Esther's Story: Special Duty (The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins Book 4)

by Jonathan Brazee

  THE UNITED FEDERATION MARINE CORPS’ LYSANDER TWINS

  BOOK 4

  ESTHER’S STORY: SPECIAL DUTY

  Colonel Jonathan P. Brazee

  USMCR (Ret)

  Copyright © 2017 Jonathan Brazee

  A Semper Fi Press Book

  Copyright © 2017 Jonathan Brazee

  Illustration © 2017 Jessica TC Lee

  ISBN-10: 1-945743-08-5 (Semper Fi Press)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-945743-08-5

  Printed in the United States of America

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Acknowledgements:

  I want to thank all those who took the time to pre-read this book, catching my mistakes in both content and typing. Thanks to best_editor1 for her editing. And once again, a special shout out goes to my cover artist, the award-winning Jessica Tung Chi Lee. You can see more of her work at: http://www.jessicatcl.com/news.html.

  Original cover art by Jessica TC Lee

  Cover graphics by Steven Novak

  WINSTED

  Chapter 1

  Captain Esther Lysander, United Federation Marine Corps, plummeted towards the planet’s surface, her heart pounding in her chest. The shell surrounding her started to glow as the heat built up. She was not a happy camper at all as the vibration grew, and the vessel that had carried her across the Black began to disintegrate.

  “Come on, Lysander, just keep it together,” she said out loud, her voice cracking after several days of disuse.

  Esther had made several HALO drops from Space Guard ships, and they had been a fun kick-in-the-ass. None of those jumps had prepared her for this, however. She didn’t consider herself claustrophobic, but getting locked into a tiny one-man Inert Atmospheric Insertion Capsule, or “duck egg,” at the outer edge of the system and shot like a railgun round at the planet had wreaked havoc on her nerves. The blood thinners given to her to fight deep vein thrombosis had the side effect of keeping her more alert, exacerbating her stress. Her father had often told sea stories about his duck egg inserts, but his had always been with another Marine, and none of them had taken the 68 hours that Esther had been alone with nothing but her imagination.

  And now, fully alert as she plunged thought the atmosphere, her imagination was working overtime. A thousand things could go wrong, and any of them would result in her component atoms being spread over half of the continent far below her.

  Shouldn’t this stupid thing be releasing me by now? she wondered as the vibrations increased.

  If the duck egg’s outer shell didn’t completely disintegrate, she wouldn’t be spread out over the continent, just sunk ten or twenty meters deep into the dirt at one location. Either way, she wouldn’t be around to know.

  In most ways, being inserted by duck egg wouldn’t have seemed like an odd endeavor a few months ago while she was with Recon. There was nothing unusual about that. But when she’d accepted the APOC orders, this had been pretty far from her mind. She wasn’t sure what she’d envisioned, but playing secret agent wasn’t it. She hadn’t even known what her orders had meant; when she had accepted the APOC orders, she hadn’t known whether the “C” designated “At the pleasure of the commandant” or “At the pleasure of the chairman.”

  It turned out that the “C” meant “chairman.” Esther was a Marine, but she was being controlled by the man himself. Not that she had met him. All her contacts so far had been made out of a non-descript office in a non-descript building in a non-descript Martian industrial park.

  And now, she was hurtling towards a meeting in the jungle wilds of Winsted, hoping to connect with the Sword of the People, an insurgent group attempting to overthrow the government. The young woman back on Mars who’d briefed her hadn’t minced words. The Sword of the People weren’t nice folks. The Federation had been tied up in legal battles with the government of the independent world, however, and the chairman would be happy to see a new government, one that owed the Federation a favor, put into power.

  The vibration of her egg increased, and Esther thought she’d be shaken apart. Something was wrong—until it wasn’t, and the green LED lit up. She had only a few seconds to tuck into position before the egg split open, thrusting her into the atmosphere with a blow that knocked her dizzy. She held position, knowing that an errant limb could get broken with the force. Within a few moments, she had stabilized and was slowing down. Carefully, she extended into the age-old freefall position and started the next phase of the long insertion.

  OK, we’re good now, she thought with relief. Just a little freefall, a little glide, and we’re home free.

  At 10,000 meters high, Esther had a good view over hundreds of kilometers in all directions. Still in daylight, which better hid the light of the duck egg’s entry, she could see the line of dusk approach below her. Somewhere in the growing darkness, at a spot she couldn’t see but to where she was trusting her foil AI to get her, someone from the Sword of the People would be waiting. Esther hoped he or she would be waiting with good intentions.

  Esther’s entire descent was out of her hands, from the deployment of the foil to the glide path that would take her to the DZ. If something went wrong with the system, she had an emergency ripcord, but if that happened, the rendezvous was off, and she’d have to exfiltrate to her safe house for further instructions.

  Right about now, she told herself, hand edging to the manual ripcord, but five seconds later, her foil automatically deployed, jerking her descent, her legs flailing high until she swung back down.

