Jethro: First to Fight (57 page)

“When I trained on Anvil, we had to do
this in virtual, which didn't work out as well as some had hoped. It all
blended together, you really couldn't get a fix on things, you had to trust the
implants guiding you. But here, here things are different.”

“Here you will train to get that rough
estimate then check for cover locations in that rough search area. You'll lay
suppression fire on the target as your buddy moves closer to a better engagement
angle. Be aware, the enemy wants to live just as badly as you do, they may have
some of the angles covered. That's a given. Some of you will get chewed up.
That's also a given. Now, harnesses on,” he said. Each wore a laser harness
that interfaced with their implants. He checked his own. “I am the umpire for
this exercise. Shooters are in the woods behind me. Your job is to localize
them, then either take them out or call in fire support,” he said.

Calling in fire support and calling in
the engagement was SOP. Too many recruits forgot that in the excitement of a
battle, even a mock one like this. What they didn't know was that this was
going to be a lot more real, with paint balls, flash bangs, and painful zaps
for those hit. “Be aware, the trees might block the angle of the fire, or you
could very well let the enemy know your position, or there could be a blue on
blue incident. So squad leaders, think it through. Don't let the heat of the
moment make you do something stupid. Remember your training.”

He put his cover on and then used the
blade of his hand to indicate the path. “There is the path. Game on,” he
growled. The recruits moved out, talking softly to each other with hand signs
or text messages. He monitored them all. Two he made note of, they communicated
with a touch, sending text messages through their fingertips to each other.
They were smart. His squad had used that trick before and would do so again.

When the last had passed he leisurely
followed in their wake. He flicked his ears, remembering the first time he'd
growled at them. Two, Jerina and Eric had pissed themselves. They'd come far.
They had further to go.

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

Jethro toured the base as Valenko's
driver on a nice Sunday afternoon. The base had come a long way in a short time
but still had even further to go before it was finished. If it ever was, they
still had a lot to do. Which was one of the reason's Valenko and the other
officers tended to take tours, to familiarize themselves with the base and to
see what needed further work.

The other reason he'd come to conclude
was a burning desire to get away from their desks and the mountains of
paperwork the military tended to generate. He was so glad he wasn't an officer.

They used a simple jeep, a four wheeled
ground transport that was easy to build and maintain. It's electric drive train
allowed it to be charged in seconds. It was a utilitarian vehicle, a flat green
with no top.

He was fairly glad the jeep didn't have
a top. If it had it would have been interesting fitting the bear into the damn
thing. Who ever had designed it hadn't really thought of one and a half ton
Neo's riding in it. He'd seen Sergei try to drive the damn thing. The white
liger's knees had been up around his ears. He could just image how it would
look with the Lieutenant. Funny, but only funny if he was out of the jeep and
preferably out of range at the time he saw it.

Which was probably why he'd been tasked
with driving the old bear around, even though it was nominally his day off. He
should have pawned it off on one of the privates but unfortunately none of them
had vehicle training. That really sucked. It was also something he planned on
rectifying the first chance he got.

One of the things the Marines were
getting used to was the ground protocol. When the flag was being raised or
lowered the Naval personnel stood and saluted the flag. When the national
anthem, Reveille, or Taps were played they stood and saluted the flag or the
nearest speaker.

When he was in a vehicle like this he
didn't have to stop, get out and salute, but they did have to come to a stop
and remain quiet until the little scene played itself out.

They didn't have to stand and salute
while indoors except in the bases's theater. It could get confusing, but they
were slowly working the protocol out. Repetition seemed to make it easier over
time.

Then there were the salutes. If a
superior officer passed a group of enlisted or officers of lower rank they were
expected to be saluted by the lower rank, and they had to return the salute.
For some it was a lot of stuff and nonsense, but it was the corps, you did as
you were told.

They passed the range, or at least the
earth and concrete berms walling the range in. There were a series of berms
actually, each intended to catch any stray rounds while also redirecting and
absorbing the sound of the weapons fire. He winced at the sound of a rail gun
on auto. No, not quite perfect.

He made the left turn and climbed a
ridge before passing through a copse of trees and then into the light and
fields. The jeep jerked and bumped around. There were a lot of ruts and pot
holes already.

The dirt roads were rough and bumpy,
testing the vehicles shocks and springs nearly as much as the nearly two ton
bear riding in the back seat. On either side of the road was a culvert for
drainage. On their right DI's were putting some of the boots through
calisthenics training. Half were doing jumping jacks while the other half of
the platoon were doing pushups. A DI walked up and down the rows, barking
orders.

