Lieutenant Colonel (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 6) (11 page)

The entire line of Marines picked up the pace, pushing forward.  Marines in PICS started engaging targets as they acquired them.  Several merc weapons systems were knocked out.  Calls for fire were being sent from the Marines in contact as more targets were located.

Ryck kept striding forward, monitoring the fight and feeling like he had to get more involved.  He pushed that back down with effort.  He had to watch the big picture and maneuver the battalion as a whole.  He couldn’t get into the weeds to target individual merc weapons.  That would keep him from performing his mission, and it would get in the way of the Marines in the front.  They didn’t need him to be second guessing or overriding them.

Still, he had his M77 ready to fire.  He wanted to engage, he wanted to get some payback.  What he didn’t have was a target, and he couldn’t actively seek one.  He and Çağlar would fire only in self-defense.  It grated at Ryck, but that was the way it had to be.

To the north, Echo was receiving only scattered, light fire.  The company was consolidating on the merc’s position without too many problems.  It looked like the real fight was down here.

One of the tanks, the
Bitch
, began to redline under the fire of two energy weapons.  The Davises were tough as nails, but still, their shields could get overwhelmed given enough time and energy being poured into them.  Despite his personal admonition to himself not to get into the weeds, he almost broke in before Lieutenant Browne ordered the tank to break off and veer out of the line of fire.  Two other tanks concentrated their fire on the mercs, and both meson cannons were knocked out.  The
Bitch
had been downgraded to 28% shielding, and that slowly began to rise back up as the tank’s AI did its thing. 

From the mountains to the east, something big and long erupted from the hillside and flew straight at one of the Storks. 

Ryck turned to watch as all four Storks started evasion maneuvers, but the big missile locked onto one of the Storks and flew into it, exploding in a huge fire ball.  Ryck’s heart was in this throat when the Stork came out of the fireball, wounded, but still airborne.  As if choreographed, the other three Storks wheeled about and concentrated their 30 mm gatlings on the offending position.  Two Storks added their ATG missiles to the mix, seemingly reducing half of the mountainside into gravel.

The wounded Stork sank lower and lower, but managed to stay airborne.

“Angel Three, what’s your status?” Manny Quezon asked over the net as Ryck’s AI repeated it for him.

“Uh, we’re Foxtrot-Uniform.
[10]
  We are no longer effective,” the pilot responded.

“You are ordered Romeo-Tango-Bravo.
[11]
  Can you make it?”

“It’ll be tight, but if we have to, we’ll put her down where we can.  Come pick us up on the rebound, OK?” the pilot asked.

“Roger that.  Good luck, out,” Manny said.

“Six, I’m pulling the angels back to ACOA 2 until we know more of the threat,” Manny passed to Ryck.

“Roger that.  I’ve been monitoring.  Have them ready to react if needed, though,” Ryck said.

He took one more look at the crippled Stork making its way back before focusing on the forward edge of the fight.  As he flipped his display back to default, LCpl McFadden’s avatar went gray, and Ryck toggled his AI to jump back ten seconds.  When the visual’s jumped back, McFadden was under a plasma beam, and it was affecting his shields, but they shouldn’t have failed in that short amount of time.  After seven more seconds, though, he was hit by what was probably a 32mm anti-armor round.  With his shielding already compromised, the Marine never had a chance when the big round hit him.

A 32mm round had to mean one thing.  That was a Gentry-made Lancet 8, an old-tech kinetic cannon.  Old tech or not, it was an effective and powerful weapon, and if it hit a target, the target was taken out more often than not.

Flicking back to present, he had the AI trace the round’s POD, or point of origin.  Christophe, or maybe Sandy, had already beaten him to the punch, however.  Two tanks were converging to take out the Lancet 8.   The Davises 75mm rail guns had a much bigger punch, and they had a higher cyclic rate of fire.  The Lancet 8’s crew had no chance.

With the forward edge of the assault moving into the merc position, the roles shifted.  The tanks became the supporting unit while the PICS Marines became the points of main effort. A Davis was a great hunk of pure beasty firepower, but it was not effective for rooting out soldiers who did not want to be rooted out.  That would take the PICS Marines first, and if need be, the Fox Company Marines, those who were still effective, in their skins and bones to go tunnel rat and dig out anyone still in the fight.

It was within the enemy position that the tanks were most vulnerable, in fact.  Mobility was a tank’s greatest asset, but there wasn’t much maneuvering to be done anymore.  The tanks had turned into big pillboxes, and pillboxes could be targeted.  On Acquisition, Ryck’s Raider company had taken out opposing armor by simply getting in too close for the armor’s weapons and using toads to burn right through the SOG tanks.

The Davises were equipped with their four plasma self-defense guns, and they could create a ring of deadly plasma around them, but the range was very limited, and the plasma would kill any unprotected Marine around the tank and even damage a PICS.  Those were definitely weapons of last resort when the barbarians were at the gate.

One by one, opposing positions were neutralized.  On Ryck’s displays, the dance of the avatars was almost mesmerizing.  But each flicker of light meant someone—a son, a father, a husband—was being killed or wounded.  Ryck realized that, but he would not let himself dwell on the actuality of blood being spilt.  These men had made a conscious choice to fight for a wage.  They had made a choice to fight Marines, to kill Marines.  This was the consequence of those choices.

