The Price of Honor (The United Federation Marine Corps' Grub Wars Book 2) Read online

  “Yes, sir, it was fine,” he answered, not quite knowing what his platoon commander wanted.

  “As I said, Lieutenant Singh, we don’t care about your so-called training. It’s the Klethos. With them here with you, they are in violation of UAM 12.06.14. So, let’s stop this charade.”

  “I’m not going to give you who is and who isn’t with us here, as I’m sure you know. What I do know is that you are in violation of Berkshire territory, Major.”

  “And as I said, let’s stop this charade. Under the planetary charter, either government is free to inspect the other’s territory when there is a Class A or B violation. This is a B.”

  “What’s going on, Staff Sergeant?” Hondo asked on the P2P while the two leaders were going back and forth.

  “Power play by the Brotherhood shitheads. They’re hitting all the platoons up and down the training area. The battalion CO’s on the hook for orders, so right now, we’re just trying to keep things calm. So, look like you’re about to kick their asses, but don’t get aggressive.”

  “Listen up. Those are Brotherhood host, and they’re making a political play with us and the Klucks,” Hondo passed on the squad net to his Marines. “They’re doing this up and down the training area, and the battalion CO’s waiting for orders. Staff Sergeant Callen wants us to stand behind him and the lieutenant looking fierce, but don’t do anything else.”

  “What if they fire first, Sergeant?” PFC Joseph asked.

  “If they do, we protect the lieutenant.”

  “We’re not hot,” Joseph said.

  “You’re powered up. If it comes to that, you’ll be hot, weapons free.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” the young Marine said.

  “Can it, Joseph,” Corporal Takimora, his team leader, cut in. “You heard the sergeant. We don’t start anything.”

  Joseph started to respond, and Hondo killed his mic. This wasn’t the time for arguments.

  “Let’s do it,” he passed, before cutting Joseph’s mic back on.

  The private first class took the hint and shut up as the Marines took their positions backing the platoon commander. Lieutenant Singh was spouting some sort of BS, which Hondo knew was simply to stall until they had confirmed orders.

  “Shit, that’s Conroy,” Corporal Johnson said.

  Hondo pulled up the readouts on the two PICS Marines who were already standing by the lieutenant. One was Corporal Julli-Patterson, one of the company clerks. The other PICS didn’t have a Marine listed on his readout. Hondo turned to see who it was, and the baby-face of Gilead Conroy was clearly visible through his visor.

  Gilead was a civilian armorer, not a Marine. He seemed competent enough at his job, but without a shred of doubt, he was not qualified, nor cleared, to be in a PICS in what could be a confrontation. Lieutenant Singh had to think this was an extraordinary situation to have approved that.

  That realization hit Hondo hard. This was something bigger than he’d assumed. There’d been posturing even before the Brotherhood pulled out of the UAM task force, and it had gotten worse, but it had not devolved into a hot conflict . . . yet. He turned his attention to the Brotherhood major.

  “I’m willing to stand here all day, if it is necessary,” the Brotherhood officer said.

  “And I repeat, sir, that this is in violation of Federation integrity. You are on Federation soil,” the lieutenant answered.

  “And as I will repeat, we are here as provided by UAM 12.06.14, which give us the authority to be here.”

  “The best I can tell, even if that is pertinent here, that only allows you to ascertain if there are Klethos on this world. I’m sure you have us on orbital surveillance to be able to determine that.”

  “With this weather?” the major said, spreading his arms as if to encompass the area. “You give us credit for more capabilities than we actually possess.”

  “Bullshit,” Wolf passed through the P2P.

  “Steady,” Hondo told him.

  It was bullshit, though. Brotherhood surveillance was probably the best in human space. A little snow couldn’t defeat it. The lieutenant wasn’t admitting that there were Klethos on the planet, but the Brotherhood would know for certain that they were there. Heck, that was one of the reasons the battalion was training along the border, to remind them of the threat and what was being done to combat it.

