Noah's Story: Marine Tanker (The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins Book 3)

by Jonathan Brazee

  Noah turned around and almost fell off the table as he scrambled to hug Miriam, who was standing there in her waitress uniform. Horrible thoughts of what might have happened to her had been flooding his mind, and relief flooded over him to see that she was OK.

  And then a bit of anger replaced that relief.

  He pulled back out of the hug and said, “I’ve been waiting for you. Where were you?”

  “I’m so sorry, babe. I told Fanny that I needed to get off early, but we got slammed, and I had to take my tables. I didn’t even have time to go home and change.”

  Their financial situation was a little better than it had been on the Itch, but not by much, and until they were officially married, they wouldn’t be drawing Family Support Allowance. So, to help with the budget, and to keep from going stark-crazy mad, Miriam had taken a job at a restaurant.

  “But I tried to call you!”

  “I’m sorry, baby. We can’t use our PA’s at work, and I forgot to turn it back on when I left. I was in such a hurry to get here. Forgive me?”

  “I was worried. Really worried.”

  She snuggled closer to him, pulling him back into a tight hold, and whispered into his ear, “I think I have a few ways to make it up to you. While you’ve been gone, I’ve been coming up with some very, shall we say, ‘interesting’ things to do together?”

  Her hands fell to grab his butt and pull him in closer, and she bit his earlobe.

  Noah wanted to protest. He was still upset. This was his time to experience what his father always did, what military men and women have experienced for thousands of years. He wanted that homecoming, and he felt cheated out of it.

  But he also realized that Miriam had taken the job for both of them, and it hadn’t been her fault that she was late. Her hands on his butt excited him, and passion began to push disappointment away. Making more out of her being late wouldn’t do anyone any good.

  He made a conscious decision to forget it. He loved her, and that was what mattered.

  “So, you’ve come up with ways to make it up to me?” he asked. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go home!”

  Chapter 10

  Noah watched out of his blocks, expecting to see something, anything, even a shadow, but there was nothing. His display was off as the Anvil was powered down, so he was blind from that as well. Noah wasn’t sure how anyone could pick them up, even had the internal systems been powered, but their orders had been specific.

  Noah was usually relaxed inside the Anvil, but for the first time, he was claustrophobic. He was not feeling comfortable.

  The Anvil, along with the Ball Shot and the Kiss of Death, were at the bottom of the Gold Strand, the top of their turrets eight meters below the surface of the murky water. They’d been sitting there like huge snapping turtles waiting for prey to wander too close for over seven hours, slipping into the muddy river a klick upstream under the partial cover of darkness and carefully navigating the river bottom to their present position. Blind in the darkness and the water, and relying only on the Anvil’s proximity alarm to keep from colliding with the Kiss of Death, the underwater march had been among the most stressful things Noah had ever undertaken in a tank, and that included combat on Gaziantep.

  Now, as they sat on the bottom, Noah’s mind wandered, bringing up images of water pouring in. He kept glancing at the lip of his hatch, running his finger alongside the rim to make sure it was dry. His eyes told him that, but he needed to feel for confirmation. The Cat 4 techs had assured him that the entire new hatch they’d installed was as good, if not better, than the one that had been damaged, but that was hard for him to accept.

  Noah knew the technical abilities of the Davis as well as anyone. They could stay completely submerged for up to 20 hours, longer if they used auxiliary O2 tanks. He’d even been completely submerged before, doing river crossings on the Itch. But this was different. He wasn’t actively driving with his mind focusing on what he was doing, but simply sitting, and he imagined he could feel the weight of the water pushing down on them. He had an irrational fear that once he powered up, the Anvil wouldn’t respond, and they’d be stuck down there forever.

  Chili evidently didn’t have the same problem. His snores reverberated throughout the crew compartment. The staff sergeant didn’t seem to mind if his gunner was asleep, so Noah didn’t say anything. If he could, he’d catch a few z’s, too. They’d been up for three days and were running on stims, and he knew he could use even an hour of sleep, but he also knew there was no way he could sleep with the river pressing down on him.

