Jethro: First to Fight (38 page)

There had been some scuttlebutt about
some high level discussion before the brass had gone through with the
accelerated program. Apparently they needed more noncoms to take the new meat
under their wings and to expand the squads into platoons. He received an e-mail
a few moments later. When he opened it his jaw practically dropped. His test
had been moved up to tomorrow. Great. He could hear people cursing as they
scrambled to get ready.

...*...*...*...*...

Jethro was rather nervous a day after
the exams, but he had passed the board exams with mostly flying colors. The
practical he knew by heart, he could do that in his sleep. It was the written
portions of the next exam cycle that had his stomach tied in knots. That and
what came after that, the DI test later in the week. He firmly regretted taking
on so much now. He'd done it out of ambition, a sense of boredom, and because
he wanted the challenge. The heavy class load had interfered with his squad
training, but it had been exhilarating. He had gained an insight into noncom
command as well as the minds of the Drill Instructors. Hopefully it would help
him cope with the incoming meats they would soon be getting. He didn't know why
the Gunny had insisted he take on the double class load, but he had proven to
himself that he could handle the class work.

Sergeant Brenet wasn't happy about
passing them on so quickly. He seemed harried, tired, and more than a little
grumpy. Having dozens of potential noncoms asking what was on the test was a
pain in the ass he hadn't expected. The change in plan forced the instructor to
dump a preparation document on his class, and then a practice exam.

They went over the quick exam near the
end of the class, getting chased out by the next class coming in. Jethro like a
few of the other enlisted took to their racks to study the prep document.

Jethro completed the DI course and
passed the final exam with an low A, he still had issues with the written
portion of the exams. It was a grueling experience, not nearly as bad as F
platoon since it was only for a week but still not easy. The attention to
detail and zero defect mentality he could deal with, but some of the more
finicky bits were harder to manage.

He found he could project command
presence since he was a predator, that was easy once he got over his qualms. He
knew his throat would feel raw after a couple of hours of shouting, even with
his implants. Apparently some of the DI's kept water or throat spray handy, to
stave off laryngitis.

Teaching recruits to preface everything
they said with 'Drill Instructor', teaching them to speak only when spoken to,
all the little mind games and cussing to take pot shots at someone's ego, it
had seemed petty and cruel in boot. Sadistic, a way to beat down the boots. Now
he understood the psychology, it really was true, to beat them down, but it was
never personal. It was all to get the recruits to the proper frame of mind, to
break them down in order to build them back up into superior Marines.

The various stats, it annoyed him to
have to learn some of what he'd learned in the classroom. Granted it was one
thing to get a download, too often people weren't bothering to access the
information. But he had. Having to memorize the MPFT standards for each species
for instance... that had been a stupid waste of time.

Teaching boots about the importance of a
battle buddy, how to get them to check their partner before a formation, make
sure that both knew that they needed to rely on each other. Make sure that they
both didn't forget to keep an eye on each other, to not loose or forget
equipment... he shook his head.

The gas chamber was something new and
interesting. F platoon had gone vacuum early on, only one or two other platoons
had done it as well. The others had worked on their formation marching or class
work while their compatriots had hit the high notes of some of the advanced
courses. Apparently the gas chamber and an introduction to skinsuits were going
to be part of the syllabus. That was good.

He wasn't looking forward to the
experience though, each boot had to take his mask off in atmo and state their
name, rank and serial number without being exposed to the atmo, tear gas. What
they didn't know was that they wanted the recruits to be exposed, so they knew
what would happen to them and how to deal with it. Once each passed the first
stage they had to go back through the platoon and make them take off their mask
and then talk until they were exposed enough to the gas to react, then they had
to put their helmets or gas masks back on and clear themselves.

That was going to be a snotty mucus
filled fun day. He reminded himself to put tissues in his pockets in case Gunny
got sadistic and had him exposed as well.

There was a lot of crap he had known,
stuff he hadn't. Keeping hydrated, avoid drinking seawater, spot dehydrated
boots, how to create a Dagwood sandwich and eat it rapidly, using Military mash
potatoes as glue... he shook his head. The squeamish didn't want to see a
carnivore like him eat.

The ASVAB, the Armed Services Vocational
Aptitude Battery. The basics of his Pocket DI instruction Guide. Why they had
boots 'toe the line' every evening. Making sure he was squared away he already
knew. How to recognize contraband, fraternization, and hazing... he shook his
head, ears flat.

Honor, Courage, Commitment. Getting them
to not only see but live to those ideals. Getting boots to not only find the
sentry orders, Marine Hymn, Code of Conduct, Military acronyms, the history of
the corps, Naval jargon, and details of their personal weapon in their
implants, but also to know it by heart.

Asazi had been right, there was a lot of
chickenshit to pack into their implant memory. But fortunately Staff Sergeant
Jefferson had been his instructor. He had peppered his lectures with plenty of stuff
he'd put F platoon through, so they could easily relate. Sometimes they'd
relaxed and exchanged stories along with the psychology and reasoning behind
why things were done.

When he finished the DI course he took the
advanced Noncom course under Staff Sergeant Brenet. He'd learned things about
ethics, integrity, why it was important not to spin doctor reports, how to
create a 'command climate'. It all sounded like a bunch of crap until he
thought about it.

Leading by example, looking over a
person's shoulder versus teaching, innovating, and accomplishing the mission. A
lot of the material he knew, he'd picked it up from watching the recordings of
Tobias and from watching Gunny. Some he'd picked up from Lieutenant Valenko.
For instance, knowing that every soldier made mistakes, and if it was an error
of omission that was okay, you just proscribed extra training to make certain
it didn't happen again.

But, if it was an error of commission, a
deliberate error, you landed on it with both feet with punishment, going so far
as an article 15 or drawing an article 32.

