Colonel (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 7)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  Sams just huffed and rolled his eyes.

  Ryck finished his backswing, and with a herculean effort, brought his club down—hitting the ground just in front of the tee and screaming in pain as his right shoulder seemed to explode.

  “Mother-grubbing son of a bitch!” he yelled, dropping his precious driver and twirling around like a dervish.

  “Yeah, I guess you showed me. I’m looking down the fairway, and I can’t see your ball,” Sams said sarcastically. “Oh, wait a minute, there it is. I think you went, uh, all of five meters?”

  Ryck stopped his twirling, then held out his right arm. His shoulder burned.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, that fucking hurts!” he said as he flexed and twisted the arm.

  “Well, I may not be an expert, but I think you’re supposed to hit the ball, not the ground. I think that divot went farther than your ball, there, Colonel,” Sams said.

  “Yeah, thanks for that,” Ryck said, glowering at his friend.

  He walked over to where he dropped his club and picked it up, inspecting it. It didn’t look damaged, to his relief. He took an easy practice swing and almost dropped the club again, his shoulder adamantly protesting. He’d done something to it, that was for sure.

  Golf? A big bad Marine, and I hurt myself playing Golf? Esther’s playing soccer in a few hours, and that’s a much tougher sport, and I bet she gets through unscathed!

  He swung once more, and he knew he had to stop. He needed a couple of days of nanos cleaning up whatever he’d done to the shoulder.

  “Uh, Sams. I don’t think I can continue,” he admitted.

  “No shit? You serious, Colonel?” Sams said.

  “Yeah, I’m serious. I think I tore something,” Ryck said, waiting for some smart-ass remark.

  “Shit, tough break. Well, I’m guessing that clubhouse has got some cold beer, huh? Let’s say I buy you one, you know, for medical purposes, to deaden the pain.”

  Ryck widened his eyes slightly, surprised that Sams hadn’t smacked-talked him.

  Sams has a heart?

  “OK, I think I’ll take you up on that. Sorry to mess up your day.”

  “Shit happens. Even to you,” Sams said.

  Using his left hand, he placed his club back in the caddy, ordering “Clubhouse.”

  He watched the caddy raise up on its gimbaled tracks and move to the walkway where it picked up speed and was on its way.

  “OK, let’s go,” he told Sams as the two men started back.

  He gingerly rotated his shoulder, feeling the sharp stabs of pain.

  Halfway back, Sams said, “You know, if you were so embarrassed that you were going to lose to me, I could have played blindfolded. You didn’t have to go to all that trouble just to get out of playing.”

  A slight smile turned the corners of Ryck’s mouth. Yes, Sams was Sams, and he couldn’t resist who he was. All was right in the world

  ********************

  “Are you grubbing blind?” Ryck shouted at the ref as he ran out onto the field. “She purposely took out my daughter!”

  “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to get off the field,” the ref told him.

  “Not until you red card her. That was a blatant foul. I can’t believe you didn’t see it!”

  “Sir, I’m not going to ask you again. Get off the field, now!”

  “Dad, stop it. You’ve got to go, now,” Esther said grabbing his right arm and trying to pull him off the field.

  Ryck winced at the pain from his morning injury, but his anger overcame that.

  “But she fouled you,” Ryck protested. “On purpose. Look, your leg’s bleeding!”

  “Yeah, I know, and I’ll get her back. But you’re going to make us forfeit the match if you don’t get off the field.”

  Ryck looked up at the ref, who now had a bemused expression on his face, watching the slender daughter holding back the bigger father while trying to reason with him. Ryck wanted to march over and punch his condescending face, but the looks on the faces of the girls, from both teams, and most of all, Esther’s quiet but forceful pleadings, stopped him. He shook off Esther’s hold on him and turned around.

  “I’m going to file a report on this, mark my words!” he shouted as he marched off the field.

  Mr. Jamison, the coach, stared daggers at him as he came off the field. Ryck’s presence at every practice and game was probably not appreciated by the coach, Ryck knew. Well, maybe not the presence so much as Ryck’s constant suggestions on how to make the team better.

