He wasn't looking forward to the experience though, each boot had to take his mask off in atmo and state their name, rank and serial number without being exposed to the atmo, tear gas. What they didn't know was that they wanted the recruits to be exposed, so they knew what would happen to them and how to deal with it. Once each passed the first stage they had to go back through the platoon and make them take off their mask and then talk until they were exposed enough to the gas to react, then they had to put their helmets or gas masks back on and clear themselves.
That was going to be a snotty mucus filled fun day. He reminded himself to put tissues in his pockets in case Gunny got sadistic and had him exposed as well.
There was a lot of crap he had known, stuff he hadn't. Keeping hydrated, avoid drinking seawater, spot dehydrated boots, how to create a Dagwood sandwich and eat it rapidly, using Military mash potatoes as glue... he shook his head. The squeamish didn't want to see a carnivore like him eat.
The ASVAB, the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery. The basics of his Pocket DI instruction Guide. Why they had boots 'toe the line' every evening. Making sure he was squared away he already knew. How to recognize contraband, fraternization, and hazing... he shook his head, ears flat.
Honor, Courage, Commitment. Getting them to not only see but live to those ideals. Getting boots to not only find the sentry orders, Marine Hymn, Code of Conduct, Military acronyms, the history of the corps, Naval jargon, and details of their personal weapon in their implants, but also to know it by heart.
Asazi had been right, there was a lot of chickenshit to pack into their implant memory. But fortunately Staff Sergeant Jefferson had been his instructor. He had peppered his lectures with plenty of stuff he'd put F platoon through, so they could easily relate. Sometimes they'd relaxed and exchanged stories along with the psychology and reasoning behind why things were done.
When he finished the DI course he took the advanced Noncom course under Staff Sergeant Brenet. He'd learned things about ethics, integrity, why it was important not to spin doctor reports, how to create a 'command climate'. It all sounded like a bunch of crap until he thought about it.
Leading by example, looking over a person's shoulder versus teaching, innovating, and accomplishing the mission. A lot of the material he knew, he'd picked it up from watching the recordings of Tobias and from watching Gunny. Some he'd picked up from Lieutenant Valenko. For instance, knowing that every soldier made mistakes, and if it was an error of omission that was okay, you just proscribed extra training to make certain it didn't happen again.
But, if it was an error of commission, a deliberate error, you landed on it with both feet with punishment, going so far as an article 15 or drawing an article 32.
A noncom exhibited the core qualities of compassion, courage, commitment, competence, and candor. They challenged people, making them feel like they're making a difference while making them feel good about being in the unit. Leadership by example was much emphasized. Discipline, cohesion, motivation, consistency, and fair play were mentioned.
Enforcing the ethics of appearance, conduct, supervising the maintenance and upkeep of equipment, the living area, and workplace. All of that instilled discipline. It also showed the troops that they were being taken care of.
Self discipline and trust with a job without supervision taught troops and motivated them. Even something as simple as the Reveille flag ceremony could instill confidence in someone. It was the little things that led to the bigger things.
Learning to accept full responsibility for success or failure of men under your command... he frowned. He didn't like the idea of getting it in the ass if some pissant screwed the pooch, but he'd damn well make sure that any shit that came down on him he'd pass on to them as well... He still was unsure on how to handle something like that. On the one hand the guide said to not... he shook his head and moved on.
He smiled at the idea of the induction ceremony, the wetting down ceremony. How it was a rite of passage, not hazing. He'd cheated twice, when he'd gotten his blood stripe to Lance and then full corporal. Asazi and Ox had both squeaked in under the radar as well. He made a note to fix that the next time it came up.
The NCO duty list was a bit daunting, but he had it memorized. The chain of command he kept updated in his implants, that was automatic. The NCO support channel was something new, he'd heard mention of it by Tobias, but he'd never known he'd been using it when he talked to Gunny. IT was supposed to go up to the platoon Sergeant and higher if necessary.
