Recruiting Drive: Jethro 4 (Jethro Goes to War)

by Chris Hechtl

  “It's not funny. You've got Brigade 2 up and running smoothly now. Brigade 1 is your baby,” she nodded to the colonel. “But I need the best and brightest to hit the ground running with Brigade 3.” Which was true. She had half of the officers from the first two brigades in newly-promoted positions in all four battalions of her brigade, but they were still feeling out their positions, duties, and getting to know each other's strengths and weaknesses.

  “That's why you're poaching our brigades, Major,” the colonel replied mildly.

  “Is it because he's Recon? I can work with Recon,” Dana said stubbornly.

  “No, it's not that. And I know his reputation is one reason you want him,” Jersey said, holding up a hand to restrain her. “He was a large part of why Valenko did as well as he did.”

  “Building the legend,” Dana replied with a nod as she crossed her arms across her chest, doing her best not to act like a petulant brat. Her lips quivered as that analogy crossed her mind.

  “Legend hell, he gave quite a few people nightmares. We lost a couple to PTSD all because of that black cat. If he crossed your path …,” Major Pendeckle shuddered.

  “All the more reason to have him on my side,” Dana replied with a shark-like grin.

  “You would,” Pendeckle accused sourly, eying her. It was her turn to get a sour look. She just smiled sweetly at him before turning to the colonel.

  The colonel shook his head. “The answer is no. He's not going to be here long. We're sending him out again as soon as intel picks up chatter about his whereabouts.”

  “I don't like the idea of using one of our people like that. Like bait,” Major Pendeckle growled. “Using them to draw the enemy out. To try something.”

  “No, we're using him to train our forces while we try to watch his back and try to find the traitors in our midst,” the colonel replied.

  “Try. Something tells me we won't succeed. Not forever. They'll get him eventually. That's what you’re implying, right?” Dana asked carefully.

  Jersey sighed. “I don't know. Honestly …” he shrugged and held up his hands. “I don't know. We can't lower our guard. Nor can he. Ever.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yes. Yes it does.”

  “So what are you going to do with him?”

  “We're going to bounce him around. A lot. Everything he's had experience at and I know it is a lot—from Recon to armor to DI training. Hell, right now I've got him training DIs with Schultz!” the colonel said with a shake of his head.

  “Will he eventually be an evaluator? An ops force commander?”

  “He's a gunnery sergeant,” Major Pendeckle said despairingly. “I hardly think he could …,” Dana shook her head quickly, cutting him off. “Oh? You know something I don't?”

  “I've seen his record, both in combat and in sims. Also I've observed him in training. He's a good leader, not a natural, but good. He has excellent tactical sense. He's okay strategically. He's flexible too. I believe the only reason he's still a noncom and hasn't been mustanged yet is because of his cloak ability. It would be useless to an officer behind a desk.”

  “He is where he needs to be. If that changes I'll let you know. For now, you can correspond with him for ideas on training and scenarios. The same for any other officer or noncom,” Jersey replied. He looked at both Majors. “That goes for the both of you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Good. Now, once we've gotten Brigade 3 up, we're supposed to get Brigade four going. I suppose we'll have to have their area on the base blocked out and set up then. But I've been talking to Admiral Irons over the ansible. I've let him know we need more air support. One oversized squadron on Kittyhawk and a fortress in Pyrax isn't enough,” Jersey said with a scowl. He tapped the desk with his index finger meaningfully. “We need air support when we're on the ground or going in. Air support to go in and soften targets up that the navy missed. To ride herd on the shuttles right to the drop and then out. To cover their ass if need be. And we need air support on call whenever we need it. That means planes or other craft loitering in the atmosphere, not in orbit on the other side of the planet.”

  “Here here,” Major Pendeckle growled. Dana nodded in agreement.

  “Good. You can add that to my request then with your own reasoning. Now, Brigade 4 is still lacking a commander. I was thinking Valenko, but he's needed where he is. And Gustav is an unknown. All I know about him is on paper and through the ansible.” He grimaced. “Both officers haven't exercised company command either.”

