Major (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 5) (10 page)

Chapter 14

“Major?  A Major Nidischii’s here to see you,” Teresa sent to him over his PA. 

She was sitting only 4 meters away in the outer office, but she always used the PA paging circuit when she had something to say.  Some days, he wondered if she ever left her desk from the time she sat down in the morning until she left in the afternoon.

Almost immediately, Bert came into the side office and asked, “You got a moment?”

Ryck had more than a moment.  He’d been spending his last 45 minutes playing Bojangle Beat on his PA.  It may have been considered a kids’ game, but he’d gotten hooked on it while playing the twins at home, and now his competitive nature was pushing him to get to the point where he could beat Esther, the family champion.

“Sure.  What’s up?”

Bert took Gunny Harris’ seat, pulling it over closer to Ryck’s.  “You willing to leave this cush job?” he asked.

Ryck looked at him stupidly before asking, “What do you mean?”

“This job,” Bert said, sweeping one arm to take in the tiny office.  “Do you want to cut your tour short?”

Ryck’s heart jumped. 

Damned grubbing right I do
, he said to himself.

“How?  I’ve got almost two years left here,” he said out loud instead.

“Well, you know that I’m going to the Raiders in another two months,” Bert started.

“Uh, kinda hard to forget it as often as you tell me about it.”

LtCol (Sel)
[8]
Nidischii had been given orders to the Marine Corps Special Operations Battalion, the Raiders, as its new commander.  Bert had wanted a straight infantry battalion as some of the specialty battalions could put impede an officer’s career, but a command was a command, and Marines don’t turn them down.  If the command board thought Bert was the best man for the billet, then that was that.

“Yeah, well, anyway, one of the company commanders is now in regen for the next nine months”

“Regen?  We don’t have any of the Raider companies in action yet,” Ryck said, pulling up the week’s report as if he didn’t know it by heart.

“Not combat, but a hover accident.  Pretty bad, I guess.”

Hover accident?  That royally sucks
, Ryck thought.

A Marine is always aware of the risks of his job. It was part and parcel to what he was required to do.  But a hover accident was so mundane that it was unexpected. 

“The bottom line is that we need someone, and someone quick.  Someone with recon experience, someone with combat experience, someone with command experience.  As I’m the incoming commander, LtCol Entebbe asked me if I knew of someone with these qualifications.  Do you know anyone like that?”

He wanted to jump out of his chair, hand in the air while shouting “Me!  Me!”

But it wasn’t that simple.  He hadn’t really checked off his headquarters tour yet.  And he’d be working for his friend.  Their relationship would change again, and working alongside people for whom you cared was not easy.  He’d learned that with Joshua.

Most of all, though, there was Hannah and the kids.  He’d gotten used to being around them, being both a husband and father.  He wanted to say yes to Bert, his heart screamed out to say yes, but what would Hannah say?  What would she think?

“I don’t know what to say.  I’m honored that you would consider me—” he started to reply.

“Who says anything about you?  I was just asking you if you knew of anyone,” Bert said.

Ryck stared at his friend in confusion, afraid he’d misunderstood.  Bert looked back at him with a serious expression for a few moments before he broke out into laughter.

“Of course I want you.  I’ve already gotten the OK from Colonel Lipper-Mendoza,” he said, referring to the SpecOps Group commander, “and I’ve talked to Colonel Ketter.  He’s agreed to cut the orders if you want.  You’re covered here as far as that’s concerned.  Really, all I need is a yes to get the ball rolling.

“I need to tell you, though, that while the battalion’s here for now, the companies won’t be for much longer.  Things are coming up.”

Ryck didn’t bother to ask what.  Unless he was in the battalion, he didn’t have the “need to know,” and Bert couldn’t tell him anything.  The recent redesignation of the battalion as the “Raider” battalion was a hint, though.  The original Raiders, Edson’s and Carlson’s Raiders back in the old US Marines during World War Two, were elite units that performed difficult amphibious missions.  They might have been the first SpecOps in the US to see action, but their mission was more combat than recon.  Rumors abounded, but if the name meant anything, there wouldn’t be as much poopin’ an’ snoopin’ but something more in the lines of taking it to the bad guys.

“Uh, well, I need to talk to Hannah and see what she says,” he said, already trying to form in his mind just how he was going to bring it up with her.

“Sure thing.  It’s just that I’ve got to know.  Can you tell me by morning?  The company needs a new commander and ASAP.  If you don’t want it, then we’ve got to decide on someone else.”

“Oh, I want it.  You know me.  But I can’t just make a decision like that on my own.  I’ve got Hannah and the kids.”

“Of course,” Bert said.  “I realize that, and I am not trying to push you.  I think you’re the man for the job, but it’s your decision.”

“Sure, I understand.  And yeah, I’ll let you know in the morning.”

“OK, then.  I’m going to shove off.  Larry’s going into surgery in an hour, and I want to be there when he goes in.”

“Larry Painter?  He’s who got hurt?”

Bert nodded. 

“Tell him—uh, no, maybe not.  It might sound too weird coming from me if I do take over his company.”

