Lieutenant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 3)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  “Mr. Lysander, I have here the results for PA-06.[8] As you know, you did not perform particularly well. In fact, while you did well in Phase 1, you have not done well in any assignment for Phase 2, starting with your first assignment.”

  Ryck grimaced. On their first day in Phase 2, the instructor had given them a pop quiz. They were given a list of resources—including Marines, tools, cement, a pole, equipment, and sensors—and were asked to write down what they would do to get that pole erected as a flagpole. Ryck got into the problem, calculating the amount of cement required to hold the pole steady, the necessary supports, the time for the cement to cure—details in that vein. He was the last midshipman done, and when he’d uploaded his response, he was sure he’d aced it. Instead, he’d been one of only five to fail. The only acceptable answer was anything along the lines of “Staff Sergeant, erect that flag pole.” Ryck had made the fatal mistake of getting down into the weeds.

  The captain went on, “I want to find out why this has been a difficult transition. You’ve got an exemplary record as an enlisted Marine, but that has not translated to NOTC.[9]”

  He paused and simply looked at Ryck for a moment before asking, “What do you think of your men?”

  Ryck couldn’t help but to look confused. His men? The computer generated men assigned to him? He thought carefully, wondering what the captain wanted to hear.

  “Um, sir, well, I respect each one of them. They are part of our history.”

  Each “Marine” was named for a hero of one of the old Marine Corps or the Federation Marines. They had been awarded Federation Novas, Medals of Honor, Victoria Crosses, Heroes of the Soviet Union or Russian Federation, the Military William Order, Philippines Medals of Valor, Taegeuk Cordons, even a Laureate Cross of Saint Ferdinand, the one that Ryck found the most historically interesting.

  “You know as well as I do that naming them for old heroes is part of the Marine way, to keep tradition alive. I don’t mean the historical figures, but the men attached to you for each exercise. What do you think of each one of them as individuals? Who is your strongest Marine?”

  “Staff Sergeant de la Cuadra,” Ryck answered immediately.

  Each Marine had been given an extensive bio, complete with schooling, experience, and evaluations by those senior to him. Each midshipmen had to study those bios to get to know their platoon as if they were flesh and blood Marines.

  “De la Cuadra?” the captain asked. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ryck responded without hesitation.

  “Then why during the course of the exercise, did you fail to address him until sending him on that suicide mission?”

  “Of course I–” Ryck started automatically before thinking back.

  Did I really ignore my platoon sergeant? he asked himself.

  “The only time you initiated contact with him was to order him and Cpl Hakkenberg to charge the Tonya. Do you really think an attack with so little chance at survival was the best use of your self-determined strongest Marine?” the captain asked him.

  “I thought that if anyone could take out the Tonya, it would be him, sir,” Ryck said, trying not to sound defensive.

  “You basically ordered him to run at a Tonya to place a toad on it. Couldn’t any of a number of Marines have done that, maybe even better than de la Cuadra? Say, maybe, Kroon?” the master guns suggested.

  Ryck started to reply, but then thought about LCpl Marco Kroon. He’d been on the Marine Corps track team, representing the Marines at the Federation games as a 440 man. For a task that was basically run to a tank and throw a toad on it, maybe Kroon would have been a better choice.

  “You were in some pretty deep shit, Lysander, and as it turned out, you didn’t survive because you wanted to be the hero. By sacrificing your so-called best Marine, your own platoon sergeant, you significantly decreased the chances of your platoon being able to accomplish its mission when you were taken out,” Capt Klein told him.

  “So I need to protect my platoon sergeant?” Ryck asked, confused now.

  “No, that is not what I said. You need to use him where he can best contribute as a leader, not as cannon-fodder.”

  Ryck tried not to show any emotion at the term. He’d been “cannon-fodder” before, and all Marines were equal in terms of life and death.

  “It might come down to sacrificing your platoon sergeant if he is in a position where he can do the most good and keep more of your Marines alive,” the captain continued.