  None of the host on the ground looked to have much that could threaten a Marine in a PICS. That didn’t mean they didn’t have anything—the Malakh was more than powerful enough to take on PICS Marines. Hondo pulled up the threat brief, noting the vehicle’s weaknesses. There weren’t many. While not the equal of a Marine Aardwolf, nor a Brotherhood Magen, for that matter, it still packed a powerful punch. Its armor was impressive, as well. Facing the Marines, its more vulnerable rear was protected.

  Hondo pushed the threat brief to the rest of the squad. If anything did go down, they needed to be ready.

  The major was talking again, pushing the UAM rule, when Hondo’s proximity warning lit his display.

  There’s no way Cara made it this quickly, he told himself as he queried the approaching force.

  Only it wasn’t Second Squad making it back to camp. To his surprise, it was the 12 Klethos, closing in fast.

  The Klethos weren’t billeted in their small camp. They had their own area 50 klicks away, but they were heading toward the Marines.

  “Lieutenant, we’ve got the Klethos arriving in camp,” he passed to the lieutenant, knowing his commander’s PA wouldn’t have the same range as his own PICS’ array.

  The lieutenant stopped mid-sentence and almost turned to face him before gathering himself.

  “What the hell are you talking about, McKeever?”

  “They’re here. Or almost. Five minutes, tops.”

  “Son of a bitch. I told them to go back to their camp. What the hell are they doing back here?”

  The original plan was that after the engagement, all hands would return together to the Marine camp for the debrief, but the lieutenant had specifically told them to go back to their camp. Hondo told his AI to run the recording, and sure enough, the platoon commander had said, “I repeat, all hands, human and Klethos, cease training and return to your camps immediately.”

  “I think they misunderstood, sir,” Hondo passed.

  “No shit, Sergeant.”

  “It was the original plan, sir,” Staff Sergeant Callen said. “You know how the Klucks are. I bet they’re just going with that.”

  “And now we’re screwed.”

  “Is there something wrong, Lieutenant?” the Brotherhood major called out. “You were saying?”

  “I was saying that I think it’s time for you to leave, sir. You’ve duly made your point. Those much higher on the ladder will take over. We’re just the tools to get the conversation going.”

  The major gave the lieutenant a piercing stare while Hondo willed him to take his host and leave. For a moment, he thought the major would do that, but suddenly, he spun around and looked at the Malakh.

  That’s it. The Malakh picked up the Klucks, too.

  The major turned back, a broad smile visible under his goggles.

  “No, I think we’re going to stay, Lieutenant.”

  “McKeever, send someone to stop the Klethos. I don’t want them in this camp,” Lieutenant Singh passed on the P2P.

  “Roger that,” he replied, then passed, “Wolf, go stop the Klucks. Tell them to go back to their own camp.”

  The corporal stepped back, then broke into a run, heading for the Klethos.

  “Is your Marine going somewhere. Lieutenant?” the major asked, satisfaction dripping from his voice.

  “I thought you said to cut the charade, sir.”

  “So I did, so I did.”

  “What now, sir?” Hondo asked on the platoon command net.

  “We see if Corporal Johnson can stop the Klethos. I’ve just given them the same command, but they’re not responding.”

&nb
sp; Hondo had both respect and disdain for their allies. On the one hand, they were fantastic warriors, never expressing fear, and tough as nails. Without being in a PICS, no Marine could stand up to one and win. On the other hand, their tactics were rudimentary at best, and they had a habit of shirking from technology. Credits to doughnuts, they’d turned off their communicators.

  There was a subtle shift in the 30 host who faced them. They were now half-oriented to the approach the Klethos would take if they entered the camp.

  “Weapons hot, Sergeant McKeever,” the lieutenant passed on the P2P.

  There was the slightest surge as his magazines locked into the feed slots. Around him, he could sense more than see his Marines as their focus intensified.

  “Lance Corporal Haus, watch Pickerul,” he told the senior Marine in First Fire Team now that Wolf was gone.

  Pickerul’s pulse was racing. For a brief moment, Hondo considered taking her cold, but if it did come down to a fight, he couldn’t leave a Marine unprotected.

  The Malakh’s five-kilojoule GET-70 powered up and swung to cover the Marines. The armored vehicle had picked up the PICS going hot. Things were escalating, and Hondo felt as if they were losing control of the situation.

