Jethro: First to Fight (53 page)

“Then I'll be a shooter. A Marine. If
you'll have me sir,” he said turning to the Major. He came to attention.

“You'll be in good company lad, we've
got a class coming together. Several of them forming. One is made up of native
Agnostan's like yourself. But being a Marine is hard.”

“You haven't sailed a ship then,” the
Captain said, barking a laugh. He eyed the lad. “You really going to do this
Joe?”

“I can do it sir.”

“If he can get through boot he can
always put in for a transfer to the navy later once he passes quals. We'll see.
We'll give you the same chance as everyone else. You pass the test and we'll
sign you on. Fair?” the Major asked, holding his hand out.

“Fair sir,” the lad said, taking the
hand and pumping it three times. He smiled a gap tooth smile.

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

The recruiting stations around the
planet opened on Agnosta after their sixth week on their new home. Most of the
recruits were raw untrained boys looking to do something other than be a farmer
or lumberjack or fisherman. They wanted to step out, not follow in the same
worn track as their ancestors had done.

Their education and health standards
were severely lacking so he Major had the Gunny form a preboot class to train
the recruits up to the very minimal standards. Major Forth wasn't surprised
that the grim lad Joe was not only in the class, but he was doing well.

Gunny Schultz was put out by the change
in plan and quality of the recruits, but he shut up and soldiered on grimly.

 ...*...*...*...*...

Jethro was present peripherally when the
delegates arrived from the civilian population centers. Jim, Chumly, and George
Custard were the leaders, having the most experience with the military
personnel.

They toured the island, admired the
changes and the progress the military had made. They were very admirable of the
navy hospital. The Major met them and promised support when the base was
completed.

“You mean it's not finished now?” A
woman asked, looking around.

“Oh no ma'am, we'll be building the base
for years. This is a temporary fire base. We will formalize it, build it up,
and expand on it later.”

The Agnostan's looked around. There were
sand bag structures everywhere. Many of the towers were covered with sand bags.
The towers and other structures were made out of local logs with log and sand
bag roofs. There was concertina wire on the perimeter. Stakes with claymore
anti-personnel mines and bags of napalm were strategically spaced every ten
meters apart just inside the wire. On the other side of the wire was a shallow
trench, the dirt dug from that trench formed the berm the coils of concertina
wire sat on. The woman looked down at a fire pit with a mortar in it. The
mortar looked like a piece of pipe angled up with two supporting legs and a
massive base plate. “Plumbing project?” she asked.

“No ma'am, short range artillery,” the
guide explained with a wave.

“Oh,” she replied, blinking in surprise.

“Why the stakes?” a farmer asked. He
pointed to the stakes with bits of cloth and numbers on them arranged in rows
outside the perimeter.

“Range stakes sir. They let the mortar
and fire support crews know where to fire.”

“Oh. It looks like you boys are ready
for war. I hope you let us know if something's going to happen,” the farmer
said.

“Well sir, it's partially in case of
attack yes, but it's also good training. See our people are from Pyrax. Well
most of them, a few hundred are from Gaston and other colonies.”

“I see. I heard a couple of our boys
hopped a ship or two and headed to Pyrax to join you. A couple on that ship
Destiny and a few on another ship that passed through after.”

“Yes sir. We thank you for them.”

“Don't thank me, wasn't my kin,” the
farmer said gruffly. “You were saying?”

“Yes, well, a lot of our people are
green. So this is training for them. Now they know how to do it, so when they
go to other worlds, they can set something like this up.”

“Ah. I see now,” the farmer replied
nodding.

“Not every world is going to be as nice
as Agnosta. We've gotten word that the pirates have invaded several worlds. We
will eventually be sent in to take those worlds back.”

The farmer studied the Marines slowly,
then looked around. Slowly he tipped his hat back and nodded. “I reckon you're
right. And I reckon I'll be damn proud of you boys for doing that. If no one
says it, I damn sure will. Thank you.”

“We'll do our best to get the job done
and free as many people as we can.”

“You do that. And do us all a favor, come
back alive,” the woman said nodding.

“We'll certainly try ma'am,” the guide
murmured softly. “We'll certainly try.”

 ...*...*...*...*...

“So, you guys are into military
equipment.”

“Yes, we are the military.”

“All new though. I don't suppose you'd
be interested in antiques would you?” Jim asked, waving to the barn.

“It depends on what you had in mind,”
Ris'ha replied, slithering in behind the human. He looked around with his
multiple eyes, noting the holes in the roof, the birds in the rafters above, and
the cobwebs. Everywhere cobwebs, dust, and tarps. There were rows of vehicles
there, some he wasn't sure about. But in the back he noted a figure standing
up. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked slowly, staring.

“Want to trade? There are a lot more where
that came from. A lot more,” Jim said proudly. “I can hook you up for some
injector parts for my Heely.”

“Deal.”

 ...*...*...*...*...

“Major,” Private Eric “Lurch” Sedge said
coming to the door and rapping on the frame.

“Yes?” the Major asked mildly, not
looking up.

“We've just received a call from the
mainland. Someone wants to do a trade.”

“Do they now?” the Major asked, sounding
disinterested. “What, they want a replicator?”

“As a matter of fact yes,” the Private
said.

“Yeah right,” the Major replied with a
sniff. This was their third 'trade request' since they had landed. “And just
what do they have in trade?” He turned in his chair, sitting back and staring
at the tablet in his hands. He turned just enough to block the sunlight coming
in from the window behind him, thus reducing the glare.

“Suits and military equipment. And
vehicles, sir” the Private said, now excited.

That got the Major's attention. He
turned and cocked his head. The Private nodded, smiling. “You aren't serious.”

