Jethro 3: No Place Like Home (14 page)

Mirilax had never gone through boot in the same way the others had, that was obvious. She'd been as gung ho as Jill, or so Jethro remembered, but now just kept her head down. Apparently her taste of recon had soured her outlook, and she was just going through the motions until her contract was up.

Sergei was also one of the ones underperforming and he knew it. He was frustrated by the situation and tended to lash out with his temper at his people, which didn't help any. He had no experience in leadership; it was one thing to be a buddy and guide in the barracks but quite another to tell people what to do. Fortunately, his size made people think twice about crossing him. But Jethro knew the thought of loosing people haunted the big lug sometimes.

Ox had his people squared away. Deja had been excused from the Marines since he was up to his neck in manning the helm as much as possible. That left Riley, who was a good mechanic but lacked the proper social skills to get his people in line and following orders.

Each of the sergeants and corporals stuck to one or two squads, flipping back and forth between the two either hourly or every other day. But, unfortunately, some squads suffered from lack of attention.

The leadership did a consult on the situation ten days into their journey. “I've watched you, Gunny; you're good. And contrary to some opinions...,” the Major said, shooting a quick sidelong look at Sergeant Spitterman who looked down and away as he played with a stylus. “You aren't micromanaging your people to death. I thought you were throwing them to the wolves, but you aren't doing that either. You are delegating; unfortunately, the junior leadership is failing.”

“Yes, sir. We're all doing our best. Unfortunately, some of the leadership isn't up to par for one reason or another.”

“A lack of training and leadership skills, yes, I know. We can work on that. But it's more than that; we've got a vacuum in the neglected squads, including my own. I can't control my squad and keep an eye on the big picture, which is my job.”

Jethro nodded. The job of a noncom was to the here and now, to execute the orders and keep the troops in line and trained while the officers thought and planned several steps ahead. The officers were currently acting as their own sergeants which sometimes hindered performance. But they at least had been trained for command, so they knew what they were doing and could get their troops to obey quickly and for the most part, without question.

“Suggestions?” the Major asked mildly. “Anyone?” he asked, looking around the wardroom. “Come on people, the squids only let us borrow the room for an hour.”

“Sir, I suggest we frock a few of the PFCs with leadership skills to Lance and turn them loose on the neglected squads,” Valenko said slowly.

“And I bet you've got some candidates already in mind?” Ufda asked, eying the bear.

Valenko shrugged. “As it happens, yes. We have voids to fill; I say we fill them. Two of the people on my list have already been helping out. Both their own squads, other squads and your own I believe.”

“Send me the list,” the Major said, nodding his head.

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

Ignoring mutterings of nepotism, Major Pendeckle followed Lieutenant Valenko's suggestion and frocked PFCs Harley Quinn, Pa'nash, Elvin Presley, Betty Paige, Zebo, Adel Troughtman, N'tr'adi, and Lars Owens to Lance Corporal rank to help thicken the noncom ranks and give some of the squads more supervision. Each of them had been quietly doing that before they had been bumped in rank; getting the brevet promotion just made it official. Each was also a veteran of Antigua, F platoon, or the First Agnosta Expeditionary force.

The change allowed the underperforming personnel to be reassigned with smaller duties. Each of the thirteen Corporals were assigned two squads to oversee. Five of those included each of the officers’ squads. Jethro and the three other Sergeants each commanded a single squad but also kept an eye on the larger picture as much as possible. He'd been sorely tempted to put two of his privates up for the promotion, but he didn't know them well enough. Besides, they were fresh from boot. Some of the veterans would have resented putting a boot in command.

The officers and sergeants made certain all involved knew that if they didn't get it right they'd be shown how to do it. If they still couldn't wrap their heads around it they'd be replaced. There was no time for screwing around.

Those that had been replaced knew their careers were in jeopardy. Most doubled their efforts or in Mirilax's case, threw her hands up in a sullen sulk. A quick talk with Valenko got the woman back in motion, but the bear judged the damage had been done, others had seen her tantrum and now watched her warily or with barely-held contempt. He made a note to trade her out with someone in Pyrax if at all possible.

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

For those Marines who hadn't been fitted with a skinsuit yet, and that was nearly two-thirds of them, Riley, Ox and two navy suit techs had their work cut out for them outfitting them. Fortunately, they could use the armory to scan each person and outfit them.

Major Forth had sent up material for the suits and other equipment—not only for the Marines, but also for the Navy recruits as well. Each was finally being issued their suits. Some were dubious about it, but most were grateful to get it. All spacers had a healthy respect of the void; they knew it was a killer. Having a suit on hand, especially in combat, was a relief.

The Navy suits were designed for long-term wear, flexibility and comfort. Each was color coded by department or rank. The Marine suits went one step further. Each was gray to match the most common colors of a ship interior. Each also had some level of armor protecting the vitals of the user. They also had built in automatic tourniquets to cut off a breach if necessary.

Riley had just enough material to rig three squads with space packs and another two with exosuits. The packs were rocket packs, allowing the wearer the ability to maneuver independently of the ship in space. Essentially they turned each Marine astronaut into their own ship. Each of the exosuits magnified the user's strength and speed. They weren't as good as full-powered armor, but they would be an unexpected surprise to anyone who thought they were going up against someone in a basic skinny.

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

“Sir, I still don't understand why we got the people we did. What happened to the other platoons?” Riley asked during their weekly meetings. He was frustrated by the lack of advanced training. Most of the recent graduates of the boot camp were good, but they were all green.

“A lot,” Major Pendeckle said. “Some like you went into specialties. Others were shipped off to be a part of a ship's company in Pyrax.”

