“Oh.” The big guy looked thoughtful and then nodded. “Roger d'at.” Then he frowned. “I mean aye aye.”
“Right,” Jethro drawled, using his implants to send the kid his copy of the rules of standing watch once more. It was going to be a long shift.
...*...*...*...*...
Logan and the senior staff received a clearer presentation of ideas from Riley through Firefly. Major Forth was on hand as Firefly presented the ideas. Forth was amused when he heard that Riley had even sent off an e-mail clearly stating he didn't want a promotion and they'd better not or he'd bust some heads to get back to where he wanted to be. That was classic Riley through and through.
“I've run simulations of the design. It's not as effective as a straight up fort, but it is the equivalent of having a cruiser on station. With a carrier group, it's even better. That would significantly magnify our firepower on station and give us some flexibility in defense and logistics.”
“It's all workable? Everything?” Thornby asked.
“We are taking what the Sergeant said to heart and the designers are working on the new path even as we speak. I know a few were put out over who came up with the idea, but now that they've gotten over the initial outrage and stopped pouting,” the AI paused as Thornby and Logan started to chuckle. When they finished snickering he continued. “They're taking the concepts and running with them.”
“Ah. Good,” Logan replied. “Then we can get into building the things. Good, good. I'll pass the word. We can always cut tunnels for missile launchers to be installed later,” he said.
“And mounts for energy weapons and turrets to be added later,” Major Forth said, nodding in turn.
“Good. Now, about the crusher. We need a way to weed out and nurture the potential crop of ship commanders. Pruning back some ego's would be a good thing. So, the advanced tactical school.”
“San Diego?”
Logan nodded. “Of course. A dedicated station would be ideal but we're talking ship simulators, so we can do that in San Diego and concentrate our resources. Now, we'll need a staff,” he turned to Matilda. She hated wearing so many hats, but preened a bit when he told her she did it so well. “And other things...”
Matilda sighed. She'd known Horatio for years, he wasn't the only one struggling to fill a pair of shoes he thought was too big for him. She was G-3 schools, as well as Dean of the Anvil College, and now acting Dean of the military academy. She was torn in 3 different directions. Throw in being a parent to a teenage granddaughter now exploring dating and it was no wonder she was a bit snippy. “Get me facilities and we'll talk staff. You can, I assume, rotate sitting captains and their XO's through there? Both for training purposes and as guest instructors?”
“Sure, when their ships are in dock for repairs or refit,” Logan replied with a nod. “Or if they're between assignments or getting off or on limited medical duty,” he expanded.
“Light duty,” Doctor Thornby agreed.
“That's fine. The problem is we need proven combat commanders in positions of authority, you don't want someone who's never seen combat running the show. Which limits our pool of candidates,” Matilda sighed.
“Well, we've got time before we settle this. Right now we'll lay the foundations, or in San Diego's case, cut them and then get the interiors set up. I'd say another 3 months before the facilities are ready.”
“Fine then,” Matilda said. “I'll have my list by then. I can have the general staff in before then of course.”
“Yes, but I'd like a command staff in place...”
“You'd lose at least one Captain you know. Harris or Mayweather are on the top of my list,” the dean replied.
Horatio frowned. “I'd rather not lose any of them. I know none will be keen on going. I may have to make it mandatory. A rotating command slot. A quarter in the role then they can go back to their ship,” he sighed.
“Ouch,” Major Forth replied. “Glad I'm a Marine.”
“Yes, you do have combat experience,” Matilda replied. “Don't you?”
“In hand to hand and leading men on the ground. Ships are out of my element and comfort zone,” the Major replied. The woman snorted.
“We'll figure it out,” Horatio sighed.
...*...*...*...*...
Captain Pendeckle frowned at the Major as the Major entered the ward room. “What? Do I have a stain again?” Major Forth demanded, looking down at his uniform front.
