Lieutenant Colonel (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 6)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  “Eight o’clock,” Ryck said.

  “Eight?”

  “I’ll be home at eight. And after, we’re going to Swensons for an early birthday celebration,” Ryck told her.

  “Are you sure? But—”

  “But nothing. I’ve got a good staff. What am I supposed to do, sit watching over Justice’s shoulder 24-7? I’m cutting everyone else loose at 1600, to report back at 0300. I think I can spare four hours for my family.”

  A smile broke over Hannah’s face as she said, “They’re going to be so happy about that. And thank you, Ryck.”

  “They are going to be happy? What about you?” he asked while trying to leer into his cam lens.

  A different sort of smile took over her face, as she said, “I’ll show you happy, Ryck, trust me on that.”

  And he would.

  FS DERNE

  Chapter 10

  Ryck’s PA still listed 28 action items. He sighed and placed his nanny face-down on his desk. Even sitting embarked aboard the Derne, waiting, his to-do list constantly grew.

  Waiting. He should be used to it by now, but the hurry-up-and-wait that was imbedded into Marine culture was one aspect he couldn’t stomach. They’d been rushed to move up their deployment only to sit in Babbit Association space for going on three weeks now, a “Sword of Damocles,” as the CG described it, hanging over the five planets. Ryck wondered at the time if the CG even knew what the term meant, that with power, comes responsibility. But maybe he’d been correct. That sword was pointing right at the battalion, right at Ryck. Once again, his Marines were poised to take action against Federation citizens. Ryck didn’t like that one bit, but maybe this was his version of the responsibility in King Dionysius’ lesson to Damocles.

  The Babbit Association was unique within the Federation. One of the earliest settled groups of planets, it included the only double naturally Earth-like planet system in all of human space. All of the five planets were within spitting distance of each other from a galactic scale. Three of the planets: Néa Athí̱na and the double-system planets of Asgard and Biarmaland were firmly Federation. One planet, Hodges Retreat, was a member of the Alliance of Free States, one, Freemantle, was nominally independent, and one, Gaziantep, had two governments: Cennet was in the Federation and Ataturk was independent and essentially a haven for the mammoth IGA Corporation.

  The association was strictly economical. More than 150 years earlier, while the Federation was in one of its periodic troughs, Clyde Babbit, the governor of Asgard, pushed and cajoled the other governments to form a free trade and mutual cooperation zone. The Association of Economic Prosperity became known as the Babbit Association upon his death some 40 years later. His vision, though, lived on in the tremendous economic might amassed by the five planets. Ryck knew that their reliance on each other was a bone in the craw of the Federation, which wanted more reliance and loyalty on the central government, but might makes right, even if the “might” in this case was in universal credits rather than battleships and battalions.

  At the moment, though, there were cracks forming in the association. IGA was heavily entrenched within the association, using the Ataturk puppet government to enjoy huge tax breaks that it didn’t anywhere else. Where companies on the other Federation planets and Cennet had to pay the kings’ gold in corporate taxes to the Federation, IGA essentially paid none, making its products less expensive to market. Asgard, Biarmaland, and Cennet had finally taken issue and wanted to suspend IGA’s special status. IGA had lots of friends in high places in both the Federation and the Alliance, though, and that was enough to delay any decision.

  In the midst of all of this, Cennet had hired a battalion of the Saint Regis Brigade, which was within their rights under the Universal Charter, but something the Federation frowned upon. The central government wanted to provide all necessary security throughout the Federation with the Navy, Marines, and FCDC.

  The Federation obviously hoped that the appearance of the newly commissioned FS Derne with an embarked battalion would either calm things down at best or cow the participants into standing down at worst. This had happened with Ryck when he was a company commander with 1/11 orbiting off PPL-7. It would probably happen here, he knew, but he thought that was a waste of the assault battalion potential. Heck, an empty ship in orbit would have the same deterrence effect.

  Besides, whose side were they on? It wasn’t clear, and that wasn’t just because someone was holding back the information from the ship and the battalion. Ryck was pretty sure the Federation Council itself didn’t know.

