Jethro: First to Fight (62 page)

“You fellas want a beer? First round's
on me,” Jethro offered. But they smiled slightly and shook their heads no.
Jethro nodded and they filed past. After the MP's were out of sight Kovu picked
a fight by “accidentally on purpose” using the tip of his tail to flick a
waitress's skirt up. She was annoyed but one of the farmers took umbrage.

The large farmer got up and stormed over
to them, fist clenched. Kovu turned lazily, elbows on the brass bar. The man
wound up for a punch but the lion just smiled. That made him hesitate. A single
low growl and flash of teeth had the farmer backing off. The mood in the bar
went cold, the natives were obviously upset and restless. Since it was a bit
ugly from the looks other natives shot them Valenko paid the bar tab and then
had them move on to greener pastures.

They returned to base hung over but
still functional. Their sleep in on Sunday was interrupted by a call from the
navy. “You're serious? You mean the big bad squids can't find their backsides
with all the damn sensors they've got?” Fonzarelli joked. Kovu raised a hand
high. The human tried to jump for it, but he missed the high five from Kovu and
ended up face first on floor laughing. The squad snickered at his expense.

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” Jethro
said. He'd checked the header, that was true, there was no priority tag. Just
an update on their next scheduled space exercise and a request for
confirmation.

On their third day of liberty they took
a day trip on a fishing trawler to a sea town.  Fonz was none too happy
about the pitching ship, but his implants kept his gorge down. They arrived on
the slippery docks a bit green, but no worse for the wear.

Asazi dragged them along the shops to shop,
then they hit a few of the restaurants and looked at the sights. At first the
native people weren't very welcoming... until they noted the credits the
Marines were spending in the bars, shops, and restaurants. Then they took more
of an interest in things.

The usual bar fights and other mischief
cropped up when Sergei whined about the lack of beer. Sergei was tapped a few
times to help but usually got himself in more trouble in the process since he
was inebriated. Fortunately they extracted themselves without any charges being
filed and without the shore patrol showing up.

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

Other Marines had a grand old time when
on leave, some went in directions they didn't expect.

Lance Corporal Ris'ha the Naga driver
who had first tested the LAV's on Agnosta almost a year ago befriended members
of a vehicle club his first night. The club had been organized by the few
remaining vehicle owners on the planet in order to keep their vehicles working,
and to exchange tips on repairs. The group had organized themselves into taxi's
to transport the Marines to and from the spaceport.

“We're having so many problems though!”
a mechanic said, working under the hood of one of the vehicles. And parts!
Don't get me started.”

“Do you know of anyway to get a slip ring
off and back on? We have no clue how they got it on. But the liner is cracked
and needs to be replaced.”

A male human came over. “Use a torch,”
he said.

“A torch?”

“Yeah. Heat the outside up slowly, keep
the torch moving around. Don't get the slip ring too hot. Then use a dead blow
and something in the general shape but smaller to knock it out.”

“Okay.”

“Sorry,” the human said, holding a hand
out. “Machinist second mate Rowley. If you heat the metal up it expands, giving
the slip ring inside a chance to move.”

“Okay, so we can get it out but um...
How do we get it back in?” the mechanic asked.

“Cool it,” a Veraxin chittered. “Machine
shop steward third class X'ra. Nice to see you Rowley. You too Ris'ha.”

“Nice to see you too bug,” Rowley said
with a half smile. “Been stepped on again?”

“No, but not for a lack of you trying,”
the smaller Veraxin chittered, showing second level laughter and resignation.

“Cooling it shrinks the molecules. The
entire slip ring is what you cool, not what it goes into. Cool it with liquid
nitrogen, then get it in. Get it in straight not in at an angle and you're
good. Once the slip ring warms to room temperature, it'll expand by that lost
micron to its old size.”

“Oh.”

“It's a trick we've just started
relearning ourselves.”

“I see. I'm not sure we've got the
precision tools to do that.”

“Well, I can see if I can do it at the
shop,” Rowley said.

“I can help too,” Ris'ha said, not to be
pushed out of the group.

His offer of helping them with
fabricator support from the machine shops on the base earned him a few beers
and new friends. They spent a bit of time going over the various vehicles,
comparing this feature or that. He was joined by a pair of Marines, one a
machinist, another an electronics tech. Both were keenly interested in making a
copy of the vehicles for their personal use. That was brooded about for a
while. They determined that they needed a copy of the plans to get the ball
rolling on such a project.

That contact led to the librarian Mr.
Custard who had a ton of ancient material, including manuals of the vehicles
and some of it military books. The paper versions were terribly old, crumbling.

The Naga was prompted by his implants to
ask about an orbital fort in the history of the system. Curious, George
checked. It took some time, but eventually they did confirm that Agnosta never
had an orbital fort. That disappointing news was passed up through channels.

“Do you know what happened to Admiral
Irons?” George Custard asked.

“Last I heard he left Destiny in Triang
for another ship. I'm not sure which direction,” the Naga replied.

“Oh.”

“Do you think he'll ever come back?”
George asked.

“I hope so. I doubt he'd go to Pyrax,
but he might come here.”

“I'd like that. We heard a lot about what
happened in Pyrax. Nasty stuff there. We also saw his video, we know he was
telling the truth. He'll not have a problem here.”

“You've met him sir?” the Naga asked.

“Why yes, in fact I have. Haven't you?”

The Naga waved his true hands no. “No, I
never had the honor. Great man,” the Naga said with a sigh. “He has done so
much, so many incredible things. How did you meet?”