“No sir, just... It's just I'm not thrilled about the state of the boots training.” Lieutenant Myers rolled his eyes to Valenko and Lieutenant Harley. The Captain had been griping about the problem now for several days. It was one of the reasons they were having this meeting. They were the only officers in attendance, all the other officers were out of range currently.
“Ah,” Forth replied nodding. He'd heard a few gripes about it. They were cycling new recruits, either Marines or naval personnel through San Diego in an catch as catch can basis. They were given two to three weeks of boot before they received their implants, long enough time to get some of the civilian crap out of their system for some, shake away the dead weight who didn't really want to be there, but the training was a pale shadow of what it had been before. Most of it was classroom crap, not what these kids needed to survive.
After they recovered from their implants they were given sleep teaching and information downloads, then another week of training before they were shipped off to various posts. It was expected that they would pick up additional training from the veterans. Some of that was happening, but there were also reports of a lot of blanket parties going on. Not a good sign when many were repeat performances and sometimes the medics became involved.
“Its...” Pendeckle frowned. “Sir, this sucks. We need to fix this. Either keep them in training for an additional time, or stop training until we have proper facilities.”
“And we won't get that here. San Diego doesn't have the life support for the large training decks. Those are months away from even starting construction,” Lieutenant Dana Harley said.
Pendeckle replayed his incident with the Hawaiian Private. The other officers snickered. “You aren't seeing it. You don't understand. If they were deficient with something so simple, how can they handle combat?” He pointed out. That sobered them.
“Sir, we've been trying to use sims to simulate combat during the training period. But they have what, a week of sims after they get their implants before we ship them off to their posts?” he asked, looking at Valenko. The bear nodded and shrugged. “That's not nearly enough,” the Captain said turning to the Major.
“I know.”
“I know you know sir, the first two weeks are orientation, PT, and getting them to learn to follow orders. A little zero defect mentality, but not much. Spit and polish, little practical lessons and of course no time on a gun range since none were available. The PT is crap, most of it muscle building, no cardio or team building. They had no place to run other than on a treadmill. They couldn't learn to appreciate the grind, of keeping with the program because you can't just hit the reset button,” the Captain fumed.
“We need Gunny Schultz back in the DI uniform. I'm sorry, but Gunny Thompkins and his methods just aren't cutting the mustard,” Lieutenant Harley said, shaking her head, cold sober. She looked like a serious Marine, buzz cut, clean with cold blue eyes. “I've compared his training to Gunny Schultz, there is no comparison.” She nodded her chin to Valenko.
The bear nodded to her. Apparently she'd become a fan of his people after the first Marine expedition force to Agnosta a few months ago. She'd driven herself and her people to emulate the bear and his squad. But there was something to be said about a copy and the original. The copy had flaws, conceptions driven in and bad habits that were hard to work out. She was getting better, but she wasn't there yet, not quite.
“I know,” Major Forth replied.
“Expecting the troops to train recruits isn't working. We're cycling them through a three week cour
se that should be a minimum of twelve weeks like shit through a goose sir, we need to hold them to training. This bullshit about sleep teaching and downloads... classroom crap is just that, crap. You get more from experience, not from sitting on your ass in a nice safe room! We need to expose them to combat conditions. Actually firing their weapons. Drills on stripping them and rebuilding them. Why they need their kits. Hell! Space training! We lost one boots because he brazenly said he knew what he was doing and his partner didn't know he hadn't been trained! Everyone should be trained to the same standard!”
“I know,” Major Forth said again, sinking into his chair. He remembered the incident, after all, it had happened only a few days ago. Luckily the boots had survived. “They need hands on. I get that.” He rather regretted the situation they were in, he was frustrated just as much as they were. He had strove to teach the Marines of class one how to survive in combat, how to stand up to the furnace, survive and complete the mission. To teach them that they could handle adversity. Tempered them with careful exposure, calculated to acclimate them to combat. Now that seemed to be unraveling.
