Recruiting Drive: Jethro 4 (Jethro Goes to War) Read online

  Jethro 4

  Recruiting Drive

  Chris Hechtl

  Copyright © 2015 by Chris Hechtl

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book and or portions thereof in any form.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and locations are fictional. Some may be parodies. Some characters are with permission. Any resemblance of some characters and places to others are strictly in the mind of the reader. :)

  Cover art by Chris Hechtl. The models are owned by their respective creators and used under the usage license. Some models were made by Chris Hechtl; others were purchased on Daz3d.com or Renderosity.com.

  Proofread and copy edited by: Poon Yee, Jory Gray, Mike Kotcher, Thomas Burrows, Tim Brown, Gord Archer, & Joshua Lyon

  Professionally copy edited by Rea Myers.

  Formatted by Goodlifeguide.com

  To Mamacita, Mugsy, Lil Red, and Lil White. Survivors all. And Red, aka Pipsqueak, welcome home.

  Table of Contents

  ACT I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  ACT II

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  ACT III

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Author's Afterword

  Cast

  Appendix

  Sneak Peek

  Foreword

  The following story takes place after Jethro 3 as well as during the events of Ghosts from the Past and Battle Lines. A good chunk of it was mentioned in Battle Lines, but I intentionally left it vague so it wouldn't spoil the story here. :)

  ACT I

  Chapter 1

  Gunnery Sergeant Jethro McClintock, black Neopanther and Recon Marine, recovered in rehabilitation rapidly once the medics had discharged him from the security suite in the hospital complex of the Naval Annex. He was puzzled by the changes in his body. He was also puzzled over the nanites in his body and how they had allowed him to survive his most recent brush with death. Not many managed to suck vacuum and live to tell of the experience he thought. Not that it had been enjoyable, not at all. It had been an act of defiance and desperation, breaching the airlock to kill his opponents in the machine shop. But it had damn near killed him in the process.

  While he slept his A.I. Bast had reshaped his implants. He tried to talk to the A.I., but she hadn't spoken to him again. He wondered if she would or if it would take his being in his armored suit to do so. She kept it nearby, an ever present guardian of his person. A reminder that he needed such protection; something he didn't want to think about but had to if he was going to survive for long.

  Many also didn't live long with a “fatwa,” a kill on sight order from the Shadow League hanging over their heads like a sword of Damocles.

  She refused to tell him what she was doing, only flashing her eyes redly at him when he became insistent. He had strange cravings for food from time to time and odd substances that would ordinarily turn his stomach. He wasn't certain if it was all a part of the healing process or Bast at work.

  Bast was a legacy from his past, a piece of his heritage like his flat black suit of powered combat armor. The most powerful and sophisticated suit in the Federation's arsenal, possibly the only Cadre suit left in existence. Bast was a part of the suit as much as a part of him. He was still coming to terms with all its implications.

  For months she had seemed like a black and gold cat on his HUD, quiet and reserved. She'd seemed young, a kitten, but as she had “grown” she'd matured more and more into a Neofeline shape. Not that she showed it much. She wanted him in the suit as much as possible, which wasn't possible while he had been stuck in his bed.

  She'd even locked him in the damn suit when he'd finally agreed. It had taken a direct command from Captain Logan for her to reluctantly let him back out. He'd started to get claustrophobic in the suit too, something she perhaps had recognized. But she was still not talking much, he thought, eying her image for a moment.

  When she did communicate, it was more of a sense of feelings and impressions, not much dialog. She had spoken once but had refused to speak again despite his entreaties to do so. She would vocalize, like when he insisted on coming to the memorial, but not in words.

  He'd given up on pressing her for the moment. Today belonged to someone else he thought darkly. He finally had to deal with the Matriarch's death and the small part he'd played in it. She had been executed as a ploy, a simple thing to piss him off enough to allow Miss Persephone the opportunity to get inside his head and make him screw up. It had almost worked.

  She was dead. He wasn't. He shook himself slightly, getting a handle on his rising ire.

  Another problem was coming to his attention more and more dealing with the vacuum of the Matriarch's untimely death. She had been the last Neo clan leader in the star system. Now everyone who had been near her, who had looked to her for guidance and aid was scrambling for a rudder. Some had tried to latch onto Jethro at the memorial despite the heavy security detail at the formal gathering. For once he was glad they were around.

  He was glad that the press had been excluded. Oh Knox was there, but he was there as a friend to the Matriarch, not as a reporter. The human occasionally smiled politely to those who noted his presence and looked him up and then moved on. Jethro nodded to him in passing. Knox was dressed in a conservative business suit of charcoal gray. His wife had been in attendance at one point but had been called away. Jethro's enhanced hearing had picked up their conversation easily. The wife hadn't been at all happy about being in the presence of so many neo predators. Tough for her he thought with a slight sniff of disdain.