  “Easy, Marines,” the lieutenant passed.

  All pretense gone, neither he nor the major were speaking to each other. This was about the Klethos, as it had been from the beginning. They were all waiting to see that would happen.

  And that didn’t make sense to him. If they really wanted to “arrest” the Klethos, not that Hondo thought they had the authority, why send only 30 host to face 15 PICS Marines, 16 if they counted Gilead? Sure, they had the Malakh, and it could cause damage, but there were too many PICS for it to succeed. They had to be assuming that the Marines wouldn’t risk an incident.

  Bad assumption, he told himself.

  But they could be right. As far as he knew, the battalion CO hadn’t received any orders as how to proceed. The Federation leadership might decide that the sacrifice of a couple of hundred Klethos was a price they were willing to pay. They could negotiate their return later when things cooled down.

  Hondo was watching the progress of the Klethos. They stopped when Wolf reached them, and he let out a sigh of relief.

  Too soon.

  A minute later, Johnson started back along with a single Klethos.

  “What are you doing?” he asked the corporal.

  “The leader wants to see the lieutenant. I can’t stop her.”

  “Get her to turn on her damn comms!” Hondo said. “The lieutenant’ll tell her.”

  “She won’t do it. She says she has to see him face-to-face.”

  “Sir—” Hondo started, when the lieutenant stopped him.

  “I see it. Tell Corporal Johnson to get that Kluck to turn on her comms.”

  “I did, sir, but she won’t do it. She wants to see you.”

  The Klethos could be stubborn—no, not could be stubborn, were stubborn. If the Klethos squad leader decided that she had to come in, she was going to come in or die trying.

  There was a pause, then the lieutenant got on the hook with the team leader, linking in Hondo. “Corporal Johnson, go back to the other Klethos. No matter what, they are not to approach the camp.”

  “What about the leader?” Staff Sergeant Gary Callen, the platoon sergeant, asked, also listening in.

  “Not much we can do about her now, so the key is to keep the rest out of the way.”

  “Nothing from battalion?”

  “Nothing new. Just keep the situation from escalating.”

  Everyone, Marine and host alike, settled into silence as they watched the Klethos’ avatar approach their position. Hondo peered into the still-falling snow to spot her.

  Which isn’t my job, he reminded himself.

  “First Squad, focus on the Brotherhood host, not the Kluck,” he passed. “All Mod Threes, your only target is the Malakh if things go to shit. Hopefully, they won’t, but we need to be prepared. If something goes down, Corporal Ling, take your team and get in back of the Malakh. The rest of us, keep the host ground-pounders occupied.

  “Doc, you and Gilead get the lieutenant and the staff sergeant out of danger if rounds start flying,” he passed, keying the civilian into the circuit.

  “That’s not going to happen,” Staff Sergeant Callen passed.

  Hondo rolled his eyes. He should have figured the platoon sergeant was monitoring the squad net. He wasn’t surprised that Callen wouldn’t leave—the man was a certified hard-ass—but neither he nor the lieutenant were in PICS, and they’d be cut down in a second by the Malakh.

  “Ignore that, Doc. Just get them out of here,” he passed on the private P2P.

  Hondo tried to think of anything else he could do in preparation. Without an operations order, this was all on the fly. If it came to a fight, he’d have to rely on the training to get them through it.

  “Here she comes,” Corporal Ling passed.

  Loping along on her ostrich-like legs, the Klethos warrior emerged from the snow, an apparition from instinctual nightmares. She never even glanced at the assembled host as she ran up to the lieutenant.

  “Why did you stop us?” she asked the lieutenant, barely audible.

  Hondo turned up his gain to hear.

  “We have a situation here, and I want you to go back to your squad.”

  “We have the debrief of our engagement to attend.”

  “Later,” the lieutenant said, his voice calm as if reasoning with a child. “We will do that later.”

  “That is not the schedule,” she insisted. “We are here now.”

  Oh, come on. Can’t you see that now is not the time to be hidebound?

