...*...*...*...*...
Jethro trained the fledgling snipers with the crack thump rule. “The rounds are supersonic. By timing the space between the crack of the round's impact and the thump of its sonic shock wave you can get a rough estimate of the distance a shooter is from them so you can counter,” he said, pacing up and down the row of recruits. Most had learned to pay attention to his lectures before they entered and exercise, they were usually extremely relevant.
Each of the Marine recruits had come a long way in the short nine weeks since classes had begun. They had a bit to go before they were ready for the crucible, but they were getting there. “In the 20th and 21st centuries they used chemical propellants and the rule of thumb was for every one second of time it equals roughly three hundred yards. That translates to about two hundred and ninety meters. Modern snipers use rail guns so the math is different.”
That got a bit of a chuckle and shuffle from the trainees.
“Let your implants do the math for you, give them a general source or let them figure it out for itself. The computers in your body can even give a general location of the target using your audio receptors. So keep your fingers out of your ears. If possible cup your hands to each ear or audio receptor and turn to try to orient on the shooter or speaker. That is, if you survived the first round or two by taking cover. If you didn't, well, everything I just said is probably moot,” Jethro said.
There was a wry chuckle at that. Jethro nodded. They were well past the 'knock em down' phase of training and into the 'build em up' phase, using approval, encouragement, and talking to them as people. The transition threw a few off, but they got it, they could hang so their DI's were showing them respect. That wasn't the true reason why, Jethro knew it had many reasons behind the change in training methods, but like a lot of DI's before him, he let it slide. Let them think what they wanted for now.
“When I trained on Anvil, we had to do this in virtual, which didn't work out as well as some had hoped. It all blended together, you really couldn't get a fix on things, you had to trust the implants guiding you. But here, here things are different.”
“Here you will train to get that rough estimate then check for cover locations in that rough search area. You'll lay suppression fire on the target as your buddy moves closer to a better engagement angle. Be aware, the enemy wants to live just as badly as you do, they may have some of the angles covered. That's a given. Some of you will get chewed up. That's also a given. Now, harnesses on,” he said. Each wore a laser harness that interfaced with their implants. He checked his own. “I am the umpire for this exercise. Shooters are in the woods behind me. Your job is to localize them, then either take them out or call in fire support,” he said.
Calling in fire support and calling in the engagement was SOP. Too many recruits forgot that in the excitement of a battle, even a mock one like this. What they didn't know was that this was going to be a lot more real, with paint balls, flash bangs, and painful zaps for those hit. “Be aware, the trees might block the angle of the fire, or you could very well let the enemy know your position, or there could be a blue on blue incident. So squad leaders, think it through. Don't let the heat of the moment make you do something stupid. Remember your training.”
He put his cover on and then used the blade of his hand to indicate the path. “There is the path. Game on,” he growled. The recruits moved out, talking softly to each other with hand signs or text messages. He monitored them all. Two he made note of, they communicated with a touch, sending text messages through their fingertips to each other. They were smart. His squad had used that trick before and would do so again.
When the last had passed he leisurely followed in their wake. He flicked his ears, remembering the first time he'd growled at them. Two, Jerina and Eric had pissed themselves. They'd come far. They had further to go.
...*...*...*...*...
Jethro toured the base as Valenko's driver on a nice Sunday afternoon. The base had come a long way in a short time but still had even further to go before it was finished. If it ever was, they still had a lot to do. Which was one of the reason's Valenko and the other officers tended to take tours, to familiarize themselves with the base and to see what needed further work.
The other reason he'd come to conclude was a burning desire to get away from their desks and the mountains of paperwork the military tended to generate. He was so glad he wasn't an officer.
They used a simple jeep, a four wheeled ground transport that was easy to build and maintain. It's electric drive train allowed it to be charged in seconds. It was a utilitarian vehicle, a flat green with no top.
He was fairly glad the jeep didn't have a top. If it had it would have been interesting fitting the bear into the damn thing. Who ever had designed it hadn't really thought of one and a half ton Neo's riding in it. He'd seen Sergei try to drive the damn thing. The white liger's knees had been up around his ears. He could just image how it would look with the Lieutenant. Funny, but only funny if he was out of the jeep and preferably out of range at the time he saw it.
Which was probably why he'd been tasked with driving the old bear around, even though it was nominally his day off. He should have pawned it off on one of the privates but unfortunately none of them had vehicle training. That really sucked. It was also something he planned on rectifying the first chance he got.
One of the things the Marines were getting used to was the ground protocol. When the flag was being raised or lowered the Naval personnel stood and saluted the flag. When the national anthem, Reveille, or Taps were played they stood and saluted the flag or the nearest speaker.
When he was in a vehicle like this he didn't have to stop, get out and salute, but they did have to come to a stop and remain quiet until the little scene played itself out.
They didn't have to stand and salute while indoors except in the bases's theater. It could get confusing, but they were slowly working the protocol out. Repetition seemed to make it easier over time.