“I know you know sir, it's just frustrating. We've lost 10 recruits due to mental illness. That's a major investment in men, implants, and training wasted. Thrown away. All of them were discharged, all suffered PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. None were combat trained. Most went up against Valenko's squad and just couldn't hack it. I'd hate to see what would happen if those kids really did get their sticks in a real meat grinder. Their breakdown could screw a mission and get a lot of people killed.”
The Major frowned. They were right, they'd been trying to stick a band aid on the problem and it wasn't working. He was actually surprised Pa'nash had stayed in as long as she had. Either her therapy had taken this go around, or being on the end dishing it out had helped. Or just time, time and talking about it helped a lot. He made a note to have some down time and beer sessions for the troops to unwind more. “Ideas to fix the problem? I know holding them to training, but we don't have the facilities. I'm thinking beer and bullshit time, or games, but I'm not a shrink.”
“Sir, we need to come up with some additional options. Assigning DI's to act as probational officers to keep training them under the guidance of the local OCT isn't working either.”
“You're telling me what isn't working. I get that. Now I want some answers,” Forth said, voice cooling into command voice.
“Yes sir,” the Captain said, temper cooling. “I guess part of my problem with it is after having the first graduating class to compare them too...” he shrugged.
“And here I thought we were the first graduating class,” the Major said with a snort.
“Not even close. We're still learning on the job even now. The first graduating class, we squared them away. But we're dropping the ball with the next. These people will eventually replace us someday you know.”
“Not a pleasant thought,” Harley replied with a wince.
“Why can't we hold them to training sir?” Valenko asked.
“Too many people and a lack of facilities. All we have are classrooms on San Diego. Our officers are on Anvil in the college, and they are only getting classroom lessons there too. We have Sergeant Brenet there riding herd on them though.”
“I remember him sir, he trained us with Gunny Schultz. Good troop.”
“I know. One of the reasons I posted him there. He came highly recommended.”
“Part of the problem is the stream of recruits. We get a few every week. Sometimes a ship comes in and we get a half dozen or a dozen. All with various skills. Hell, a few don't even know how to read!”
“It's surprising the level of ignorance the colonists have,” Harley replied.
“Don't be too smug, some came from Pyrax too,” Pendeckle replied tartly. Harley frowned and looked away.
“Classes vary in size. If we get a lot we have to rush the current class through. We don't want to lose anyone.”
“Sir, if they can't damn well wait, they don't deserve to be Marines,” Valenko said, looking at the Major. “I suggest a minimum class size. Say, a platoon? Half platoon if the facilities aren't up to snuff for that many.”
“We don't have the trainers for that,” Harley frowned.
“Why? We had enough during my time in boot,” the bear asked mildly. “We have a lot more Marines now. Why can't we assign some to train? Or assistants? I admit, a few aren't up to the task, but we can train them.”
“Are you volunteering?” Lieutenant Myers asked, sounding amused.
“I can. Or my squad can. We have one new recruit, Private Fonz. He's shaping up nicely, though he still has a lot of rough edges.”
“Ah.” She nodded slowly. “I seem to recall sending you Fonz.”
Valenko's black eyes looked at the Lieutenant mildly. “Yes ma'am you did.”
“Rough edges?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow. He shrugged.
“Corporal Jethro and I acted as joint platoon leaders during boot. Jethro has a lot of untapped potential. He's definitely DI material if he had the training. He's taken Fonz and Pa'nash under his wing and is bringing them up to my standards. But I recommend the corps seriously look into a better boot camp. Piecemeal isn't working sir.”
“Which we can't do,” Lieutenant Silverman replied.
“There is no such thing as can't,” Forth said mildly. “We figure it out. If we can't find a work around that's by the book, then we rewrite it. Get me a list of former DI's. Focus on F platoon. Valenko, I'm sorry, but I think Gunny Schultz's skills will be better put to use elsewhere.”