  But this was his daughter, and he’d be damned if he’d sit by when someone hurt his little girl!

  ********************

  Ryck stepped back with a critical eye and evaluated the corner stand.

  Not too bad, he thought. At least it looks like it’ll fit.

  The first one he’d made had not been quite square, and when he’d hung it on the wall, it wobbled, not laying flush. The Masterwood was really pretty easy to work with, but it still took the woodworker to input the correct dimensions. But Ryck was learning.

  Hannah had been right, Ryck realized, when she suggested he take up a hobby. There was a calming effect as he rubbed in the oils that highlighted the Masterwood’s grain.

  Heck, maybe I’ll get some natural wood, and try that next, he thought as he worked the stand.

  His PA brought him back from wherever his mind had wandered. He glanced at it and saw it was Sandy calling. He wiped his hands free of the oil, then picked his PA up.

  “Hey, Sandy, good to hear from you. What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to let you know we can’t come over Friday.”

  “Oh, sorry to hear that. Hannah will be disappointed,” he said, even if he realized Hannah would be fine with it—it was Ryck who was disappointed.

  “What about Sunday then? I’m going to try a porchetta I saw on The Home Cook. Not fabricated, but the real deal. Can you imagine it? Me, a freaking chef?”

  “Uh, I don’t think so. I’m not going to be around for a while,” Sandy said hesitantly.

  “Why? I mean. . .oh!” Ryck said as he realized what was happening. “Can you tell me where?”

  If anything, Sandy looked even more uncomfortable as he replied, “Not really, sir. You know the drill.”

  Ryck did know the drill. The battalion was being called out, and Ryck didn’t have the “need to know.” He was out of the loop. If he’d felt the severance of his ties to the Corps before, this just cemented it.

  For the close to two years after getting back from the mission on Freemantle, the battalion had not deployed again in response to a mission. Everything had been simple training and routine mini-deployments. Now, after he’d relinquished command, the Fuzos were marching to the sound of guns once more. Without him.

  To say Ryck was jealous was a severe understatement. He’d seen more than enough combat in his career, but still, he knew he wanted more. Combat was the only time he felt truly alive, and he knew he was addicted to the adrenaline high. And now he was going through withdrawals cold turkey.

  “Yeah, I know it. OK, we’ll see you when we see you,” Ryck said. “Keep your head down, Sandy.”

  “Sure will. Well, I’ve got to run now. I’ll touch base when I get back,” Sandy said, cutting the connection.

  Ryck stared at his PA for a moment before putting it down. He picked up his corner stand and started to slowly rub the linseed oil into the wood.

  ********************

  “General Papadakis is stepping down,” Hannah told him as she walked in the door.

  “Oh, that actually smells good, Ryck,” she added as she hung up her coat and walked up to the table. “What is it?”

  “Pork adobo and garlic rice,” Ryck said automatically before he reacted to her statement.

  “He’s resigning? But he’s only got seven months left anyway. Why resign now?” he asked.

  “He has to. No choice,” she said, taking her seat. “What’s adobo?”

  “It’s
an old Filipino dish. But what do you mean, he has to?”

  “Regen, of course. He’s got no choice.”

  That took Ryck aback. He’d heard that the commandant had not done well with the normal nano-therapy to repair his shattered jaw, something about a reaction to the treatment itself. But regen? The pain had to be pretty severe for him to resort to regen given the consequences.

  The position of Commandant of the Marine Corps was a Prime 1 billet, and as such, could not be held by someone undergoing regen. That was what Hannah meant by he “has to.” By choosing to accept regen, by Federation law he had to step down. And with only seven months left in his tour, there wasn’t any way he’d come back and take over the billet again. No, he was done. Ryck had knocked the bastard out of the Corps!

  “If you keep cooking like this, we may just have to retire our fabricator!” she exclaimed as she took a bite of the savory stew. “Isn’t that right, kids?”

