by Chris Hechtl
Jethro nodded or shook his head at all the appropriate places as the rant went on and just wished the Naga would wind down and finish sending the file.
He pushed the chip over and then grimaced when the clerk checked the contents, then billed him by the byte. That was bullshit; they could just move the chip not the data. But instead of griping about it he paid the cost.
He received a sour lecture on how it was unfair that the military got a discount as the clerk handed him the receipt.
“Tell that to my wife and kids. It is hard on them being there and me here,” Jethro replied as a way of a parting shot.
That made the Naga sputter as he left the room and let the next poor unfortunate person advance in line to deal with the pain in the ass.
<)>^<)>/
Jethro nodded to some of the picnic people and others who were out playing Frisbee, tag, or soccer. There were some Marines and their families who were out for a stroll or jog. “Do we have to do this now?” Red demanded, looking around.
He realized she was uncomfortable by the people around them, but they had no choice. “Yes, now,” he said firmly as they set up.
She sighed but then helped him unload the sedan. Moving the pipe work was awkward, but they got it over to the field and then set it up. He watched as she followed the directions and only intervened when she got tangled up in the riggers tape.
Once the contraption of PVC pipes and plastic bottle were set up, she pointed the free end to the sky and then slipped the paper rocket over the end. “This had better work,” she muttered.
“Don't claw it. Any holes and it'll lose pressure,” Jethro warned.
“I'm being careful,” she replied in a much put upon tone of voice. He ignored it as she finished the set up. “Okay,” she said, taking her tablet out. “Rocket test one. This one is just a principle test of the hardware.” She panned the camera built into the tablet over the device, then up to the sky. “Let's see if it works. The next tests will be for range,” she said.
She set the tablet down then thought better of it and handed it to Jethro. “Here, you record,” she said.
He flicked his ears in humor and set it to record. He even knelt and moved to get her and the contraption into the shot.
“Not me! The rocket!” she said.
“I'm getting both. We can shoot the rocket later,” he rumbled.
“Fine, fine, whatever,” she said under her breath. “Let's get this over with,” she muttered as she looked at the plastic bottle. She raised her foot. “Five … four … three …. two … one!” she stomped hard with her one foot.
The rocket on the other end seemed to burp up the pipe and then fall off the end.
“Huh! It didn't work!” Red said, clearly disgusted.
“Try again,” Jethro said. He was sure he knew what was going on. It was a simple application of air pressure, but he wanted to see if she could figure it out on her own.
Red examined the rocket, then the pipe and the fittings for leaks, then reset. Jethro noted she didn't try to re-inflate the bottle. Since it only had a dent, he was certain it still had plenty of air.
The second time she stomped harder, but the rocket didn't get more than two meters into the air before it bottomed out and fell back to the ground. Disappointment was etched into her ears and manner. “What am I doing wrong?” she wailed.
“Did you re-inflate the bottle?” Jethro asked. She grimaced, then did so as she reset the stage. “What do you think is happening?” he asked.
“The air goes out in a whoosh through the tube,” she pointed to the tube along the ground. “Then up this pipe to the rocket. The rocket is closed off on the end so it has to puff off. I've done it with drinking straws all the time. So …,” she looked at the assembly.
“Let me see that,” she said as she held her hand out imperiously to him. He snorted, then handed over the tablet. She replayed the video and then pulled up a video from the net of the same project. She watched it silently, and then watched another.
Jethro had seen them when she'd enthusiastically taken on the project. She grimaced. “One foot.”
“And?” Jethro asked.
“And what?” she asked, looking up to him.
“What is different?” he asked.
“I don't see anything different. I mean …,” she frowned as the ape child ran and jumped hard. “Holy … wow!” she said as it took off. “Okay, I can try that I guess.”
“Without claws.”
“Um, yeah,” she said. “I …”
“What is different?” he asked.
“Um …?”
“Who is doing it? There and here?”
“Um … kids …”
“In this case …?”
“Um …?”
