Recruiting Drive: Jethro 4 (Jethro Goes to War)

by Chris Hechtl

  One thing that bothered him. How were they dealing with the governor's keys? He scrolled through the news, but there wasn't anything there about it. So either it was happening quietly, or … not. He shook his head. It was above his pay grade anyway he reminded himself.

  “Watching a movie, Gunny?” Recruit Private Roarack asked.

  “About to turn in. I suggest you do the same,” Jethro replied. He waved a tablet as he shut it off. “I was checking up on the news.”

  “That crap. The locals suck. It's not digital; it's all paper and radio. The old lady wants someone to scan it for us, but they told her to piss up a rope.”

  Jethro winced. He could imagine how the Major had taken that suggestion. “So, what, she's got one of us doing it?”

  The private snorted. “Of course. Yours truly. She's got me scanning the papers as soon as they are delivered, then she has some sort of smart bot picking through them for anything we need to know.”

  Jethro nodded.

  “I'm surprised you didn't know this, Gunny.”

  “How long have you been doing it?” he asked, pretending like he had known.

  Roarack grunted. “A day,” he admitted.

  “I've been busy.”

  “So, you noncoms aren't omniscient.”

  “Only when it comes to what mischief our troops are getting into. Most of the time,” Jethro admitted with an ear flick as he rose off his rack. “I'm going to make the rounds then turn in. Make sure you CC me a copy of the newsprint.”

  “Sure thing, Gunny,” the neowolf said with a nod. “Bet the editors will howl when they realize what we've been doing. They've been losing subscriptions,” he joked.

  “Their problem,” Jethro sniffed as he walked out to check on the troops. “If they want anything out of me, I'll give them the world's smallest violin or a swift kick depending on how they approach me.”

  The wolf chuckled as he went his own way, tail wagging.

  <(>~^~<(>

  Moira sniffed the air in appreciation as she visited the spaceport. She enjoyed the fall, the time of harvest when the salmon and other fish ran, when the hunting was splendid. The ships were coming in from up and down the coast to trade their goods. Fish, hides, meat, all of it were going into the maw of the city.

  The beaver and other pelts would be turned into fashion accessories the locals coveted. Like their top hats. But she wouldn't mind a nice fresh salmon for dinner. She made a note to Bast to have someone purchase or trade for some for her and for the unit. The boys and girls deserved a treat too.

  She saw the fish monger waving a nosy red kitten away. She snorted when she saw a feisty white one sneak in behind the human to steal a fish. He never saw her make off with her ill-gotten gain. But then she got greedy and came back for seconds a minute later. This time he did turn from the distraction to see her. She narrowly missed a thrown machete knife. It embedded in the wood near her, making her drop her fish and scramble over a fence for safety. The fish monger stamped over to the knife, pulled it out of the wood with a jerk then wiped it off on his dirty apron. Then he scooped up the fish, sniffed it, wiped it where she had touched it, then stuck it back with the others.

  Moira shook her head sadly. Maybe she would get some salmon, but not from him.

  “Ma'am, command said to let you know the supply shuttle is running late,” Lieutenant Chaing reported to her over the radio.

  “Any idea why?” she asked patiently. She didn't like having come all the way out to the spaceport, exposing herself for nothing. And she definitely didn't like the idea of doing it twice.

  “No idea, ma'am. I'm guessing another exercise got in the way.”

  “Lovely,” the wolf growled, pacing for a brief moment. “Well! I guess I'll be making some calls,” she said heavily as she and her security detachment headed to the control tower.

  <(>~^~<(>

  Three and a half weeks after their arrival and landing, the navy reported another convoy arrival. This one was from Antigua and had been expected. Most of the convoy's precious cargo was destined for the Navy however. But they did bring in some supplies for the Marines as well as two fresh squads of troops.

  Moira made some adjustments and sent her wounded back with the convoy. Anyone in stasis of course; there was no way they could receive proper medical care with the task force or on the ground. Lieutenant Ebensher went with them.

