Commandant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 8)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  “General, good to see you again,” Ryck said as he reached his seat next to where his assistant commandant had already claimed his. “The Navy treating you right?”

  “As good as can be expected, sir. But it’s good to see a few more Marine faces.”

  “Not too many, though,” Ryck said. “Just Bert here, Sergeant Major Phantawisangtong, who I think you know, and Gunnery Sergeant Çağlar. Have you met the gunny before?”

  “Not personally, no. But I’ve heard of him,” he said, reaching out to shake Çağlar’s hand. “And of course, the sergeant major and I have served a tour together. How are you doing, Hecs?”

  “Good to see you again, too, sir,” Hecs said.

  “So, how many people are here?” Ryck asked. “We’ve been kept in the dark.”

  “Everyone has. The loyalists have big ears, and they’re not invited. But from what Admiral Attamount told me as we arrived, we’re expecting 38 heads of state, all with minimal staffs.”

  “That’s it? Thirty-eight?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  Ryck had been hoping for more. Over 100 planetary and national governments, as well as 19 stations, had given their support. Ryck hoped the missing heads of governments was due to logistics and not to lukewarm support or worse, a change of heart.

  “Sir, I’ll leave you here now,” Colonel Edison said. “I’ll be in the back coordinating with Captain Douglas, but we’ve got men stationed throughout the hall. If you need me, just call.”

  “OK. Looks like the choice of a venue was well-thought out. I don’t think your men will be earning their pay today,” Ryck said.

  “Let’s pray that be the case, sir,” the FCDC colonel said before leaving the four Marines.

  “And foreign representatives?” Ryck asked General Huckmaster, returning to the previous line of discussion.

  “The Confederation has four, along with your Major Pohlmeyer. The Brotherhood has one, the Vicar Emmanuel.”

  Only a vicar? Grubbing hell!

  “The Alliance, New Budapest, Outback, Purgatory, the Juliette Group, uh, well, I can give you a full list, but 19 foreign reps are here. Well, you making Corporal Hailstone an observer makes it 20. The vicar is royally pissed, though, that you did that. He says the gladiators have to remain not only above the fray but completely divorced from any inter-governmental conflicts.”

  Fuck the vicar if he can’t take a joke, Ryck thought, bringing to mind an old but trite phrase.

  “Greater France?”

  “No, sir. Nothing from them.”

  Shit in a handbasket. We needed them, Ryck thought to himself.

  Greater France was the only other major power headquartered on Earth. Ryck had some vague ideas of using Greater France’s Earth territory to launch some sort of raid on Brussels. Their lack of response to this invitation was troubling.

  “General Lysander, Ryck, it’s good to finally meet you,” a voice said from behind Ryck.

  Ryck turned to see Admiral Chandanasiri approaching arms out for a hug. Ryck was more of a handshake kind of guy, but with holo-cams running, he accepted the admiral’s embrace, giving the admiral a good slap on the back.

  “Admiral, it’s good to see you, too,” Ryck said as all eyes turned to the two great men.

  “Please, it’s Amarin. Or Fred if you want. We’re too close for formalities, and we’ve got a job to do.”

  But they weren’t close. Ryck had only cammed with the admiral a few times, but one thing was evident in person and not on cam. The admiral simply exuded personality. And Ryck couldn’t help but notice how he’d positioned himself to show off his medals and catch the gathered holo-cams at a good angle.

  The admiral had proven himself in battle. He was no desk-jockey, but a true warrior. But he also had the reputation of being a superb politician, one who’d had his sights set on the Council chairmanship. Ryck had to wonder if the Third Fleet’s support had more to do with that ambition than anything else, an effort to cut 15 or 20 years out of the process of rising to the position.

  One way or the other, Ryck was glad for the admiral’s contribution. Ryck hated the politics, and he was eagerly ceding those duties to the man.

  Still, Ryck was beginning to realize that he liked the limelight. He didn’t want to perform the smooching and posturing required to be a real politician, but he had to admit he wanted the accolades. Now, standing next to the photogenic admiral, Ryck realized he was puffing up his chest and shifting his position so he would be best recorded. That made him feel somewhat of a hypocrite, but that didn’t make him stop preening like a peacock.

