Jethro Goes to War (Wandering Engineer Jethro's tale) Page 6

“Oh hell no. After that is the crucible. That's hell week. Remember the obstacle course? You think it's hell now you are in for a shock. We'll have to run it or something like it doing team exercises the entire time. SAR, traps, snipers, ship action, the works. Full combat sim or as close as they can get to it. All on practically zero sleep and food. Sixty hours of nonstop fun and games,” Jethro said with a feral smile. Most of the platoon groaned at that.

  “You really do know how to put a wet blanket on things,” Valenko said shaking his head as the groans died down.

  “Oh it gets better. After that we move on to basic graduation and then specialty training,” Jethro grimaced. “Which is even more of a bitch. But once you know you can get through basic you know you can get through anything.” Some of the crew looked at him in disbelief but Valenko, Sergei, and a few others nodded at that.

  “That's enough people,” Brenet growled. “Move out,” he ordered. He waved his arm stiffly. The group fell out into a march.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “We're down to three platoons. I heard we've got about three hundred and thirty three, or so I heard. Not counting the ones in sickbay,” Sergei said, watching the DI's chew a recruit out. The recruit dropped and started doing pushups.

  “I wonder why we're all lobbed together like this. Seems kind of racial,” Hurranna said. A Veraxin buzzed at her. A chimp nearby huffed.

  “It's the challenge.”

  Instinctively they went to parade rest as gunny Schultz came out from the shadows by the equipment bay. He looked them over. “You're wondering why the humans are off to themselves? That's why,” there were three short platoons of humans left, Alpha, Beta, and Delta. Then there was their one lonely oversized F platoon now that all of Delta and Gamma's Neo's had been transferred to them.

  “Sir yes sir,” Jethro said.

  “Figured it out already did you?”

  “Sir. Some of it Sir.”

  “I heard about your lecture. You think you’re salty?”

  “Sir. Not yet sir,” Jethro tried not to flinch as the brim touched his nose. He went cross eyed looking at the gold thread and insignia serving as a hat band.

  “Good answer,” the DI growled locking eyes with him. That one eye and eye patch seemed to burn into his for a moment then the gunny turned, moving off. “You lot are together because the humans can't hack it with you in the mix. You were bred for war. They weren't,” he shook his head, pacing back and forth.

  “Neo's and aliens all have unique abilities the human’s lack. At least baseline normals. Heavy worlders are here now as well.” He indicated the squat humans standing at attention nearby.

  “That's bs man,” Sergei mutters softly.

  “How much can you lift?” the DI asked. He didn't acknowledge that Sergei had talked out of turn.

  Sergei stiffened to attention. “Sir, this recruit can lift and carry five hundred and sixty kilos sir!”

  “All right, well the baseline human can't lift that. The pussy...” Schultz looked over to the cats. “No offense. The humans can barely handle one fifty on a good day,” he snorted then spat.

  “So, you'd be bored. We can't have that. Which is why we lob you all together. That way you’re more of a challenge,” he said as he smiled. It wasn’t a particularly nice smile.

  “I was in the Dogs of War,” he said as they digested that last.

  “Yes sir. We know sir.”

  “I figured you would,” Schultz nodded. “Saw my sight picture once or twice?”

  “Ah, no sir.”

  “Better not have,” the dog growled softly. He rubbed at a scar on his left forearm with his right prosthetic. The claw clenched and then released.

  “Sir are you going to get a prosthetic like the Admiral?” Jethro asked. He felt like kicking himself for sticking his neck out and opening his big mouth.

  The gunny turned to him then snorted. “I wish,” he sighed, clenching the artificial hand.

  “I'll get a new one later. It's a bitch to clone my sonotype. Doc’s working on it but she's so backlogged...” He shook his head. “Remember that. It's easier to fix a human than one of you. Keep your eyes and your mind on the task at hand at all times or you’re going to end up like this,” he growled. He held up the prosthetic then used it to point to his eye patch.

  “Unlike you I've got implants though,” he said. He looked around. “You’re going to start to get them next week.” He turned back to them. “But that's then. You've still got a hell of a lot to prove to get there first. You reading me recruits?”

