Commandant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 8) (13 page)

“Here he is!” someone shouted a few meters down from Ryck, which was followed by the sound of a shot.

Down the row on the other side of the admiral and his entourage, General Horace Huckmaster rose up to fire five shots down at the trooper.  The return fire caught him in the middle of the chest, sending him sprawling.

Ryck immediately vaulted over the backs of the Row A chairs, falling on a cowering woman.  As the trooper who had just killed the general poked his head up to see, Ryck fired his remaining darts at the man.  One or two of the darts found their way through the man’s armor, and he collapsed in a boneless heap.

“Sir!  Don’t do that!” Çağlar shouted as he vaulted over the row to land beside Ryck but on the legs of the same women who Ryck had landed on.

She grunted and looked at them wild-eyed, but she didn’t say a word.

Ryck dropped his Ruger and pulled out his Bianchi.  The small gun made a surprisingly big hole when its rounds hit, but it had even a shorter effective range than the Ruger.  He checked the load.  Eight rounds.

“Give up, General!  Your traitor partner is dead.  Your civilian puppet is dead.  Your revolt is dead!” Edison shouted from a few rows over.

“You, what’s your name,” he asked someone. 

Ryck heard a mumble, then “Louder!  So your hero can hear you!”

“Kia, Kia Heinz.  Please don’t hurt me!” a female voice cried out.

Ryck motioned for the gunny to vault over to the next row.

“I won’t hurt you, dear,” Edison shouted out, which was followed by a single shot and some muffled cries.

“Oops!  I lied.  Now even your Kia’s dead.  And I have more here with me.  Are you going to stop me?

“You what’s your name?”

“Please don’t!” a male voice cried out. 

“You’re name!  The general needs to know who he’s killing!”

Ryck knew Edison was doing this to bring Ryck out in the open, to kill him.  He knew that as the co-chairman of the provisional government, he couldn’t give in.  He had bodyguards who needed to sacrifice themselves for the greater good, and without him, the opposition would peter out and fade away.  The Council would prevail.

But Ryck, as a man, as a Marine, simply could not back down.  It was not in his DNA.  Chandanasiri had said the two of them were the servants of the people, and that nameless man facing Edison now, he was one of the people.

“Now,” he told Çağlar as he jumped up and started running over the backs of the chairs just as the fuckdick he’d shot in the foot had done.  He knew about where Edison was, and he headed for it, trusting himself to keep his footing.

“I’ve got him!” a voice cried out to Ryck’s right as a fuckdick rose up from his ambush to take Ryck in his sights.

Ryck tried to push forward, to make the trooper miss.  His target was only two steps away.

Ryck flinched as the fuckdick targeted him, expecting to feel the burn of the round at best, dark nothing at worst.  But he’d forgotten Çağlar in his focus.  The big Marine crashed into the fuckdick, sending both to the ground and out of sight.

With one more lunge, Ryck launched himself over the last row just as Edison raised his head, probably expecting to see Ryck shot.  What he did see what Ryck about to crash into him. 

The man was a professional, even if just a fuckdick.  He had risen with his weapon at the ready, and he tried to swing it around to engage the diving commandant.  It was too late.  Ryck fell past the muzzle and onto Edison as the fuckdick commander pulled the trigger.  Ryck felt the concussion of the muzzle blast, but not the round itself.

Ryck’s knee slammed into the edge of a seat back in the row and the two men fell.  Ryck landed on his left shoulder, immediately dislocating it.  Pain shot up both his leg and arm, and he almost dropped his Bianchi.  He squirmed around as Edison reached up to take Ryck by the throat.

Good God the man is strong!
Ryck realized.

He pulled up his right arm with the handgun, and with lightening reflexes, Edison shifted his grip to grab Ryck’s arm, stopping it.

Both men came to the realization that the younger colonel was stronger than Ryck, and Edison’s face broke out into a smile as he started to force back Ryck’s hand.

Grubbing hell!  I beat two capys, and I beat a Klethos d’relle.  I’m not going to let a fuckdick beat me.

But Edison didn’t seem to share that opinion.  He started to bend Ryck’s hand back, the muzzle of the Bianchi swinging to Ryck’s face.

