This situation happened more often than one might expect. When it did occur, Marines were given the opportunity to sit out the mission.
Ryck looked at the sergeant for a moment, weighing his words. “You do realize that you don’t have to participate. You can stay here on the ship.”
“I know what you’re getting at, sir. I’m a Cennetor. But I’m a Marine, and my oath is to the Federation. I don’t rightly know the whys and wherefores about all of this. But I do know you, and I know the battalion. This is my life now, not Cennet, and if you give the order, I’ll do my duty. Don’t you go worry about me none, sir. I’m a loyal Marine.”
Ryck opened his eyes in shock. That had to be the longest string of words Ryck had ever heard Çağlar utter. He wasn’t surprised at the sentiment. He’d hoped to hear something along those lines, in fact. But he’d underestimated the sergeant’s intensity.
“Well, uh, OK. I’m proud to have you with me,” Ryck said. “Do you have anything you want to ask?”
“No, sir,” he said as the taciturn Çağlar returned.
“Well, then, in that case, you better go check up with Top Samuelson. I’ll see you when we debark,” Ryck said.
Watching Çağlar’s back as the sergeant walked out of his stateroom, Ryck knew that the sergeant, in his direct manner, had it right. Ryck had sworn an oath to the Federation, and if this was his mission, then it was his duty not only to obey, but to give it his all and let other factors role off his back. If he ever was given a mission that he just could not obey, he could vote with his feet and resign his commission. Until that time, which he hoped would never arrive, he had to forget his tendency to analyze things over which he had no control and just stick with what was within his purview.
Chapter 12
“You’re all set, Genghis?” Ryck asked his Echo Company commander.
As a commanding officer, Ryck generally tried to steer clear of using nicknames, but with Captain Naranbaatar Bayarsaikhan, his name was a mouthful, and the two Marines had been recruits together, so Ryck usually reverted to the short, broad-shouldered Marine by the name he’d always known him.
“Yes, sir. We’re good to go. Whitney Delbert and his advance team has already been up there for a day, and he’s got things in hand,” Genghis said.
First Lieutenant Delbert was Genghis’ XO, and along with the company gunny and a few others, had been immediately dispatched up to the small power complex that would be at least their initial home, if not for the duration. Across the border, only three klicks away from the position, a company from the St. Regis battalion was encamped, and Ryck needed a unit opposing them.
“Well, good luck up there. I’ll try to get up there myself before too long, but you’ve got the ball. I know you’ll do fine.”
“Thank you, sir,” Genghis said. “We’ll do our best.”
As Ryck watched the company commander turn to board the commercial busses the Ataturk liaison had arranged (charging the battalion a rental fee, which had Justice Freebottom about blow his aorta when he received the bill), he thought back to Kakurega when his Golf company had been detached to Camp Joshua, the name he’d christened the old power plant on the river. No one had thought the company would see much, if any action, but things had not turned out that way. Ryck hoped that Echo’s assignment would not be a repeat of his past experiences.
Ryck hadn’t wanted to split his forces, but that St. Regis company had to be fixed in place. He’s discussed long and hard with Sandy and the XO on which company to send. The XO had pushed for Fox to take the mission. In the Armadillos, they’d be able to run down the highway to the rest of the battalion quicker than Marines in PICS if the need arose. But with the position out of range of the howitzer section attached to the battalion, Ryck had decided they needed the extra firepower of a tank section there, so he’d sent Echo.
“Sir, I got a problem. I’ve been assigned a shithole,” CWO4 Barnhouse said walking up to Ryck. “Power’s the problem, and if ya want comms, and if ya want me to be on the grid, I needs more power. That dorm ain’t gonna cut it.”
Ryck turned to look at his comms chief. Barnhouse was a wizard with the gear, but Ryck had discovered he could be a royal pain in the ass sometimes.
“And where is there enough power?”
“Their machine shop’ll do,” Banrhouse answered.
“And who is there?” Ryck asked, trying to remember how the battalion had been laid out inside the school grounds.
“Top Yolanda and his boys are already setting up.”
