Commandant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 8) (17 page)

No, the loyalists had to be met with the two battalions facing them.  Ryck had to let the battalion commanders fight the fight. 

That didn’t keep him from watching the avatars maneuver on the tactical display.  The loyalist PICS closed in on 3/3’s hasty defense.  Facing them was a full company of PICS Marines and two companies of straight leg infantry, which should be more than enough to turn back the counter-attack.

Ryck glanced up at Jorge, who was concentrating on the display. 

Good job on pushing for a company of PICS
, he thought.

With lift being a major concern, the brigade had originally planned on only a platoon of PICS per battalion given what they knew about the opposing forces.  Jorge had disagreed, and he’d convinced Ryck to step in and overturn the decision, ordering a company of PICS Marines per battalion.  Ryck had hated to interfere with the brigade’s planning, especially as it bypassed division, but now he was glad he had.  Jorge had been right.

A 3/3 M249 opened up, scoring a direct hit on a loyalist PICS, and the battle was joined.  Within moments, the battalion and the loyalists were fully engaged.

“First time in Federation history that Marines have fought Marines, and the first time that PICS had fought PICS,” Jorge remarked. 

Marines in PICS had fought armored infantry before.  Ryck had engaged Greater France and Confederation armored infantry himself.  But Jorge was correct.  This was the first engagement of PICS versus PICS.  The history books would note it, and the fight would be examined and re-examined by analysts and historians.  That it should come to this, though, was a sad state of affairs.

As the Seabees started loading the first shuttle at the main objective, 3/3 seemed to be holding.  But that brought up a secondary concern.  The Seabees would be done in another ten minutes or so.  The brigade needed to get off the planet immediately, and if 3/3 were still in contact, that would be problematic.  Ten minutes was no time at all in a fight of this magnitude.

“General Yarrow, I think you need to go to Contingency 4,” Ryck said.

“Roger that.  Colonel Peterson and I were just discussing that,” the division commander told him.

Contingency Plan 4 was one of many plans that had been formed to take into account enemy actions.  The current plan was that as the last of the two cargo shuttles lifted off, 2/4 would be loading the rest of the H71s.  1/1, 2/3, and 3/3 were to start collapsing on the center, loading the Storks to get off the planet.  1/1 and most of 2/3 could still do that, but 3/3 was engaged.  In order to break contact and get off the planet, 3/3 would now have to assault the enemy, taking away their momentum and forcing them back on their heels.  This would give the bulk of the brigade more breathing room to load the Storks and shuttles.

“Time is beyond discussing it,” Ryck said.  “We start retrograding in a little over nine minutes.”

“Done, sir.  2/4 is already beginning to embark.”

With the other three battalions providing security, that was probably a safe bet, but Ryck still would have waited until both cargo shuttles had taken off.

Looking back as the display statistics, Ryck was surprised at the lack of a decisive engagement.  3/3 had only lost two PICS Marines and five infantry, while 2/3, barely engaged, had one KIA.  The loyalists seemed content to engage at range instead of closing in.  They were seemingly only trying to fix 3/3 in place, which made sense if the loyalist Navy was inbound.

Unless Sandy has something else up his sleeve.

Moments later, Ryck found out what that was.

The display AI’s calm voice noted that the three Armadillos had split and were speeding up into contact.  Ryck heard Colonel Peterson warn the brigade, but he watched the Armadillos’ tracks to determine just what they were doing. 

The Armadillos were not much of an asset, Ryck thought.  They were too lightly armed, for one thing, even if their 25mm chain gun was an impressive piece of hardware.  The engines and suspension had been upgraded since Ryck’s days in with them, so they were very fast, but their lack of protection was still their Achilles’ heel.  Given only a slight bit of luck, even a straight-leg infantry Marine could stop one with an M-77 Bunker Buster or M-219 grenade launcher with the anti-armor.

Two of the Armadillos emerged from behind a line of shops fewer than 500 meters out and lurched into their top speed to rush 3/3’s lines.  Incredibly quick, they closed the distance as the Marines opened up.

“It’s a suicide charge,” someone said.

Something wasn’t right about that to Ryck.  First, it was not in Marine culture to blow oneself up to attack and enemy.  Second, against ground troops, a trac could use its bulk as a weapon, true.  But it was a personnel carrier, not an armored attack vehicle despite its chain gun.  To use its gun, it had the capability to stand off at two klicks to engage the Marines.  Now the two Armadillos were charging with their chain guns silent.

