Major (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 5) (11 page)

Chapter 17

Ryck leaned back as far as he could go in the small berthing area, which wasn’t far.  He shared the space with the XO, the first sergeant, Sams, and Liplock, their jack-of-all-trades gopher.
[11]
  With the entire company aboard the
ML Starward Conveyor
, there was not much room for any of them, much less Ryck getting his own stateroom.

It wasn’t that the
Conveyor
was small; it was actually a midsize freighter.  But as with all the Starward vessels made for the now-defunct Andromeda Transport, they were made on the cheap without much concern for the crew.  Ryck had a full T/O of 76 Marines and sailors, and that strained the
Conveyor’s
life-support systems—which made it a very good platform for their mission.  First, there had to be almost 120 of the Starward ships out plying the spacelanes, bought at auction by the bottom-feeders in the transport field, so one of them wandering around in the fringes of the more-travelled routes shouldn’t raise any concerns.  Second, everyone knew the layout of the ships, and it was common knowledge that they could only hold a dozen or so crew. 

With the Conveyor’s actual crew of eight, that meant that there were 84 souls onboard, something Ryck would have thought impossible.  But with the four of them in what once was a storage closet of some sort, and with the platoons and teams shoehorned into any nook and cranny, they had somehow embarked.  That was helped by a quick alteration that added another space in what was the ship’s single cargo hold, a space that decidedly did not meet the Federation regulations for occupied compartments.  Those regulations obviously did not apply to Marines—the needs of the Federation and all of that.

“So, any takers? “ Ryck asked the others.  Their game of spades had petered out due to a lack of will, and with the other three in their racks, Ryck had taken the lone chair.

“I still think it’s the capys,” the first sergeant said from his rack, using the original term for the Triconulars that many of the Marines who had fought them still used.

“Then bet with me,” Ryck said.  “It’s a case of your choice if you win.”

“Put up or shut up, Deer,” Sams told the first sergeant.

“Come on, Deer,” Aceman, the XO said.  “I’m tired of hearing you going on and on when you won’t bet the skipper.”

“You got anything to say?” the first sergeant asked Liplock, his glare at the junior Marine enough to melt a PICS’ armor.

“Not me,” the sergeant said, turning to face the bulkhead. 

“OK, Skipper, you’re on.  If it’s SOG, I owe you a case.  If it’s the capys, then you owe me.  And if Aceman is right, that this is a drill, then the bet’s null and void.”

“You’ve got it, First Sergeant,” Ryck said.

As will all recon units, first names, or rather nicknames, were the standard means of address.  However, with Ryck, his old name of Toad was never used.  He was “Skipper,” or “the skipper.”  Even within recon, a commander had a special position within a unit, and he was treated differently.  It wasn’t a rule, just as there were no rules within the community on using the nicknames in the first place.  It was just done, almost by instinct.  Even Sams, or “Bobbi,” as he was called by the rest, called Ryck “Skipper.”

As there were no real rules, Ryck wasn’t sure how he should address his Marines.  He ended up with a hybrid system, with the first sergeant and the XO being called by their positions, Sams being called Sams, and only Liplock being called by his nickname.  With his platoon commanders, he started to call them “One,” “Two,” and “Three.”  With the rest of the Marines, even Sandy, Ling, and Çağlar, it was always a spur-of-the-moment decision.

“So, if you all be right, then when?” Liplock asked, turning back around to stare at Ryck.

“There’s the question,” Ryck said.  “And I don’t know the answer.  I hope soon, because every day we’re cooped up in here whittles away from our edge.”

“What’s the matter, Liplock?” Sams asked.  “Don’t you like it here with all of us?”  Iffen you’re bored, I can always show you what you can lock your lips on.”

“No, can’t say I be liking it, Bobbi.  And I haven’t been onboard long enough for you to be looking good, no, not jumping heavy, no.”

“Ah, give it time, and you’ll forget all about that little honeywa back at the Grinder,” Sams continued. 

“Have you seen her?” the XO asked Sams.  “I’ve got to give it to Liplock there.  She’s Prime Cut in the flesh.  Our young sergeant outdid himself there.”