Ryck tried to fight back, but it was a lost cause.  But he’d beat the Klethos, even if she was stronger.  And he’d done it by being nasty, by being the meanest dog in the fight, just as Seth MacPruitt had pounded into his skull so many years ago.

With his legs tangled beneath him, with his left arm useless and his right in Edison’s grip, that left one thing.  He pounded forward with his forehead, catching Edison in the nose.  Edison screamed but held on until Ryck opened his mouth and bit down with all his might on the bruised nose.  With a wrench and his jaws locked, Ryck pulled back, a good portion of the fuckdick’s nose in his mouth. 

One of Edison’s hands instinctively reached for his face, and that was all Ryck needed.  He wrenched his arm free and rammed the Bianchi under Edison’s chin.  He pulled the trigger, and the fuckdick’s brain rained on crouching people all the way back to Row M.

Ryck let the body slide back, turned his head, and spit out Edison’s nose. A man was staring at him, probably the one Edison was going to kill next. 

Ryck wrinkled his face and told the man, “Tastes like shit,” as he tried to spit out more of the blood that coated his mouth.

“Sir, sir!” Çağlar shouted, his big body having a problem getting to him. He was stepping on people who were still trying to burrow into the flooring.

“There’s one more, Hans!  Get the hell down!”

“I surrender!” A voice yelled from only one more row over.  “Don’t shoot!”

At the same time, with a crash, the outer doors opened.  Dozens of sailors, Ryck’s three Marines, Seth MacPruitt, and 11 fuckdicks burst inside.

Ryck spun to take the troopers under aim as all the men spread out.

“Are you OK, General?” a Navy chief asked.  “Where’s the admiral?”

“Disarm those troopers,” Ryck shouted out.

“What?” Lieutenant Chou, one of the FCDC team leaders and the man in command of the ten fuckdicks who’d just charged in, asked, confused.  “What do you mean?”

“Your commander killed Dr. Gnatson and tried to kill the general and the admiral,” Çağlar shouted, his anger clearly showing.

“But, no, that’s impossible,” the lieutenant said, but sounding unsure. 

His men wavered, and as the three Marines and the sailors turned on them, meekly gave up their weapons.

“Sir, I don’t know anything about this,” he protested to Ryck.

“Maybe, but until we do an investigation, you are all under arrest.”

Ryck was pretty sure the lieutenant was telling the truth.  He and his men had been stationed outside because they weren’t part of the plot.  But better safe than sorry.

With people streaming out of the hall, the conference was over.  The small medical staff, there to treat a slip and fall would be overwhelmed as the wounded were taken out.  The dead would be left where they were until later.  He needed Hecs to take charge and organize things.

“General Nidischii’, where’s the sergeant major?” he shouted over to where he could see Bert standing with Governor MacCailín.

Bert looked up, then slowly shook his head.

Ryck’s heart fell, and he broke into a run, mindless of his throbbing foot.  He stopped just before reaching the two.

Please, don’t let it be!

But it was.  Sergeant Major Hector Phantawisongtong, UFMC, Ryck’s oldest friend, lay on his back in a pool of blood.  Most of his head was gone.  There was no chance of a resurrection.

Ryck’s vision narrowed, and he stumbled, grasping at a seat to keep on his feet.

Hecs!

With a sudden cramping, Ryck bent over and threw up.  Part of his vomit splattered on his friend’s cooling feet.

Michiko MacCailín stepped forward and knelt, her arm around Ryck’s shoulder.

“I know you were close to him.  But put it behind you.  You can grieve later.  We’ve got dead and wounded here, all thanks to the Council, and the holocams are recording.  What you do now will affect our future.  Grieve later, but lead now!”

Ryck looked up.  The holocams on the back platform were unmanned as the operators had fled, but they were still recording.

She was right.  Ryck reached out and took Hecs’ hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Semper fi, brother.”

He took a deep breath, and then stood up.  Trying to keep from limping, he marched to where Admiral Chandanasiri was still sitting surrounded by a doctor and a dozen staff.

“Are you OK?” the admiral asked as Ryck strode up.

