“Battalion, atten-HUT,” Ryck called out, then, “Present, ARMS!”
A moment later, the first Marine appeared, guiding a casket on a gravlift, a Federation flag draped over it, the flag’s edges almost touching the ground. One after the other, the line of the dead, guided by a close friend, crossed the parking lot and was loaded into a truck. Liam Stilicho’s pallbearer was Sandy.
The Marines and sailors held their salutes as the KIAs were loaded into the trucks. In the flicks, those lost were invariably shunted off into space while stirring music filled the background. Reality was much different. Bodies were never given to the void. The fallen had families; they had home worlds. They were sent back to their home base for processing and then released to the families for burial, cremation, mummification, or whatever other rites the families chose.
The trucks were simple freight haulers, the Hauptstead Shipping name and logo emblazoned on their sides. They would take the caskets to the spaceport where the dead were to be loaded on a shuttle to be delivered to a commercial freighter for their return to Tarawa, sharing space with electronics, hover components, and ceramics. Just one more type of cargo that the Federation shipped from one place to the other.
At least the truck drivers were showing some degree of respect, standing by their cabs, hats off and heads bowed down as the dead were loaded. Ryck appreciated that. As the last Marine was loaded, the drivers, almost in unison, got into their cabs. One after the other, they left the parking lot and drove off the campus.
“Battalion, order, ARMS!” Ryck shouted out as the last truck disappeared from sight.
Chapter 17
Two hours later, Ryck was in his office with Major Sandy Peltier-Aswad, Sergeant Major Hector Phantawisangtong, and Master Sergeant Bobbi Samuelson, the core of his command. The mood was somber, but with a headquarters rep coming in for a full debrief, the four had to get their ducks in line.
Thirty Marines and three sailors had been killed during the assault: thirty-two men in the Armadillos, and one in a PICS. Eighteen Marines and one sailor had been evacuated for long-term regen; only five of them had been among those whose avatars had been grayed out before the recovery teams had gotten them into stasis for resurrection. Twenty men had been wounded, but were staying with the battalion.
Twenty-four St. Regis mercenaries had been killed and fourteen wounded badly enough for regen. The Marines had easily won the day, but the cost had been high. The mercenaries had remained dug in until their most potent strikes had been dealt, then they surrendered, defeated, but with the knowledge that they had dealt the Marines a significant blow. The St. Regis Brigade may have lost much of their historical luster, but they were doing their damndest to regain it, and this battle was a step in the right direction.
A step that came at the cost of Marine lives.
Ryck had accepted the mercs’ surrender and treated them according to the letter of the law. He had taken their parole and left them in place, weaponless, but with all their food and supplies. The regen candidates had been evacuated, and as soon as their ransom was paid to the Ataturk government, they would leave. Word was that could be as early as tomorrow.
Ryck had wanted to wipe the smug smile off the face of Colonel Rasper Torrington, their commander, during their meeting. Colonel Torrington was a citizen of Prophesy, just as Ryck was, but that didn’t raise any degree of kinship within Ryck. The colonel might have surrendered, but he acted as if he had won, and maybe he had. He even had the gall to try and lecture Ryck as to how he should have assaulted until Ryck cut him off short. The colonel’s sly smile was all Ryck needed to know that the merc commander was merely pushing his buttons.
The fact was that all but one of the KIAs could all be attributed to the Armadillos and their lack of effective armor against kinetic rounds. The original prototypes had better armor, but that had been dropped, supposedly to increase maneuverability. The real reason, though, was the cost. The bean counters objected to the high price, and they opined that the modern battlefield was more of a fight with energy weapons vice kinetic. That might be true if the Marines faced off against the Brotherhood host, but kinetic weapons were the poorer man’s option, and that included merc units. An Armadillo’s shielding and maneuverability might keep it safe on many battlefields, but with simple soldiers armed with chemical rockets, it didn’t stand a chance,
That wasn’t entirely true. Only four of the Armadillos had been hit. The other six either were not targeted, had the rocket fired at them miss, or in the case of Dogpound-7, the Big Beauty, LCpl Broughton Bracewell had acquired the soldier and blasted him apart with his chain gun before the rocket could be fired.