Then there were the salutes. If a superior officer passed a group of enlisted or officers of lower rank they were expected to be saluted by the lower rank, and they had to return the salute. For some it was a lot of stuff and nonsense, but it was the corps, you did as you were told.
They passed the range, or at least the earth and concrete berms walling the range in. There were a series of berms actually, each intended to catch any stray rounds while also redirecting and absorbing the sound of the weapons fire. He winced at the sound of a rail gun on auto. No, not quite perfect.
He made the left turn and climbed a ridge before passing through a copse of trees and then into the light and fields. The jeep jerked and bumped around. There were a lot of ruts and pot holes already.
The dirt roads were rough and bumpy, testing the vehicles shocks and springs nearly as much as the nearly two ton bear riding in the back seat. On either side of the road was a culvert for drainage. On their right DI's were putting some of the boots through calisthenics training. Half were doing jumping jacks while the other half of the platoon were doing pushups. A DI walked up and down the rows, barking orders.
“Ever wonder why the best DI's are from F platoon?” Valenko asked. Jethro snorted as he met the bear's eyes in the rear view mirror. They both knew why and it wasn't just because F platoon had become something of a legend in the corps. It wasn't just because most of F were aliens or Neos either. Sure a Neo could scare the crap out of a boot, but you had to be a bit more than scary to lead. F platoon was not only disciplined but had trained hard, ten times harder than nearly any other platoon of their class. The exercises had been grueling, the Gunny had been positively sadistic. But as he had said the strongest diamonds come out from the proper amount of heat and pressure. When their class had graduated he had plenty of diamonds to form the seeds of the new corps.
He turned to look to the left. He was amused by the squads of Marine recruits out in the fields and tree line training. They used hand signs to practice passing
on intel and directions without using their implants or speaking.
It didn't seem fair that the newest class got their implants before they even started boot. That was a shame, they never really experienced training as F platoon had to train. It seemed like they had it too easy.
“I wonder if they thought of using a jack and a USB?” he asked, looking at the bear in the rear view mirror again.
Valenko grunted and looked at a group of mixed humans. There was a human male about twenty standard years old in the lead gesturing to stop with a closed fist. He nodded as the lad suddenly straightened and came to attention. The kid aborted an attempt to salute when Valenko scowled. Good. The kid was new but the whole saluting ritual was something he could do without. The field was definitely not the place to be saluting.
“Carry on,” he said, acknowledging them as Jethro drove by. He looked at Jethro. “What were you saying?” he asked mildly.
“USB cables.”
“In the field?” Valenko asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Why not?” the panther asked. He checked the road ahead and then looked back at Valenko. “Plug and play. If you've got more data then hand signs can pass on jack in and pas it that way. No wireless signal to let the enemy know what you are doing.”
“Get that from your grand pappies' journal?” the bear asked amused.
“Sniper class back in Pyrax. We planned on remote operating equipment that way. Send a signal to a sensor platform or dazzle device as a distraction.”
“Without a betraying radio signal. Interesting.”
“A laser can be picked up as well,” Jethro said before Valenko could get the statement out. The bear grunted in amused irritation.
“Reading my mind now?” he asked.
“Covered that in class as well.”
“Huh. Well, I'll pass it on,” Valenko rumbled. “Head over to the BOQ. I've got to pick up a few things before the meeting tonight.”
“Yes sir.”
...*...*...*...*...
Ten weeks into the course they had a surprise training during class time. It was a classic, one Jethro loved. The class was getting sloppy, dropping its edge, getting a little slack as they conserved energy for the big push coming up in two weeks. He had waited until the class was seated in the open amphitheater and talking softly before he had signaled for the exercise to begin.
When the tiny sniper attacked the class all hell broke loose as they screamed for shelter. The class had to react quickly and decisively. It was an interesting experience for all, some tried to hide under the dubious shelter of their desks, others rushed the doors and caused a bottleneck.
The shooter, a Marine elf hidden in the air duct, chuckled as she picked off any of the recruits. Each was hit with a paint ball, which triggered their implants for them to play dead.
Finally they got the idea to locate the shooter and move to where she couldn't engage them. Recruits rushed the teacher's door. Good they were learning. Sometimes it took that, experience to make them figure it out.
Jethro flashed back to his own experience with that trick back in Pyrax. He realized they were passing on the tradition of mixing it up and using pranks and unexpected drills to keep their people alert, focused, and on edge.
They definitely paid attention after that little stunt, though the DI's did report a few people were looky looing about in case of another ambush. The distraction was a problem.
“That was a dirty trick,” a trainee grumbled during roll call the next morning.
“I'd rather my people were prepared for something like that. A little egg on your face now is better than in the field. Don't sail fat dumb and happy into something,” Jethro responded, breaking protocol to get the point across.
“I'd like to relax sometime,” the trainee muttered.
“Relax when you're dead,” another boots muttered, poking him as he sent a text message to shut up.
“No he's right. We do need to let our guard down sometime. But class time and training is fair game,” Jethro replied sweetly. “Can I get a read back?”
“Class time and training time are fair game drill Sergeant!”
