Commandant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 8)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  “Well, actually, sir, Mr. Montero wanted to see you. The sergeant major and I had a meeting with General Della Cotta, and since this concerns recruit training, we tagged along, if that’s OK.”

  Della Cotta was Ryck’s Deputy Chief of Staff for Manpower, one of the two generals with direct control over Joab and recruit training.

  “OK, Mr. Montero, since you requested this, what do you want?” Ryck asked.

  “If I may?” the public affairs liaison asked, synching his PA to the display.

  A moment later, the image of a talking head sitting behind a desk appeared. Ryck recognized him as one of the GBC News commentators.

  “Another sign of the desperation in the criminal faction is the fact that they are forcing women into their military. Women!”

  A scene, obviously recorded at Camp Charles, showed a young woman running up to the wall climb on the obstacle course. She tried to jump up and grab the top, but she missed. Stepping back a few meters, she ran up again, jumped, and managed to get one hand on the top. She hung on for less than two seconds before she fell to the ground. A DI came into the recording field and told her to go around the wall. The woman slowly got up, brushed the hair back around her ear, and slowly jogged around the wall and out of view.

  “As you can see, this is hardly a force to be feared,” the commentator said with an obvious smirk on his face. “The traitors are merely tyrannical bullies who force women to fight where men are too frightened. I don’t think our professional military men are too concerned.

  “On other news—” he started before Montero cut the recording.

  “I thought you told me standards were not lowered,” Ryck said, his anger beginning to rise.

  “They weren’t. That recording was made during our ergonomic testing. That woman was one of our DI’s wives who volunteered to help out the evaluation.”

  “She was not a recruit?”

  “No, sir. We were testing all aspects of training for women of various sizes and shapes as well as uniform and armor fit. I can assure you that the actual recruits are performing to the same standard as the men.”

  Ryck let that sink in for a moment, glad for the reassurance.

  “So, Mr. Montero, what do we do about this?” he asked.

  “Embrace it, sir.”

  “What? That made us look like idiots, incompetent idiots.”

  “Oh, we let it be known that Ms. Reynolds is a middle-aged mother of four who was just trying to experience what her husband goes through—you know, a family day. Then we show video of actual recruits.

  “I can’t believe those bozos actually opened themselves up to this. The latest surveys show that 68% of the population approve of women serving,” he continued, unable to hide his glee.

  “Sixty-eight percent of our side, not the loyalists,” Jorge corrected.

  “No, the loyalist side. For us, we’re over 74%.”

  “How do you know about the loyalist side?” Jorge asked.

  “Please, sir! We’ve got connections everywhere. We just asked someone on that side to do the research.”

  That slightly turned Ryck’s stomach, even though it didn’t surprise him. He knew he needed Montero, but if he had such easy access to the loyalist planets, what else did he know? And what might he be providing them?

  “Did you take this up with General Della Cotta?” Ryck asked Joab.

  “Not yet,” Montero answered for the colonel.

  “He’s your boss. Brief him, and he’ll coordinate.”

  “Aye-aye, sir.”

  “General? I think you need to look at this?” Jorge said interrupting, his voice low and barely audible.

  His chief of staff was looking at his command PA. Ryck’s PA was back at his desk, and he didn’t want to get up, so he reached over for Jorge’s. Jorge handed it over, his face white.

  What the. . .?

  Ryck felt the blood rush from his head as he read the message. It was from the naval command center on Prometheus Station. 452 ships had emerged from bubble space within a million klicks of the station.

  “Get to the MCCC. All hands! And put us on Class A alert!” he shouted at Jorge as he bolted from the office.

  By the time Ryck reached the MCCC, the battle was in full tilt. The loyalist ships were swarming the few Third Fleet ships on picket duty. A few loyalist ships were taken out, but the picket ships were outnumbered and knocked off, one-by-one. The station defenses opened up, taking out more of the attackers as ships docked at the station started to pull away to get into the fight.