Training wasn't truly a punishment, it was the proper method to correct deficiencies and improve performance. It was also a way to get your point across, get it right or you'd keep doing it until you did. He remembered boot. He remembered a boot who had screwed up on keeping his C-42 clean and Gunny had made him clean every weapon of the platoon. At first he'd thought of it as a punishment and a reward, a punishment for the kid who couldn't get it together, and a reward for those who could. Now he saw it through new eyes. It had yes punished him, but it had given him an opportunity to learn to do it right over and over again until he could do it in his sleep.
The soldiers creed... he did make a point of the story about making specialists learn tools and weapons they normally didn't train on. For instance their medic Petty Officer Gusterson. The greyhound hated his weapon, preferring his kit. But he'd at least learned to use and keep his C-42 clean. He'd have to remember to get on the medic about learning other things too. It might come down to saving his life or the squad.
Leadership under fire, combat loading, training for the unexpected... problem solving and counseling had been a good day. He had been a bit confused about its importance, but it was a part of being a good NCO. Recognizing soldiers with problems and under stress... some of the NCO training had crossed over with what he'd learned in DI school.
For his effort he was promoted to Sergeant E-5 on the first of the month. The Gunny wasn't there to let him know, nor was Lieutenant Valenko. He'd found out via e-mail. No 'wetting down' ceremony, he went down to the BX and picked up his new stripes after his IFF updated itself.
He'd come back to find a grinning gauntlet waiting him. He winced, knowing what was coming. Recently the Marines had found out about the old hazing rituals. One was coming back with a vengeance, the gauntlet. He was just glad he hadn't had to go through with it when he'd gotten his Corporal stripe.
He had to walk through the troop bay. Enlisted lined the bay, they would each punch the stripe as hard as they could. When he got to the end he was done. Had they done this when he had gotten his Corporal stripe they would have kneed him in the blood stripe on his thighs as well.
He set his shoulders, took a deep breath and then glared at a grinning Sergei. The liger was pounding a fist into another hand. “I've so been waiting for this,” Sergei said.
“Right,” Jethro sighed, moving forward. “Let's get this over with.”
“Hang on a sec, gotta do this right,” Hurranna said, taking the bag from his hand. She pulled out the stripes and then handed them to a familiar paw. Jethro turned to see Valenko there, blocking the light from the doorway.
“Officer on the deck!” Jethro barked, coming to attention.
Valenko snorted softly. He held the rank tabs up. “Jethro Mclintock of the Anvil cat clan, the Marine corps hereby promotes you from Corporal to Sergeant. Wear them in good health,” he rumbled, slapping the stripes onto the velcro on either side of Jethro's shoulders.
“Thank you sir,” Jethro said. Valenko patted him on the arms again, a little harder than was strictly necessary.
“Good work. Carry on,” Valenko rumbled, turning about. “You've got a day to recover. Enjoy it,” he rumbled with a laugh, then he was gone.
Jethro turned to see the long line or enlisted. Somehow it had gotten even longer. And some of the Marines didn't even belong there, a few he recognized from F platoon, a few from Recon, but a couple were faces of people he'd kicked ass in sims. He gulped. “Oh this is so
going to hurt,” he grumbled. The assembly laughed.
...*...*...*...*...
Nursing bruised biceps he shook his head, wondering where that particular tradition had come from and why they had revived it. The only thing he had to look forward to was paying someone back later on. After all, what came around goes around.
Fortunately, his implants and modern medicine reduced his recovery time from several days to one day. He'd be fine in the morning. For now he wasn't going to move his arms if he could help it. They felt like lead weights. He'd dialed the pain down to something manageable.
He didn't have much to do, just rack out and let his body heal. He checked the records since he had nothing better to do and was bored. He found out that Schultz was an E-9 but still insisted on being called Gunny. It was a tradition the Doberman clung to. He was also clinging to the squad Jethro realized with a heavy heart. An E-9, a first Sergeant shouldn't be running a squad, he should be running the enlisted in a regiment.