The four Marines, as well as the commanders and the rest of the SNCOs, were all on the same page. The deaths were a result of two separate factors. First, the attempt to save 30% of the cost of each vehicle put the Marines in the field with inferior equipment. This inferiority was emphasized on the planet where Gaziantep’s higher oxygen content made the fires cause by the explosions even more violent. Second, to justify the acquisition, the battalion had to use the tracs where and how they were not suited.
This wasn’t a revelation. Ryck had known it. Liam had known it. Rick Ashton from 3/7 had known it. Colonel Miller at regiment had known it. Yet they had all had gone along with the orders, and that had cost Liam his life, along with all the others.
“Well, we pretty much see it the same way. Sandy, I want a full report by COB tomorrow. Give to everyone here and Christophe. Lieutenant Van Pelter, too. Then we’ll consolidate the comments before the debrief,” Ryck told the others.
“And speaking of Van Pelter, we need to think about personnel. Van Pelter’s too inexperienced to command Foxtrot. We need to bring in someone. And the Three, too, Sandy. I’ve already told Colonel Miller I’m moving you to XO.”
“As far as the Three, sir, I was thinking of Captain Christophe. I think he can do it,” Sandy said.
“Christophe? But he’s a tanker. And still a captain,” Ryck said.
“And we’re a combined arms battalion. I’ve spent a lot of time with Proctor discussing tactics and strategy, and he’s got a good head on his shoulders. He’s a major select, too, and I remember another major select who took over the S3 in a battalion before.”
“True, but that was for training, and if I remember right, we got beat by 2/11 in the force on force,” Ryck said, referring to his short time as the Ops O after the Telchines operation.
“And that leaves us without a company commander for the armor.”
“Which is hardly a full company and doesn’t maneuver like one. Lieutenant Browne can take over the company,” Sandy continued.
“Dunderdunk? Yeah, you’re probably right on that,” Ryck conceded.
“What about you two? What do you think?”
“Lieutenant Drunk Down Under can handle the company,” Sams said.
I’ll have to defer to the major on Captain Christophe, though.”
Hecs merely shrugged.
“Drunk Down Under?” Ryck asked.
“I’m not telling,” Sams said. “That could get the young gun in a little hot water.”
“And you, too, I’m betting,” Hecs said as the others broke out laughing.
Shit that feels good, Ryck thought. First laugh today.
“OK, Christophe’s the Three and Drunk Down Under is the new Armor Company Commander. That leaves Fox. I don’t think Van Pelter is up for it. Agree?”
The other three Marines nodded.
“OK, then I need to see a list of what captains out there are available for re-assignment.”
Hecs held out his PA for Ryck to tap with his, transferring a file.
“Already got it. I’m looking at the available first sergeants, too. Gunny Chao could step up, especially with them light now, but I’d rather get someone with more experience to pull the rest through this. Mentally, I mean,” Hecs said.
“OK, if you’ve got someone in mind, let me know and I’ll see what
I can do. As far as new captains, let me see here,” Ryck said before a name caught his eye.
“Sams, Sandy, take a look at that,” he said, highlighting a name and handing over his PA.
Sams looked at the name and nodded with a smile.
Sandy took the PA, read the name, and said, “You have a way of gathering the lost sheep, sir.”
“Well, I’d say that there’s our new Fox Company Commander, Captain Mike “”Hog” McAult,” Ryck said. “It looks like he’s slated for 3/1, but I think I can get his leave cut short and brought out to us.
“If there is anyone else any of you’ve got pegged, I want that within,” he said, checking his watch, “two hours. I want to get this in while Division is still awake and working.”
Chapter 18
“Nice digs,” Colonel Bertrand Nidishchii’ said as he looked around the office.
“This is just the dean’s office. You should see the president’s,” Ryck responded.
“Life in Academia must be nice,” Bert noted. “Maybe we chose the wrong line of work.”