“Come on Red, I know you are a smart girl,” he wheedled. “We don't like to draw comparisons between ourselves, but sometimes we need to do so for a reason,” he hinted.
“Um …,” her eyes narrowed. She played with the rocket, then looked at the chimp. “He's bigger,” she said. “He's a boy,” she admitted.
“Bigger. Heavier?” Jethro added.
“Yeah. So you are saying I'm too small?”
“I don't know. This is your project; you tell me. So, he is bigger and heavier, what else?” he asked. He replayed the movie, then turned to show it to her.
She shaded her eyes to see it. She frowned when he replayed the video again. “He's running and jumping …,” her eyes widened as she caught on. “He's heavier and hitting the bottle harder! So more of the air goes out all at once!”
“By jove, I think she's got it,” Jethro drawled with a wicked grin to take the sting out of the remark. She poked him and then kicked his shin. He snorted.
She reset, then ran and jumped on the bottle. It went off and flew six meters up into the air then came down point down. She scampered over to it, cheering as kids and adults looked on to her in curiosity. She brought the rocket back and pointed to the wrinkled nose.
“It hits hard. That is why there is padding there. Any ideas on how to soften the blow?”
“Well, I did see one where they had helicopter blades,” she said thoughtfully. “And a parachute. But I want to see how high we can make them go!”
“Um, okay,” Jethro said carefully.
“You do it next!” She said, pointing imperiously to him and then the rocket. “You are heavier!”
“Okay, okay,” he laughed as they rest the system.
<)>^<)>/
“I think we've identified the Phase II candidates,” Lieutenant Fletcher reported to Major Lyon and the Cadre senior leadership.
“Good,” the major said with a nod. “Any here we can start in on? Or are they all out and about?”
“Most are out and about. Two are currently on Protodon. We can ship them here since their deployment is at an end. One is just starting her deployment there. Another is on Hidoshi's World and will need leave time before being sent here,” he warned.
“Deployment time can be shortened. Orders aren't written in stone, no matter what BuPers thinks,” the major said. He snorted at his own antics, then continued to scan the list. “Anyone we know?”
“A few students of Sergeants Tungulria, Letanga, and Warrant McClintock. That was pretty much a given since the three trained many of the RECON classes.”
“Oh?” Jethro said, looking up from the op exercise objective list he'd been scanning. “Who do I know?”
“We are changing the parameters to include more people who are qualified with armor as well as engineering and basic shooter requirements,” the A.I. said as he sent a copy of the file to Bast. Jethro scanned it, but the names didn't spark any recent memories with him.
“Lowering the bar?” Gunny Z'v'll asked.
“No. We need more in those categories. The problem is there are few 'of the blood' in them. Most of the 'blood' are RECON. Therefore, this crop will have to be bootstrapped … as Captain Thornby said recently, 'from zero to hero.’”
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“Cute,” the major said as he scanned the list. It was depressingly short, just twelve names. But that was twelve more than he currently had. “Okay. I don't see any red flags. I see more enlisted than noncoms. Pity you haven't found another officer, not that Jethro doesn't do an outstanding job there. But nothing jumps out at me.”
“Me neither,” Jethro echoed.
“If you had, I wouldn't be doing my job, sir,” Lieutenant Fletcher reminded him. “We will do the final interview of course.”
“Okay. I'll sign off on them,” the major said. “Right up until they get here and we get a face-to-face look.”
“Yes, sir. I'll work with BuPers to get their orders altered,” the A.I. stated as he withdrew.
<)>^<)>/
Admiral Irons sat back and twisted his chair from side to side with his foot as he read a minor progress report. It might be minor he thought, but it was important. He smiled as he noted one of the few people involved; the name positively leapt off the page.
Warrant Officer Jethro McClintock and the newly-formed Cadre Initiative. He shook his head as the weekly SITREP unfolded before him. He was fairly confident the black panther was well on his way to become a legend in both the Marines and SPECOPS community.