Ryck’s mind was putting together the pieces when at 300 meters out, one of the tracs exploded with such force that the display hiccupped while the AI compensated for the release of energy.

“They’re full of explosives!” several people, including Ryck, shouted out in various permutations.

The second Armadillo continued forward despite the intense fire being levied on it. 

“The enemy Armadillo has a tungsten-ceramic front plate attached,” the AI calmly noted.

“Mother fuck!” Tomtom said in amazement.

The AI had been able to analyze the small signatures being picked up by the surveillance sensors as Marine rounds hit the Armadillo.  With some sort of plate attached, the Armadillos would be far more impervious to the incoming fire. Such a plate would be impractical in a maneuver battlefield, but it would give better protection for a frontal assault where all the trac had to do was speed forward.

Which can also be done by remote control, Ryck realized.

Within five seconds, the second Armadillo had just reached 3/3’s front lines when it went up, probably hit by someone who had an oblique angle and could hit it in the sides.  Once again, the blast was so massive as to cause the display to flicker.

And immediately, the AI registered the carnage.  Thirty-five Marines, including ten in PICS, were KIA.  Another 62 were WIA. 

The third Armadillo, the one that had broken away from the other two, had just come up from a stream bed and turned into 2/3, only 220 meters away.  It would be within the battalion’s lines within seconds.

Ryck stood up as he watched the display track the Armadillo, willing the battalion to destroy it.  He felt a surge of joy, then, when 90 meters out, the trac exploded.  Two Marines were immediately listed as KIA, but no one else was even touched.

“Son of a bitch,” Sams muttered while Ryck just stared at the data stream.

Ryck was just about to step in when he realized that a stream of orders was being given to both 3/3 and 2/3.  The AIs did not have access to individual loyalists (except for Sandy, who was well back from the fight), but there was more than enough surveillance to plot the main body of them.  With the three blasts, their commanders evidently thought the Marines would be in disarray, and they were moving forward.

That was a foolish assumption.

Both battalions were not only ready, but they were also taking the fight to the loyalists.  They were charging them—and wreaking havoc.  The loyalist assault slowed, then stalled.

“The second cargo shuttle has departed the planet’s surface,” the display AI passed to the room.

In the lower right corner of the display (from Ryck’s perspective) a real-time view of the shuttle lifting off appeared.  The shuttle would take a full 35 minutes to reach its ship.  By the time it docked, Ryck wanted all the Marines off the planet.  That was the plan, at least.  But two battalions were in full contact.  At some point, they’d have to break off.

But it was the loyalist Marines who broke off first. En masse, the loyalists turned away from the Marines.  The uniformity was indicative that they were breaking off under orders and not just running.  Ryck thought that meant either the loyalist Navy was about to arrive on scene or that they realized it was too late and wanted to husband their remaining Marines.  He hoped it was the latter explanation.

Colonel Gruber ordered the two PICS companies to keep up the pressure while the straight infantry pulled back to their designated or alternate LZs for pick-up.  It was a sound decision that made sure the loyalist retreat was not just a feint that could result in Marines being caught as they loaded the Storks.

The two PICS companies did more than put on the pressure.  They drove through the loyalists all the way back to the cluster of buildings that had initially shielded them.  At one point, Sandy’s avatar grayed out.  Ryck didn’t know how he felt about that, and he wouldn’t dwell on it until later.

All of 2/4 and most of 1/1 were loaded and on the way to the ships before the colonel ordered the two companies to stop.  They were ordered back to their LZs at top speed.  Once again, the colonel had good instincts.  The only loyalists who could match that speed were the remaining PICS loyalists, which the AIs put at an estimated 63. 

The loyalists didn’t give chase, though.  They seemed to be done with the fight.

At 42 minutes after the second cargo shuttle lifted off, the last Stork left the planet’s surface.  Marines in the MCCC seemed to let out a collective breath of relief, but Ryck was very well aware that the fight was not over.  The loyalist Navy was out there somewhere, and with more than enough strength to defeat the Third Fleet forces in the system. 

The Storks only required about 20 minutes to reach their ships, and Ryck watched the delicate ballet on the display that decried the chaos that had to be occurring among the ships.  More than a few LSOs had to be about ready to suffer heart attacks as the Storks came in hot and fast into the hangar bays.  Finally, even before the Storks were secured, the last ship was moving out of orbit. 

Ten minutes later, it was in bubble space, and only then could Ryck begin to relax. 

They had done it!

