Jethro: First to Fight

by Hechtl, Chris

“It's got a hell of a punch. The idea is to get in, punch a hole, then off load. If she's got enough fuel she can RTB. If not, well, she's ultimately expendable,” Ox said, sounding as if the last part was a bit reluctant. Which was understandable, he was the designer, it was his baby after all.

  “I'm going. Alone,” Jethro said, turning on Sergei.

  Sergei pouted. “No fair. He gets all the fun,” he grumbled. That got another laugh from the squad.

  “Fun he says,” Jethro sighed. He eyed the Tauren. “I suppose this is payback for the wings and UAV's?” he asked.

  The Tauren spread his hands apart in supplication.

  “Why no gravity here?” Fonz asked, looking a little greenish.

  “Cause we can't make grav plates. So, no gravity. Thank Jethro for the idea for this place,” Harley said, waving a hand to the Sergeant. She drifted a bit by the move, so she reached out and grabbed a hand hold again.

  “Thanks,” Fonz said.

  “Let's get to work,” Valenko rumbled, nodding to Jethro.

  “Suiting up sir,” Jethro said, moving off.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Jethro ran a full up test of the sled with armor. “So far so good,” Jethro said, sitting nervously in the driver's saddle. “Saddle, seems more like this thing is built for a Veraxin like Panache than me,” he quipped.

  “I'd take it, but I don't have the wings,” Panache retorted. “And I'm not at all fond of the outer dark. Thanks anyway,” she said.

  “Cute,” Jethro replied. He scanned his instrument cluster one more time. It was pretty simple, fuel, speed, power, weapons. Built for a Marine in mind. Besides, anything else he needed he could get from his HUD.

  “You haven't gone anywhere yet.”

  “Right. Yet.”

  “We've tested the engines on a test stand. Nothing wrong there,” Sergei said.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Course plotted and locked in. One minute burn, yaw flip, then RTB. Easy peasy. Are you ready Sergeant?”

  “Let's get this over with,” Jethro growled.

  “Count down, ten, nine...” Ox went through the countdown. When he hit two Jethro flipped the ignition switch's cover up and then stabbed down.

  Nothing happened for a brief moment and then it felt like he was getting kicked in the ass. “Wowa!” he said, holding on for dear life.

  His weight shifting about was enough to throw the delicately balanced craft off balance. She rolled and went into a slight turn. “You're off course!” Ox called.

  “Shit,” Jethro snarled. He tried to throw his weight the other way but it wasn't happening, he was corkscrewing out of control.

  “Straighten out!”

  “Don't you think I'm trying?” Jethro snarled, trying to get control. He was headed for the planet, directly to the planet. That wasn't good.

  “Hit the kill switch!” Ox said. “Then recover.”

  “Done,” Jethro said, hitting the big red mushroom button. There was another kick in his ass as the drive abruptly stopped and he was thrown forward by inertia and a stabilizing burst from the nose RCS pod. He held on for dear life, but his feet left the stirrups.

  “You okay?” Ox called.

  “No I'm not okay! We need a seat belt on this thing!” Jethro panted, trying to use hand strength alone to maneuver himself back to his seat. He didn't dare use his wings, they might throw him off the sled totally.

  “Should have thought of that before,” Ox said.

  “Now he tells me,” Jethro said. He let go with one hand then got a better grip on the steering yoke. He tried to pull himself in that way, using his forearm as leverage. Unfortunately the steering yoke wasn't designed for such abuse and snapped.

  Plastic shards drifted about as he bucked and went flying out. The wiring harness in the yoke bungied with him, playing out what slack it had before it snapped under the load. He spun crazily and then was adrift, still holding the remains of the steering yoke.

  “Okay, now I'm in trouble. Declaring an emergency here, I've left the craft,” Jethro said.

  “Did you say you left the craft? Why the hell would you do that?” Ox demanded.

  “It wasn't like it was on purpose or anything!” Jethro said, trying to get control of himself. He let go of the yoke and primed his wings. He disengaged the safety and tried to use short bursts of RCS to gain control and orientation. Unfortunately the big blue ball was getting bigger by the second.