  “OK, let’s leave that for now. At the 7:43 minute mark, you ordered Corporal Halliday to take his team out and try and construct some obstacles, correct?” the captain asked.

  “Yes, sir. I knew that was a possible avenue of approach and I—” Ryck started before the captain held up a hand to stop him.

  “I am not questioning the decision. You might have started earlier, but it was a sound tactic. I am questioning the manner in which you went about it. Who is Corporal Halliday’s squad leader?”

  “Sergeant Bonnyman, sir,” Ryck told him.

  “So why are you jumping your squad leader to give orders to a fire team leader? You were a squad leader. How would you have felt if Lieutenant Nidischii’ kept bypassing you and giving orders to your men directly?”

  “Well, sir, since I know my men the best and who would be suited best for each task, I wouldn’t like it,” he responded.

  Captain Klein just stared at Ryck until what he’d said finally registered with him.

  “Oh,” was all Ryck could say as he realized the captain’s point, a point he hadn’t had to vocalize.

  “You’re thinking like a sergeant, Mr. Lysander,” the master guns told him. “You’ve got to let that go. Remember the flagpole lesson. You shouldn’t, you can’t do everything. You’ve got to let your NCOs do their job. Train them, lead them, kick their asses when you have to, but let them perform.”

  “You’ve had a habit of micromanaging, of trying to do everything yourself. You cannot be a successful leader as a micromanager. Look at the word itself: “Micro-manager.” We aren’t government bureaus, we aren’t GE. We want leaders, not managers.

  “Only when it is absolutely necessary for clarity or timeliness should you be issuing orders to your riflemen. You had an example in this exercise when you stepped in and allocated target responsibilities, but whenever possible, even if you have a valid reason for a specific Marine to perform a specific task, go through the chain of command. Get your NCOs involved.”

  “Yes, sir, I will,” Ryck said automatically.

  Am I getting another chance? he wondered. Do I even want one?

  “I won’t even begin to address your John Wayneing it here, leaving your platoon without leadership. That will be covered in the full debrief with your instructors. But we need to talk. Normally, as I am sure you are aware, with your performance so far, you would be getting dropped,” the captain said.

  Ryck swallowed the saliva that suddenly started to build up in his mouth.

  “But while all midshipmen are equal, some are a bit more equal. You’ve created quite a reputation in the Marines, and not just the Marines. The politicos are aware of you. They want you to get your bars.”

  Ryck just sat there, listening.

  “And, when I called Lieutenant Nidischii’, he was adamant that you would make a ‘great’ officer, in his words.”

  Why was the captain calling Nidischii’, and why would he even listen to just another lieutenant? Ryck wondered.

  “Against the better judgment of many here at NOTC, you are being retained. But have no doubt, Mr. Lysander, that your support from high places, your Navy Cross, and even your former commanders aren’t going to be enough to save your ass. Only you can do that. And if you don’t cut it, you will be dropped. Our Marines are too important to give them an incompetent officer to lead them.”

  Both men sat and stared at each other. Ryck kept the captain’s gaze, but inside, his guts were in turmoil.

  “Any questions?” t
he captain asked him.

  “No, sir,” was Ryck’s response.

  “OK, then. Keep in mind what I’ve said this afternoon. You’re dismissed.”

  Ryck came to attention, paused, then performed an about face and marched out into the room. He kept his posture until he left the division offices. Out in the passage, he lost his composure and leaned against the bulkhead.

  “You OK there, Mr. Lysander?” Master Gunnery Sergeant Ghanaba asked.

  Ryck hadn’t even realized the master guns was following him.

  “Uh, yes, sir, I mean, yes, I’m fine,” Ryck said, gathering himself.

  “Look, the captain’s right. You need to quit thinking like a grunt and start thinking like a leader. It isn’t easy now, and it certainly doesn’t get any easier, but you’ve got people in your corner, and I’m talking Marines, not political hacks. Marines who know you.”

  “Captain Klein said he called my old platoon commander. That threw me. I guess that’s who you’re talking about?”