“Clearly she must be blind,” Sams said, “iffen she really is that hot.  But let me tell you the about how I got busted to private the first time.  Now that was some Prime Cut.  I was a lance coolie then, back in . . . “

Sams went on while Ryck let his mind drift.  He’d heard most of Sams’ sea stories before.  The thing is, most of them were true, which was sort of against the rules in the art of sea stories.  The guy was an unparalleled sparrow magnet.  Even his ex-wife couldn’t seem to keep a grudge and kept hanging around as if they were still dating.

They’d been onboard for only five days, and without the ability to get out and exercise, he knew they’d be going stir crazy soon.  He’d asked permission to get everyone in their Grey Ghosts and run some drills in the cargo bay and was waiting to hear back, but even then, the cargo hold was pretty full of goods, so it wouldn’t do that much good and would put some wear and tear on the vacsuits.

Because they had no mission, he was pretty sure their target, if this wasn’t some big drill as the XO thought, was either the SOG or another pirate group.  They could just be bait, plying the lanes, looking like a fat juicy target.  But being bait did not fit in with their new training.  He was sure there would be some sort of offensive action soon.  It could be already in place, several missions, actually, which one to be acted upon dependent on several factors, not the least being what the target was doing.

What Ryck had told Liplock was right, though.  They had been finely tuned when they’d embarked.  But the longer they stayed on board without doing anything, the more they would lose their edge.  And whatever mission the Corps threw at them, Ryck knew they would be challenged to their utmost to complete it.  This
—
whatever “this” was
—
was not going to be a cakewalk.  The Corps was not going to all this trouble for a mission that any infantry unit could accomplish.

Now, Ryck had to figure out a way to keep his men fresh and ready to go.  There was a mission coming, all his instincts screamed, and the company had to be ready.

Chapter 18

The target was the SOG.

Ryck sat in the tiny wardroom on the
Starward Conveyor
, nervously chewing his fingernails.  His First Platoon, under Captain Giles Hester, “Slug,” had just launched in their coffins and were underway.

“Launched” was somewhat of a subjective term, in this case.  The platoon did not lift off of the deck of a hangar bay and head out as in a Navy ship.  Each two-man reki was manhandled to the cargo doors, then manually pushed into open space.  His Marines then stepped out the doors and flew into their coffin.  Once all 13 coffins were loaded, Slug headed off.

Until the mission ops order arrived less than five hours before, no one onboard had any inkling yet of what was going on.  They’d been going through the isometrics Ryck had imposed when the ship’s captain, who Ryck only knew as Harris, stuck his head through the hatch and told Ryck to turn on his meson communicator right then instead of waiting for his scheduled link-up.

As soon as he linked up, the operations order downloaded.  Along with other Navy and Marine units—read Raiders and SEALs—and “other forces”—so this was not a Federation-only mission, but at least one other government was participating—coordinated assaults on SOG positions were going to be simultaneously conducted to “destroy the SOG’s ability to operate as a single organization.”

Bravo Company’s mission was to take out an SOG communications center located on a moon in the outer orbit of the PF-33 system.  This was to be an outright assault, not the normal poop-and-snoop missions of recon.  But the battalion had been rehearsing this type of mission for the last year, and Ryck’s Marines were ready. 

They were ready, but Ryck didn’t like sending in only 26 men when Intel didn’t know how the SOG outpost was manned.  He’d much rather have the rest of the company embarked on the 12 eight-man rekis stacked up in the cargo hold, but those rekis were not as fast nor nimble as the coffins, and evidently whoever developed the order felt that speed was more of an essence than firepower.

So, even if his Marines were on their way to combat, Ryck was essentially out of the picture except as a conduit for comms.  The operation was being run out of battalion, and Slug was the commander on the scene.  For Ryck, this was torture, knowing he had men in harm’s way, but having no input into the situation.

With First in transit, nothing was being passed over any of the nets.  The Marine comms were quite secure, and Ryck was not sure that the SOG had the capability to crack the crypto, but with the simple fact that if there was traffic, even if it couldn’t be read, its very existence could be a clue that something was up.

Sams had his head back, his eyes closed.  Ryck wondered if he was really asleep or if he just didn’t want to talk.  Either way, Ryck left him alone.  The mission was slated for only four hours, start to finish, but combat ops rarely, if ever, went according to plan.  If Sams could get a little shut-eye, he would be better prepared if things got extended.  Ryck wished he could catch a nap as well.  Anything was better than this waiting.  But unlike Sams, Ryck was too wound up to even hope to be able to doze off.

