The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins: The Complete Series: Books 1-5

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  Forty-three klicks? And we’re the closest unit?

  Third squad was the farthest east from the main population center, almost 30 klicks out. If this stakeholder and his family were another 43 klicks farther, they were in the veritable boonies. Soros Reach was only in Stage 4 terraforming, open to initial and limited settlers for not quite two years now. Most of the current settlers were within 25 klicks of the three population centers, and given the lack of infrastructure, seventy-three klicks might as well be a thousand for all intents and purposes.

  Both of the battalion Storks were on the mission, and one of them would probably be better to check out the family, but Noah didn’t know what else they might be doing. Forty-three klicks might not be that far in a PICS, but fighting the weather and poor footing, Noah figured it would probably take them two hours to cover the distance.

  He was wrong. It took almost four hours. The lone trail was almost impassable, and deep water diverted them more than a few times. A PICS was a powerful war machine, and they could operate submerged for several hours if needed, but they were ungainly under water, and if there was a strong current, they could be swept away. Even chest deep, the displacement, coupled with a significant flow, could knock a PICS Marine off his feet.

  Finally, they arrived at the location, which looked like any other piece of riverside forest on the planet. If the stakeholder family was in the area, they came from somewhere else. There wasn’t any sign of habitation around. Sergeant Narakarn had tried to raise the family on the D-freq, but there had been no answer. Noah thought that didn’t bode well for them.

  Sergeant Natakarn split the fireteams up to search for the family. The river, swollen with water, was too deep and the current too fast for anyone to cross, so they could only search the near side. Noah’s team was sent downriver. If the river had swept up the family, they’d be half-way to Fox Crossing by now, so Noah didn’t have much hope they’d find anything.

  So he was surprised when Turtle reported spotting someone. Noah hurried to him, and the “someone” was a corpse. The woman was lodged in a downed tree, her face and chest out of the water, her long brown hair flowing free in the current. Her skin was an extremely pale shade of white as if a vampire had drained her blood. Noah had never seen a dead person outside of a coffin before, and he couldn’t tear away his eyes.

  “Better get her,” Corporal St. Fyodor said as he maneuvered from above to capture an image and pass it up the chain of command.

  Noah started down the bank, slipping twice and grateful for his servo-gyros keeping him upright. The current caught at his legs as he waded knee-deep to the tree, breaking off several branches in the way so she could reach her.

  “That’s one of them,” the team leader passed. “Battalion just confirmed it. She’s the wife and mother. We’ve still got the husband and two kids missing.”

  Noah carefully reached out, and trying to be careful, closed his gauntlet around one of the woman’s shoulders. He pulled, but the body resisted, stuck on something. He had the strength in his arms to tear the body apart, but that obviously was not an option. He pulled her shoulder away and saw it was her lower body that was stuck.

  “Get her up here,” Tad told him.

  Noah wanted to tell him to shut up. He knew what he was supposed to do.

  Kneeling, he felt along her body, trying to find out on what she was hung up. With more of his body in the water, it gushed up and out as it flowed past. He felt oddly obscene as he probed her unresisting body with his gauntlet; not sexually obscene, but the sacrilege of disturbing the dead. Kneeling as he was, his faceplate was centimeters from her face, and he imagined the dead, flat eyes reproving him.

  I hope she didn’t suffer.

  As his hand reached her hip, it also touched wood. She had been jammed into a large branch that protruded down into the mud bottom. That was what was keeping her from being swept downriver. He gently tried to lift her out of the fork, but she was stuck fast, and he was afraid of damaging her body. Reaching back under her, he grabbed the branch itself. It felt to be a good ten centimeters across: nothing for his PICS. Locking his finger, he pulled steadily back and was rewarded with a loud snap, even from under the water. The tree lurched as if the branch was the only thing holding it in place, and Noah snatched up the body, lifting it free.

  The top of the tree swung farther downriver, as if the tree wanted to break free. Noah stepped back, not wanting to get caught up in it.