  “Sir YES SIR!” Jethro felt elated.

  “Once we get this cluster fisk under control we're going to do something different. Some VR training,” he looked a little annoyed at the idea.

  “It's not my idea. The best way to train is in the field. In real life. But since we don't have a planet to play on right now...” he growled. “This will have to do. Expect to do a refresher course on a planet down the road,” he said shaking his head. He paced again.

  “Your first sim is a drop. Combat drop. Get ready,” he started to move off. The platoon looked at each other.

  “Ah sir. Can ah, we get some background?” Valenko asked.

  “A briefing? Or information in general?” The gunny turned eying them. “Interesting.”

  “Yes sir. Knowing is half the battle. Intelligence can be key.”

  “Impressive. You thought of that all on your lonesome?” the DI asked.

  “Sir no sir. I've studied what I could.”

  “It seems you all have,” Schultz's single eye cut to Jethro then back to the platoon. “Very well. You’re doing a simulated orbital drop. Planet is a hostile M class. Standard oxy atmo mix. Jungle terrain. You’re dropping near or on top of a battle. Turbulent atmo. We'll see how it goes from there.”

  Jethro tried not to swear softly. Orbital drops were hell he had heard. Pulling this on raw recruits not even through their first form of basic though? That was asking for trouble.

  “Something on your mind recruit?” the DI snarled to Jethro.

  “Sir no sir.”

  “Out with it,” The gunny snarled.

  “Sir, it's just, orbital drops are usually secondary training objectives. Hell jumping isn't for greenhorns.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser. I wonder where you get these odd notions of yours recruit.”

  “Sir. Family journal sir,” Jethro admitted.

  “Ah,” the gunny nodded. “Got it handy?”

  “No sir. It's ah, with the clan.”

  “Too bad,” the gunny snorted. “But for you I guess it's a good thing. Had you had it I would have pissed all over it and then made you eat it. Raw,” he snarled. “You don't know shit recruit! Get it through your head and stow the attitude! This is a different time and place!”

  “Sir yes sir!” Jethro said standing stock still. His fur rose and then went flat.

  “All right,” Schultz turned to see the Major nearby. “Jefferson, get them set up and squared away asap,” he called and then walked off toward the Major.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “You’re running them pretty hard,” The Major said nodding.

  “That's the idea sir.”

  “That cat is right. I know this drop sim wasn't in the syllabus.”

  “No sir. Last minute addition to test their confidence.”

  “Or break it. Your job is to shepherd them through boot. Make marines out of them gradually Schultz, not break them.”

  “To mold them you have to break them sir. Only then will the cream rise to the top.”

  “Bullshit. Tell me, how many times have you done a drop sim?”

  “Sir?”

  “Answer the question gunny.”

  “Ah... None sir.”

  “Well, you get to demonstrate some leadership right here gunny. You and your DI's,” The Major eyed the gunny. “You get to jack in and run the show.”

  “Ah sir, I was ah, going to grade their performance,” Schultz felt a sin
king sensation.

  “I've got nothing better to do for the next couple of hours. I'll take care of that little chore,” the Major smiled. “Unless you don't think either one of us can hack it.”

  The gunny knew the only path to the right answer. The Major was right, don't ask your troops to do something you aren't willing and able to do yourself. He cleared his throat. “No sir. Just trying not to get egg on my face in front of the recruits sir.”

  “Too late for that gunny. Next time don't put your trainees through something you yourself haven't experienced. I seem to recall you pointed that out a time or two remember? So you are going to put your credits where your mouth is. Got me?” the Major growled. The gunny came to attention and saluted.

  “Aye aye sir.”

  “Good. Move out,” the Major growled gruffly as he returned the salute and then watched with cold eyes as the gunny moved off stiffly.

  “That was cruel,” Firefly said over his wireless link. He looked up to the ceiling.

  “What? Sending shave tail recruits through hell jumper 101 with a ten second brief or making the gunny go along with them?”