“Ever wonder why the best DI's are from
F platoon?” Valenko asked. Jethro snorted as he met the bear's eyes in the rear
view mirror. They both knew why and it wasn't just because F platoon had become
something of a legend in the corps. It wasn't just because most of F were
aliens or Neos either. Sure a Neo could scare the crap out of a boot, but you
had to be a bit more than scary to
lead
. F platoon was not only
disciplined but had trained hard, ten times harder than nearly any other
platoon of their class. The exercises had been grueling, the Gunny had been
positively sadistic. But as he had said the strongest diamonds come out from
the proper amount of heat and pressure. When their class had graduated he had
plenty of diamonds to form the seeds of the new corps.

He turned to look to the left. He was
amused by the squads of Marine recruits out in the fields and tree line
training. They used hand signs to practice passing on intel and directions
without using their implants or speaking.

It didn't seem fair that the newest
class got their implants before they even started boot. That was a shame, they
never really experienced training as F platoon had to train. It seemed like
they had it too easy.

“I wonder if they thought of using a
jack and a USB?” he asked, looking at the bear in the rear view mirror again.

Valenko grunted and looked at a group of
mixed humans. There was a human male about twenty standard years old in the
lead gesturing to stop with a closed fist. He nodded as the lad suddenly
straightened and came to attention. The kid aborted an attempt to salute when
Valenko scowled. Good. The kid was new but the whole saluting ritual was
something he could do without. The field was definitely not the place to be
saluting.

“Carry on,” he said, acknowledging them
as Jethro drove by. He looked at Jethro. “What were you saying?” he asked
mildly.

“USB cables.”

“In the field?” Valenko asked, raising
an eyebrow.

“Why not?” the panther asked. He checked
the road ahead and then looked back at Valenko. “Plug and play. If you've got
more data then hand signs can pass on jack in and pas it that way. No wireless
signal to let the enemy know what you are doing.”

“Get that from your grand pappies' journal?”
the bear asked amused.

“Sniper class back in Pyrax. We planned
on remote operating equipment that way. Send a signal to a sensor platform or
dazzle device as a distraction.”

“Without a betraying radio signal.
Interesting.”

“A laser can be picked up as well,”
Jethro said before Valenko could get the statement out. The bear grunted in
amused irritation.

“Reading my mind now?” he asked.

“Covered that in class as well.”

“Huh. Well, I'll pass it on,” Valenko
rumbled. “Head over to the BOQ. I've got to pick up a few things before the
meeting tonight.”

“Yes sir.”

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

Ten weeks into the course they had a
surprise training during class time. It was a classic, one Jethro loved. The
class was getting sloppy, dropping its edge, getting a little slack as they
conserved energy for the big push coming up in two weeks. He had waited until
the class was seated in the open amphitheater and talking softly before he had
signaled for the exercise to begin.

When the tiny sniper attacked the class
all hell broke loose as they screamed for shelter. The class had to react
quickly and decisively. It was an interesting experience for all, some tried to
hide under the dubious shelter of their desks, others rushed the doors and
caused a bottleneck.

The shooter, a Marine elf hidden in the
air duct, chuckled as she picked off any of the recruits. Each was hit with a
paint ball, which triggered their implants for them to play dead.

Finally they got the idea to locate the
shooter and move to where she couldn't engage them. Recruits rushed the
teacher's door. Good they were learning. Sometimes it took that, experience to
make them figure it out.

Jethro flashed back to his own
experience with that trick back in Pyrax. He realized they were passing on the
tradition of mixing it up and using pranks and unexpected drills to keep their
people alert, focused, and on edge.

They definitely paid attention after
that little stunt, though the DI's did report a few people were looky looing
about in case of another ambush. The distraction was a problem.

“That was a dirty trick,” a trainee
grumbled during roll call the next morning.

“I'd rather my people were prepared for
something like that. A little egg on your face now is better than in the field.
Don't sail fat dumb and happy into something,” Jethro responded, breaking
protocol to get the point across.

“I'd like to relax sometime,” the
trainee muttered.

“Relax when you're dead,” another boots
muttered, poking him as he sent a text message to shut up.

“No he's right. We do need to let our
guard down sometime. But class time and training is fair game,” Jethro replied
sweetly. “Can I get a read back?”