  During the memorial Jethro found out the Matriarch had also been helping many of the alien species in the star system. Many were there at the memorial or had sent representatives. The Alien-Neo tax had been repealed, but no one was ready to forgive or forget quite easily or soon, he noted. He caught smatterings of talk about forming a lobby or continuing the exodus out of the star system from time to time.

  He tried his best to handle it. He gave a few curt nods to those who approached him but he felt on edge. It wasn't just him; even Bast was watching everyone with narrowed suspicious eyes. He wanted to instinctively trust those attending the memorial in uniform but even they had his fur rising instinctively—all but his old friends like Valenko and Hurranna.

  The bear hadn't stayed long; he'd popped in then had to pop right back out. Duty called, Jethro thought, proud that his friend had gotten promoted to O-5 captain senior grade and was the ranking Marine officer in the star system. He had his work cut out for him though, Colonel Forth had resented the Navy's insistence on running Marine officers from ROTC and college to the academy without going to boot camp as tradition as his principles dictated. He had turned Pyrax into a dum
ping ground of half trained screwups, malcontents, and those who had risen through the ranks past their abilities. Now Horatio needed to get his house in order before turning it over to the new administration. So the colonel had saddled Valenko with the house cleaning.

  Jethro wished he could be of more help, not simply handling admin duties for the bear. He hated that he was still on light duty pending full medical clearance. Clearance that was dragging its feet as usual. And since JAG and military intelligence was also involved … he fought to keep his tail still. He also kept himself sternly in check. Snarling or exposing his claws wasn't wise in this group he reminded himself.

  There were speeches from various people, and even a couple local celebrities in attendance. M'wvekii was there, but she was swamped by people so he couldn't talk to his aunt like he would have liked. She did look good in her sarong. Serene, composed, and very much grieving for the Matriarch. The Neopanther did his best to stay in the shadows away from the worst of the grievers and chest beaters as well as the celebrities and the cluster of hanger-ons that followed them around.

  M'wvekii took charge of the memorial as master of ceremonies. She kept everyone brief and on topic. She guided them through a tour of the Matriarch's long life and her good deeds and then asked that they all remember her wisdom and do their best to follow in her footsteps. Jethro nodded when her eyes fell on him. The leopardess nodded back and flicked her ears once to him.

  Near the end of the memorial, a pair of representatives of a clan of cat changelings came to him. “I'm sorry about your loss, Gunnery Sergeant … McClintock,” the female said, lashing her tail. He nodded politely. Cat changelings were an odd bunch. They had a mostly human body but a feline mods like heads, ears, eyes, claws, and tails. The mods were a variety. Some had blended human and animal features, and others were more cat than human. Sometimes they interbred with true Neos but many kept to themselves in tight knit clans. He was fairly certain Doctor Thornby was aware of how inbred they were.

  They moved with lithe grace like a cat but they looked … wrong. “She will be missed,” the female said, turning to the Matriarch's portrait. He glanced at her profile. She was a tawny brown but with short fur on her body and a full head of long tresses on her head. She wore a black gown with a silk wrap. A black collar was around her throat with a tiny silver bell attached at the center under her chin. He recognized it; it was a common sight among some Neocats and dogs. The females loved the bell for some odd reason.

  “That she will be,” Jethro said softly. He'd missed Hrris's memorial. That bothered him. He was grateful that someone had dug out a small picture of the Neolion and had put it next to his grandmother. “And Hrris too. They didn't deserve that sort of death,” he said.

  “No one does,” the female said, looking at the smaller portrait and then away. She sniffled.

  Jethro's eyes went vacant as he remembered his grandmother. She hadn't been truly related to him by blood, but he had loved her as a grandmother anyway. Many of the Neos and apparently many of the other people here had done the same. He wondered how many had been raised by the elderly Neolioness. Quite a few, he thought, eyes briefly touching on a familiar lynx shape wending its way through the crowd before he looked away.

  “They got them though. Or I heard you did,” the female said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Oh yes. Yes, I did. Hrriss was with me actually, they … well, I can't talk about it,” he said lamely as Bast hissed softly on his HUD. He flicked his ears. “Open investigation,” he said when the female eyed him.

  She nodded. “Look, Gunny … can I call you Gunny?” He flicked his ears and nodded slightly. She seemed relieved for some reason. “Look, Gunny, we need … we need your help. Ordinarily I wouldn't dream of bothering you at this delicate time but …,” she flicked her hands and ears.

  Her partner growled softly. He looked at the male. He had the look of a domestic with his tuxedo coat of black and white. But his ears weren't on the top of his head they were on the sides and shaped more like a humans. He eyed the panther then looked away. “She was helping us,” the tomcat rumbled.

  “Yes, which has left us rudderless at a critical moment. She mentioned your name and said you were helping to fund people like us who wish to emigrate but can't.”

  “I see. Are you being forced to stay?” Jethro asked.