  “The captain and Lieutenant Nidischii’ were at the Academy together. Captain Klein was Nidischii’s firstie,[10] and they’ve both made names for themselves, so I was not surprised that he’d call up the lieutenant. I had just arrived on station here when Lt Nidischii’ came through, and that was one squared away mid. He’s going places, and with him as a godfather, you sure could do worse. But you’ve got to get through this course and get commissioned, first.”

  Ryck hesitated. He was technically the master guns’ senior, but that meant nothing. Ryck was a boot compared to the older Marines, and he needed the more experienced man’s opinion.

  “Do you think I can?”

  “I’m not going to bullshit you. I don’t know. Some amazing warriors never make it through. Gunny Meader thinks you have it. As far as what I think, you have the potential, but you have to learn to tap that,” the master guns told him.

  “Gunny Meader thinks I can? I thought he hated me.”

  “Oh shit. Belay my last. I wasn’t supposed to let that out. But yeah, he does. He rides you because he wants you to succeed. But don’t let him know I slipped up and told you that.”

  That was a strange turn of events. Gunny Meader?

  “I won’t. But it’s hard to believe. He was on my ass hard today when I fucked up the prac ap.

  [11]”

  “Since I seem to have diarrhea of the mouth today, I might as well tell you that you didn’t do half bad today if you forget your penchant for going at it alone. I mean, at least as far as enemy killed, you did better than most. If you can learn to lead, you’ve got the instinctive ability to fight in you.”

  “But I got killed, and I got my Marines killed,” Ryck protested.

  “That’s the way it was designed, Mister. What, you think no air, no supporting arms, and surprise plasma tanks are normal?”

  “But Mr. Simone passed the test.”

  “Yeah, and we’re going to have to look at that and close that opportunity off for the next class,” the master guns said. “Mr. Simone is a tactical freak, the first midshipman to succeed in this particular exercise since I’ve been here, at least.”

  “So you wanted us to fail?” Ryck asked.

  “Sometimes, we can learn more about the temper of a man’s steel when all is lost than when things go well, Mr. Lysander. What a man does when his back is against the wall can tell us his true mettle.”

  Ryck thought about the master guns words as he walked back to his quarters. He’d been ready to get kicked out and had accepted it. He had tried to convince himself that he was happy about it. But now that he was given a second chance, a last chance, he knew he’d been lying to himself. He wanted this more than anything, even if self-doubts had started to crumble his confidence. If he had others who thought he would succeed, then he had to have that same resolve. He would take this last opportunity and seize the moment.

  He would become a lieutenant of Marines.

  Tarawa

  Chapter 2

  “We have the hostage in hand, and she is unhurt,” Cpl Halliday passed over the platoon net.

  “Roger that,” Ryck responded before the scene faded and his face shield went dark.

  It only took a moment before the lights came on, revealing the same RCET in which he’d trained as a recruit. Ryck looked up to see Gunny Meader looking at him.

  Ryck had never let on that he knew the gunny thought he had potential. He’d endured months of “gentle” abuse at the gunny’s hands, but it had been pretty easy to take. Now, with their final prac ap in the books, and with Ryck succeeding in the mission, he was sure he saw just the slightest gleam of satisfaction in his instructor’s eyes.

  “How’d I do, Gunny?” Ryck asked.

  Gunny Meader harrumphed before answering, “You got Sung killed, so let’s wait until the debrief before we go puffing out our chests, OK sir?”

  Ryck knew he’d done well. The mission had been difficult: breaching a ship and rescuing four hostages being held in different locations. He’d rescued all four with one friendly KIA. Sung had been killed by a booby-trap, but no one else had been hurt. It was still difficult for him to just coordinate a mission, letting his Marines do the bulk of the actual fighting, but this was simple gaming, not real combat, and he finally understood the “rules,” so-to-speak. It might be different in actual combat, but electrons were just electrons, like any commercial game. Every other mid had passed this final prac ap so far, but only Simone had performed better than Ryck had, at least on paper.

