Federation Marine 3: Lieutenant by Jonathan P. Brazee

Author:Jonathan P. Brazee [Brazee, Jonathan P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Variant Publications
Published: 2023-12-17T00:00:00+00:00

14

ALEXANDER

Ryck stood in the office, looking at the photos on the wall. There were Marines in small groups, on underwater sleds, in re-entry pods (Ryck knew they were referred to as “duck eggs”), airborne on powered wings, and firing all sorts of exotic weapons. This was high-speed, low-drag stuff. Despite himself, Ryck was impressed.

“Hey, Ryck, sorry I’m late. I was out on a run when you got here,” Captain Bertrand Nidishchii’ said, coming through the hatch. “Pull up a chair.”

Bert looked good, Ryck thought. He was in running tights and a form-fitting shirt, and to Ryck’s eyes, there was no sign of the injuries that had put the captain in regen for almost two years.

“You need anything to drink?” Bert asked while reaching in his small reefer to pull out a Kick Ass.

“No thanks,” Ryck started automatically, then, “No, wait a minute, yeah, maybe I can use one.”

The captain tossed his Kick Ass to Ryck, and then grabbed another for himself before sitting down and looking across the office at his former sergeant.

“So, how’re you holding up?” he asked Ryck.

This could be a simple question about his regen status, but Ryck knew what the captain had meant.

“Not much better. We cam about once a week or so, but only for small talk—how’s my regen, things like that.”

“I wish I could say something about that, but I’m at a loss. I hope she comes around. She’s an intelligent woman, but she doesn’t seem smart enough to know you two need to be together,” Bert said.

Ryck had needed a shoulder during regen, and not the chaplain or the Navy psychs. Not his fellow lieutenants, either. They were all fine, but he needed someone out of his chain, out of his unit. Captain Nidishchii’ had been through two regens himself, so he had a personal feel for the stress that created in a man. The fact that Ryck had saved his life was not a small factor, either. They had fought and bled together, and that created a strong bond.

At some point, the captain became more than a mentor to Ryck. He had become a friend, and with Joshua gone, Ryck thought that Bert might be his closest friend, the one in whom he could confide.

“Hey, Warpath, we’ve got the reports . . . oh, sorry. Didn’t know you had company,” another Marine in PT gear said after sticking his head in the door.

Bert held up a hand and said, “Leave it on Grease’s desk. I’ll get to it in a bit.”

“‘Warpath?” Ryck asked, raising his eyebrows after the Marine had closed the door behind him.

Ryck knew that in recon, it was the norm that each recon Marine went by a nickname, but “Warpath”? For a Navajo?

Bert, or “Warpath,” looked down and laughed before saying, “Well, you know how it is. Almost none of our names are PC, and most are not very complimentary, to be honest. But you get what you get, so I could have done worse.”

“You like it here? I mean in recon?” Ryck asked.

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