“Hooyah. You better believe it. So no more sleeping in class. Got it?”
“Yes Drill Sergeant!”
“If you can stand it I can. Just remember it's a two way street,” the trainee growled under his breath. A DI's eyes glittered, their enhanced hearing had easily picked it up. Another snorted. The unfortunate 'loud mouth' was given a demerit and fifty pushups to work off his annoyance.
...*...*...*...*...
“Not a bad thing,” one DI reported smugly when the DI's were alone afterward. Jethro had recently learned that DI's loved an excuse to yell at someone. It was a great motivator for those slack times when people were having trouble keeping awake and alert. Many wanted to coast in the classes, nod off and catch up on sleep. He remembered Gunny loved to drop the occasional flash bang or lean over and scream into a sleepy trainee's ear to wake them up.
“It is if they miss something in the brief.”
“Implants will record for playback later. It's always better to train their situation awareness. I'd rather they keep alert over getting complacent thinking they are in a safe area.”
“Just so long as they don't get punchy or traumatized,” another said.
“We'll have to keep an eye on that,” Jethro said with a nod.
...*...*...*...*...
Jethro was still keeping his own skills up and training to learn new ones along with his duties as a DI. As the old saying goes, if you didn't use it, you lose it. Therefore he spent at least ten hours on the ranges and in the field a week, on top of the weekly training time with his squad.
After he passed a class through sniper 101, he taught himself how to snipe with the remote sensor pods. It was hard, the third eye perspective took a lot of getting used to, but he had a bridge, he'd learned to snipe using an endoscope in the previous class. His implants did a lot of the parallax calculations for him, he just had to trust in them to get it right.
When he had the techniques down he was chagrined that he had to then teach it to his students the following day. He realized the teachers weren't that far ahead of the students they were teaching.
Chapter 25
The civilian contractors and Marine engineering crews were sidetracked to work on civilian projects once the majority of the base's central infrastructure and defenses were set up and running. There were a few minor bugs to be worked out, the occasional miswired room, leaky plumbing, or leaky roof, but overall construction had gone remarkably well.
There had been two dozen injuries, most of them minor. Phase 1 was down to fitting and details, they had even erected a bronze statue of General Lewis B. 'Chesty' Puller standing at attention with a bulldog panting beside him on a leash. The bulldog had a campaign hat on and a crisp Marine shirt with chevrons of a sergeant on the biceps. Two facsimiles of ancient artillery field pieces were on either side of the monument. Another statue was being set up nearby, a bronze replica of 'Iron Mike', a Marine from Terra's WW1. A third and fourth statue were sitting under tarps nearby, a replica of the flag raising at Iwo Jima, and a replica of a Marine in combat armor stomping on a Xeno.
Another monument, this one in copper, was in the visitor center; one of each of the races that were in the Federation military. Someone had obviously used Admiral Irons for the human representative. It was quite majestic. A plaque under the human sealed its identity, paraphrasing a quote the admiral had said only three years ago.
“Why?”
“Why not? You really want a reason? Okay. Here's two. The first, it's the right thing to do. That alone should be obvious.”
“And the second?”
“Cause I don't want the Xeno's to win. Their whole purpose was to destroy everything. To wipe us out. Give in, and they've won. I for one won’t allow it. No. Not only no, Hell NO!”
“This isn't the end son, just the dark before the dawn of a new day. Keep
that in mind. Fix it there. We will get through this. Where there is life, there is hope.”
-Fleet Admiral John Henry Irons-
Since the Major wasn't quite ready to launch phase 2, the earth movers were idled briefly to catch up on their maintenance cycles.
“I don't see how you could do all this in such a short time,” George Custard said, shaking his head. He, Jim, and Chumly had come out to check on the progress. It was a measure of how far his world had come that the delegation had hopped an orbital flight on a Marine Prejudice shuttle. There were increasing talks of an election and constitution, something Admiral Irons had suggested. He approved of them, but he wasn't exactly thrilled about being drafted to run for the governorship, or whatever they were planning on calling it this week.
“It pays to have the right equipment and a lot of warm bodies,” the Major replied smugly.
“Yes, but most of you are spacers right? So how did you know...”
“We simmed the equipment for years. Plus the entire trip out we ran our people through training cycles.”
“Really. Still...”
“We have a tight schedule. It's... well, we planned for everything, including storms and the occasional hiccup. Plus well, some like me are from dirt side originally.”
George stared at the Major for a moment then nodded.
“We've got a hundred or so farmers from Gaston, a couple of your fellow natives, and a dozen or so other people from places like Seti Alpha 4 and other worlds. They're good people, though I think a few were a bit put out at being back on a planet digging in the dirt,” the Major said with a wry smile.
“I bet.” George remembered quite a few of his countrymen, especially the younger set. Everyone went through the leaving the nest phase as a teenager, wanting to break out and make something for themselves. Many had been trapped at the bottom of their gravity well and had eventually found love or work, or both. But a few had flung their wings high and hadn't settled for anything less than the stars.
Jethro: First to Fight Page 48
