Jethro 3: No Place Like Home (11 page)

“Steal?” Spitterman asked, now sounding concerned.

“It's a euphemism. Get over it,” Riley said to Spitterman. “And you being a logistics guy, you should know that. I've heard of you, Al the Allan wrench,” he said mockingly. “Weren't you the guy who said he could get anything? And if you couldn't it couldn't be done?”

Spitterman squirmed. He opened his mouth for a retort, but Jethro waved him silent and continued.

“Sergei, you've got EVA, heavy weapons and boarding training, so you're going to be working as an assistant instructor all around. I think we're going to give you the heavy weapons and suit people.”

“Shit. There goes sleep.”

“Sleep when you're dead,” Riley snorted.

“I'm going to run this all past the officers, who will no doubt tinker with it.”

“But if they know what's good for them they'll leave us the hell alone and let us do our jobs,” Riley growled.

“Stow that, no time,” Jethro growled. “I recognized some of the people on the list,” he nodded to Mirilax Teralack. “Nice to see you again Mirilax.”

“I'd like to say the same, but this sucks,” the woman said.

“You wanted to be here,” Sergei said diffidently.

“That was then. I had my fill of recon.”

“Yeah well, now you're not recon, you are a shooter. Your MOS states you did well in infantry, but you haven't attempted to cross train since leaving us.”

“I like shooting. It's straightforward, simple and honest.”

“Fine. You've got two squads right now,” Jethro said. “I'll upload a TOE as soon as Spitterman gets it to me,” he said eying the Sergeant.

“What, you want me to work on it now?” Spitterman asked in surprise.

“Aren't you taking notes man?” Riley asked in disgust. “Hell I am,” he said.

“With what?”

“If you can't handle implants bring a tablet,” Jethro sighed. He uploaded his bullet point to each of them. “There, that's what I'm working off of.”

“Roger that,” Ox said.

“What about the others?”

“Not you, Ted,” Mirilax said, waving a dismissive hand. “Everyone, Ted M'mbeki. He's a shooter like me,” she said.

“We've met,” Jethro said. He had mixed feelings about the neochimp. He'd served as a private on the First Agnosta Expeditionary force under Major Pendeckle's squad. He was a bit of a plodder, with little initiative, basically a chimp version of Sergei. There was something to be said about stoically keeping your head down, but those that did were followers. He wasn't certain Ted would work out in a command slot.

“Ted, you've got two squads.”

“How are the officers going to handle their squads? And aren't we a bit light here? You said thirty squads and there are...,” Spitterman used his finger to count, “.... yeah, eight of us here. With the five officers that means we're still short.”

“Everyone is doubling up, handling two squads until we spot leadership potential in our people and then frock them up to fill the voids in the chain of command. The PFCs will be handling half squads, or hell, they may be carrying the entire squad if necessary. Right now, we'll work with what we've got. We've got roughly a month, hopefully two, two and a half to get the bugs out,” Jethro said.

“Doesn't seem likely,” Spitterman muttered. A few of the others growled softly or nodded slightly in agreement.

“We'll do it. It's not the first time we've been short. Nor will it be the last. Get over it. Stop bitching and start fixing,” Riley said, getting off his crate. He rubbed his rear and then stretched. “Well, the good news is, I'm not going to have much of this shortly,” he said patting his midriff.

“Yeah,” Spitterman said. “I'd meant to get into shape,” he muttered.

The Neo canine next to him snorted softly. He looked at her and then shrugged. “Well, I did.”

“Right, and you always had an excuse why you missed morning PT exercises,” the dog said. She was a mutt, but she had a lot of Labrador in her. She was a chocolate color, with what looked like a spiked collar around her neck. Her right ear had been chewed a bit, and she had a bald spot on one shoulder. Like most of the Neos and single alien in the compartment she disdained clothes, wearing the minimum. In her case it was a white tank top with Marine in green and a pair of knee length Khaki Marine shorts. A swirling tattoo was there in place of her fur. She scratched at an itch with her short fingers. “Give me a squad, or two, hell, three. I'll get it done,” she said.

