Jethro: First to Fight (19 page)

“Eyes front!” Schultz said over the link
and out loud as the lights dimmed. The flags dipped and fluttered as the
officers marched to the stage. “Attention, officer on the deck!” he said.
“Crewwww salute!” The Marines stiffened to attention and then saluted. The
ceremony was about to begin.

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

The Ceremony began with the national
anthem of the Federation of Sapient planets. It's score rose through the
various beings watching, each feeling a drifting sensation and a weltering of
pride and honor as they heard it's score. The song meant many things, a return
to old, a return to duty, honor, and country. Civilization. The rest of the
universe may have forgotten civilization existed, but they hadn't. Not anymore
anyway, and never again would they forget. Not if those in that room and those
watching could help it.

Commander Logan was dressed in his full
white dress uniform, complete with fruit salad. The old man smartly marched to
the podium with the other acting department heads following at neat intervals
behind him in parade. He smartly turned the corner and then took the steps to
the podium. The others followed, each stopped to salute the flag of the
Federation, then the Eden flag, then exchange salutes with the Commander.
Finally they turned and stood behind him in an orderly row, hands behind them.

Firefly and several of the AI were only
AI avatars, but they moved and acted as if they were truly there. When all ten
of the department heads were assembled the captains took their turns on the
stage. Finally the Commander finished the last one and waited for Captain
Mayweather to take her place.

“It's not often we do this, in fact,
this is the first time we've officially recognized such a fleet exercise. The
past few weeks have been the most comprehensive test of the Navy and Marines in
seven hundred years. It was
long
overdue.”

He waited until the chuckles of
consternation ended. He reached forward to rest his arms on the podium. “You
all did well. That's straight from me, the old man. Not one accident, no major
issues, a few minor things, but we expected it. Now we have a yardstick for
next time. I'm damn proud of all of you. Good job. We'll sort out who got what
shortly, but I wanted you all to know that. And no, contrary to the scuttlebutt
going around, no we're not doing this every thirty or ninety.” He smiled
slightly as the crowd cheered.

The civilian dignitaries in the
bleachers or on the stage looked around in confusion. They noticed the relief
on some of the naval personnel and clapped as well.

“We
will
,” Logan motioned for
them for silence. “We will be doing this yearly however.” That little qualifier
earned a groan. “Thirty and ninety day are maintenance, training, and
logistical headaches as it is. The ORS, Operational Readiness Surveys you all
know and love. Keep things up, keep your people training and on a schedule and
you won't have a problem. Screw around or screw off, and well, you
will
regret it.” His cold eyes surveyed them all for a long moment. That seemed to
sober the group. “Now, as to who won what...”

One by one the ship's commanding staff
came up to receive the trophies awarded for performance, both to those who did
the best and worst. The razzies were embarrassing to their crews. When the
awards were finished the Commander turned.

“And now, for what you've really been
waiting for,” he said as the lights dimmed and the dome over their heads
changed. The triangular panels went from opaque to clear, showing them an
incredibly starry night.

The national anthem played once more,
this time with fireworks in space. The images of the fireworks were broadcast
all over Anvil station and to the other system colonies. When they terminated,
Commander Logan turned one last time to the assembled troops.

“Assembly! Attention!” Gunny Schultz
called as acting Chief NCO. The assembly snapped to attention. “Assembly,
salute!” Schultz barked. They did so as one. Commander Logan proudly returned
the salute. He broke the salute with a snap and then went to parade rest.
“You've done your best, you should be proud. Liberty rotation commences shortly.
You've
EARNED
it. Assembly concluded. Good job everyone,” Commander
Logan said. The crew went wild with cheers. He smiled as people patted each
other on the back or shoulder. “Dinner's waiting!” someone called. That got a
laugh. The crews were given time off and a celebration dinner party to relax
and unwind.

Shortly after the crew began a much
needed liberty rotation, performance evaluations for promotion were started by
the officers of each ship. To some it was annoying, they wanted to continue
going over the exercises, checking to see where they had done well or needed
improvement. For some, the mandatory evaluations were a much needed
distraction, though they weren't thrilled by the additional paperwork blizzard
it all entailed.

The evaluations were performed by the
senior staff heads of each department, then handed up their chain of command
for approval by the XO and Captain before they were sent off to the G-5
Lieutenant Commander Decius for further review and final approval. If a
promotion was approved it would go through on the first of the month and would
be marked by a ceremony.

The bridge staff were very much aware
that if they got too cute they might lose someone the ship might need, but they
also didn't want to stand in anyone's way who wanted to move on and up the
career ladder. Fortunately, or in their case unfortunately, there were no new
ships ready so they were all staying put. At least for now.

They had come to rely on the dog eared
paperback copy of promotion and evaluation wording, commonly known as the blue
and gold book kept in the ward room's tiny library. The nostalgic paperback
book was an anarchism to times past, a more up to date copy was in the ship's
e-book library database. Still the officers tended to turn to the ancient copy,
if only to feel in touch with officers of the past.