  His simple proximity alarm indicated that the Ball Shot was ten meters to his left, and the Kiss of Death was 15 to the right. He’d feel better if he could see them, but the water was way too murky for that.

  Grubbing hell, I didn’t join the submarine Navy, he told himself for the hundredth time.

  Noah didn’t know what was going on up there on the land. They were lying quiet, all systems turned off. When it was time to move, they’d get the word via a very old-tech low-frequency message blast. Noah just hoped that the order would come sooner rather than later.

  The sunlight had earlier turned the water a yellowish-brown, and as it started turning darker, he knew the sun was getting closer on the horizon. They’d been in the river for 16 hours now, approaching their limit. One way or the other, they’d be emerging, and Noah hoped it would be in daylight. He didn’t want to spend any more time sitting underwater in the darkness.

  He’d just reached for the piss-tube when the order came. Dropping the tube, Noah flipped the switch, sending power surging to the motor. Displays turned on, but he couldn’t make much of what data was streaming in.

  “Go, go,” the lieutenant passed on the now active comms.

  “Wake up, Fulford,” the TC said, then to Noah, “Let’s take her out. Give me a 280-degree heading as soon as you can.”

  Noah glanced at the display as both friendly and enemy vehicles appeared, but he couldn’t study it. He had to watch where he was going, even with almost zero visibility. Despite all the Anvil’s capabilities, he didn’t have a kind of sonar that could map out the river bottom ahead of him. Coming down the river, they’d crept along, but now, with surprise paramount, they had to get out of the water immediately.

  He gunned the big tank forward, feeling the lurch as his treads, with the elevations fully extended, dug into the muddy bottom. They should be 40 meters from the shore, which on land could take mere seconds, but this wasn’t land.

  His stomach flew into his throat as the Anvil dropped down into a hole, but to his relief, immediately climbed back out. He could tell they were rising, and the brown water turned more to yellow as they rose closer to the surface. Noah hated the fact that he was driving blind, but the closer to the river bank, the better he felt. And then, the short barrel of the Anvil’s 90mm broke the surface right above Noah’s head.

  “Release the Kraken,” he muttered as he goosed the accelerators, and like the legendary creature breaching the ocean, the Anvil emerged into the afternoon sun.

  “Tank, two o-clock!” Staff Sergeant Cremineli shouted out.

  Noah concentrated on the best spot to climb the low bank, but he could see the muzzle of their main gun traverse. There was a blast, and then a “Target destroyed” from Chili.

  The Ball Shot emerged from the water, and Corporal Vestle, her driver, swerved to her right, bringing her tank too close to the Anvil for comfort, but Noah reacted by pushing the Anvil forward and up on the bank. The elevated treads grabbed into the bank and almost threw the tank up and onto the semi-forested land beyond the bank. They hit with a thud, and Noah reduced the elevation to better manage on dry land.

  “Weapons free!” Lieutenant Huang, the Second Platoon commander passed.

  If the Second Platoon commander was giving the orders, then that meant both the skipper and the XO had been taken out.

  “Wedge, on the Anvil!” Lieutenant Moore passed.

  Noah’s disp
lay was flashing with avatars and streams of data. He had to concentrate on driving, but at first glance, things were not good. There were too few blue avatars and too many red. Within 3,000 meters, there were only two more friendly tanks, both from Second. There was no sign of the Ba-Boom, which was supposed to have been the bait to draw the enemy in close. Within that same 3,000 meters, there were nine enemy tanks.

  It looked like the surprise had been total. The nine tanks seemed to be focused on Lieutenant Huang in the Saber and Staff Sergeant Juarez-Akito in the Winston United. Within moments, two of the red avatars switched to black as Chili and Cliff fired up their rears. Noah’s elation faded immediately when both the Saber and the Winston United were knocked out.