  A soft cry, barely a caress, reached him. He wasn’t sure he heard anything over the rush of the water pounding on his legs and the snapping and creaking of the tree. Still holding the dead woman, he blinked up his AI and told it to isolate the sounds. Six lines popped up, one labeled. . . “human voice.”

  The tree gave another lurch and swung farther around. Part of the trunk, still on the shore, slid two meters closer to the water.

  “Get out of there, Noah!” Corporal St. Fyodor shouted out.

  Noah looked up at his team leader, then commanded his AI, “Shit! Intensify and run line four.”

  “Help,” came in clear, high pitched and sounding scared.

  Noah immediately threw the woman’s body up on the bank, her arms and legs windmilling as she rotated.

  “Get down here now!” he shouted. “Keep the tree here!”

  He grabbed the trunk just as the base slipped free of its hold on the land. A PICS was an extremely powerful piece of military gear, but the river was even a stronger force, and Noah’s feet were sliding in the mud under the water, his boots unable to gain purchase. He was sure he’d lost it when around him, big bodies splashed into the water, and three more Marines grabbed hold, stopping the tree from breaking free.

  “What’s going on?” Corporal St. Fyodor asked.

  “There’s someone here, alive!”

  “What?”

  But Noah wasn’t listening. With the rest of his team holding on, he started walking his way deeper into the river, along the length of the tree. Waist deep, chest deep, he could feel the power of the water. Without the tree there in front of him, he was sure he’d have been swept away. He turned on his infrared, but he couldn’t see anything in the dense foliage.

  Am I crazy? Was the call from somewhere on the shore?

  His boots refused to gain traction, and twice, they were swept out from under him, and only by grabbing branches, was he kept from being swept away. At the middle of the tree, about seven meters from the bank, the branches were dense, heavy with needles. They formed a barrier to him, so with one gauntleted arm, he broke off the nearest branch—and he saw her.

  A little girl, no more than five or six, lay on top of the trunk, one little hand grasping a small branch, the other arm around the trunk. Her bare legs, pink with scratches, straddled the trunk.

  She looked at Noah with the glazed eyes of someone at the end of her rope and weakly said, “Help me, please.”

  “I found her!” he shouted.

  But how to get to her? The branches made a pretty formidable barrier, and his legs were almost useless in the current. If he tried to bull rush through, he could either send the tree on its way downriver or knock the little girl off her perch.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

  “Jennifer,” she said, her voice weak and expressionless.

  “OK, Jennifer. I’m here to help you. Can you come to me? Can you crawl so I can reach you?”

  Her face wrinkled up for a moment as if to cry; then she turned her head away.

  “Jennifer, Jennifer! Can you hear me?” he called out.

  She didn’t move.

  “What’s your status?” the corporal asked.

  “I’ve got a little girl, maybe five years old. I’m trying to get her to come to me, but she can’t. And I can’t go forward. Maybe we can push the crown downstream to get it closer to the shore?”

  “That’s a negative. It’s all we can do to hold it as it is. If you push the crown, that will free the roots
, and then it’ll be off to the races. Can’t you get in there?”

  “Let me try.”

  Noah reached forward and took a hold of a branch right at the trunk. Applying steady pressure, he pulled until it snapped off. He threw it over the tree into the water on the other side, and it was instantly whisked away. He moved up half a step, and broke off another one.

  Only fifty more to go.

  Slowly, he broke off branches advancing centimeter by centimeter. First, she was five meters away. Then four, then three. He could cover that in a split second on dry land, but here it seemed like a klick away.

  He kept up a conversation with Jennifer, assuring her that he was there. Her body was still. Noah thought she should be shivering, but he remembered that when hypothermia set in, shivering eventually stopped as the body temperature fell to dangerous levels. Somehow, the little girl had held on for hours, but he was pretty sure she couldn’t hold on much longer.

  “Noah, we’ve got a problem,” his team leader said. “We’ve got a tsunami heading our way.”

  What? We’re in a river, not the ocean, he thought, turning to look upriver.