  “Dad’s the best chef!” Ben said proudly while the other two nodded their agreement while stuffing their faces.

  “Really, Ryck, this be delicious.”

  A smile spread over Ryck’s face, and if Hannah thought that smile had anything to do with her compliment, all the better.

  ********************

  Ryck sat on the couch in just his underwear, sipping a Corona. His jeans and shirt were in a pile on the floor where he’d dropped them. He had an end table in the garage that needed to get a second coat of oil (he was trying tung oil this time, not linseed), but he just couldn’t build up an interest in getting to it, and with the kids at school and Hannah at work, he had the house to himself.

  Ryck let out a satisfactorily loud burp. The second burp was more of a misfire, barely registering. He took another swallow of beer to ammo up for another try. He gave it another shot, and this time, while not as loud as the first, was acceptable.

  My accomplishment for the day, he thought to himself as he lifted his bottle for an imaginary toast.

  He’d gone on base earlier in the morning to make a PX[4] run. The base had been eerily quiet. The exchange itself was busy with dependents and retirees, but there were very few Marines in uniforms anywhere on base. It wasn’t just Sandy and 2/3 that had been called out, but most of the units. Whatever had instigated all of this was big. And Ryck had no idea what was going on. Hannah, with her position in R & D, would know, but Ryck hadn’t pressed her. He didn’t want to put her in the position of choosing between telling Ryck or maintaining security procedures. And maybe Ryck didn’t want to know which way she would go: duty or her husband.

  He took the last swallow of his Corona and contemplated getting another, but decided he was comfortable just sitting there as he was for a while. He had all the time in the world, after all.

  When his PA buzzed, he contemplated just leaving it be. But habits are hard to break, and answering a buzzing PA was an ingrained reaction. He didn’t bother to get up but simply yelled out “Connect,” putting it on speaker mode.

  “Ryck, I’m glad I caught you. Can you come into Headquarters now?” Bert asked.

  What?

  “Uh, I’m kinda busy here,” Ryck said, scratching his balls while wondering what Bert wanted.

  “It’s pretty important, Ryck. Where are you, anyway? I can’t see you.”

  “I’ve got my hands full,” he said, removing his hand from its scratching. “My PA’s on the coffee table.”

  “No matter. Can you get here by 11:45? At my office?” Bert asked.

  Ryck hadn’t been inside Headquarters since he’d retired, and he wasn’t sure he really wanted to go there.

  “Like I said, I’m pretty busy. I’ve got a full schedule today. Why do you want to see me anyway?”

  “I can’t really say that here. But you really need to come in. I’ll expect you by 11:45, OK?”

  He can’t tell me over the PA? Ryck wondered, his curiosity beginning to overcome his lack of motivation. What the heck is this?

  Ryck cupped his hand over his mouth and breathed out. He had the beer on his breath, but he didn’t think it was too strong. A quick NoBuzz should take care of that, and no one would know he’d been drinking.

  That was when he realized he would comply with Bert’s request.

  “OK, I’m on my way. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

  “Great. See you in a few.”

  Whatever’s going on, at least I’ll find out what it is, Ryck thought as he jumped up to get ready.

  Chapter 3

  At 11:42, Ryck entered Bert’s outer office, a visitor’s badge hanging from his shirt pocket. Bert’s secretary looked up as Ryck came in and immediately buzzed the colonel. A moment later, Bert came out of his office and shook Ryck’s hand.

  “Glad you made it in so quick. Come on,” Bert said, ushering Ryck out of the door as he told his secretary, “Danya, let them know we’re on our way.”

  “What, we’re not meeting in your office?” Ryck asked.

  “No, not here.”

  “Bert, what’s going on?” Ryck asked as Bert took off at a quick clip.

  “Not here. You’ll find out more soon enough,” Bert said, speeding up even more so that Ryck had to struggle to keep up.

  Curiouser and curiouser! Ryck thought to himself, but willing to stop questioning for the moment. What rabbit hole am I about to fall into?