“Well, as it happens, we were the
delegation team organized by the mayors to negotiate with the Destiny people,”
George said, looking off in memory. He talked to the Marines about the admiral,
how he was a man of honor and how he had helped them. Jim and Chumly were with
him playing checkers, both nodded politely to the Marines.

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

Major Forth wasn't sure about the project
but allowed the Naga and his friends to scan the materials into the database,
starting with the books they didn't have on file. He, like a lot of military
personnel, was fascinated by the new treasure trove of knowledge.

When they were finished with the project
the originals were placed in vacuum sealed containers and then put in a vault.
New versions were printed. The Major arranged for the library to have E-books
and e-readers as well, he negotiated to have thousands of tablets and small
solar panels made and distributed to the librarian and to schools on the
planet. They dumped Petabytes of information into the library database.

The Major allowed the Marines to work on
parts for their vehicles as long as they paid for the materials out of their
own pockets and did the work on their own time. He remembered the axiom about
it being better to give permission for a project over having them go behind his
back and do it anyway, undermining his authority. It would mean more wear and
tear on some of the equipment, but most could be replaced easily.

“Any ideas on the paint?” Chumly asked,
picking at a spot of rust on his rover. He hated seeing the rust, it worried
him.

“The paint is or I should say was a
powder coat. What they did Chum, was coat the paint in a special powder using
an electrical charge to attract it and hold it to the part. Then they baked it
on. It's like glass, an incredible bond,” Rowley explained patiently.

“Well, if it's so great, why the rust?”

“Because of seven centuries of people
scratching it up, scuffing the paint down to bare metal, or idiots like you who
are scraping it off.”

“The rust got under the paint.”

“Yes it did,” Rowley said. “Once the
bare metal was exposed to air it was like a scratch, the rust in the air got in
and started to eat away at it. What you've got there is a cheap rover. The
better ones had special self healing paint like we use in the military.”

“Coooool. Can I get some?” Chumly asked,
looking up.

“Sorry, no,” Rowley said, slapping his
arm. Chumly's face fell. “But I can see if I can do a trade and get some
civilian primer. Something with a rust inhibitor in it. Let me make a call,” he
said.

“Thanks Rowley.”

“I'm wondering,” Rowley mussed, rubbing
his chin. “I've got a ten year contract. You know, if we can get some people,
maybe we can open up a machine shop here on the mainland,” he said, indicating
the garage. “Or even a small factory that makes LAVS. Really, the frames are
just bent tubes. We can do that with a couple tube benders and a welder.”

“Yeah?” Chumly asked, getting interested
again.

“Yeah. We can see who else is
interested. Call it a start up. Maybe when my ten is up I can switch to the
reserves and do more. But for now I can only do stuff on my off time or on
leave.”

“Yeah,” Chumly said, face falling.

“But that doesn't mean we can't get the
ball rolling,” Rowley said, smiling again.

“True. So, where do we start?” Chumly
asked expectantly.

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

A second act of generosity was arranged,
they followed up on a promise and donated weather, GPS, and radio systems to
sea vessels and sea communities after two vessels carrying troops had been
temporarily lost at sea. The quick thinking of the slightly hung over Marines
had allowed them to call in with their implants. Normally their implants were quite
short ranged, but pooling their signal allowed them to get a mayday off to a
passing shuttle. A SAR Prejudice arrived some time later and towed them back to
the base.

Grimly the Major required that all sea vessels
that ferried Marines and goods to and from the mainland must be seaworthy, have
navigational aids, and have a proper crew and training in using the equipment.
He also added a provision that they have enough life jackets and life boats in
case an evacuation was necessary. That put a severe crimp on the small boats
that came to transport the Marines, but he grimly held to his standards.

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

A letter from Cheetara arrived at the
base that Monday. Many Marines were hung over. It was shaping up to be a horrid
Monday. Noncoms who weren't nursing their own hangovers were out in force,
getting Marines to their feet and off for a nice therapeutic fun run.

Sergei was amused when he received a
copy of the e-mail, so was Jethro. Jethro contacted the cheetah using the
frequency she had provided. He bounced the signal through a military
communications satellite.

Cheetara took the call with mixed
feelings. She was not feeling good, eating grass to help with indigestion from
morning sickness when she got the call, but she was a bit off her game. She
brightened at hearing Jethro's voice however. “I'm sorry I didn't factor in the
time difference Cheetara. But it is so nice hearing a familiar voice,” he said.

She waved it off. “It's okay. I've been
up eating grass.”

He tried to think of why she'd eat
grass. Finally it came to him. “Indigestion?” He asked.

“Don't you know it,” she sighed.
“Morning sickness. I'm pregnant, second trimester.”

“Oh,” Jethro said, nodding. “I'm glad to
hear you've started your family. Sorry you're sick though,” he said.

“So, what's going on?” she asked.

He told her how they were doing. She was
amused by Sergei, they exchanged brief heys. Kovu she didn't like, he had been
a royal ass to her even as a child, constantly tormenting her. He said a
disinterested hi and then left the troop bay.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“Not your fault,” Cheetara said with an
edge in her voice. She had a bit of a growl in her voice, something that shocked
him. He knew females were downright moody when they were pregnant, but she
sounded fighting mad. “Kovu and I... didn't get along. He was an ass as a cub,
he doesn't sound like he's changed much. Once an ass, always an ass.”

“He's... I'd like to say he's getting
better. Sometimes he is. He's got a female now, maybe he'll settle down soon.”

“One could only hope,” Cheetara replied.
She sounded better, her tone was returning to normal. She shrugged it off. “I'm
better off where I am now. He can stay there. Far away from me and mine.”