  “Um, guys, I'm sort of in trouble here. And I don't have the fuel to get back,” he said, looking over his shoulder to the dwindling sight of the sled. He had enough fuel to get back, but with the controls gone... He turned, reorienting his suit and engines. He hit the main drive and nothing happened.

  “Um, shit, suit failure!” he called out, fighting to stay professional. Red lights blinked in his vision. His HUD cleared and a diagnostic window appeared. It showed a schematic image of his suit and wings and then blinked one wing red. The image rotated and traced out fuel. “Fuel line in my right wing is clogged or crimped, it's not going anywhere. I now don't have enough fuel to get back to the sled. I am also, way too close to the planet,” he said. “Not enough fuel to avoid re-entry either,” he said. “So ungood right now,” he muttered. His vision went red, then flashed over and over with warning signs. “Blast it! I know I'm in trouble here!” As audio alarms rang in his ears and head. “I so don't need this crap distracting me!” he snarled. After a moment the alarms quit.

  “Thank you,” he muttered a heartfelt thanks. Sighing. He didn't want the last thing he saw and heard to be alarms.

  “SAR on the way,” a voice replied. “Sergeant life support status?” It took him a moment to realize that was Captain Mayweather's voice.

  He looked around for Firefly but didn't see the cruiser. Just his luck they were on the other side of the planet or something. “Sergeant?”

  “Sorry ma'am. Uploading vitals now. I've got plenty of oxy but I'm in a critical situation. He checked his orientation. “I'm headed into the planet the hard way ma'am,” he said. He felt himself tumble a bit. “Deorbiting now actually ma'am,” he said. It had come at him quick, too quick to try to avoid it. “Someone had better be quick or I'll be a crispy critter,” he said.

  “Stay calm,” she urged. They both knew he had under two minutes to live. Once he hit the thicker atmosphere he would be enshrouded by plasma, superheated air from his reentry, which would cook him alive. He wouldn't even feel the impact, his body would burn up long before he dropped low enough.

  “Use what you've got to try to get some altitude,” the Captain urged, her signal broke up.

  Muttering a prayer to the goddess of space Jethro looked down at his fuel indicator and then carefully reoriented his remaining wing to as close to center line behind his spine as the hinge would allow. Then he screwed his eyes tight and pressed the trigger.

  The engine kicked, burned for two full minutes. His RCS kicked, he opened his eyes to see his implants were trying to keep him stable. He smiled, silently sending a mental salute to whoever programmed them.

  His eyes turned to his fuel gauge. He wished he hadn't looked, just as he did it hit zero and his wing sputtered and died. The RCS quit a moment later and he turned, face down.

  “Well, that sucked,” he said. The planet gently drifted below him. “Some view though.”

  “It bought us a minute. Unfortunately, not long enough Sergeant,” Deja said. “I'm climbing now, we've got another shuttle coming in, but they can't get to you in time. I just did the math, I can't either.”

  “So I'm screwed either way. Thanks for trying Deja,” Jethro said.

  “I'm sorry,” Deja said softly. Jethro's suit oriented on the signal, his implants put an icon up on his HUD. The IFF blinked there, taunting him with its growing proximity. “You'll be entering LOS any minute,” Deja said. “You're breaking up already.” His words were hard to hear.

  “Right,” Jethro said. “Just in case I survive this, spread eagle or a ball?”
<
br />   There was no answer, just a jumbled replied. “Right, on my own,” Jethro muttered. He checked his HUD. He even considered venting his remaining life support in a last ditch attempt at survival. At this rate not even his suit would survive.

  He felt something stirring in his mind, something primal. Then the system diagnostic kicked to life and began rapidly flicking through windows and calculations.

  “What the hell? Suit malfunc-” he gasped as the suit kicked. He looked at his hands to see them glowing. After a moment he gasped again as the fans died. Plasma streamed off his body, but for some reason it didn't eat into the suit.

  “Cool,” he gasped, trying hard not to breath too deep. His body moved on its own, orienting into a face down delta, hands to his side, feet together, wings tucked in tight. The atmosphere roared outside, but he felt something buffeting him, protecting him. His vision swam as he noted the shield on, a thin blue line stretched around his armor.