“I understand why you had to do this your way.  Politics are a fact of life.  But now, it’s on.  I intend to bring it to the Council and their minions.  They opened up Pandora’s box, and I will make them pay.  You’ve done your thing, now it’s time for me to do mine.  Are you with me?”

The admiral struggled to sit up straighter.  He glanced in the direction of the holocams.

Ryck leaned forward and whispered into the admiral’s ear, “Forget the grubbing cams.  Forget the politics.  You can be chairman when all of this is over for all I care.  But right now, I need to know if you are with me, because yes or no, I am going to war.”

As Ryck stood back up, the admiral struggled to get to his feet.

He looked at Ryck, then in a loud voice proclaimed, “Of course I’m with you!  We all are with you.  The Council showed their true colors, and now we’ll make them pay, together!”

Ryck looked at the admiral dispassionately, then spun around to walk off.

“Gunny, get our security detail and recover the assistant commandant, the sergeant major, and Corporal Hailstone.  I want to be off-planet in 15 minutes.  We’ve got work to do.”

TARAWA

Chapter 18

“The First Brother wants to schedule a conference call,” Jorge told Ryck.

With Huckmaster resurrected but in a regen coma, Ryck had elevated Bert to assistant commandant and sent him off just that morning to Admiral Chandanasiri.  Jorge then slid into the Chief of Staff billet.

“About Hailstone?” Ryck asked.  “How about blaming the Council?  They’re the ones who sent in Edison.”

Corporal Hailstone had been zombied and was undergoing resurrection.  The doctors didn’t give him much hope, though.  As screwed up as his DNA was, the further stress of a resurrection was going to send his stem cells into overdrive.  The doctors doubted they could keep ahead of the Brick long enough for Hailstone to wake up.

The problem was that Corporal Hailstone was not a Marine Corps asset, to put it crudely.  He was an asset to humankind, one who had defeated a Klethos queen after the imposition of the new rules.  And the Brotherhood, along with others, was livid, to say the least.   Even though their own vicar had been killed in the assassination attempt, their ire was aimed solely at Ryck.

Ryck knew he’d been wrong in allowing Corporal Hailstone to attend the conference, but he hadn’t pulled the trigger.  It had been Edison and his men, at the behest of the Council.

And it was the Council.  The lone survivor, the trooper who had decided at the last moment a suicide mission was not in his best interests, had confirmed that they had been ordered to join the evolutionaries for just such a mission. 

Ryck had been tempted to pawn the issue off on Governor MacCailín, who had taken over as the new chairman of the CAC, but the decision had been his, and he needed to face the music.  But he really, really hated dealing with the politics.  He had a war to conduct, not play make-nice with foreign heads-of-state.  And in that war, at least their first offensive action, was to kick off in three days.

But there was something else that Ryck was going to do despite the planning going on.  And despite the pleas from his new chief of security.  But he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

“OK, I’ll be back here at 1600.  Schedule it for his early morning, whenever that is.  Maybe his mind will be still half asleep,” Ryck told Jorge.

“Roger, that, sir.”

“And, I’ve got to get out of here.  Is the Stork ready?  Storks, I mean?” he asked.

“Inbound now.”

“Then I’m done here.  I assume Çağlar’s in the outer office?”

“Yes, sir, as nervous as a cat in a rocking chair factory, but he’s there.  He thinks this is a bad idea.”

“Along with Colonel Browne and about everyone else.  What about you?  You haven’t said anything.”

“Well sir, I didn’t see any reason to express my opinion.  I know you’re going no matter what, so why waste my energy?”

“Smart man, Jorge.  And that’s why you’re going to make a great chief of staff.”

The two Marines left the inner office and into the outer where Çağlar jumped to his feet.

“This way, sir,” he said, opening the hatch to the passageway.

“Vivian, I don’t care who calls, I don’t want to be bothered.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I mean, it depends,” Ryck said, altering his first statement.

“I’ve got it, General.  If God calls, I’ll push him through.  Anyone else will have to wait until you come back,” she said.

“Sir, the birds are almost here,” Çağlar reminded him.

Ryck let himself be escorted out of the office.  Two Marines in street clothes and armed with both M77’s and riot guns fell in on either side of him.

