Jethro 3: No Place Like Home

by Chris Hechtl

  “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 welc
ome. 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.

  “Sergei, get your ass to work. Someone want to tell me what's going on? You're supposed to be stowing your gear,” Jethro said, coming in behind Spitterman. “We're hot racking, three to a bunk, so it's going to get friendly. Get over it.”

  “Who the hell put you in charge? I'm the noncom here,” Spitterman said, turning to glare at Jethro.

  “Who are you?”

  “He's the yahoo who came on deck and started to throw his weight around,” Sergei said.

  “Shut it you. I'll deal with you in a moment,” Spitterman growled.

  “Any time, any place little human,” the liger growled softly, deep in his throat. A few of the Marines around him looked at him in sudden discomfort.

  Jethro felt the Staff Sergeant ping him. He held off on the IFF for the moment. Like most of the Neos he wasn't wearing a jacket; it was hot in the compartment. With so many bodies in a confined space it was heating up fast. It was only going to get worse as more and more piled in. Hopefully, the squids were doing something about it. Probably not though, he thought. He'd have to look into it shortly he thought with resignation.

  “Wait; you’re that panther, Sergeant Jethro. Well, as it happens…,” the human said, turning to show his right arm. He tapped meaningfully on his rank again. “I've got you by date of rank,” he said smirking.

  “Yes...and no, Staff,” Jethro said, noticing the Marines had quieted in the bay. He'd rather not have had this particular pissing contest in such a public venue, but he hadn't chosen it or the timing. He'd tried to catch the Staff before he'd come on board, and he'd even e-mailed him. Apparently, the human hadn't gotten the message, or if he had he'd ignored it.

  “Point of information since you didn't get word. Yes, I was recently promoted to Staff, but since there was bound to be some confusion over the command chain and since I'm the one with combat experience, the powers that be decided to do a little something about it,” Jethro said. “I'm now a rank above you. A brevet promotion for now,” the panther said. He pointed the index claw on his right hand to his left shoulder patch and tapped it meaningfully as he pinged his own updated IFF.

  Spitterman stared at him, clearly off balance and aghast. “They can do that?” he demanded, wide eyed. “That's not fair!”

  “Damn right they can. So soldier on,” Sergei said in passing. Jethro shot him a dirty look. The Liger shrugged but kept going.

  “Spitterman, why are you here?”

  “Are you kidding me? A combat ticket in my dossier, something to put in my memoirs and a sure fire way for promotion and glory!”

  “Ah hell,” Jethro sighed.

  “Never be in a foxhole with a hero; ten to one he'll get your ass kilt,” Harley quipped in a text message. Jethro flicked his ears in appreciation of her humor.

  “Look, Spitterman, we're going into full-on combat.”

  “I know that! That's why I'm here!”

  “Yeah well, if you're going to keep up, you've got to lose some kilos. And hell, I don't know where to start. We're going to do assessments one everyone and training twenty hours a day, every day until we actually do see combat.”

  “Oh shit. Are you serious?”

  “Yes,” Jethro said with a feline smile. He was starting to enjoy seeing the fat tub of lard sweat. He knew he wouldn't enjoy the smell for long though. “And here is the kicker, we could very well die if the ship gets blown full of holes. But if we survive that, then well, we get sent into a ship filled with pirates hell bent on killing us. And if they realize they are screwed, well hell, they might just hit that old self destruct...”

  Spitterman was as pale as a ghost when Jethro petered off. He gulped a few times, and then took out a marine hanky to wipe at his sweaty brow. “I...um, never thought of it that way,” he muttered.

  “Well, the good news is, you've got a long time to think about it. When you're not exhausted or too busy busting your tail to do so. So, for now, get squared away and then hit the noncom meeting.”

  “Meeting?”

  “I'm calling one ten minutes after the last noncom is on board. Training is Sergeant's work, and we've got our work cut out for us.”

  ---( | ) --- ( | )---

  Jethro recognized a few familiar faces in passing. Lars Owens, Betty Paige and Zebo were welcome faces. All were veterans of the First Agnosta Marine Expedition, so apparently someone somewhere had scrounged them up from whatever rock they had been hiding under. Apparently Zebo and Paige had been demoted recently though, both had been Lances when he'd last seen them, or so he thought. He nodded. He knew they wanted to chat, to find out what the hell was going on, but now was not the time. Jethro motioned them to keep moving. Lars nodded and poked the others into motion.

  A few familiar faces Jethro could do without. The human Presley was okay, but he was another shooter. He was a hell of a brawler in the bars though, he'd been up and down the rank a bit. His IFF said he was a PFC.

  It was the familiar Samoan that got a groan out of the panther. “I know right?” PFC Keoni Nahele said, eyes crinkling in humor. “Good to see you too...gunny. Hell, we'll catch up some other time bro,” he said in passing, shouldering his sea bag and duffel and damn near bowling over everyone around him. Anyone that could gave the big human a wide berth.

  Jethro shook his head, watching the human go silently. That complication he could do without.

  Jethro heard a feline step and turned to see a female lioness behind him. He nodded politely. There were a lot of Neos and aliens in the group; apparently, the damn tax in Pyrax had chased quite a few people out of the system and into the arms of the military. He wasn't certain if he should be glad about that or not.

  One thing was for certain, they definitely had more room to roam and grow on the planet. That was a good thing—no more strict birth control, nor the dark times of having to kill off most of a litter if you accidentally went over it.

  Sir, Private Kiara reporting,” the lioness said, voice mellow. Jethro blinked.

  “You've been assigned to us?” Jethro asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Kiara replied, sending him her orders. “Sir, I've gotten my stuff squared away, but I haven't seen Kovu. Did he, um, stay
behind in Antigua?”

  Jethro frowned, ears half flat, tail still. He wasn't certain at first how to handle the situation. Finally, he realized the only way was to be as gentle but honest as possible.

  “Kovu...”

  “He's not dead. I checked the lists,” Kiara said, interrupting him. Jethro held up a hand. “Sorry,” she muttered, thrashing her tail.

  “Look, I'm sorry to have to tell you this,” he said. She mewed softly. “But...”

  “Is he dead? The bastard. I was mad before...” she sucked in a breath, eyes wide. She seemed to still be angry with him.

  “No, not dead. Stasis.” Jethro quietly explained to her that Kovu had been severely injured by an IED and was in stasis. She stiffened and mewed in disappointment.

  After his explanation she sniffled, ears flat. “I'll...I'll kick his ass. For getting us both into trouble and for...getting hurt. His stupid, stupid ass hurt! Why did he have to go and do that!”

  “It happens Private. Sometimes it's the luck of the draw. His number came up unfortunately. Fortunately, it wasn't his final call. He's pretty battered though. You can go visit him in the storage compartment if you want.”

  “I...thank you. I'll...I'll do that when we have off time though,” Kiara said, now sounding uncomfortable. “I'm not certain I can look at him that way though,” she admitted softly.

  Jethro nodded, ears forward. He understood her pain and indecision; it was hard to see a friend like that, in pain. It made him feel so damn helpless. “Okay, well, my advice is to put him out of your mind. We're dropping him off in Pyrax.”

  She blinked in confusion. “We're going on from there?”

  “It's a long story. You'll get a brief when they make it official. For now, check on the others, help anyone get squared away. We've got a lot of training to do.”

  “Yes, gunny,” she replied with a nod. She came to attention.

  “Move out, Marine,” Jethro ordered. As she passed him Jethro made a note to possibly leave her behind with Kovu in Pyrax. He wasn't certain what her mental state would be going into combat and leaving him behind. He'd have to see.