  His suit's shields held out long enough to ward off the heat and plasma. He saw the shuttle still climbing. His body reoriented, this time his legs and arms spread wide into a spread eagle. His wings did too, trying to catch as much air as possible.

  “Damn! You survived?” Deja demanded, orienting on him. Jethro looked down, his HUD reported his IFF was on. He was also just about out of power.

  “Yeah but not for long,” Jethro said. He read the altimeter. 30,000 meters and falling fast. The ground looked closer every second. He was panting and about ready to pass out. His internal suit temperature was over three hundred degrees.

  “Don't bet on it.”

  Deja maneuvered the Prejudice, matched his speed then sped up ever so slightly and dropped his boarding hatch. He oriented in front of the dropping panther and then let gravity do the work.

  Jethro floated into the bay and hit the cargo netting inside with bruising force. His inertials were dead, he took the blow on his chest and abdomen. He grabbed with his hands and held on as the ramp rose behind him and the shuttle screamed to correct it's decent.

  “Base this is shuttle four niner, we've got him. Say again, we've got him. He's alive,” Deja said over the radio before Jethro passed out just as he felt the cargo master getting to him.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Major Forth listened to the after action report. Jethro was in sickbay being checked out. From what doctor Standish had reported, the panther was fine just a little shaken. He was being kept overnight for observation anyway. Riley checked the suit as he spoke with the Major. The Sergeant probed the damage with a mirror and appropriated dental tools he liked to use in delicate situations like this.

  The suit was ripped along the right side, from the look of it the damage was mostly superficial. Apparently the shields had failed just before most of the plasma from the re-entry had burned off, scorching the suit's right side and melting the bicep actuators. The burn through hadn't gotten all the way through to the Sergeant's skin suit, but it had been close. Heat had definitely gotten through, which was why he had gel treating his arm and the medics were treating him for heat exhaustion. The self repair was down, so Riley was doing the check himself. He felt something or someone ping his implants but ignored it.

  “This is so cool,” Riley murmured, using the mirror to look at the various layers in the armor. It was wild, it had far more layers than a standard suit. Each layer served a different purpose.

  Both men were shocked to see the suit repairing itself. “What the hell?” Riley said as his tools dissolved. He fell back on his ass as the breach in the armor he had been looking into closed itself. It must have used the materials from the tools along with the damaged material to do it.

  “Interesting,” the Major replied, getting closer to look. The suit's lights and emitters were glowing softly. After about a minute the work was complete and the lights dimmed and then shut off. “I'm guessing that's not a standard feature,” he said dryly, turning to Riley.

  “Not on your life sir,” Riley said taking the Major's hand and pulling himself upright. “The suits have a limited self repair but we're talking rerouting around battle damage. This...” he indicated the suit and shrugged helplessly.

  “Nanites obviously. But the nanites were supposed to be offline. Or destroyed,” the Major mused, rubbing his jaw.

  Riley blinked, now thoroughly confused. “No idea sir. Do you want me to scan?”

  Major Forth shook his head. “No. No,” he said stepping back from the suit. Something felt wrong. It felt like he was being watched. He turned back to the suit studying it. “No. The only one who can safely look into that thing is the admiral. I want you to limit the suit use until we know more.”

  “Sir the scan...”

  “No Riley. Something tells me this suit's AI is now active. There is no telling what an active scan would trigger in it.”

  “Ah,” Riley said with a nod. “Firefly?” he asked looking up.

  “Yes Sergeant?” the AI responded.

  “This suit...”

  “I've been monitoring the situation Sergeant. I believe if you checked your IFF transponders you'll find both have been tripped recently.”

  “I...” Riley checked as the Major froze. Indeed, both men found their IFF had been queried by the suit. After a long moment the two men looked at each other and then back to the suit. “Did it...”

  “It appears so,” Commander Firefly responded. “Unfortunately my attempts to communicate with the AI have been rebuffed. I believe it is an instinctual AI, not a fully sentient one. At least not now. I do not know a great deal about this technology.”

  “And if you did you couldn't tell us anyway,” Riley sighed.

  “True.”

  “Keep us up to date if anything changes Commander,” Major Forth ordered.

