Sergeant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 2)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  Thankfully, The Brotherhood had declared its neutrality. Their Navy could match the Federation’s, and their Army was much larger than the Federation’s Marines.

  “This will all be over soon, and I’ll be back for I-Day, just like I promised,” he told her.

  She looked at him with a small frown causing her forehead to wrinkle up.

  “How do you know that? I be wanting that more than you can imagine, and I’ve prayed for your safety, but the news is . . .”

  Ryck held up a finger to silence her. He didn’t want the conversation cut off.

  “So, Lysa says you’ve been accepted for the Ph.D. program? I thought you said you didn’t have a chance,” he said, trying to change the subject.

  She sighed, then took the hint.

  “I guess I just wowed them with my proposal. You know me, Miss Sunshine,” she said, her demeanor anything but sunshiny.

  “I knew you would. You are the most capable woman I’ve ever met. No, the most capable person,” he said.

  It was true, he realized. The two of them had gotten quite close since Joshua’s wedding, and despite his protestations to his friends, he was thinking about a future together with her. If she would take him, he constantly reminded himself. He was proud of being a Marine, but he was hardly in her class. Extremely intelligent, athletic, and very personable, she could have whomever she wanted. It amazed him that she seemed attached to a dumb grunt.

  “Quit the sugar-mouth, Ryck, always thinking you can sweet-talk me,” she said, but Ryck could see her soften up. She always protested his compliments, but Ryck thought she secretly liked them.

  “OK, then get this. I’m getting better at Five. I challenge you to a best two out of three as soon as I get back.”

  “Hah! You be dreaming if you think you can beat me. I accept, and I be spotting you five points per game. Deal?” she asked, her smile making a return.

  Ryck, the big tough Marine, had suffered a humiliating defeat to Hannah on the Five court. She didn’t have his strength, but she had a knack for putting the small ball to where he had to lunge and struggle just to reach it. It was all in good fun, but Ryck’s competitive nature had risen, and he had kept playing whenever he could, trying to get better. Truthfully, he still might not be able to beat her, but at least he could make a better showing at it.

  “I don’t need your points — ” he began when the connection was cut.

  What? I didn’t say anything, he thought.

  “All hands, report to your stations. This is not a drill,” came over the 1MC.

  “Stations” was not “battle stations.” For Marines, that meant go to their berthing decks and staying there, out of the way of the sailors. “Battle stations” meant going to their ancillary hangar and combat up as ordered.

  Ryck joined the 20 or so sailors and Marines who had been camming. This was the smallest cam center with only 25 consoles, but because it was smaller, not as many people used it, and the wait to get on was usually not as lengthy. It was a long way to the Marine berthing, though, so Ryck and two other Marines had to dodge sailors rushing to their stations and they made their way slowly across the bulk of the ship. The Marines always gave way—the sailors had jobs to do, while the Marines’ job was to stay out of the way.

  Ryck was the last one to reach their compartment. He hit his thumb on the register, and the report went up. Golf Company, Third Platoon, was present and accounted for.

  The entire platoon, minus the lieutenant and SSgt Hecs, was berthed in the compartment. The NCOs had partitioned off the far end of the space, but with bunks four high, it was rather crowded.

  Ryck made his way down through the other Marines, pulling back the curtain to the NCO’s quarters.

  “Son of Cain, Sams, you stink like rotten ass!” he exclaimed as he sat pulled himself into his rack.

  “Can’t help it none if we get stations while I’m in the gym. Which reminds me, where were you? You promised to meet us there.”

  “Got held up. There wasn’t a line at the cam shop, so I took advantage of it . . .”

  “. . . to call your Hannah, yeah, we figured,” Sams interrupted. “You are seriously PW’d

  [20], my man, seriously.”

  Ryck was about to retort when the vid screens lit up. While there were real holos in the ship’s lounges, space in berthing was limited, and there were only two-dimensional screens installed for the Marines.