“Class time and training time are fair
game drill Sergeant!”

“Hooyah. You better believe it. So no
more sleeping in class. Got it?”

“Yes Drill Sergeant!”

“If you can stand it I can. Just
remember it's a two way street,” the trainee growled under his breath. A DI's
eyes glittered, their enhanced hearing had easily picked it up. Another
snorted. The unfortunate 'loud mouth' was given a demerit and fifty pushups to
work off his annoyance.

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

“Not a bad thing,” one DI reported
smugly when the DI's were alone afterward. Jethro had recently learned that
DI's loved an excuse to yell at someone. It was a great motivator for those
slack times when people were having trouble keeping awake and alert. Many
wanted to coast in the classes, nod off and catch up on sleep. He remembered
Gunny loved to drop the occasional flash bang or lean over and scream into a
sleepy trainee's ear to wake them up.

“It is if they miss something in the
brief.”

“Implants will record for playback
later. It's always better to train their situation awareness. I'd rather they
keep alert over getting complacent thinking they are in a safe area.”

“Just so long as they don't get punchy
or traumatized,” another said.

“We'll have to keep an eye on that,”
Jethro said with a nod.

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

Jethro was still keeping his own skills
up and training to learn new ones along with his duties as a DI. As the old
saying goes, if you didn't use it, you lose it. Therefore he spent at least ten
hours on the ranges and in the field a week, on top of the weekly training time
with his squad.

After he passed a class through sniper
101, he taught himself how to snipe with the remote sensor pods. It was hard,
the third eye perspective took a lot of getting used to, but he had a bridge,
he'd learned to snipe using an endoscope in the previous class. His implants
did a lot of the parallax calculations for him, he just had to trust in them to
get it right.

When he had the techniques down he was
chagrined that he had to then teach it to his students the following day. He
realized the teachers weren't that far ahead of the students they were
teaching.

The civilian contractors and Marine
engineering crews were sidetracked to work on civilian projects once the
majority of the base's central infrastructure and defenses were set up and
running. There were a few minor bugs to be worked out, the occasional miswired
room, leaky plumbing, or leaky roof, but overall construction had gone
remarkably well.

There had been two dozen injuries, most
of them minor. Phase 1 was down to fitting and details, they had even erected a
bronze statue of General Lewis B. 'Chesty' Puller standing at attention with a
bulldog panting beside him on a leash. The bulldog had a campaign hat on and a
crisp Marine shirt with chevrons of a sergeant on the biceps. Two facsimiles of
ancient artillery field pieces were on either side of the monument. 
Another statue was being set up nearby, a bronze replica of 'Iron Mike', a
Marine from Terra's WW1. A third and fourth statue were sitting under tarps
nearby, a replica of the flag raising at Iwo Jima, and a replica of a Marine in
combat armor stomping on a Xeno.

Another monument, this one in copper,
was in the visitor center; one of each of the races that were in the Federation
military. Someone had obviously used Admiral Irons for the human
representative. It was quite majestic. A plaque under the human sealed its
identity, paraphrasing a quote the admiral had said only three years ago.

“Why?”

“Why not? You
really want a reason? Okay. Here's two. The first, it's the right thing to do.
That alone should be obvious.”

“And the
second?”

“Cause I don't
want the Xeno's to win. Their whole purpose was to destroy everything. To wipe
us out. Give in, and they've won. I for one won’t allow it. No. Not only no,
Hell NO!”

“This isn't the
end son, just the dark before the dawn of a new day. Keep that in mind. Fix it
there. We will get through this. Where there is life, there is hope.”

-Fleet Admiral
John Henry Irons-

Since the Major wasn't quite ready to
launch phase 2, the earth movers were idled briefly to catch up on their
maintenance cycles.

“I don't see how you could do all this
in such a short time,” George Custard said, shaking his head. He, Jim, and
Chumly had come out to check on the progress. It was a measure of how far his
world had come that the delegation had hopped an orbital flight on a Marine
Prejudice shuttle. There were increasing talks of an election and constitution,
something Admiral Irons had suggested. He approved of them, but he wasn't
exactly thrilled about being drafted to run for the governorship, or whatever
they were planning on calling it this week.

“It pays to have the right equipment and
a lot of warm bodies,” the Major replied smugly.

“Yes, but most of you are spacers right?
So how did you know...”

“We simmed the equipment for years. Plus
the entire trip out we ran our people through training cycles.”

