Major (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 5)

THE UNITED FEDERATION MARINE CORPS

BOOK 5:  MAJOR

Colonel Jonathan P. Brazee

USMCR (Ret)

Copyright © 2015 Jonathan Brazee

Semper Fi Press

ISBN-13: 978-0692480281 (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 Navywriter, my proofreader, for catching my many typos and mistakes.  Any remaining typos and inaccuracies are solely my fault.

Original Cover Art by
Panicha Kasemsukkaphat

There are two useless ranks in the Marines, and both of them wear gold.

Anonymous saying

Ever since the Garden of Eden, we’ve covered our pricks with leaves.

An even older anonymous saying

New Mumbai

Chapter 1

Twenty armored vehicles of the invasion force made their appearance over the ridge, moving in a tight formation.  Ryck was not a fan of such precision—he thought an armored assault should offer a chaotic front where the vehicles’ exact paths of advance could not be anticipated. Still, he had to admit the sight was impressive, and there was nothing between the armor and his position that could stop the force, at least that he could see.

Then, as if on cue, the Cerberus fighter appeared in the sky above the plain as its cloaking system was turned off.  It inverted and turned over into a spiral, nimbly evading the missiles that reached up for it.  Plasma beams, easily visible to the naked eye, as was normal for Confederation of Free States weaponry, reach down from the fighter to strike the ground armor of the invasion force.

Within eight seconds, the 20 vehicles were taken out.  The Cerberus fighter pulled up before executing a victory barrel roll and then swooping low enough for Ryck to feel the air displacement of the two-man craft as it passed over.

“Not sparking bad, huh?” Major Titus Pohlmeyer asked, nudging Ryck in the side with his elbow.

Ryck merely grunted.  Titus was his minder, his shadow.  He’d been on New Mumbai for four months now as the United Federation assistant naval attaché, and whenever he went on an official event—and on more than a few unofficial ones—Titus was there at his side.  It wasn’t as if the Confederation even pretended this was happenstance.  It was all out in the open.  Every principal member of the Federation mission had his shadow, and that was that.

“This is our VI model,” Titus went on, “and I think any invading force would be hard-pressed to keep an invasion alive after meeting a cohort of them.”

Titus had said “six,” not “VI,” but by now, Ryck was so used to the Confeds’ love of all things Roman that he visualized the Roman numerals in his mind.

“Yes, strictly a defensive weapon, of course,” Ryck said dryly. 

“Of course,” Titus agreed.  “The Free States do not initiate any invasion of sovereign space.”

This direction of discussion was almost rote by now.  Ryck’s participation in the Federation “incursion” into the
CF-32 system to rescue the
Julianna’s Dream
was no secret, as was his subsequent action in the Telchines in the Cygni-B.  The Confeds took great pains to remind anyone and everyone that unlike the Federation, from which it had split some 240 years prior, they had never technically sent their Navy into uncontested space without an expressed invitation.

Even the name of their frontline fighter was part of their shtick:  “Cerbeus,” the three-headed dog that
guarded
the gates of Hades, not something that attacked others.

Frankly, Ryck was getting a little tired of their continual reminders.  There were enough cases over the last 240 years that could reasonably refute their claim, but he was now a certified, tried-and-true
diplomat
, much to his dismay.  He could no longer speak frankly or act in a direct manner.  He had to play the game.

He’d hated his training back in Brussels on Earth.  It went against everything he’d learned in his years as a Marine, and at least once a day, he cursed General Ukiah, his godfather
[1]
and friend, for getting him assigned to the position. 

Ryck knew that in many ways, he was a pawn, one of two living Marine holders of the Federation Nova.  He was brushed off and trotted out when needed, a grubbing hero.  He had to admit that overall, he liked the attention and acclamation, but still, it often got in the way of his simply serving as a combat Marine.  He always had eyes on him, and not just those of Titus sitting beside him.  Most of the attention on him was from the Federation.    He was sure General Ukiah had his best interests at heart, but the general still had his duty to perform, and if getting Ryck assigned to this frustrating billet served the greater good, then Ryck’s personal druthers weren’t worth a bucket of warm rat piss.

Whatever it might do for Ryck’s career—and this was a plum assignment in that regard—Ryck still wasn’t sure he was the best choice for the position.  He didn’t think he was as bad at it as he’d feared.  The job was mostly just showing up and listening, after all.  But he was not in the same league as Captain Franks, the Federation naval attaché and his direct boss, who breathed this stuff.  And then there was his history.  He’d killed Confederation soldiers in combat, and here he was, watching military demonstrations while rubbing shoulders with the Confed brass.  His actions to ensure the sanctity of his truce with the Confed forces in the Telchines was also widely known, but there were mothers and wives in the Confederation who’d lost sons and husbands at his hand, and that had to make an impact, he thought.  He knew his assignment was a message from the Federation, but whether it was to let bygones be bygones or to rub the Confed noses in the Federation victory—for that was what it really was, truce or not—Ryck didn’t know.

“Well, that’s the end of the afternoon’s demonstration,” Titus said as the gathered observers rose from the bleachers.  “We’ve got the reception back at the O-Club, then the night demo starting at 2200.”

