by Chris Hechtl
Clive snorted softly. “This is your daddy. Who's been a poopy head! Yes he has,” she said, baby talking to the little girl. “Speaking of which, someone has months of diaper duty to catch up on,” she teased.
He kissed her, long and lovingly. “Yes, ma'am. My pleasure,” he murmured.
“Good answer,” she said, smiling again. Her eyes twinkled. “I'll hold you too it. Even when this little lady lets a ripe one loose.”
Clive snorted again. Together the parents cooed over their darling little girl. Before Firefly broke orbit Clive uploaded images to the squad. The girls oohed and ahed over them while the males snorted or rolled their eyes. There was a slight hint of envy and longing in a few eyes though. Then it was time to get back to work.
---( | ) --- ( | )---
Jethro, as senior noncom, oversaw all the squads and had two of his own to oversee and train. He had to integrate each of them first as a squad and then with the other squads into a unit. It was hard; he was thrown about, unable to take the time to bond with his new people, nor properly oversee all the training or work with them in the initial exercises.
Valenko had ten squads under him including Jethro's two. Most of their squad served as the reserve and Valenko's headquarters squad. Some of the Marines outside their circle resented that because it seemingly kept them out of the action. Of course, since the squad was one of the few to have powered combat armor, Jethro and the others knew that was a lie.
Major Pendeckle had eight squads to handle, each of the other officers had four. The purple and yellow Neo Orangutan, Second Lieutenant Birute Pongo, seemed a solid sort, but there were a lot of questions about Ensigns Ufda and Tricia Ebensher. Ebensher the human was from Gaston with no experience in leadership. She was reserved but looked good on paper. Ufda was an almost complete unknown. He was a Satyre, a rare species of sapient from the western section of the sector.
Satyres were named after the mythological Terran creatures they resembled. Their real species name was unpronounceable, even with the universal translators genetically engineered into most speech centers of sapient brains. They had resigned to being called Satyres after a century of contact. They were short, about one point three meters tall, with cloven hooved feet, hairy legs with fins on their outer thighs, a flat-buck toothed face, horns, and long pointed ears. Ufda was young; he had yet to gain his full horn growth. Apparently, his species shed them like Terran antlers.
He had three fingers and three toes, and a mean disposition when he was crossed. He was a techi, falling instantly in love with the powered suits. He was still a bit put out over not getting any assigned to his unit and seemed to be holding a grudge about it.
Each of the PFCs had a buddy, usually someone of lower rank to take under their wing and get them straightened out. That was a bit questionable with Harley and Sergei though. With Harley, Jethro knew that the Neo Hyena would groom her buddy to be either a straight man to her comic routine or a conspirator. He made another mental note to keep an eye on them. Right now, as hilarious as it would be, they couldn't afford someone glued to a toilet or something.
With Sergei and others like him, Jethro didn't want the noob to pick up any lazy bad habits. Again, he'd have to keep an eye on the situation, but keep himself from overreacting over every little nitpick. There was a time and place for such things but getting too anal wouldn't help.
Jethro had to delegate a lot of the minor squad issues to the corporals, but he didn't have enough to go around. Training, however, was Sergeant's work, so he laid out a tough and grueling lesson plan for his people to follow. They were briefed on the first week’s objectives, and then the corporals were turned loose on the squads.
Most of what he had in mind for the first week was easy, team building exercises and other things, but there was a steep learning curve at the end. He knew people were going to be tired and short tempered; in fact, he wanted that to happen now. Better to find the weak links now, in training, and then shuffle things around, then to find them in combat.
Major Pendeckle had insisted on throwing out a sort of bone to the Marines. Those that passed all the exams by the time they got to Pyrax would have some form of liberty. It was up in the air what and for how long, but they all knew it would be short, if at all.
Jethro moved from squad to squad, helping them identify and work through issues as they cropped up. Most were minor; a certain sort of getting to know one another was in order. That was why the first exercises emphasized team work. It helped him get to know some of the men and women. Learn about what wasn't in their files.