  Noah extended his range out to ten clicks as he charged the enemy force, but no blue avatars appeared. It looked like it was the three of them against seven of the opposing forces.

  Not good odds.

  Prissy, on the Kiss of Death, took out another of the enemy tanks before they seemed to realize what was happening and started to swing around to meet the threat.

  As the center tank in the wedge, Noah pushed forward, not worrying about the other two. It might be better to break up and conduct a hide-and-seek attack, taking out the enemy one-by-one and not letting them concentrate their forces, but until the lieutenant changed her order, it looked like it was going to be a full frontal assault, and if he could close quickly, he could minimize the number of tanks that could fire on the Anvil at any given time.

  “Grubbing hell, you mothers!” Noah shouted as he closed the distance.

  He juked to the right just as Chili fired, throwing off the shot.

  “Damn it, Noah! Keep me steady!”

  That made them an easier target, but Noah simply shrugged. If that was how it was going to go, so be it. There wasn’t much hope that Charlie Company was going to come out on top, but they could take out as many of the opposing tanks as they could.

  Chili got in one more kill before the Kiss of Death was knocked out. That left Staff Sergeant Cremineli as the acting company commander.

  “Break off!” the TC immediately shouted. “Get some cover in the forest.”

  Noah was in berserker mode, and with the way things were playing out, he just wanted to continue the charge. He wasn’t surprised, though, that Cremineli wanted to bug out. And maybe that was a sound tactical decision, but it rubbed Noah wrong. He didn’t argue, though, and swung the tank to the right—only to be hit as soon as he presented the Anvil’s left side.

  “Fuck!” Chili shouted as the Anvil shut down. “I could’ve got me another one, Staff Sergeant!”

  “That was the right decision, Sergeant!” the TC protested.

  “In your dreams,” Chili said, pushing the envelope with the rank-conscious tank commander.

  “The Ball Shot’s still in it,” Noah said. “They’ll kick some Alpha ass.”

  And as if in response, the Ball Shot was hit and knocked out.

  “And that’s that,” Noah said, disappointed.

  This was the second time that they’d gone up against Alpha company over the last three weeks, and it was the second time they’d had their asses handed to them. All 15 Charlie tanks were killed, while only 10 of the Alphas had bit the dust. The fact that they’d managed to come out on top over Bravo meant little when they were oh-for-two against Alpha. Noah had even heard that unless Bravo managed a win against Alpha, the battalion commander was going to pit the company against a combined force of Bravo and Charlie Companies. Noah would be professionally mortified if that came to pass.

  It looked like the small river force had been a good decision, and they’d managed to knock out four of the opposing force tanks, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered. They’d still lost.

  Power came back on to the drive train and turret.

  “All hands, return to the ramp for debrief,” was passed over the net.

  “Well, at least we got two of them,” Staff Sergeant Cremineli said as Noah opened his hatch and headed for the main track that would lead back to the range ramp.

  “Maybe, but we still got our asses shot off, and to top it off, we’ve got some heavy maintenance to do after sitting in the fucking river for a day,” Chili said in a sour tone of voice.

  Shit, he’s right, Noah realized. It’s going to be a long night.

  One of the Alpha company tanks reached the trail from the opposite side at the same time as the Anvil. Noah didn’t know if that was one of the surviving Alpha Company tanks or not, but he motioned for the other driver to precede him.

  It may have only been a training exercise, but to the victor belonged the spoils.

  Chapter 11

  Noah looked at the table one more time, then made a minute adjustment to the fork’s placement. Miriam wouldn’t notice, but he was stressing out, and that nervous energy had him going anal on the meal.

  He’d made veal piccata, one of Miriam’s favorites that he could whip up on short notice. The veal was fab veal, not real, but by going heavy on the lemon, not even he could tell much of a difference, much less his fiancé. The veal had been browned and was in the warming tray, and the sauce was done. All he had to do was throw in the spaghetti in the water and put the veal in the pan once she arrived, and within ten minutes, they’d be eating.

