Truthtellers labeled the action as a Marine invasion, but reading between the lines, Ryck could see that Third Battalion, Ninth Marines had secured the two main spaceports for the FCDC to land unopposed. It was the fuckdicks who were taking over and breaking the protests.
So much for always telling the truth, Truthtellers, Ryck thought to himself, but as an aside.
While he was relieved that the Marines were not out there killing citizens, the fact that any Federation troops were there made him sick to his stomach. He’d been aware that there had been increased disillusionment on Ellison (and other worlds) as the Federation declared martial law in response to the Klethos threat, and that there had been protests. But he had not been aware that it was this bad.
“What do you think?” Hannah asked, sitting down on one of the chairs.
“I don’t know. I . . . I just . . . Hell, what the heck’s going on? We’ve got the Klethos on our doorstep, and we’re doing this?”
“The government says they had to move in because of the Klethos threat,” she countered. “They say we cannot have any interruption to the war effort.”
“And you believe that?”
“No, not really. I think they be taking advantage of the situation,” she relented. “Ellison has always been a thorn in their side.”
Which was putting it mildly. The Marines themselves had landed on Ellison not 60 years before, and the carnage was one of the darkest blotches on the history of the Corps. Ellison had never forgotten that history, and while still a member of the Federation, the planet took pride in being a voice of opposition to the central government. The central government was not welcomed, nor were most of the big multi-system corporations.
The Truthteller feed just updated, changing the casualty count to 15,000. Ryck placed his PA on his desk, face down. He didn’t want to see it anymore.
Despite his bloodlines, Ryck didn’t have much of a connection with Ellison. He didn’t know many people from the planet. His brother, who had abandoned Lysa and him after their father died, might be alive out there somewhere. David Kyser, who had attacked the Klethos on Tri-30, earning a posthumous Navy Cross, had been one of the few Ellison natives that Ryck had known who had enlisted in the Marines.
There was one Ellison native who still haunted his dreams, though. Caporal-chef Coltrain Meyers, the Legionnaire who on Weyerhaeuser 23 had invited Ryck to share a beer with him sometime and who Ryck had killed with his bare hands the next day, had evolved over the years from an accusing spirit to almost a kindred one.
If only for Meyers’ memory, Ryck felt deflated and depressed. He didn’t know if whatever had been taking place on Ellison had really been affecting the ramp-up for war, but he did know that he was ashamed of the Federation, his Federation, the government for whom he worked and to whom he’d sworn an oath. For a moment, it almost overwhelmed him, and he felt a sudden urge to chuck it all, to resign.
“You be OK?” Hannah’s question cut through his thoughts.
He looked up at his wife, gathering himself. As much as he hated to admit it, whatever was happening on Ellison was a minor blip on what was facing mankind. The Klethos could be the single most dangerous threat ever experienced by the human race. Given what was happening to the capys, mankind could be facing extermination. It was that serious.
If Ryck resigned, then what? What good what that do? Someone else would step in and take over the brigade, someone who was not as capable of leading it into battle.
He wasn’t even sure they would let him resign. There was the little issue of the capys insisting on Ryck being their point of contact. The Mathis had evolved into a naval command post, with capys and humans on board, but for ground operations, Ryck was still the focal point between the two races.
“Yes, I’m OK,” he told her. “Let me get back to my after-action report. I’ll be late again, but I’ll see you at home around 2000, OK?”
She looked at him for a moment, then nodded and left the office.
He watched her go. Then, with a silent apology to his parents, to David Kyser, and to Coltrain, he simply turned back to his task at hand.
GREATER PIEDMONT
Chapter 24
Lieutenant Colonel Bryce Fukoka was on the podium, extolling the history of the Gregorian Marines, the patron unit of his Third Battalion, Fourteenth Marines.
The Gregorian Marines were the junior-most patron of the Federation Marine Corps, having been formed only 14 years before the formation of the Federation. They had fought exactly one engagement during their short existence, but of course, it was one of the pivotal moments in time, where if not for the efforts of a few brave men and women, history would be changed.
