Sergeant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 2) (13 page)

“Sure,
oui
and
liberté, égalité, fraternité
and all of that. But Sergeant Samuelson here is asking me about these hors d’oevers, and I can’t answer him. You know what this shit is?”

“Shit? You wound me,
mon corporel
. This should be your lifeblood,” he said with a laugh. “Let me see . . .” he said as he looked around the table.

“
Theese eeze
a ballotin
,” he said with a comically exaggerated French accent, pointing at pieces of asparagus wrapped in some kind of ham. “And theese, theese eeze
accras
, what you say feesh balls, from lovelee ’aiti,” he told them, pointing at the puffball Sams had just taken.

“In zee glass, we call
theese
verrines
, but for ’eaven, you must try zee
beignets
,” he said, bringing his fingers to his lips and kissing them before pushing them out while making a popping sound, then grabbing what looked to be a fried doughnut ball.

Seve
ral other Marines had gathered and were laughing at Paddyfoote’s over-the-top performance. Six or seven did grab the beignets, though, at his suggestion.

“Gents, the receiving line is about to start. I would suggest we all get in line an
d pay our respects before it gets too long,” SSgt Hecs said, pointing back to where the French Ambassador, the Legion colonel, and some other men and women were lining up.

The quicker th
rough the line, the quicker to the bar, so the platoon sergeant didn’t have to tell them that twice. It wasn’t actually a rush, but still, no one took their time as they got into position.

The line started moving as each guest was introduced, shook hands with the ambassador and her husband, then the Legion colonel and his wife. Each person was asked his or her name by a resplendent legion lieutenant, who then
repeated it to the ambassador.

SSgt Hecs followed
Lt. Nidishchii’ and was right in front of Ryck. The poor Legion lieutenant had a hard enough time with Nidishchii’, but he completely mangled “Phantawisangton
g.” He seemed relieved when Ryck told him his last name.

The receiving line was, well, a receiving line. The ambassador smiled and thanked the Marines f
or coming. The ambassador’s husband seemed friendly, but a strong smell of mouthwash did not completely hide the aroma of alcohol in his breath. Evidently, his celebration had already started. The Marines filed past the colonel and his wife, then most made a beeline for one of the two bars. The few teetotalers headed back to the buffet line to start loading up on food.

Ryck headed for the bar. It was well-stocked, but Ryck thought it was only fitting that he
try some wine, first. The bartender gave him a glass of beaujolais noveau, something Ryck had never heard of much less tried. It meant “new beaujolais,” and it was light and a bit sweet, OK, but not great. Ryck thought Hannah might like it, though.

Sams was drinking sin
gle-malt scotch from New Halifax, pleased to see not only Greater French booze, while Popo, Rey, and Corporals Henri and Stenski from Second Platoon were drinking beer while they munched on the various appetizers. It wasn’t too long before Sams drifted over to chat up a young lady in a long, blue gown.

Their little core group shifted with the three corporals drifting off, SSgt Groton drifting in, PFC Ling coming over and trying to impressed his NCOs with some sort of
questions on tactics. The boot was a certified butt-kisser. Several of the legionnaires came over to make them feel welcome, but mostly, it was Marines mixing with Marines, which was fine with Ryck and the rest. The booze and food were good, and that was what mattered.

Shortly after it turned April 30 back in France, the ambassador gave a speech full of praise for French history and brotherhood between France and the Federation. Everyone dutifully applauded, then got back to
his or her drinks.

“Fucking Sams,” Popo said, pointing to where the young lady, obviously in her cups, was now leaning against the tall Marines, laughing at something he had said. “
How does he always manage to pull a dove wherever we go?”

“Yeah, it got him busted to private once, back on Atacama. He’d be a staff sergeant now, maybe a gunny
if not for that. He says it was worth it, though,” Ryck told him.

“Looking at the ass on that girl, yeah, it might be worth it,” Popo said
.

When the busybody Legion lieutenant came and whispered into Colonel Giraud’s ear, no one seemed to notice.
The two legionnaires left, then the lieutenant came back a few moments later to fetch the ambassador, who stopped socializing with the governor and hurried out of the room.

“Wonder what’s up with that,” SSgt Hecs said. “Hope nothing cuts this party short. I’m just catching my stride.”

“Shit, don’t worry. You ever see a froggie leave with booze still in the bar?” SSgt Groton said before lifting up his glass in a wordless toast before downing the rest of his glass. “Time to get recharged,” he added before staggering ever-so-slightly off to get more beer.