Armed guards inside the headquarters,
Ryck thought with scorn. 
What have we come to?

Ryck could hear the three Storks land as he reached the front entrance.  Not one to take him, but three, so anyone wanting to shoot him down would have to choose which bird he was in.  And with a flight of Wasps overhead providing cover, Ryck didn’t think anyone could get close to him.  But Dunderdunk Browne had been insistent, and he was backed by Bert and probably the entire general staff.

Ryck felt guilty at the expenditure of manpower for this, but there was no way Ryck would miss this ceremony.

Ryck got into the third Stork.  All three lifted off and started weaving some crazy pattern.  The trip, which should have taken ten minutes, stretched out to over fifteen.  As the Stork flared into a landing at Camp Charles’ LZ, Ryck let out a small sigh of relief.  All the commotion concerning his security had gotten to him, to his embarrassment.  He was a combat vet, and a little trip like this got to him?  He was getting soft.

Sams, Dunderdunk, and Colonel Joab Ling, the training command CO—and at least a dozen bodyguards—were waiting at the edge of the LZ with a small golf cart.

All that fuss, and a golf cart?
Ryck thought as he tried not to laugh. 
And not even an armored cart?

Ryck shook the Colonel Ling’s hand.  “Good to see you, Joab.  How’re you holding out?”

“Busy, but we’re managing.  With the surge ops, well, no rest for the wicked, sir.”

Ryck had full confidence in Ling.  Ryck had first met PFC Ling back when Ryck was a sergeant, and he’d thought Ling a useless dirtball.  But the man had proven himself in combat time and time again, as indicated by the Federation Nova on his chest.  Not all warriors made good managers, but Joab Ling was both—he was on the potential fast-track to take Ryck’s job someday.

“Well, lead on, commander,” Ryck said.  “I don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”

Together with his bodyguards, a newsie ran alongside the golf cart recording Ryck’s short jaunt to the parade deck.  Ryck didn’t know how to look professional and worthy while sitting in an E-Z-Go, so he just wished the man would stop.  Mercifully, the trip was only two minutes, and Ryck got out, shook a few hands of the worthies, and took his place in the Guest of Honor’s seat in the bleachers.

“Glad you could make it, sir,” Sergeant Major Ito said, taking a seat next to him.

“I’m sorry to have thrown all of this at you, but we needed to get this up and running and you were the most experienced Marine available,” Ryck said.  “If you think it’s ready, then I’d like to get you back to Headquarters where you can get back to your duties.”

“I’d be honored, sir.  And I’m sorry about Hector.  He was a good man.”

“Yes, he was,” Ryck said, turning away quickly to watch the start of the march-on.

Four series of recruits—almost Marines—marched onto the parade deck.  Ryck’s heart gave a little jump as he saw the guidon bearer for Series 67-11.  A feeling of pride washed over him as Recruit Benjamin Hope-of-Life marched ramrod straight, ready to start his career as a Marine.

“He earned it, right?” Ryck asked the sergeant major.

“Every bit of it, sir.  You have my oath on that.  Colonel Ling knows who he is, and I think one or two others, but to his DIs, he was just one more broke-dick recruit.  Only he wasn’t so broke-dick after all.  He’s going to make a fine Marine, sir, a fine Marine, and you should be proud of him.”

Ryck didn’t know if the sergeant major was just kissing his ass or not, but Ryck was proud.  Ben, more than Esther and more than Noah, was his pride and joy.  He saw himself in his youngest son, and while he would never admit it, Ben was his favorite.  And now he was about to become a Marine.

The class was oversized because of the surge, and 689 young men stood proudly in the afternoon sun, sweating in their blues, Ryck knew, but overjoyed to have succeeded.  It was only yesterday, it suddenly seemed, when Ryck was standing out there, in another era, but in the same place spiritually. 

The drill instructors marched the recruits into formation before turning them over to the officers.  The colors were marched on to the music of the band.  Colonel Ling gave a short speech, but Ryck’s eyes were glued on Ben, everything else going over his head.

“And now,” Joab Ling said, “I have the honor to present to you our guest of honor, a man I would follow to the gates of Hell themselves, a two-time awardee of the Federation Nova, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and the Co-Chairman of the Federation provisional government, General Ryck Lysander!”