  It wasn’t a tsunami, but a couple of hundred meters away, a wall of water, a half-a-meter high, was rushing down river. Something had let go upstream. Noah couldn’t imagine what, but the evidence was right in front of his eyes. Half-a-meter of water might not seem like much, but Noah had no illusion that it would be gentle rise. It would hit the tree and him like a hammer, tearing the tree loose no matter how many Marines held it.

  “Hold on,’ he shouted, breaking more branches.

  “You’ve got 15 seconds, Noah, then you’ve got to pull back.”

  “No, I’ll get her!” he shouted.

  “You cannot put yourself in danger!”

  Heedless of knocking the tree free, he crushed the branches, closing the distance.

  “Jennifer, come here,” he pleaded.

  “Out of the water!” Corporal St. Fyodor shouted to the other two. “Noah, get back!”

  With one last lunge, Noah pushed forward, reaching out to grab the little girl. He almost knocked her off as she gave a little cry of fear, but he snagged her cat-dove top, thankful for the strong collar of the style. He pulled back, trying to clear the tree’s reach when the water hit.

  He was wrong. It wasn’t like a hammer; it was like a freight train. Almost neck deep in the water, he barely had any weight, and he was driven under the water, going head over heels. He banged into the tree, which was now free to sweep downriver. Feeling more than seeing the bottom, he pushed off, trying to straighten out, pushing his arms up and holding Jennifer out of the torrent. He fell back down under as he scrambled for purchase, the river keeping him in its grasp. Once more he sprang up, but this time angling for the shore. Once more, he held the little girl high, going under to push off again. Twice, he tumbled, and he lost his grip on the girl with one hand, automatically tightening with the other, mindless if he was doing any damage to her. Better crushed bones than to be lost to the river’s might.

  He banged against something hard, and that stopped him for a moment. The river was pressing against him, but he found his feet and pushed as hard as he could towards the bank, erupting from the water like a great white shark broaching. Suddenly, he was waist deep, and as he struggled ashore, a body landed beside him with a crash, and strong mechanical arms, grabbed him, helping him reach the bank.

  “I’ve got you,” Turtle said.

  “Give me the girl!” Tad shouted, reaching down from solid ground.

  Dazed, Noah realized he still had Jennifer in his arms. He passed her limp body up to his fellow Marine, who took her and put her on the ground. Corporal St. Fyodor was just completing an emergency molt, and he hit the ground hard before bounding up and rushing to the girl. He immediately started CPR.

  “Fucking shit A,” Turtle said, his voice subdued. “I thought we’d lost you.”

  “I. . .” Noah started, before falling silent. His mind was a jumble, but he kept his eyes glued on the little girl.

  Come on, Jennifer, come on! he pleaded.

  Less than a minute later, five Marines and Doc Eagleton crashed through the trees. Doc immediately went into emergency molt mode, and twenty seconds later, he was kneeling over Jennifer’s limp body. After a quick scan, he pulled out a ziplock and told one of the other Marines to get it ready. He stripped off Jennifer’s clothes, then gave her an injection. Picking her up, he slipped her into the ziplock and initiated stasis.

  Noah’s heart fell. Stasis was for seriously wounded Marines—or those killed with hopes of regen.

  “Doc?” he asked.

  “You pulled her out?” he asked Noah, then before getting an answer, “Good job. She’ll be fine.”

  “But stasis?”

  “Just a precaution. We’re four hours from anyone, and if we can’t get a Stork, that’s a long time. She took in a lot of water, most that Corporal St. Fyodor expelled, but still, she’s weak, hypothermic, and she has a crushed knee.

  That was me, Noah realized.

  “That’s a lot for her to tolerate, and I don’t want an infection to set in her lungs. We’re not done here, right?” he said, looking at Sergeant Natakarn, who nodded. “So better put her in stasis. She’ll wake up in orbit fine.”

  He turned back to the readout, watching as stasis kicked in.

  “What the fuck, Noah,” Corporal St. Fyodor hissed. “I told you to break free. You were not to risk yourself.”

