Commandant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 8)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  “Yes, and Fred is going to be a problem, I know. But Bert is marshaling the troops while I’m gone. We’ll find out when we land if we have the support for you. If we do, then you need to accept it. If we don’t, then it’s back to square one, and I don’t know what Admiral Chandanasiri will say. His plan was dependent on you being not only the commandant, but also the face of the movement.”

  “Sir, I think you’ll be surprised. The Corps will follow you,” Genghis said, the first time he’d opened his mouth since the meeting started.

  Ryck turned to look at his friend. They’d been recruits together so many years ago, back at Camp Charles. They’d gone through a lot, and Ryck trusted Genghis explicitly.

  “I, uh—” he started.

  “Look, Ryck. This has all been thrown together at breakneck speed. For all I know, General Huckmaster will have deposed me and have the MP’s formed up to arrest us,” the commandant said, referring to the assistant commandant. “But if we find out that the Corps is behind us, then you’ve got to take the position. It’s our only hope.”

  Whose hope? Yours and mine? The Corps’? The Federation’s?

  “Sir, let’s see then. There’s not much we can do right now except go along for the ride. We’ll be back in Tarawa soon, and we can decide what to do then,” Ryck said.

  “But if you are drafted, will you accept the position?”

  Ryck hesitated. It was one thing to save a world. There was a moral imperative for that. But lead a revolution? He’d go down in history for that, and history might not look too kindly on him. And in the end, 12 billion souls could have been a lighter butcher’s bill compared to what could happen.

  Ryck looked up at his old friend and could read the hope in his eyes. He owed the man too much to refuse.

  “Yes, sir, I will.”

  God help me!

  TARAWA

  Chapter 7

  “I’m so sorry about this, Ryck,” Rear Admiral Dearborn Knutson, the Chaplain of the Marine Corps, said, his hand on Ryck’s shoulder. “It’s a lot to take in, I know, but I’m sure they’re safe.”

  Ryck leaned back in the overstuffed chair, shock taking over his body.

  Hannah!

  Ryck and Prince Jellico were in the commandant’s inner office, waiting to find out which way the Corps would go, but now, the importance of that decision was lost to Ryck as he felt as if chunk of his heart, of his very being, had been ripped from him.

  He’d only been back on Tarawa for less than an hour. The Kravitch’s command shuttle had brought him, along with Prince and the commandant, down at 0200, and the three Marines had been hustled to Headquarters where General Ukiah had gone immediately into Conference Room A. The Headquarters was fully staffed despite the hour, and Ryck has asked Vivian Queensbury, the commandant’s secretary (and the secretary for the previous five commandants as well), if Hannah and the twins had made it off Earth and back to the comparative safety of Tarawa. Vivian hemmed for a moment, something out of the ordinary for her, and said she’d get right back to him. When the chaplain had entered the room five minutes later, Ryck should have realized something bad had occurred, but it hadn’t dawned on him at the moment. When the chaplain gave him the bad news that Hannah and the twins had been intercepted at the spaceport, it hit him right in the solar plexus, robbing him of air as if he’d been physically punched.

  The Federation didn’t care about Hannah and the twins, but they cared about Ryck, and without the slightest doubt, Ryck knew they would use his family to get to him. He fought to keep his mind from listing all the possibilities. His one hope was that the Federation would realize that hurting his wife or kids would bring them extremely bad press. Not that they cared about bad press, but unless it served an end, it still wasn’t something to seek out.

  “You OK, sir?” Prince asked, his face full of concern as the chaplain left.

  “No, I’m not,” Ryck answered with enough vitriol to make the colonel blanch and sit back.

  Fuck, sorry about that, Prince, he thought as he struggled for composure. Not your fault.

  He took several deep breaths, purging his body of carbon dioxide, wishing he could purge his mind as well.

  “No, I’m not,” he repeated to his old friend in a much calmer voice. “But there isn’t much I can do at the moment.”

