Captain (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 4) Read Online Free
Author: Jonathan P. Brazee
might be their only chance for a decent libo for the entire cruise. Dismissed!”
The staff came to their feet as the colonel left the wardroom.
“Staff NCOs, I want to see you in the Chief’s mess in five,” the sergeant major called out as the staff started to file out.
Ryck clapped Hecs’ shoulder. “It sucks to be you. I’ll be a six-pack down by the time you get off the ship.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make it up tomorrow when your wife gets here,” Hecs told him as they left the wardroom, the Navy stewards standing along the bulkhead, patiently waiting for the Marines to clear out so they could begin the evening meal prep.
The FS Inchon was a Falklands Class Integrated Assault Transport. The IATs were designed to bridge the gap between putting Marines on Navy battleships and cruisers or putting them on simple, unarmed transports. During the conflict with Greater France, thousands of Marines had been killed who were nothing more than spectators. The idea was to have a ship that could carry battalion-sized Marine Expeditionary Assault Force with enough firepower to protect itself and even carry the fight to smaller naval vessels. Not everyone at the top levels was convinced that this was the way to go, but Ryck rather liked being in space with his entire battalion.
Ryck hurried down to officer’s country where he had his own, if small, stateroom. It was tiny, with barely enough room to turn around if his rack was lowered, but he was glad it was his. The colonel’s stateroom had a small office in the front, and the three majors — the XO, the Ops O, and the Flight Commander — all had slightly larger staterooms than Ryck’s, but of the captains, only the four company commanders rated their own staterooms. Drayton Miller, the S4, shared a room with two of the pilots, and Frank Lim, the chaplain, Shabah Mouldin, the surgeon, and the last pilot shared another.
Ryck threw off his skins [3] and pulled on his skivvies. He was glad that Hannah would arrive tomorrow, but that meant that this evening would be his only boys night out. Coulder 45, or “Colt 45,” was not one of the wildest military liberty planets around. There wasn’t much of the more prurient night life that many young Marines and sailors sought, but the draft beer was rumored to be the best in Federation space, and its well-stocked mountain lakes had produced more than a few UGFA [4] records. Food, fishing, and beer was on the agenda of most of the ship’s crew and Marines, and while Ryck was not going to do any fishing, he intended to sample the food and beer before his wife arrived and he’d have other things on his mind.
“I have permission to go ashore,” Ryck told the quarterdeck watch officer, as he saluted aft to where the Federation Shield was engraved on the stern of the ship. He’d never actually seen the shield, but tradition was tradition, and salutes were required. He rushed into the waiting shuttle, sure he was the first captain to make it. To his disappointment, Donte, Drayton, and Frank were already there, taking up a row of seats. At least he was on the first shuttle.
Within a few minutes, the shuttle was full, and the hatch closed. With an almost imperceptible lurch, the shuttle detached and started the 3-minute descent to the planet’s surface.
The mood was festive as the shuttle descended. Colt 45 might not be Vegas, where Ryck had his first liberty call, but they had at least nine months ahead of them, and this might be their last chance to relax until they returned.
Once down, the four of them grabbed an autocab to Saja. While on liberty, there wasn’t any segregation by rank, at least formally. But with some sort of herd instinct, ranks somehow congregated together. Saja was a well-regarded beerhall, its micro-brewed pilsner having won more than a few awards, and this became the defacto headquarters of the O3s. [5]
The entrance was impressive, with two huge
The staff came to their feet as the colonel left the wardroom.
“Staff NCOs, I want to see you in the Chief’s mess in five,” the sergeant major called out as the staff started to file out.
Ryck clapped Hecs’ shoulder. “It sucks to be you. I’ll be a six-pack down by the time you get off the ship.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make it up tomorrow when your wife gets here,” Hecs told him as they left the wardroom, the Navy stewards standing along the bulkhead, patiently waiting for the Marines to clear out so they could begin the evening meal prep.
The FS Inchon was a Falklands Class Integrated Assault Transport. The IATs were designed to bridge the gap between putting Marines on Navy battleships and cruisers or putting them on simple, unarmed transports. During the conflict with Greater France, thousands of Marines had been killed who were nothing more than spectators. The idea was to have a ship that could carry battalion-sized Marine Expeditionary Assault Force with enough firepower to protect itself and even carry the fight to smaller naval vessels. Not everyone at the top levels was convinced that this was the way to go, but Ryck rather liked being in space with his entire battalion.
Ryck hurried down to officer’s country where he had his own, if small, stateroom. It was tiny, with barely enough room to turn around if his rack was lowered, but he was glad it was his. The colonel’s stateroom had a small office in the front, and the three majors — the XO, the Ops O, and the Flight Commander — all had slightly larger staterooms than Ryck’s, but of the captains, only the four company commanders rated their own staterooms. Drayton Miller, the S4, shared a room with two of the pilots, and Frank Lim, the chaplain, Shabah Mouldin, the surgeon, and the last pilot shared another.
Ryck threw off his skins [3] and pulled on his skivvies. He was glad that Hannah would arrive tomorrow, but that meant that this evening would be his only boys night out. Coulder 45, or “Colt 45,” was not one of the wildest military liberty planets around. There wasn’t much of the more prurient night life that many young Marines and sailors sought, but the draft beer was rumored to be the best in Federation space, and its well-stocked mountain lakes had produced more than a few UGFA [4] records. Food, fishing, and beer was on the agenda of most of the ship’s crew and Marines, and while Ryck was not going to do any fishing, he intended to sample the food and beer before his wife arrived and he’d have other things on his mind.
“I have permission to go ashore,” Ryck told the quarterdeck watch officer, as he saluted aft to where the Federation Shield was engraved on the stern of the ship. He’d never actually seen the shield, but tradition was tradition, and salutes were required. He rushed into the waiting shuttle, sure he was the first captain to make it. To his disappointment, Donte, Drayton, and Frank were already there, taking up a row of seats. At least he was on the first shuttle.
Within a few minutes, the shuttle was full, and the hatch closed. With an almost imperceptible lurch, the shuttle detached and started the 3-minute descent to the planet’s surface.
The mood was festive as the shuttle descended. Colt 45 might not be Vegas, where Ryck had his first liberty call, but they had at least nine months ahead of them, and this might be their last chance to relax until they returned.
Once down, the four of them grabbed an autocab to Saja. While on liberty, there wasn’t any segregation by rank, at least formally. But with some sort of herd instinct, ranks somehow congregated together. Saja was a well-regarded beerhall, its micro-brewed pilsner having won more than a few awards, and this became the defacto headquarters of the O3s. [5]
The entrance was impressive, with two huge
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