“No, I think it’s OK.  I tell him you wish him well.  He’s never been a genhen, so coming from an experienced genhen like you, he’ll appreciate it.

“But now that I see you’re only on Level 4,” Bert said, using his pursed lips to point at Ryck’s PA, which was on his desk, “maybe you aren’t the man for the job.  Can you even beat Esther yet?”

“Eat me,” Ryck said with a laugh.  “I doubt that you could beat her, either.”

“Ah, but I’m not stupid enough to challenge her,” Bert said.  “Sometimes it’s more important to know when to pick your battles.  Anyway, I’m off.  Tell Hannah hello from me, but don’t you go blaming me for trying to take you away for three more years.”

“Sure thing,” Ryck said as Bert got up and left the office. 

Ryck sat back, the flashing game forgotten as he tried to think things through.  As his feeling of guilt rose, he realized his mind was already made up.  He felt guilty because he was leaving his family, but he couldn’t pass up this opportunity.  Like the African scorpion, he was how he was, and he couldn’t ignore that.

He now shifted his thoughts from wondering if he should take the orders to how he would tell Hannah.  He still felt guilty, but that was overshadowed by the excitement and unadulterated joy that he was leaving the Puzzle Palace and getting back out to the “real” Corps.  He was getting back into the fray.

Chapter 15

The display on Ryck’s vacsuit read 12 G’s of linear acceleration with sideways jolts of 18 Gs.  It wasn’t comfortable—in fact, Ryck hated it.  But the vacsuit was doing its job in keeping Ryck alive while the coffin went through its paces.  He had to assist the suit with the grunt, the nickname for the anti-G straining maneuver where he tightened up his legs and abdomen to help resist G-LOC.
[9]

The EVA Vacuum Suit-Long Range 5, or the “Grey Ghost,” was nothing like the vacsuits Ryck had used as a grunt.  Some components were the same such as the gel diaper and water and food tubes, but other than that, the standard vacsuit might as well be a medieval suit of armor.   From the electronics package to the anti-surveillance to the anti-G capabilities, the Grey Ghost epitomized the high-speed, low-drag description.  Ryck was a PICS Marine through and through, but he could get used to the recon vacsuit.

Grey ghost or not, however, high Gs took a toll on the body, and Ryck breathed a sigh of relief as the deceleration stopped, and with a well-trained maneuver, he and Nose—Corporal Tone Simchek—vaulted out of the coffin and into a forward flight to the waiting
Wilma Pritchard
some 900 meters in front of them.

The
Wilma Pritchard
was the same training ship upon which Ryck had completed his first EVA training mission as a recruit seemingly so many centuries ago.  Ryck had never actually boarded the ship on that first mission after Recruit Grant Thomas breached his vacsuit and Ryck had to ferry him back to safety.  He’d certainly boarded her enough recently, though.  His company had performed no less than 12 training missions with her as a target over the last two months.  The
Wilma
was becoming a second home to him, and he thought he knew every passage on her by now, from the broken captain’s command chair on the bridge to the “Patterson sucks big dick” graffiti above the sink in the port-side aft head.

No one knew, at least no one in the company, just what was up, but from the training tempo and exercises, the Marines could guess—and they did, constantly.  Guesses ranged from a surgical strike on the Trinocular fleet still stationed beyond the Blue Line to a first strike against the Confederation, the Alliance, or some other government, to taking the fight to the SOG or other group.  Ryck thought that attacking the Trinoculars was a far-fetched idea.  The battalion had a joint exercise with a Brotherhood seraphim unit next week, so that was an indication that whatever it was, it was big.  But that same cooperation made an attack of some sort on another government less likely, to Ryck’s mind.  That left some sort of action against the outliers of human space, namely the SOG and other like groups.

Of course, this training could all be proof-of-concept exercises to test the shift of special ops from direct support of the fleet to more independent operations in line with the SEALs.  But while the SEALs did their missions in small teams, the entire battalion was getting trained up, and that hinted on larger missions that the SEALs just weren’t set up for.  Whatever the reason, the tempo was ball-busting.  Even with Ryck technically living at home, he’d barely had three days over the last month where he’d eaten dinner with Hannah and the kids.  And, as much as he hated to admit it, he loved it.  He felt at home. 

As Ryck and Nose flew forward, no other Marine could be seen with the naked eyes.  Ryck could check each Marine’s position on his display.  They were converging on the
Wilma
according to plan, which wasn’t surprising.  Ryck’s Marines were the best of the best. 

Because of the new direction of the training, on one hand, Ryck was far less of a leader that he was as a grunt company commander.  He had become more of a facilitator.  His men were self-motivating hard-chargers who didn’t need a commander looking over their shoulders.  On the other hand, he was back to being more a fighter again.  While he wouldn’t be out there with the teams or platoons, on a company-sized op like this, he was more involved with the actual fighting than he would ever be in an infantry company.

