THE UNITED FEDERATION MARINE CORPS
BOOK 6: LIEUTENANT COLONEL
Colonel Jonathan P. Brazee
USMCR (Ret)
Copyright © 2015 Jonathan Brazee
Semper Fi Press
ASIN: B013TQ6IIE (Semper Fi Press)
ISBN-10: 0692480285
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. I want to thank Susan Sponaas and Navywriter, my editors, for their help in the book and for catching my many typos and mistakes. Any remaining typos and inaccuracies are solely my fault.
Original Cover Art by Panicha Kasemsukkaphat
TARAWA
Chapter 1
“Staff, present, arms!” Major Liam Stilicho, the battalion executive officer and the Commander of Troops for the ceremony shouted out as all six officers brought their swords up in a crisp salute.
Ryck stood just off Lieutenant Colonel Kip Ab Salaam’s left shoulder as the commanding officer returned the salute.
“Staff, order arms,” the XO ordered before doing an about face, and then in a much louder command, shouted out, “Order, arms!”
In front of Ryck, Second Battalion, Third Marines was in formation, all five companies in line, with an M1A3 Davis tank, an Armadillo personnel carrier, and a Stork behind them. As one, the infantry Marines completed their present arms, coming to a simple position of attention.
Ryck tried to keep on his poker face, but he was excited, his heart pounding in his chest, threatening to break free and soar in the clouds. In just a few minutes, he was going to take command of the “Fuzos.”
As General Ukiah told him the night before, the two best jobs in the Marines were company commander and battalion commander. Nothing else came close. Ryck had been a company commander, and now he was eager to take that next step.
Ryck had commanded battalions before, on Acquisition when he’d taken over the Raider Battalion when his friend Bert Nidischii’ had been trapped in the SOG cave complex and in the Telchines when LtCol uKhiwa had been separated from the battalion. But those had been only temporary, a reaction to the shifting tides of battle. This, however, was the real deal. He was going to be a Commanding Officer, a CO. This was to where his years in the Corps had been leading.
“Sergeant Major, deliver the colors to the commanding officer!” the COT shouted out.
Sergeant Major Conrad Suzuki immediately stepped off and marched to the color guard. He took the battalion colors from the bearer, left hand at the base of the pole, right hand half-way up, stepped off to the right, and marched straight to Kip. As he marched, Sergeant Timko Pleasance, the narrator, with his deep, resonant voice, spoke over the microphone:
Ladies and gentlemen, we now come to the most solemn moment of the ceremony, the actual passing of command. The battle colors of a Marine Corps unit symbolizes both the storied history of the unit as well as the authority and accountability of command. Transferring the colors during the ceremony symbolizes the relinquishing of command by Lieutenant Colonel Kipton Pratchett Ab Salaam. By accepting the colors, Lieutenant Colonel Ryck Lysander accepts command and confirms his total commitment to the Marines and sailors who he will command. Sergeant Major Conrad Francis Suzuki is delivering the colors to the commanding officer.
The sergeant major reached Kip and stopped in front of him. With a forceful movement, he thrust the colors out to his CO. Kip Ab Salaam took the colors as Ryck stepped forward and on line with him.
“Ready, two,” Kip whispered as both men turned to face each other.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the transfer of the colors,” Sgt Pleasance said.
First the staff, then the battalion, were called to attention as Pleasance read the orders:
From: Commanding General, First Marine Division
To: Lieutenant Colonel Kipton Pratchett Ab Salaam, United Federation Marine Corps
Subj: Division Special Order 2-12, effective 0001 GMT, 20 February, 356, you stand detached as the commanding officer, Second Battalion, Third Marines, and are transferred to Headquarters, First Marine Division, for further duty as ordered.
Signed, Norris K. Meintenbach, Major General, United Federation Marine Corps, Commanding General.
Kip pushed out his arms, presenting the battalion colors to Ryck.
Ryck reached out and almost yanked the colors out of the departing CO’s hands. They felt good to him, heavier than he expected, but most welcome.
Pleasance immediately launched into the second set of orders:
From: Commanding General, First Marine Division
To: Lieutenant Colonel Ryck Lysander, United Federation Marine Corps
Subj: Division Special Order 2-13, effective 0001 GMT, 20 February, 356, you are ordered to report for duty to Second Battalion, Third Marines, as the commanding officer.
Signed, Norris K. Meintenbach, Major General, United Federation Marine Corps, Commanding General.
Still holding the colors, Ryck whispered, “Ready, two!” On the command, he executed a right face while Kip executed a left face. With the sergeant major now in front of him, Ryck thrust out the colors, and the sergeant major took them back. The sergeant major conducted an about face, and then marched off to deliver the colors back to the bearer.
Both commanders, outgoing and incoming, turned to face each other again. Kip held out his hand, and Ryck took it in a firm grip.
“Good luck, Ryck. I’m giving you 30 days. Any fuck-ups that happen during that time frame, well, you just blame me. After that, it’s on you,” Kip said quietly, so only Ryck could hear.