Jethro nodded to her. He liked her attitude. “We'll see. Jill, is it?”

“Jill. My brother is Jack. He's in Antigua now,” the dog said. “I remember you, Gunny; I was in boot when you and some of the others were a DI.”

“And rose to Lance pretty quickly,” Mirilax said, sounding doubtful that the canine had earned it.

The canine shrugged. “Cream always rises to the top. Graduated top of my class. I took some college courses before hand, some more afterwards. What can I say, when you're good you're good.” She pretended to buff her short stubby claws. “And I, my dear, am great.”

Ox put a mighty restraining hand in front of the now thoroughly annoyed female human before she could get up. “Don't knock it. You'll have plenty of time to work out your differences later. I suggest we get moving,” Ox rumbled.

Jethro nodded as he got an e-mail and then a series of texts from the veterans in the bay. All hell was breaking out there and in the station. “Right, that's a wrap for now. Meeting adjourned. Spitterman, I meant it about that TOE. Get me and the others an initial brief in less than an hour and then we'll update it as we go. They need a starting point.”

“Yes...I'll get it done,” Spitterman said.

“You were the one who said he wanted a chance to shine. Here it is,” Sergei said, eying the human.

“Shit.”

---( | ) --- ( | )---

In a brief moment between dealing with the chaos in the troop bay, Jethro attempted to deal with the paperwork regarding his name change. He was vexed that such a seemingly simple thing couldn't be easily handled.

The bureaucrat on the other end of the e-mail chain wanted him in a face-to-face meeting to deal with it. Finally he got fed up and put a call in. The woman refused to receive a direct implant call so he had to get permission to route it through the ship. Commander Firefly wordlessly approved the call for him.

“Look, I'm me. I know I'm me. You can get the officers on board to vouch for me,” Jethro said patiently as the woman went on about protocol. He seriously didn't have time for a lecture.

“This is all highly irregular. You should be discharged for signing on with an illegal name,” the woman said snippily.

“No,” Jethro said patiently. “At the time I signed on I was not aware of my legal last name. If you check, my old name was simply Anvil Cat Pride.”

“We have it as Anvil Cat Clan.”

“All right, well, at the time, that was what I knew my family name was. Now I know better. It didn't matter to me for a long time, but recent events changed that. I am correcting the wrong. Or at least attempting to. Can't you just, well, type it into the computer? Backspace and just key it in?”

“It's not that simple. For one thing your IFF has to be altered, and I'm not even sure how to go about that. We've only done that with rank changes, not name.”

“You mean no one has married and changed their last name in the past four years?” Jethro asked patiently.

The woman's eyes narrowed in thought. “You don't have to be snippy Sergeant.”

“Gunny. Acting Gunny. I'm on Firefly,” Jethro replied.

She nodded. “Is that why you can't come down? I heard a lot of hoopla over that.”

“Yes. We're shipping out ASAP. I'd like this squared away.”

“Well fine. But we'll need you to come down and sign the proper forms. It will take at least a month to process.”

“For a name change?” The cat snarled, practically shrieking. His ears flattened in rage. The woman blinked, eyes wide and suddenly fearful. “It's...damn it! I don't have time for this! We're shipping out in less than a day! Get it together Marine!” He snarled, voice deepening.

“Well!” The woman said and cut the circuit.

Jethro closed his eyes and counted to ten, tail thrashing. He didn't understand the emotional outburst. Yes, he had been mad, but something else had been there as well. Something primal, something he had tapped into or had tapped into him. At least he thought so. He wasn't certain if he was making excuses for himself. “Damn,” he said as his boss pinged him. He opened a channel through the ship's net.

“Kicking over anthills?” Valenko asked tiredly.

“Sir?”

“I just got a rather nasty call from an ensign in charge of bu-personnel. They aren't happy with you. It seems a PFC put in a complaint, complete with a recording. I haven't bothered watching it.”