  “I don't think we'll get to decide today though,” Dana said thoughtfully.

  “No, but I thought I'd ask for your input now. Get you thinking about it and who in your chain of command would make for good officers once we begin promoting again.”

  “Well …”

  <(>~^~<(>

  On the third week he managed to track down Sergei and a few other old friends. Sergei was a noncom in Major Pendeckle's First battalion, Second Brigade. He was Alpha Company’s senior sergeant, much to Jethro's shock and surprise.

  “I heard, but I had to come around to see and believe,” he teased, looking at the massive liger. He shook his head but his entire stance was of amusement and approval.

  The liger flicked his ears and then shrugged cheerfully. “Yeah, I know. We're all stepping up I guess,” the white liger said, rubbing the back of his head. His ears were very erect, eyes bright. Jethro judged he was up for the challenge. He nodded subtly in approval. He'd heard some good things about Sergei.

  “Anytime I've got a problem I just ask myself what Schultz, Valenko, or you would do,” Sergei admitted.

  “Go on,” Jethro replied, now embarrassed.

  “No, I'm serious!” the liger replied with a grin. Jethro snorted.

  Jethro could tell he was amused by his rank and had accepted it. He was amused by the changes in the White Neoliger. He carried himself differently; there was an air of competence. The subtle whine was gone. Sergei told him some of the old squad had been transferred to Brigade 2 and 3 while Ox had been transferred to Antigua.

  “Rumor has it Valenko is on the short list for command of Brigade 4. So he might be after us to get the band back together,” Sergei said, rubbing his hand paws together in a washing motion. “Won't we have fun then!”

  “With an entire brigade of his own to play with?” he mock shuddered. “I think the rest of the force would gang up on us out of self-defense.”

  “Heh. They can try. They can try,” Sergei said rubbing his hands together and chuffing. “We'd clean their clocks anyway. We've done it before,” he said. “What's that saying … you've got to hand it to him or he'll take it away anyway?”

  “True.” Jethro agreed, smiling slightly and purring a chuckle. “Speaking of which, I ran into Valenko and Hurranna on Pyrax. Hurranna twice, once at the Matriarch's memorial, and again later over beers.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I heard about the Matriarch. That sucked. Good that you got the bitch who killed her though. You did, right?” Jethro nodded. “Well, I'm glad the scuttlebutt got that part right. Wish she was still around though.”

  “Yeah, you and me both,” Jethro replied with a long exhale. “Hurranna's trying for a warrant position but doesn't want to jeopardize her flight status now that she's finally on the roster. It's stalling her career.”

  “Ouch, I feel that,” Sergei said with a wince. “I hate tests and classroom crap. It's why I opted out of the DI track and back into infantry.”

  Jethro nodded.

  “Like old home week here though. I mean, you, me, Asazi, Letanga, hell, even Gunny Schultz is here,” Sergei said, clapping him hard enough on the back to make Jethro stumble. His back was sore for a few seconds until Bast blocked the pain.

  “Letanga is out in the field I heard, running the sniper course,” Jethro said instantly.

  “Wish you were with him?” Sergei asked him, cocking his head and crossing his arms.

  “So
mething like that,” Jethro replied with an ear flick.

  The Neotiger grunted. “I see how it is, don't want to share a beer with an old buddy,” he mock growled.

  “Hey, if you're buying sure!” Jethro replied with a grin.

  The liger opened his mouth to protest then chuffed a laugh. “Okay, I asked for that I suppose,” he said, showing another phase of his maturity. “You're on. First round is on me,” he said.

  <(>~^~<(>

  The following cycle, instead of getting with a group of DIs to start working up for the following class, Jethro was put to work training to handle recruiter duties in the afternoons. His mornings and evenings were spent in online classes while on the sub DI roster. The recruiter bit was a short training stint, most of it to make sure he was squared away and the picture perfect Marine—a refresher course. He had to look good enough to be put on a poster while also learning to deal with politics and how to entice kids into signing. Fortunately, he always kept his kit and gear squared away so that part was easy. Dealing with the paperwork was trickier, but he had Bast to help him there.