Ryck had to smile as he said, “Sounds like a deal. But I think you’ve left me a mighty fine unit. You’ve done a great job, and everyone knows it.”
He nodded at the shiny new Distinguished Meritorious Service Medal hanging from Kip’s chest where General Meintenbach had hung it not ten minutes before. Not many battalion commanders were ever awarded the DMSM without taking the battalion into combat.
“Well, take care of my boys,” Kip said, as Ryck thought he could see a tear forming at the corner of Kip’s eye.
“I will, you can count on that.”
Their handshake done, the two men exchanged positions.
“Ladies and gentlemen, be seated,” Pleasance passed over the sound system.
General Meintenbach, who’d taken over the division only three days before, took the stage and gave a five minute speech on how much Kip meant to the Corps and how he was happy to have Kip serve on the division staff before he went off to the Naval War College. He then made a few brief comments about Ryck, only briefly mentioning his past service and extolling him to lead the battalion to greatness in its transition.
And that was the key to all of this. Ryck had been slated to take over 3/12, but a shuffle had occurred, keeping Ryck on Tarawa and giving him 2/3. Both 2/3, in the Inner Reaches Force, and 3/7 from the Outer Reaches Force, had been assigned to implement and test the new Assault Battalion concept, and Meintenbach, with backing from General Ukiah, Gener
al Jericho, and others, had insisted that Ryck take over 2/3, saying he’d had experience with new units. Ryck knew, however, that what the general wanted was Ryck’s Nova, not Ryck. With Ryck’s fame, the general stood to gain an advantage if only through osmosis. With the attention given to Ryck and Tarawa’s proximity to Earth itself, he must have figured that his division’s battalion would fare better than 3/7.
Ryck really didn’t care. He’d been ready for 3/12, but a battalion was a battalion, and the new assault concept was rather intriguing. General Ukiah thought it was a good assignment, and Ryck trusted the general on things like that.
General Meintenbach stopped his speech to give flowers to Kip’s wife Sophia and plaques to Kip’s three boys. He gave one more speech on how important a family was to a Marine, then finally sat down.
The adjutant came to attention and sounded, “Pass in review!”
Major Stilicho brought his staff, then the battalion to attention before shouting out, “Battalion, pass in review!”
Immediately, the lone drummer from the Drum Corps started pounding out a cadence on his side drum. The battalion staff conducted a complicated marching maneuver that put it in position to march in front of the reviewing party as the pass in review orders were echoed down each company. The entire battalion smoothly transitioned into motion—first, marching to the right, then conducting two left turn marches so they could pass along the entire front of the audience and in front of the two lieutenant colonels and the commanding general. Traditionally, this pass in review was to exhibit to the new commanding officer their readiness for battle, but Ryck knew this was really a farewell to their old commanding officer. He didn’t resent that.
As Weapons Company passed in front of the reviewing party, the big Davis tank came to life and followed in trace. Ryck had had only limited contact with armor during his career, most of it on the single mission on Luminosity, where he was awarded his first Silver Star. It was going to be interesting, and slightly daunting, to have armor permanently attached to the battalion. The Armadillo followed the Davis, and then the Stork lifted off and performed a very fast and low flyover, eliciting oohs and aahs from the spectators.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this concludes out ceremony. Thank you for sharing this occasion with us. You are all invited to the O-Club to celebrate Lieutenant Colonel Lysander’s assumption of command,” Sergeant Pleasance informed the crowd.
The general stepped forward to shake both lieutenant colonels’ hands and told Ryck he wanted to see him 0900 on Monday. He thanked Kip for his service and told him to be at the same meeting. The battalion had not been fully formed yet as an integrated assault force, but Kip had been in the planning stages for the new unit while both Ryck and the general were only now officially part of the process, even if the general had been in the J3[1] while the concept was being developed.
As the general stepped back, Ryck and Kip shook hands once more.
“You’re coming to the reception, right?” Ryck asked.
“Sweet Chastity yeah, I’m coming. I spent almost 10,000 credits on mine, and I need to drink some of that back.”
“OK, see you there,” Ryck said, looking up to see General Ukiah and Hannah and the kids, among others, making their way from the stands to him. Ryck had been surprised at how many people had come to support him.
“Congratulations, Ryck,” the general said. “Now’s your time to shine.”
“Well, sir, I have to thank you for that.”
“Don’t thank me, son. You deserved it. And you had support. A lot of people want this to succeed, and they think you can do it.”
“Not everyone wanted me, sir,” Ryck said.
And that was true. The newly selected incoming commandant, Lieutenant General Papadakis, had blamed Ryck for the heavy loss of life during the unofficial mission against the SOG on Acquisition. Well, “blame” might be too direct a term. He’d hinted that his Raider concept was sound, and any excessive loss of life was due to leadership issues. Since Ryck was the leader with Bert out of contact, by inference, that meant him.
“Enough did, though,” General Ukiah said, “so now you need to justify their trust in you.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“I know you will. But we’ll talk later.