  It was too much for Ryck’s tired brain to contemplate at the moment. His mind was fried, and he needed a break. He checked his watch, which had both GMT and the time back at headquarters on Tarawa. It was too late to call home. Since missing the twins’ birthday party, he’d been more conscientious about calling the family, but he didn’t need to be waking them up on a school night. He considered calling Hannah and waking her up, but he realized that was just his depressed mood seeking a compassionate shoulder.

  What about the XO? he thought, perking up. How about that game he told me about?

  There was a new card game popularized by Fabulous Georgie, the shaza pop singer. Ryck wasn’t quite sure how to play lightening, but it had swept through the ship like a wildfire. The XO had tried to explain the rules to Ryck during a break in an intel update, but Ryck knew he had to be sitting with cards in his hands in order for it to sink in.

  He picked up his PA and turned it over.

  Grubbing hell! Thirty-0ne items now? Three added in the last two minutes?

  He hit the XO’s icon.

  The XO quickly answered with a hushed, “Yes, sir. What’s up?”

  “Oh, nothing much. I’ve just been going through my action list and needed a break. I was wondering if you had time to get me up to speed with lightening,” Ryck said.

  There was a pause, longer than Ryck would have expected, but then the XO responded with, “Uh, sure, sir. We’ve just only now sat down to watch Shoot for Your Life, so is it OK if we do that when the flick’s over?”

  “Oh, OK. Yeah, I don’t want to interfere. I’ll just call Sandy to see if he’s free.”

  “Uh, he’s here, too, sir. Most of the officers are. I’ll let him know, though. As soon as it’s over, he or I, or both, can come to your stateroom and show you, if that’s OK.”

  “Oh, no, no. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a lot to do yet, and I only wanted a short break. You enjoy the flick,” Ryck said before cutting the connection.

  All the officers are there? What about me?

  The Derne had an extensive library with over 400 years of holos and flicks, and each stateroom had a small 2D display. But the sailors and Marines tended to congregate in the officers and chief’s messes or the galleys in order to watch on holo platforms or large screens. The socializing aspect was as, if not more, important than the holo or flick being shown.

  As the CO of troops, Ryck had the second largest stateroom on the ship, and that included a 100 cm 2D screen, which was more than large enough to provide a good viewing. He could pull up and watch the same flick in the comfort of his stateroom, which was probably why no one had thought to invite him to see it with the rest of them.

  He hoped that was the reason.

  As both a private and as an NCO, Ryck had been surrounded by his fellow Marines while embarked. Even as a lieutenant and captain, he’d bunked with others, and they ate, exercised, and generally had their BS sessions together. Now, as the battalion commander, he had his own stateroom, and he ate at the first sitting with the ship’s CO. As he thought about it, in three weeks onboard, he hadn’t had much socializing. His interactions with his Marines and the ship’s crew had been mostly official.

  A Lord Commander has no friends,[5] he quoted to himself, only now realizing what it meant.

  Oh, grubbing hell! First I’m contemplating Cicero and the sword, and now I’m quoting 21st Century fantasy writers? Boo-fucking-hoo! Jeez,
get a grip. Guys would give their left nut to be a Marine battalion commander!

  He shook his head and laughed out-loud. He has the best job in the Marine Corps if not the entire Federation. Only forty-seven other Marines were so honored at the moment, out of 25 billion souls in the Federation, and Ryck was going to grab his opportunity and seize the day.

  Carpe diem, mother-grubbers!

  He looked at his PA and then turned it over. Thirty-two items now.

  No rest for the wicked, he thought as he keyed in the highest priority item, a request from division for an update on the power plant leakage on Wolfpack-7, the “Sheena.”

  With a quick swipe of his finger, he forwarded that to the S4 with a cc to Captain Cristophe and CWO4 Barnhouse.

  Action passed is action completed, he thought, his third homily in less than 20 seconds. One down, 31 to go.

