Commandant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 8)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  No shit. A predicament, he says, Ryck thought sourly. And that’s another thing to go over with the good major. Will the Confederation give us the bridge loans?

  “Excuse me, sir,” Vivian said, actually sticking her head in the door instead of announcing whatever over the intercom. “You have a call I think you should take.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I think you need to hear that privately, with only General Nidischii’, Colonel Simone, the sergeant major, and Top Samuelson,” she said with conviction, naming the only other four in the room that were in Ryck’s personal circle.

  “OK, all of you, you heard her,” Ryck said, trying to keep the happiness out of his voice that the mind-numbing brief would be over, at least for him. “General Copperwait, if you could take over the meeting and move it to Conference Room C, I would appreciate it.”

  Tomtom’s looking pissed, Ryck noted as the general and the rest filed out. I’ll need to smooth out his feathers later.

  “Well, Vivian, who is it?” he asked when the rest were gone.

  “Governor MacCailín, sir. On the green phone.”

  The green phone was the most secure form of communications in his office. Only the comms in the vault were more secure.

  Ryck jumped up and bolted for the desk. Michiko MacCailín, Governor MacCailín, was the head of the local government on Kakurega, and she had led the forces on the attack on Camp Joshua, the same attack that the loyalist PR dicks had used to try and smear him.

  Ryck hit the accept while toggling the relay so that the governor’s image appeared on both his personal screen and the large screen at the end of the conference table. He held up his hand, palm down, to the other three, telling them to keep quiet.

  “Governor, to what do I owe this pleasure?” he said, taking in her image.

  The last time Ryck had seen Michiko MacCailín, she had been naked, bloodied, and battered on the torture table of some fuckdick interrogator, a preening rooster of a warrant officer whose name Ryck had long ago forgotten. Ryck had stopped the fuckdick from giving her Propoxinal, the drug that would have opened up her secrets while destroying her mind.

  The younger version of the governor had not been a beautiful woman, but she had an impressive physique that had nicely filled out the superhero costume she’d originally worn for the first holos she made for the rebels. Now, some 20 years later, her curves had somewhat faded as she filled out with age, but she had gained an impressive air about her, a gravitas that had been lacking in the rebel leader.

  Ryck had followed the governor’s career given their brief but important connection, so he’d seen holos of her. But as she stared at him from light years away, he felt a force of presence.

  She’d have made a great Marine, the thought came unbidden.

  “So, General. Or do I call you Great Leader?” she asked wryly.

  “General will do. Or Ryck. Whatever you want.”

  “I thought I’d touch base with you, given a certain set of transmissions by the Federation.”

  “We are the Federation, Governor. The loyalists, as we call them, are the holdovers from the previous criminal government,” Ryck said, keeping the governor’s image under a steady gaze.

  “Of course,” she said, breaking out into a laugh that hinted at the happy-go-lucky girl she must have been once so many years ago before she was caught up in the maelstrom of modern politics. “But we here on Kakurega are not overly fond of the Federation, so is that still you?”

  “You are not fond of the previous government. You should be joining up with us to change history as we go forward.”

  “Ah, the invitation to the dance. But do I want to go?” she asked. “Ellison decided not to attend your dance, even if you did all of this for them.”

  “I didn’t do it for them. I did it for the Federation, for all of mankind,” he asserted, knowing that what he said might be a little over-the-top.

  “Right. Spoken like all good little revolutionaries.”

  Evolutionaries, not revolutionaries, he wanted to shout even if he was not married to the movement’s pet phrase.

  “We are what we are, Governor. And I hope you will join us. Given your past, I would think it would be a no-brainer.”

  “Don’t take me for granted, General,” she said, steel back into her voice.

  Ryck knew he’d taken it too far, but screw it. Either Kakurega would join or not, and he was not going to beg this woman.

  “But, as it happens to be, we do seem to have some common ground. I am ready to officially debunk those Federation—excuse me, loyalist—vids. I was there, after all. And I can sweeten up the pot to where you are the hero of the people, saving us from brutal annihilation.

  “And I can deliver Kakurega to your cause of merry revolutionaries. But I have a price. Well, two prices.”

  Here it comes, Ryck thought, but calmly asking, “And what might those be?”

  “The first is suffrage.”

  “What? Suffrage? Of who?”

  “Of women, of course,” she answered. “Or are you complicit with the plight of women in Federation society?”

  “But women are free. They are citizens, right?”

  “Your wife, Dr. Lysander, is she free? Can she ascend to an EP

  [10] within the federal government?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Can your daughter, Esther, the sports star, join your own Marine Corps?”

  “No.”

  “Then are we equal to men?”

  “No, not when you put it like that,” Ryck admitted, not that he hadn’t considered the issue time and time again as he met capable women who were limited by Federation policy.

  His own Hannah was one of the most capable women—no, most capable person—that he’d ever met. But her rise in the government had stalled as less capable men had been promoted over her. He’d been present when the Greater France Admiral Celeste DeMornay had soundly defeated the stronger Federation fleet under Admiral Starling. And back before women were stripped of many of their rights, Major Melissa “Missy” Walters was one of only two people up until then to be awarded two Federation Novas (and before Ryck made it three). Certainly the governor herself, and even Meister Hendricks-Pata had proven that women were equally as capable of leading as men.