The bear winced and slowly nodded. Schultz and Pa'nash had both been borrowed a lot already. “I see sir. It will put a hole in my squad. I don't have another noncom now.”
“Well, we can borrow him for now as we fix this problem. Jethro will have to carry the load or not, we'll see. We'll reassess this in a week. For now, let's see what else we can do.”
“Facilities are an issue, but so are supplies...” Lieutenant Myers said starting on the next issue.
...*...*...*...*...
Valenko pulled the Gunny aside and related the discussion and its implications. Schultz listened, soberly nodding at one point or another. He'd come to realize something like this would happen, he really was needed elsewhere. He'd also come to realize weeks ago Thompskins was dropping the ball. The noncom grapevine had been abuzz about the problem. Jefferson and Brenet had both talked to him about it. He'd put himself out there to help them and the trainers. Fortunately he himself hadn't been tapped to be an acting trainer on Firefly. He wasn't sure why, the idiot they had in charge just didn't know what he was doing. He'd spent some time trying to get it through his thick head with mixed results.
“So, you're saying, we're coming to an end of the marriage?” the Gunny finally asked, flicking his ears to indicate humor.
“I'm sorry Gunny. I know you wanted field work but...” the bear shrugged.
“It's not all about what a person wants. Sometimes you have to submit to the inevitable in order to further the needs of the Marines. Put the pack first as my sire told me,” Schultz replied. “When do I go?”
“The orders haven't been cut yet, so you've got some time. But I'd like you to make yourself available at all times, even if you have to shuttle out or talk long distance. Whatever it takes to get the job done. We'll try to work some corrections into the program that is currently in progress but I don't know.”
“I see.”
“There is no point changing horses midstream as the Major said. We'll start fresh with the next class. But to do that we'll, or should I say, you'll need to lay the groundwork like you did for us.”
“I see.”
“I'm sorry Gunny, I really am.”
“I know. I'll get it done,” the Gunny replied, straightening his shoulders. “I think we'll either need a replacement for me, or move Jethro up faster than we'd anticipated.”
“Well, the promotion cycle isn't over just yet. He was
slated for another stripe. We'll see.”
“Bump a grade might work. What about Hurranna?”
“She's slated for Marine pilot training. Her class starts in a month or so. She doesn't know yet. She was on the reserve list but her performance in Agnosta and her performance during the testing has bumped her up a bit.”
The Doberman flicked his ears. “Good for her. I'm glad she's getting a chance at what she wants.”
The bear winced again. “Gunny.”
“No, that wasn't me whining. Damn. No, I'll do it. Thompskins not obviously. One request. He doesn't replace me,” the Doberman growled.
“You can damn well bet on that not happening,” the bear growled, nodding.
...*...*...*...*...
Jethro's Leo friend Hrriss took him out to dinner when he had a weekend pass. Hrriss had been promoted to deck manager and he was happy. He constantly preened, looking about. Jethro was amused by his friend's antics.
When they were done the Leo guided him to a Neo cat house. At first Jethro was not sure what to make of it. The heady smell of felines in heat and the alcohol in his system had his hormones all in knots. He was riled up and the alcohol had lowered his defenses. It had also been a long damn time since he'd had any his instincts warred with his brain's sense of decorum. His friend pushed him inside to get his pipes cleaned.
In the morning he was embarrassed to be seen leaving the building. He waved to the Neo women. The Leo teased him about the first time they had done that as kits. He was even more embarrassed.
“What will the matriarch think?” he muttered. Hrriss gave him an amused look and ear flick.
“Who do you think put me up to this in the first place man? She said you're wound tighter then a drum! I was to get you here or she'd do it herself!”
Jethro was shocked. He stared at the Leo as the Leo laughed and laughed, slapping his thigh. “One way of relaxing. Want seconds?” he teased pulling him back to the cat house. They could hear amused Merrows from the females inside. Jethro fought the urge to look back.
Jethro: First to Fight Page 25