  All but five of the Marines who had come down with the human female and had survived the siege had been cycled back to the ships. Six were on light duty on the destroyers, replacing the Marines she'd stripped from their compliments for her big push. The others had various issues; many of them had PTSD. Nightmares and trouble sleeping were a common complaint as was moodiness. She was tempted to ship them all back to Antigua to get additional help but she wasn't sure what they would do with them.

  Losses so far had been light; she'd lost seven of her volunteer troops to enemy fire and three to a roadside bomb. One Marine had been killed, another five wounded. Nine of her volunteers had been injured critically enough to warrant evacuation and stasis. They would all be returning to Antigua to undergo surgeries and weeks of therapy and rehabilitation.

  The majority of the losses and casualties had been in the local militia. They were poorly outfitted and did the stupidest things, also some of the craziest things. Jake the mutt had become a legend before his toe tag had come up. Their heavy weapons … and insistence on wearing civilian formal attire while going into battle was nuts. Half of them disdained wearing armor, and those that didn't wore primitive plates of steel over their chests. Ornate plates that were showy and wouldn't stop a round larger than a .22.

  She'd had a good laugh when she'd seen their heavy weapons team. One guy would have the weapon strapped to his back. He would bend over and support himself with his hands on his knees while another guy would stand behind him to fire it. Crazy. Totally bughouse nuts. But they seemed to be thrilled by it and loath to change.

  She had insisted on giving them proper medical care through the navy's resources. She had also insisted on putting the critically injured in stasis and shipping them off to Antigua. The local militia leaders hadn't put up a fuss over that decision. They'd even asked her to take on some of their lamed people. Ten people who had limbs amputated were being shipped back with the marines. She shook her head. One thing was for certain, she planned on getting the medics on the planet proper instructions on trauma medicine, one way or another.

  She also had to deal with the care packages Admiral Irons had shipped in for the locals. There was something to be said about sending in power supplies, water filtration equipment, medical supplies, food replicators, and even tablets for schools and not send enough supplies to keep the Marines outfitted. Or even a damn assault shuttle! Just one and she'd have some sort of air support! The drones weren't cutting the mustard, their range was sharply limited to twenty kilometers. She fired off another request to him and Colonel Forth. Hopefully someone was listening and not just losing her requests down a paper laden rabbit hole she thought in rich disgust.

  As far as the care packages were concerned, she'd gotten wise. Initially she'd had some she'd handed over to the locals … only to find out they were hoarding them for their own purposes or selling them on the black market. So she didn't try to turn them over to the council of business leaders.

  Instead she had sold off some of the minor gear to get some local credits going, then used that money to hire locals to install the filters and other equipment into the city's systems, either those tied into the mains or those closest to her. That had sparked a bit of mischief with the local unions and bosses until she'd put her foot down and hired independently and more or less at random. She would send a squad out to randomly pick people up who wanted a job every morning. No one knew who they'd approach, but many lingered near the gates in hopes of work. She'd ordered her people to pass them by. There was no telling if an IED would be set off in their midst.

  She had gotten her sal
mon dinner. In fact, she'd gotten enough fish and venison to give everyone the same treat so she didn't have to feel guilty about it. But somehow she'd forgotten to send any up to the squids topside. Let them eat ration packs and replicated food since they were hogging all the supplies she thought darkly.

  When the local radio media and newspapers got wind of the ansible, they'd gone into overdrive. The idea that Protodon was talking to other worlds had charged them with a fever. One that had finally gotten some people to come tentatively forward to work with them. Even if it was in distaste over their being nonhuman. She was being beset by reporters and editors daily now.

  She'd gotten enough scuttlebutt to realize that no one wanted to be labeled a collaborator. That had sickened her for a moment. They didn't mind working with the pirates to slaughter their own population, but didn't want to be associated with the Federation? To gain proper medical care? Education? All that had been lost? The Empies had brought them only misery, but they didn't see it that way apparently.

