“Well, you don’t. You learn it just by being in a unit, by being in the military, whether it’s in the Army, Marines, Line or Strike or whatever. You learn it usually in your first few months. But it isn’t the big secret. It’s a little secret.
“Here it is in three words,” he continued, seriously. “ ‘Contraband is everywhere.’ There’s always drugs, or personal firearms, or military demolitions somewhere in any barracks. And there’s always a black market in the stuff. You guys weren’t the first or the second or the two hundred and fifty-ninth. Contraband in barracks is as old as armies.
“And the stuff that we are going to be issued is a black marketer’s dream. Everybody in the fuckin’ country wants the Galactic weapons, the combat drugs, the Hiberzine. Hell, even the littlest GalTech shit, pens, Eterna batteries, everything, is worth big bucks. So, where we’re going is the jackpot; you can get a piddly little twelve grand for one hit of regen. And that leads to another thing.” He picked up a stick and stirred the dying fire, puffing his cheeks in and out in silence for a moment.
“There’s a bigger secret,” he said in a near whisper. “One little sentence. ‘As long as it does not affect the unit’s effectiveness, no big deal.’ ”
He smiled again and looked up at the circle of recruits. As he did his eyes turned frosty and his grin turned to a snarl. “But none of you cocksuckers were a gleam in your daddy’s eye when I was in the fuckin’ Marines. Back then the fuckin’ officers in the Army had to have armed guards to go into the fuckin’ barracks because the fuckin’ drug problem was so bad, and it wasn’t much better in the fuckin’ Corp.
“If we had to fight a war during the seventies, warn’t nobody coming. There wasn’t a unit in the whole fuckin’ Army, not the infantry, not the artillery, not the armor, not the airborne, that was combat ready because the criminals owned the Army. And the Corp would have been hard pressed to carry a war on its own, especially with our own drug problems.
“If you guys go up there thinking that you’re being handed the keys to the candy shop the unit that receives you will be fucked. When they really need the shit, when lives are going down the drain and your buddies are dyin’ all around you, the shit they need won’t be there.
“The ammunition and weapons and every little bit of equipment that we depend on will be sold out from under us. And then we are fucked. It’s happened. And I’m damned if it will happen on my watch.” He looked back at the fire and poked at the flames, his rage subsiding. He made a faint motorboat sound.
“We fought long and hard to erase that,” he continued briskly. “We had to, ’cause a military like that just can’t function.
“It’s about respect. If you think you can pull one over on me, you haven’t got any respect for me and you won’t obey my orders, or the orders of your officers, when it’s time to lay it on the line.” He paused and looked at the fire for a moment, hoping that some of them were getting it. But he was really talking to Stewart and they all knew it.
“Now, you guys are good, really good, on paper. But if you think money is what it’s all about you can’t be Strike troopers ’cause you won’t be there when I need you.” He really did not want to lose the investment that he had made in them but he was deadly serious and both emotions showed. Sincerity usually does.
“So now you begin to learn the big secret, the biggest secret, maybe. I won’t tell you what it is, you have to learn it on your own. I will tell you that it ain’t ‘money isn’t everything’ or anything trite like that. But this is a start. So, here’s the bottom line: if you want to wear a combat suit, if you want to be what you’ve trained to be for fourteen weeks, you have to throw those bundles of money in the fire.”
The squad had been listening intently to him, pulling it all in. Now they clutched at the bundles, gulping spasmodically as they looked at each other. They each held several thousand dollars and they had worked hard for it. They definitely did not want to give it up.
“Or, you can stand up and walk back to camp and after graduation you’ll be cycled to your local guard forces, no pack drill, no court-martial, just a little paper shuffle.
“Statistically, you have a better chance of survival in the Guard. Unless the Posleen land directly on you, Guard is going to be holding fixed positions and won’t be moved from battle to battle like Line and Strike. As Strike troops, you are going to be fed into the blender over and over again, and no matter how good you are, a lot of you are going to die. All you have to do to join the Guard, is hold onto the money. That ought to be easy. Right?” Having said his peace, he leaned back against the pine tree behind him and waited for a reaction. He scratched his head with a short stick, automatically brushing the resulting dandruff off his shoulder.
Stewart still had him fixed with the basilisk stare. Now he finally spoke.
“We could cut you in.”
The offer did not offend Pappas, it was fully expected and he had hoped for it to drive the point home. Also, he could tell that Stewart was offering it pro forma, without any expectation that it would be accepted.
“No, I don’t think so. You see, I already know the big, big secret.”
“Yeah,” whispered Stewart, for the first time looking down to the wad in his hand. He slowly pulled the rubber bands off and fanned the bills out. Then he stacked them again and riffled them just under his nose, smelling them. He fanned them out one more time and without a word, or change in expression, tossed them into the fire. One of the squad, it was unclear who, gave a small gasp.
“Money can never be important enough, can it?” asked Stewart.
“No, but that’s not the whole secret, either,” answered Pappas. Then he watched as the squad, one by one, some with a visible struggle, but most, strangely, with hardly a sigh, tossed the money in the fire.
“Okay,” said Pappas tiredly, “get some sleep. An’ I hope you never learn what the rest is.” Then he got up and ghosted into the night.
Now Pappas wished he had terminated their asses. Somewhere in the immediate area of the McDonalds the squad was loose and, if history served, getting in some sort of trouble. He spotted Ampele being led around a corner by a nice-looking, if slightly plump, young lady and ran him down.
“Where’s Stewart?” he asked, pulling Ampele back around the corner.
“Wha… ? I don’t know, sir. I was just talking to Rikki here. He was over by the bathrooms with his squad just a minute ago.” He started to step back inside the restaurant, then seemed to pull back as if connected to a bunjee cord. The young lady’s hand was out of sight behind his bulk and Pappas was tempted to shout “Hand Check!” just to see their expressions.
“Miss,” Pappas said gently, “if you’d just excuse us for a moment?”
Her hand reluctantly drifted back into sight and the sergeant dragged Ampele firmly away by one thick bicep.
“Focus. Worry about the wahines when we get to Indiantown Gap.” He walked into the restaurant and caught a glimpse of a second squad member ducking through the employees’ door. He caught the door before it could close then stopped, looked around and turned towards the bathrooms.
“Gunny, Wilson went that way,” Ampele pointed out, rather superfluously.
“Yeah, and this is Stewart we’re dealing with. The only thing I’m wondering is if it’s a double bluff.” He yanked open the Men’s room door, or tried to at least. Something had it stuck fast.
“Stewart! Open this damn door or face the consequences!” he snarled, dragging at the door with all his might. “Hwone! Htwo!” There was the sound of something being forcibly removed from the door and it opened just in time. Nine members of second squad were crowded into the not terribly large bathroom. One and all they were looking at him as if he had gone insane.