  Admiral Starling, over on the Bismarck, was whistled onto the screen first. It sounded like a real boatswain did the whistling, maybe even the Bismarck’s bos’un. Ryck guessed admirals didn’t use recordings.

  “All hands, we have located the rebel fleet,” he began.

  French fleet, Ryck thought. Isn’t “rebel” a bit dramatic?

  “We are now on a course to intercept it. We have superiority, both in numbers and in the moral righteousness of our cause. If we all do our duty, we can end this war before it ever really starts, saving countless lives. I trust every single sailor on every ship, and every Marine, to perform his mission with utter devotion.”

  He went on in that vein, mostly a pep talk. He gave no details, which Ryck wanted. How many ships were opposing them? Which kind? More of this would make its way down the pipeline, but Ryck hated being in the dark.

  The admiral signed off after only five minutes, something of a record as he tended to be a bit longwinded. It made sense, though, as planning the mission should take priority.

  Col Petrakis came on next, at least on the Marine vids. Other Navy staff would be addressing different Navy divisions. The colonel was Colonel Pierre’s replacement as regimental commander. The official word was that Col Pierre had been promoted to a higher staff billet, but even the newest boot private smelled the shit emanating from that line of bull. No one was “promoted” from a command to a staff billet before his command tour was over. “Pierre” was just a bit too French for the current climate.

  Col Petrakis had a good rep, but Ryck disliked him on principle. It wasn’t fair, but Ryck thought Col Pierre hadn’t been treated fairly, either, and Ryck was loyal to the man.

  Col Petrakis didn’t add much in the way of more specific info, just to stay ready for any call. Ship-to-ship was the Navy’s game, though, and the Marines didn’t expect much except possibly to take damaged vessels. If that happened, though, it would be long after any battle. He did mention the Jean d’Arc, though, and that caught Ryck’s attention.

  It caught everyone’s attention.

  “Admiral DeMornay,” Cpl Revis, one of First Squad’s team leaders, said in a hushed tone.

  As the colonel signed off and the vid screen went black, most of the NCO’s swung about so they were facing the center.

  “Who the fuck is Admiral DeMornee?” Teller Simms, Cpl Revis’ squad leader asked.

  “DeMornAY,” Ryck answered. “Celeste DeMornay. You mean to say you’ve never heard of her?”

  “‘Celeste?’ Like in a woman’s name?” Simms continued. “No, never heard of her. Why should I have?”

  “Only because she’s the most famous French admiral. She was awarded the Légion d'honneur and the Federation Nova during the War of the Far Reaches,” Popo added.

  “Shit, a woman? And in the War? She’s got to be an old biddy now. So what?” Sams asked.

  “You too? Don’t any of you negats read any history?” Popo asked.

  “I’ll read the history of your dick,” Simms said. “Better yet, I’ll give her mine,” he added, grabbing his crotch.

  Simms’ attitude was somewhat typical, Ryck knew. For over 150 years, women had not been allowed to serve in the Federation armed forces. The original proclamation came after the devastating Tenner War, when a huge percentage of the population was either killed or suffered extreme chromosomal damage. Women were deemed “too vital” to be put in physical danger and were relegated to breeding up a new generation. That was what the history accounts said, at least. Whatever the reason, women effectively became second-class ci
tizens and had been so ever since. There wasn’t any regulated second class status; it was just that many paths were closed to them.

  Ryck wasn’t about to start a revolution to bring about social change, but thought that if there ever was a need to “protect” women, that time was long gone. It was ironic that one of the heroes of the Tenner War, and of the Marine Corps, was Major Melissa “Missy” Walters, one of only two people to have been awarded two Federation Novas. The second one was awarded posthumously.

  Ryck didn’t know many women well, but he thought either his sister, or especially Hannah, could serve admirably in the military. The Brotherhood, the Confederation, and most other planets had women serving in all walks of life. Gender equality was a fact of life. And if it was Admiral DeMornay facing them, and if her abilities were only half that of her reputation, then Admiral Starling might be facing much more than he expected.