  “Gentlemen, we’re ready to begin,” Admiral Attamount said, stepping up to the two.

  “Well, then Ryck. Let’s take a seat and get this show rolling. We’ve got a schedule to keep, after all,” the admiral said.

  Ryck took his assigned seat next to the admiral, right in the middle of the first row as a Navy captain on stage said, “Ladies and gentlemen, would you please take your seats?”

  The captain waited a few moments until most of the people were seated before saying, “Ladies and gentlemen, Admiral Amarin Chandanasiri, the co-chairman of the provisional government of the United Federation.”

  “That’s me,” the admiral whispered to Ryck as he got up and walked to the stage to the applause of those in the room.

  Ryck was not scheduled to talk, and while part of him was glad of that, given his distaste of public speaking, he had to wonder why. If he was the co-chairman along with the admiral, shouldn’t he talk as well? When they had been given the itinerary immediately after emerging from bubble space, Ryck had been both relieved and a little disappointed. Bert had said that the admiral was already maneuvering for the permanent chairmanship, and while Ryck had only a passing interest in it and was willing to support the admiral once all this was over, he wanted that to be his decision, not something forced upon him.

  After reaching the podium, the admiral took a long, slow look at the gathered men and women before saying, “Ladies and gentlemen, heads of state, and representatives of our fellow governments in human space, welcome.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t invite a capy rep,” Bert whispered.

  “Shh!” Ryck whispered back out of the corner of his mouth, eyes locked on the admiral while he tried not to laugh.

  “Back in 2216, Old Reckoning, our founding fathers, sick of the wars that threatened to engulf the planet, sick of the abuse humans were wracking on each other on the homeword, founded the United Federation of Nations. By signing the charter, our founding fathers became marked men and women, traitors to their home countries. But it worked. A reign of peace, prosperity, and expansion resulted. Yes, there’ve been wars since then. Yes, other governments have chosen to split off, but we’ve never been in danger of destroying ourselves since then.

  “Over the last 40 years, though, the Federation Council has forgotten the ideals in which our beloved Federation was formed. They became the raison d’etre for the Federation rather than the servants of it. And their arrogance grew until insanity took over. With their hands in the pockets of big business, they thought they could do anything. What they forgot was that some of us have a moral compass to prevent that.

  “When the Council itself, the supposed guardians of the citizens, ordered the murder of 12 billion citizens on Ellison, my co-chairman, General Ryck Lysander, did not stand by hopelessly. He acted and saved those lives.”

  He looked down with almost a fatherly expression on his face, lowering his right hand to indicate Ryck. Applause grew until it filled the hall.

  “Now, I’d like to think I’d have done the same. As I’m sure that all of you would have given the same situation, but it was Ryck, my respected friend, who took that first step. Now it is up to us to take the torch and carry it through.

  “The old council is corrupt and rotten to the core. It has to be removed by the will of the people. And that is why we’ve called you here. You needed to meet us, the Navy and t
he Marines, to assure yourself and your citizens that we are the true servants of the people. We will rid the Federation of the rot so you, those of you here today, can and will take its place.

  “I’m just an old sailor, and Ryck is a Marine. We serve the people. We’ve declared martial law only until the old council is replaced. After that, the Federation will be given back into the hands of the people. That’s you. To that end, and as a transitional council, we welcome five of you to the Civilian Advisory Council, the CAC. This council is your civilian representation to the provisional government, and as soon as we can, Ryck and I will turn over all power to it so they can form a new Federation Council, one free of the corruption now back in Brussels.

  “If I can, may I present to you Terrance Gnatson, Lin Hao Bi, Patrick de Misterie, Michiko MacCailín, and Leon Jesus Molina, your Civilian Advisory Council!”

  The five stood up to a thunderous round of applause.

  The guy is brilliant, Ryck admitted to himself as he stood to clap with the rest.

