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

catcalls.
    “Of course I know that, Mr. Lysander.  How could you not?” she asked, turning her head to give him a peck on the cheek. 
    The onions started to make his eyes burn.  He didn’t want to let go of his wife, but for grubbing sakes, how could they all put up with that?
    He was saved by a shout of “Daddy, here!”
    “Better go see to your son, Ryck,” Hannah told him. 
    Ryck gave her once last squeeze and then moved off to where Benjamin, his Benjamin, was proudly waving a toy hammer. When Ryck had left for New Mumbai, Ben had only been five months old, and yesterday had been the first time he seemed to connect Ryck with the concept of “daddy.”  Hearing him call out like that filled Ryck with a feeling of love and pride.
    “Gamma give me!” he shouted at Ryck as he used it to hit the couch.  “Bam!”
    “Thanks a lot, ‘Gamma,’” he told his mother-in-law who had a smug-looking smile on her face.
    “A grandmother’s job be to spoil her grandchildren, Ryck,” she said.  “And since you finally brought him to meet his family, I’ve got a lot of spoilin’ saved up.”
    “You like that, little man?” he asked as he knelt next to his son.
    “Bam!” Ben said, bopping Ryck on the forehead.
    “No, no, we don’t hit people,” Ryck told him.  “It’s not nice.”
    “Bam?”
    “Not on people.”
    Ryck knew that some of his in-laws were looking forward to hear about his latest adventures—at least that is how they considered them.  And he would get to that later.  But for now, he was happy just trying to teach one small, but aggressive, boy a lesson in life. 

NEW MUMBAI
     
    Chapter 10
     
    “Happy birthday, Titus,” Ryck said as the crowd moved to the refreshments line.
    “Huh?” Titus asked.  “Oh, you mean the Army.  OK, thanks.”
    Ryck had to remember that of all armed forces in the known universe (maybe the trinoculars excluded as no one knew how they thought, much less if they celebrated anything), only the Federation Marines elevated their birthdays to such a high level.  For other militaries, there might or might not be some sort of ceremony, and if there was, it was generally low-key. 
    The anniversary of the founding of the Army of the Confederation of Free States was one such example.  Various dignitaries, including the foreign military delegations, had been invited to the Slab where a brief ceremony had taken place in the rotunda.  General of the Army Chaudhry, who had the additional rank of Imperator , the only old Roman rank the Confeds conferred, gave a five minute speech listing the historical accomplishments of the Army (which included the Trinocular War but made no mention of the Cyngi B incident) before giving over to the Second Secretary of the Confederation of Free States, who stressed the importance of a strong Army to protect the very existence of the state.  Compared to even a Marine battalion’s celebration of its patron’s old birthday, it was pretty lame, Ryck thought. 
    Still, he felt he should make some sort of effort by congratulating Titus, who seemed more interested in the snacks and drinks laid out on tables in the back of the rotunda.  He shrugged and followed the Confed major to where a sorry selection of finger foods and a red punch were waiting for them. 
    It’s just as well , Ryck thought as he ran a finger under the edge of his dress blues collar. 
    There was no getting around it.  Ryck was gaining weight.  He promised himself that he’d make an early exit and get to the gym.  Dinner would be the papaya and strawberry salad that he’d discovered in his room fabricator’s recipe bank:  450 calories and chock full of added nutrients.
    He took a quick glance at his trouser pocket, but he couldn’t make much out of the small bulge that his Bianchi made.  There’d been no further intel that anyone was still gunning for him, and Ryck hoped that if anything, the very public and well-covered ceremony two months ago where he