“Hannah, it’s always good to see you. And who’s this strapping young man?” the general asked, turning from Ryck to Hannah before squatting down to get to Ben’s level.
“I’m Ben!”
“No, you can’t be. Ben is a little boy, but you’re so big!” the general said.
“I am! I’m Ben, and I’m big now,” Ben said with a laugh.
He was old enough to know the general was joking but still young enough to appreciate it.
Ryck pulled Hannah in for a kiss on the cheek.
“It was really nice, Ryck. And we’re so proud of you,” she said, putting an arm around his waist.
“Yeah, Dad. We are,” Esther said, her face aglow as she stepped up to hug him.
“Aren’t you going to give your father a hug, too?” Hannah asked their older son.
“Oh, sure. We’re proud of you,” Noah said, his voice expressionless.
Ryck had long ago quit worrying about Noah’s seeming distance. It was just the way he was, and Ryck had to accept that.
“Well, Ryck, I see you’ve got all your fans waiting for a word with you,” Hannah said, indicating a good-sized group made up mostly of Marines politely hovering just out of earshot. He recognized most of them.
“We need to get to the reception,” he said loud enough for them to hear. “Knowing these reprobates, we’re going to have to take out a second mortgage to pay the bar bill.”
“You’ve got that right, Colonel,” Master Sergeant Bobbi Samuelson, one Ryck’s most trusted companions, shouted out to the delight of the others. “I hope your credit rating is healthy ‘cause I’m real thirsty!”
“I’m cutting you off early, Sams! Everyone, I am humbled that you came, and I want to talk to all of you, but let’s get off this parade deck and into the club, OK?”
Ryck took Hannah’s arm in his and started leading the procession to the parking lot. The club was only a few hundred meters away, but with the kids, it made more sense to drive and park there.
He felt fulfilled. He knew the next three years would hold many challenges, but he looked forward to tackling them. Commanding officer of a freaking infantry—no, integrated assault—battalion. His wife on his arm and his kids at his side. Friends there to celebrate with him. It just didn’t get any better than this!
Chapter 2
“Your mother’s wrinkled ass!” Sams shouted up to the Armadillo’s driver as a sudden lurch sent him headfirst into the personnel carrier’s wall. “Drive this thing right, damn it!”
“Sorry, Top. The terrain here sucks,” Corporal Throckmorton yelled back down into the compartment.
Ryck refrained from joining in with Sams. He’d thought having armor would be an interesting change, but without a shred of doubt, no question, abso-fucking-lutely, he hated the tracs with a passion. The Armadillo-C was the latest and greatest of what GM-Fiat could produce. It was fast and chock-full with enough command and control gear to make a Navy dreadnought crew jealous. Theoretically, Ryck could control the entire battalion down to the individual Marine in a fluid and ever-changing battlefield.
Theoretically.
In actuality, the thing bounced around like a paint-mixer. It was almost impossible to do anything other than brace oneself and hang on. With all the technology available to the Federation, Ryck was at a loss as to why the Armadillo was so useless. The Navy had assault craft that used the same hover capabilities as a family sedan, and that produced a much better ride. The designers of the Armadillo had opted for a fluid-ferro suspension that supposedly adjusted to every dip and bump—except that it didn’t if the speed got above about 25 KPH. A Marine in a PICS could move faster than that, so Ryck didn’t know how he was supposed to keep up with a
battle while in the command carrier.
Even when the Armadillo was halted, the C4[2] systems didn’t quite have the bugs worked out yet. As just became apparent once more.
“Colonel, I’ve lost comms with Team Anvil,” Major Stig Juventus, the S3, shouted above the din of the Armadillo’s big twin Chanto engines.
“What else is new?” Sams muttered as he tried to brace himself with his back and legs.
“Where’re they at?” Ryck asked.
“I think, maybe at Phase Line Oak?” the Three said without conviction.
“I need to know. Get them back,” Ryck ordered.
He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the nausea threatening to make a return appearance. Iron-gutted Ryck, who was never bothered by Null-G, had lost his breakfast earlier in the day, a victim of motion sickness.
It had seemed so exciting, to be one of the first two assault battalions, with capabilities far exceeding any other battalion-size unit. He’d own tanks and personnel carriers instead of just having them in support. He had a fleet of jacked-up Aquasleds, militarized to meet Marine Corps requirements. He had his own section of arty. He had a flight of Storks. And all he wished for now was to have a normal, old-fashioned, infantry battalion.
Historically, the Marines from the 20th Century, Old Reckoning, and on for the next three hundred years had been the experts of integrated ops. Somehow, that expertise had faded away. The Marines had merely become a weapon for the Navy, a rifle that could be aimed and fired.
The Marines had tanks and arty, but they tended to be in general support and only occasionally in direct support. In both cases, they were controlled by higher headquarters, not the supported unit. This new-old concept put all the assets under the direct control of the unit commander—that is, Ryck. But the command and control procedures were lacking.
Lieutenant Colonel (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 6) Page 1