  “Both. But you are right, making him go through it with them should make things interesting. Lead from the front as it is usually called. I think he'll think twice about these little brain farts after this.”

  “Good. I couldn't undermine his authority by canceling it once he'd announced it. That wouldn't work.”

  “Of course not. But now you're stuck with the situation.”

  “And I'll try to make the best of it,” the Major said shaking his head. “He is right, we do need to see where the stress points are.”

  “That is if we don't lose him and some of the others permanently to those stress points Major.”

  “We'll see,” the Major shook his head. “He's tough. Now he's got to perform under pressure.”

  “Just like the recruits.”

  “Exactly.”

  ...*...*...*...*...

  The Major walked through the sickbay, cover under one arm a duty shift later. He stopped at a bed to nod and speak softly with a recruit, then moved on. The gunny stood near the door.

  “So maybe this wasn't such a smart idea,” he said as the Major returned to him.

  “You think?” the Major sighed shaking his head. He went out into the hallway hopefully out of earshot of the recruits or anyone nearby. “We've lost about nine of F troop. Most of the Veraxin went catatonic when the sim hit the half way point. Damn lucky med techs were on hand or we would have lost them.”

  The sim had been a disaster. Even though all the recruits knew it was just a virtual fantasy the direct feeds into the brains, not to mention the force emitters in the pods subjecting them to gravitational forces and playing merry games with their inner ears had messed them all up.

  The DI's had had it worse, their implants made it incredibly realistic. Agoraphobia had kicked in, something none had planned on. When the DI's had broken down the command chain had fallen apart and chaos had reigned. Less than five percent of the platoon had been functional when the sim had been cut off before they'd even hit virtual dirt.

  The gunny looked over to Jefferson, who was still looking pale. “Not just them sir,” he said grimacing and trying to get the sour smell of vomit out of his nostrils. He was wearing his last meal on his front still. He'd done his best to wash it out, but the smell was still clinging to the fabric. “If you want my resignation you can have it.”

  “There is no stress card in war son. You of all people should realize that by now. And hell, war means casualties. In training as well. But you damn well better learn something from this. Don't expect professionalism from rookies,” the Major huffed out. He shook his head as he blew his cheeks in and out a few times. “That goes double for me. What was I thinking allowing this?” he sighed. “I grew up on a ranch. I know damn well you don't try to ride a horse just after it's been foaled,” he said shaking his head. He slapped his thigh angrily.

  “My fault sir.”

  “Yes it is. You damaged a lot of good marines. Their faith in your leadership has been broken. Rebuilding that is going to take time,” he shook his head. “Damn.”

  “The interesting thing is that most of F platoons leaders got through it sir. Some better than others,” Brenet said behind them. He stank of sweat and urine but at least he was on his feet. He'd had practice using his implants to hold his lunch down.

  “You’re talking about Valenko, Jethro, Hurranna, Sergei, and the other four? Lance corporal?” the Major asked turning to him.

  “Yes sir,” he said glancing at a med team who was sucking bile and vomit out of a recruit's lungs.

  “They did outstanding. For recruits. Which technically is what you are. We all are. But Valenko kept it together and even talked Corporal Jefferson down when he went into hysterics.”

  Both noncoms winced at that. They had been too busy handling the chaos and collapsing Veraxin to do much about it. “Yes sir,” they both mumbled. Jefferson nodded rubbing his temples.

  “Think he's officer material?”

  “Yes sir. Or noncom at least. Squad leader. He's doing well in that slot right now.”

  “Does he show any preferences for specialty?”

  “No sir. Bears and large cats usually take heavy weapons slots though by tradition. A few of the russian ones like he is make it to general and are deep thinkers. He's as much a thinker as he is a brawler sir.”

  “Good to know,” the Major nodded. “Give him a commendation for working under pressure. Ease up on the schedule for a few days. Then buckle down to keep their minds off the surgery. Work on the agoraphobia problem. Build up to it slow though. We don't want a repeat of this mess.”

  “Aye sir.”