Captain Mayweather set her coffee cup
down on a coaster and stared pensively at the list on the tablet in front of
her. She, like her staff knew their time together was possibly fleeting. A
year, maybe two might pass before something changed, but it inevitably would.
Someone somewhere would be transferred, have died, or moved on, and then there
would be a vacancy to fill. Or the ships currently back under construction
would need them. It was frustrating, training people just the way you wanted,
only to lose them and to have to start all over again. She resented it, but she
didn't want to stand in their way if they really did want to get a command
slot. She just hoped it would be worth it when they did.

But for some, they were dense, they just
didn't seem to get it. Take their current topic of discussion, Lieutenant Able.

“Next up, Brighton Able, Jig. I'm pretty
sure he's a pass, he's just had a promotion a few months ago when he came on
board.”

“Able, Able... name is familiar, face
isn't. I don't like not knowing my officers,” Mayweather grumbled. She thought
about bringing up his dossier with her implants but instead brought them up
with the tablet in front of her. A stern clean shaven human male stared out at
her from the tablet. “He hasn't sat dinner often,” she said.

“He's graveyard Captain.”

“Ah.” Still that didn't explain why, she
thought. Able was one of three officers that turned her down when she had
invited them to supper to better get to know them. The Chief and XO had reasons
when they did so, they each had duties to perform, and the occasional problem
in engineering tended to complicate their lives. But Able?

“He's good at what he does, in that
narrow field. He's a by the book type though, no leaps of imagination, little
initiative, and a bit of a bully when it comes to rank,” the AI reported.

Mayweather frowned. “He's pulled rank?”

“On a few people other than Corporal
Jethro. I've had to snip him down once when he pulled rank on a newly arrived
Ensign.”

“Oh?”

Firefly sighed. “Unfortunately, this
situation with command isn't getting better,” The AI responded. “None of you
have had the chance to go to school. Some of you that are teaching academy
classes are only slightly further along than your students.”

“Which I see no way of fixing.”

“Sleep teaching and experience in the
role has helped somewhat, but it's nothing compared to the institutionalized
training of the academy. ROTC is a pale comparison,” the AI agreed. “If we can
get San Diego's academy online things are going to be interesting indeed.”

“So...”

“So, getting back to the point, Able is
a good paper pusher, narrow minded, but not suited for promotion at this time.
We don't have a position for him anyway.”

Mayweather's eyes narrowed ever so
slightly “Ah,” was all she said. She could tell when the AI or XO were trying
to throw her off something. Diverting her attention away from the peccadillo’s
of this Able. “Able's encounter with the Ensign?” she said, not letting them
get away with it.

“He's resentful of the new crop of kids
coming out of the college. They seem to know it all,” Shelby replied, smiling
slightly. They had a few midshipman like that, but running them until they
dropped or humbling them a few times in tac sims tended to get that out of
their system in a hurry.

“And in some cases they do,” Purple
Thorn said. “Know more I mean,” she said as all eyes turned to her. “Remember
what Commander Firefly just said, each of us are growing into our role with no
prior experience. A few of us came up through the ranks, but we came up fast.
Now we have to work at it. It can be a constant struggle, especially for those
not suited for the role.”

“More time in grade. In some ways, the
admiral's leaving is a blessing. The forced slow down has forced us to
concentrate on the units and installations we have while giving you more time
in grade to pick up seasoning,” Firefly stated, nodding. “We were growing too
fast, pushing people up through the ranks before they had the necessary skills
to handle the job. Now that is changing.”

“Which I suppose is good in some ways,”
Mayweather said, sitting back. “But having a cap on the rank structure is a
pain in the ass.” In some ways the minimum time in grade before a promotion was
a good thing. There was of course a way around it, a promotion out of the zone.
Since the fleet wasn't growing as fast and she'd filled all her holes in the
crew that wasn't necessary.

“From what I understand, each rank took
time before the Xeno war. Usually a few standard years depending on the tract
an individual chose. Command tract was faster, you took more chances and there
was a great deal more pressure. The higher the rank the longer time in grade
before you moved up. And don't get me started on a Captain's billet,” Shelby
said, eying the Captain with a slight smile.

“Yes, I know, I have the name but not
the actual rank Commander,” Mayweather replied, nodding a little to her XO. It
was an unusual situation, her XO technically outranked her. But Commander Logan
had come up from engineering while she'd taken the command track right off.
She'd been appointed to Captain Firefly when the admiral had made it available.
She'd taken it over the objections of some of her command crew. Of course many
of them went on to commands of their own. Albeit on smaller ships, she thought
with a slight smile of satisfaction.

“Can we swap Able? Stick him in another
position and see how he does? Or borrow him a few times? Shuffle him around a
bit? See if we can knock some of this narrow minded crap out of him?”

“Sometimes having a narrow minded
nitpicker is good. There are places for such people. You want them in cases
where we need not only zero defect mentality, but also where it takes rigid
concentration to get a job done,” Firefly replied. “Though I do believe
Commander Logan is correct. The man is getting bitter and stale where he is.”