Talk drifted back to Sams and his magic touch with women when Ryck noticed
General Prater getting a call. He didn’t think much about it until the Division commander’s posture changed and he held up his hand to get the officers around him to stop talking. When the Legion lieutenant came back into the ballroom one more time and evidently asked both the CG and Admiral Yost to follow him, Ryck knew something was up. The CG said something to Col Pierre and the others, then followed the legionnaire out of the room.

The
regimental sergeant major waved over the gunny as the officers put down their drinks. Gunny Smith listened, then nodded. Ryck felt the tension build as the gunny came back to them first.

“The bar is close
d. Quietly and calmly, get everyone to dump whatever drink they have. I want everyone to move to where Captain Davis and First Sergeant Peale are heading. Be ready for an order to move out,” he quietly told them.

Most of the Marines and other party-goers hadn’t noticed anything, and a few Marines thought it was all a joke. One look to the company staff, though, brought i
t into focus. Something was going on, something big.

SSgt Groton tried to ask what was happening as the company gathered, but Capt Davis motioned him to be quiet. Ryck thought the captain was in the dark as much as the rest of them.

With the Marines in one corner of the room and the small Legion detachment gathering back near the bar, the civilians slowly coalesced across from the Marines. The governor started walking over, and Col Pierre met him, whispering in the politician’s ear. The two of them stood there for a few moments, discussing what was happening, before the CO came back to the rest of the Marines.

A long 15 minutes later,
Admiral Yost, the Legion colonel, and General Praeter, came back into the ballroom, somberly marching to the center of it.

The admiral cleared his throat and began,
“Ladies and gentlemen, please listen up. Colonel Giraud, General Praeter, and I have something to say. At 0100 Paris time, the Greater French president formally revoked the Mutual Defense Treaty with the Federation, declaring themselves divorced from all Federation laws and agreements. At 0115. FCDC troops began to move into France and the French Lunar base.”

Fifteen fucking minutes to invade?
This was no surprise
, thought Ryck.

“At 0120, Greater France declared an opening of
adversarial relations and appealed to the independent states as well as the Brotherhood for support. For those of you who are not familiar with the legalese, this is not a declaration of war, but one step below. What this means, we don’t know yet. Can the politicians fix this? Will war be declared? We don’t know. We are now on Class
1
Alert, and all military hands are to return to their bases for further orders.

“I have given Colonel Giraud my assurances that he and his detachment
, that all French embassy personnel, will be allowed to depart Alexander unmolested. Ambassador Basel is already making preparations. All Legion personnel in this room are requested to follow your colonel. Transport off Alexander is now being procured.”

There was a stunned silence as everyone digested the news. Things had been dicey back on Earth, but very few people could have imagined the situation could disintegrate so thoroughly.

Ryck thought back to the ex-Marine merc back on Pannington. He had said it would come to this, so clearly, some people , though, had been aware of the oncoming storm.

Col Giraud stepped forward and said, “Admiral Yost, I want to thank you for your chivalrous gesture. You have my respect,” before switching over to French.

Ryck couldn’t follow what was said, but there was obviously a lot of emotion in the telling of it. When he finished, the legionnaires in the back of the ballroom slowly started moving forward, eyes to the front. Not only the legionnaires started moving, though.

From the corner of his eye, Ryck caught movement from within the Marines. He
turned his head to see LCpl Paddyfoote making his way out of the mass of Marines. He made it to the front of the crowd, then marched up to join the legionnaires.

Ryck stared at him in shock. It was obvious that he was deserting the Corps for the Legion. Ryck looked around to see who was going to stop him, to arrest him. When someone else started moving,
he thought that was the person who was going to grab Paddyfoote.

“What the fuck you doing, Marc?”
Sgt Temper from Second Platoon was shouting, grabbing Cpl Henri by the arm.

“Those are my people, Devin. I
gotta go,” Henri said with tears welling in his eyes.

“No, Marc, we’re your people. Think about it. What about
Hermone, saving your ass at the mine? What about that?” Devin Temper shouted as the other Marines around them moved back a step, giving the two friends a buffer.

Marc Henri looked up at the retreating legionnaires, then back at Devin, before saying, “You, all of you, have been there for me, and I’m proud to be a Marine. But if this is war, do you expect me to fight my family? The family who welcomed y
ou, Devin, when you came to visit , the family who fed you. What about Giselle? You met her, took her out for dinner, for God’s sake? I’ve known her family for all my life, you really expect me to fight them?” he asked, a tear making a track down his cheek.

