Jethro 3: No Place Like Home Read online

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  Major Forth had shipped up VR sets and an entire training network independent of the ship's computer network for the Marines to use. Having learned from their experience with the trainees, Jethro limited sleep teaching and submergence VR to two hours a night. That cut down on headaches. Fortunately, the platoon had the basics down already, so the training was light and sleep teaching only when needed.

  The Marines outnumbered the trained sailors by nearly two and a half to one. It was one to one when you factored in the half-trained naval recruits. There were some sailors who were intimidated by those numbers. Jethro overheard quite a bit of muttering and saw some dark looks in the mess. A few of his people saw it too. The panther kept his people busy so they couldn't take advantage of their numbers and do something stupid.

  The officers spent a lot of time in the Major's office discussing training points and getting to know one another. Valenko let slip that the Major had followed his lead and had started them on 2D computer real time strategy games to better assess their training and coordination. So far it was working out to a limited degree.

  The Major did pass down orders to have the squads familiarize themselves with the deck plan of the most common vessels the Horathians were known to use. Jethro knew that they would be lost if they tried to memorize every deck plan, so he focused on downloading the deck plans into the implant memory of every Marine and then trained them to locate and secure objectives such as the bridge or main engineering or power rooms on their own. That allowed the Marines to exercise their own initiative to get it done.

  “The bridge is the brain of the ship, but engineering and the power rooms are the ship's heart and muscles. Another two objectives are the armory and security. Don't break up into too small a group to take each down; you'll invite defeat in detail. Keep concentrated, take the primary objectives, secure them, and then leave a small guarding force while you take the remaining force on to the next objective,” Valenko said in a lecture to the leadership.

  “And beware of someone coming in from behind and taking what you've just secured,” Jethro said.

  The bear nodded looking at Jethro. Jethro had tried to drive both of those simple things into their minds, but it was too early to tell if they had taken or not.

  “Be on the lookout for traps, for forces maneuvering against you, and for someone hitting the self destruct.”

  “Yeah, bad things happen then,” Sergei said. “And I don't like to run or die.”

  “Zip it,” Jethro growled, thrashing his tail. He'd gotten in some suit time with his armor and had enjoyed it. The other Marines in armor hadn't. There had been some complaints and some questions about why they all didn't have the same armor. He didn't have an answer for that.

  “If they are expecting you, and most likely they are, and if you expect resistance, you've got some choices. You can bull through and take the objectives anyway ignoring casualties, find another route, or secure the secondary objectives first and then hit the primary. Remember, if you are in a suit and you cut off their life support, they will be pressed to find a way to turn it on and survive. Toss some gas or vent the ship and you've secured it.”

  “But, if they know what is coming they could try to lock you out or blow the ship,” Jethro warned. Again, the bear nodded.

  “Is that how you did it in F platoon in the crucible sir?” Presley asked. Jethro looked at the grizzly with an amused look.

  “We knew the book, we knew they knew the book, and we knew they were going to pull out all the stops. So, we adapted and found another way around,” Valenko said. “That is a good point though,” he said thoughtfully, looking at Jethro. “If we've got those recordings, we'll play them sometime. Give the troops something to think about.”

  “Aye, sir,” Jethro said, making a note.

  Jethro was surprised to see Pa'nash and Harley had not only their squads squared away, but they were also lending a quiet hand with other squads when they could. The Marines exercised against each other and then did a hot wash afterward. Harley had a reoccurring habit of encouraging those who had misstepped into bucking up and learning from the experience. Jethro made a note of their actions.

  The grueling training took its toll on the Marines over time. Their implants and training compensated a lot for it, but a few Marines made regular trips to the infirmary. Most of it were sprains, bruises or minor issues.

  Unfortunately, they couldn't spend their entire time doing exercises, so Jethro had the squads watch a video of the exercises to learn from flaws. Valenko stepped in and added a video of their recent battle in Antigua, as well as the deep critique Jethro and Valenko had performed on it. That awed some of the noobs and silenced some of the more gung ho vets who had just joined.

  “It looks wicked. I mean, to have been there sounds awesome, but damn. That sucked.”

  “Something to remember, the enemy wants to live and win just as badly as you do. Remember that well. It ain't easy, and it's not a turkey shoot. First time you think it is, you'll find out differently. Either from me or from the enemy when he reams your ass good. And if you survive it, you will wish after I'm done with you that you hadn't,” Jethro growled.

  More than one head nodded curtly over that warning. Jethro surveyed the group. Half were Neo, an eighth were Veraxin, another eighth were of one alien species or another, and the remainder were human, give or take a gene mod or two. He judged that two thirds were gaining the professionalism and maturity to keep their heads in combat. He hoped so at least.

  He had punctuated watching their corners and not letting their guard down by an exercise and then having them watch Fonz die. After two squads failed an IED training exercise, he had them watch what had happened to Kovu. Seeing the lion getting burned had been a sobering experience for the Marines. He'd seen Kiara's flinch when she'd seen it. She'd had her ears flat and had wiped at her eyes when the lights in the bay had come up, but she'd kept her own counsel.