  Ryck and the rest of the Marines, and joined by Admiral Mendez, watched in horror as one Third Fleet ship after another fell.

  “I’ve got him, sir!” one of the comm techs shouted, holding up a phone.

  Ryck grabbed it and said, “Bert! What’s happening?”

  “It looks bad, sir. Our shields are failing, and we can’t get our ships out and into the defense.”

  “Can you evacuate the station?”

  “I don’t think so, sir. I’ll—”

  Bert was cut off as the display showed the station in full fight mode one moment, then an exploding sphere of light the next before everything went black.

  “What the fuck?” a voice shouted out clearly among the gasps and murmuring.

  An image started to show up as AIs routed to surviving sensors. It wasn’t as clear, but it was clear enough to show that Prometheus Station was gone, along with most of the ships of the fleet.

  “What the grubbing hell happened?” Ryck yelled out.

  “They used a planet buster, sir! A planet buster!” one of the station techs answered.

  “The agreement!” another voice shouted out. “It was proscribed!”

  Proscribed or not, the loyalists had just murdered 30,000 civilians and wiped out the Third Fleet. And General Bert Nidischii’.

  The war had just taken a horrible turn for the worse.

  Chapter 36

  “But they used a planet buster,” Ryck protested. “Over 30,000 civilians killed and 25,000 sailors. How can your government accept that?”

  “Sir, they don’t accept it. But as I said, it wasn’t against a planet, and that is the loophole. The New Budapest ambassador to the UAM will register a protest, and we applaud that, but they did not contravene the actual proscription. I’m sorry about that,” Major Titus Pohlmeyer said.

  “But with half of our fleet destroyed, we need your help. We need your lift.”

  “I have brought that to the attention of our Forum, and while we are committed to a presence off Tarawa and the other listed planets, we cannot join an offensive operation at the moment.”

  Ryck was frustrated to no end. He had four full Marine divisions ready to move on Hartford, but he had no way to get them there nor did he have a way to protect a task force in transit. He didn’t even have what was left of the Third Fleet at the moment. Vice Admiral Mendez was the new commander of the decimated Third Fleet, and he was busy just trying to take stock of what he had left and what to do next.

  Over 200 Third Fleet Ships had been destroyed or damaged. The loyalists had lost almost 100, many in the same blast that had destroyed the station. But they had started with 40% more ships under their banner before the attack, and now they owned the space lanes.

  Ryck needed the Confederation navy, and it didn’t look like that was forthcoming. And the longer it took, the more likely something would leak out to the loyalists, who had to know by the training tempo that something was brewing.

  “So there is no way you are going to budge, Titus?” Ryck said, beginning to accept the inevitable.

  “I wish there was. I truly do. But now, even if they’re crippled, we can’t risk a shooting war with the loyalists. It was hard enough to authorize the ships we’ve deployed as a deterrent.”

  Without the Confed navy, the operation on Hartford had to be put on hold. There just wasn’t a way to make things work. Ryck knew he would have to come up with something else in the meantime until he cou
ld gather the naval forces necessary to take Hartford.

  Ryck looked across his desk at the major before asking, “When you gave me that phone, what, 17 years ago, did you think things would work out this way?”

  “Eighteen percent,” the major said after only a moment’s hesitation.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “I mean we calculated that there would be an 18% chance that this would happen. Not Prometheus Station, not the exact way it would work out, but that you personally would be involved in a revolt against the government. That was the second highest projection for anyone we analyzed.”

  The revelation floored Ryck. “You had me analyzed? And it said there was an 18% chance I’d turn on my government?” he asked, completely astounded.

  “Those were the figures.”

  “How the hell can you calculate that?” Ryck asked, still not believing it.

  “We’ve got some pretty accurate psychoanalysts, and then our AIs are second to none in crunching the numbers. Those same AIs had the appearance of the Klethos, or some other aggressive race, at 82%.”

  If what the major was saying was true, then the Confeds were far more advanced than the Federation in this field, at least as far as Ryck knew. But given the missteps by the Federation, he doubted the Council had an accurate crystal ball.