  Playing substitute helped him to channel his ire and hide his dismay. He also was tapped to sub in for the DIs who taught the advanced courses. He didn't get a pass on learning the recruiter duties, even having to sit through simulations and actual practice sessions with people acting the various roles. Getting along with the local business community and community leaders was a part of the course, as was liasoning with ROTC instructors or even acting as one.

  He was amused by the lessons on sexual harassment. But the other lessons had him on edge. Not only did they have to learn tricks to entice recruits into the office to sign on, but they had to learn pitching techniques while also looking impressive. Some of the pitches and enticements bothered him. He didn't like lying to a recruit. Teaching them to get squared away before joining up, pulling their grades up, cleaning up their record, and getting in shape—that much was okay. But promising them a future career track and not delivering … and even a class on handling the guilt or nasty correspondence … that bothered him.

  While all that was going on he still had to do his regular PT as was required.

  Jethro was depressed about the idea of being in a recruiter's office, chained to a desk. That would not only be hell for an active person like himself, but a death sentence. He'd be a target, easy meat for anyone walking through the door.

  Bast wasn't happy about the idea either. They spent the next six weeks bumbling around the base from job to job. After he passed the brief recruiter course, he was certified. But Gunny Schultz emailed him to remind him he was behind in his quals.

  So, to appease the gunny he took a couple refresher courses. But it was like riding a bike; he passed his requals easily, marksman, EVA, sniper … even his armor time. Bast seemed most enthused about that. He had been less enthusiastic about expanding his horizons and taking the newly required parachute course. He'd done the sims early on in Pyrax but the real thing was quite a different experience. There was something to be said about how stupid jumping out of a perfectly good aircraft was. But he made his mandatory six qualifying jumps, two at night, as well as his four HALO jumps.

  He'd gotten a distinguished marksmanship badge to go with his other merit badges. He had been tempted to take on heavy weapons but eventually chose the advanced search and rescue course instead. He could already operate heavy weapons; he didn't need the badge to do that. Besides, finding someone would prove even more useful if he ended up in the outback. He passed over the law course as well as the MP course.

  After acing each of the quals he got a weekend pass as a pat on the back. But he didn't use them much, there was nothing on the mainland to go to except Cheetahra. That and that blasted message from Deja. Both would require more than a forty-eight hour trip, however, so he put them out of his mind. Hooking up with the veterans was almost impossible; they all had their own lives now and their own schedules to keep. He let the off time pile up for a short time, unsure about his future.

  <(>~^~<(>

  On his seventh week on the planet, he finally got a chance to run into Letanga at the Recon shooting range. “I want to help. I need some field time desperately,” Jethro volunteered.

  “Tired of all this civilization? Want to get back to the nitty gritty?” Letanga teased.

  “Damn straight. Get me a bus or hell, I'll hitchhike. Back to green and brown!” Jethro griped good naturedly. He flicked his ears. “Seriously, if you need a hand … I'm just wasting away here. They don't know what to do with me.”

  Letanga grinned. “It'd be fun, scare the shit out of them like we did back with Valenko and the team. They still talk about that—that and F platoon.”

  Jethro grinned slightly. “Good. It's good to put the fear of us in them and the enemy,” the panther replied with an ear flick.

  “You know it. I'm watching an uppity squad. When I get the chance, I'll call you in. It'd probably be a sim though; no way we can get field time right now. The boots are out right now. In fact I'm starting to run late for my class on field craft,” he hinted.

  “Go, go. Don't let me keep you. But we're going to hook up for beers sometime,” Jethro said.

  “Count on it. Getting us all in one place though …” The leopard shook his head as he trotted off.

  Jethro watched him go. “Yeah,” he murmured softly to Bast. “That's a problem. And I'm not sure I want all my friends around me if someone wants to take a crack at us.”

  Bast meowed softly. He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I know. And they'd be awesome in a fight. They can all handle themselves. But I don't want any of them paying the price for my wanting to spend time with them. I think I should stop looking them up.”