  Seeing the elves get chewed apart had launched Jethro into a warning about getting cute, and a reminder that there was no second chances in combat. His usage of the films started dark mutterings among the Marines. They didn't like getting their noses rubbed into things like that, and a reminder of their own mortality didn't go over well with any of them. There was also an undercurrent desire to slack off, to just coast. He ignored both and stuck to the syllabus.

  A week into their journey, and it became obvious things weren't working out for some of the squads. Some were under performing, a few badly. They lacked leadership, or the leadership they did have, in the case of Mirilax, was ineffective at best. It didn't help their morale at all that the other squads teased them relentlessly.

  Jethro did some checking and noted that some of the squads took every opportunity to rack out, complaining they were exhausted with the twenty-hour days. Hell, everyone was, but they still had to keep training. He thought briefly about breaking them up and mixing them into the other squads, but the other squads were gelling nicely. So that meant a change in leadership would be needed to get people off their asses and make them stay that way. Failure was not an option.

  Some of the corporals they had brought on board in Agnosta weren't cutting the mustard in the sims. Mirilax was obviously a plodder; she did exactly as she was told and then waited for orders. She had no initiative.

  Jill had too much initiative and frequently ignored orders or overextended her squads. She would charge off hell bent on a killing spree from time to time, seemingly from blood lust. Jethro, acting as the op force sometimes found it pathetically easy to maneuver around the squads and then attack them from the rear.

  Sometimes Jill would rush through an area without thoroughly checking it first. Jethro tried to break that habit by placing mechs or personnel in lockers or hiding spots. It didn't fully break her, but it did slow her down sometimes when she remembered to look.

  Twice the Neos picked out people in lockers by smell alone. Jethro had taken the precau
tion of shielding their implants and heat signatures from detection but not smell. He complimented them on thinking with their nose.

  Ted's people seemed quite like the Neo chimp. He used hand signs a lot. He was a plodder like Mirilax, but he had enough initiative to recognize a potential objective and act on it when the need arose. He was still slow and cautious though.

  Two of the Lance Corporals had been in staff positions prior to their reassignment, which had a different mindset than combat ops. Jethro now understood why Jill had volunteered to them. With a bit of seasoning she'd be half-way decent, but as it stood now her bluster was going to get a lot of his people killed. Worse, he laid even odds that she'd freeze once it really came down around her. He didn't like that idea but he wasn't certain about how to fix it.

  Mirilax had never gone through boot in the same way the others had, that was obvious. She'd been as gung ho as Jill, or so Jethro remembered, but now just kept her head down. Apparently her taste of recon had soured her outlook, and she was just going through the motions until her contract was up.

  Sergei was also one of the ones underperforming and he knew it. He was frustrated by the situation and tended to lash out with his temper at his people, which didn't help any. He had no experience in leadership; it was one thing to be a buddy and guide in the barracks but quite another to tell people what to do. Fortunately, his size made people think twice about crossing him. But Jethro knew the thought of loosing people haunted the big lug sometimes.

  Ox had his people squared away. Deja had been excused from the Marines since he was up to his neck in manning the helm as much as possible. That left Riley, who was a good mechanic but lacked the proper social skills to get his people in line and following orders.

  Each of the sergeants and corporals stuck to one or two squads, flipping back and forth between the two either hourly or every other day. But, unfortunately, some squads suffered from lack of attention.

  The leadership did a consult on the situation ten days into their journey. “I've watched you, Gunny; you're good. And contrary to some opinions...,” the Major said, shooting a quick sidelong look at Sergeant Spitterman who looked down and away as he played with a stylus. “You aren't micromanaging your people to death. I thought you were throwing them to the wolves, but you aren't doing that either. You are delegating; unfortunately, the junior leadership is failing.”

  “Yes, sir. We're all doing our best. Unfortunately, some of the leadership isn't up to par for one reason or another.”

  “A lack of training and leadership skills, yes, I know. We can work on that. But it's more than that; we've got a vacuum in the neglected squads, including my own. I can't control my squad and keep an eye on the big picture, which is my job.”

  Jethro nodded. The job of a noncom was to the here and now, to execute the orders and keep the troops in line and trained while the officers thought and planned several steps ahead. The officers were currently acting as their own sergeants which sometimes hindered performance. But they at least had been trained for command, so they knew what they were doing and could get their troops to obey quickly and for the most part, without question.

  “Suggestions?” the Major asked mildly. “Anyone?” he asked, looking around the wardroom. “Come on people, the squids only let us borrow the room for an hour.”

  “Sir, I suggest we frock a few of the PFCs with leadership skills to Lance and turn them loose on the neglected squads,” Valenko said slowly.

  “And I bet you've got some candidates already in mind?” Ufda asked, eying the bear.

  Valenko shrugged. “As it happens, yes. We have voids to fill; I say we fill them. Two of the people on my list have already been helping out. Both their own squads, other squads and your own I believe.”

  “Send me the list,” the Major said, nodding his head.