“But you can’t! This is desertion! I won’t let you
do—” he started before LtCol
Adeyemi stepped up to them. He took Devin’s hand and gently pulled it away from Henri’s arm.

The CO simply shook his head,
effectively telling the Marine to leave it be, and Devin slumped back, defeated. LCpl Marc Henri, UFMC, shook his head, then turned and marched forward to join the last of the legionnaires leaving the room.

What had just transpired was beyond Ryck’s comprehension.
War with France? Marines deserting? It didn’t make sense. He scanned the Marines to see if anyone else was going to leave. Col Pierre, the regimental commander was French, wasn’t he? His brother was a Legion colonel. Ryck had seen him at the change of command when Col Pierre had taken command of the regiment.

Col Pierre stood emotionless in with Capt Davis. He wasn’t moving.

With the last legionnaire gone, the room broke into a hubbub of chatter. The civilians went right for their PAs, some as they hurried out of the ballroom, their devices glued to their ears. The Marines were no different, bringing out their PAs and connecting until the sergeant major yelled out that they were in a Security Status 2, which meant no unauthorized communications.

Within moments, the SNCOs had taken charge and were forming the Marines up. The General and his aides left first, his staff car whisking him back to division headquarters. Col Pierre and
LtCol Adeyemi took Capt Davis and the sergeant’s major with them in their van, leaving Lieutenant Patrick, the company XO, in charge of the movement to camp. The two busses arrived, and the Marines were quickly embarked.

Within minutes, the bus
ses were on the way back, but back to what, Ryck just didn’t know.

PART
2

FS Ark Royal

Ryck settled into his cradle in the 14-man PVS-14, or Personnel Vacuum Sled 14. The “reki” looked more like a roller-coaster car instead of the old-time Finnish reindeer sleigh from which it took its nickname, and Ryck had the temptation to lift his arms roller-coaster-style if they did in fact deploy out of the
Ark Royal
. This was the fourth time the Marines had been loaded into the rekis since the beginning of the interdiction, but each previous time, the target vessel had turned back and the Marines stood down without any action.

A state of war between Greater France and the Federation did not technically exist
, at least at the moment. The FDCD officers (always referred to as “officers,” never “soldiers”) had moved into France shortly after the Mutual Defense Treaty had been abrogated. They stopped well short of Paris, though, leaving the city itself in the hands of the French government. The FCDC had moved in to “protect the integrity of the Federation borders.” The six planetary republics in Greater France filed grievances, as had governments of seven other worlds. Three of those worlds had been colonized by French companies but were members of the Federation; the other four were independents. The Federation responded by employing exclusion zones around each of those 13 planets. The only exception was a narrow “elevator” over the nation of Guildenhaus, a Federation member-state located on the otherwise independent planet of First Strike.

The
Ark Royal
was the flagship for the small task force enforcing the exclusion zone around Tel Aviv. Tel Aviv had never been a member of the Federation but had generally worked within the Federation sphere, which made sense as the Federation bought the bulk of its exports. Upon the incursion of the FCDC into France, though, Tel Aviv quickly sided with Greater France and pledged its support. The planet was immediately slapped with the exclusion zone by the Federation.

The
Ark Royal
task force was small with only three ships. But the
Ark Royal
itself would have been enough to enforce the blockade. The ship was, in a word, huge.

Bubble ships, by design,
were spherical, so from the outside, the
Ark Royal
’s primary difference from other bubble ships was its size. In this case, that size difference was immense. A full 800 meters in diameter, the ship was not a dreadnought in the sense of an offensive weapons platform like the Prion Class Battle Cruisers. It was a more direct descendant of the old wet-water Navy aircraft carriers. The ship’s huge hangars housed three full squadrons of Experion fighters, a squadron of Griffyn monitors, four orbit-to-ground assault craft, each capable of carrying a company of PICS Marines or 400 pax, and all the assorted support, ECM, recon, and comms craft necessary to support any mission given to the ship. The embarked Marine battalion, complete with the attached Wasp flight and Stork squadron, was easily lost among the 16,000 sailors onboard the ship.