  GAZIANTEP

  Chapter 11

  “Sir?” Ryck asked Captain Kaʻanāʻanā, the Derne’s Commanding officer, as they approached the hatch to the wardroom.

  “After you, Colonel,” Captain “K” said, one arm held out for Ryck to preceded him.

  Ryck nodded and opened the hatch, calling out “Attention on deck!”

  The assembled staff and officers from both the Derne and the battalion came to their feet as Ryck, Captain K, and Mr. Karadag entered the wardroom. As with all Falklands Class Integrated Assault Transports, there was no real working conference room, so the officers’ wardroom pulled double duty as a mess and a meeting space.

  “Be seated,” CAPT K said as he entered.

  Together with the other two men, he moved to the head of the main table and took a seat.

  He slowly looked around at the gathered men, then simply said, “It’s Gaziantep.”

  “I knew it,” Chris Attleman said, turning to Eric Koske to give his fellow company commander a high five. “We’re going to kick some Ataturk ass. You owe me ten.”

  He probably hadn’t intended for everyone to hear, but the Golf Company commander was a little high-strung, if nothing else, and his voice had a habit of carrying.

  Oh, shit, Ryck thought, shaking his head.

  CAPT K locked his eyes on Ryck’s young captain, then said, “I would like to introduce you to Mr. Karadag, the Ataturk liaison for the mission.”

  Dead silence came over the wardroom as Attleman looked suitably shocked. Ryck knew the brash captain was mortified and didn’t know what to say. The guy let his ass speak before his brain engaged too often, but Ryck understood his mistake. Ryck had been rather shocked himself when he’d gotten the heads up only 15 minutes earlier.

  Ataturk was technically an independent nation, albeit with the mighty IGA really in charge. It was not in the Federation. Cennet, on the other hand, was a member of the Federation. For the Marines to land in support of Ataturk was somewhat unprecedented. Ryck didn’t know if IGA, which was incorporated back on Earth and so was subject to Federation regulations, was just that powerful, or if this was the Federation’s slap on the wrist for Cennet hiring the St. Regis battalion.

  Officially, 2/3 was deploying to ensure that fighting didn’t break out between the two governments, but by them landing in Ataturk, it was clear whose side the battalion was on. In some convoluted way, the Marines were supporting a foreign government against a member of the Federation.

  Ryck glanced at the mural that graced the wardroom bulkhead. The image of Lieutenant Pressley O’Bannon raising the United States flag over the fort in Derne was a seminal moment in the history of the US Marines, the first time the flag had raised over foreign soil. Beyond the two Marines, the USS Argus moved in close to provide support, with Lieutenant Isaac Hull commanding her. The FS Derne had been named for that battle, where the eight Marines and a ragtag group of Greek and tribal mercenaries, supported by the best and brightest of the Navy, had routed the forces of the Bashaw of Tripoli. What most people didn’t remember, though, was that after taking the fort, the diplomats took over and gave up all that the Marines had won, and the allies the Marines and “General” William Eaton had gathered had been abandoned and left to their fates.

  This mission, “Operation Thunderclap,” was complicated enough to end up in a similar trap. If the Marines went in to support Ataturk, and then the Council decided that Cennet had been suitably taken down a notch, things could get messy.

  Ryck hated these kinds of missions. At least with the cappies, as Ryck still tended to refer to the Trinoculars, it was pretty cut and dry. With the SOG, things were even more delineated.

  “. . . as we have been trained to do,” Captain K was finishing up his opening remarks.

  As a full Navy captain, he was in overall command of the operation, but once the Fuzos hit the atmosphere, command shifted to Ryck. At this point, though, it was still CAPT K’s show, and he wanted Ryck’s input. Ryck understood that. Even if the ship was only providing orbital supporting fires, how the battalion did on the ground would reflect on the ship’s CO as well. Ryck was more than willing to take the captain’s and his staff’s input while he and Sandy fine-tuned their own plans.

  Mr. Karadag stood up next and gave a brief welcome-to-Ataturk speech and a thanks for coming to keep the peace. As the Ataturk rep spoke, Ryck looked out over the assembled men. There were no openly hostile looks, but Ryck could tell not too many people were enthused.