Ryck had asked the captain if he could bring the
Conveyor
around and closer to their target in case things went wrong and First needed support or a quick extract, but the captain told him his orders were to maintain his course.  It was bad enough, he said, that he was skulking around this solar system, but to be in the vicinity of the target moon would expose the ship’s supposed identity as a tramp freighter and reveal that she was something more official.

When the captain said his “mission,” Ryck had to wonder once more just who and his crew were.  They looked like the normal hodgepodge of crew that might be on a cargo ship, but the Marines’ presence was no secret, and they had been quite professional in getting the coffins launched.  The XO thought the crew was active-duty Navy, part of a secret special ops version of their own, while the first sergeant thought they were FCDC.  It didn’t matter in the long run who they were, but within the enforced inactivity aboard the ship, these kinds of discussions and conjecture were about all they had to keep from getting cabin fever.

It was almost 45 minutes after the launch that the single compressed pulse reached Ryck. To someone scanning the communications bands, the tiny, millisecond-long transmission could be anything:  background noise, reflection, the last gasp of some far-off, dying star.  But to Ryck’s AI, it was the code for Phase Line Apple.  First Platoon had reached the moon’s orbit and would be maneuvering for the assault itself.

Sams opened his eyes and sat up, fully alert.  Ryck had his headquarters in the wardroom along with the other two platoon commanders, platoon sergeants, and the six remaining team leaders.  With 15 men in there, the wardroom was cramped, but no one noticed that as they stared at Ryck’s PA, which was acting as a comms repeater, as if they could will more information out if it. 

Ryck stared at his right thumb.  He’d chewed the nail down until blood showed.  He put his thumb in his mouth and sucked the blood clean before starting on his left.

After ten more minutes, the signal came for Phase Line Panderfruit.  The platoon was on the moon and entering the passage into the underground center.  The assault was on.

“What’s happening?” Ryck asked aloud when no word came back.  With the assault underway, Slug could communicate by voice, but no word was getting back.  The moon itself might be able to block comms, but the platoon was supposed to leave minireps, the small comms repeaters, along their advance to that comms could get back to the surface and reach back to them on the ship.

Evidently, battalion was wondering the same thing as the request for a status check came back.  Ryck had passed on the two phase line reports, but he had nothing else to pass yet.

At 12 minutes with no word, Ryck was about to order the rest of the company to get into their vacsuits while he formulated a quick rescue plan when Slug came on the comms.

“Six, this is One.  There is no one at the target site.  I repeat, the target site is empty.”

“Roger that, One.  Please clarify your last.  What is the status of the objective?” Ryck passed, his voice calm and projected while his mind raced.

Did Intel fuck up that badly?
he wondered.

“We have completed our sweep.  The objective was in use by someone, but it has been abandoned.  I have set up the scan sticks and will collect evidence after that.  We should be leaving this pos in 30, I say again, 30 mikes.”

The scan sticks were three collapsible stand-mounted holo scanners that would collect a high-definition scan of a room or space.  When played back, the recording would re-create a very accurate and detailed model of that space.  Originally designed for forensic evidence gathering, it had become an essential piece of gear for covert ops.  Ryck hoped that the analysts would be able to determine just who had been in that space and possibly why they were not there anymore. 

He looked around the wardroom.  Disappointment was evident on most of their faces.  They had spent over a year learning new skills and a new mission, and to have it come down to a miss hurt.  Even if they had not been with First on the actual mission, it still was a punch to the gut to each of them.

Ryck reported back to battalion.  It could have been his imagination, but the comms operator didn’t seem surprised.  Ryck had to wonder how the other battalion missions had gone.

First didn’t actually leave the objective for another 45 minutes.  They collected as much evidence as they could fit on their coffins, then lifted off, rendezvousing with the
Conveyor
another hour after that.

Ryck, the XO, and his two SNCOs got into their Grey Ghosts and met First as it returned.  With the help of two of the ship’s crew, the evidence was collected and put inside a null-box, where it would remain in stasis until the techs could start analyzing it. 

Ryck told each man that he’d done a good job, but he knew none of them believed it.  No one had done anything wrong, but it felt like a failure.  And no one was surprised when the recall went out two hours later.

The
Conveyor
met up with another cargo ship, the
Ural Light
, and the company conducted a ship-to-ship transfer.  Four days later, they were back on Tarawa, subdued, and anxious to find out just what had happened.