The two friends sat quietly for a moment before Ryck cleared his throat and said, “I was rather surprised when I heard it was you coming for the investigation. You’re not even in Division.”
“Well, about that. The commandant is extremely interested in what happened here, as are many in the government. The St. Regis Brigade’s recent advertising has raised more than a few eyebrows.”
After their defeat, the mercenary company’s bigwigs decided to break tradition and put out an advertisement, even if they insisted it was just a press release, on how their battalion had “held off” not only a Marine battalion, but one commanded by the famous Lieutenant Colonel Ryck Lysander. The slight matter of the claims not meshing with the facts was conveniently ignored, but Ryck’s heart fell as Bert spoke.
“Those grubbing bastards will stoop to anything to try and regain the respect they’ve lost,” Ryck muttered.
“The commandant has taken it personally, and he’s vowed to clear this up before he steps down. We’ve got a PA team going over all the BDA images, and I’ve seen the story boards of what they plan to release. I think you’ll be pleased.”
“What about Papadakis?” Ryck asked, only somewhat mollified by what Bert had just told him.
Lieutenant General Papadakis was the current Director of Marine Corps Operations and was slated to be the next commandant. He considered himself an intellect and innovator. The Raider Battalion had been one of his babies, and he had privately blamed Ryck for the loss of life during the fight on Acquisition. And while the new assault battalion had not been his idea, he had never-the-less honchoed it through, approving the final T/O[12] and T/E,[13] to include accepting the Armadillos. Several messages from others had reached Ryck that Papadakis had blamed Ryck’s tactics for the deaths, not any deficiencies in the Armadillos’ design.
That had pissed Ryck off, even if there was a bit of truth to that. The Armadillos were not suited for assaults against a well-armed opponent. There was no doubt about that. But Ryck had known that before stepping across the LOD. He should have come up with a plan to defeat the simple method that the mercs had used to engage the tracs. But he was damned if he was going to shoulder the blame for a shit piece of gear.
General Papadakis was also Bert’s direct boss. Ryck didn’t know what that inferred. Bert was his friend, but the mission came first, and if Papadakis had given Bert specific orders with regards to Ryck, Bert would have no choice but to obey.
“Let’s just say you are not going to be on his Christmas greetings list. But my boss and the general don’t always see eye-to-eye, and the general convinced the commandant that someone from Operations should do the investigation, someone from Papadakis’ own shop, but someone, shall we say, with a firmer familiarity with the concept of truth?”
When Bert said “the general,” that referred to Lieutenant General Ukiah, who was both Ryck and Bert’s godfather. General Ukiah was the Inner Reaches Force Commanding General, and he and the commandant were on very good terms. Ryck knew that the general and Papadakis were rivals, but that was about it. He tried to stay out of politics. He knew that when Odin and Thor fought in Valhalla, the thunderbolts often hit the mere mortals on the ground.
It looked like in this case, though, the general was spreading his wings to shield Ryck from any fallout. Which Ryck appreciated.
“You’ve read the report, right?” Ryck asked.
“Sure have. Look, I still have to do my interviews, and my team will examine the wrecked tracs, but this was not your fault.”
“But—
“But you could have foreseen suicide rocketeers hiding in spider holes, right? Maybe right. You could have. Or you could have taken action for 100 other possibilities, and you’d still be on this side of the border today, carefully picking your way forward. From what I can see, you took reasonable precautions while keeping with your orders for a quick movement to contact. Sometimes, you just have to hand it to the enemy. They are not always going to make the stupid mistakes that let you walk all over them.”
“Do you really think that?” Ryck asked.
“Yeah, I do. If I didn’t, I would not have come here,” Bert said.
“What do you mean?”
“If I thought you had screwed up, I wouldn’t want to be the one to expose that. And I would have to, friend or not.”
Ryck sat in silence, looking at Bert, but not knowing how to respond. He knew Bert, though, and while Bert was his closest friend, and he thought he was Bert’s, there was no doubt in his mind that Bert would hang him out to dry if his findings supported that.
