Jethro: First to Fight (65 page)

The Tauren spread his hands apart in
supplication.

“Why no gravity here?” Fonz asked,
looking a little greenish.

“Cause we can't make grav plates. So, no
gravity. Thank Jethro for the idea for this place,” Harley said, waving a hand
to the Sergeant. She drifted a bit by the move, so she reached out and grabbed
a hand hold again.

“Thanks,” Fonz said.

“Let's get to work,” Valenko rumbled,
nodding to Jethro.

“Suiting up sir,” Jethro said, moving
off.

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

Jethro ran a full up test of the sled
with armor. “So far so good,” Jethro said, sitting nervously in the driver's
saddle. “Saddle, seems more like this thing is built for a Veraxin like Panache
than me,” he quipped.

“I'd take it, but I don't have the
wings,” Panache retorted. “And I'm not at all fond of the outer dark. Thanks
anyway,” she said.

“Cute,” Jethro replied. He scanned his
instrument cluster one more time. It was pretty simple, fuel, speed, power,
weapons. Built for a Marine in mind. Besides, anything else he needed he could
get from his HUD.

“You haven't gone anywhere yet.”

“Right. Yet.”

“We've tested the engines on a test
stand. Nothing wrong there,” Sergei said.

“Uh huh.”

“Course plotted and locked in. One
minute burn, yaw flip, then RTB. Easy peasy. Are you ready Sergeant?”

“Let's get this over with,” Jethro
growled.

“Count down, ten, nine...” Ox went
through the countdown. When he hit two Jethro flipped the ignition switch's
cover up and then stabbed down.

Nothing happened for a brief moment and
then it felt like he was getting kicked in the ass. “Wowa!” he said, holding on
for dear life.

 His weight shifting about was
enough to throw the delicately balanced craft off balance. She rolled and went
into a slight turn. “You're off course!” Ox called.

“Shit,” Jethro snarled. He tried to
throw his weight the other way but it wasn't happening, he was corkscrewing out
of control.

“Straighten out!”

“Don't you think I'm trying?” Jethro
snarled, trying to get control. He was headed for the planet, directly to the
planet. That wasn't good.

“Hit the kill switch!” Ox said. “Then
recover.”

“Done,” Jethro said, hitting the big red
mushroom button. There was another kick in his ass as the drive abruptly
stopped and he was thrown forward by inertia and a stabilizing burst from the
nose RCS pod. He held on for dear life, but his feet left the stirrups.

“You okay?” Ox called.

“No I'm not okay! We need a seat belt on
this thing!” Jethro panted, trying to use hand strength alone to maneuver
himself back to his seat. He didn't dare use his wings, they might throw him
off the sled totally.

“Should have thought of that before,” Ox
said.

“Now he tells me,” Jethro said. He let
go with one hand then got a better grip on the steering yoke. He tried to pull
himself in that way, using his forearm as leverage. Unfortunately the steering
yoke wasn't designed for such abuse and snapped.

Plastic shards drifted about as he
bucked and went flying out. The wiring harness in the yoke bungied with him,
playing out what slack it had before it snapped under the load. He spun crazily
and then was adrift, still holding the remains of the steering yoke.

“Okay, now I'm in trouble. Declaring an
emergency here, I've left the craft,” Jethro said.

“Did you say you left the craft? Why the
hell would you do that?” Ox demanded.

“It wasn't like it was on purpose or
anything!” Jethro said, trying to get control of himself. He let go of the yoke
and primed his wings. He disengaged the safety and tried to use short bursts of
RCS to gain control and orientation. Unfortunately the big blue ball was
getting bigger by the second.

“Um, guys, I'm sort of in trouble here.
And I don't have the fuel to get back,” he said, looking over his shoulder to
the dwindling sight of the sled. He had enough fuel to get back, but with the
controls gone... He turned, reorienting his suit and engines. He hit the main
drive and nothing happened.