A noncom exhibited the core qualities of
compassion, courage, commitment, competence, and candor. They challenged
people, making them feel like they're making a difference while making them
feel good about being in the unit. Leadership by example was much emphasized.
Discipline, cohesion, motivation, consistency, and fair play were mentioned.

Enforcing the ethics of appearance,
conduct, supervising the maintenance and upkeep of equipment, the living area,
and workplace. All of that instilled discipline. It also showed the troops that
they were being taken care of.

Self discipline and trust with a job
without supervision taught troops and motivated them. Even something as simple
as the Reveille flag ceremony could instill confidence in someone. It was the
little things that led to the bigger things.

Learning to accept full responsibility
for success or failure of men under your command... he frowned. He didn't like the
idea of getting it in the ass if some pissant screwed the pooch, but he'd damn
well make sure that any shit that came down on him he'd pass on to them as
well... He still was unsure on how to handle something like that. On the one
hand the guide said to not... he shook his head and moved on.

He smiled at the idea of the induction
ceremony, the wetting down ceremony. How it was a rite of passage, not hazing.
He'd cheated twice, when he'd gotten his blood stripe to Lance and then full
corporal. Asazi and Ox had both squeaked in under the radar as well. He made a
note to fix that the next time it came up.

The NCO duty list was a bit daunting,
but he had it memorized. The chain of command he kept updated in his implants,
that was automatic. The NCO support channel was something new, he'd heard
mention of it by Tobias, but he'd never known he'd been using it when he talked
to Gunny. IT was supposed to go up to the platoon Sergeant and higher if
necessary.

Training wasn't truly a punishment, it
was the proper method to correct deficiencies and improve performance. It was
also a way to get your point across, get it right or you'd keep doing it until
you did. He remembered boot. He remembered a boot who had screwed up on keeping
his C-42 clean and Gunny had made him clean every weapon of the platoon. At
first he'd thought of it as a punishment and a reward, a punishment for the kid
who couldn't get it together, and a reward for those who could. Now he saw it
through new eyes. It had yes punished him, but it had given him an opportunity
to learn to do it right over and over again until he could do it in his sleep.

The soldiers creed... he did make a
point of the story about making specialists learn tools and weapons they
normally didn't train on. For instance their medic Petty Officer Gusterson. The
greyhound hated his weapon, preferring his kit. But he'd at least learned to
use and keep his C-42 clean. He'd have to remember to get on the medic about
learning other things too. It might come down to saving his life or the squad.

Leadership under fire, combat loading,
training for the unexpected... problem solving and counseling had been a good
day. He had been a bit confused about its importance, but it was a part of
being a good NCO. Recognizing soldiers with problems and under stress... some
of the NCO training had crossed over with what he'd learned in DI school.

For his effort he was promoted to
Sergeant E-5 on the first of the month. The Gunny wasn't there to let him know,
nor was Lieutenant Valenko. He'd found out via e-mail. No 'wetting down'
ceremony, he went down to the BX and picked up his new stripes after his IFF
updated itself.

He'd come back to find a grinning
gauntlet waiting him. He winced, knowing what was coming. Recently the Marines
had found out about the old hazing rituals. One was coming back with a
vengeance, the gauntlet. He was just glad he hadn't had to go through with it
when he'd gotten his Corporal stripe.

He had to walk through the troop bay.
Enlisted lined the bay, they would each punch the stripe as hard as they could.
When he got to the end he was done. Had they done this when he had gotten his
Corporal stripe they would have kneed him in the blood stripe on his thighs as
well.

He set his shoulders, took a deep breath
and then glared at a grinning Sergei. The liger was pounding a fist into
another hand. “I've so been waiting for this,” Sergei said.

“Right,” Jethro sighed, moving forward.
“Let's get this over with.”

“Hang on a sec, gotta do this right,”
Hurranna said, taking the bag from his hand. She pulled out the stripes and
then handed them to a familiar paw. Jethro turned to see Valenko there,
blocking the light from the doorway.

“Officer on the deck!” Jethro barked,
coming to attention.

Valenko snorted softly. He held the rank
tabs up. “Jethro Mclintock of the Anvil cat clan, the Marine corps hereby
promotes you from Corporal to Sergeant. Wear them in good health,” he rumbled,
slapping the stripes onto the velcro on either side of Jethro's shoulders.

“Thank you sir,” Jethro said. Valenko
patted him on the arms again, a little harder than was strictly necessary.

“Good work. Carry on,” Valenko rumbled,
turning about. “You've got a day to recover. Enjoy it,” he rumbled with a
laugh, then he was gone.

Jethro turned to see the long line or enlisted.
Somehow it had gotten even longer. And some of the Marines didn't even belong
there, a few he recognized from F platoon, a few from Recon, but a couple were
faces of people he'd kicked ass in sims. He gulped. “Oh this is so going to
hurt,” he grumbled. The assembly laughed.

...*...*...*...*...

Nursing bruised biceps he shook his
head, wondering where that particular tradition had come from and why they had
revived it. The only thing he had to look forward to was paying someone back
later on. After all, what came around goes around.

Fortunately, his implants and modern
medicine reduced his recovery time from several days to one day. He'd be fine
in the morning. For now he wasn't going to move his arms if he could help it.
They felt like lead weights. He'd dialed the pain down to something manageable.

He didn't have much to do, just rack out
and let his body heal. He checked the records since he had nothing better to do
and was bored. He found out that Schultz was an E-9 but still insisted on being
called Gunny. It was a tradition the Doberman clung to. He was also clinging to
the squad Jethro realized with a heavy heart. An E-9, a first Sergeant
shouldn't be running a squad, he should be running the enlisted in a regiment.