During the Consolidation, the “Peacekeepers” not only managed to take over the Bastion Army’s nuclear armory, they also held it against the full and furious New Day onslaught for four days until the combined Russian, British, Indian, and Kiplinger forces could relieve them. Six-hundred-and-twelve Gregorian Marines assaulted the armory. Twenty-two Marines emerged from the rubble when the Earth forces broke the counterattack and rescued them.
When the New Day was defeated, the rest of humanity discovered that the intent of their assault on the Bastion Armory was to seize the six planet buster bombs there, bombs that no one—other than the Bastian government—even knew existed. The target for those bombs had been Mother Earth itself.
The fallout from all of this formed the very system in place to this day. Earth had come close to being destroyed, and no one had realized the threat until it was almost too late. The Federation was formed so that could never happen again. It was a too pat solution, though, given the vast diversity of humanity. The Confederation of Free States soon broke away, followed by the Brotherhood and Greater France. There were more shifts to and from until the muddied mess that now ruled human space evolved. But none of that would have happened without the Gregorian Marines and the Battle of The Bastion Armory.
It was a good story, one every modern Marine knew by heart, but Bryce was doing a credible job of retelling it. Ryck sat back in his folding chair, letting it just sink in. It was not lost on him that possibly soon, there would be another one of those pivotal moments in history, and this time, he could be part of it.
Ryck looked out over the field where the brigade was gathered, and pride filled his soul. These were good men, and together they formed a magnificent fighting team. They’d been sent to Greater Piedmont, a mostly empty world in the Confederation, to continue to train. Clouds were gathering on the horizon, and it looked like a conflict was imminent.
And it was about time. Ryck did not wish for a fight with the Klethos. There was too much unknown about them, and that could spell disaster for humanity. But if a fight was coming, he wanted it soon. His brigade, and the other two brigades as well, were finely tuned and ready to go. Any more delay and that degree of sharpness would begin to fade. They would lose their edge. At some point, the entire cycle would have to begin again, training up new forces to take their place.
And for a personal reason, if Ryck was going to be involved, that had to happen soon. He was running out of time. Still unbeknownst to anyone else, his cancer was spreading. He’d bought a bio-scanner on the black market, then gotten it hacked and shielded so it was pretty much undetectable to anyone not specifically searching for it. His nanos were fighting a losing battle, and if he was going to get treatment, it really had to begin within a few weeks.
He knew what he had to do. He didn’t think anyone was ready to take over for him. But if he were incapacitated, he couldn’t command. It was that simple.
Having the patron day celebration was a godsend. It gave all the Marines in the brigade, not just those in 3/14, a chance to unwind. And when Sergeant Major Ullovitch and Lieutenant Colonel Fukoka had approached him with the idea of having the patron day celebration in the field, in their skins and immediately following a 30 km hump, Ryck had readily agreed, making it a brigade function, not just a battalion one.
&nb
sp; Ryck leaned back in his folding chair, the legs digging into the soft soil and almost tipping over.
“Easy, there, Colonel,” Hecs said, reaching out to keep him from falling.
Hecs was now the brigade sergeant major, having left the Fuzos. With Hecs on one side, Jorge on the other, and with Çağlar’s ever-protective eyes on him, Ryck felt at ease, surrounded by friends. It was with a twinge of regret that he looked to his left where the Fuzos were assembled, Lieutenant Colonel Sandy Peletier-Aswad commanding. The deep friendship between the two Marines had suffered. There was no difference on the surface. Sandy was as professional as ever, and in social occasions, he made polite with remarks about Hannah and the kids or sports gossip. But something was missing, and that caused a rift in Ryck’s heart. Their friendship had suffered due to their command relationship.
Sandy had become a better commander, though. That was obvious. And that was the important thing. Maybe, after all of this was over, the friendship could be re-kindled. He hoped so.
