Jethro 3: No Place Like Home (9 page)

“But it didn't work out that way,” Valenko said.

“No,” the Major said. “It didn't. First we've grown fast, which has pushed people up through the ranks. Some like a certain fuzzball,” he eyed the bear, “were okay; they could handle it. But others couldn't. Plus, I've gotten word that someone in Pyrax has short circuited the plan, letting ROTC grads go right into officer training and then they are shipped here. From the e-mail I just read, a few ensigns were even promoted to Second Lieutenant or First Lieutenant rank without even
consulting
the Major.”

“Oh boy, I bet he is just thrilled by that.”

“Yeah. You know and I know that the Lieutenant position is where one normally learns the most about leadership and the different roles in the military. It's where the rubber meets the road I guess you could say, a true test of leadership. Throwing college people into it...,” Pendeckle shook his head, “with no true grasp of the reality of combat or logistics....”

“They are finding out it's not all point and click. Yeah, I can see the issue.”

“Oh, it gets better than that. Remember what I said about divided government? How Commander Logan doesn't want to double up on everything?”

“Yes...”

“Well, with discipline problems, we have to deal with things in-house. A mast will work for petty shit, but bigger fish have to be put to a formal court. And guess where the courts are?”

The bear's eyes widened. “In Pyrax.”

“Bingo,” the Major said in disgust. “So, he has to record everything, document up the ying yang, then ship the offender back to Pyrax, under guard mind you, with all the witnesses to boot. Which opens all sorts of holes in the command structure for weeks at a time.”

“Jag won't allow recorded testimony, sir?”

“Of course not! You can't cross examine a recording! And the defense knows that!”

“Shit,” the bear said feelingly.

“Yeah, it sucks. So, he's had to find other means to deal with it. I heard bits and pieces of this shit before we left, it's just gotten worse since then.”

Jethro shook his head. It was hard to keep track of all the information; there was something new added almost daily and then contradicted or retracted. They were still trying to process most of what they'd picked up in Antigua from the enemy and the captured computer databases. He knew that they knew the opposing Admiral's name was Rico and that he had a cruiser called the Queen something or other, but that was all he could remember.

He didn't envy the tactical department, CIC rats, or Commander Firefly. All of them were spending every waking moment sifting through what the mountains of data for the tiny nuggets of truth buried somewhere in there. He snorted, besides, figuring out intel wasn't his problem, he had enough headaches in the troop bay.

“And Commander Logan won't spring a court loose here?”

“Apparently he doesn't have the legal eagles to spare. I don't have the figures, but from some of the scuttlebutt Forth gave me, a few people have gotten it into their heads to get their scholarship, graduate and then quit the military, which has made the courts interesting.”

“Ah hell.”

“And Governor Walker has stuck his nose in it a time or two.” The bear's ears went flat. Pendeckle adjusted his collar and smiled tightly. “He's all for letting them off the hook. If they changed their minds about volunteering, we can't force them right?”

“So...”

“So, it's not our problem. What is our problem is this mess. And, how we turn this shit around.”

“Aye aye, Sir. So, why these people?”

“Apparently, they are the best Forth can come up with on short notice. So, we've got to turn them into something we can use. Are you up for it?” Pendeckle asked, buttoning his shirt.

“Aye aye, Sir, we'll get it done. Even if we have to drag them kicking and screaming along with us,” the bear growled.

“That's the spirit.”

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

Major Forth insisted all the recruits be cycled down through the Agnosta training, despite Jethro's hard work with all of them. He'd expected it, but he'd hoped to hang onto at least six of the sharpest ones. With a bit more polishing they'd hold up in whatever they faced in Pyrax or beyond. Unfortunately, that was not meant to be.

“You did good work, but I expected that as a product of Gunny Schultz. Good work. And you even got them up to snuff with reading and other skills, something others might have overlooked. Good job. I'll put a star in your record. But I want them all ground side. You need the room, and I'll have my own go at the officers before I release them for training and polishing in Pyrax,” the Major said to Jethro when the panther filed a protest.

“Sir. They are good people,” Jethro said, knowing he was being overruled.

“I know that son,” Major Forth said, nodding again. “But we're getting some questionable quality coming from Pyrax right now. I don't like what I've seen, so I'm making it a rule that everyone be run through basic here before they go off to the college, if that's okay with you,” he said eying the panther.

“Sorry, sir,” Jethro said, ears flat.

“Not a problem. You're not the first I've heard this complaint from. I'm getting it handled; that is the important thing.”

“Aye aye, Sir. Sir, I am needed in the troop bay. Now that we're almost finished off loading, Lieutenant Valenko wants to brief our people before we get the incoming troop.”

“Go,” the Major said with a nod. Jethro saluted his image. The Major returned the salute and then nodded as he cut the connection.

“Attention on deck!” Jethro barked as he entered the bay. He'd expected fatalism in the response from some of the veterans but all of them jumped out of their racks and were on their feet. The panther stepped to one side as the bear filled the hatchway behind him. Valenko stepped through the hatch and then nodded to the group.

“Attention to orders,” Valenko rumbled. “We've got less than twenty hours to get squared away so we're throwing protocol and the unnecessary stuff out the lock. As of now everyone in this compartment is bumped one grade rank. The usual bump in pay and other paperwork will be attended to while we're in transit,” he said simply.

There was a few sidelong looks from the Marines, but they held their ranks.

“What, not even an oorah?” Valenko teased. “That's it?”

The Marines grinned and cheered. The Veraxins chittered and clacked snapping their claws in enthusiasm.

“Wait, no tests, sir?” Harley asked, eyes narrowed, ears forward. She knew there was something else, something more coming. They were playing the good-news, bad-news routine; she could smell it.