  “Lieutenant Singh, unless I am somehow mistaken, I believe that is a Klethos soldier standing there,” the Brotherhood major said, sarcasm heavy in his tone. “As you are in violation of UAM 12.06, subparagraph 14 gives me the authority to take the spawn into custody. If you’ll step aside?”

  Four host took a few paces forward, ready to approach the Klethos.

  “No, I will not step aside. I do not recognize that 12.06 applies here, and until our own SJA weighs in with the contrary, I will not allow you to take any action here on Federation soil.”

  The lieutenant turned back to the Klethos and said, “If you will return to your squad, we will debrief later.”

  “It’s not going anywhere,” the major said.

  The Klethos slowly turned around, for the first time looking at the Brotherhood host. She seemed to contemplate them for a moment, then with a human-like shrug of all four of her shoulders, seemed to dismiss them.

  “We will return for the debrief,” she said, and without another word, started to run off.

  “Stop!” the major shouted, and the four host who’d stepped forward moved to intercept the Klethos.

  “Sergeant McKeever—” the lieutenant started to yell, when a shot rang out.

  An instant later, the camp was filled with fire.

  “Ling, go!” Hondo shouted as he fired his M90, sending hundreds of hypervelocity darts into the host, who had almost to a man taken the Klethos under fire.

  The Brotherhood personal armor was good, impervious to the standard-issue M99, but the PICS’ M90 packed more of a punch, and several of them fell.

  With a blast of ionized air, the Malakh opened up. Hondo didn’t have time to see if anyone was hit as he charged forward to protect the Klethos. She staggered under the onslaught of fire, but with a tremendous leap, she was in among the host, kicking and swinging with what looked to be a small knife.

  Under normal combat conditions, the Klethos would be able to suppress human weapons, and armed with both her own rifles and sword, she’d be almost invincible. This was a training scenario, however, and she’d been stripped of her capabilities so as to minimize the potential for accidents.

  Still, she managed to drop three of them with the small knife she wielded. All of the host seemed to be focu
sed on bringing her down, which was a fatal mistake. Ling’s Third Team was trying to flank the Malakh, but that left two teams to rake the host with darts, grenades, and shoulder rockets. At least a dozen were down before the Klethos finally fell.

  With her KIA, Hondo paused to find out the lieutenant’s orders, but to his shock, he and the platoon sergeant were down, killed by the Malakh’s first shot. The personnel carrier fired again, taking out Doc and Julli-Patterson.

  Hondo was now the senior Marine. He stood back a second to get a grasp of the situation. Corporal Ling and his team were racing around to the right. Haus was down, his avatar greyed out. That left him with eight Marines, including himself—nine, if he counted Gilead—to face about 15 host and the Malakh and keep them occupied while Ling got into position.

  He fired his shoulder rockets at the Malakh, knowing they probably wouldn’t penetrate the frontal armor, but hoping it would catch the crew’s attention.

  “Push forward, First and Second,” he ordered. “Get in the mix with them.”

  On foot or not, the host soldiers had weapons that could take down a PICS, but none were as effective as the Malakh’s big GET-70. If the Marines were intermixed with the host, the Malakh crew couldn’t fire at them without killing their own side.

  Something hit him in the left arm, and lights flashed on his display. The arm, and the attached M90, was out of commission. He didn’t pause but continued into the host. He didn’t need the M90 at this range; his right fist was more than enough against ground troops. He swung at one soldier, who ducked to the ground under the swing. Hondo tried to step on him, but the man managed to roll out of the way.

  He might not have his M90, but his shoulder rockets were still functional. He initiated the magazine switch-out as he spun around, making sure no one was on him.

  A surprised host soldier jumped back, a limpet in his hand. A limpet was used for breaching bunkers and buildings, and it would have done a number on him if the soldier had managed to place it on his PICS. As the man backpedaled, Hondo took a PICS-sized stride forward and swung his right arm, his gauntlet almost knocking the man’s head off his shoulder.

  His display lit up with yet another energy blast, surprising him. He pulled up the trace, and he realized his mistake. By intermixing with the host, that left the Malakh only one target: Corporal Ling’s team. Lance Corporal Weinstein, with the Weapons Pack 3’s Chimera, was down hard.