  “Sorry, Corporal,” he said, not meaning a word of it as he stared at Jennifer.

  Seeing the tiny body in the ziplock, the steady green flashing light on the display, was more than worth any trouble he was in.

  WAYFARER STATION

  Chapter 26

  Esther

  The Third Minister of the United Federation of States takes great pride in presenting the

  Civilian Protector Medal, Second Class

  to

  Private First Class Noah Lysander, United Federation Marine Corps,

  for service as set forth in the following citation:

  On 19 January 315, Private First Class Lysander was part of humanitarian operations on Soros Reach to protect and evacuate civilians. When reports were received about a trapped family along the rising Petergast River, PFC Lysander’s squad was dispatched to their rescue. Upon arriving at the family’s last location, the squad split up to locate them. PFC Lysander’s team was assigned to search the banks downstream where the body of a deceased family member was located tangled in the flood debris. PFC Lysander entered the raging torrent to retrieve the body when he heard the call of a child. Without regard to his own safety, PFC Lysander moved into the deeper torrent while the Marines in his team secured the debris. Able to secure the child before being struck by a rush of water, he retained his grip on her until he was able to make his way to shore. Without PFC Lysander’s daring rescue, the child would have undoubtedly been lost. PFC Lysander’s actions saved the life of a United Federation of States citizen and were in keeping with the highest traditions of the Federation, the Naval Service, and the Marine Corps.

  For the Third Minister

  Brettman Wilks-Otaka

  Administrator, Wayfarer Station

  Esther watched as the administrator took the silver-ribboned medal and pinned it to Noah’s chest. It seemed odd to see a civilian at an awards ceremony. He was obviously uncomfortable with his position, but as the ranking Federation official, the duty fell to him.

  The Civilian Service Medal was rarely awarded to Marines or sailors. It wasn’t even approved by the Chairman, much less the First Minister. Lifesaving awards like this came under the Third Minister, out of the military chain of command. In all her time around the Corps, Esther didn’t know if she had ever seen one awarded to a Marine, and while she’d seen cops and even FCDC officers receive lifesaving awards on the news, she had to look up what the medal looked like.

  Now, two Marines in the battalion had the meda
l. Corporal St. Fyodor had the gold CPM, First Class, for his command of the rescue, from holding the tree in place to then administering CPR, while Noah was awarded the silver-colored CPM, Second Class.

  Esther glanced down at the breast of her Charlies at her own BCM3 and her Combat Mission Medal. These were Marine Corps Medals, for combat and distinguishing herself in it. Noah had two ribbons now as well, but the Humanitarian Service Ribbon and now the CPM 2. Technically, his CPM2 was a higher-precedence award than her BCM3 and just under a BCM 2.

  It wasn’t like he was in danger, she thought. He was in a PICS, for God’s sake. He wasn’t going to drown.

  Shit, not jealous, are we? Just be happy for him, she admonished herself.

  It didn’t really bother her that his award was higher than hers. Most Marines wouldn’t even recognize it, and if they did, it was a Third Ministry award, not a First, and so, it didn’t carry the same weight. It might mean something to the FCDC, but the Marines’ mission was combat, not farting around with civilians. No, people would know she had the real award, and Noah’s was political.

  The station administrator looked to the CO for guidance who motioned with a quick flick of the wrist for him to stand back. The administrator awkwardly took two oversized steps to the rear while the adjutant ordered Noah and his corporal to post.

  Come on, Noah! she silently pleaded when her brother took his first step too soon, treading on the back of the corporal’s heel. Get it together!

  The adjutant dismissed the staff, and the officers and senior staff went to shake the administrator’s hand. He might be a perfunctory out in the sticks now, but young men in his position had a habit of climbing up the ladder to positions of real authority, and he was drawing Marines to him like flies to shit. Esther unconsciously wrinkled her lip as she watched.

  Several junior Marines moved forward from the seats to congratulate the corporal and Noah—many more to the corporal, Esther noted. She didn’t have much of a problem getting to Noah.