  Phase 3 (Marines) had taken place at Camp Charles, the same place where Ryck had attended boot camp. Life was much different as a midshipman, though. No DIs were there screaming in his face. The MTIs

  [12] took more time to explain things, and while they didn’t hold back on their criticism, there was none of the abuse and profanity that DIs used during recruit training.

  Phase 3 could not be conducted on Earth due to the Charter. Prospective Marine officers had to use weapons, and that had to be done off-planet. Ryck had wondered why their entire training hadn’t been done at Camp Charles, but Prince Jellico had pointed out that the Federation wanted their undying loyalty, so their hajj to Earth, and to the Academy in particular, was designed to imprint the new midshipmen with a renewed sense of dedication. That made sense to Ryck, and it had probably worked. Ryck was a provincial from a backwater planet, never really considering Earth one way or the other, but spending time there, especially on the battlefield tours of Iwo Jima, Gibraltar, Fallujah, Inchon, and Belleau Wood had somehow forged a link with the planet and those Marines who had served so long ago.

  Ryck let Gunny check his weapon. He hadn’t been issued any rounds, and this was an RCET evolution, not a live-fire exercise. But while NOTC was different in most ways than boot camp, some things never changed. Ryck had carried every type of ordinance he could into combat, but here, at Camp Charles, he was not trusted to have a safe weapon on his own.

  Ryck left the theater and walked into the observation room. Prince raised a fist which Ryck dutifully bumped.

  “Not bad there, devil dog,” Prince said. “Looks like your sorry ass might make it after all.”

  “And how did you do, oh great one?” Ryck asked as he slid into the seat beside Prince.

  “Rescued all four, but two KIA and two WIA,” Prince admitted.

  “Hah! I slammed you!” Ryck crowed.

  “Yeah, even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then,” Prince grumbled.

  Ryck had done well during Phase 3. He had been one of the best during the live fire training exercises, getting the highest score on the arty and naval call for fire. He’d done well in the tank training, and not surprisingly, he’d scored among the highest in PICS –related exercises. But his dismal scores in Phase 2 relegated him in the middle-of-the-pack. Middle-of-the-pack was good enough for government work, though. Unless he really screwed up somehow in the next week, he’d get his commission.

  Derrick Ohu reached over with
his own fist and asked, “So, is your self-appointed exile over? You going to join us for a celebratory drink or three tonight at the class time box dedication?”

  Ryck bumped Derrick’s fist and said, “Of course. Count me in.”

  Ever since his last warning from Capt Klein back at Annapolis, Ryck had self-imposed a monastic regimen. He hadn’t gone out with the other guys, hadn’t had a drink. His life had been attending classes, studying, and exercise. Midshipmen were not under the same restrictions as recruits, and most of the other mids went out into town on the weekends, but Ryck had demurred. Gunny Meader had noticed it and had even hinted that socializing with the other mids now would help strengthen the base for the bonds among the officer corps in later years. Ryck didn’t think he needed the distractions, though, and when Kyle Brown had gotten into a bar fight only three weeks before and dropped from the program, that confirmed to Ryck that his decision was the right one.

  But now, there were no more tests, no more evaluations. Ryck thought he could relax, and he really could use the downtime. The time box dedication was traditional as well, and he should really take part in that.

  “So, is Hannah coming to the commissioning?” Prince asked.

  “I hope so. I’ll cam her this afternoon. I’ve got reservations for her, but I’m not sure of her schedule,” Ryck said.

  “You mean, you haven’t even told her yet?” Prince asked incredulously.

  “Well, you know, I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to jinx anything.”

  “Shit. You knew you were going to make it. All of us knew you were going to make it. You are a bonafide, sure as shit hero, and the Corps was going to commission you no matter how fucked up you were,” Prince told him.

  There was dead silence for a moment as Prince realized what he’d said.

  “Oh, man, I didn’t mean it like that!” Prince said.

  There was a pause, then Ryck quietly asked, “Is that what the other guys think? Is that what they think of me?”