  And Ryck realized that he was a feminist, to use an ancient phrase. He wanted his Esther to have every opportunity available to her as Noah or Ben. He may not have openly come to terms with it before, but it had been there all the time.

  “Done,” he said. “What’s next?”

  “Done? Just like that?”

  “Yes. Done.”

  The governor leaned forward into her cam pickup and stared at Ryck for a long moment, expressionless.

  Then she raised her eyebrows, shrugged, and said, “OK, done.”

  “And the second price?” he prompted.

  “I want to be on your civilian advisory council.”

  Ryck actually sat back at her words.

  How the grubbing hell did she know about that?

  “Uh, the what?” he asked lamely, despite knowing that denying it would be a lost cause.

  “The CAC. The little council of civilians, currently made up of Terrance Gnatson, Lin Hao Bi, and Patrick de Misterie. You are going to end with five members, and I want to be one of them.”

  Bert had initially come up with the idea, and Admiral Chandanasiri had eagerly come onboard when Ryck had broached the subject with him. The idea was two-fold: to gain legitimacy with a promised future turnover of the government back to civilian control and to give the headache of actually governing to someone who actually knew what they were doing. Terrance Gnatson, an obvious choice, had been approached only eight hours previously, and he immediately agreed. Patrick de Misterie had only agreed two hours ago.

  No one actually knew what the CAC would do yet. That would be developed. But now the governor was petitioning herself to be on it? One of the other three must have told her about it, at least
that is what Ryck hoped. If she had a mole in their inner circle, so could anyone else.

  She looked at him expectantly, and Ryck had to consider it. Kakurega was not the most populous planet, but the governor had been in office for 16 or 17 years and had been proven quite effective. They could do worse with her in charge. And having her refute the propaganda smear campaign against him was an added bonus.

  “It’s not just up to me, you know. I’ll have to broach this with Admiral Chandanasiri,” he said, sure though that the admiral would not balk, especially if he had someone for the last position and wanted Ryck’s concurrence on that.

  “You do what you need to. But to sweeten the pot, tell him I’ll bring along Propitious Interstellar with me.”

  The elicited a gasp from the other four eavesdropping Marines. Ryck was floored as well. No major Federation-wide corporation had come in on their side yet. Most were not even neutral but firmly on the side of the loyalists. PI was not only legally headquartered on Earth as were most of the large firms, but it was the third largest fabricator in the Federation and the fifth largest anywhere. With the company supporting them, their dire position vis-à-vis supplies and materials would immediately improve tremendously.

  “I think that will catch the admiral’s attention, governor. But may I ask, how—“ he started.

  “No, you may not. Just trust my word, General.”

  There had been a few tabloid rumors every now and then that the friendship between the governor and David del Solar, the PI CEO, was a little more than platonic or a friendship of political convenience. Ryck had never paid attention to that. They might cooperate due to mutual expediency, but still, PI security goons had killed the governor’s activist fiancé. That would seem to be a pretty big hurdle to clear.

  Looking at her image, though, Ryck began to question that conclusion. Maybe there was more to it that he’d thought. If Ryck and the governor could cooperate, given their one-time adversarial relationship, why not her and del Solar?

  And if PI were going to come onboard, it could be for selfish reasons. They were number three now, but if the provisional government prevailed, then they would be in perfect position to ride their support to be the largest fabricator in human space. They were taking a chance, one for which Ryck was grateful, but they stood to gain if things went their way.

  “Well, Governor, this has been a rather interesting, and can I say, welcome call. If you will excuse me, I’ll get on the hook with the admiral. If you’ll stand by, I’ll try to get back to you within the half hour.”

  “Fair enough, General. I’ll be waiting. Let’s hope we can come to an accommodation,” she said before cutting the connection.

  Ryck lowered his green phone screen to look up at the other four Marines.

  “Holy fucking shit,” Sams said. “That Lemon geek is going to cum in his pants when he hears this. Propitious Interstellar? Who’d have thunk it?”

  “Not to mention someone to refute the propaganda,” Bert said dryly.

  “Yeah, but PI?” Sams said, a huge smile on his face. “Holy fucking shit!”

  “Well, gentlemen, my dad used to say it was not polite to keep a lady waiting, so I’m going to the vault and make the call to the admiral. Why don’t the four of you wait here, and Jorge, get ready to ask General Copperwait and our pet economist to come back in here to get caught up on what just happened,” Ryck said, standing up.

  “Vivian, I’m on my way to the vault. I want to speak with the admiral,” Ryck said as he passed through his outer office. “Good things are happening,” he added, unable to resist.

  Sams, in his indubitable manner, had once again nailed it.

  “Holy fucking shit” was right.

  Chapter 13

  Ryck stared at the holo that was projected above the main conference table in the MCCC, or the Marine Corps Command Center. The MCCC was the heart and soul of Marine Corps combat operations, but this time, no Marines were involved in the upcoming battle.