  “Eighteen percent? And someone else was higher? Who?”

  “A Navy officer was at 23%. He was killed in the Trinocular War, though. We’ve been following close to 100 other Federation citizens from all walks of life, too. You know one: Michiko MacCailín.”

  “Hmph,” Ryck snorted for lack of anything better to say. “And Admiral Chandanasiri?”

  “He wasn’t on our radar, no,” the major admitted.

  “Well, Major, this has been an eye-opener, I have to admit. I’d never have guessed you guys were that, well, that you looked so far into the future. And I thank you for coming in. But now I’ve got to come up with a plan. Without the full Third Fleet, my options are rather limited.”

  Major Pohlmeyer stood up and said, “Certainly, sir. I’ll get out of your hair. I’ll coordinate with your new Navy liaison about our ships arriving.”

  He started to walk out, but halfway to the door, turned and said, “If it means anything, sir, I not only admire you, but I respect you. It would have been great for the Free States had you been born there, but I still think you have destiny written all over you. You’ll pull it out, and I personally put that at 100%.”

  Ryck stared after the major a good minute after the door closed behind him. He wished he had the same confidence in himself as the major had in him, but frankly, at the moment, he didn’t have a clue as to what he could do.

  Chapter 37

  Ryck sat in the dark of the cavernous library, an open but still full Corona in his hand getting warm. He stared into the empty fireplace, his mind a blank. Soft footsteps sounded behind him, but he didn’t move as Hannah’s arms wrapped around him from behind.

  “Be you coming to bed? It’s 2:00 in the morning,” she said, a question, not a demand.

  “I’ll be there soon, honey,” he answered.

  Hannah sighed, then started to leave.

  “Wait,” Ryck said suddenly, reaching around the back of the chair to take her arm and leading her around and into his lap. “I’m sorry. Since you’ve been back, I really haven’t been here for you.”

  “There be bigger things for you right now. I understand.”

  “But you are the biggest thing for me. You and Esther and Noah.”

  His thoughts went to Ben, and he wished he could just let go and grieve for his son. He hadn’t done it yet, and he knew he had to. But he was afraid that if he let go, he might never gain control again. He could lose his ability to make decisions. He could lose his ability to order more men into harm’s way.

  “We know, Ryck. Don’t worry about us.”

  “I’m just sorry for everything. This isn’t what you signed up for when you agreed to marry me.”

  “This be exactly what I signed up for, Ryck Lysander. I knew the minute you walked in our home with Joshua that you were a man of destiny, and I was to be by your side. This be the man I fell in love with.”

  Ryck felt her snuggle her chin into the crook of his shoulder and neck.

  “You knew the first time you met me? Why did you make me work so hard to get you to marry me then?”

  “Because I was afraid. I was afraid that you would consume me in your rise. For all their brilliance, shooting stars burn in their wake, after all,” she said quietly. “And I wanted you to appreciate me more,” she added as she snuggled deeper into him, a hint of the irreverent girl he loved showing through.

  “Ah, but rest assured, my lady, I do appreciate you.”

  His hand dropped to cup her breast through her nightgown. They hadn’t made love since they’d been reunited. Stress, Ben, and everything else had gotten in the way, and Ryck hadn’t shifted his hand with that in mind. He just wanted to share the closeness with her.

  But when his hand touched her breast, he felt her stiffen. Thinking it was too soon for her, he started to pull away, but she grabbed his hand and kept it there, pressing it into her harder. She leaned back so he could bend down to kiss her. A sudden need filled him. He had to feel human. He had to feel normal. And in his need, he devoured her, and she devoured him. On the overstuffed chair in the 300-year-old commandants’ quarters, with armed guards standing 20 meters away outside the curtained windows, Ryck Lysander and Hannah Hope-of-Life Lysander made love as husband and wife.

  Chapter 38

  The next morning, Hannah was all smiles as Ryck came downstairs.

