Jethro: First to Fight (30 page)

“No sir, just... It's just I'm not
thrilled about the state of the boots training.” Lieutenant Myers rolled his
eyes to Valenko and Lieutenant Harley. The Captain had been griping about the
problem now for several days. It was one of the reasons they were having this
meeting. They were the only officers in attendance, all the other officers were
out of range currently.

“Ah,” Forth replied nodding. He'd heard
a few gripes about it. They were cycling new recruits, either Marines or naval
personnel through San Diego in an catch as catch can basis. They were given two
to three weeks of boot before they received their implants, long enough time to
get some of the civilian crap out of their system for some, shake away the dead
weight who didn't really want to be there, but the training was a pale shadow
of what it had been before. Most of it was classroom crap, not what these kids
needed to survive.

After they recovered from their implants
they were given sleep teaching and information downloads, then another week of
training before they were shipped off to various posts. It was expected that
they would pick up additional training from the veterans. Some of that was
happening, but there were also reports of a lot of blanket parties going on.
Not a good sign when many were repeat performances and sometimes the medics
became involved.

“Its...” Pendeckle frowned. “Sir, this
sucks. We need to fix this. Either keep them in training for an additional
time, or stop training until we have proper facilities.”

“And we won't get that here. San Diego
doesn't have the life support for the large training decks. Those are months
away from even starting construction,” Lieutenant Dana Harley said.

Pendeckle replayed his incident with the
Hawaiian Private. The other officers snickered. “You aren't seeing it. You
don't understand. If they were deficient with something so simple, how can they
handle combat?” He pointed out. That sobered them.

“Sir, we've been trying to use sims to
simulate combat during the training period. But they have what, a week of sims
after they get their implants before we ship them off to their posts?” he
asked, looking at Valenko. The bear nodded and shrugged. “That's not nearly
enough,” the Captain said turning to the Major.

“I know.”

“I know you know sir, the first two
weeks are orientation, PT, and getting them to learn to follow orders. A little
zero defect mentality, but not much. Spit and polish, little practical lessons
and of course no time on a gun range since none were available. The PT is crap,
most of it muscle building, no cardio or team building. They had no place to
run other than on a treadmill. They couldn't learn to appreciate the grind, of
keeping with the program because you can't just hit the reset button,” the
Captain fumed.

“We need Gunny Schultz back in the DI
uniform. I'm sorry, but Gunny Thompkins and his methods just aren't cutting the
mustard,” Lieutenant Harley said, shaking her head, cold sober. She looked like
a serious Marine, buzz cut, clean with cold blue eyes. “I've compared his
training to Gunny Schultz, there is no comparison.” She nodded her chin to
Valenko.

The bear nodded to her. Apparently she'd
become a fan of his people after the first Marine expedition force to Agnosta a
few months ago. She'd driven herself and her people to emulate the bear and his
squad. But there was something to be said about a copy and the original. The
copy had flaws, conceptions driven in and bad habits that were hard to work
out. She was getting better, but she wasn't there yet, not quite.

“I know,” Major Forth replied.

“Expecting the troops to train recruits
isn't working. We're cycling them through a three week course that should be a
minimum of twelve weeks like shit through a goose sir, we need to hold them to
training. This bullshit about sleep teaching and downloads... classroom crap is
just that, crap. You get more from experience, not from sitting on your ass in
a nice safe room! We need to expose them to combat conditions. Actually firing
their weapons. Drills on stripping them and rebuilding them. Why they need
their kits. Hell! Space training! We lost one boots because he brazenly said he
knew what he was doing and his partner didn't know he hadn't been trained!
Everyone should be trained to the same standard!”

“I know,” Major Forth said again,
sinking into his chair. He remembered the incident, after all, it had happened
only a few days ago. Luckily the boots had survived. “They need hands on. I get
that.” He rather regretted the situation they were in, he was frustrated just
as much as they were. He had strove to teach the Marines of class one how to
survive in combat, how to stand up to the furnace, survive and complete the
mission. To teach them that they could handle adversity. Tempered them with
careful exposure, calculated to acclimate them to combat. Now that seemed to be
unraveling.

“I know you know sir, it's just
frustrating. We've lost 10 recruits due to mental illness. That's a major
investment in men, implants, and training wasted. Thrown away. All of them were
discharged, all suffered PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. None were combat
trained. Most went up against Valenko's squad and just couldn't hack it. I'd
hate to see what would happen if those kids really did get their sticks in a
real meat grinder. Their breakdown could screw a mission and get a lot of
people killed.”

The Major frowned. They were right,
they'd been trying to stick a band aid on the problem and it wasn't working. He
was actually surprised Pa'nash had stayed in as long as she had. Either her
therapy had taken this go around, or being on the end dishing it out had
helped. Or just time, time and talking about it helped a lot. He made a note to
have some down time and beer sessions for the troops to unwind more. “Ideas to
fix the problem? I know holding them to training, but we don't have the
facilities. I'm thinking beer and bullshit time, or games, but I'm not a
shrink.”

“Sir, we need to come up with some additional
options. Assigning DI's to act as probational officers to keep training them
under the guidance of the local OCT isn't working either.”

“You're telling me what isn't working. I
get that. Now I want some answers,” Forth said, voice cooling into command
voice.

“Yes sir,” the Captain said, temper
cooling. “I guess part of my problem with it is after having the first
graduating class to compare them too...” he shrugged.

“And here I thought we were the first
graduating class,” the Major said with a snort.

“Not even close. We're still learning on
the job even now. The first graduating class, we squared them away. But we're
dropping the ball with the next. These people will eventually replace us
someday you know.”

“Not a pleasant thought,” Harley replied
with a wince.

“Why can't we hold them to training
sir?” Valenko asked.