  Her hands rose instinctively to take the controls, forgetting for a moment that for this jump, she was simply a passenger. With a rueful smile, she brought her hands back down and settled in for the ride. Even without control of her descent, this was a hundred times better than being in the duck egg. At least she could see where the foil’s guidance was taking her.

  Esther’s AI was the only powered piece of gear with her, and it was heavily shielded. Both the positioning system and the steering of the foil were entirely mechanical, which was an amazing piece of tech. An active system was literally child’s play, something children’s toys had used for centuries. A passive system like this, with this degree of accuracy, was a far greater technical achievement.

  The foil, with its 30 to 1 glide ratio, enabled Esther to cover a lot of territory, and between the rotation of the planet and her own progress, she passed over ground already shrouded into darkness. She was still in the light, however, and could be visible to prying eyes below her. At 1,500 meters, she, too, dropped out of the sunlight, which was a relief.

  Seven minutes later, she took over from the little foil AI, flaring out for a standing landing. She was on the ground.

  This was Esther’s first APOC mission, and she wasn’t feeling the comfort level. The three-week mini-course she’d completed on the remote Gryphon II did not a superspy make. To be honest, she still wasn’t 100% sure just what her job was. Not for this specific mission, which seemed straightforward, but her overall job description. As a Marine, she’d have thought that she would be some
sort of assistant or eyes and ears on military matters, not making clandestine rendezvous with insurgents in the middle of the jungle.

  Esther turned on the foil’s self-destruct. An extremely low current flowed from the battery, too weak to be picked up by all except for the most powerful surveillance devices. The molecules in the foil, however, picked it up and oriented in long strands, strands that almost immediately began to separate and break apart. Within two minutes, not much was left of it.

  “Rey Alamosa?” a voice called out from the dense jungle surrounding the small DZ.

  Esther wanted to reach for her Brockmaster, the sweet carbine that was still strapped to her thigh, but she resisted, saying, “Yes, that’s me.”

  A few moments later, a man stepped out into the DZ, twenty meters away. Six more soldiers followed him, all pointing weapons at her as they approached.

  “I’m Comrade Blue,” the leader said as he reached her, neglecting to offer a hand.

  “And I’m Rey Alamosa,” Esther replied.

  Which was all pretty stupid, she thought. She’d spoken to General Simone several times before leaving for Mars. Between the two of them, they’d decided that while she had an excellent combat record, she’d been offered these orders because of who she was, namely daughter of Ryck Lysander, former Commandant of the Marine Corps and Chairman of the Federation. More immediately pertinent to the Sword of the People, her father had been the leader of the Evolution. Her pedigree was considered an asset. It could also be a liability, however. She might be there as Rey Alamosa, Federation Citizen, but she wasn’t the most inconspicuous person in human space. The Sword of the People didn’t need to access the secure Federation databases to see that “Rey Alamosa” was the duly registered DBA for Esther Lysander.

  And from the expression on Comrade Blue’s face, he knew exactly who she was.

  But from her “spy mini-course,” she knew there was a legal reason for this. She might be on the planet as Rey Alamosa, and she might have been inserted without going through proper channels, but if she was compromised, the encrypted data dump from the chip in her wrist could be sent to the Fifth Ministry which would confirm who she was. Under the arcane rules of the Smythetown Agreement, this made her a registered agent, subject to certain protections, and not a spy outside of the accords. Her “Rey Alamosa” chip allowed her to move about freely, but it also made her a legal entity of the Federation, sort of a legal spy.

  As opposed to an illegal spy, Esther had thought when she’d been told this.

  Being a Marine was much more cut and dried, but while this and other aspects of her new job seemed crazy to her, they still were a little exciting to a girl who’d grown up watching every spy flick to come out. She might not be Rebeth Tsung, Shadow Spy, but still . . .

  It was pretty obvious that this Comrade Blue knew who she was, but he didn’t correct her. Even with insurgents, she guessed there were rules for this kind of things, formalities to observe.

  “I’ve been asked to meet you, Mz. Alamosa. I need to tell you, though, that you’re wasting your time. We have no interest in throwing off the yoke of the Dupris government only to accept the Federation’s yoke.”

  Well, that’s a fine hello, Esther thought.

  She’d been briefed that some of the insurgents were essentially anarchists, and most were wary of the Federation, but that Comrade Brown (who had been identified as a Dr. Tor Allison, a former linear calculus professor on Watter’s World) had initiated the first contact. Esther was supposed to meet with him and his staff as part of the glad-handing necessary to seal the deal.

  “The F . . . the people I represent have no wish to yoke anyone. I’m here to learn about you and your cause and see where we can help you achieve your goals. We believe in self-determination of all peoples.”

  Esther didn’t need to see the roll of the man’s eyes to see how that statement was being received. She’d almost choked herself when she’d said it.

  “Your, uh ‘people’s’ past history would lead me to believe that you are blindly mistaken at best or a damned liar at worst. Either one doesn’t make me inclined to cooperate with you in any way.”