He finished reading the basic report and then filed it under highly classified as usual. There were rumors swirling around about them in the net forums and media, but that was actually a good thing in his estimation. Sometimes it was good to have a boogeyman tucked away in his closet; one people knew was out there giving the enemy nightmares.
He'd been tempted to jump the gun and ship the small platoon off to Protodon once they'd passed their initial training and stood the first two squads up. But he'd listened to Major Joshua Lyon and held them back for more training.
After reading their weekly reports, he'd come to the conclusion that he was glad he had. Keeping them on Antigua had allowed them to train a new crop of potential SPECOPS operators, while also allowing them to be loaned out to Marine RECON and the other training centers being stood up on the islands.
And keeping Jethro, now a warrant officer acting as a Drill Instructor, to train the next generation while also doing side work at the college and growing Marine training center was also important. Very few other non-sleeper Marines could attest to his combat experience.
The admiral shook his head. Eventually, they'd have to go on; he knew that. Those involved also undoubtedly knew that. He'd planned to send them to Protodon, stage them there, maybe do some light work with the militia and Marines there, and then blood them in Nuevo Madrid as their baptism by fire.
Now that plan was in flux. The latest ONI report the analysts had generated pointed to a repair yard in Dead Drop and a minor yard in Garth. Most likely, they'd shifted workers and priorities around to man El Dorado … but once word got back to the empire that he was in Antigua and when they got word of Second Fleet going on the offense in Nuevo Madrid, they'd fort up in both star systems, if Amadeus didn't stop them first.
He was of two minds about the idea. On the one hand, he agreed with Amadeus that hitting them hard and fast before they forted up would save lives. True. But also true was the strategy of bleeding them. Of drawing out the concentrated force they had in the home star system, this Home Fleet. In forcing them to redeploy penny packets that he could attrition or break. Defeat in detail.
And while they were doing that, they'd also call in every ship in the sector and perhaps neighboring sectors. That would make the job of hunting them down after Horath was broken much easier.
But there was a problem with that strategy; it rested on a few too many assumptions. Assumptions like that they'd send only a token force to defend Dead Drop, one he could break. They were going to redeploy; that matter was a given. And based on prior past acts, they weren't shy about deploying a task force. Would they be foolish enough to underestimate the Federation again? He wasn't sure.
If it worked out, Amadeus could attrition their fleet instead of having to face it in concentrated form. He could gather INTEL and use it and their tech to his advantage. They were adding new ships every day; he knew which side would win the war on production. Defeat in detail came to mind once more.
He did know that eventually they'd find out one way or another, like it or not.
But those thoughts brought him back to the Cadre and Amadeus. If Amadeus succeeded, all good. But if he failed … he grimaced. It was bad enough losing the investment in men and material when a ship was lost. But it was all part of the job.
However, the Cadre … they were a major investment. An investment in expensive equipment, limited personnel supply, and training. They weren't pawns; they were major pieces not to be taken lightly. Having a ship blown out from under them would suck. Losing them as a concentrated lot … He'd almost lost Jethro that way once. Twice. He grimaced and rubbed his jaw.
"Thinking deep thoughts, sir?" Protector asked, noting the brain patterns.
"Yes. I'm falling into the trap of making someone so important you are scared of risking them, of potentially losing them," the admiral rumbled.
"Not good. Eventually though you have to delegate. You have to trust them and their training to see it through to the end," the A.I. replied.
"Yes, yes, you do," the admiral said, straightening his shoulders.
Chapter 34
Winter set in on Destria on the Northern continents with a vengeance. The Horathians and their supporters had done what they could to regroup and dig in before the snows had begun to fall. After the first blizzard, they'd started raiding nearby communities for more supplies. They weren't gentle about taking what they wanted either.
Reports of farms and even villages and small towns being hit were reported over the local radio network. Anyone who knew of a Horathian force reported it and did their best to get clear of them if they could. That sparked a refugee crisis in some areas.