  Bast looked at him mournfully and then flicked her ears as if to say it was his decision. He nodded slowly. She pointed to the clock on his HUD and then pulled up his schedule.

  “I'm going, I'm going,” he muttered, moving out.

  Chapter 6

  While touring the equator on a recruiting run Jethro stopped in and saw Cheetahra and some of his old friends from Anvil who had relocated in the village nearby. The Neocheetah Cheetahra was a bush medic on the equator. She had quite the complex, a big rambling home with an attached clinic and garage. The home and clinic were elevated off the ground with sheltered porches connecting the various buildings. She had nice grounds and trails around the home. Fruit and berry bushes were around, as well as trees for shade. She had a fairly large truck garden for vegetables and a small field for grains. There were some shacks and a small guest house that seemed to be overflowing with people.

  Some of the Anvil Neo clans had clustered to her location, and it was clear from the moment he arrived that she wasn't at all happy about putting up with more mouths to feed. They seemed to be everywhere, in the buildings as well as under the canopies that had been set up nearby. They sat on the ground or on rustic looking furniture that a female black bear had made. Many took themselves off to go to the nearby stream to fish or bathe rather than help out with chores. Trash seemed to be everywhere despite the Cheetah's attempt to get them to use trash barrels.

  Being back at the bottom of the social pecking order, pissed Cheetahra off no end. Jethro could tell just from the stiff way she moved about her own home and how she kept her ears low and back. She'd grown and matured into a nice looking mother Jethro realized. She was starting to step up since it was her house; he was proud of her for that. But she had two litters of kittens so she was cautious.

  “I'm not staying long. I just thought I'd drop by. Did they tell you about …” he winced.

  “About …?” she asked, eying him as she bounced a female kit on her hip. She was dressed in an African sarong to go with the heat during the afternoon.

  “Hrriss. The Matriarch,” Jethro finally said. His eyes cut to the kitten. She put the kitten down and shooed her off to go play with her brothers and sisters. She turned with a backwards look but took herself off without complaint.
>
  Cheetahra blinked in confusion at Jethro as she straightened. “What about them? I can tell it's bad. Out with it,” she said settling herself visibly. He sat at the table and quietly told her what had happened. She hissed as he told her about the Matriarch's death. “She shouldn't have had to die like that. No one should. To go out like that. Such a wise loving woman ….” She dashed a tear.

  “I know. It sucks. I know she was sick but ….” He shook his head.

  “Did she fight?”

  “No. It was poison. She just let it happen,” Jethro said with a shake of his head.

  “But you got the bitch who did it?” Cheetahra demanded, eying him.

  He nodded. “Definitely,” he growled. “Her cronies killed Hrriss, but I made certain none of them enjoyed what they had done.”

  “Good for you,” a voice said from behind them. He turned to see a trio of Neos in the open doorway nearby. They nodded and went into the kitchen to the refrigerator. Two were domestic cats, one was a small pug. He was surprised by the dog; apparently Cheetahra had opened her doors to everyone and anyone.

  When they were gone, Cheetahra jerked her head to the door. He nodded and followed her out silently. They padded along the trail near her home, listening to the birds and animals waking up. “I love this. I just do. But others …,” she shook her head. “Some of them are having trouble being outdoors since they came from the station. Agoraphobic,” she said.

  “I see.”

  “I don't get any peace except when I'm out here or at work. And even at work I'm dealing with people every day. And they are only a couple of rooms away,” she sighed.

  “Well, that's a medic's job,” Jethro said.

  “I know. And they don't like it when I have sick people stay on here so I can care for them. Damn it, I'm tired of this shit. A friend of a friend, what's one more! When they do get on their feet and find a job, not one pays me back. I'm barely scraping by,” she growled. She waved to the three kits tussling in the long grass. “I've got kits to feed. Do they care?” She shook her head vehemently no. “No, of course not.” She grimaced, ears flat. “I'm not running a boarding house.”