  “Did you sleep well, Ryck?” she asked innocently.

  “Best sleep in months,” he said, realizing it was true as he spoke the words.

  From everything facing him, he was able to escape for a short time. In a few minutes, he’d make his way to the headquarters, and it would be back to the war. But for the moment, at least, he felt refreshed.

  “I made you buckwheat waffles,” she said, putting a plate down in front of him.

  “Made” was a generous term, given that she had simply dialed the fabricator, but it was the thought that counted. He patted her butt as he sat down.

  “Mr. Lysander,” she said with mock anger. “Manners!”

  “You weren’t saying ‘Mr. Lysander’ last night,” he retorted, letting the melting butter and maple syrup start to flow down the stack before cutting a corner off and putting it in his mouth.

  “No, I wasn’t,” she said with a laugh. “That was, well, special, Ryck. One to go into my diary.”

  “You note when we make love in a diary? Scandalous, my lady!”

  “Only the special times.”

  “Really, like when?”

  “Well, last night. The time at the beach on Papilotte. Oh, the time in the duck egg, of course.”

  Ryck broke out in a laugh. Their attempt at an intimate liaison in the Inert Atmospheric Insertion Capsule, or “duck egg,” had been a physical disaster and a rather risky escapade, but it had been extremely fun. As a lieutenant in recon, Ryck had mentioned “69’ing” Sams in the duck egg during the insert onto GenAg 13. After explaining the relevance of the term to Hannah, she had insisted that they try it for real. More than a little intrigued, Ryck had agreed, and he’d snuck Hannah into the maintenance shop where an egg was being worked on one Sunday morning, and the two of them had attempted to perform the actual feat in a duck egg. But the duck egg in the shop was under normal gravity, not space’s Zero G, and after a smashed nose, a black eye, and a bruised area that shouldn’t be bruised, the giggling couple had abandoned the attempt.

  As an erotic adventure, it was pretty much a zero, but as a bonding experience and a fond memory, it ranked right up there with the best.

  “Well, my love, you are a much better duck egg partner than Sams,” he said. “That Marine is not the smallest guy around.”

  “I think you h
ad your chance. We’re getting a little old for those kinds of acrobatics. No, I think neither one of us will get in one of those again,” she said with a laugh.

  “Ah, I’m still fit,” Ryck said, slapping his chest. “I could get in one today for a 30-hour insert.”

  He flexed one arm to show off a bicep—and stopped dead.

  “Ryck? Are you OK?” Hannah asked.

  Ryck shook his head, jumped up, and kissed Hannah on the forehead.

  “You’re a genius, Hannah, and I love you!”

  He bolted for the front door, startling the guard there as he ran out and on to headquarters.

  Chapter 39

  “I can’t tell you how important this is,” Ryck said to Lieutenant General Maldonado. “Everything could ride on it.”

  “I know, sir, and I’m taking it as my solemn duty. All of us are.”

  Lieutenant General Pasqual Jesus Maldonado, “Buck,” was the Outer Forces commanding general. The four divisions under his command had been the least engaged in the limited operations against the loyalists so far, and the Third Fleet ships in his AOR had not been hit by the attack on Prometheus Station.

  It had still taken more than a little effort to convince Admiral Mendez to release the ships for the operation. The man was understandably hesitant to send a large portion of his remaining ships straight into the heart of loyalist space, and Ryck at one point had been tempted just to order the admiral to obey. But it was never a good idea to issue an order that would be disobeyed, so he’d taken the time to bring Mendez onboard.

  “Buck, this could go terribly wrong. . .” Ryck began.

  “And it could go right,” Buck said with a smile. “And it’s about time we out in the Outer Forces get to play. It’s always the Inner Forces that get all the glory.”

  Ryck had to smile at the general’s faux jealousy.

  “Well, Buck, now you can show up Liam and the Inner Forces. I’ve got it on good authority that he doesn’t mind. I’ll let you go now. Go with God, and fair winds and following seas.”