For that matter, the entire command chain was still a fracked up mess. Captains like Pendeckle were running squads while also overseeing the platoon. They were supposed to be past that, focusing on the larger picture and leaving the squads to the lieutenants to manage. It was a form of micromanaging that some were starting to grumble about. Hopefully they would get over themselves and get the mess sorted out soon.
He was pretty much resigned to the fact that they were going to lose the Gunny. He closed his eyes, ignoring the scents of the others around him in the troop bay. The writing was on the wall, the way he was being borrowed, sometimes for days at a time. Which made him nervous now that he thought about it. Apparently they were grooming him to replace the Gunny. That was daunting in itself.
His in-box dinged. He flipped open the file manager and snorted. There were two messages, both congratulations. The headers said from Ensign Valenko and the Gunny. The Gunny's was terse, just a good job with a dry apology at not having a ceremony. The panther snorted, as if he wanted or needed to play dress up. Valenko's seemed quick as well, he did put in that he had also passed all his exams of course. The officers had something else in mind for him Jethro bet.
...*...*...*...*...
Valenko was surprised by the Major and other senior officers in the afternoon. He had called in for the weekly debrief and wasn't really sure about the need. They had a debrief yesterday morning and nothing had changed... Or so he had thought. “Sir? What's this about?” he asked the Major as the other officers looked up from the holographic projection they had been studying.
“Attention to orders!” the Major growled. Valenko snapped to parade rest as did the other officers in the room. For some reason Captain Pendeckle was grinning. “By this date, Ensign Valenko after serving well in combat and for his beneficial influence to the Marine corps and its objectives is now promoted to second Lieutenant,” the Major intoned bluntly, all business. He turned as Captain Pendeckle handed him a box. The Major opened it and took the new butter bar out. He removed Valenko's Ensign pip and replaced it with the bar. “Wear it in good health Lieutenant,” he said, saluting. Valenko returned the salute.
“Thank you sir.” He really was at a loss on what to say so he stuck to what he felt was safe. He could feel data flowing from the Major and Firefly to him. An implant update most likely he realized.
“Now,” the Major said, slightly easing up. “Go find your squad and a bar and have a good time. You and they are off for the evening as of now. You've earned it son.”
“Thank you sir,” Valenko rumbled with a nod. That was a bit of a tradition after a promotion. “Just as long as they don't try to make me run the gauntlet,” he grumbled. That got a laugh from the other officers.
“I don't think anyone would dare.”
“Seriously, good job. Outstanding work. Keep up the hard work and someday you'll be in my seat.”
Valenko eyed the Major with disfavor suddenly. “Thanks but no thanks sir, I hate paperwork,” he growled shaking his head vehemently.
All the other officers laughed at that. The Major smiled and patted him on the shoulder again. “It does have its trials, I admit that. I do admit that,” he growled. They chuckled again as the group dispersed.
...*...*...*...*...
Gunny and Jethro met him outside, ears up and smiling slightly. “What are you two looking at?” Valenko mock growled. He glared at them with brows knit. Jethro was more than a little smug. Gunny nodded as if something had been proven.
Both came to attention and saluted. He returned the salute. “Get out of here. Round up the crew we've got work to do,” Valenko growled.
“Work?” Jethro asked blinking.
“What? You think I'm not going to get plastered so you can haul my fat ass home?” Valenko demanded. None of the squad could drink him under the table. There was something to be said about bears, they could handle their liquor.
“Oh shit!” Jethro said with a wailing chuckle. The Gunny grunted. “This means Sergei's the designated sober this round. No way do I need that much of a work out. I do not need the hernia.” He shook his head and rubbed the small of his back.
“Spoil sport,” Valenko growled with a dismissive wave.
Chapter 16
Valenko's squad reformed for training ops once promotions settled down and people began to be reassigned.
Letanga was assigned as lead sniper to another squad. The leopard was replaced with a greenhorn Jethro has to train on the job. Since the Private was running late they went into the sim without him. Half way through Valenko got a call and dropped out of the sim, dropping the command role onto Jethro.
Valenko took the PFC's introduction file and read it thoughtfully, watching with half an eye as the sim ran. Kovu stood at parade rest, swishing his tail occasionally. Eventually his eyes fell on the sim feed. That got his attention.
