a five-round burst through the hole.

  The torch immediately cut off and a voice shouted, “Cease fire! Cease fire!”

  Noah looked up and Hilborn, confused.

  Why would I cease fire?

  In a much clearer voice, as if someone had their mouth close to the round hole cut earlier, a woman’s voice said, “Cease fire in there. Who are you?”

  Noah looked at Hilborn again and shrugged before saying, “I’m Sergeant Major Noah Lysander, United Federation Marine Corps. And who the grubbing hell are you?”

  “I’m Security Specialist Six Anneka Larsen, Fortuna Station. We’re here to help you, so if you don’t mind, can you not fire on us?”

  “Oh, thank God,” Jackson said from behind them, but Noah wanted more proof than someone simply making claims.”

  “How about some proof of that?” he asked.

  There was a pause, then something was pushed through the hole to fall on the deck. Noah resisted the initial urge to dive out of the way and instead picked up the object. It was a badge for the Fortuna Station Security Force, #4117. He tossed the badge to Hilborn, who looked at it, shrugged, and tossed it back to him.

  It looked real, but even if it was, that didn’t prove that those outside the hatch were security. Still, it made sense.

  “Cover the hatch,” he told Hilborn. “If this is a trap, you waste them and get this hatch closed.

  Noah reached up, and with only the slightest hesitation, hit the hatch release. With barely a whisper, the door opened to six people in blue uniforms. Three bodies in civilian clothes (whether alive or dead, Noah didn’t know) were on the deck. Another three people were sitting alongside the bulkhead, looking morose, hands zip-tied behind them.

  “Sergeant Major, we’re glad to find you alive,” a short-haired woman in uniform said.

  “Not half as glad as we are,” Noah replied. “And if you don’t mind, we’d really like to get off this garbage scow.”

  FS MOUNT FUJI

  Chapter 17

  Esther

  “So, what have you decided about your hand?” Esther asked her twin.

  Noah held up his arm, then rotated it, looking at his fingers. The hand had not been as badly injured as they’d first thought. The ship’s surgeon told them that the disrupter blast had hit the knuckles of his right hand as he’d held his M90 out to the side to fire. Those three fingers were lost, and his forefinger damaged. He should be fine to go through regen, but that would take anywhere from six months to a year, depending on how well his body took to it. And that would mean Noah would have to be detached from the battalion.

  “I’m thinking prosthetics. Doc says he can get externals shipped here, and I can use them to get around until after we get off the deployment.”

  Esther felt a rush of relief. She knew she should be concerned with her brother and his health, but she also wanted—no, needed—him with her. External prostheses were not the long-term solution, but he should be able to perform his duties without much of a problem.

  “Thank you,” she said, feeling that she should say something more, but not quite knowing what. This was just one more time where Noah had her back.

  “I’ve gone over the reports and watched the recordings,” she said, changing the subject. “You performed well, not that I expected anything less. I’m putting Hilborn up for a Bronze Star and Tenine for a BC1. Captain Peaslee’s being nominated for a Legion of Merit.”

  She waited for the next question, but instead of what she expected, Noah asked, “What about the chief?”

  “Not my call. Not General Lace-Reimer’s call. Commander Anderson told me he thinks Chief Bostick’s being put in for a Bronze Star.”

  Noah nodded, then said, “He was a good man. Just got caught in the wrong place.”

  Esther waited a few more moments, and when Noah didn’t say anything else, she said, “I can’t put you in for anything, you know. I mean, you’ll get your Purple Heart, but I can’t put you in for a medal.”

  “Article 4004.2b,” Noah said.

  Of course, he would look that up. Why am I not surprised?

  Article 4004.2b for the UCMJ prohibited award recommendations made by relatives. It was an old change to the regs, from back 200 years when nepotism reigned within the Navy and, to an extent, the Corps. But the reg was still on the books.

  “I thought Commander Anderson could put you up for something, but as your deployed commanding officer, it has to be me. I’m sorry about that.”

  If he was bothered by the slight, he didn’t show it. “No big deal, Ess. I just did my job.”

  “You deserve something, though. You really did well. There’s no doubt in my mind that you saved your group.”

  “Except for the chief.”

  “Yes, except for him. But you saved the rest. It was a very, very close thing, you know.”

  And it had been close. Another six minutes, and the violent passengers would have broken in, and Esther had no doubt as to what they would have done. Noah had delayed them just long enough for the security team to reach them.

  On the bridge, it had never gotten that close. It was much more secure, and Captain Peaslee had been able to seal it off. But even with the bridge secure, if engineering had fallen, the ship could have been rerouted to wherever the rioting passengers wanted to take it. Without question, Noah had saved the ship and countless lives. As it was, over 300 people had been killed in the violence.