Somewhere around him, Ryck knew that Bert—no, LtCol Nidischii’, he had to remind himself.  No more Bert until one of them left the battalion—Col
Lipper-Mendoza, and a posse of headquarters pukes were out there observing how the company did.  That didn’t bother Ryck in the least.  This was cake.

It might not be so easy in an actual mission, he realized, when the enemy fought back and didn’t act as predicted.  But that is why they practiced, to become as proficient as possible for when the rounds flew for real.  Sweat in peacetime or bleed in war.  And Ryck didn’t mind the sweat.

Chapter 16

“How’re they doing?’ Ryck asked Sams.

Master Sergeant Bobbi Samuelson took a seat in front of the desk, took off his cover, and wiped his sweating, balding head. 

“I talked with Buttercup,” Sams began.

Buttercup was Gunnery Sergeant Homer Gilroy, unfortunately nicknamed for a popular love song at the time.  SSgt Gilroy had been a member of Ryck’s first recon team.

“Ling’s doing fine, as is the captain.  But
Çağlar’s having problems,” Sams said.

“Çağlar?  But he’s a grubbing stud,” Ryck protested.

“A stud, maybe, but he’s a brick, too.  Can’t swim worth shit, you know.”

Ryck hadn’t considered that when he’d gotten Sergeant Ling, Lance Corporal Çağlar, and Captain Sandy Peltier-Aswad into RTC.
[10]
  If anyone would have problems, he thought it might be the slight Sandy, but so far, Sandy was sailing through, from what Ryck had heard.  He shouldn’t be surprised.  The unassuming newly-promoted captain had always managed to surprise Ryck.

“Do you think I should make a visit?” Ryck asked.

“Nah, skipper.  I mean, everyone knows what you’re doing, and that’s OK, iffen you’re not in their faces.  Iffen you show up there, you know, it’s like command influence, especially with you being who you are.”

“What he was doing” was something he’d done since getting his Federation Nova.  He’d done what he could to get Marines he knew and respected assigned to him.  At the higher ranks, particularly from the battalion commanders and up through the flag ranks, this was common.  Ryck had just used his notoriety to start gathering his posse at a more junior rank.  This was how he’d gotten Sams, Shart, and Crutch assigned to the company, and then Sandy, Ling, and Çağlar into RTC.  He’d wanted Hecs, too, but the First Sergeant had a plum billet at Camp Charles, and he wasn’t sure he’d make it through RTC at his age.

Ryck had gotten a reputation of being a prima donna, something he’d vowed to change.  Gathering his favorites around him might have contributed to that, but Ryck thought this was more accepted by other Marines.  Showing up at RTC, however, might be a little much.

“OK, Top, just keep me posted.  If you get wind that Çağlar’s going to get dropped or he wants to quit, I want to talk to him first.”

“Iffen he wants to quit, then that’s his call, not yours,” Sams reminded him.  “And recon don’t want no one who can’t make it through RTC.”

And that was one reason Ryck kept people like Sams around him.  Sams was an honest broker.  He’d been with him when Ryck earned his Nova, and he wasn’t in awe of him.  He told Ryck what he thought, and that kept Ryck grounded.

And he was right.  If Çağlar couldn’t make it through RTC, then he didn’t belong in recon, and no maneuvering by the commandant himself would get a Marine his recon designation unless he earned it on his own.

He’d find out soon enough about Çağlar.  Graduation was scheduled in another two more weeks.  Normally, all three would go to a line recon battalion, but with the Raiders being beefed up, Ryck hadn’t had too much of a problem convincing the CO to allow the three to come to Bravo Company upon graduation.  Sandy had been the main problem as the other two were junior for recon and could be easily absorbed by a team to learn the ropes, but his Silver Star (down-graded from a Navy Cross) and Ryck’s enthusiastic recommendation—and the fact that he would start off as an
assistant
team leader, had convinced Bert to give it his OK.

“Well, I hope he makes it though,” Ryck said.  “How about the new M73s?  They linked up with the skins yet?” he asked, changing the subject.

Sams had not been selected for first sergeant, the leadership-track for enlisted Marines.  He hadn’t been passed over for the next rank—instead, he’d made master sergeant, which slotted him for support and technical billets for the rest of his career.  But he’d agreed to come to Bravo with Ryck to be a glorified company gunny, a billet that called for someone a rank junior to him.  It would do his career no good, and it had to grate on him that First Sergeant Dykstra Pollack, someone who had been junior to Sams at one time, and with whom he wasn’t on best terms, was now the Bravo Company first sergeant.  But he came when Ryck asked.  That was the type of loyalty that Ryck valued, and he’d do everything in his power to return that same loyalty back. 

“That grubbing Pounder Industries tech keeps saying that the interfaces are bad.  I told him that we’ve got a deadline . . .”

Ryck smiled at Sams’s use of “grubbing.”  After so many years together, the Prosperity general swear word had finally rubbed off on the top.  He turned to focus on what Sams said was the issue, that of the new meson beam handgun not communicating with the skins’ interior system.  He didn’t enjoy this aspect of command, but these were the types of things that were probably more important to the company than him flying around space on tactical exercises.