“Then by all means, shuffle him around,
see where he can excel at. Maybe some of his starch will rub off and he'll
settle down with more exposure and seasoning,” Mayweather replied, giving her
blessing. “I'm just surprised he didn't get such exposure on Centurion.” She
picked up the tablet. “His entire time there as an Ensign and he didn't stand a
watch on the bridge once?” she asked and then tisked tisked.

“You want him on the bridge?” the
tactical officer asked carefully.

“Not if he's not suited to be there.
I'll just put a call in to Centurion later. There has to be a reason he was
stuck in a dead end job,” the Captain said, making a note for herself. “Moving
on...”

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

The squads and ships with the best
scores were given three days liberty. When they returned the other ships had their
turns, ships rotating to take their place as needed.

As things settled back down into the old
routine, Valenko's squad went back to tinkering. They hadn't had a lot of time
to go over their ideas, but that hadn't stopped Ox from coming up with a few and
putting them on file.

Valenko, Sergei, the medic Gusterson,
and Ox each received the first production shields. Each shield emitter was a
stacked series of progressively smaller octagons in a pyramid shape, one over
the user's wrist, the other on the elbow. A two centimeter thick structural
piece connected the two, and had straps to connect the shield to the arm. When
the shields deployed masts telescoped from the top and bottom out of the center
structure with hoop wires that connected to the emitters. The shield when fully
deployed formed a diamond shape.

The shields were heavy, about 50
kilograms without a power pack. With a superconductor power pack the weight
jumps to over 110 kilograms.  “Not something you want to haul around on
your arm. We'll have to beef up the servos and actuators in the arm in order to
cope. Otherwise they'll get fracked up and worn,” Riley commented.

“Couldn't it be on my right arm? That's
the arm I use to... you know,” Sergei joked, miming a particular dirty act as
he smiled.

“Shove it Sergei,” Ox grumbled, shaking
his massive head. “Left arm. Right is your natural hand and you carry your
plasma weapon and do tasks with that.”

“Right. Left.”

Ox shook his head, ignoring the jab.

Gusterson ignored the byplay. He was
testing the shield in his armor. They were concerned about him, even in powered
armor he was a slight Neo, under 100 kilograms himself. But a lot of that 100
kilograms was muscle, implant enhanced muscle. He seemed okay, swinging the
shield about and then deploying it.

“The shield plugs into your arm for
power and control. We're still testing it,” Ox replied just as Sergei's shield
glowed to life. They could hear a slight whine warning them it was charged and
ready.

Sergei held his straight up and
concentrated, activating a new icon on his HUD. The shield deployed in under a
second, the top mast nearly poked him in the face before he twisted his arm
away. “Damn! Warn a guy!”

“You activated it dummy,” Riley snorted.
“Don't run...” he sighed as the liger activated the shield. The shield burst to
life in a blue glow, forming a wavering translucent shield twice as big as the
hardware.

“Damn!” Sergei said, eyes wide. He moved
it around. “Takes some getting used to,” he said.

“Glad we prepped the grav panels in
here,” Riley grumbled, watching the liger warily. “Don't screw around with it,”
he growled.

“No problem Sergeant, just giving it a
test drive,” Sergei said. The shield went down.

“What happened?” Riley asked.

“Shut it off. It uses a lot of juice,”
the liger replied.

“Well, he's smarter than he looks,”
Riley said.

“Hey! I resemble that remark!” the liger
growled. Riley snorted. “So um, what's this one?” the liger asked, clicking on
a submenu item.

“Wait!” Riley said, hand up, already too
late. He sighed as a blade of energy formed for a brief moment and then the
shield went dead. It jerked and sparked once then went dark. “Frack me,” he
moaned.

“What the hell was that?” Sergei asked.
A light was out nearby, and something fell from the ceiling making him duck
instinctively.

“Energy blade. A mod we're working on,”
Ox replied.

“Energy blade? You're kidding me!”
Sergei said turning in shock to the Tauren. The bear pointed to the ceiling
tiles in line with the gauntlet. “What?” Sergei asked, then turned his head to
look. Tiles were cut and dangling. Some were smoking a bit. “Um, oops?”

“Yeah, oops,” the bear rumbled.

“We have a problem controlling blade
length. You just sucked it dry and fried the emitters,” Ox said. He looked at
the ceiling. “Guess we'll have to fix that.”

“Yeah,” the liger said.

“And by we I mean you,” Ox said.

Sergei opened his mouth to object but a
look from the bear shut him down. He hunched his shoulders. “Yeah,” he finally
said. “I'll do that,” he muttered, ears down.

“We know Jethro's suit can do it, we
just don't know how they did it. More testing,” Riley sighed. “More sim work.
Think we can get Veber to help again?”

Ox grunted in reply. “Okay,” he said,
nodding to the medic and stepping back. “Your turn. Just don't try the blade.
We need to lock that down Sergeant,” he said over his shoulder.

“Right,” Riley grunted.

Gusteron took the simple route,
deploying the shield, then deactivating it. He activated it again and then
tried various poses. “Can it detach?”