  “I just, well, I wish I could put you up for something.”

  “Ess, don’t worry about it. I don’t care.”

  Esther wondered if that was true. A long-ago general, Napoleon Bonaparte, had once said of awards, “A soldier will fight long and hard for a bit of colored ribbon.” But if anyone didn’t care about awards, it would be her brother.

>   “Well, I just wanted you to know how I felt, Noah. And now, we need to start thinking about the advance party. I’m sending Captain Tranh to lead it. When we pull into Friesland, he’ll return with his party by commercial liner. Do you want to be on it? I mean, you can get a head start on your permanent prosthetics.”

  “What, and miss Friesland?” Noah said with a laugh. “No, I’ll stick around, I think, and return with the main body. You can’t get rid of me that easily, Ess.”

  “Kind of a waste, though, isn’t it? All the fine Friesland beer, and you don’t even drink?” Esther said, glad they’d moved beyond awards and into their sibling give-and-take, just like when they were kids.

  “There’s lots more to Friesland than beer, sister dear. And I’ve never been there. We’ve got six days there, right? And I intend on enjoying all six of them.”

  “OK, you win. You’ll come back with the main body. But who’re we going to send to assist Tranh?” she asked, getting back to the business of commanding the battalion.

  “I’m thinking Top Reston. He’s got a new daughter who he’s anxious to meet, and he’d be up to the task.”

  “Reston? OK, I can accept that,” Esther said. “But I want the rest identified, too. We’ve got two more weeks before Friesland, and a lot to get done. I’d like your recommendations by COB so I can run them by the XO and Three.”

  And just like that, Noah was all business as the two of them planned the battalion’s return.

  LAST STOP

  Chapter 18

  Noah

  “I still don’t know why you don’t go to Tarawa,” Esther said as he pulled to a stop outside of the terminal. “It’s free leave, Noah.”

  He had thought about going to Tarawa during the post-deployment leave, but in the end, with Major Howard getting promoted and his wetting down, he didn’t want to interfere as the family celebrated that.

  “I told you, Ess, I need to get used to Three Musketeers,” he said, the excuse he’d decided to use.

  He tapped the fingers on the hover dash, making a hollow sound. The “Three Musketeers,” as he’d started calling the fingers and half a hand, had been ready by the time they’d returned. It had taken just two hours to amputate the dead fingers and replace them with state-of-the-art prosthetics. Within another four hours, they were part of him. He was still learning some of the finer feedback impulses, and that would take time, but as far as using them, it was as if he’d had them all his life. He’d planned on going through regen after his tour with the battalion was over, but now he was considering skipping regen and just sticking with the robo-fingers.

  Their father had gone through regen, and he’d been one of the unlucky ones to contract the Brick, the Boosted Regeneration Cancer. The research leaned to the fact that genetics didn’t have much to do with contracting the Brick, but Noah wasn’t sure about that. If he didn’t need regeneration at all, all the better.

  “OK, but I feel bad that you’re going to be all alone with a ghost battalion.”

  “Don’t worry about me. There’ll be plenty to do. We’ve got Valiant Tension coming up, and I can start the planning.”

  “That’s in five months, Noah. There’ll be time to get ready for that.”

  “Never too early, Ess. But look, you need to catch your shuttle. You and Jim, you have a good time, even if I don’t have a clue as to why you’re doing this. I mean, you’re going to dive with them by choice? Isn’t being a Marine dangerous enough?”

  “They said they only lose one diver per dive, so all I have to do is swim faster than the next slowest diver.”

  Noah shook his head, refusing to laugh. It was an old line, probably going back to Babylonian times, but it was so Esther. He got out of the hover and walked back to the trunk, taking out Esther’s bag.

  “Look, you have a good time, clear your head, and get back here ready to work. I’ll mind the fort while you’re gone.”

  She turned on the bag’s Follow Me and looked up as if to say something. Instead, she reached out and pulled him into a hug, much to his surprise. He hesitated only a moment before he put his arms around her and squeezed.

  “Try and have some fun during the break, little bro,” she whispered into his ear.

  “I will, and you, too, sis,” he replied.

  They hugged for a few more moments before Esther pushed him away, quickly brushing what looked to be a tear from her eye.

  “Take care of yourself,” she said.

  “I’m not the one who’s paying to flirt with danger, Ess. You take care of yourself.”

  He watched her walk off to ticketing, her bag trundling behind her.

  “Sir, this is a loading and unloading zone only. Please move your vehicle,” a spaceport auto concierge said as it rolled up beside him.

  “I’m on my way,” he said, looking back to catch another glimpse of Esther, but she was already lost in the crowd.