  Cpl Revis tried to give his squad leader a short history lesson on the admiral, but Simms was making light of it. Ryck just sighed, lay back down on his bunk, and did what all good Marines did when given the chance. He caught some z’s.

  Chapter 12

  Every Marine’s eyes were glued to the holo display in the lounge. With the Navy at Battle Stations Bravo, the lounge was empty, and the battalion CO had gotten permission for the Marines to watch the feed in the lounges rather than in their berthing spaces. Trying to watch on the 2D screens in berthing did not convey the true breadth and depth of a battle in space.

  Battle Stations Bravo meant the Marines were in longjohns or cottons, as their mission required, but not in full battle gear, be that PICS, or EVAs. That would be Battle Stations Alpha.

  The Ark Royal was on the periphery of the probable battlespace, providing security along the Z-axis, several million kilometers from the Bismarck. That was why the crew was only in Battle Stations Bravo. If she was with the main force, they would already be at Alpha.

  The Y-axis was always parallel to an arbitrary line running through Earth and along the galactic center. During fleet ops, one ship, in this case the Bismarck, was the reference point, with the X, Y, and Z axes radiating from it.

  The display had the 41 Navy ships in the task force identified, 29 in the main assault force, the remainder in peripheral security. A few platoons of Marines had been cross-decked to other ships, but the bulk were on three ships: the regimental headquarters and 1/9 were on the Bismarck, 2/9 was on the Ark Royal, and 3/9 on the Chakri Naruebet, which was on the other side of the Z-axis as the Ark Royal. If things continued as being announced, only 1/9 might see any action, much to the dismay of most of Ryck’s fellow 2/9 Marines.

  This was history in the making. TF-207, with Admiral Starling in command, was the first Federation fleet to locate a French task force, and the upcoming engagement would be the first Navy full-fledged action since the War of the Far Reaches. If things went as forecasted, a quick defeat would force the French to capitulate and be absorbed into the Federation. Careers would be made in this battle, and it could even pave the way for Starling to assume the Federation chairmanship.

  “This sucks the big one,” Sams muttered beside Ryck as they watched the slowly shifting display. “1/9’s going to get all the glory.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Ryck whispered back.

  Ryck had nothing against the French, and truth be told, he thought Greater France might have had a legitimate beef with the Federation, although he knew better than to ever express that opinion. He’d even almost joined the Legion before enlisting in the Marines. But he was not involved with the politics—he just did his duty as ordered.

  Ryck doubted that 1/9 would really get any glory, anyway. This was going to be a Navy fight. But still, to be there in the thick of things in what would be a pivotal moment in history, that would be something special.

  “Sgt L, why is everything moving so slow?” asked Tipper Prifit.

  Keeping his voice down, Ryck answered the lance corporal, “What you see there covers millions of kilometers of space. The ships aren’t moving slowly. They’ve just got to cover a long ways.”

  Prifit seemed to consider that for a moment. “But I can see the French ships right there. Why doesn’t the admiral just go get them?”

  “Well, first, we don’t exactly know where they are or even how many there are,” Ryck said as a few other Marines sitting close by turned to listen.

  “But we can see them. Right there!” Keiji said, pointing at the display.

  “No, we can see where we project some of them to be. It is a calculated position, not a real-time position,” PFC Ling put in.

  “What?” several Marines asked in unison.

  “Ling’s right,” Ryck said. “We don’t really know exactly where they are. We’ve caught some signatures as we keep trying to pierce their cloaking, just little hints, and the AI’s on the Bismarck use those to calculate probable positions. Those . . .” he paused, counting the small red icons, “. . . 11 ships might actually be all of the French ships. There might be more, there might be fewer. And their positions might be close or pretty far from what we see represented here. As far as what specific ships, their names, all we know for sure is that that one,” he said, pointing at the only red icon with a designator, “is the Jean d’Arc.”

  “Sergeant Lysander, for all those still confused, why don’t you come up front and repeat what you’ve been saying,” Lt Nidishchii’ said from the other side of the lounge.