  Any military coup—and no matter how you sliced it, that is what it was—is open to mistrust. By announcing now the formation of the CAC, the provisional government, (that is the admiral and Ryck) was promising that the military control was of a limited duration. He made it sound as if he didn’t want to be in charge, something Ryck was sure was a sham. But now, by parading around the CAC, not only was he assuring the planetary and national reps that this was “their” government, he was making a statement to the foreign reps that the largest, most powerful military in human space was not interested in power. And that would be a welcome piece of news to the Brotherhood and the rest who had long had a growing unease at the progressively more aggressive stance emanating out of the Federation.

  “We don’t have much time here,” he continued after the applause died out. “And I don’t really enjoy being a public speaker,” he added as laughter interrupted him at the tongue-in-cheek lie. “But I want to give Terrance Gnatson a chance to speak, and then we’ll open it up to questions before breaking down into groups. I hope this meeting will reap dividends in getting us all on the same page and keeping everything open. Dr. Gnatson, if you will?”

  Ryck hadn’t been kept in the loop as to the specifics of the meeting. He hadn’t even thought at first that the meeting was even necessary, after all, given modern technology and the ability to conduct virtual conferences. But he could feel the excitement in the room. The 38 reps here were probably from the governments most committed, but he knew they were onboard. And once the recordings of the meeting were disseminated, Ryck was pretty sure others would sign on as well.

  “Nice job,” Ryck whispered to the admiral as he sat back down. “I was wondering where you were going with this.”

  “Thanks, and sorry I couldn’t bring you in on more than this. Only Gnatson, Attamount, and I put this together, and that was all face-to-face. I couldn’t risk anything leaking out beforehand, and getting back to the Council.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Ryck said.

  He did feel a little left out. He was the co-chairman, after all, supposedly an equal partner. And if not him, then Huckmaster should have been part of their little planning cell. But he didn’t want his ego to get in the way, and what the admiral said was true. The more people brought in on this, the more likelihood of a leak. If the loyalists had any way to reach them, it would be a disaster.

  Terrance Gnatson stood at the podium, basking in the applause. He was very well respected and trusted, and his approval ratings were up in the 80th percentile. A grandfatherly figure, he was a good choice to head the CAC.

  “Thank you,” he said, leaning into the old fashioned mic. “I am honored t—”

  The first shot hit him high in the forehead, taking out the back of his head in an explosion of blood, bone, and brain matter.

  Ryck was drawing his Ruger, spinning around before his conscious mind registered what had happened. In the back of the hall, FCDC troopers, his troopers, were raising their Reimmasters to take the room under fire. Ryck snapped off two shots, hitting one of the fuckdicks in the face and dropping him before the people realized what had happened. Screams echoed out as people dove to find cover between the rows of seats.

  The Reimmasters favored by the FCDC fired a jacketless 120-grain round. It limited the number of rounds when compared to the hypervelocity darts favored by the Marines, but they had a far more visual impact. A dart tended to pass through a body. The Reimmaster round tended to destroy what it hit. Body armor would defeat it, but no one other than the fuckdicks was wearing any.

  Marines, as a military service, joined other militaries in using darts as the main personal arms. A dart would disable or kill an enemy, but the amount of body damage would not be extensive. A KIA could be zombied and have a reasonable chance at resurrection. It may have been a gentlemen’s agreement, but resurrecting a soldier took more resources and manpower than burying one, and so there was a strategic advantage to it as well.

  Rounds such as the 120-grain expanding round destroyed far more tissue. A head shot with one was generally considered non-resurrectable.

  A split second after Ryck fired, Çağlar was at his side, trying to get in front of his commandant as he fired his own Ruger.

  “Get down!” Ryck shouted, pulling at the bigger Marine’s jacket. “And aim those shots!”

  The back of Ryck’s seat exploded just as Çağlar crouched. Next to him, Ryck heard the admiral grunt, but Ryck couldn’t spare the time to look at him. He fired shot after shot, but after the lucky face shot, his Ruger, designed for short-range self-defense, was not letting him place effective fire on the fuckdicks who were advancing down the aisles, their Reimmasters blazing.