  Then she'd gotten deeper and gotten annoyed. It wasn't a matter of tit for tat, it was a concern that the pirates would come back. That the Federation couldn't hold. Based on what Ebensher's forces had failed to do, and her own people only holding the capital, spaceport, and surrounding area, she couldn't blame them for feeling that way.

  She'd done her best to assure them that the Federation Navy would hold the star system. Mister Shale, one of the business leaders, had finally decided to talk with her about it over a sniffer of whiskey.

  Shale was a good sort, a bit condescending, but his heart seemed in the right place. He'd finally gotten over most of his attitude when she'd set him straight on their age difference. Something akin to awe had replaced his attitude for a bit before he'd settled down.

  “You will for now. We know that. But if you are forced to retreat …,” Mister Shale said with a shake of his head. “Only now. The Empies will be back. We want no part of your war, lassie.”

  She flipped her ears in annoyance at that tag. Lassie was a dog; she was a wolf. She'd tried to set Shale straight, but it hadn't sunken in. Perhaps when Major Pendeckle's first battalion showed up, they would look at things differently. Somehow she doubted it though.

  “For the record, it's your war too. You didn't invite the Empies here. Not all of you,” she said eying him. He nodded slowly. Both of them knew that some of the native humans had indeed welcomed the Empies with open arms. “Like it or not, Protodon for the time being is a battleground. I know you don't like to be caught in the middle. But eventually you and others like you are going to have to pick a side.”

  He rubbed his red muttonchops for a moment then tipped his red tartan cap back for a moment as he tapped his pipe clean. “Ah lass, but if we do, and we're caught out, it's a bit more complicated than if we fall arse over tit, don'cha know. We're not barmy, nor off our trolley, as long as Busche is out there to throw a spanner in the works though …” he stopped, shrugged then started again after a moment of consideration. “But we're not saying to you to get stuffed and bugger off either. Your bits and bobs are a might handy. But until we're sure …”

  “We're on our own.”

  He looked at her with sympathy. “Aye, that's the way of it,” he said, running a finger alongside his nose. He turned away to snort, then opened the container in his pocket for more tobacco. He didn't find any though. He made a face as he closed the brass container with an annoyed click. “I'm off. I'm out of baccy, so I'll be see'n a man about a dog. Um, I mean ….” His cheeks flushed red.

  She just stared at him for a moment.

  “I best be leaving, miss,” he said, touching the brim of his cap. She nodded as he got up in a rustle of tweed.

  “Be seeing ya,” he said with another sniff and nod. She nodded back as he departed. She had a lot to think about she thought as she reprioritized who got what from that care package again.

  <(>~^~<(>

  Baroness General Busche shook her head as she read the reports. She was deep underground in one of her most secure headquarters. She chose to move them at random times, but she felt most secure when she was underground, away from the prying eyes in the sky.

  She had learned everything she could about fighting an asymmetrical warfare engagement. She was fighting for time, which meant she had to be conservative. She'd already lost a third of her personnel. She could ill afford pissing them away in a frontal engagement when the enemy held the high ground.

  But she was still pissed. Oh, not about all the wealth she'd lost or the trouble she knew she was going to be in when she got back to the empire, but at being hunted. It bothered her; it shook her to the core. They were the hunters, not the hunted. They were the superior species! Yet this wolf was baying at her heels and all she could do was run.

  She knew her people wanted to fight back. Hell, she'd authorized strikes and terror strikes repeatedly only for her people to get intercepted. Those in the capital were now getting picked off. They could no longer completely rely on their spies to give warning … and their observational posts apparently gave them away. Those that remained in the capital were even more hunted than she.

  This wolf was also seemingly indifferent to the strikes Busche performed on the peons on the planet. She'd thought she'd draw her out, get her to fritter away her resources chasing ghosts but apparently that hadn't been the case. The wolf was staying doggedly concentrated in and around the capital.