“Well, they need the space,” Ryck said. “And we need our vehicles up and running.”
“Yeah, sir, but they don’t be needing the same power as me. I can run ‘em out a 220 cable, and that takes care of it.”
“What does Captain Freebottom say?” Ryck asked.
“Don’t rightly know. I can’t find him.”
“Well,” Ryck started to make a decision before gathering himself.
This was getting into the weeds, and he couldn’t let himself get bogged down. Transforming a junior college into a firebase took a lot of planning and effort, and he needed to focus on the big picture.
“Grubbing hell, Chief. You’ve got your PA, and you’re the comms chief,” Ryck said, pulling out his own PA.
“Four, where are you?” he asked on the P2P.
“In the galley, sir. We’re setting up the field mess. Do you need me?”
“No, I’m sending Barnhouse over to let you handle him.”
“Roger that, sir. Is this about his comms space?” the Four asked.
“Ah, so you know. Well, you’ve got it,” Ryck said before turning to the CWO4. “Your boss is in the galley. Take it up with him.”
“Yes, sir,” Barnhouse said. “Thank you, sir.”
If the CWO4 seemed disappointed, Ryck chose to ignore it.
“Sir? The school president’s here, and she’s pretty upset about the hedge maze,” the sergeant major passed on the P2P. “Do you want me to get rid of her?”
Ryck sighed. He was preparing the battalion for a possible fight, and he had to worry about some grubbing bushes? He was tempted to let Hecs handle it, but he knew the president would not be satisfied with anyone other than the commanding officer.
“No, give me a few minutes. I’ll be over in a few.”
“Some shit, huh, sir?” Hecs asked.
“Yeah, some shit.”
Chapter 13
“Good job, you two,” Ryck said, lifting his Coke in a toast to the others. “This was a royal cluster, but it looks like the worst is over.”
“Until it’s time to move out,” Hecs said. “That asshole Lassiter’s already told me he’s got everything in this place recorded, and we’re liable for any damage or missing items—and we’re supposed to put everything back the way it was when we came before we leave.”
“If I hear any more about the fucking hedge maze,” the XO said, “I’m going to go batshit crazy on them.”
“It’s always this way. They request us, then they charge us for every credit they can,” Hecs said sourly.
“Galactic capitalism at its best,” Ryck said.
“A corporatocracy, more like it,” the XO grumbled.
Ryck glanced around his office, what had been until three days ago the office of the dean. It had not been adequately swept, CWO4 Barnhouse had told him that in all likelihood it was bugged. Ataturk was not a member of the Federation, but who knows what would get filtered back to them, and “corporatocracy” was a term not in favor with the Federation government.
“Well, we’re in, and that was the first priority. Tomorrow, take a good look at Genghis up at, what’s he calling it, Camp Nadem?” Ryck asked the XO.
“Camp Naadam. It’s a term for some sort of Mongolian Warrior Olympics, best I can tell,” the XO answered.
“Well, OK, whatever. Just take a look around and let me know what you think. I’ll get up there next week, after the command brief,” Ryck said.
&nbs
p; “You’re not thinking of taking a page from Colonel uKhiwa’s playbook, are you?” Hecs asked.
“Well, not that, I mean, you know—OK, the thought might have crossed my mind,” Ryck admitted.
“And you want me to mix it up with the young boys, too? In battleball?” Hecs asked.
“What are you two talking about?’ the XO asked.
“At Camp Joshua, on Kakurega, we had a field day, and part of that was a battleball tournament. Our undaunted leader here decided to take on one of the line platoons with the headquarters. Two of our guys got injured, so our CO, Fearless uKhiwa—you know him, sir?” Hecs started.
“Yeah, I’ve heard of him. Big guy, right?”
“Short, but built like a Davis. ‘Strong like bull,’” Hecs said, lowering his voice and grunting out the words in a caveman accent while clenching his fits and pecs in a strongman pose before relaxing back to normal. “Well, anyway, he and the sergeant major jumped right in and kicked some ass. Got their asses kicked, too, but the Marines, they frigging loved it. He worked up some good street cred. So I was asking the CO here if he planned the same thing. If he is, I might have to schedule something else on that day and let him take on the hoards himself.”