Ryck and Çağlar passed a destroyed gun position.  He couldn’t even tell exactly what kind of gun it had been, nor how many men had manned it.  The amount of body parts that were mixed up within the wreckage and strewn for 15 meters outside were an indication that it was certainly more than one, but beyond that, Ryck couldn’t tell—nor really care.  He didn’t even try to sidestep a severed leg in his path but stepped right on it.  It wasn’t as if its prior owner could care anymore.

“Sandy, bring up what’s left of Fox.  I think we’re going to have to root out these freaks,” Ryck passed on the P2P.

“Roger, Six.  I’d give them an ETA of 45 mikes.  They can get here quicker aboard the Armadillos if you want to mount them back up.”

Ryck hesitated for a moment.  Yes, they could cover the remaining distance in just five or ten minutes mounted.  But had the Marines bypassed any other mercs who were waiting for an opportunity to emerge and attack?  He doubted it, but was it worth the chance?

“No, keep them dismounted.  Have the tracs follow in trace and provide covering fire,” he said.

It wasn’t as if they had to rush it.  The mass firing had died out as the Marines poked and searched the area for any living mercs.  A burst of fire, then an even louder and longer burst of return fire, though, highlighted that the fight was not won yet.  The firing finally seemed to stop, and all the Marine avatars remained a healthy blue. As the battalion was not taking any casualties at the moment, Ryck decided that the Fox Marines could stay dismounted and just take a bit longer to reach the objective.

“Colonel Lysander, this is Captain K
aʻ
an
āʻ
anā.  I thought you might like to know that we have received a most urgent protest as to our ‘invasion’ of Cennet.”

Ryck couldn’t see Captain K, but he could imagine the man using his finger to air quote “invasion.”

“Do we have any guidance from on high?” he asked, wondering if he was going to be ordered to stand down.

“No, I just thought I would share that with you.  We lost most of our observation up here when your command trac was hit, of course, but we know what’s transpired.  And with that in mind, if you want to make sure that this particular mercenary unit never bothers us again, by whatever means, then I don’t think anyone will second guess you.”

That took Ryck by surprise.  First, that CAPT K was contacting him while the situation was still hot, and second, what he seemed to be proposing.  Mercenaries were under the same constraints—and protections—as governmental troops, and if they surrendered, they were to be treated as per the treaties governing military operations.  If the Federation was somehow authorizing that the St. Regis battalion be eliminated, then that was troubling.  If this was a veiled order and he didn’t comply, then his career was effectively over at best, and at worst, well, that was better left unsaid. 

But was this message from the Federation?  Ryck thought he had gotten to know CAPT K pretty well, and he liked the man, but could this be something other than a Federation directive?  On the secure circuit, there would be no record nor witnesses to what the captain had just suggested.  And had he even just suggested what Ryck had thought?

This is fucked up
, he told himself as he tried to come up with a response. 

“Six?  Did you copy that?” Sandy’s voice overrode his line to CAPT K.

“What was that, Sandy?” he asked, trying to bring his mind back to the fight.

“The mercs, they’ve just surrendered.  They’re asking us to cease firing,” Sandy told him.

Captain K’s suggestion? Order? To make sure the mercs could never “bother” anyone again was foremost in his mind.  He knew he could make up a reason to keep fighting, and his Marines would obey. 

“Should I give the order?” Sandy asked.

Ryck had been thrown for a loop, and he wasn’t sure what the Federation expected of him.  But what it boiled down to was what he should do.

“Roger that, Three.  Cease fire.  But no one stands down.  I want everyone on alert.  Get Fox back in the tracs and up here to process the prisoners, and I want a report ASAP on the status of our WIA.

“This isn’t over yet, Sandy, but it will be, and we’re going to do it right.”

Chapter 16             

“. . . Kinongee, Leif; Phyun, Thanh; Rizzio, Michael; Throckmorton, Clyde . . . ” the chaplain intoned, naming the Marines and sailor who had been on the Alpha Command trac.

Ryck stood in the first row at parade rest, his head down.  Directly in front of him was a line of boots, weapons, and helmets, one set for each of those who had been killed.  The chaplain gave the names of each one of the 33 KIAs in the order in which they had fallen.

“. . . Castleberry, Lawrence; Berchard, Crispus . . . ”

Ryck sighed as he heard the Crispus’ name.  The chaplain had reached the Marines from the Bravo Command trac.

“. . .Gurnsey-Hollimer, Willis; Larry, Ted; Oppenheimer, Sean; Stilicho, Liam . . . ”

A tear rolled down Ryck’s cheek, reaching the edge of his lip.  Another tear joined it, and together, they dropped to the chapel floor as he watched it hit and break apart.

As the chaplain went on, he thought about how many times he’d gone through a sending off ceremony.  He should be used to it by now, but the reality was that each one got harder than the one before.

“ . . . McFadden, Tejay.  May they rest in peace.”

From behind the chaplain, Corporal Annad Wilson stepped forward, bagpipes in hand.  There was a pause, and then the mournful strains of “Amazing Grace” filled the chapel.  As always, the music calmed Ryck.  He wasn’t sure if it was the music itself or the bagpipes, but the hymn always had that effect on him. 

As the last note slowly faded away, the gathered Marines and sailors came to attention.  Without another word, Ryck, followed by Hecs, turned, stepped into the center aisle, and marched out of the chapel.  Each row, front to back, followed until the chapel was empty and the battalion was lined up on either side of the school parking lot where four trucks waited.  Once the battalion was in position, Hecs nodded to where Sams stood by the vehicle bay.

“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.