Ryck stood up and the MCC went quiet.  “Gentlemen, great job today.  The fight today may not have seemed too important in the grand scheme of things, but it could change the course of the conflict.  I want to congratulate all of you.  Those Marines conducted the fight, but they could never have been there in the first place without you.

“We’ve all put in a lot of hours.  And we’re going to go over this again, but not now.  Go home, see your family, have a beer.  I’m going to want to see all headquarters staff back here at zero-eight, no make it ten-hundred tomorrow.

“General Kim, the MCCC is yours again.  Everyone else, get out of here.”

The MCCC burst out into applause.  It had been a dicey mission, and it had gone off better than could have been expected.  A success or not, still there were 42 Marine KIAs with a yet unknown number of them who could be resurrected.  And while Ryck would have gladly accepted that number prior to the operation, to the families of those men, the devastation would be just as powerful as had the brigade suffered far more during the fight.

“Sams, get me the casualty list,” Ryck said.

He’d personally add a letter of condolence to each Marine and sailor’s family.

“Well, that went about as well as we could have hoped for,” Ryck remarked to Jorge as Marines began to gather their belongings and leave the MCCC.

“Yes, I’ll agree with you there.”

“No small part in thanks to you,” Ryck added.

“I’m not so sure about that.  It was Colonel Gruber’s plan, his and divisions.”

“Codswallop, Jorge, and you know it.  You need to learn to take credit when it’s due.  Your fingerprints were all over the plan, not the least was to have a full company of PICS in each battalion.”

Jorge gave a small, non-committal grunt and shrugged his shoulders.  Over his shoulder, Ryck could see Sams returning, a physical printout of the casualty list.  His expression was something Ryck hadn’t seen before, sort of shocky, sort of frightened.

“What is it, Sams?” Ryck asked, wondering what could have affected his stalwart friend. 

Without a word, Sams handed over the printout.

Ryck glanced down at it. Forty-two KIAs as he had thought.  Seventy-one WIAs, which was a few more than he’d thought, but still quite reasonable.  He looked at some of the names.  There wasn’t anyone he’d known in 2/4, but he’d find out about them before he’d write the letters.

Three-three’s list was more extensive, and Ryck personally knew four of the Marines.  One of them was Gunny Nunci, someone he knew Sams knew as well.

“Gunny Nunci?” Ryck asked.

Sams shook his head and pointed at the list.

Ryck looked at the final unit, 2/3, the Fuzos. Corporal Yale Haerter and. . .

Ryck dropped the sheet, the world closing in on him.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” he vaguely heard Sams say just before everything went blank.

The final name on the list was that of Private First Class Benjamin Hope-of-Life.

Chapter 25

“I’m sorry, sir.  I can’t let you pass,” the nervous lance corporal said, twitching as he blocked Ryck’s way, M99 at the ready.

“Do you know who I am, son?”

“Yes, sir, I do, sir.  You’re the commandant.”

“And you still won’t let me pass?”

“No sir.  I can’t.  The gunny, he said don’t let anyone except him or the lieutenant pass, and he said even the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and that’s you, so I can’t let you pass.”

Part of Ryck wanted to blow up, to take out his anger on the young kid.  And another time and place, he might see the humor in it.  But right now, there was a pretty miserable looking lance corporal standing in his way, and he couldn’t take it out on him.

“I tell you what.  How about you get your gunny on your comms and ask him to come over here,” Ryck said calmly.

“Uh, right sir.  I mean aye-aye, sir,” the young Marine said.  “Uh, Gunny, this is Lance Corporal Davis.  I’m on post, and the commandant is here and wants to enter the C-hut,
[12]
and you said that even if he comes, he isn’t supposed to come in.  I think you need to get over here.”

Within 45 seconds, not only the gunny, but a lieutenant and a major came pelting over the tarmac at a dead run.

“Sir!” the major shouted as he slid to a stop.  “I’m so sorry about this!  Lance Corporal Davis is over-reacting!”

“Did you tell Lance Corporal Davis that ‘even the Commandant of the Marine Corps’ wasn’t to get past him, Gunny?” Ryck asked the gunnery sergeant.

“Well, yes, sir.  But I was exaggerating.  I didn’t mean to say you don’t have access, sir!”

“Well, then, I guess Lance Corporal Davis was doing his job now, wasn’t he.  And I’d advise you to be a little more accurate when giving orders in the future.  Now, if you would like to adjust your orders so I can pass, I would appreciate it.”