“Um, shit, suit failure!” he called out,
fighting to stay professional. Red lights blinked in his vision. His HUD
cleared and a diagnostic window appeared. It showed a schematic image of his
suit and wings and then blinked one wing red. The image rotated and traced out
fuel. “Fuel line in my right wing is clogged or crimped, it's not going
anywhere. I now don't have enough fuel to get back to the sled. I am also, way
too close to the planet,” he said. “Not enough fuel to avoid re-entry either,”
he said. “So ungood right now,” he muttered. His vision went red, then flashed
over and over with warning signs. “Blast it! I know I'm in trouble here!” As
audio alarms rang in his ears and head. “I so don't need this crap distracting
me!” he snarled. After a moment the alarms quit.

“Thank you,” he muttered a heartfelt
thanks. Sighing. He didn't want the last thing he saw and heard to be alarms.

“SAR on the way,” a voice replied.
“Sergeant life support status?” It took him a moment to realize that was
Captain Mayweather's voice.

He looked around for Firefly but didn't see
the cruiser. Just his luck they were on the other side of the planet or
something. “Sergeant?”

“Sorry ma'am. Uploading vitals now. I've
got plenty of oxy but I'm in a critical situation. He checked his orientation.
“I'm headed into the planet the hard way ma'am,” he said. He felt himself
tumble a bit. “Deorbiting now actually ma'am,” he said. It had come at him
quick, too quick to try to avoid it.  “Someone had better be quick or I'll
be a crispy critter,” he said.

“Stay calm,” she urged. They both knew
he had under two minutes to live. Once he hit the thicker atmosphere he would
be enshrouded by plasma, superheated air from his reentry, which would cook him
alive. He wouldn't even feel the impact, his body would burn up long before he
dropped low enough.

“Use what you've got to try to get some
altitude,” the Captain urged, her signal broke up.

Muttering a prayer to the goddess of
space Jethro looked down at his fuel indicator and then carefully reoriented
his remaining wing to as close to center line behind his spine as the hinge
would allow. Then he screwed his eyes tight and pressed the trigger.

The engine kicked, burned for two full
minutes. His RCS kicked, he opened his eyes to see his implants were trying to
keep him stable. He smiled, silently sending a mental salute to whoever
programmed them.

His eyes turned to his fuel gauge. He
wished he hadn't looked, just as he did it hit zero and his wing sputtered and
died. The RCS quit a moment later and he turned, face down.

“Well, that sucked,” he said. The planet
gently drifted below him. “Some view though.”

“It bought us a minute. Unfortunately,
not long enough Sergeant,” Deja said. “I'm climbing now, we've got another
shuttle coming in, but they can't get to you in time. I just did the math, I
can't either.”

“So I'm screwed either way. Thanks for
trying Deja,” Jethro said.

“I'm sorry,” Deja said softly. Jethro's
suit oriented on the signal, his implants put an icon up on his HUD. The IFF blinked
there, taunting him with its growing proximity. “You'll be entering LOS any
minute,” Deja said. “You're breaking up already.” His words were hard to hear.

“Right,” Jethro said. “Just in case I
survive this, spread eagle or a ball?”

There was no answer, just a jumbled
replied. “Right, on my own,” Jethro muttered. He checked his HUD. He even
considered venting his remaining life support in a last ditch attempt at
survival. At this rate not even his suit would survive.

He felt something stirring in his mind,
something primal. Then the system diagnostic kicked to life and began rapidly
flicking through windows and calculations.

“What the hell? Suit malfunc-” he gasped
as the suit kicked. He looked at his hands to see them glowing. After a moment
he gasped again as the fans died. Plasma streamed off his body, but for some
reason it didn't eat into the suit.

“Cool,” he gasped, trying hard not to
breath too deep. His body moved on its own, orienting into a face down delta,
hands to his side, feet together, wings tucked in tight. The atmosphere roared
outside, but he felt something buffeting him, protecting him. His vision swam
as he noted the shield on, a thin blue line stretched around his armor.