  When Esther didn’t respond, he added, “I might as well shoot you right here and bury you in the mulch. Jump accident, you know.”

  Esther had to keep back a smile. She wasn’t particularly concerned with the threat, which she knew was a test. He might want to do that, but he couldn’t afford to antagonize the Federation. But by saying “jump,” she knew he had no idea how she’d been inserted. He probably thought there was a stealth aircraft hovering overhead somewhere.

  When she didn’t say anything, he said, “So let’s say we allow you to assist us, how do we know you won’t desert us like you did the Gravitors?” Comrade Blue asked.

  Good question. We did leave them in the lurch, she had to admit.

  The Gravitors was a small band of agnostics who chaffed at the Brotherhood’s “benevolent” control. They’d received financial, public relations, and military equipment support from the Federation’s Fourth Ministry—which had lasted until the Third Ministry reached an unpublicized agreement with the Brotherhood. Without Federation support, the Brotherhood Potestates quickly rounded them up and shipped them off to re-think camps where their “counter-thoughts” would be exorcised. Neither the Federation nor the Brotherhood had admitted that the Federation had been even peripherally involved, but not much escaped the myriad of tentacles prowling the undernet.

  For a moment, Esther was tempted to hold to the party line, but looking at Comrade Blue’s face, she knew that would slam shut a door that might never be reopened.

  “Winsted is not the Brotherhood, Comrade Blue,” she simply said instead.

  It might not reflect well upon the Federation, but she hoped the pragmatic aspect of what she was saying would sink in. Winsted, an independent world on the edge of human space, was not the Brotherhood, and the Federation was not as concerned as to how the planet’s central government would react to Federation interference. Sure, the Winsted president could complain to the United Assembly of Man. Despite a small resurgence of support for the UAM over the course of the Klethos War, however, it took that august body an inordinate amount of time in deciding just what salad dressing to serve at the UAM cafeteria, much less take action against the largest—and still most powerful—government in the galaxy.

  Blue stared into Esther’s eyes as if hoping to burrow into her very soul, and Esther blandly looked back, trying to exude confidence, something that she lacked.

  After what seemed to be forever, Comrade Blue nodded and said, “Follow me, please. Comrade Brown will want to talk to you.”

  Esther nodded, only letting out a long breath after Comrade Blue had turned to lead her on, three of the six soldiers at the fore, three behind her. She felt relieved to get this far. Yes, the Federation had been invited, but still, she was an infantry Marine, combat-proven, but not some Four operator. Technically, with her APOC orders, she reported directly to the chairman himself, but she knew “Four,” the Fourth Ministry, had their fingers all through this type of thing. She figured Four had thousands, if not tens of thousands, of operators who were better trained and more suited for this, but someone thought her the best person for this mission, her first since leaving Recon. It might be a softball thrown her way to get her feet wet, but it was still a mission, one for which she felt she was unqualified.

  The eight of them walked up a narrow jungle path, almost overgrown in a hundred subtle shades of darkness. The smell in the still air was part freshness and life, part decaying death. Esther wasn’t gagging, but the dichotomy confused her senses. She considered activating the face shield on her helmet, but she knew she was being observed, and if the insurgents could handle it, she could as well.

  As they climbed a small rise in the trail, the path turned slippery, and Esther had to concentrate on keeping her footing. It wouldn’t make a good impression for her to fall on her ass and knock down a few of t
he soldiers behind her like bowling pins. She managed to keep on her feet until the jungle opened up into a small clearing, the light of the planet’s single moon providing enough illumination to give them some better visibility.

  Esther relaxed ever so slightly just before the impossibly bright flare of an energy weapon lit up the clearing in stark relief. The point man was enveloped in a corona of blue light as Esther and the rest dove back into the minimal cover offered by the trees. A burst of automatic fire cut through the night air, the rounds splintering the trunk of the tree Esther was using for cover, sending splinters flying into her unprotected face.

  She had left her Brockmaster in her thigh scabbard as a show of good intent, but it was long past time for that. She released the catch and brought it forward, her finger reaching for the safety as she hit the cheek pad, bringing down her face shield and activating the night vision mode.

  Comrade Blue was yelling out orders to put fire on the ambushers. Two meters to Esther’s right, one of the soldiers was attempting to comply while still hiding face-down behind a tree, holding his ancient Gescard out with one hand and blindly firing it. Rounds were hitting the tree immediately in front of him, and several looked to hit the body of the first soldier, still out in the clearing.

  Both sides seemed content to merely fire at each other from 30 or 40 meters apart, all with minimal effect. If the soldier to her side was any indication as to the rest of both ambushers and ambushees, then Esther understood why. But even a blind squirrel can find a nut every once in a while, and with the number of rounds and the blasts from the energy weapon, given time, people were going to die. Esther was tied to the insurgents, so if she wanted to make sure it was the ambushers on the dying end, she had to act.