Lieutenant Colonel Fukoka finished his speech to the loud and thunderous “ooh-rahs” from the gathered Marines and sailors. More than a few of the men were probably a bit drunk. Breaking tradition, the bar had been opened before the ceremonies were completed. But this was not a normal Patron Day celebration. There were no civilian guests, and Ryck was the senior officer present. Instead of a fine meal, the same ghost shit Marines ate while in a PICS was served. They weren’t even inside a building, but out in a grassy field. So the bar had been opened before the cake, before the toasts. And if a few Marines were already in their cups, if a few had taken to relieving themselves under the table and onto the grass, no one bothered to notice.
Some traditions could not be broken, though. Martin Ekema, now a gunny, who Ryck had snatched into the brigade headquarters from 2/3, had somehow come up with a tremendous birthday cake. An honor guard of Marines marched the cake up to the head table, and Master Gunnery Sergeant Silas Brightness and Private Yancy Eithan were called forward as the oldest and youngest Marines in 3/14. Brightness was given the first piece of cake while Eithan the second. Ryck, as the guest of honor, got the third, but as the senior Marine, he felt uncomfortable taking a bite until all the Marines and sailors were served, so he just placed it on the table to wait.
With an entire brigade to feed and no civilian staff, Ekema was hopping, having drafted some 50 Marines to assist. In the meantime, Lieutenant Colonel Fukoka called for the Drum Corps commander to begin the beating.
Ryck sat up higher in his chair, which was sinking unevenly into the loam. He wanted to see this. As was becoming more and more common, Drum Corps beatings were employing Marines in PICS for both drumming and the accompanying dancing. Ryck had first seen this on Sierra Dorado as the company commander with Charlie 1/11. That was still his all-time favorite Patron Day celebration, but he enjoyed all of them, and he eagerly looked forward to seeing what 3/14 had in store for them.
And he wasn’t disappointed. If the beat of the drums were not as loud out in the open air, that didn’t matter. The corps made up for that with exuberance, and the PICS, the PICS! They were amazing. Ryck liked to occasionally—and secretly—practice in his PICS, trying to master some of the moves he’d seen before, but these Marines (and one sailor) went beyond what he thought a combat suit could do. Twirling, jumping, even a straight-legged somersault, they took Ryck’s breath away. When they finally finished with a crescendo of drums and intricate moves, Ryck jumped up, cheering himself hoarse.
As he thrust his fist into the air, the sharp stab of pain in his shoulder brought him back down to earth, though. He quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed him flinch, but everyone was cheering, even the taciturn Çağlar.
An unwelcome thought forced itself into his consciousness. Would this be Ryck’s last such celebration? What if the cancer won? But more than that. Would it be everyone’s last celebration? A year from now, would there be a Marine Corps to celebrate!
“Some show, huh?” Hecs asked, hands clapping.
“Yeah, Hecs, some show.”
Chapter 25
“Well, we could try our old reliable,” Hecs said.
“Reliable?” Jorge asked.
“He’s referring to a field day. Let the men burn off some steam with battleball and a barbecue, if Ekema can pull the food part of it off,” Ryck answered.
The Marines were ready, and Ryck was even more concerned about them losing their edge. There was only so much they could do at this tempo in a training environment. Every day, fights were breaking out, the majority of them for the most picayune of reasons.
Both Lieutenant Colonels Fukoka and Lu Wan, who had been given 3/5 when Sandy had been confirmed as the permanent commanding officer for 2/3 (and who had been assigned to the brigade in what Ryck was sure was a pissed off colonel’s monitor in a snit directed at Ryck) had asked to cut back on the training tempo. But less time training also meant more time sitting around camp, and that mean more bored Marines who could get into more trouble.
The brigade had been scheduled to return to Tarawa two weeks earlier, but they had been extended on Great Piedmont twice now, which could be a sign of impending action. Ryck had given himself a deadline of ten days ago to give up his command to get treatment, but the knowledge that they could deploy any moment now held his hand.
“I could do it,” a voice said from the tent flap.
“As I live and breathe, Master Gunnery Sergeant Samuelson!” Hecs said. “They let you out of the brig?”