Unfortunately, they didn't have the luxury of bullshitting each other anymore. Time was slowly trickling away from them. In eight and a half days they would be in Pyrax, and then a week or so after that they would jump and then have twenty-six short days and then they would be in B101a1, and possibly in for the fight of their lives.
He frowned, fleetingly remembering that quote about asking for anything but time, then went back to work.
---( | ) --- ( | )---
Commander Logan had her work cut out for her, working with Firefly and the acting bosun to get their new sailors squared away. The Captain had press ganged ten from the station and ground side installations to thicken out her veterans; two had served on Firefly before so they knew the routine. They weren't too happy about the change in orders, but they'd get over it in time.
Firefly had docked with the station. Mooring lines ran to the ship, pumping in fresh water, fuel and materials for the replicators. Boarding tubes were limpeted to the ship's hull; men and material moved through them in a steady stream.
To top that off most of the ship's boat bays were also in action, sending shuttles to the ground for their own deliveries and pickups or serving as a base for the work crews out on the hull.
Chief Chowler had his engineering crews out on the hull pouring over her in a near frantic survey. They were finally getting a chance to retune the nodes, hopefully the ride would be smoother from here on out. Anything that was the least amount out of 90% tolerance was marked. Anything below 50% had been considered marginal but acceptable; now it was marked as a hot swap item. Anything below 20% that was important or vital for the ship's drive was a priority. The minor things they would deal with in Pyrax at the Yard...if they had time.
The twenty-one people who had changed their minds about enlisting on their journey to Agnosta were dropped off to be discharged at the base. They had gotten their free ride. One had sounded a bit put out over being dumped in the “back of nowhere” but that was his problem. Each was given a base pay for the work they did while in transit, minus their food, board and medical expenses. There was additional grumbling over that, but most were just glad to be rid of the fleet and on with their lives.
Chapter 6
They crossed the system in two and a half days and then entered hyperspace to jump the intervening four parsecs to Pyrax. Before they jumped the Marines had shaken out their initial TOE and had settled their people in. Jethro had dived into training within hours of breaking orbit.
---( | ) --- ( | )---
“We're shorthanded across the board. We're going to pick up some Marine officers in Pyrax, and hopefully some noncoms, but don't count on it. Command has been evolving from a one-squad, one-officer ratio to a platoon to one ratio. That's one hundred enlisted to every one officer, which is causing all sorts of headaches,” the Major intoned.
“Sir, is there a bottleneck in officer training?” Lieutenant Pongo asked.
“As you were. Some just aren't suited for combat roles, which is something we are learning. We've got officers, but they are support personnel. And you know the tradition, combat officers start off as enlisted and rise through the ranks.”
Jethro flicked his ears in acknowledgment. He felt something else in the back of his mind, something primal echo his approval.
“We took come casualties on Antigua Prime and left some of our officers behind. Captain Pendeckle, Ensign Blackberry, is still
traumatized over losing his squad and me. Three of us are handling a 150 Marines on the ship, and we're losing the Ensign shortly.”
“Sir, command redundancy?” Jethro asked. “If, spirit of space, anything happened to both of you...”
“Then you'll carry the load as senior noncom.”
“Me, sir?”
“Yes, you. Since we can't get you to take a commission, you're it.”
“Gee, thanks sir,” Jethro said, flicking his ears wryly. The bear snorted.
“But, back to my original topic, we need bodies, and Major Forth is providing them. You'll have to keep a close eye on them. The squad will be my HQ squad for now, which means reserves. We're getting three bodies, one to replace Fonz and one for Kovu and Asazi.”
Jethro's ears went flat. His eyes slitted. “Asazi will be back on her feet soon enough boss!” He protested in her defense. He didn't want someone coming in and taking her place. “She's going to be out a couple of weeks in Pyrax, and then therapy...” he stopped.