“Too many people and a lack of
facilities. All we have are classrooms on San Diego. Our officers are on Anvil in
the college, and they are only getting classroom lessons there too. We have
Sergeant Brenet there riding herd on them though.”

“I remember him sir, he trained us with
Gunny Schultz. Good troop.”

“I know. One of the reasons I posted him
there. He came highly recommended.”

“Part of the problem is the stream of
recruits. We get a few every week. Sometimes a ship comes in and we get a half
dozen or a dozen. All with various skills. Hell, a few don't even know how to
read!”

“It's surprising the level of ignorance
the colonists have,” Harley replied.

“Don't be too smug, some came from Pyrax
too,” Pendeckle replied tartly. Harley frowned and looked away.

“Classes vary in size. If we get a lot
we have to rush the current class through. We don't want to lose anyone.”

“Sir, if they can't damn well wait, they
don't deserve to be Marines,” Valenko said, looking at the Major. “I suggest a
minimum class size. Say, a platoon? Half platoon if the facilities aren't up to
snuff for that many.”

“We don't have the trainers for that,”
Harley frowned.

“Why? We had enough during my time in
boot,” the bear asked mildly. “We have a lot more Marines now. Why can't we
assign some to train? Or assistants? I admit, a few aren't up to the task, but
we can train them.”

“Are you volunteering?” Lieutenant Myers
asked, sounding amused.

“I can. Or my squad can. We have one new
recruit, Private Fonz. He's shaping up nicely, though he still has a lot of
rough edges.”

“Ah.” She nodded slowly. “I seem to
recall sending you Fonz.”

Valenko's black eyes looked at the
Lieutenant mildly. “Yes ma'am you did.”

“Rough edges?” she asked, quirking an
eyebrow. He shrugged.

“Corporal Jethro and I acted as joint
platoon leaders during boot. Jethro has a lot of untapped potential. He's
definitely DI material if he had the training. He's taken Fonz and Pa'nash
under his wing and is bringing them up to
my
standards. But I recommend
the corps seriously look into a better boot camp. Piecemeal
isn't
working sir.”

“Which we can't do,” Lieutenant Silverman
replied.

“There is no such thing as can't,” Forth
said mildly. “We figure it out. If we can't find a work around that's by the
book, then we rewrite it. Get me a list of former DI's. Focus on F platoon.
Valenko, I'm sorry, but I think Gunny Schultz's skills will be better put to
use elsewhere.”

The bear winced and slowly nodded.
Schultz and Pa'nash had both been borrowed a lot already. “I see sir. It will
put a hole in my squad. I don't have another noncom now.”

“Well, we can borrow him for now as we
fix this problem. Jethro will have to carry the load or not, we'll see. We'll
reassess this in a week. For now, let's see what else we can do.”

“Facilities are an issue, but so are
supplies...” Lieutenant Myers said starting on the next issue.

...*...*...*...*...

Valenko pulled the Gunny aside and
related the discussion and its implications. Schultz listened, soberly nodding
at one point or another. He'd come to realize something like this would happen,
he really was needed elsewhere. He'd also come to realize weeks ago Thompskins
was dropping the ball. The noncom grapevine had been abuzz about the problem.
Jefferson and Brenet had both talked to him about it. He'd put himself out
there to help them and the trainers. Fortunately he himself hadn't been tapped to
be an acting trainer on Firefly. He wasn't sure why, the idiot they had in
charge just didn't know what he was doing. He'd spent some time trying to get
it through his thick head with mixed results.

“So, you're saying, we're coming to an
end of the marriage?” the Gunny finally asked, flicking his ears to indicate
humor.

“I'm sorry Gunny. I know you wanted
field work but...” the bear shrugged.

“It's not all about what a person wants.
Sometimes you have to submit to the inevitable in order to further the needs of
the Marines. Put the pack first as my sire told me,” Schultz replied. “When do
I go?”

“The orders haven't been cut yet, so
you've got some time. But I'd like you to make yourself available at all times,
even if you have to shuttle out or talk long distance. Whatever it takes to get
the job done. We'll try to work some corrections into the program that is
currently in progress but I don't know.”

“I see.”

“There is no point changing horses midstream
as the Major said. We'll start fresh with the next class. But to do that we'll,
or should I say, you'll need to lay the groundwork like you did for us.”

“I see.”

“I'm sorry Gunny, I really am.”

“I know. I'll get it done,” the Gunny
replied, straightening his shoulders. “I think we'll either need a replacement
for me, or move Jethro up faster than we'd anticipated.”

“Well, the promotion cycle isn't over
just yet. He was slated for another stripe. We'll see.”

“Bump a grade might work. What about Hurranna?”

“She's slated for Marine pilot training.
Her class starts in a month or so. She doesn't know yet. She was on the reserve
list but her performance in Agnosta and her performance during the testing has
bumped her up a bit.”

The Doberman flicked his ears. “Good for
her. I'm glad she's getting a chance at what she wants.”

The bear winced again. “Gunny.”

“No, that wasn't me whining. Damn. No,
I'll do it. Thompskins not obviously. One request. He doesn't replace me,” the
Doberman growled.

“You can damn well bet on that not
happening,” the bear growled, nodding.

...*...*...*...*...

Jethro's Leo friend Hrriss took him out
to dinner when he had a weekend pass. Hrriss had been promoted to deck manager
and he was happy. He constantly preened, looking about. Jethro was amused by
his friend's antics.

When they were done the Leo guided him
to a Neo cat house. At first Jethro was not sure what to make of it. The heady
smell of felines in heat and the alcohol in his system had his hormones all in
knots. He was riled up and the alcohol had lowered his defenses. It had also
been a long damn time since he'd had any his instincts warred with his brain's
sense of decorum. His friend pushed him inside to get his pipes cleaned.