“Really. Still...”

“We have a tight schedule. It's... well,
we planned for everything, including storms and the occasional hiccup. Plus
well, some like me are from dirt side originally.”

George stared at the Major for a moment
then nodded.

“We've got a hundred or so farmers from
Gaston, a couple of your fellow natives, and a dozen or so other people from
places like Seti Alpha 4 and other worlds. They're good people, though I think
a few were a bit put out at being back on a planet digging in the dirt,” the
Major said with a wry smile.

“I bet.” George remembered quite a few
of his countrymen, especially the younger set. Everyone went through the
leaving the nest phase as a teenager, wanting to break out and make something
for themselves. Many had been trapped at the bottom of their gravity well and
had eventually found love or work, or both. But a few had flung their wings
high and hadn't settled for anything less than the stars.

“We're down to details at  the base
so once we've got our maintenance caught up, we'll lend you the earth-movers
like the admiral agreed to,” the Major said.

“We'll appreciate it,” George replied,
unsure what project to put them on first. He kicked himself, that was something
his people needed to work on. Here he was thinking of acting as the governor, a
central source of authority. And he realized, they needed it. They couldn't
keep going on without some sort of central authority to make quick decisions
like this. Sometimes time counted.

“I've got a list somewhere. Let me pull
it up and check in with the mayors then get back to you on that,” George said.

“Of course. As I said, it'll be another
day or so,” the Major replied expansively. He waved a hand. “It will take at
least two days to shift the equipment to the mainland for the jobs.”

“Understood,” George said with a nod. He
looked over to Jim and Chumly, both chatting with a work crew digging into
cleaning a bulldozer. “I think Chumly wants to drive one.”

“Hell, I want to drive one,” the Major
snorted. “It's fun for oh, a minute I heard. Then it can get tricky if you have
to do something in tight quarters. If you don't watch the mud you can get stuck
easy.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” George chuckled.

“The agreement is to make roads, improve
flood control, plus create dams and fire breaks. I think that's it. Drainage
ditches, bridges, that sort of thing too.”

“Yes.”

“And you don't have a clue where to
start,” the Major teased.

George eyed him for a brief moment and
then took a pipe out. He snorted softly and banged it on his heel. “Nope,” he
said. “I knew you'd keep your word, but others weren't so sure. And we didn't
think you'd be finished so quick. Like I said, I have a list, but it's not
organized.”

“Ah.”

“I'm starting to see how well your
people are, and how important it is to be organized. Saves wasted time.”

“True.”

“I don't suppose I could borrow a few of
your planners and architects? Maybe get them to help train some of our people
to eventually replace them? Everyone's still looking out for number one back on
the mainland. We're not quite hand to mouth, but it was close until the admiral
came. Well, him and you folks,” George said.

“I see,” the Major said, turning away.
He nodded, coming to a decision. “Sure. It'll give idle hands something to do,
keep our people's skills up, and help you out. I'll get a team together.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Are you going to be at the graduation?”
The Major asked.

“I wouldn't miss it for the galaxy
Major. You must be proud,” George said, sticking his pipe stem in his mouth.

“I'm not quite there yet, they have a
lot to prove with the crucible. But I'm getting there,” the Major replied.

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

As the trainees worked on their field
craft, Jethro paused to check on the status of the field. They were waiting for
the movement to finish so they could board their shuttles and do a night
exercise. He checked his internal chrono and then checked the time stamp the
flight ops AI had sent him. Another hour to go, that was if they didn't have
any more hiccups. Somehow he was fairly sure they'd be delayed, they always
were.

He turned to watch the shuttles pick the
great machines up and move them out as the sun slowly set. It was glorious,
golden rays of sun mixed with the bright blue and white of the hot shuttle
wash, complete with the heat ripples on the concrete. It truly was an awesome
sight. He made certain to record it, it would make for a great inspirational
piece for the corps.

 ...*...*...*...*...

Naga Ris'ha toured the spaceport as the
designated driver to Captain Pendeckle for the day. The duty rotated, each of
the Marine officers had drivers assigned to them, they tended to do paperwork
while in the vehicles so they needed looking after.

He'd missed the sight of the earth
movers getting shifted to mainland. He'd caught sight of them once, but he'd
gotten stuck in the parking lot behind HQ for most of the movement, the massive
concrete and steel building had obstructed his view. It had sucked, but he'd
picked up a vid feed from the web. It looked impressive. He would have loved to
have ridden in the cab of one of those monsters when it was carried aloft.
Quite a sight.