“Well, let’s get this thing going. I’ve got part of my team examining the wrecks now. But I’ve got to get others out to the battle site. You’ve got the guides ready?”
“Uh, yes, sir,” Ryck said, snapping back into official duty mode. “Let me get Sa—Master Sergeant Samuelson in here. He’s got all of this locked on.”
Bert got up and held out his hand, which Ryck shook.
“Don’t get yourself all worked up like you usually do,” he said quietly. “The Armadillos had potential, but the cost-cutting made them rolling coffins. We’re not going to uncover anything surprising, I’m sure.”
Ryck hoped that Bert’s confidence was not misplaced.
Chapter 19
Sergeant Jason Baker lowered the chain gun to his hip and let out a three-second burst of fire. Sixty angry hornets demolished the junker of a hover that had been set up on the far side of the football field. He put the gun on safe, then raised the muzzle before turning around to face Ryck and the others.
Ryck was impressed, to say the least. The chain gun had been the best thing about the Armadillos, and with four of the tracs out of commission, that meant the battalion had lost a small, but still significant amount of its firepower.
“Not freaking bad,” Sams said from beside him.
“No, not freaking bad,” Ryck agreed before moving forward to the Marine.
“That’s pretty impressive, Sergeant. May I?” he asked.
Sergeant Baker lowered the gun so Ryck could reach up to take it. The gun was surprisingly light, all things considering, and even without his PICS, Ryck had no problem holding it. It didn’t look much like it had when it had been mounted, but the basic mechanism was still recognizable.
“So, how did you modify it?” Ryck asked before handing it to Sandy to examine.
“Well, sir, me and Guppy, uh, LCpl Gupta, we been seeing these just sitting there, you know, after that inspection team checked out the tracs, and they seemed to be wasted. So we went and looked at them to see what could be salvaged,” Baker said over his external speakers. “But it kinda seemed wasteful, sir, you know? I mean, these are righteous hammers, the best thing on the coffins. . . I mean the Armadillars, sir . . . so me and LCpl Gupta, we wanted to see what we could do with them. I mean, we asked Gunny, first, so we had permission. We weren’t just taking nothin’ on our own.
“Well, we took off the housing first. Then we had Corporal Jensen in maintenance weld us up this frame,” he went on, pointing to U-frame than went up and over the housing group and gave a nice handhold. “Then we got rid of all the extra shit, I mean stuff, sir. I rigged up this trigger down here, and I asked Gunner Barnhouse to change the power supply so I could just plug it into my PICS’ external jack.”
Ryck glanced back to the gunner, who gave a small smile and a nod.
“And then I added the stock here, and we made this ammo case,” he said, pointing to the metal box hanging off his left side, looking like an old-fashioned hot dog box vendors used at football games. “A couple more bits and dabs, and well, sir, this is what we got.”
He stood there in front of Ryck, waiting for a response. Ryck was used to Marines in PICS, and he could tell simply by his posture that the sergeant was about to shit in his skivvies with nervousness.
“This seems pretty light. Could a Marine in his skins and bones fire it, you think?”
“Fire, sure. Me and LCpl Gupta, we done it. The compensators take care of most of the recoil, but it’ll still shake your bones. But the battery we had to use was heavy, and more than that, this baby puts out 1,200 rounds per minute. That is a pretty heavy load if you want to do some serious lighting up. With the PICS, I can slave all my power, and I can carry as many rounds as I can fit in this.”
Ryck thought that over and nodded. The gun fired a jacketless round, so ammunition weight wasn’t as much as the equivalent standard round of the same caliber. However, it was not negligible, and 1,200 rounds per minute meant a lot of rounds.
“They call you ‘Bakerpedia,’ right?” he asked.
“Uh, yes, sir, because I’m always telling them stuff, and I like to mess around with things like this. I don’t mean to, but sometimes, just can’t help myself.”
“Frankly, if you can come up with things like this, don’t try to stop.”
Ryck turned around to the others and said, “LCpl Gupta, front and center.”
Lieutenant Colonel (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 6) Page 11