Like Pavlov’s dog, Ryck was beginning to drool automatically at the word “reception,” and not the salivation of anticipation of good food, but the drool of the village idiot.  He had learned to hate the finger food that was fed to the gathered contingents instead of a real, honest-to-goodness meal, one you needed a knife and fork to eat, but he hated more the banal conversations, where everyone tried to somehow pull out vital secrets by remarking how tasty the Crab Rangoon was.  Ryck had been drilled incessantly in Brussels on how to pull information while revealing nothing, and every diplomat at every reception had received his or her own training, so it all became a silly quadrille court dance with everyone performing the same steps before changing partners and repeating the movements again—and again, and yet again with still another partner.

Captain Franks and others seemed to revel in the maneuverings, but Ryck thought it all a huge waste of time. He couldn’t see anything worthwhile come of it, and in four months, he certainly had not gleaned even a single piece of worthwhile intelligence.

But it was part and parcel of his new job, so he held an arm out to allow Titus to precede him, saying, “Lead on, Major.”

“I can tell you’re thrilled, Ryck,” Titus said with a laugh.  “And after that reception at the Regency, I don’t blame you.  But you’ve never been to Castra Fortitudo, and they’ve got a real tandoori oven, so I think you’re going to like this.”

The Federation was a hodge-podge of customs, from both the old Earth nations and from the new worlds, so Ryck was used to interesting combinations.  But he still was privately amused that the Confederation, which was formed by mostly Indian colonists, had an almost religious affinity for the Roman Empire.  No one else seemed to think it odd that “Castra Fortitudo,” which was a Latin name, would have an ancient Indian oven at the officer’s club, but it struck Ryck’s whimsy. 

Given Ryck’s past combat history and his present job, which was essentially as an authorized spy, he should be more at odds with the Confederation, but there were many aspects about New Mumbai, at least, that he frankly liked.  This was an unaccompanied tour, but he thought Hannah and the kids would like it, too, if they had been there with him.

Ryck and Titus joined the movement to the second Charon for the short 60-klick flight from the training area back to the camp center.  Ryck had been in six Charons so far, and he wondered if they had all been normal birds or VIP versions.  They were obviously military transports, but these were much more comfortable than the Federation Storks Ryck was used to.

Ryck sat down next to Vice-Colonel Enlightenment, the Army attaché from Purgatory.  Although senior to Ryck, the two were as close to friends as two men in their positions could be.  Micah Enlightenment was a Simonite, a branch of the general Revisionist movement that resulted in the voluntary diaspora that spread across human space.  With Hannah being a Torritite, they were almost religious cousins.  As a diplomat, Ryck knew that any supposed friendship was suspect.  But even if the good vice-colonel would report back anything he learned from him, Ryck still thought the man liked him.  And with the Simonites sharing the Torritites’ belief that if Jesus changed water into wine, that was a pretty good indication that the fruit of the vine was to be enjoyed, Ryck and Micah had shared more than a few evenings sampling the best the Confederation could brew or ferment.

“A dog-and-pony show, but still impressive.  The Six looks to be a pretty big upgrade,” Micah said to Ryck, knowing full well that both Titus and his own shadow, LTC Bhandari, would be listening in and taking notes.

Ryck nodded as the Charon lifted off.  The ability to engage 20 armored vehicles in such a short amount of time was an upgrade, but this was a staged engagement.  In actual combat, the enemy would not be so cooperative.  Ryck would like to see how the Cerberus VI would fare against an enemy who was taking evasive actions and countermeasures.

The Charon flared in to land about ten minutes later.  Hover buses were waiting, and the gaggle was quickly herded into them and taken to the club for the reception.  This was a tightly choreographed evolution—the Confeds would not give them an opportunity to sneak off somewhere on their own.  Ryck chaffed a bit at this super-control, but he realized that his Confed counterparts on Earth would probably be undergoing even stricter procedures.

The hovers pulled up, and everyone piled out and up the steps into the club.  Confed and diplomat alike immediately made their way to the bar.  Ryck had never been on this base before, but all clubs seemed to work on the same principle.  Bars always seemed to be immediately off to the right or left of the main entrance.  Ryck took four bottles of beer, keeping one giving the other three to Micah and their two shadows.  This may all be part of a big game, but it didn’t hurt to be civil.  They clinked the bottles together and took several sips in silence.  The court dance would start in a few minutes after everyone got their drinks, but there was no hurry.  They had a few moments to relax.

Ryck sniffed the air as he stood with the others.

“Told you.  It’s the tandoori,” Titus said.  “Here, let me go get a plate before we start socializing.”

He came back a few minutes later with a plate piled high with chicken and onions.  Ryck accepted a leg and tentatively took a bite, put off a bit by the red color.  That apprehension disappeared in a flash.

“This is grubbing good!” he exclaimed, forgetting to watch his language.

“Told you.  I wouldn’t steer you wrong,” Titus said.

Ryck took a quick look back at the bar.  About half of the men and women had their drinks.  They still had a few more moments.  He quickly grabbed another leg and scarfed it down. 

When the court dance started a few minutes later, he gave a sigh and put on his diplomat face, but for once, his belly was happily filled.