  The concierge waited until Noah was in his hover and pulled it out before it went off to search for other transgressors.

  Now, what the heck am I going to do for the next two weeks? he wondered as he drove out of the spaceport.

  EARTH

  Chapter 19

  Esther

  Esther hovered at the edge of the Monad Shoal as the water began to lighten. She peered into the darker water of the deep ocean, straining to pick up signs of motion. A few fish swam by, oblivious to her, but she ignored them.

  And then suddenly, as if beamed in by a Hollybolly transporter, the shark was there, big and menacing, its fins out as it postured. Esther gulped in shock, her air gauge momentarily flashing red until the auxiliary tank gave her curtain a shot of O2.

  Subconsciously, she reached to her side, piercing Jim’s curtain and taking his hand in hers, comforted by the feel of his warm grip.

  “Freeze, divers, freeze,” Jojo, their divemaster said.

  The big thresher swam to within ten meters of the group of five divers before it gracefully turned and swam along the contour of the reef. At the resort the day before, Kayee, the head divemaster, had briefed them that the local threshers were one of the few breeds of endothermic sharks, that is, they are capable of creating their own body heat. That hadn’t meant much to Esther, but seeing how quickly and fluidly the shark moved, she appreciated that biological tidbit.

  Esther hadn’t been overly keen on making the trip to Malapascua, a tiny island off the coast of Cebu in the Philippines. But Jim, as usual, wanted to explore Earth. Their first official date had been to celebrate the Songkran water festival in Thailand. Their next leave together had been to the Holi Festival in Maharashtra, India (they still said “Holi re Holi puranachi poli” to each other, which meant something like “Holi, Holi, sweet bread,” when they went to Sweet Doughnuts for a guilty snack). A year later, it was the rather eye-opening Kanamara Penis Festival in Kawasaki, and Esther had been given the “honor” of being one of the penis riders, straddling the huge wooden phallus as it plummeted down the hill. Two years ago, it had been the Mud Crab Festival in Bali.

  The resurgence in traditional festivals throughout human space was part cultural, part money-making, and Jim drank it all in. When he proposed the shark dive for her post-deployment leave, she had hesitated. A spa on Gideon seemed much more relaxing, but he’d been so excited that she’d agreed.

  And now, as she watched the shark disappear from sight, she was glad she’d done it.

  The tiny island, just two kilometers long, embraced the past. Esther could imagine the Filipinos of the Twenty-second Century living in the exact same way. But the prime draw of Malapascua was the threshers. Very limited numbers of heavily regulated divers were allowed at the shoal each dawn, where, for probably millions of years, thresher sharks swam up from the deep to cleaning stations manned by small fish. Esther had been frustrated by all the rules: don’t touch the bottom, keep your hands clasped at all times, don’t approach a shark, no flash photography, stay with the divemaster, no venting of the airsuits, no attempts to j
oin the “30-Meter Deep Club,” and a hundred other rules. Esther felt that they were being caged in the water for the sharks’ pleasure, not the other way around.

  Then there was the hullabaloo about her qualifications. At anything over 25 meters, a diver had to be Class C certified. Jim, of course, had ocean diving as one of his many skills, and he was E certified. Esther was a military diver, which was easily as advanced as an E-cert, but she didn’t have a civilian qualification. Kayee had to clear Esther with the UAM Environmental Proctor before she was allowed to dive.

  Yes, UAM. Malapascua, which was in the Federation, was run by the United Assembly of Man as a “Biological Protection Zone.” Here, on Earth, in the Federation, Esther had to get permission from a UAM flunky. It didn’t seem right.

  As a military diver, her dive gear was designed for long periods underwater. It was basic, sturdy, and foolproof. They didn’t use airsuits, which were fine for casual civilian dives but were not robust enough for military use. When given her airsuit the previous afternoon for their check-off dive, she’d no idea how to actually don it. After arguing with the UAM idiot for 30 minutes that she was an experienced diver, she wasn’t about to ask for help. By watching the others don their suits, she figured it out. It felt weird, though, as if she was simply wearing her bikini as the four divers and Jojo waded out into the house reef. She’d even held her breath as her head went under, but the suit worked, surrounding her with a layer of air. The suit generator at the small of her back powered the curtain and extracted O2 directly from the water. The tiny high-compression tank supplemented the O2 when needed. The depth control kept her hovering a meter above the bottom—but Jojo had override capability. Bother a shark or break any of the rules, and she’d be rising to the surface whether she wanted to or not.

  For the next hour, the five swam along the edge of the shoal. Six other groups from other resorts were in the water as well, but Esther ignored them. Seven more sharks made appearances, swimming in like ancient ghosts before fading away from sight.