  It had been two weeks since Ryck returned to Tarawa, and the schism between the old Council and the provisional government had not broken out into fighting—yet. With the Brotherhood spearheading a combined effort to keep what would be a civil war from breaking out and getting more UAM proclamations passed that limited the use of ship-to-ground weaponry, both the loyalists and evolutionaries had been hesitant to initiate hostilities. That had been fine with Ryck. He didn’t even know yet just who was in their camp, and it was hard to plan a course of action without knowing the extent of both the friendly forces and the “enemy,” as much as Ryck still had a problem with that term for the Federation loyalists.

  That lack of action was about to come to an end. The Federation had sent a small task force of 14 ships, none larger than a frigate, to take out the GT-3 Hub, which was the nexus of most of the communications for the broad swatch of planets that seemed to be coalescing with the Evolution forces. The loss of GT-3 would not be a death blow. There were always workarounds, from hadron communicators to convoluted routings, but this would mean comms would be degraded, and that could make a difference in any conflict. So Admiral Chandanasiri had dispatched a 20-ship task force, with two cruisers in the lead, to defend it. Conscious that the attack could be a feint, he kept most of his ships around Prometheus Station and Tarawa. A scattering of ships was dispatched to several planets that had weighed in on the Evolution cause, more for show than for any militarily strategic decision.

  His task force should be able to fend off the Federation task force, but the Federation did not have to defeat the Evolution ships. It just had to get one missile through them to take out the station.

  Ryck thought back to the last time he’d watched a naval battle, while on the FS Ark Royal during the war with Greater France. During that battle, the Greater France spoofing and Admiral DeMornay’s battle plan had carried the day, with the dreadnaught FS Bismark being destroyed by the smaller and technically less-capable Jean d’Arc. This time, it was Third Fleet ships against First Fleet, and so the holo was an accurate depiction of the ships as they maneuvered. During the battle with the Greater France navy, Ryck had been a mere spectator to the fight, and now, even though he was the commandant, nothing had changed. He could watch, but he had no input into the fight. Even being able to watch it was a courtesy, relayed to him through a Navy corvette in orbit over his headquarters.

  As Ryck watched the slowly moving avatars, a small bloom of light appeared beside the FS Dundee. The loyalist ship had fired a torpedo, and the fight was on.

  “That’s it then. It’s war,” Bert said.

  The torpedo was quickly knocked out by several provisional government ships, but the damage was done—not to GT-3, but as Bert said, this was now a shooting war. Any hope of a negotiated settlement had almost disappeared, not that Ryck had expected anything different. But to expect fighting was different from having it thrust at you.

  At least they started it, Ryck thought to himself. History can’t accuse me of that.

  For the next 20 minutes, the loyalist ships feinted and maneuvered, keeping at the edge of the defending ship’s range. Ryck kept expecting the more robust Third Fleet task force to charge and scatter the attackers, but they held fast in a geometrically designed formation. Ryck thought that was too passive, but it seemed to be working for the moment. None of the loyalist volleys managed to pierce the shield of ships, and two of the attacking ships had to withdraw due to damage.

  Ryck was beginning to hope that the loyalists would withdraw with no loss of ships and possibly no loss of life when half of the loyalist ships darted forward, shields on high as they charged at the heart of the Third Fleet ships.

  Ryck stood up, hand on the table as he watched the fight unfold. Rear Admiral Housa shifted his cruiser’s fire to concentrate on the lead attackers, and Ryck could see the shield strength on the attackers degrade by the second under the withering energy weapons. The FS Dundee, the same ship that had fired the first volley, took the brunt of the evolutionar
y fire, and suddenly, her shields collapsed, and the ship was vaporized.

  There was a collective gasp around the room as the ship, with over 200 men aboard, ceased to exist.

  At the same moment, the loyalist ships not in the attack split into three axes, each arching around and firing what had to be their full load of hyper-velocity torpedoes. Under pressure from the initial assault force, only a handful of the evolutionary ships were able to switch over to the new threat. It only took those ships a few seconds to target the incoming torpedoes, but that was a few seconds too long. One Gangee torpedo, a small, 8cm wide inert missile, boosted to .42 of light speed, made it through the defending fire to hit and pierce GT-3. The torpedo only massed 35 kg, but the energy released upon impact was over 4,000,000 Newtons, and that was enough to destroy the hub. There was no catastrophic, slow-motion explosion common in the Hollybolly flicks. There was a large flash of light as the missile hit and parts of the hub were instantly vaporized, but the missile itself punched completely through the hub. The damage inside the hub, however, was extensive. GT-3 was dead.

  The attacking loyalist ships immediately broke off the engagement to scatter. Admiral Housa chose to let them go. The loyalists had lost a ship and had two more damaged. Not a single evolutionary ship had been lost. But the loyalists had won.

  Ryck slowly sat back down before he looked at the gathered men around him, men now looking to him expectantly.

  “Well, gentlemen, we knew it was coming. Now the genie is loose, and the only way to get him back in the bottle is to defeat the Council. And that is just what I plan on doing.”

  Chapter 14

  “Gunny, please get Colonel Edison,” Ryck told Çağlar. “We might as well get this done.”