Commandant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 8) (11 page)

“That you would.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.  I’d love that.  You can count on me,” the corporal said, excitement evident in his voice.

Ryck called General Devarja, who while he thought it was a bad idea, couldn’t think of why it would be forbidden.  Hailstone couldn’t be part of the official Marine party, but he could hitch a ride and observe as an independent at the request of Ryck as the co-head of the provisional government.

“General, you’ve got 20 minutes,” Vivian reminded him.

Ryck tilted his head to the speakers and whispered, “She’s worse than my mother.”

“That’s because you need it, sir,” Vivian’s sharp voice filled the office.

That elicited a laugh, a surprisingly girlish giggle from the big Marine.

“Ears like a bat, too,” Ryck whispered even quieter, leaning into the gladiator.

“Vivian,” Ryck spoke out, returning to his normal voice.  “Corporal Hailstone will be hitching a ride with us to wherever we are going.  Please let the Navy know.  I’m sending him out now, so please ask the Gunny to take him under his wing.”

Ryck watched Corporal Hailstone stand up in one smooth motion, come to hunched position of attention, then duck out through the hatch.  Ryck knew he couldn’t take the man back into serving as a Marine.  He could make sure Hailstone was promoted to sergeant, though, before the Brick or some unknown Kelthos queen claimed him.  He probably deserved some sort of medal, too.  Ryck had received his second Nova for his fight, after all, and he’d just been reacting to the situation.  Hailstone, along with the other 100 or so gladiators undergoing genmodding or training, had volunteered, knowing that even if they weren’t killed in training, fighting, or genmod rejection, they would die a pretty horrible death as the Brick ate them alive.  And for them, unlike for Ryck and Sams, there was no more regen to keep the Brick at bay.

He glanced back at the desk to make sure he hadn’t left anything and spotted the package.  He was tempted to leave it until he got back, but he still had a couple of minutes, so he pulled the release and the package unfolded, revealing a small case.  Flipping open the case revealed a small Bianchi 6mm and a handwritten note:

Thought you might need this again sometime, and it was taking up too much space in the evidence locker.

Titus Pohlmeyer, Major, Confederation of Free States Army.

Ryck picked up the small Bianchi, remembering its feel.  It had been given to him by FCDC Major Faustus Rychmont while on New Mumbai.  As a diplomat, it had been highly illegal for him to carry it, but it had saved Ryck’s life when he was attacked by two assassins.  It had been confiscated by the Confed police, and Ryck hadn’t given it much thought since.  But having it in his hand brought back a rush of memories.

He still didn’t know what game the Confeds were playing.  Obviously, they were out for themselves.  But did that include helping the provisional government?  Pohlmeyer was more than a mere major.  Ryck had known that for years.  But in his gut, Ryck trusted him.  He hoped the Confederation had their back

And Ryck appreciated the gesture.  It wasn’t a game-changer as none of the Marines were going into the meeting unarmed.  They were in a state of war, and Marines were always armed during wartime.  Even in his office on Tarawa, Ryck had an M99 and his larger 8mm Ruger within a step or two from his desk.  Montero had argued incessantly that going into this meeting armed sent the wrong message, but Ryck overruled him.  This was a military matter, and Marines went armed, period.  The main security would be from his FCDC troops and the admiral’s own security force, but still, every Marine would have his sidearm with him—with rounds.

Ryck knew history, and Marines from Beirut to Hades had been sent in by politicians with weapons and no ammunition—with disastrous results.  So when Montereo had suggested that, Ryck had immediately cut the man off, restraining himself from leaning over the table to punch him.

No, the Marines would be armed, and Ryck’s 8mm was far more powerful than the little 2mm in his hand.  Still, it felt good there.  He slipped it under his blouse and into the small inner pocket.  He patted down the spot on the outside, feeling the slight bulge.

“Gunny Çağlar, you out there?” he shouted, looking at his profile in the mirror.  “We need to get moving.  We’ve got a mission to accomplish!”