“Certainly, sir!  Davis, let the commandant pass,” the gunny managed to get out.

Lance Corporal Davis stepped aside in obvious relief, bringing his M99 to present arms.  The major jumped forward to hold open the door as Ryck stepped inside the C-hut.

C-huts were expeditionary shelters, and no matter the configuration, they always had that expeditionary feel to Ryck.  This one was no different despite the stacks of pallets that filled it.

This one did not have its own flooring—Ryck stood on the tarmac plasti-crete.  By tomorrow, Ryck knew, the pallets would be gone, distributed to the divisions.  The C-hut would be disassembled, and there would be no sign of the
raison d’etre
for the mission. Before that happened, Ryck had to see the pallets, to stand among them.

Forty-one Marines and a sailor had died to obtain the pallets.  An amazing 28 of them were in the process of being resurrected with very good prognoses. 

Ben was not among those 28.

Ryck had watched the recording more than a dozen times.  He hated watching it, but something drove him to do it.

Ben and Corporal Yale Haerter had been sent forward  150 meters to emplace mines in front of 2/3’s lines when the first two Armadillos hit 3/3.  The two Marines were informed that the third Armadillo was heading their way and to take cover.  They did not obey that order.

As the remote-controlled Armadillo launched itself out of the depression it had used as an axis of advance and oriented on the battalion, it would be able to reach the lines within eight seconds.  The two Marines, without looking at each other, chose to stand and engage the Armadillo.  The impacts of their first four grenades were clearly visible as they hit the armored plate bolted to the front.  Several larger impacts were also visible from the battalion’s heavier weapons, but they had no better luck in stopping the trac.

Other men, seeing the behemoth bearing down on them and knowing that they were having little effect on it, would have dove out of the way and let it past.  Neither Yale nor Ben was one of those kinds of men.  Not only did they stand their ground, they leaned
into
the trac, pouring fire into it.  And as the Armadillo churned toward them, mud flinging from the tracks, its front armor still protected it.  But not the side, and from less than 20 meters away as the trac passed them, both Marines fired their grenades.  Corporal Haerter’s grenade hit the trac a split second before Ben’s, and that was enough.  The heavily-ladened trac exploded in an immense fireball, momentarily whitening out the surveillance.  As the AIs adjusted, parts of what used to be an Armadillo fell back to the muddy ground. 

As for Ben and Yale, they had simply disappeared.

Even had the two Marines been in PICS, they would almost certainly have been killed as a result of the blast.  In their skins and bones, there was not much left for the rest of the Marines to find to bring home.

Ryck looked at the Hwa Win combat knife he’d carried into the C-hut.  It had been recovered from the field and given to Ryck earlier in the day.  The sturdy blade was warped, and the heat had turned the tungsten-carbide blade hues of blue and gold.  Other than a fused M219, the knife was the largest piece of Ben, or at least Ben’s gear, that had been recovered.

Ryck looked back up and surveyed the pallets.  They had come at a cost—not too high, all things told, to General Ryck Lysander, Commandant of the Marines Corps.  But it was unbearably high for Ryck Lysander, father.

The Hwa Hin was warped, but it didn’t have a problem with the strapping of the nearest pallet.  With a snap, the strapping fell away.  Ryck pulled down the top bundle and cut it open.  Inside the bundle were eight PICS cold packs.

He picked one up and turned it around, just looking at it.  All that pain for two kg of a fairly old-tech piece of gear.  They weren’t much, and cost only 128 credits each, but without them the multimillion-credit PICS would be dead in the water within ten minutes.  Ryck’s operation had bought the Marines time.  Each PICS in the inventory now had a month’s worth of operating potential.

He carefully placed the coldpack back into its position.

I’m so sorry, Hannah!

The tears were not there, though.  He was numb, he was angry, but he was not grieving.  That bothered him to no end.  He felt the presence of the grief, it seemed to him, deep down inside of him, down where he was pushing it.  He didn’t think he should be able to do that, and that made him wonder if he was normal, or if he was just an automaton formed by years in the Corps.  For the sake of his humanity, he wanted to let it out, to let it consume him.  But he was the commandant now, and he couldn’t afford the time.  He hoped that if—when—the grief did strike, it would be at a time when it wouldn’t get in the way of his mission.

He looked down one more time at the Hwa Hin in his hand for a moment, before he suddenly whirled and sunk the warped knife to the hilt in one of the cold-packs.  Without a word, he turned and strode out of the C-hut.

The war was not over yet.