The recruits seemed to stand taller, and the guests applauded Ryck as he stepped up to stand beside Colonel Ling.  He tapped the little sound bud on his collar, making sure it was picking him up.

He swept his gaze out over the recruits, trying not to linger on Ben.  Montero had prepared a policy speech for him to give, but this was not his day, it was not a time for politics.  In front of him stood 689 men who were about to become Marines.  This was their day.  Ryck was very aware of the horde of holocams recording the event, but he tuned them out.  What he had to say was for the recruits.

“Recruits!  Today is the day you become United Federation Marines.  Today you begin the rest of your lives.  Some of you will serve a tour, then go back to your previous lives.  Some of you will fall in battle.  And some of you will make a career of the Corps.  But no one can change history.  Today you will be Marines, and that will never leave you.  That will define who you are,
what
you are.

“All of you enlisted during the current crises.  And all of you could be thrust into battle soon, fighting fellow Federation citizens, maybe even fighting friends and family.  But let me make one thing perfectly clear.  Those who choose to fight for the old regime are not our enemies.  They may be misguided, they may be foolish, but we are fighting for that factory worker in India on Earth just as we are fighting for the shopkeeper here in Tarawa.  We are fighting for all citizens, to make the Federation their protector instead of their oppressor.

“So when you are out there in a week, in a month, in a year, and you have to bring arms against others, remember that.  Fight like the devil dogs you are, close in with and kill those on the other side, but after this is over, when they have surrendered their arms, it will be your job to protect them.  Our enemies are those who pervert and corrupt power for their own ends, not those enslaved to them.

“We were formed from 48 different marine corps.  Each infantry battalion has a patron unit, one of those 48 corps, and we honor those units and the battles they fought, from Belle Isle to Iwo Jima to
Isla Clarión
to Mount Derby.  Now it’s your turn to create new honors and keep the tradition alive.”

Ryck turned to look at the bleachers.  Not many family members had come to witness the graduation, but given the situation, that was to be expected.

“Parents, brothers, and sisters.  Friends and girlfriends.  Wives.  I want you to look out over these recruits, these men, and feel the same pride I feel when I look at them.  These men are putting themselves on the line for those less able to defend themselves, and that should fill you so full of pride that your heart is about to burst.  You gave us boys, and we are giving you back men.”

He turned back and faced Joab.

“Colonel, I believe these recruits are waiting for something?”

Joab stepped forward and faced the formation.

“Class, atten-HUT!” he called out.

With four series commanders in a combined class, it was a little awkward, so Joab had decided that he would administer the oath to them en masse.  Each recruit had given the oath upon enlistment, but it had been a tradition over the last ten years or so to re-administer the oath during the graduation, marking the transition from recruit to Marine.

The orders went down the line as the recruits came to attention and then raised their right hands in unison.

Colonel Ling shouted out the oath, repeated by each recruit:

I,
state your name,
do solemnly swear, to support and defend the Articles of Council of the United Federation of Nations, against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same and above all others; and that I will obey the orders of the Chairman of the United Federation and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to the Uniform Code of Military Justice.  So help me God.

There had been some concern about the wording of the oath, but the SJA, backed by Ryck, insisted that the oath remain the same.  Anything else could invalidate their claim to be the true and legal government of the Federation.

“Congratulations, Marines!” Joab said.

There were no cheers or breaking of the ranks as might be expected.  The Marines stood tall and silent.

The lieutenant pressed into duties as the parade adjutant stepped forward and shouted out, “Personnel to be promoted, front and center. . .MARCH!”

The senior drill instruction for each series turned to take the series guidons, and the four new privates executed a right face and marched to the edge of the formation before conducting two column lefts, coming to a stop in front of Ryck and Joab.

The adjutant called out:

To all you shall see these presents, greeting:

Know ye that reposing special trust and confidence in the abilities of Giovanni Listman Caster, Ivan Stevanivitch, Benjamin Hope-of-Life, and Quincy Stapleton Lee, I do appoint them a Private First Class, meritoriously, in the United Federation Marine Corps, to rank as such from the fourteenth day of August, three-hundred sixty-seven.