Valenko nodded sagely. “Yes, but until then, we've got a hole to fill. She's staying behind in Pyrax to heal while we go on. I need a body and not just any body. The new recruits graduated from Schultz's school of hard knocks, top of the class. They went on to Marine Recon training and passed that as well.”
“But they aren't us, not F platoon,” Jethro protested doggedly. He had no idea how these newcomers thought. He realized he was focusing on the squad instead of the bigger picture, but he had to make certain it was running smoothly before he turned his attention elsewhere.
“No, but they'll do. They may not have been blooded...but I have a feeling that won't last long.” The bear turned to Jethro. “Any other thoughts or concerns, Sergeant?”
Jethro stiffened, recognizing the tone. Valenko was done arguing about it. “No, sir. We'll make it work. Like you said, we'll make do.”
Mild Ursine eyes studied the cat for a long moment. “Think you can handle the squad on your own? Plus the entire platoon? You'll have some noncom help, but most are learning the rating too.”
“I'm not certain, sir,” Jethro said honestly.
Valenko cocked his head. “What's holding you back?”
“The...” Jethro hesitated. He wasn't certain how much he could tell the others in the room. “I've got some classified distractions sir, but I'll be squared away. We'll make it work.”
Valenko's eyes locked his up in a challenge. “You'd better.”
“Sir, yes, sir. We'll live and thrive.”
“Oorah.”
“Damn,” Sergei said mildly. “More babies to nursemaid. Joy.”
“We're professionals, start acting like it Sergei,” Valenko said, eying the liger.
Sergei stiffened to attention, eyes on the bulkhead. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Dismissed. Get them settled and oriented fast. We're going to hit the deck running. First exercises tonight. Hot wash and then on to the next. We'll go with the introduction course we used for team building. Once we have them through initial orientation I'll pull back as op force commander. Jethro, you're going to carry the ball initially, but I want you to get the team working without you as well.”
“Yes, sir,” Jethro flicked his ears. He knew his boss. The Lieutenant was saying easy, but he would no doubt throw a twist or two in to keep them on their toes and keep them from getting complacent. “I'll get the team sorted.”
Valenko nodded as Jethro and Sergei snapped too and exited the compartment.
---( | ) --- ( | )---
Once the squads were settled in, Jethro broke them into teams and then ran them through an improvised obstacle course and then against each other in a light fight. The squads used the cargo bays, boat bays and any other space as training areas. Troops took lessons in quiet areas as well, including locks and even the showers on one occasion. They practiced hand signs and poured over plans until they thought their eyes would bleed. Each wolfed down meals like they were starving.
Mornings had started as a listless affair the first few days as they got used to the routine, then they learned to move on the bounce or get left behind. They trained with the Navy personnel on familiarization of the ship, basic ship functions and the general layout.
Sergeant Spitterman was still an issue. Major Pendeckle initially gave the Marine staff half of the squads to oversee. Spitterman had made it plain to Jethro to keep his hands to himself and keep an eye on his own people. Jethro had decided to let the good staff hang on his own then.
Just before they jumped into hyper it was obvious Spitterman was in over his head and couldn't handle the job even with most of the corporals. “Hey, this isn't my fault!” he complained. “Give me a break! I've he'd never had to oversee so many people before!”
“We're all learning. Get over it. Suck it up, Marine, no excuses,” Pendeckle growled. Fortunately, the whine had come out in a private meeting. “You've been a Sergeant longer than Jethro, and he's handling it just fine. Figure it out.”
“Aye aye sir,” Spitterman replied, aware he'd stepped over the line and wasn't going to get any coddling or sympathy from the officer.
That complaint didn't go over well with the officers, though the ensigns seemed sympathetic. They too were overwhelmed by the situation. The Major had them break it down into smaller and smaller tasks and compartmentalize each until things got back on track. Getting their people trained and up to speed to anticipate helped a lot and took some of the pressure off after a while.
Jethro felt a ping. He checked his e-mail as his people moved on the simulated objective. He held up a closed fist indicating they halt in place. Then he checked.