“Then there is manning the bases and stations to consider,” Lieutenant Valenko said with a nod to his boss. Major Pendeckle nodded back.

“But we're supposed to have what, five no, six platoons of infantry now? Infantry, not armor or the other specialties,” Jethro said.

“Oh a lot more than that,” Valenko said waving a hand paw. “But the exact number isn't up for review. OPSEC.”

Jethro nodded. Operations Security or OPSEC was something he and the other Marines were familiar with. They didn't want anything being passed on to the enemy.

“To answer your question though, we do, but they aren't available. Three platoons were sent to Antigua to shore up things there. At least a squad, possibly two will be dropped off in Triang for recruiting there. Another platoon is scattered in various recruiting centers throughout our side of the sector, or they are in transit to those worlds. Two more platoons are up to their necks in a mess on the planet. Apparently there was a bad fire on the main continent, followed by mudslides. The platoons are backing up a construction battalion there. Apparently an entire town of four thousand was buried alive about two days before we arrived.”

The men and women in the compartment winced at that. The Major looked at them, receiving a nod here and there before he continued. “Then we've got something of two platoons of Marines in Pyrax, most are in San Diego or the Annex. Another platoon was just shipped back there under orders from Commander Logan three weeks ago. Something about the Governor pointing out there weren't enough military personnel available for reservist and SAR duty, so they are supposed to be trained there.”

“Oh,” Riley said making a face. He could see how that had probably gone over well with the chain of command.

“Plus, there is something like five platoons of Marines in the advanced training courses, and another platoon that was sent to Pyrax for the academy and officer's training. They were on Clydesdale 779 with the reservists. We'll pass them in transit.”

“Ah.”

“Apparently everyone we've got either volunteered when the grapevine got wind of our mission or they didn't have an assignment and were press ganged into service. Either way, we'll make it work.”

“Aye aye, Sir.”

“Now, we can't work on actual powered armor work, but I had a talk with Lieutenant Purple Thorn and she recommended a couple sims to try. She even wrote a couple for us. She's asked to take the op force since she's available. I thought a fresh face might be fun.”

The bear snorted.

The Major glanced his way briefly and then nodded. “She's thrown together a few shooter sims for us, plus some strategic sims as well. Sergeants, you've got the shooter sims, I think we're limited to two squads at a time. The strategy sim is limited to four of us, a two on two game I think she said. We have to dial the graphics and AI down, so try to balance micromanaging with scripting...”

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

Lieutenant Valenko had them work on the normal hatch breach and ship sweep, but also had them plan and execute virtual hull breaches as well. Unfortunately, they couldn't practice the techniques in real life, for some reasons the squids frowned about using cutting torches and explosives, but the sims were almost as good.

Jethro realized quickly that using Valenko's technique helped break any potential defense or at least throw it off balance. The bear had used the technique while assaulting Antigua Prime. He'd seen the recordings, the pirates had stacked up on the airlocks and choke points, blocking the door, so the Marines had made their own door where there wasn't one before. It was simple and very effective. Especially when one used the main guns of a Warhawk as a door opener first.

Grenades were also something they couldn't practice with in real life, though they could throw simulated versions as long as they were duds. He knew it wasn't as effective as the real thing; when you saw a grenade tumbling near, the first reaction would be to dive for cover. A few Marines got into the habit of throwing it back. He didn't like that. A flash bang going off would break that habit, but he couldn't use them.

Sometimes he felt like his hands were tied. He knew there was a limit on how far they could take the training. Before break out though, they'd mastered the basics and had settled down into teams. He still had a few bad apples and definitely some rough edges, but he knew no one was perfect.

He just hoped and prayed they wouldn't be needed in Pyrax.

Chapter 7

“Captain, we're here,” Janice said, turning to the skipper. “Five minutes to scheduled drop.”

“Fine then. All stations,” Renee said, putting the call through the ship's network. “We don't know what's on the other side of the wall, so battle stations. Good luck and see you on the other side. Mayweather out,” she said and closed the channel.

“Too much?” Renee asked, turning to the AI avatar.

“Just right. Though I think the tension can be cut with a knife right now,” the AI replied. He, like the other bridge officers and ratings, was dressed for the occasion in a skinsuit. It looked a bit odd on an AI, but apparently the ship's AI liked to conform to regulations.

“I seriously doubt the bastards got a foothold into the system. But, it pays to be cautious. Besides, the jarheads aren't the only ones who need a drill to blow the rust off,” the Captain said as she checked her skin suit one more time. She nodded to her bridge crew, all the senior officers were assembled, suited up and ready to go.

“Let's do this then,” Shelby said. She glanced at the clock and then her station readings. After a moment she looked up. “All stations report ready, Captain.”

“Excellent number one. Helm, take us in,” the Captain replied with a curt nod to Janice.

“Dropping through the last octave and into real space now. One minute to emergence...,” Janice intoned professionally. She let Firefly do the final countdown as she adjusted her trim with finicky precision.

Firefly arrived in Pyraxian space in a burst of light and energy. As the energy discharge dissipated they got their first much anticipated look at the surrounding space. More than one person inhaled as the warning codes of potentially hostile warships were plotted in red on the main display. CIC quickly changed the red to green and then the blue of friendlies however.

“It looks like we're not too late after all,” the Captain murmured. After a moment there was a muted cheer among the crew.

“Thank the spirits of space for that. One last minute rescue is enough,” Shelby said, slumping slightly in relief into her chair.

“We're getting an inquiry from the ships guarding the jump point. IFF interrogation protocol.”