  “Gentlemen, we’ve got a mission here,” Ryck said when it was his turn to address the men. “Mr. Karadag was right in that we are first and foremost here to keep the peace. We all hope that is how things go. But don’t forget that we are a combat unit. We’ll leave the negotiations to the diplomats. Our job, when you boil it down, is to react to violence in a professional manner and ensure our Marines and sailors make it back home to Tarawa. And that’s what we are going to do. So, Major Peltier-Aswad, let’s take our contingency plan and develop an operations order that will let us successfully complete the mission. Commander Briggs and his staff with be assisting us. I want a tight, complete ops order by 0800 tomorrow. Our planned debark and landing will commence at 1300. So, let’s get cracking!”

  For the next three hours, the two staffs hammered out the operations order. The order was somewhat unwieldy, which Ryck hated, but most of that consisted of contingencies. How would Cennet react? What would the St. Regis battalion do? This could wind up being much ado about nothing, or it could quickly escalate into full combat. Ryck might not care for how things had shaken out, but he had to be ready for anything.

  Sandy had worked out a pretty good framework, but now it was time to break into groups to discuss and coordinate. Ryck suspected Sandy might not get any sleep during the night, but that kind of came with the billet.

  “Commander Briggs, thank you and your staff for your assistance. The rest of you, let’s break up for now. See to your men and get some chow. Principal staff and commanders only, let’s meet in my stateroom at 2100 for a quick, and I mean quick update session. That is all, men,” Ryck said, dismissing them.

  “Sergeant Major, if you have a moment, please,” he called out as the men started filing out of the wardroom.

  “Sir?” Hecs asked as he came up.

  “I want you to send Çağlar to see me,” Ryck said.

  “You sure? I was going to talk to him,” Hecs said.

  “No, I think I need to see for myself where he’s at,” Ryck responded.

  “Roger that. I’ll have him up in about ten.”

  Ryck grabbed a cup of the brewed coffee that had been free-flowing during the planning session. The Derne had real coffee machines in both the officers’ and chiefs’ messes, which was a nice and much-appreciated luxury. Fabricators had been making coffee since their inception, but there was something about a good Italian coffee maker that just could not be duplicated by any fabricator. His forefinger firmly hooked around his coffee mug handle, he walked right across the passage and into his stateroom.

  He sat down in his chair and leaned back. His mid was swirling, and that was d
angerous. He had to focus on the mission. The politics were way above his pay grade, and to get embroiled in them took his mind off what had to be done.

  Focus, focus, focus!

  A knock on his hatch interrupted his thoughts.

  “Enter!”

  “You wanted to see me, sir?” Sergeant Hans Çağlar asked as he came into Ryck’s stateroom.

  “Yes, pull up a seat, Hans,” Ryck said, indicating the two folding chairs leaning up against the bulkhead.

  Çağlar took one, unfolded it, and sat down on the edge, his body rigid in a sitting position of attention. Çağlar and Ryck had spent a lot of time together, but still, the big sergeant never seemed to relax around him.

  “You know the mission, right?” Ryck asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you have any issue with it?” Ryck probed.

  “No, sir, why should I?”

  Ganziatep was a strange world in many ways. Originally settled by Turkey, the planet kept many of the old customs as if they were the ordained protectors of Turkish culture. Turkish was still widely spoken by the bulk of the populace. The entire planet was originally one government. To help pay for the terraforming debt, the government had granted Skyways Industries a charter to operate in the unpopulated eastern sector of the main land mass. Twenty-six years later, the people who had migrated out to that sector for jobs had voted to secede from Cennet. There was no doubt that Skyways had orchestrated the move, but the Cennet government had honored the vote. Forty years after that, Skyways was taken over in a hostile bid by IGA, and relations between the two members of the Babbit Association grew further apart.

  Hans Çağlar was a citizen of Cennet. He was now assigned to a battalion that was landing on the planet to oppose his own country and support its adversary.