“Hell, Hecs, you enjoyed it just as much as I did, and you know it. And yes, I have been considering it, but not next week. We did that when the Marines started getting complacent. I don’t want to use that silver bullet just yet. Besides, I don’t know the tactical situation yet, and there is still a shitload on our plates that has to get accomplished.”
The battalion may be encamped, but there was still much to be done, and of course, Ryck was tasked with providing a “full prime Monty” brief for the Ataturk prime minister and IGA’s local president on Tuesday. Before that, on Sunday, CAPT K was going to come, inspect the base, and more importantly to him, listen to Ryck’s rehearsal.
Priorities, priorities, priorities—all of them screwed up!
The last three days had been hectic. Prudential Skills College was one of the larger schools on the planet that trained office workers, and the school staff had not been happy to have to give up their campus to the Marines. Students and faculty from both Ataturk and Cennet had been sent home, while a small rear party had assisted the Marines in moving in. “Assisted” was perhaps a rather generous description of their agenda. It seemed that they were more like speed bumps at best, downright obstacles at worst. The bulk of the school staff had had only just left that afternoon, leaving only a five-man team to “watch over” the grounds, undoubtedly noting each blade of grass on which some Marine stepped.
Falling in on the school was both a blessing and a curse. The school was well-located near one of the major border crossings between the two countries. The main highway followed the planet’s major river in a very wide, flat valley. It was well-suited for combined ops, should it come to that. The bulk of the St. Regis battalion was located on the Cennet side of the border, headquartered about 20 klicks back at the town of Cantor Falls.
The school was big enough to house the battalion, and the dorms meant that the Marines all had real bunks. The kitchen was huge, giving SSgt Marten Ekema all he needed to feed the battalion. That was a huge plus. If the battalion had been bivouacked in the bush, his field kitchen would have provided all the meals the Marines needed. But the good staff sergeant was somewhat of a frustrated fine dining chef, and he had embraced the Nuevo Fresh school of cooking. With the college’s kitchen, he had all he needed to go bonkers to his heart’s content—and to the great benefit of the Marines and sailors who relief on him for their meals.
Ryck looked over at the plate that had held a piece of black forest cake just a few moments before. Not a fabricated cake, but a real, made-from-scratch cake that Ekema had baked. He reached out with a finger and wiped up a tiny smudge of cream and put it in his mouth.
Yes, being at the school had some advantages.
But it was still a tactical liability. Fully 35% of the students and 40% of the faculty had been citizens of Cennet. They knew the school inside and out. Coupled with Cennet surveillance, the Marines’ positions would be pinpointed. Without the slightest doubt in his military mind, he knew that every position, including the Dean’s office, was targeted.
Space-borne surveillance revealed that “McTyler’s Battalion” had five Victron 125mm howitzers. These were not as capable as the Marines own 155s, and they should not be effective against the Davises, but a direct hit would take out a PICS. And a round through the dean’s office window would spoil Ryck’s day to no end.
“OK, no more business unless something goes down,” Ryck said. “Koske’s got the CP, and he’ll let us know if he needs us. I told you I’ve got The Journey to Hell, and you should see the holo stand here. A grubbing Sansui T-4000!”
“Life must treat deans well,” the XO remarked.
“If you’re funded by IGA, yeah, I’d say it probably does,” Hecs said.
Ryck got up to get the recording. The flick had just come out three weeks ago, and Ryck had scored a copy through the ship’s XO. He’d pass it around to the battalion, but tonight, it was the three of them on the dean’s Sansui.
“Hey, Liam. I finally looked up Flavius Stilicho. Some guy! You related to him?”
“Old Flavius? Not hardly, sir. My folk were convicts, sentenced to hard labor on Progress. Everyone took new names, and my great-great-great-whatever chose Stilicho,” the XO said mater-of-factly.
Shit, I should have realized that, he thought.