  Prince Jellico had never been a star in the Corps. He and Ryck had been commissioned together, but their paths had diverged almost immediately. Prince was probably pretty lucky he’d made it to colonel, and he’d never get a star, but he had a good heart, and at the moment, Ryck needed the support. He reached out and patted Prince’s shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m functioning. If they hurt her, though. . .” he said, leaving unspoken what he’d do if the worst happened.

  Prince was saved from responding when they heard the conference room door open. Both Marines looked out the open office door, and in a moment, Lieutenant General Fred Nottingham strode past, followed by someone else Ryck didn’t recognize.

  What does that mean? Ryck asked himself.

  More than a few moments later, Major General Tomtom Copperwait stuck his head through the open hatch and said, “Ryck, if you can come in, we’re ready for you.

  “Uh, Colonel Jellico, if you could wait here,” he added apologetically.

  Ryck stood up, gave Prince a pat on the shoulder, and said, “Lead on, Tomtom.”

  The conference door was only a few steps away across the passage, but it seemed to take forever to get there. A lieutenant colonel was holding a door, a mere peon amongst the number of stars in the room. All eyes were locked on Ryck as he struggled to center himself and remain calm. Whatever they had decided, he was going to face it as a Marine should.

  “General,” the commandant said, indicating a position at the foot of the huge laminated wood table.

  “This is a very hard thing for me to say,” General Ukiah said, clearing his throat. “All of us here, each and every one, have made an oath to the Federation, to serve it to the best of our abilities.”

  This doesn’t sound too promising.

  “But the question is just how do we serve the Federation? Is the Federation the Council? Is it the people? This is a horrible spot you’ve put us in, having to make that decision. And I am being blunt here when I tell you that not all of us are in agreement. What we are doing is splitting the Corps, our Corps, something that hasn’t happened in the 367 years of our existence.

  “But the majority of us have decided that our oath is to the people we serve, not the Council, and certainly not a council that can summarily execute a Navy frigate without due process, a council that can order the extermination of an entire world over minor protests. Some of us did not agree, and they will be leaving, unmolested, for Alexander.”

  Fred Nottingham, Ryck realized, letting out a breath he’d been holding.

  He felt relief, but he also felt a huge weight settling on his shoulders.

  “And as I told you on the ship, you need to agree to take over the leadership. Either way, as of 0001 Tarawa time, not GMT, I am resigning, not just the billet, but my commission, too. I have no ill will for you, but I am one of those who cannot break my oath, for good or bad.”

  That took Ryck by surprise. General Ukiah had flown out to rescue him, and he’d been the one who’d convinced him to accept the mantle of the commandant. And he was against this? It didn’t make sense.

  “So, do you accept the position?”

  Ryck looked around the table, meeting each Marine’s eyes, even if for a moment. Fourteen general officers and eight sergeants major, all those who could make the meeting, minus Nottingham and whoever else had left with him, stared back, some with hope, some with resigned acceptance, some with what looked like they were chomping at the bit. The last eyes he met were Bert Nidischii’s. Ryck knew Bert would make a better commandant. Ryck was a fighter, and men followed him, but Bert coupled personal courage with the organizational skill that would be needed going f
orward.

  Bert pursed his lips in the Navajo way with which Ryck had become familiar. Bert was at his back, Ryck knew.

  “General Huckmaster?” Ryck asked, leaving the rest unsaid.

  “I understand the necessity of this, and I am ready to continue as the assistant ’dant. If you’ll have me, of course. If you want to bring in someone else, I will retire along with General Ukiah,” the general said, giving a quick glance to where Bert sat.

  Ryck was tempted. He’d never really gotten along too well with Huckmaster, unlike the close relationship he’d had with Bert. But Huckmaster was an able administrator, and Ryck was under no illusion that he was really up for the job of commandant. He’d never even commanded a division yet, much less the entire Corps.

  “I’d be honored if you would stay on. I welcome your experience and guidance.”

  From the ever-so-slight relaxing of the big Marine’s posture, Ryck knew he’d hit the right chord. His first act as commandant, even if he wasn’t officially in the position yet, had been a good one.