STUDEVAANT 3

Chapter 17

Ryck watched the screen that showed the outside view as the shuttle descended to the planet’s surface.  Studevaant 3 was a lifeless, airless planet, and the surface below them was barren and almost featureless.  As a “dead” planet, there was no volcanism nor tectonic shifts that would create landforms, and as an orphan, there were few objects in that little bit of the galaxy that could hit it creating craters.

As a choice for a clandestine meeting, it wasn’t a bad one.  It wasn’t the best, either.  Ryck could name several better venues, but the loyalists would know of those, too.  And the restriction against interdiction foisted on them by the other governments did not hold for stations, only planets.

The landscape 30 kilometers below the shuttle was colorless given the minimal illumination from the nearest star, but that had its own kind of beauty, Ryck thought.  But he knew that on the planet’s surface, it would be a pretty bleak place.  A flare below and ahead of them indicated another shuttle was landing.  Ryck absently wondered who it was carrying.

It was ten minutes later before it was Ryck’s shuttle’s turn.

“Please prepare for landing,” the pilot passed over the intercom before he flared the shuttle to touch gently down at one of three snake causeways that quickly reached out to latch onto the shuttle’s hatch. 

Within 20 seconds, the hatch light showed green, indicating the causeway was pressurized.

“Let’s move it,” Bert Nidischii’ said as he stood up.   “We’ve got a limited time here, so no use wasting any of it.”

Ryck pulled out his Ruger, checked the load, and re-holstered it before stepping up to the hatch.  Bert, Hecs, Çağlar, and he comprised the official Marine Corps party from Tarawa to the conference.  Colonel Edison had twenty-two troopers and three Marines for security.  And then there was Corporal Hailstone scrunched up in the back of the shuttle, although he was there not as a Marine but as in independent observer.

“Do you know where to go?” Hecs asked Hailstone.

“Yes, Sergeant Major.  In the back and out of the way, in Row F.”

And then the hatch opened, and whatever else Hecs had to say was lost as Ryck stepped forward into the cool causeway.  The center was at a reasonable temperature, but Ryck could feel the cold emanating from the causeway’s walls.  Ryck had used the snakes only a few times in his career, given that they tended to be temporary, and the unfortunate name, in Ryck’s opinion, brought to mind images of crawling down some huge serpent’s throat to its stomach. He hoped the image would not prove to be prophetic.

A moment later, Ryck was passing through the inner airlock, which was already open to the station.  Two Navy ratings came to present arms as a civilian functionary rushed forward to guide Ryck and the others to the elevators.

The Studevaant 3 station was located some 70 meters underground where it was better insulated from the bitter cold of the planet’s surface.  That depth coincidently shielded the station from almost any shipborne weapon, Ryck knew.  Perhaps it was not so coincidental.  Ryck had no idea as to the station’s scientific purpose, but it made a pretty good bunker.

The elevator came to a stop, and their guide hurriedly led them down a passage to a guarded set of double doors.

“The conference will start in a few moments,” the guide said as he stepped aside.

The conference room was surprisingly large.  There was a stage in the front, then at least 500 chairs arranged theater-style.  Why a simple research station needed something like this was beyond Ryck, and he became convinced that the science was just a cover for whatever purpose the station really held.

That was all well and good, but if the Third Fleet knew this place had another purpose, then so would the First Fleet.  That would elevate it as a potential meeting site, raising it on the list of potential loyalist targets.  It would have been impossible to completely hide that something was going to take place, no matter how tight the security had been. Despite only four men knowing the details of the meeting beforehand, leaks had to have happened.  More than that, however, loyalist AIs could monitor comms patterns and movement of people well enough to surmise that.  The security of the conference relied on keeping the Federation in the dark as to just what was taking place and where.