Progress had been terraformed the old way, with brute labor. That was years ago, and while not everyone on the planet was related to the original convicts, enough were so that tracing ancestry was difficult when records were sealed.
More than that, though, Ryck had read that Stilicho and his son were executed, and there was no mention of him having any surviving progeny.
I guess I suck at this friendly small talk, he thought as he grabbed the recording. Still, I can give it another try.
“So, you’ve studied Rome. I was wondering why Flavius just gave up. He was a general, and he had loyal soldiers that wanted to fight for him. But he told them to stand down when they came for him and he was marched off to his own execution? Why?” Ryck asked.
“Because something was bigger than him. The empire,” Hecs answered from his seat. “If he fought, Rome would have been dragged into chaos. With the Visigoths ready to attack, if he split the armies, the entire empire would have fallen. He gave up his life for the ideal that was Rome.”
Ryck looked up at him in surprise.
“What, you don’t think I’ve studied history?” Hecs asked before switching to his dull caveman accent again. “I dumb enlisted grunt. Me no read or write.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. You and I, we’ve discussed amphibious warfare, and we’ve done the War of the Far Reaches to death. But grubbing Rome? What’s with that? I spend two years with the Confed, fighting and dining with them, and Rome is like their religion. Then the XO, and Lieutenant Colonel Simone, and now you? E tu, Brute?” Ryck asked.
“And that’s about all my Latin, so let’s not go there,” he added.
“It’s et tu, but whose keeping track?” Hecs said as the XO broke out laughing.
“Grubbing hell,” Ryck said, breaking out into laughter himself. “You both are a bunch of grubbing assholes. Just remember who writes your fitness reports.”
“Brutum fulmen,” the XO said with a smirk.
Ryck looked at the sergeant major who said, “Don’t look at me. I’ve studied some military history, but I don’t speak Latin.”
“It means an empty threat,” the XO said.
“I’ll show you ‘empty threat’ good major!”
Both of the other men laughed as the sergeant major said, “Ah, you need us, sir, to keep this ship afloat.”
“The fuck is, you two assholes are right,” Ryck said. “All bullshit aside, I’m glad you two are here.”
“Well, then, with all
due respect, most exalted commander, how about running the flick? I’ve heard that Glynnis Dreading is most delectable in it, and I think we need to see for ourselves,” the XO said. “Especially on the Sansui. I’ve read that we’ll be able to see every pore on the lovely Glynnis’ skin if we zoom up close enough.”
“Hold your horses, XO. Or your chariots, if you prefer,” Ryck said as he flicked the switch to upload the flick.
Ryck was proud and grateful for his battalion. But since taking command, he didn’t think he’d enjoyed the simple camaraderie that had always been so important to him as a Marine. The joking, the smack-talk, the give-and-take. The friendship and brotherhood. And he missed it. Tremendously.
Just now, for the first time in a long, long time, he’d gotten a taste of it again, and it made him feel whole.
Chapter 14
“Mr. Prime Minister, welcome to our camp. We’re glad you could make it,” Ryck said as Dr. Mark Şerif stepped off the Alouette.
Mr. Nicholas Stevens followed the prime minister off the bird. As the president of IGA operations in Ataturk, he was the real power in the country, but Ryck and Captain Kaʻanāʻanā had decided to at least play along with the façade of the PM being in charge.
Of course, Captain K was a native of the Kingdom of Hiapo[6], and the Pōmaika`I Corporation was one of IGA’s competitors in the galactic marketplace. Ryck didn’t think the captain was snubbing the IGA president, but the thought had crossed his mind. The Hawaiian-settled kingdom had both economic might and immense cultural pride. No less than three Hiapos had served as chairmen of the Federation over the past century, more than any other planet.
“I am happy to be here, Colonel. And I’m happy you are here as well. We were getting somewhat worried when those mercenaries showed up on our border,” Dr. Şerif said.
Ryck kept a straight face as he nodded. While the prime minister did have a handful of his own guard detail, the bulk of the security men rushing around and getting in the way of the Marines were from Tanner Security Forces, an IGA subsidiary and essentially mercenaries for hire.
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