  Word had gotten back to her that the enemy was waiting on additional reinforcements. Equipment or men, it mattered not, either would bode ill for her and her forces.

  She recognized that the Federation's Alpha Base was set up as their HQ, but Baker was their logistics. They had to have some sort of replicator there judging from the recycled material flowing in and the fresh material flowing out.

  “Ma'am, are you going to authorize it?” Captain Allegra asked hopefully. It was his plan to get in and strike at Alpha Base in a possible decapitating strike. She, however, knew the odds of the success of that mission were slim. And if they did succeed, it would be a morale blow but the Fed's chain of command would just pick out a successor within hours. No, she had to hit them where it truly hurt and help her people as well, which meant Baker was the real target.

  Or at least one of them. She rapidly typed out orders to Sergeant Tyler and Colonel Pauling to use the distraction of the shelling to get teams into the city if possible. And to strike at secondary targets while the enemy was off balance.

  “I'm authorizing and ordered the base to be shelled. But I picked a different target. Don't screw it up,” she said, pointing to the image of Baker on the electronic map. “Use the partisans to help you.”

  “Ma'am? They suck,” Captain Allegra said, making a face. He didn't remind her that he'd tried to get her to approve his plan before. She'd drawn in her horns, more interested in covering her ass and studying the enemy than in engaging them. Now the enemy had a lot more forces; they were dug in and had a layered perimeter. They also had much better coverage so getting in with the mortars was exceedingly dangerous. The gap he'd found in their coverage would only work once. “They are little more than cannon fodder, ma'am. They won't know what to do with the mortars other than carry them.”

  “I know that. We may use some as bait,” she said. His eyes widened in surprise at her ruthlessness. “Got a problem with that?”

  He gulped under her steely gaze and shook his head. “No, ma'am.”

  “Good. We can't fully trust them. They've made their bed; we know it. Some of them may think they can slink back to their homes and old lives. I've had two executed to show them the error of their ways. Hopefully for their sake the survivors got the message.”

  “If that didn't sink in, the lynching and crap the mob is performing might, ma'am.”

  “It is interesting that they have no place to go but us. But I don't like the idea that one of them could turn his coat and sell us out. So, watch your back.”

  “Yes, ma'am,” the c
aptain replied with a nod. “We're going to use a lot of ammunition, ma'am.”

  “Then make sure you use it wisely. As soon as the artillery barrage commences, move your troops in. Drive the partisans ahead of you. If you take too heavy losses, fall back.”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “Keep a log of everything as it happens. I want every location of enemy troops mapped. Get hard numbers on them and what they are outfitted with. Record the battle if you can, but don't let it fall in the wrong hands. And you had better be dead if you even think about getting captured,” she said, raising a warning finger towards him.

  “I know my duty,” he said quietly. She held his gaze for a long moment, assessing his commitment to the cause before she nodded slowly.

  “See that you do. And see that they do,” she said, indicating the waiting troops. “Now go.”

  As soon as they left, she ordered her base to be moved. “We'll leave a note,” she told Sergeant Teller.

  The sergeant nodded dutifully as he got to work passing on her orders. He knew it wasn't true; she wasn't that stupid.

  <(>~^~<(>

  When Lieutenant JG Jojo Pwaulli noted the medal requests for the officers and enlisted who had performed during the action in Kathy's World had one noticeable exception, she put in a quiet word with TF22s JAG and intel officer Lieutenant JG Norberto Jornel. He read her email then checked the after action report. When he texted her back asking what the problem was she highlighted a portion that he like many others had apparently overlooked.

  “Are you serious? He managed to board an enemy vessel while it was underway? And he lived?”

  “You see why I'm calling. He not only lived, he gutted that Nelson from the inside. He gave it enough indigestion to make her back off, but for some reason no one is noting it or the intel he gathered while he was over there.”

  “Was any of it recorded?” Jornel asked cautiously.

  “He was in armor. It was all recorded,” Jojo replied sweetly, forwarding him the link.