  “Will do sir,” Firefly responded.

  Forth slapped Riley on the arm. “That goes for you too. For now I think we'll limit suit time to VR unless we are testing something, and even then only in a more controlled and safer environment.”

  “Good idea,” Riley said with a nod. “Sir.”

  “Carry on Sergeant,” Forth said and went to leave. He paused at the hatch, looking over his shoulder to the suit for a long moment.

  “Feels like it's watching you huh sir?” Riley asked.

  “Yeah. Good luck with that,” Forth replied and left.

  The Sergeant turned on the armor. “Hey, don't look at me. I'm just the repair man remember? Now if you don't mind I've got to figure out what's buggy in Valenko's left arm. You're welcome to watch if you want...” he turned. “Since I can't stop you anyway,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “You do realize we're going to be filling out reports and answering accident inquiries for a month right? Let's so not do that again,” Ox said in disgust. He remembered the maxim, 'ten atta boys don't amount to one oh shit.'

  “Here here. I swear, they make us fill out the paperwork and answer all the questions to make us regret surviving,” Jethro said, shaking his head. As the pilot he had to face a board over the thing. He wasn't happy about that. Even less so when certain circles nastily pointed out that he technically didn't have a damn pilot's license.

  His dark thoughts had briefly turned to the idea of sabotage, he even thought Kovu could have done it, but then he recalled the accident. It hadn't been sabotage, just touchy controls, an untested practically unguided missile, and a lame pilot.

  “There is something of interest though, the suit. It was the one to fix my shields and get things going. It saved me. Well, both of us,” Jethro said.

  “I see.”

  “Something tells me the brass already knows it though.”

  “I'll bet. I spoke with Riley, he couldn't tell me in so many words, but he did give a pointed look at your suit. It was self repairing.”

  “I... yeah,” Jethro said sighing and sitting back. “Somehow, not surprised.”

  “Will wonders never cease?” Ox asked. Jethro
snorted in response.

  Jethro lifted his shoulder to rub at his lower back. It hurt, but tingled too, more than ever. “Yeah, I know they know. I just wish I knew everything they knew,” he sighed, and then flopped back into the pillows. “And why they won't tell me.”

  Chapter 28

  A group of navy noncoms on Firefly and in the navy crew on the planet got together in a bar and had a bull session. That eventually got them to put forth a petition to start Navy Seal training. The idea was bucked over to the Marines who were amused.

  “Do they have any idea what they are in for?”

  “Not a clue,” was the response. “They play it virtually so they think the real thing is just as easy,” the Major said.

  “Yeah well, there is no reset in the real world.”

  Captain Mayweather and the Major talked to the group and their commanding officers. The Major was surprised to find two ensigns were also interested in joining up. Captain Mayweather was reluctant to lose two of the ratings but when the Major quietly told her the graduation level was around fifty percent she reluctantly agreed to try it. “They don't know what they are getting into. They see the film footage, but they just don't know. But they want a chance to try.”

  “And they'll sulk if they don't. What are they two?”

  “Sulk or not they'll get over it. Proving that they can handle it is fine. Proving to them is important. But if they can't hack it, they need to know, and more importantly we need to know. I'm working on separating the branches of the Marines a bit.”

  “I heard something to that effect. Recon and Raiders?”

  “Yes. Captain Pendeckle still wants Recon, I'll give him that and Force Recon when we get there. But right now the best candidate for Raiders is Valenko.”

  “Ah.”

  “Yeah. He's got ghosts in his squad, but some heavy hitters like Sergei and Ox as well. Not to mention Valenko himself. Seeing someone that large pulling a sneak and peek boggles my mind.”

  “And will give you the willies if he does pull it off.”

  “Nightmares you mean. Jethro gives enough people nightmares.”

  “Yeah,” the Captain replied a little darkly. She still hadn't quite forgiven Jethro for going off the reservation. But she had understood, and in many ways, agreed with him. He'd kept the navy out of it fortunately, which was a good thing. It had muddied the waters in Pyrax for a bit, but the loss of the speaker and her conspirators had cut one of the biggest heads off the hydra standing in their way. That might turn into a good thing down the road.