  Ryck hadn’t known the platoon commander was listening in to him. Ryck stood up and moved to the holo. Both Third and Weapons Platoon were in the lounge. He knew all the Marines in the two platoons, and they knew him. He glanced up at the two platoon commanders, his own and 1stLt Baca, the Weapons Platoon commander. Both of them looked at him expectantly.

  Ryck cleared his throat to buy him a few seconds of time. He’d taken a class in Naval Strategy while earning his degree, so the constant battle for supremacy in cloaking and spoofing and piercing the enemy efforts at the same was something he’d studied. The rest of his knowledge, though, came from a class at boot camp, a class every single Marine had taken, so they should have known all of this. Looking out at the Marines, though, a good half of them looked confused.

  Ryck glanced back at the display. Not much had changed, which didn’t surprise him. The distances covered were just too great for the scale to show anything in greater detail.

  “OK, well, as I was saying back there, to put this into perspective, first, you gotta keep in mind that this small display is set to represent a huge pocket of space. I can’t see the legend . . .”

  “Down on the base, that second button,” Lt. Nidishchii’ said.

  “Sir? Oh, OK,” Ryck said, reaching down to push the button.

  Immediately, a scale popped up along with the three axes, oriented on the Bismarck. It took Ryck a moment to orient the scale in his mind.

  “OK, this is the flagship,” he said, pointing to the largest blue icon. “This, is us,” he added, pointing to another blue icon, this one slightly down and a good distance towards the bulk of the Marines in the lounge.

  “Right now, we’re about 6,200,000 klicks from the Bismarck. Up here,” he continued, this time pointing to the red icons above the Bismarck, “are the calculated positions of the French ships. That’s at about 10,000,000 klicks away from us. If we were in bubble space, that would be nothing, but we’re combat deployed, in real space, so even at top speed, it would take us, I don’t know, maybe an hour to close the gap? So forget that we look close to them now on the holo. We’re really a long ways apart.

  “The second thing is that really, what you see is not what’s really there. These are all calculations,” he said, waving an arm at the red icons. “You have to remember that all the time, both fleets are cloaking and spoofing each other.”

  Several of the Marines had blank looks on their faces.

  “OK, the difference is that cloaking means hiding where you are, like what we do with our comms, when we s
hield our transmission so the bad guys don’t know we are there. Spoofing is telling the enemy that you are somewhere else, like when you activate the Fractured Array in a PICS. Given enough time, we can penetrate both of those, so all the time, they are changing frequencies and methods, bouncing back and forth and hoping we don’t catch up to them. We do catch up to them, though, even if only for a split second, and that is enough to grab a data point. Given enough grabs, and our AI’s can start predicting where the ship actually is.”

  He looked over at the lieutenant, who had a slightly pleased look on his face. Ryck figured he hadn’t made a mistake yet.

  “During all of this, ships try to disguise themselves, so when we get a data point, we still don’t know exactly what we face.”

  “Then how do we know that’s the Jean d’Arc?” one of the Marines from Weapons asked.

  “Well, I’m not sure in this case. Maybe the Navy scout that spotted them got that before the fleets came together and managed to paint her specs. Or, maybe she just screwed up,” Ryck answered.

  “Screwing up” did not sound like something Admiral DeMornay would have allowed to happen, given her rep. It was more likely something in line with his first guess.

  “So we don’t know their positions, but they know ours?” Cpl Johnson, from Sams’ squad asked.

  “What do you mean?” Ryck asked.

  “There, all our ships are there, so the froggies know where each of our Navy ships are.”

  Most of the Marines groaned, and the corporal sitting next to him reached up, grabbed the back of his head, and pushed Johnson down.

  “We know where we are ’cause we don’t spoof ourselves, you dumb negat,” the corporal told his buddy.

  Johnson looked suitably sheepish when he was let back up.

  Ryck tried to think of anything else. He wasn’t an expert, but he hoped he’d explained things correctly. Then something else hit him, a pet peeve of his.