  “And Bert, seeing as how General Nottingham has decided to vacate his position, would you step into the Chief of Staff’s billet?” Ryck asked, turning to Bert.

  “I’d be honored, sir.”

  “Well, I guess it’s settled. If you would come up here, Ryck, let’s get this over,” General Ukiah said.

  Ryck marched to the head of the long table and stood at attention facing the commandant.

  General Ukiah, suddenly looking old and frail, reached under the podium and brought out a set of collar insignia. Ryck couldn’t help but break his position of attention to glance at each bar, four silver stars joined in a row. The commandant looked at them for a moment before straightening up, and gathering himself, shouted out, “Attention to orders!”

  “Raise your right hand and repeat after me,” he told Ryck, his voice becoming fuller.

  I, state your name, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the United Federation of Nations. . .

  I, Ryck Lysander, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the United Federation of Nations. . .

  Ryck almost choked when he said “United Federation.” It felt wrong, but it was to the people he was swearing his oath, he reminded himself, not to the men serving on high.

  . . .against all enemies, foreign and domestic. . .

  . . .against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same, that I will well, faithfully, with honor, and with humility, discharge the duties of the office of which I am about to enter. So help me God.

  General Ukiah unfolded his left hand, which had been holding the stars. He reached up and took off both sets of two-star insignia on Ryck’s collar.

  “I hope you understand, Ryck. I love you like a son, but I cannot in good conscience join in this. I cannot be part of a revolution, and I’m afraid that this path will lead to the destruction of all we hold dear,” the commandant whispered as he took off Ryck’s major general’s stars. “I’ll leave quietly tonight and get out of your hair.”

  “Sir, you’ve been a mentor to me, and I owe you so much. If you cannot offer your guidance, then I understand. You are an honorable man, and I will not hold that against you. And no hurry, if you are going to leave. You and Fiona are welcome on Tarawa for as long as I’m in charge,” Ryck whispered back.

  A single tear formed at the corner of the commandant’s left eye as he pinned the first bar of four stars on Ryck’s left collar.

  “Uh, I’m dreadfully sorry that Hannah isn’t here, but who do you want to pin on your other stars?” the commandant asked. “Bert?”

  Ryck wanted to say yes, and he broke his position of attention to glance at Bert, who was already starting to move forward. His friendship with Bert was strong, and it would mean a lot to him. But Ryck had to think beyond personal interests now. Whether he liked it or not, he had to learn politics and learn it fast.

  “Sir, I’d be honored if General Huckmaster would pin them on,” Ryck said with a sure voice.

  The assistant commandant was taken by surprise, if the look on his face was any indication. He gathered himself and hurried forward.

  For a moment, Bert also seemed surprised, and the look on his face was not as pleased.

  Please understand me, Bert, Ryck silently implored.

  Whether the ESP vibes were working that day or not, Ryck didn’t know, but Bert seemed to stop, and with a grudging smile and nod, settle back into his position of attention.

  Within moments, both sets of stars were on his collars.

  “Congratulations, General,” the commandant said as the others in the room broke out into loud “ooh-rahs.”

  “Wait, there’s one more thing,” General Ukiah said as Marines started to move forward to shake Ryck’s hand.

  “Attention to orders!” he said, stopping the men in their tracks.

  From: Commandant of the Marine Corps

  To: General Ryck Lysander, United Federation Marine Corps

  Subj: Marine Corps Special Order 4-21, effective immediately, you are ordered to report to duty as the Commandant, United Federation Marine Corps.

  Signed, Hank K. Ukiah, General, United Federation Marine Corps, Commandant of the Marine Corps

  The order should have come from the chairman of the Council, but that wasn’t likely to happen, so Marines adjusted when they had to.

  “It’s official, Ryck. You are the 92nd Commandant of the Marine Corps,” he said, shaking Ryck’s hand.

  Once again, the men started pushing forward as General Ukiah held up his hand.

  “You need to relieve me, Ryck.”

  “I don’t have any orders.”

  “Just say it. You’re the commandant now.”