His suit's shields held out long enough
to ward off the heat and plasma. He saw the shuttle still climbing. His body
reoriented, this time his legs and arms spread wide into a spread eagle. His
wings did too, trying to catch as much air as possible.

“Damn! You survived?” Deja demanded,
orienting on him. Jethro looked down, his HUD reported his IFF was on. He was
also just about out of power.

“Yeah but not for long,” Jethro said. He
read the altimeter. 30,000 meters and falling fast. The ground looked closer
every second. He was panting and about ready to pass out. His internal suit
temperature was over three hundred degrees.

“Don't bet on it.”

Deja maneuvered the Prejudice, matched
his speed then sped up ever so slightly and dropped his boarding hatch. He
oriented in front of the dropping panther and then let gravity do the work.

Jethro floated into the bay and hit the
cargo netting inside with bruising force. His inertials were dead, he took the
blow on his chest and abdomen. He grabbed with his hands and held on as the
ramp rose behind him and the shuttle screamed to correct it's decent.

“Base this is shuttle four niner, we've
got him. Say again, we've got him. He's alive,” Deja said over the radio before
Jethro passed out just as he felt the cargo master getting to him.

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

Major Forth listened to the after action
report. Jethro was in sickbay being checked out. From what doctor Standish had
reported, the panther was fine just a little shaken. He was being kept
overnight for observation anyway. Riley checked the suit as he spoke with the
Major. The Sergeant probed the damage with a mirror and appropriated dental
tools he liked to use in delicate situations like this.

The suit was ripped along the right
side, from the look of it the damage was mostly superficial. Apparently the
shields had failed just before most of the plasma from the re-entry had burned
off, scorching the suit's right side and melting the bicep actuators. The burn
through hadn't gotten all the way through to the Sergeant's skin suit, but it
had been close. Heat had definitely gotten through, which was why he had gel
treating his arm and the medics were treating him for heat exhaustion. The self
repair was down, so Riley was doing the check himself. He felt something or
someone ping his implants but ignored it.

“This is so cool,” Riley murmured, using
the mirror to look at the various layers in the armor. It was wild, it had far
more layers than a standard suit. Each layer served a different purpose.

Both men were shocked to see the suit
repairing itself. “What the hell?” Riley said as his tools dissolved. He fell
back on his ass as the breach in the armor he had been looking into closed
itself. It must have used the materials from the tools along with the damaged
material to do it.

“Interesting,” the Major replied,
getting closer to look. The suit's lights and emitters were glowing softly.
After about a minute the work was complete and the lights dimmed and then shut
off. “I'm guessing that's not a standard feature,” he said dryly, turning to
Riley.

“Not on your life sir,” Riley said taking
the Major's hand and pulling himself upright. “The suits have a limited self
repair but we're talking rerouting around battle damage. This...” he indicated
the suit and shrugged helplessly.

“Nanites obviously. But the nanites were
supposed to be offline. Or destroyed,” the Major mused, rubbing his jaw.

Riley blinked, now thoroughly confused.
“No idea sir. Do you want me to scan?”

Major Forth shook his head. “No. No,” he
said stepping back from the suit. Something felt wrong. It felt like he was
being watched. He turned back to the suit studying it. “No. The only one who
can safely look into that thing is the admiral. I want you to limit the suit
use until we know more.”

“Sir the scan...”

“No Riley. Something tells me this
suit's AI is now active. There is no telling what an active scan would trigger
in it.”

“Ah,” Riley said with a nod. “Firefly?”
he asked looking up.

“Yes Sergeant?” the AI responded.

“This suit...”

“I've been monitoring the situation Sergeant.
I believe if you checked your IFF transponders you'll find both have been
tripped recently.”

“I...” Riley checked as the Major froze.
Indeed, both men found their IFF had been queried by the suit. After a long
moment the two men looked at each other and then back to the suit. “Did it...”