Private first class Kovu. Kovu was excited and hyper off duty, but quiet and scary in sim combat according to his bio-jacket. The Leo resented being upstaged and outranked until he saw the panther in combat.
“Sergeant Jethro, this is PFC Kovu. Kovu, Jethro. Jethro is senior sniper of the squad and second noncom. He served as co platoon leader in Boot,” Valenko said when their current exercise terminated.
Jethro sneezed and then got to his feet, still off balance by the virtual sim. “Pleased to meet you,” he muttered.
Right off after introductions were complete Kovu bragged about his girlfriend Kiara. “Yup, she's like me. She's going to go into boot soon.”
“Really?”
“Yup, soon. We'll be together. Lean and mean, lean and mean,” he growled playfully, making a muscle. “A team,” he said. Jethro snorted and shot Valenko a look. The bear rumbled and closed his eyes.
He had something of an attitude, right off the start Jethro realized. The lion resented being there, resented Jethro's senior rank and his own secondary position as a shooter and spotter. Jethro could tell from the Leo’s scent and body language. He was tempted to call the Leo on it several times but wasn't sure how to best approach the problem. Training said head on, but he didn't want an issue later. He still had a ways to go with the NCO course load.
“So what shit did I land into this time?” Kovu asked. “How are you on the standings? Dead last?” he asked, eying Jethro.
“First,” Valenko said mildly, still reading the bio. There wasn't much there, the kid had little combat experience. Good on paper, but that was just it, on paper. He'd pulled guard duty the past six months. He'd barely squeaked by the sniper class to get the strips to PFC. Kovu obviously resented the transfer, he had thought he'd be lead sniper in a squad.
“Wait, Lieutenant Valenko... um...” Kovu frowned.
“Yes?” Valenko asked, looking up with brown eyes.
“I...” Kovu's eyes went wide. “The Valenko? The one everyone talks about all the time? Recon? I'm in recon?”
“Well dur, I thought you'd of noticed that in your orders,” Hurranna said, getting off her rack. She dr
opped to the deck and pulled a water bottle out of her ruck and then chugged it down.
“Um...” Kovu glared at the lynx. She just flicked her ears at him but kept lapping at the water.
“So, you're all from F platoon. Cooool,” Kovu said softly. His attitude underwent a change before their eyes, he straightened and seemed to almost strut. It was obvious he now realized whose squad he had been transferred to. His Major arrogant chip on his shoulder grew into more of a boulder.
“Well, It seems I'm now the big man on campus!”
Kovu had a black short mane and furry tip on his tail. Unlike most Leo's he had a lean tawny body, almost feminine. He was a male Neo lion with cougar genes. Full blooded African Neolions were broad chested and kilo's larger. The Leo’s bio reported that he was about eight years old, just a teen in Neo time.
“Lance Corporal Hurranna, PFC Kovu, second sniper. Hurranna, show the new meat around and intro him to the squad. The Sergeant and I need to talk for a bit,” the bear said.
“Sure thing boss,” Hurranna said, capping her water and putting it away. She waved to the lion. “After you,” she said, pointing him in the direction of the troop bay's hatch. “Galley is that away, so is the head on the left. We're headed there now to eat so I'll intro you later.”
Valenko and Jethro watched the rest of the squad move out behind the new meat and Hurranna. Kovu was clearly excited, looking around.
“Ah the stupidity of youth,” Valenko muttered. “He'll get us all killed.”
“Oh come on we all think we're invincible at that age,” Jethro teased.
“Yeah,” the bear said eying him. “And if memory serves we grow out of it eventually if we want to survive. I'm not sure he will.”
“Hopefully. You're only young once,” Jethro replied.
“Right,” Valenko sighed. “That's what scares me.”
...*...*...*...*...
Jethro was annoyed by the subtle challenge the lion occasionally threw his way. Finally he barked at the young male. They had a bout on the wrestling mat to iron out their differences.
Jethro: First to Fight Page 32