Given that half of the Third Fleet was around and near the planet, it wouldn’t take very long at all for the loyalists to determine just where the event was taking place.  It may not be the entire Third Fleet gathering around, but still, the loyalists would soon know that something big was up, and with the number of people now involved, leaks had to have occurred.  And now that foreign governments had been invited only two days ago, with reps to be picked up by Navy ships, that word had to have reached the loyalists.

Many people were already in their seats, but more were milling about the aisles, shaking hands and chatting.  One man saw Ryck and immediately approached him.

“Prime Minister de Misterie, it is good to meet you,” Ryck said, extending a hand to the Civilian Advisory Council member from the Kingdom of Hiapo. 

With their economic might and their history of four Federation chairmen, the Kingdom held a pretty powerful position within the Federation.  Having them supporting the provisional government had been a coup, one rewarded with the prime minister being offered the position in the CAC.  He wasn’t the king, who traditionally never left the planet and who would have been even more impactful, but as a career politician, the prime minister was a good second choice.

“And it’s good to meet you, too, General.  I’m sorry we won’t have time for socializing, but I think a person can tell the mettle of a man even in a short time.”

The conference was scheduled for six hours.  That was because of security concerns.  The loyalists would be able to discover where the conference was taking place, but by the time the loyalists could hope to launch some sort of strike deep within evolutionary territory, the participants would be long gone.

“Admiral Chandanasiri and I will have a short meeting with the five of you before we kick out of here, so I hope we’ve formed a lasting bond before we part,” Ryck said.

Boy did that sound lame
, he thought. 
I never said I was a good smoocher
.

“Yes, let us hope.  Well, I think we’re about to kick this off, and there’s no time to waste, as they say,” the prime minister said, giving a little half bow, then making his way around Ryck to his assigned seat.

He was followed by his personal
kao’o’e
, or King’s bodyguard, a huge man wearing traditional Hawaiian clothing and carrying a
lei-o-nano
, or war club, complete with real shark teeth, if Vivian’s brief had been accurate.  The prime minister had two more conventional bodyguards as well, but Ryck thought that the
kao’o’e
might be able to make himself noted should it ever come down to an assault on his charge.  For a non-royal to have a
kao’o’e
was considered a sign of direct royal favor.

“I think that has to be the second biggest man in the room after Corporal Hailstone,” Bert whispered in Ryck’s ear as they made their way forward to their seats.  “He could probably fight a Klethos queen without modification.”

“He probably
is
modified,” Ryck said.

Several more people offered a quick handshake and hello as Ryck moved forward.  At the start of the second row, Michiko MacCailín was standing and speaking with two others.

“Governor, I’m glad to see you made it,” Ryck said, catching her attention. 

“After all I put you through, I wouldn’t miss it, General.”

Ryck took her proffered hand, but the tough-looking bodyguard-type standing next to her caught his attention.  Something about the man tickled the recesses in the back of his mind.

“And I believe you know my chief of security, Seth MacPruitt?” she added.

Grubbing hell!  It is him!

“Uh, yes.  Mr. MacPruitt and I go back a long ways, actually,” he said, “We went to Charles together, that’s our recruit training base, and then Sergeant MacPruitt taught me hand-to-hand combat on Alexander.

“It’s good to see you again, Seth,” Ryck said, reaching out to take the former Marine’s hand. 

“Ma’am, I’d better go check with the team, now. I’ll be back to escort you when the meeting is done,” MacPruitt said, ignoring Ryck and wheeling about to make his way back to the exit.

The governor laughed and said, “He’s a bit prickly at times, but he’s capable and extremely loyal.  He’s not a big fan of you, though, from what he’s told me.”

“I gather that,” Ryck said, feeling foolish and more than a little ticked. 

“Well, I’d like to touch base with you after the main meeting, if we can, governor,” Ryck said before moving on to his assigned seat in the front row. 

“General, good to see you again,” Ryck said as he reached his seat next to where his assistant commandant had already claimed his.  “The Navy treating you right?”

“As good as can be expected, sir.  But it’s good to see a few more Marine faces.”