“Yes sir. Someone, a Private collector
has been picking up pieces for decades. He died a few years ago and it's all
been stuck. And sir, one of those vehicle people remembered and called Ris'ha
who called me. ”

“How much?”

“According to the reports, about two
dozen suits, maybe more.”

“Damn!”

“Plus some army tanks and a few other
things. But everything's just been collecting crud and dust for centuries sir.
They used some of the vehicles, apparently someone turned one of the tanks into
a dozer until it broke down, but it's quite a haul. If we want it.”

“And they want a replicator?”

“I've got a list here,” the Private
said, holding up a chip.

“Gimme,” the Major said, dropping his
tablet and holding his hand up.

 ...*...*...*...*...

“How are we doing?” Riley asked his
apprentice, back to the Tauren as he worked at the counter. He'd come a long
way, he trusted Ox to work without supervision. The Tauren was as good as he
was with a wrench. Better in some ways, he had a level of patience the older
human armorer lacked sometimes. But he did have issues with tight spaces and
his big hands.

“Almost got it,” the Tauren said, using
a wire brush to clean muck away from the exposed knee joint. They now had
another two dozen suits of various makes and models. Riley had pronounced them
all repairable, with a bit of work and TLC. That remained to be seen. The good
news was someone had practically coated some of the joints in axle grease. That
had kept the metal from rusting, preventing exposure to air over the past seven
centuries.

“Damn it, bent,” the armorer sighed,
tossing the part he had been working on away. It was part of the shoulder
assembly to the suit. It clattered on the counter noisily.

“Bent?”

“Yes, and the threads were crossed so I
need to retap them. But the bend has everything messed up. I'm not sure if it's
worth getting it straight,” he said, shaking his head. “Probably should replace
it,” he mumbled.

“Is that the one the collector didn't
want to part with?” Ox asked, still working on the joint. He picked up a seal
puller and used the half circle end to slip in behind the seal and then
leveraged it out of the hole. It crumbled as it fell into his hands. He
frowned, running it between his fingers. “Seals are bad.”

“They all are. And yeah, this is the
one. Once the guy knew it was radioactive he practically paid us to get rid of
it,” Riley said.

“Radioactive?” The Tauren asked, looking
up in concern. Spacers were ever aware of the dangers of radioactivity.

“Only a couple of rems. What's a couple
of rems between friends?” Riley asked with a wink. The Tauren snorted. “I've
already run it through a decontamination cycle. It's good now. Once we've
broken her down we'll do it again to all the parts before we put her back
together.”

“Ah.”

“What's the bearing trace look like?”

The Tauren studied it for a moment,
using his enhanced sight and sense of touch to feel the cylinders. “Good, but
some of the bearings have pitting and wear. I'm going to pull it and do a
swap.”

“Save the old, we can rebuild. And
you'll need the trace.”

“I know,” Ox said. He used the tool to
pop the one centimeter thick bearing assembly out. Three tugs and it was out.
“Well, that was easy,” he said in surprise.

“With the right tools it usually is.”

Ox looked the bearings over then checked
the two centimeter long motor shaft. There was a bit of wear on the area where
the bearings had touched, but not as much as he had thought there would be.
“Axle needs cleaning.”

“So? Clean it!”

“Doing that. I'm going to replace the
bearing in a minute.”

“Got the spare already there for you,”
Riley said, waving a hand to the part as he wiped his hands clean with a rag.
“Two dozen suits, four jeeps, two tanks, one SAM unit, a couple of ancient Ma
deuces, a dozer, one engineering truck, a fire truck, and a hundred tons of
surplus weapons and gear. Some of it in crates but most of it all tore up. Not
a bad haul. What'd we trade for it? My first born?”

“I thought you gave that up when you saw
Jethro's suit?” the Tauren teased.

“No, but I'd just about wanted to when I
saw it. Fortunately no one demanded it,” the Sergeant replied with a snort.

“A replicator, some MRE's, solar panels,
radios, survival gear, a couple engineering projects, and some credits. Oh, and
a couple flights on a shuttle to orbit and a tour of the base,” the Tauren
said.

“Shit, that all?” the armorer demanded.
“That's cheap!” He shook his head. “I would have insisted on a case of whiskey
and a stack of porno to go with it!”

The Tauren chuckled, still focused on
cleaning the axle. When he had it down to bare metal again he did a quick spray
paint to clean up any last pitting. The paint was a nanite polymer, it filled
in the microscopic gaps in the finish of the metal, making it incredibly
smooth.

He turned his attention to the new
bearing assembly. He checked it over carefully before he installed it. Riley
had slipped him an old part once to check him and make him double check his
parts
before
he installed them. When it passed inspection he carefully
put the assembly in the hole.

“Here,” Riley said, taking the old
bearing trace and handing it to him. “Put it over the new one then tap her
home.”

“I know,” the Tauren said. He used a
deadblow to tap the assembly in gently, tapping all around the race guide as he
went to keep it even. When he heard the sound of metal on metal contact change
he stopped. He pulled the old trace guide away and then rubbed grease over the
bearing, lubing it up. He had to use a brush, he couldn't get his massive
fingers in the small hole.

Once he was done with that he put the new
seal in, tapped that in as he had before, then carefully picked up the motor.
The motor was a centimeter thick at its center, but it tapered to less than two
millimeters thick on the edges. There were three connections, one for the
hydraulic line, one for the wiring harness, and a third for the controls.

He slipped the spline on the axle
carefully over the bearings, being careful not to touch them and scuff up the
bearings or the splines. Gently he turned and pushed on the motor until the
splines locked into the gear that was built into the lower calf frame. When he
was locked in he nodded. He turned the motor axle freehand and watched the calf
move.