  “Oh no, it's not that,” the female replied with a shake of her head.

  “Far from it. They'd love to turf us all out,” the tom growled softly. His growl alerted a few people nearby. They looked up or turned their ears to their conversation. He looked around and then shook himself slightly.

  “We … we could use all the help we can get. We've got kits. They deserve a better future than here …,” the female said, touching Jethro's arm imploringly.

  “I don't know what I can do. I'll see if I can talk to someone. See if I can help that way. I can't make any promises though,” Jethro said.

  The female's startlingly bright blue eyes searched his for a moment then she nodded. Her upper lip twitched as if she was twitching her nonexistent whiskers. “Thank you.”

  “No promises,” the tom echoed in annoyance.

  “We'll take what aid we can,” the female said with a tart rejoinder over her shoulder to her companion. The tom grunted. The female smiled a tight lipped smile to Jethro and then adjusted her wrap. “I heard Agnosta is nice.”

  “It is that. The quickest way to get there is either to sign on to the Marines or get in with a military contractor,” Jethro said thoughtfully. He eyed the tom. He looked like he could serve, but from his expression he had no interest. He put him firmly out of mind.

  “Barring that, you could get a ride if someone was attached to you. You could get transport as a military dependent of someone being transferred there or through the system to elsewhere,” Jethro offered.

  “I see,” the female said, adjusting her shift. “I wish we could take notes,” she said, smiling slightly to Jethro.

  “The only other way to go is to pay for passage. Since the military is sending ships back and forth twice a week now I believe the ticket price has dropped considerably,” Jethro said. Bast flashed the credit cost on his HUD, and then put up the cost from a month ago. “It's dropped by nearly half since last month,” he offered.

  “I didn't know that,” the female said, lightly stroking his arm with her fingertips. He looked down and noted that her claws were more like fingernails than feline claws. She also had long human like fingers and hands. When she realized he was looking, she stopped and dropped her hand with a mew.

  “We really must be going,” the tom growled from behind her, taking her by the arm. Jethro opened his mouth to object, but the female just smiled slightly to him.

  “Another time perhaps,” she purred.

  “You'd better not, Marishka,” the tom growled, just loud enough for Jethro to overhear. “Behave,” he growled warningly.

  “He knows I love to see him jealous,” the female purred with a light tinkly laugh as she let him pull her away. Jethro sniffed in appreciation, finally realizing she was using some sort of perfume or something else.

  “You could also work your passage,” Jethro said lamely, loud enough for them and others near to overhear. She turned and wiggled her fingers in a goodbye.

  Hurranna saw him talking with them and came over to his side as one by one the changelings left. “They finally decided to shit and get off the pot?” she asked near the panther's elbow, nodding her chin to the departing female.

  “What's that supposed to mean?” Jethro asked; turning and looking down to the Neolynx. She was dressed as he was, in her formal Marine dress blues.

  Hurranna flicked her ears in a shrug. “Oh the usual, shit or get off the pot. Figure it out. I've heard of them—Tom, Dick, Harry, Mariska, and the others. They can afford to get here for the funeral but can't afford to leave the star system.” She shook her head in disgust. “The matriarch was after them to leave their colony. Now
they want to do so and want transport. Plus money to help set them up wherever they end up.”

  Jethro groaned. “Oh lovely. I'm not a bank!” he growled. Apparently because he helped out people, some of them saw him as a target, an easy mark to go to with a sob story. He shook his head, fighting to keep his temper in check. “But they don't need it! They can stay!”

  “Exactly,” the lynx said in a dust dry response. “It's not your problem,” Hurranna insisted. “Nor ours. They made their beds, let them lie in it. They were offered help before, but they dragged their feet.”

  “No, we can help them,” Jethro insisted. “If they want help, we can do it. It's what she would have wanted us to do.”

  Hurranna winced. “You would say that.”

  “Well, it's true. And you know it,” he said.

  She snorted. “Okay, genius, how?”

  “I'll think of something,” Jethro said with his own ear flick. “We've got time now.”

  “True.”

  “Are you still stuck in …?” Hurranna grimaced. “Crap. I've got to go. That was my implants,” she grimaced as she wolfed down a replicated tuna snack she'd picked up from the hors d'oeuvres table nearby. She chased that down with a slug of water. “We'll catch up later. I've got another day of leave coming to me next week.”

  “Count on it. See you soon,” he said. She nodded and left at a trot for the nearest exit. He watched her go.

  He toyed with the thought of using military transport to get the group out. In theory he or another Marine could marry someone like Mariska. They would then get the free pass to Agnosta or whatever posting he ended up at, then they could get a no-fault divorce on the other end and wash their hands over the whole affair. He wouldn't take advantage of her, though he wasn't sure he could deny her charms if she turned … insistent let's say, he thought with a grin. Bast eyed him on his HUD with disfavor. Obviously she was getting something from that train of thought. He let it die a natural death.