“Gunny, I'd like to see you at your earliest convenience,” was the gist of the blunt e-mail from the Major. Jethro nodded. He turned and pointed to PFC Presley. Elvin was good troop, quiet and a hell of a brawler in the bars. He was an old troop, a vet of the first Agnosta Expedition and damn proud of it. Jethro touched the human's right hand, initiating a link through their implants. “You've got the detail. I've got to report to the Major,” Jethro said through a text. The PFC nodded and then waved to the troops and then hand signed to move out.
Jethro watched them go briefly and then nodded. Presley had kept a sharp eye on the situation, aware that leadership could drop on him at any time if Jethro was injured or killed. That was good. They were still drilling that into the other PFCs and even the noncoms.
---( | ) --- ( | )---
Jethro noted Spitterman exiting the Major's office but kept himself from reacting. He wasn't certain what was going on, but from the angry look in Spitterman's eye, it couldn't be all good. “Sir,” he said, knocking on the hatch combing.
“Enter. Close the hatch,” the Major ordered. When Jethro complied he turned back and set his rifle on the deck and came to attention. “Care to share, Gunny?”
“Sir?”
“This pissing contest between you and Spitterman. It has to stop. I don't have time for chickenshit Jethro.”
“Sir, I...” Jethro stopped himself and came to attention. “Aye aye sir.”
“Better. But do explain.”
“Sir, Staff Sergeant Spitterman indicated he wanted control of his squads and indicated he could handle it.”
“And he proved himself wrong. Which, I suppose is why you let him do it,” the Major mused, crossing his hands in front of him on his desk. “Correct?”
“Yes, sir. And I thought I could use the time to get my own house in order before I...expanded my horizons.”
“In other words you took your eye off the whole unit in favor of your own people. Not good, Gunny,” the Major said.
“Yes, sir.” Jethro knew better than to apologize. Pendeckle wasn't a big fan on someone kissing ass or apologizing when they didn't mean it.
“Fix it. Tell your seconds they've got the ball and then check in on Spitterman's side. Don't get into any pissing contests; just find out where things are coming apart and find fixes for the problem. Got it?”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
“You’re responsible to the entire unit son, better get used to that.”
“Aye aye sir,” Jethro said, keeping his tail carefully still.
“Spitterman better get used to it too. Don't play tattletale, I'll get it from the grapevine anyway. Just help him get his act together. The twit won't be grateful, but I don't give a shit about that either.”
Jethro flicked his ears but remained silent. The Major cocked his head. “You uploaded your lesson plan I assume?” he asked. He knew it was true, Jethro had of course CC'd him a copy. He'd been impressed with it.
“Yes, sir.”
“Apparently Spitterman lost his,” the Major said with a frown, “or he's not following it. Send him another copy. No, I will,” he said, rubbing his jaw. He quickly tapped out the command and then hit enter on his keyboard. “Done. See that he follows it. Test is Friday. Top ten winning squads get the evening off. The bottom ten get to retest until they get it right.”
“Aye, sir,” Jethro replied. He stiffened to attention.
“Dismissed,” the Major replied. Jethro saluted. The Major waved him out with a distracted salute as he returned to his paperwork.
---( | ) --- ( | )---
Jethro had been hands off with Spitterman's people until the Major had called both of them on it. The panther gave the Sergeant a hand, quietly guiding the noncom when he could. Sending him copies of his own lesson plan hadn't apparently helped; the human had balked at following it. But when Jethro's teams beat them soundly a few times in the initial training exercises, some began to mutter about spending more time training and less time screwing around. The talk with the Major and the Major sending orders to follow the lesson plan had kicked Spitterman into gear.
The promise of the evening off for the winning teams spurred most of his people into action. The threat of retesting all night long woke them up into a fearful fit. The Major had played both the carrot and stick in one expert order. Jethro was impressed that they moved with a snap, but he'd see how things went on Friday, two days away.