Major (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 5) by Jonathan P. Brazee Read Free Book Online Page B

now.”
    “Look, Commander.  You’re on your own.  You’ve got no soldiers on this ship except for Junior Regimentalist Csonka, uh, a Brotherhood master sergeant,” he said, still not knowing the man’s name, “and me. You can finish off that ship, but at the cost of your surviving soldiers’ lives and that of any hostages onboard.  You performed an amazing bit naval combat to disable the clipper.  Are you going to waste that now?  Along with your own men and women?”
    “You’re an observer, not one of us,” she protested, but calmly and not as a knee-jerk reaction.
    “I may be Federation, and the other two are not Free State, either,” he said, using the “Free State” that Confeds preferred rather than his usual “Confederation,” that others used to refer to them, “but we’re all you’ve got.  “Give me ten sailors, no, give me five who can handle a weapon, and I can take care of this for you.”
    She stared at him as if trying to read into his soul.
    “I know I have fought your people.  But enemy of my enemy, you know?  And we aren’t even enemies now, officially.  We fought together against the Trinoculars, and we can do it against the SOG, too.”
    She seemed to think about it for a moment before calling out, “XO, Ops, come here, please.”  After they arrived, she looked back at Ryck and asked, “So just how would you go about doing this?”
    Ryck let out the breath he’d been holding.  He had them.

Chapter 7
     
    Ryck flexed his arms inside the Confed vacsuit.  It was not nearly as flexible as the standard Federation Marine issue, and it felt bulky.  It had been fitted to a Chief Madras, who was evidently about Ryck’s size, but not exactly.  The suit was off enough to be annoying, and Ryck could imagine he could smell hours and hours of the chief’s sweat and other bodily functions.
    On the other hand, he was assured that the skin of the suit was much more durable than the Federation suits.  This was said with more than a bit of pride, but even if that was true, the vacsuit would still not protect him from enemy fire.
    “You ready?” he asked Bill over the suit’s externals.
    Bill put his helmet against Ryck’s and without using his mic, said, “You squirming snake skin, Ryck, getting me volunteered for this.”
    “Oh, you love it,” Ryck told him.  “Think of all the stories you’ll have to tell back with all your pilot buddies at the club when you get back.”
    “If I get back, that is,” Bill said gruffly.
    “You’re too much of an asshole not to come back,” Ryck said, slapping Bill on the shoulder, ignoring the fact that the vacsuit absorbed most of force of the blow.
    “How about you, Master Sergeant?” he asked Top Biranski, whose name he finally got and remembered.
    “Good to go, and ready to kick some blasphemer’s ass,” the Top told him.
    After talking with the master sergeant earlier, Ryck had no reservations about the man.  He was a warrior, through and through, and with the normal disdain the Brotherhood had for the SOG’s claim to be Soldiers of God , Ryck didn’t doubt the man was ready to fight.
    His six navy sailors were a different story, though.  They were willing even eager, but their experience was limited to shore patrol and rounding up drunks, not combat.  Ryck had gone over the plan several times with them over the last 30 minutes, but there was nervousness evident in their eyes.
    Ryck reached down to feel the propulsion controls on his vacsuit once more.  He had to be able to use them instinctively, and there was simply no time to get out and try the suits.  He’d learn as he went.
    “Sir, we’re ready,” a sailor in yellow overalls told Ryck from the carruca where they’d manhandled it from the front of the cargo deck back to the hangar doors.
    “OK, men, let’s get at it,” he passed on his assigned circuit as he started to get into position. 
    When no one followed him, he looked back to see seven men and one