“I promised good behavior, Sergeant Major,” Sams said, stepping in to hug and pound Hecs’ shoulders.
“Good to see you, Sams,” Ryck said, hand out to shake. “I thought you were waiting back on Tarawa.”
Sams’ regen, his second, had a few hiccups and had taken longer to complete. Ryck had pulled his usual strings to get Sams assigned to the brigade staff, and his regen done, Sams had been waiting for the brigade to return. With the brigade delayed on Greater Piedmont, evidently Sams had taken matters into his own hand.
“I couldn’t leave you all alone out here, so I hitched a ride with General Mbanefo,” Sams said as calmly as if he was talking about catching an autocab.
“The commandant’s here? On Piedmont?” Ryck and Jorge said, both men jumping up.
“Yeah, I figured you knew that. He’s with General Bolivar at Camp Fauston or Faxton or whatever you call it.”
“Fauxon,” Ryck corrected automatically. “And no, we didn’t know.”
Camp Fauxon was the name of the temporary bivouac for the ground force commander and the Second Marine Brigade. It was located some 120 km to the northwest of Camp Kyser, the temporary bivouac for the First Marine Brigade. Ryck knew the commandant could be just making the rounds, but his warrior sense told him that something was up. He wanted to call up Hasting Johns, the Second Brigade CO to see if he had any scoop. But he withheld, knowing Hasting was probably shitting bricks with the commandant there. He’d find out soon enough.
As if on cue, his PA buzzed. He looked down at the message before turning to the other three.
“Sams, welcome aboard, and get your kit. Jorge, get the commanders ready for a brief when I get back. Hecs, you and I are being summoned. Let’s go see what’s up.”
Chapter 26
Ryck and Hecs were rushed into the briefing tent by an armed corporal. More armed Marines and a handful of civilians with that bodyguard look were inside, which struck Ryck as odd. That the civilians physically searched him seemed even odder and more than a bit insulting, to be honest.
Both Marines took their places in the front row. Ryck nodded to Hasting and Kjartan Snæbjörnsson, his old operations officer in 2/11 and now a fellow brigade commander. On either side of them were commanders of no less than half of the ground force, all the units who had been training on the planet.
“Do you know what’s up?” Ryck whispered to Hastings.
“It’s go time,” Hasting whispered back, before hushing Ryck from
asking anything else as the commandant and ground force commander walked in, preceded by yet four more mean-looking, no-nonsense civilians.
Have things deteriorated so much that the commandant needs civvie bodyguards? Ryck wondered before the commandant began his address to the assembled men.
“Gentlemen . . . and lady,” he said, belatedly including the single female in the tent, a liaison major from New Budapest. “Two hours ago, just before we arrived in what was simply to be a quick visit and look at the troops, we received word of a Klethos landing on Roggeri’s World.”
There was a collective intake of breath from the gathered people.
“For those of you who are not familiar with it, Roggeri’s World is in the Confederation. Confederation pickets were in position, but they did not detect the manner of the Klethos arrival. All we know is that the Klethos have landed in force. There is a division of the Confederation Army in place to supplement two divisions of the local militia, but as of the moment, there has been no outbreak of fighting.
“Colonel Dryson,” the commandant said, looking straight at the senior Confederation officer serving on Lieutenant General Bolivar’s staff, “let me assure you that this is not a Klethos assault on the Confederation of Free States. This is an assault on mankind, and our chairman has ordered me to pass to you that we in the Federation will honor our pledge to you, to all of mankind, to join in rebuffing the Klethos invasion.
“The order to kick off Quail Hunt will be issued momentarily from Admiral Parks as soon as all the governments officially authorize it. But we don’t have to wait. The Federation Navy has just deployed and will move capital ships into Confederation space as soon as Admiral Parks gives the order, but the Confed government has authorized the troop transports to begin embarking those of the task force here on Greater Piedmont. Needless to say, time is of the essence. All of your commands are being given the orders now, and you will be released to join your units soon. First, though, Lieutenant General Bolivar has a few things to pass. General?”
Colonel (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 7) Page 15