  A woman jumped up to flee and was accidently cut down by one of the four Marines. Ryck felt a pang, but he couldn’t focus on that at the moment.

  Two of the door guards, Navy gunners mates, charged into the room. Their heavier weapons took care of one of the fuckdicks, before the rear-guard troopers shot both men.

  Ryck’s mind churned, processing information. There were ten troopers, including Edison in the back, who were advancing down to the front row. Two were down, so that meant eleven, along with three Marines, were not in the hall. Ryck didn’t know how many security personnel the admiral had, but three, including the OIC, looked to be KIA.

  There was a pounding on the back doors, and Ryck suddenly knew this was a suicide mission. The fuckdicks didn’t plan on escaping. They’d locked or jammed the doors.

  “Push to the right,” Ryck told Bert and Hecs. We’re too bunched up.”

  Something large crashed into one of the fuckdicks, sending him flying to bounce horribly into the back of a row of chairs. It was Corporal Hailstone in full gladiator fury. Still moving incredibly fast, he crashed into another.

  The fuckdicks might have been ready to die for their cause, but they couldn’t have imagined being torn apart by this vision from hell. The fuckdick screamed in terror as Hailstone tore one of his arms off.

  Two troopers spun in their tracks to confront the monster Marine, and the nearest one, only 15 meters from Ryck, exposed his neck. He was raising his Reimmaster when Ryck’s dart took him at the base of his throat.

  The second fuckdick managed to get off several shots as Hailstone closed in on him. The corporal nearly took his head off with one ham-fisted blow before the big man, stopped and looked at the hole in his gut.

  Fuck! Ryck thought, though not taking time to stop his firing.

  Corporal Peyton Hailstone, UFMC, looked at Ryck with a beseeching expression as he slowly sank to his knees and toppled over.

  “Fucking die you traitor scum!” Colonel Edison screamed in rage as he ran down the aisle, rifle ablazing.

  He wasn’t really aiming, but the rounds were coming so fast that Ryck had to duck behind the chair as shattered pieces of plastic flew into the air. Head down, he caught a glimpse of the admiral, surprisingly alive, if obviously hurting and gasping for air.<
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  Grubbing hell! He’s got on armor, Ryck realized.

  The rounds stopped for a second, and Ryck risked a glance over the edge of the chairs. A trooper, eschewing the aisle, had jumped up on the back of the chairs and was hopping from one row to the other. He was stepping to the B aisle when Ryck coolly shot the trooper’s unarmored foot. With a screech, the man tumbled to bounce off the back of the chair and fall into the next row from Ryck. He heard some thumps of fists on flesh and hoped it was the fuckdick getting pummeled.

  “You’ve got someone on your right!” he yelled out to Bert and Hecs, who just reached the end of the row.

  Someone jumped up to grab the fuckdick who was just poking his rifle around the last chair to take the two Marines under fire.

  It took a second to realize it was Michiko MacCailín. While a big woman, she was still getting up in years, but she had no problem spinning the trooper around while she lifted at the bottom of his torso armor. Ryck wondered if she was trying to throw him, but when she yelled “Shoot the bastard,” he knew she was exposing the man.

  It would have been a long shot for his Ruger, but not for Bert, who rolled around the edge of the row and fired two shots up into the man’s belly. Both Michiko and the trooper dropped, and Ryck hoped the darts hadn’t passed through the fuckdick and into the governor.

  There was a sudden silence. The attack had only taken 40 or maybe 50 seconds, but Ryck counted only eight down. There were four more, now taking cover. And while there were five armed Marines, including Huckmaster, the four troopers outgunned them.

  There was a scurry of movement at the sides of the hall, but it was only people crawling to get out of the way. Moans sounded from among the chairs, and the smell of blood, piss, and shit overpowered the air cleaners.

  “Here he is!” someone shouted a few meters down from Ryck, which was followed by the sound of a shot.

  Down the row on the other side of the admiral and his entourage, General Horace Huckmaster rose up to fire five shots down at the trooper. The return fire caught him in the middle of the chest, sending him sprawling.