“No tests. Apparently, surviving combat and babysitting is enough of one,” another Marine said, high fiving Sergei in his enthusiasm. He had to jump to do it though. The big liger laughed when it took three tries to get it right.

“And now the bad news to go with the good since you've softened us up,” Harley said, eying the bear and panther. The bay quieted. The Marines expectantly looked at the two. Ox grunted, cocking his head. He and Sergeant Riley had both been briefed on what was coming earlier. Riley had declined the promotion; it would have taken him out of his beloved armory. But Ox had agreed to his. He'd come up in the world, recognizing that there was a lot more to engineering than just Marine hardware. He'd been borrowed by Chief Chowler and the XO several times to assist the Navy work crews during their transit. Now he felt like things were changing for him.

Riley was content to remain in his narrow field; he had self-imposed blinders on. Ox, however, had had his torn off, and he wasn't certain he ever wanted them put back on again.

“You know me so well, Harley,” Valenko rumbled in mock amusement.

“No, but I can smell a punch line coming a long ways off. This has something stinky written all over it. Besides, you look like your enjoying the anticipation, which is just like you. So out with it. Spill.”

“Alright, here is the thing for those not as trusting as PFC Harley,” Valenko said nodding to her. The Neo Hyena snorted but didn't rise to the bait. “We're getting a lot of noobs, a mixed bag from what I've gathered from the data I've seen. We're going to be critically short on officers and noncoms, so you're going to have to step it up. That means get yourself squared away, and you'll have to mentor the noobs. It shouldn't be too hard; you've just had a locker full of it for our run to here.”

He looked around expectantly, but no one spoke. He nodded his giant ursine head strutting down the bay with his hand paws behind his back. “These are Marines, people, so it's not the babysitting job you think it is. All of them are a product of our training. You'll have to keep an eye on them; those of you who just became corporals will have half squads to look after. Those of you who made Sergeant just got handed a squad or even two.”

Some of the Marines growled; some looked interested or annoyed. They all knew better than to protest. It would be futile anyway.

“Are we ready?” the Major's voice asked in the hatchway.

“Sir!”

“We don't have time for everyone to get dressed. Let's get this over with, I've got twenty minutes and then I've got to make more calls and scream at people,” Major Pendeckle said, coming into the bay. He exchanged salutes with the troops and then turned to a rating who held a box. He took it and then passed it to Valenko. “I had these replicated for the occasion.”

One by one each of the thirty-eight Marines was called forward to receive their new rank and a medal. It was brief; some of the Marines weren't even in uniform. The Major maliciously pinned their new rank tabs and medals to their tank tops or fur. More than one Marine winced when they pricked skin.

Even Valenko received a medal. That surprised the bear briefly. When the quick and dirty ceremony was complete the Major nodded. “Carry on then,” he said and departed.

Valenko and Jethro turned to see him go, but the officer didn't say anything more. After a moment Valenko turned to the troops.

“This is your opportunity to shine, so don't blow it,” Valenko said simply, with a subsonic growl in his voice. Heaven help any who did was the understatement there. “A lot is riding on this, not just careers. Lives, lives on the ship, possibly the entire quadrant. So get it right the first time,” he said and then went to the hatch. “Dismissed,” he said simply and then left.

“Talk about no pressure,” Pa'nash said, echoing the feelings or thoughts of just about every Marine in the troop bay it seemed.

“All right people, you heard the man. Your assignments are in your inbox. PFCs are going to be on the buddy system. You don't get to choose your buddies. Got a problem; work it out. We don't have time to hold hands and wipe your asses,” Jethro growled. “I want a meeting with the senior leadership in twenty. That means anyone Lance or higher. We've got less than an hour before the new troops start showing up so no dicking around. Get with it Marines!” He snarled as the bay exploded into action.

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

Major Forth had sent along new Marines to integrate with Major Pendeckle's Marines on Antigua. Valenko's squad was being broken up; most would head their own squad or half squad. They had a sketchy TOE, but only a list of names, ranks and serial numbers; their MOSs weren't on file. A snafu with the records department; something that had yet to be worked out.

Jethro knew right now, any warm body would be welcome. They'd figure something out, and they'd have time to get them up to speed while in transit. At least for some things, he thought darkly. It wasn't like they could practice EVA or use explosives on the ship.

Some of the recruits he recognized by name. He'd had a couple as boots, and he knew they were good troop. They would be welcomed to replace Fonz. Others not so much.

Each of the Marines were catching whatever flight available from wherever they were on the planet to get to the station. Some had to transition to the main base before coming up. A few were dragging their heels. Some, however, had gotten to the station early and made a nuisance of themselves trying to get aboard while the squids were transferring cargo.

Staff Sergeant Allen Spitterman, “Al the Allan wrench,” came swaggering onto Firefly an hour after she docked and her boarding tubes had cleared. He was as advertised, overweight with a bit of a gut. He was human, 169 centimeters tall with a regulation Marine buzz cut of black wiry hair.

“All right people, listen up,” he bellowed into the bay. “I'm your new senior noncom. That's Staff Sergeant Spitterman,” he said, flashing his IFF. He pointed to the rank on his jacket. “Staff. You can call me Staff or god, I don't care which. We need to get this clusterfuck under control. I'll take the rack furthest from the head.”

“We're assigning them, Staff,” Sergei said, looking at him. “Some of us were here first and can't fit on the smaller racks.”

“Says you. I've got the rank; I'm damn well going to use it. You want to be busted a stripe?” he demanded.

The liger got out of his rack and looked at the human with slitted eyes. Spitterman stopped abruptly and looked up and up. Way up. Sergei smiled slightly, and then picked something out of his teeth. He'd stayed in his rack to keep out of the way. Now he was suddenly filling the aisle, and traffic stopped.