The refugee crisis temporarily stopped Jean Claude and others from gathering more people to begin to fight back. They too had to contend with the winter and all it entailed. Some of the Neos who had trickled in cautiously to rejoin their communities could handle the winter cold and snow but needed food to survive. Many of the Veraxins and other aliens were not suited for the bitter cold without help so they went south or froze to death.
<)>^<)>/
Harambe's people licked their wounds, in some cases literally, as they watched the house the Horathians had forted up in. It was an old stone and brick structure, ancient. Even some of the outbuildings were stone. The wood was dried out and gray, but the roof had clay tiles and the building had been built as a fortress.
Pity, the bastards had killed the previous owners in town months ago. They'd settled themselves in and had been lucky with a series of snow storms that had kept the natives at bay. Smoke from the chimneys told them they had plenty of material to burn … but one by one the chimneys had gone out until only one remained.
Laying siege to the farm was tough; many of the Neos who were willing to wait the bastards out had to eat. Most were predators so they were devolving a bit, going primal, under stress. It was a worrying thing. He and Bordou had been forced to break up a couple of vicious fights in the past two weeks.
Since the farm was too much of a fortress, they'd resorted to just sniping the farm's windows or anyone who went outside to attrition the group. That forced the enemy to remain inside. Under cover of darkness a Neomutt had crawled in and set the vehicles ablaze. It had been a welcome sight for the Neos to see; a grim reminder to those within that they weren't going anywhere.
He had someone watching each of the exits, which was why he was surprised when there was movement. He tracked it to a human figure. He used his binoculars to get a better view. When he did, he grunted. A male had climbed out a window and seemed to be trying to hook up a wire to the antenna on the roof.
“Movement. Male outside. North side. Looks like he is hooking up a wire to the antenna. Possibly to radio for help.”
“Repositioning,” a sniper said coldly just as the snow started to fall.
<)>^<)>/
“Once you get that done, see if you can grab some firewood—anything burnable,” Private Adkins hissed at Roy Salvador from the window.
“Are you fracking serious?” Roy snarled as he tried to get the wires spliced. He blew on his hands to warm them and then rubbed them together. Adkins was hunkered down out of sight of any snipers. He was out in the open and didn't like it one bit. “This is hard enough as it is without you breathing down my back!”
He hadn't signed on for this crap. He'd done it for the money, for the girls, and the power. To be the man, to kick ass. But now he was on the receiving end. Now he knew what it was like to be hunted. They were the ones that were supposed to be the hunters! He'd signed on for power, to be a big man, for the food … but this was just crap. Unfortunately, he didn't see any way out of it. If he ran, he'd just die in the woods or snow covered field around the farm. There were stories of the Neos eating them. Bugger that he thought worriedly as he looked around him.
“Come on, man! Hurry up. We need the wood. You know that! We're out of furniture, and we've cut up the walls and floorboards that we can! We won't last another blizzard at this rate!”
“Frack,” Roy muttered as he tucked his fingers under his armpits. His nose was already numb and dripping. It was freezing on his lips. His ears were numb as well. The wind was bitter cold. He could see his breath. He turned to look longingly at the wood pile. They needed wood, needed it badly. They'd been trying to burn their own shit lately, anything for warmth. But it stank to high heaven.
He also knew there was a heavy price for trying to get that wood though. It was so close, so tempting. A few people had managed to get a couple loads in a window before they'd dived back into the house under fire. A few others hadn't been so lucky. There was a lump in the snow, the body of Carl. He hadn't known the kid well. He'd been sent out in the dark to get the wood, but a shot had killed him after his second load.
“Damn it …” he muttered as he tried to stomp through the snow. He got two steps before there was a crack of a rifle shot. He gulped, instinctively ducking, but then he had a hard time rising. He tried to push himself up in the snow but his hands sunk in. When he finally got some … some ability to roll red gushed out of him. He gasped, then whimpered. It was cold, and for some reason, he wasn't feeling much pain …