  He took a quick look inside their small oven where the Canadian Cobbler was bubbling away. Miriam still wasn’t 100 percent sure on just where or what Canada was, but she loved the dessert made from ghostberries and raspberries, the red and white berries that matched the colors of the Canadian flag and gave the dessert its name.

  He kept watching the clock on the wall in the living room, waiting for Miriam to show. Unable to keep still, he checked the veal five or six times, lifting up the top cutlet, and poking the next one with his finger before letting the top one back down. He fretted that they would become too soggy, and wished he’d waited to sauté them.

  When Miriam finally opened the door, still dressed in her lime green and pink waitressing uniform, he jumped up to greet her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She smelled like old frying oil, something that continually bothered him since she started working at Harstons, but that he never voiced to her.

  “What’s this?” Miriam asked, dropping her bag on the floor.

  “I wanted to make something special for you,” he said.

  Her brows furrowed together for a moment, then asked, “What’s the occasion,” her suspicion obvious.

  “You’ve been working so hard, lately, and I thought you’d like some piccata.”

  Hearing what he said he’d made, she perked up.

  “I had a bombburger at the restaurant. It was sent back to the kitchen for being overcooked, so I just helped myself. But I can still eat.”

  “Good. Why don’t you just sit down and relax. Dinner will be ready in ten.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair and said, “I should shower up, but that’ll take half-an-hour to get Harstons off of me.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just sit for a few minutes.”

  “OK, if you say so,” she said, flopping heavily in their overstuffed couch. “I need to get off my feet.”

  Noah dropped the pasta in the water and turned up the heat in the pan. He had piccata programed into their fabricator, and with a simple code input and a push of a button, he could have dinner in 30 seconds, but he enjoyed cooking, and he thought it was more personal when he home-cooked food, even when like this evening, some of the ingredients were fab-food.

  He dropped the veal back in the pan, cut a lemon in half, and squeezed the juice into the dish.

  “Smells pretty cope, honey,” Miriam said from the couch, not bothering to turn toward him.

  “I know how my lady likes it,” Noah said.

  “I’m such a lucky girl marrying such a good house-husband,” she said.

  Noah snorted. He could cook, but as for the rest of the daily chores that kept their apartment running, he was somewhat helpless.
He could screw up putting his uniform in a Wrinkle-free, which was supposedly foolproof.

  If he hadn’t enlisted, he’d probably have gone into the culinary arts, either as a chef or as an engineer. And nothing like Harstons, where every dish was fabricated. The restaurants didn’t even need a wait staff—they could have the dishes automatically delivered to the tables, but the owners thought the waiters and waitresses would make them more popular with the Marines on base as well as the longshoremen from the port.

  Enlisting had delayed his passion for cooking, but he realized that cooking at home for Miriam was a far cry from running a real restaurant. The hours were rough, maybe worse than being a Marine, and taking any passion and making it a chore was a good way to cool the ardor.

  He finished off the piccata, drained the pasta, and set up the plates.

  “It’s ready, honey.”

  Miriam got off the couch with a sigh, then came over to sit down, her eyes lighting up when she saw her meal.

  Better than a bombburger, right?

  “I’ve got a Canadian Cobbler in the oven, too.”

  “Yeah, I can smell it. You outdid yourself. Did the lieutenant let you out early today?”

  “No, normal time, but these are quick dishes.”

  She dug in, slurping loudly as she ate. Neither of them said anything. When they first started living together, they talked non-stop. But now, even though they weren’t married yet, eating, watching the holo, or reading in bed seemed to take precedence.

  The word “married” in his thoughts brought him back to why he was nervous. He toyed with his meal, barely eating, while Miriam shoveled in her veal as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks. Finally, with a satisfied smile, she mopped up the last of the sauce with the last of her spaghetti, put it in her mouth, and swallowed.

  She leaned back and said, “Cope to the max, Noah, cope to the max. Now how about the Canadian Cobbler.”

  “Uh . . . another ten minutes, I think.”