With all the sailors
, the Marines almost seemed an afterthought, shunted aside. They were in Ancillary Hangar 3A, a small (in comparison) hangar located off of B Deck. At 30 meters across, there was more than enough room for the 12 rekis in it, all loaded with Marines. The rekis were in two ranks, six abreast. Ryck’s squad was in the third reki, ready to deploy in the first rank if the call came through. Squeezed in beside the first reki was a small PVS-2, the small two-man version of the larger 14-man reki. Two Recon Marines, in their slicks, stood by, leaning up against the PVS-2’s nose.

Ryck took a quick look behind him. Two of the rekis
in the second rank had four PICS Marines each, ready to act as heavy hitters if needed. Ryck wasn’t too confident on how the two fire teams from Second Platoon would fare if anything happened to them on an EVA. Each PICS had been outfitted with both an external oxygen tank and a small auxiliary thrust pack. The thrust packs, though were really not very effective. “Space farts” was the commonly used term for them, able to nudge a PICS Marine in a vacuum, but not really move the combat suit with any degree of authority. If anything happened and one of the Marines separated from his reki, then he could easily be lost for good. PICS were just not designed for EVA work.

Ryck never felt completely comfortable in his Marine Corps EVA suit, but at least they were designed for the mission
of open-space operations. He went through his checks again, and all lights were green. He would have already known, though, if anything was wrong, given that the hangar doors were open and he was sitting in the vacuum of open space.

The small, dull blue numbers in the lower right corner of his helmet face shield counted out the seconds
as time passed. They’d been in the suits for almost 45 minutes so far. The mission would probably be another scratch. What commercial carrier was going to risk destruction at the hands of the
Ark Royal
?

Since the interdiction was declared, military action was primarily
Navy. As on Alexander, Legion troops had been generally give free passage off Federation worlds, and the small Federation attachments on the Greater French worlds had been accorded the same courtesy. It was only on Pallidyne IV, an unincorporated planet in the Third Quadrant, that fighting had broken out. A Marine expeditionary company and a Legion light battalion had gone into battle with the Legion emerging victorious. This surprised no one given the much smaller numbers of the Marines and the superiority of the Legion weaponry.

The Legion had reported to the press that the Marines had attacked and the Legion post was forced to defend itself. No Marines believed that. There was no logical reason why an expeditionary company, only lightly armed and there to provide security
for a Navy scientific team, would take on a Legion combat battalion, even one with only two companies. Even in the best of times, the Legion had better war-fighting equipment and weapons. The Legion always bought the most advanced gear available while the Marines relied on old technology, preferring half-assed upgrades than a full acquisition of the next generation gear. It wasn’t actually that the Marines didn’t want the newest and best—it was the Federation that didn’t want to pay for it. Military funds in the Federation went to the Navy first and foremost with the Marines and, to an extent, the FCDC sucking hind tit.

“Heads up,” the lieutenant passed on the command cir
cuit. “The target is making a run for it.”

The target had been identified as
the New Chilean-registered freighter
Marie’s Best
. It was an old hull, laid down over 120 years ago. It had gone through a full retrofit some 40 years earlier, but this was still old techno. How its captain thought it would be able to evade the
Ark Royal
, a frigate, and a destroyer was beyond Ryck. It had been trying to sneak in, approaching Tel Aviv directly from the system’s sun. That plan had little to no chance in succeeding against the Navy ships, so it was no surprise that the attempt failed. What was a surprise was that the ship didn’t surrender when the captain realized they had been compromised.

“Listen up,” Ryck passed on the squad circuit
. “The target ship is making a run for it. There still won’t be much for us to do if the Navy blasts it out of space, but . . . hold on, I’m getting something else.”

“The target has been hit by one of the
Ark Royal’s
monitors. Scans indicate that it has not, I repeat, has not been destroyed. There are life readings on board. We are a go,” the lieutenant passed before remembering to open the platoon circuit and repeat the message for all hands.

Ryck looked to his right where the two recon Marines were scrambling to board their coffin, the nickname given to the PVS-2.
It didn’t really look like a coffin but more like a large cigar. Like the reki, it was basically a simple powered platform open to space, but where Marines in a reki were sitting side-by-side, in the coffin, one man lay on top of the other. Their slicks were a dark, slate grey rather then the lighter-colored EVA suits of the grunt Marines, and they allowed a wearer to remain in space for longer, but many of the other differences were classified.

