Jethro 3: No Place Like Home by Chris Hechtl

laughed when it took three tries to get it right.
    “And now the bad news to go with the good since you've softened us up,” Harley said, eying the bear and panther. The bay quieted. The Marines expectantly looked at the two. Ox grunted, cocking his head. He and Sergeant Riley had both been briefed on what was coming earlier. Riley had declined the promotion; it would have taken him out of his beloved armory. But Ox had agreed to his. He'd come up in the world, recognizing that there was a lot more to engineering than just Marine hardware. He'd been borrowed by Chief Chowler and the XO several times to assist the Navy work crews during their transit. Now he felt like things were changing for him.
    Riley was content to remain in his narrow field; he had self-imposed blinders on. Ox, however, had had his torn off, and he wasn't certain he ever wanted them put back on again.
    “You know me so well, Harley,” Valenko rumbled in mock amusement.
    “No, but I can smell a punch line coming a long ways off. This has something stinky written all over it. Besides, you look like your enjoying the anticipation, which is just like you. So out with it. Spill.”
    “Alright, here is the thing for those not as trusting as PFC Harley,” Valenko said nodding to her. The Neo Hyena snorted but didn't rise to the bait. “We're getting a lot of noobs, a mixed bag from what I've gathered from the data I've seen. We're going to be critically short on officers and noncoms, so you're going to have to step it up. That means get yourself squared away, and you'll have to mentor the noobs. It shouldn't be too hard; you've just had a locker full of it for our run to here.”
    He looked around expectantly, but no one spoke. He nodded his giant ursine head strutting down the bay with his hand paws behind his back. “These are Marines, people, so it's not the babysitting job you think it is. All of them are a product of our training. You'll have to keep an eye on them; those of you who just became corporals will have half squads to look after. Those of you who made Sergeant just got handed a squad or even two.”
    Some of the Marines growled; some looked interested or annoyed. They all knew better than to protest. It would be futile anyway.
    “Are we ready?” the Major's voice asked in the hatchway.
    “Sir!”
    “We don't have time for everyone to get dressed. Let's get this over with, I've got twenty minutes and then I've got to make more calls and scream at people,” Major Pendeckle said, coming into the bay. He exchanged salutes with the troops and then turned to a rating who held a box. He took it and then passed it to Valenko. “I had these replicated for the occasion.”
    One by one each of the thirty-eight Marines was called forward to receive their new rank and a medal. It was brief; some of the Marines weren't even in uniform. The Major maliciously pinned their new rank tabs and medals to their tank tops or fur. More than one Marine winced when they pricked skin.
    Even Valenko received a medal. That surprised the bear briefly. When the quick and dirty ceremony was complete the Major nodded. “Carry on then,” he said and departed.
    Valenko and Jethro turned to see him go, but the officer didn't say anything more. After a moment Valenko turned to the troops.
    “This is your opportunity to shine, so don't blow it,” Valenko said simply, with a subsonic growl in his voice. Heaven help any who did was the understatement there. “A lot is riding on this, not just careers. Lives, lives on the ship, possibly the entire quadrant. So get it right the first time,” he said and then went to the hatch. “Dismissed,” he said simply and then left.
    “Talk about no pressure,” Pa'nash said, echoing the feelings or thoughts of just about every Marine in the troop bay it seemed.
    “All right people, you heard the man. Your assignments are in your inbox. PFCs are going to be on the buddy system. You don't get to choose your buddies. Got a