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  Ignoring mutterings of nepotism, Major Pendeckle followed Lieutenant Valenko's suggestion and frocked PFCs Harley Quinn, Pa'nash, Elvin Presley, Betty Paige, Zebo, Adel Troughtman, N'tr'adi, and Lars Owens to Lance Corporal rank to help thicken the noncom ranks and give some of the squads more supervision. Each of them had been quietly doing that before they had been bumped in rank; getting the brevet promotion just made it official. Each was also a veteran of Antigua, F platoon, or the First Agnosta Expeditionary force.

  The change allowed the underperforming personnel to be reassigned with smaller duties. Each of the thirteen Corporals were assigned two squads to oversee. Five of those included each of the officers’ squads. Jethro and the three other Sergeants each commanded a single squad but also kept an eye on the larger picture as much as possible. He'd been sorely tempted to put two of his privates up for the promotion, but he didn't know them well enough. Besides, they were fresh from boot. Some of the veterans would have resented putting a boot in command.

  The officers and sergeants made certain all involved knew that if they didn't get it right they'd be shown how to do it. If they still couldn't wrap their heads around it they'd be replaced. There was no time for screwing around.

  Those that had been replaced knew their careers were in jeopardy. Most doubled their efforts or in Mirilax's case, threw her hands up in a sullen sulk. A quick talk with Valenko got the woman back in motion, but the bear judged the damage had been done, others had seen her tantrum and now watched her warily or with barely-held contempt. He made a note to trade her out with someone in Pyrax if at all possible.

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  For those Marines who hadn't been fitted with a skinsuit yet, and that was nearly two-thirds of them, Riley, Ox and two navy suit techs had their work cut out for them outfitting them. Fortunately, they could use the armory to scan each person and outfit them.

  Major Forth had sent up material for the suits and other equipment—not only for the Marines, but also for the Navy recruits as well. Each was finally being issued their suits. Some were dubious about it, but most were grateful to get it. All spacers had a healthy respect of the void; they knew it was a killer. Having a suit on hand, especially in combat, was a relief.

  The Navy suits were designed for long-term wear, flexibility and comfort. Each was color coded by department or rank. The Marine suits went one step further. Each was gray to match the most common colors of a ship interior. Each also had some level of armor protecting the vitals of the user. They also had built in automatic tourniquets to cut off a breach if necessary.

  Riley had just enough material to rig three squads with space packs and another two with exosuits. The packs were rocket packs, allowing the wearer the ability to maneuver independently of the ship in space. Essentially they turned each Marine astronaut into their own ship. Each of the exosuits magnified the user's strength and speed. They weren't as good as full-powered armor, but they would be an unexpected surprise to anyone who thought they were going up against someone in a basic skinny.

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  “Sir, I still don't understand why we got the people we did. What happened to the other platoons?” Riley asked during their weekly meetings. He was frustrated by the lack of advanced training. Most of the recent graduates of the boot camp were good, but they were all green.

  “A lot,” Major Pendeckle said. “Some like you went into specialties. Others were shipped off to be a part of a ship's company in Pyrax.”

  “Then there is manning the bases and stations to consider,” Lieutenant Valenko said with a nod to his boss. Major Pendeckle nodded back.

  “But we're supposed to have what, five no, six platoons of infantry now? Infantry, not armor or the other specialties,” Jethro said.

  “Oh a lot more than that,” Valenko said waving a hand paw. “But the exact number isn't up for review. OPSEC.”

  Jethro nodded. Operations Security or OPSEC was something he and the other Marines were familiar with. They didn't want anything being passed on to the enemy.

  “To answer your question though, we do, but they aren't available. Three
platoons were sent to Antigua to shore up things there. At least a squad, possibly two will be dropped off in Triang for recruiting there. Another platoon is scattered in various recruiting centers throughout our side of the sector, or they are in transit to those worlds. Two more platoons are up to their necks in a mess on the planet. Apparently there was a bad fire on the main continent, followed by mudslides. The platoons are backing up a construction battalion there. Apparently an entire town of four thousand was buried alive about two days before we arrived.”

  The men and women in the compartment winced at that. The Major looked at them, receiving a nod here and there before he continued. “Then we've got something of two platoons of Marines in Pyrax, most are in San Diego or the Annex. Another platoon was just shipped back there under orders from Commander Logan three weeks ago. Something about the Governor pointing out there weren't enough military personnel available for reservist and SAR duty, so they are supposed to be trained there.”

  “Oh,” Riley said making a face. He could see how that had probably gone over well with the chain of command.

  “Plus, there is something like five platoons of Marines in the advanced training courses, and another platoon that was sent to Pyrax for the academy and officer's training. They were on Clydesdale 779 with the reservists. We'll pass them in transit.”

  “Ah.”

  “Apparently everyone we've got either volunteered when the grapevine got wind of our mission or they didn't have an assignment and were press ganged into service. Either way, we'll make it work.”

  “Aye aye, Sir.”

  “Now, we can't work on actual powered armor work, but I had a talk with Lieutenant Purple Thorn and she recommended a couple sims to try. She even wrote a couple for us. She's asked to take the op force since she's available. I thought a fresh face might be fun.”