Captain Pendeckle liked to get out of
the office. He toured the base daily, something the drivers enjoyed. He checked
out the Cobra squadron as it did touch and go landings. Firefly had carried
eight fighters and four other craft forming a makeshift squadron. Lieutenant JG
Alex Rogan was in charge, though only by date of rank.

From what he had heard a lot of the
squadron looked to the older Lieutenant JG Martha 'Hurt Locker' Huert. She was
good too, squared away, a natural leader, and a damn good pilot. Rogan 'Rogue
1' had her by date of rank. From what he'd picked up from the grapevine the two
occasionally clashed, but 'Hurt Locker'  and 'Rogue 1' were professionals,
they kept it mostly in the family. The older woman knew better than to
undermine the younger man's authority. Alex in return seemed to have settled
down during the trip out, deferring to the older woman on occasion, but not
afraid of using his authority when needed.

The two Marines silently watched as a
Cobra stopped to refuel. The cockpit canopy opened and a woman took her helmet
off. She stood and shook her hair out. It was short, the action must have been
reflexive. She waved away a boarding ladder a rating was holding and climbed
down using hand holds on her bird. A rating handed her a tablet clipboard and a
bottle of water.

Ratings were swarming the craft,
plugging in diagnostics, flipping up ports to attach hoses for fuel and life
support. They could see the occasional puff of escaping gas when one hose was
finished and detached. It added to a hazy effect around the fighter.

A series of concrete half cylinders
lined one taxi area, each sheltered an aerospace craft ready to lift off at a
moment's notice. Well, all but one, one was being used as shelter for a shuttle
being torn apart by dirty mechanics.

“They're doing good,” Captain Pendeckle
murmured. “I wonder if they're going to do anti-shipping strikes on Firefly
next? Or are we going to finally get a coordinated exercise and do a ground
support tasking?”

“Sir?” Ris'ha asked.

“Nothing. How goes the training?” the
Captain asked.

“I don't know sir, Gunny Schultz is
handling it. I'm in the motor pool.”

The Captain looked at the Naga coiled in
the seat and then back to the flight line. “Sorry forgot. You were in F platoon
though right? I thought you had a grapevine.”

“We do for some things sir, but we don't
keep up with each other very well sometimes when we're all busy.”

“Ah, and we have been busy,” the Captain
murmured distractedly. He nodded in approval, the ground crew had finished the
refueling. The woman finished drinking from a bottle of water, crumpled it,
then tossed it to a rating. She turned and climbed her bird.

“And life moves on. Driver, move to the
cliffs to the south, let's see this bird take off from a different angle,” the
Captain said.

“Aye aye sir,” the Naga replied
dutifully, switching the electric engine on and then moving out.

“I need to remember to get with the
Major and establish a place off shore for the fighter and shuttle exercises.
We'll need to do some water recovery exercises, and some crashes I bet.”

“Sir, has the flight training building
been completed yet?”

“No, they are doing that on San Diego
for now. We'll get one in phase 2,” the Captain replied absently, looking
around. Marines were jogging nearby, a group was working its way around,
training on field craft. They crouched, going over some sign near the edge of
the gravel drive. The Captain nodded in passing as the men and women
straightened and saluted. He did a quick salute and they were gone, on their
way.

He turned just in time to see the
fighter taxi to the end of the runway. They were headed to the far end. He
tapped the Naga on the shoulder. “Here. Here is good,” he said, eyes still on
the Cobra. The craft's flaps worked, checking things, then she seemed to
crouch, the front end dropping lower. They could see heat waves rippling from
her rear. Something bright flared behind her into the scorched concrete wall
behind the craft and then she was moving, picking up speed fast.

The Captain gasped as the craft ripped
up the strip and then rose, her landing gear folded into her bays and she
screamed aloft, almost overhead. The wash ripped his cover off, sending it
tumbling.

“Damn that's cool,” Captain Pendeckle
said.

“Yes sir.” The Naga turned to look over
the drop. He could see bodies in the surf. One he recognized, the Selkie Deja.
He sent a hi text to him.

 ...*...*...*...*...

Deja looked up from his sporting when he
got the text. He looked around until he spotted someone up on the cliffs. He
waved to the vehicle. A hand claw waved back. “What's up?” he texted back.