  Ryck cleared his throat and said, “General Hank K. Ukiah, I hereby relieve you of your duties.”

  Nothing then could have stopped the press of men coming forward to shake Ryck’s hand.

  “Good move there, sir,” Bert whispered as he shook his friend’s—his commandant’s—hand.

  Ryck was relieved to know that Bert understood why he chose the assistant commandant to pin on his stars.

  After the last hand was shaken, the last congratulations given, the 92nd Commandant of the Marine Corps cleared his throat and shouted out, “We’ll have a wetting down when all this is over. But right now, we’ve got work to do. Lieutenant Colonel Trondheim, please get Major Pohlmeyer and have him in my office in 20 mikes. The rest of you, get home, get fed, and get cleaned up. I want all of you back here at 0600, and plan to stay for a long time. Thank you for your confidence, but let’s get our butts in gear!”

  Chapter 8

  “So you’re feeling strong?” Ryck asked Sams.

  “Like an ox, sir. I’m ready to come back.”

  Ryck looked at Master Gunnery Sergeant, (Ret) Bobbi Samuelson as the man sat nervously across from him, hand fidgeting along the brim of his bush-cap. Sams was one of his closest friends in the Corps, a man he trusted implicitly. But after so many years together, he knew Sams was lying.

  Like Ryck, Sams suffered from BRC, Boosted Regeneration Cancer, the bane of too many Marines who’d undergone regen. Ryck had only had two bouts and was in remission, although no one was ever completely cured of the disease. Sams, however had had three bouts within the last four years, the last one so severe that it had resulted in his medical retirement. And he didn’t look good, Ryck saw. Sams was haggard and gaunt, a good 15 kgs less than what he was at his fighting weight.

  What was equally as evident was that Sams needed this. His nervousness couldn’t hide the hope he held in his eyes, the hope that as commandant, his old rabbi could overrule the Navy medical staff.

  Ever since the conclusion of his 0600 meeting, he’d had a steady stream of men seeking his time. He’d already welcomed Sergeant Major Phantawisangtong and Gunnery Sergeant Hans Çağlar into the fold, Hecs from his position as the Senior Enlisted Monitor and Çağlar from the First Marines Three
shop, and he’d given Hecs a list of names of men he wanted on his staff, but he’d been surprised when Sams had shown up. Surprised and not sure what to do. His old friend was suffering, that much was plain, and the pace of what was to come might be too much for him. But Ryck also knew that Sams didn’t have much of a life now. His ex-wife, Tara, after keeping him company for so many years after their divorce, had finally left once the Brick had robbed Sams of his ability in bed, and from what Hecs told Ryck, Sams was pretty much alone.

  Ryck was tired, and he wanted to go home and see Ben. As he looked at Sams, he hoped he was not making a decision while his mind was clouded by fatigue. But even if Sams was weak, it wasn’t as if Ryck needed him to be kicking down doors and taking names. Sams’ mind was still sharp, and despite his irreverent attitude, he held a wealth of knowledge. And something told Ryck that by giving Sams a purpose, he might be saving the old grunt’s life.

  “I want you to report in at 0700 tomorrow, Master Gunnery Sergeant. You’re going to be my special advisor on enlisted morale,” Ryck said, quickly picking the first thing to come to his mind.

  “Master gunnery sergeant? You mean?”

  “Get your ass in gear, there, Marine. You’re back in, and I expect I’ll work you to the bone. I’ll have Hecs work up the paperwork, but I think I have the pull now to get this done.”

  “Oh, shit, sir! I was just hoping to do something. I never thought I’d get back into uniform. Thank you, sir!” Sams shouted, jumping up to take Ryck’s hand, shaking it madly.

  Sams seem to fill out and come to life. Ryck could have sworn that his friend gained five kgs right then and there.

  “OK, get out and get your kit back in shape. Some of us have work to do!” Ryck said with a laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Sams thanked him several more times as he backed out of the office.

  Well, I’ve made at least one person happy, Ryck thought to himself, relaxing for a brief moment.