  “I am this close to swapping you with another team. Unfortunately I don't have one to spare. Don't screw this up again,” the Major said turning to them. He locked his eyes with each of them. “We've got a quota. I need three hundred and fifty marines minimum at the end of this. Screw them up any more and my taking a rolled up newspaper to you both will be the least of your problems. You get me?”

  “Aye aye sir,” they said in unison. They came to attention. The Major did as well. The two noncoms saluted. He returned the salute.

  “Dismissed.”

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “Damn what a rush,” Sergei said, shaking his head.

  “The fall or the sudden stop at the end?” Hurranna asked amused.

  “Both.”

  “It wasn't realistic though. I'm surprised we had problems with the others,” Valenko said softly.

  “What do you mean?” Sergei asked, looking over to him. Deja, the selkie down the way looked up over to them. The selkie was one of the few who had actually enjoyed the ride. Probably because of his nature, the big Liger thought with a flicker of annoyance. “Are you kidding? That's as real as it gets. That was probably a hack from the archives.”

  “No he's right,” Jethro said sitting up on his rack. “I mean it,” he said as the others eyes him. “Think it over. In a drop we'd be confined in pods. Claustrophobia. Tight coffin. Going straight down. This was a freaking video game and people lost it. Knowing that it was all fake they still lost it.”

  “Damn,” the selkie shook his head. “You would remind me of that. Digging our own grave,” he shook his head and ran a flipper hand over his brow. “Did we really do that?” he asked.

  “No we played a VR game. That's my point. No drop pod, no gravity, no heat, no fire from below, no atmo, remember that folks. All a game. Just a sim. Put it in perspective. It was a gut check.”

  “A fun run you mean,” Valenko replied with a nod.

  “Fun run?” Hurranna asked. She wrinkled her nose. Her whiskers twitched. “Dare I ask?”

  “Gut check. A run. Hard run. Just to see who will stay in the game. Who's too stupid or stubborn to quit. Who hasn't an ounce of quit in them. We did one before on our first day.”

  “Ah,” she win
ced. “I don't remember doing so hot then.”

  “Yeah well, just be glad you were sober and not too full at the time,” Jethro said smiling.

  “Um...” Valenko scratched an itch.

  “Old trick my ancestor made sure to point out,” Jethro looked around as the rest of the squads out of sickbay came over to hear. “See they, the noncoms or the officers do a fun run or something nasty right after a party or leave. From what I heard running forty clicks hung over with a full ruck in the mud isn't something you want to do.”

  Hurranna winced. “That's fracked. Totally screwed up.”

  “That's the way things run. You have to pay for your pleasures,” Valenko sighed. “I remember something about that too. But I think the gunny is paying for his now.”

  “What do you mean?” Jethro asked.

  “You and I both know he did that because we dropped the ball and clued the platoon in on what is up. Unfortunately I think it backfired. We lost a few good people because of that,” he shook his head. Eight of their people were out for good. Most of them were Veraxin. The last one was still in sickbay. She would be released later today hopefully.

  “Which is my fault. Not yours.” They jumped to their feet as the gunny came into the bay. Valenko glared at the watch.

  “Deal with it later,” the gunny said, slightly amused as he passed. He walked the bay then came back. “I pushed before you were ready. My mistake,” he growled. He looked around.

  “Sir no sir. We needed the gut check. Better to find out now than when it counted sir!” Jethro said instinctively.

  The gunny eyed him. “Sucking up?” he asked and then shook himself. He knew better. The kid wasn't a suck up. “You may be right,” he admitted. The kid was honest and didn't pull punches. “I don't know. Personally I think we did need to know. Then again, not everyone is cut out to be a hell jumper. I for one am not.” He shook his head ruefully at that admission.

  That revelation startled a few in the room. They looked at the gunny. He chuckled.

  “What you think you had it bad? All you had were VR neural feed goggles in a zero g tank. I had full implant hell. So did the other DI's who were in the drop,” he said with a grim smile. He shook his head. “No, the Major is right; we need to learn to walk before we can run. I needed a kick in the pants too; we the noncoms are learning our jobs just as you are. You get the benefit of learning from our mistakes,” he shook his head. “Damn if I let there be another one though,” he growled softly.