“Not too many, though,” Ryck said.  “Just Bert here, Sergeant Major Phantawisangtong, who I think you know, and Gunnery Sergeant Çağlar.  Have you met the gunny before?”

“Not personally, no.  But I’ve heard of him,” he said, reaching out to shake Çağlar’s hand.  “And of course, the sergeant major and I have served a tour together.  How are you doing, Hecs?”

“Good to see you again, too, sir,” Hecs said.

“So, how many people are here?” Ryck asked.  “We’ve been kept in the dark.”

“Everyone has.  The loyalists have big ears, and they’re not invited.  But from what Admiral Attamount told me as we arrived, we’re expecting 38 heads of state, all with minimal staffs.”

“That’s it?  Thirty-eight?”

“That’s what he said.”

Ryck had been hoping for more.  Over 100 planetary and national governments, as well as 19 stations, had given their support.  Ryck hoped the missing heads of governments was due to logistics and not to lukewarm support or worse, a change of heart.

“Sir, I’ll leave you here now,” Colonel Edison said.  “I’ll be in the back coordinating with Captain Douglas, but we’ve got men stationed throughout the hall.  If you need me, just call.”

“OK.  Looks like the choice of a venue was well-thought out.  I don’t think your men will be earning their pay today,” Ryck said.

“Let’s pray that be the case, sir,” the FCDC colonel said before leaving the four Marines.

“And foreign representatives?” Ryck asked General Huckmaster, returning to the previous line of discussion.

“The Confederation has four, along with your Major Pohlmeyer.  The Brotherhood has one, the Vicar Emmanuel.”

Only a vicar?  Grubbing hell!

“The Alliance, New Budapest, Outback, Purgatory, the Juliette Group, uh, well, I can give you a full list, but 19 foreign reps are here.  Well, you making Corporal Hailstone an observer makes it 20.  The vicar is royally pissed, though, that you did that.  He says the gladiators have to remain not only above the fray but completely divorced from any inter-governmental conflicts.”

Fuck the vicar if he can’t take a joke
, Ryck thought, bringing to mind an old but trite phrase.

“Greater France?”

“No, sir.  Nothing from them.”

Shit in a handbasket.  We needed them
, Ryck thought to himself.

Greater France was the only other major power headquartered on Earth.  Ryck had some vague ideas of using Greater France’s Earth territory to launch some sort of raid on Brussels.  Their lack of response to this invitation was troubling.

“General Lysander, Ryck, it’s good to finally meet you,” a voice said from behind Ryck. 

Ryck turned to see Admiral Chandanasiri approaching arms out for a hug. Ryck was more of a handshake kind of guy, but with holo-cams running, he accepted the admiral’s embrace, giving the admiral a good slap on the back.

“Admiral, it’s good to see you, too,” Ryck said as all eyes turned to the two great men.

“Please, it’s Amarin. Or Fred if you want.  We’re too close for formalities, and we’ve got a job to do.”

But they weren’t close.  Ryck had only cammed with the admiral a few times, but one thing was evident in person and not on cam.  The admiral simply exuded personality.  And Ryck couldn’t help but notice how he’d positioned himself to show off his medals and catch the gathered holo-cams at a good angle.

The admiral had proven himself in battle.  He was no desk-jockey, but a true warrior.  But he also had the reputation of being a superb politician, one who’d had his sights set on the Council chairmanship.  Ryck had to wonder if the Third Fleet’s support had more to do with that ambition than anything else, an effort to cut 15 or 20 years out of the process of rising to the position.

One way or the other, Ryck was glad for the admiral’s contribution.  Ryck hated the politics, and he was eagerly ceding those duties to the man.

Still, Ryck was beginning to realize that he liked the limelight.  He didn’t want to perform the smooching and posturing required to be a real politician, but he had to admit he wanted the accolades.  Now, standing next to the photogenic admiral, Ryck realized he was puffing up his chest and shifting his position so he would be best recorded.  That made him feel somewhat of a hypocrite, but that didn’t make him stop preening like a peacock.