Jethro sighed and then ran a hand over his head. “Sir, I was tasked with getting my name squared away. It was supposed to be simple, or so I thought.”

“Apparently not. The usual red tape?”

“Yes, sir. Red riggers tape, and the damn bureaucrats are using the whole roll.”

“And probably digging for more. You'd think they'd realize that they should be helping us, not obstructing us. Typical,” the bear sniffed. “Well, it'll have to keep. I'm not loosing you to some crap like that. Shelve it for later, but keep in mind, it's going to be here waiting when you get back.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Good. Bret's transfer has been approved by the way. Apparently Gunny Schultz put in for a veteran to replace a DI who had been injured in a training exercise. Bret had training and has qualified after helping you out here on the ship with our brood. So, he's headed down, like it or not.”

“Aye, sir. I'll let him know.”

“I already did. He's got the e-mail. And I've gotten a protest too. I'm ducking him; I'm too busy. I'll talk to him just before he leaves.”

“Aye, sir. I'll let him know it's nothing he did.”

“Good. You do that.”

---( | ) --- ( | )---

PFC Clive Bret was transferred ground side in one of the last actions of the ship before she departed. He actually fought the transfer; he felt guilty over it. “Just do us proud. Gunny needs someone with experience to help with training. You've got that. And you're the one Marine on this ship who I know won't mind living on that planet,” the bear said.

“Aye aye, sir,” Bret said, saluting the bear. Valenko returned the salute. Clive stuck his hand out and Valenko engulfed it with his own paw. The human laughed and then to the bear's surprise hugged him. “Take care, sir,” Clive said.

“You too son. I'm proud of you. I'll see you again. Now go take care of things ground side,” Valenko said gruffly as the embrace ended.

“Will do, sir,” Clive said. He picked up his duffel and then was gone.

He spent the two-hour flight staring at nothing at all but wondering what his new daughter looked like. The last he'd seen of her had been an ultrasound. What would she look like? Did she have her mother's eyes and nose? His? A mix of the two? Did she have hair yet?

When the shuttle landed he made his way through the group, shuffling along until he passed through the chain link fence. His head was down so he didn't see or sense someone near until he heard a happy cry and then looked up. His wife dived into his arms and hugged him fiercely on the edge of the space port terminal.

She kissed him long and lovingly, for the moment making him forget about his not wanting to be there. When the embrace broke she smiled into his eyes, long and lovingly. He felt on top of the world, for the moment all guilty thoughts of deserting his unit forgotten in the heat of the moment.

“Someone's here to see you,” she murmured, turning so he could see the shape in the stroller next to his wife.

“She's...is she awake?”

“Not now, though...yes, I see she is,” his wife said softly, voice rich with mirth as she dashed tears of joy. She showed him their newborn daughter. He looked into those baby blue eyes and was smitten. “Cute little devil isn't she? And a handful now. You've arrived just in time for teething.”

“Teething?” Clive asked as she took the darling out of the stroller and then bounced her gently in her arms. The little girl burbled as her mother cooed at her.

“Yes. And I may someday forgive you for leaving me fat, swollen ankles, sick as a dog, and thoroughly pregnant while you went off and played soldier, but don't expect it anytime soon bub.” He laughed at that.

Clive chuckled softly, stroking the little girl's angel soft hair with the back of his finger. “She's beautiful,” he murmured.

“She should be. Three point four kilos,” his wife replied with a snort. “She's a screamer. She can bend steel with that voice of hers let me tell you. Which in my infinite wisdom I am attributing to you. So again, I'm not going to forgive you so don't even hold your breath.”

Clive snorted softly. “This is your daddy. Who's been a poopy head! Yes he has,” she said, baby talking to the little girl. “Speaking of which, someone has months of diaper duty to catch up on,” she teased.

He kissed her, long and lovingly. “Yes, ma'am. My pleasure,” he murmured.