  They went down, not up, into the bowels of the building. This was where all the high-level secured spaces were. Twice, they had to stop and get retinal scans to prove they were who they were and that they were authorized to be there. Finally, on the CC deck, Bert led Ryck past an armed Marine guard and into one of the secure conference rooms. Ryck had never been below the BB deck before, so he couldn’t help but to look forward to seeing what this conference room would look like.

  The room looked just like the ones on the higher decks, but what was different was the men who were in it. Ryck was surprised to see so many Navy officers there, but more surprising was the rank level of them. Admiral Eaton, the quadrant commander himself, was there, along with four other flag officers that Ryck could see. For the Marines, General Mbanefo, the incoming commandant, led an equally impressive collection of star ranks, Ryck’s previous godfather, Lieutenant General Ukiah among them. Several civilians were also in attendance, including the Federation Liaison to Tarawa—who from the seating, was not even the senior civilian present.

  What the grubbing hell is going on here, and why do they want me?

  “Ah, Colonel Lysander, I’m glad you’re here. Please, take a seat,” General Mbanefo said, indicating an empty chair across from him.

  Ryck sat down and sat silently while all eyes were on him. He didn’t ask anything; he’d find out soon enough why he’d been called in.

  “Well, Colonel, I imagine you want to know why you’re here, am I right?” the general ask.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “A man of few words,” Admiral Eaton said, whether approvingly or disapprovingly, Ryck didn’t know.

  “We have a development here, and you’re involved. The Trinoculars have initiated contact with us out on the Blue Line. They had a very specific request, and that is where you come in.”

  “The Trinoculars,sir?” Ryck asked, breaking his intent to remain silent until he understood what was going on.

  “Yes, the Trinoculars. As you know, we have had an uneasy truce with them, which is more by inference than any direct communications. They stay on their side of the line, humans stay on our side of the line. Recently, there has been, well, activity on their side, which has resulted in most of the governments putting our forces on alert. But last night, our time, a single ship came forward and crossed the line. It came close to being blasted out of space, but cooler heads prevailed, and a message, of sorts, was delivered.”

  “I don’t understand, sir. A message ‘of sorts?’”

  “Well, we still don’t have a reliable translation capability with them. But this message is very clear. They want to meet with
us. More importantly, with you.”

  Ryck stared at the general stupidly.

  What the. . .?

  The general nodded and said, “Exactly. Our thoughts exactly,” even if Ryck hadn’t said a word.

  None of this made any sense to Ryck. Why would the capys want to meet, and more importantly, meet with him? He wasn’t a Marine anymore, and even if he were, he would just be a lowly lieutenant colonel.

  “We don’t have much time, Colonel. At 2000 this evening, you will be on your way to that meeting, so we have a lot to get done. We didn’t get the go-ahead from the chairman until an hour ago; otherwise we would have pulled you in earlier. Now we have to make up for lost time,” the general said.

  The chairman approved this? The Chairman of the United Federation himself?

  “Sir, I, uh, I don’t quite get all of this. And leaving tonight? I have to ask my wife about it. I’m a civilian now, not a Marine,” he said, his mind in a jumble.

  “Not quite there, Colonel,” the Director of Marine Corps Personnel said. “As of, well, a whole 32 minutes ago,” he continued after looking down at his watch, “you have been recalled back into the Marine Corps.”

  “Sir?” Ryck said, realizing that he was sounding like a complete idiot, but he was simply overwhelmed and that was about the best response he could give.

  “When you retired, you were placed on the Fleet Retired List, to stay there until your 70th birthday or until the Chairman of the Federation desired your service again. And the chairman has so desired. Welcome back, Colonel.”

  “But the commandant. . .”

  “General Papadikas is fully aware of your re-instatement and is happy to give you and your mission his full support both now and after next week when he himself retires,” General Mbanefo said, interrupting Ryck. “General Nguyen, I believe there was that one other thing?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. An emergency selection board was convened, and you have been selected for promotion to full bird. Congratulations.”