Within moments, the two recon Marines had launched, moving out to provide eyes on the target. It took a bit longer for the rest of the Marines to launch.
The lead reki had a Navy cybo on board to provide navigation. The rekis could be put on automatic nav, but for the distance to be covered, the Navy felt better with one of their own in control.

In this case, the lead reki was #2. The other 11 of them would move out to a pre-determi
ned distance from #2, then move to the target in tandem with the lead sled. Only as they approached the target would the connection be broken and a Marine, acting as a coxswain, would navigate to the appropriate spot on the target.

Ryck keyed in his three fire team leaders, “We’ve trained for this. There shouldn’t be any surprises, but if there are, just keep your heads and react. Any action is better than inaction.
Any questions?”

When there w
ere none, he isolated Cpl Beady, his Third Fire Team leader, and asked, “John, how’s Ling?”

PFC Ling was the second junior man in the squad
and Ryck’s headache. Even after their last op, he still seemed to be more bark than bite, somewhat of a kiss-ass, but he had been uncharacteristically quiet while they were forming for the possible mission. Ling had been with the squad on Pannington and so was technically blooded, but for all intents and purposes, he was still a combat virgin, and there was no telling how he would react under fire. Ryck didn’t want to have to worry that one of his Marines would be ineffective.

“He’s nervous, but not too bad. I think he’ll be fine,” Cpl Beady answered.

If they were in their PICS, Ryck could be monitoring the vitals of all the Marines in the squad. The EVA suits didn’t have that capability, so Ryck had to rely on his unit leaders.

“Ok, but keep an eye on him,” he said.

Ryck looked back at the
Ark Royal
as his reki moved into position. The ship was even more impressive from the outside. The Marines had boarded the ship from an enclosed shuttle, where the lack of portholes had kept them from seeing the ship. Here, in the openness of space, the ship glistened in the harsh sunlight.

Too quickly, though, all the rekis had been launched, and they were moving away. The
Ark Royal
dwindled and vanished behind them as the small reki fleet picked up speed.

Dashing through the space, on a one horse open sleigh
. . . Ryck couldn’t help but sing to himself as they accelerated at five g’s, the vast openness of space surrounding them.

Without the compensators, Ryck knew they would
be pulled against the
harnesses, struggling to breathe. As it was, they only felt a slight tug as they zipped over to their target.

The EVA suits did not compile as much combat-related information as a PICS or even a sleeve display on skins, but it did provide better data in other areas. Ryck had a location
of the target, approximately 10,000 klicks away. At 5 g’s, accelerating half way before beginning deceleration, they should arrive at the target in about 26 minutes. The cybo navigating #2 would have more exact data, taking into consideration that the target, even if hit, would still be moving, but the Ryck’s guesstimate was good enough for government work.

“Settle in for the ride. We’ve got about 25 more minutes until
we arrive on the scene,” he passed to the squad, keying in the lieutenant and SSgt Hecs as well and hoping he entered the correct input.

When the lieutenant
didn’t correct him, the figured he had done the math right.

Ten-thousand klicks was more than most EVA
s, but the rekis could handle the distance, and EVA suits were generally good for up to 18 hours. In the back of his mind, Ryck also knew that the Marines were far more expendable than the
Ark Royal
or the other two ships in the task force. Years ago, the
FS Mumbai
had been destroyed when it moved in to facilitate the rescue of a damaged Western Alliance frigate. It had never been proven that the frigate had suicided to take out the
Mumbai
, but that was the general consensus. Consequently, losing a few Marines and EVA sleds was a risk the admiral would feel far more comfortable taking than putting any of the capital ships in harm’s way.

The recon team arrived at the target within 1
1 minutes of leaving the
Ark Royal
. That was smoking fast, and the best compensators couldn’t completely neutralize the g’s it would have taken to get there that quickly. The two recon Marines would have had to fight the g’s the best they could.

The team started with passive surveillance, and they feed they sent back was forwarded to each Marine’
s face shield. The
Marie’s Best
had the characteristics cigar shape of an ion-tube ship. The side facing the recon Marine’s cameras was dark, the edges of the ship framed in the sunlight. The damage to the front of the ship was evident, but looked to be isolated to that small section. Ryck had to admire the Navy gunnery skills. The monitor that had taken down the
Marie’s Best
was unmanned, controlled by a team on the
Ark Royal
. This had been a surgical strike, not the wholesale destruction Ryck had expected. The skill of the gunnery team, to take down a ship while basically leaving it whole, really impressed him.