All this and more swirled through Phule's mind as he watched the soldiers mill aimlessly about at the foot of the ramp. The Eagles, in turn, ignored the formation of Legionnaires completely, not even sparing them a curious glance as they chatted back and forth.
Finally an imposing figure strode down the ramp. Looking neither left nor right, it stalked across the runway with the easy, rolling gait of a trained athlete, setting an unswerving course for Phule.
"Captain Jester, I assume? I'm Major Matthew O'Donnel."
Startled at being greeted by name, Phule nonetheless managed a snappy salute.
"Welcome to Haskin's Planet, Major."
O'Donnel neither returned the salute nor offered to shake hands.
"Yeah. I'm sure," he said with a tight humorless smile. "Look, Captain, I imagine you're about as happy to see us as we are to be here. Now, is there somewhere we can talk? Somewhere air-conditioned, if possible. I'd like to get this foolishness settled as fast as possible."
Numbly Phule gestured toward the terminal, and the major brushed past him with his now familiar stride.
"Lieutenant Armstrong, Rembrandt," the commander called, beckoning to his junior officers.
"Sir?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Get the company back to the compound and wait for me there. I'll be along as soon as I find out what the hell is going on."
"But, sir."
"Just do it! But be sure to leave me a driver. I have a hunch I'm not going to feel like walking back once this is over."
Entering the terminal, Phule found that his disturbing surprises were not over yet. The first thing to greet his eyes was the sight of Major O'Donnel stiffly shaking hands with... Governor Wingas!
"Ah! Captain!" the governor beamed. "Come join us, won't you? I understand you've already met Major O'Donnel."
"Yes, I have," the commander said. "I'll admit I'm surprised, though. I didn't expect the Army to send the Red Eagles on a simple honor guard assignment."
"If it will make you feel any better, Captain," O'Donnel growled, "it surprised us, too. It seems the upper brass has been reading the media coverage you've been getting about this hot-shit crew you're putting together and decided they had to put their best foot forward to protect the Army's reputation. Next thing you know, we get pulled out of a firefight and shipped off to here, with orders to take you seriously."
From his tone, it was clear the major didn't think much of those orders.
"Now, if you don't mind, let's get down to it. I want to get the terms of this so-called competition squared away so I can get my troops settled in."
"I... take it you're already aware of the competition?" Phule said carefully.
"That's right. The governor here was good enough to send us word prior to our arrival."
The Legion commander shot a glance at the governor, who smiled and shrugged benignly.
"It seemed the least I could do, since I contracted the Army in the first place."
Phule decided to deny Wingas the pleasure of an explosion, though inwardly he was seething at the betrayal.
"Yes. I can see where that's fair," he managed.
"As I understand it, Captain," O'Donnel continued briskly, "we're supposed to settle who gets the honor guard contract with a series of three contests with independent judges. The Army picks one event, you pick one, and the third we're supposed to mutually agree on. Is that right?"
Phule nodded stiffly, not liking the way the major was taking control of the meeting.
"All right. For our event, we choose close order drill, since that's most of what you do on an honor guard post. What's yours?"
The captain's heart sank slightly. Of all the skills normally associated with the military, close order drill was, perhaps, his company's worst.
"The confidence course."
For the first time, the major showed surprise, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into the sweatband of his beret.
"The confidence course?" he repeated. "All right, Captain. It's your funeral. Now for the third event, assuming we get to it..." He gestured at Wingas. "The governor here tells me you and your crew fancy yourself to be fencers. How does a three-weapon match sound to you... foil, saber, and épée... best two out of three?"
A warning bell went off in Phule's mind. This seemed a little too pat.
"It sounds like the governor has told you quite a bit," he said, stalling for time.
"Is that a yes or a no? Come on, Captain. Let's not take all day on this."
"Tell me, Major. Do you fence yourself?"
"Me? I've played a little bit with épée."
"Then let me add a little rider to your proposal. The same three-weapon match, but we fence épée last... between the unit commanders. That way, if it should come right down to the wire, we can settle this between the two of us."
Major O'Donnel's face split in a wide grin.
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Captain. Agreed... though I doubt things will get that far."
"You might be surprised, Major," Phule returned with a tight smile. "My troops have surprised a lot of people, including me."
"So surprise me," O'Donnel shot back. "Forgive me, though, if I don't hold my breath."
"Well, now that that's settled, gentlemen," the governor said, rising hastily.
"Just one more question... if you don't mind, Major," the Legionnaire commander pressed. "Assuming for the moment that the Red Eagles do win, is the Army really going to tie up their crack fighting unit on honor guard duty?"
O'Donnel's eyes slid sideways at the governor in a reptilian glance.
"Now that you mention it, Captain, I do believe there's a clause in our standard contract that states that while a unit of the Regular Army can be contracted for specific duty, the Army reserves the right to select which unit will be so assigned...nd that they may replace said unit at their discretion depending upon the demands placed upon their manpower at any given time."
"So they're sending in the Red Eagles to nail down the contract, then plan to swap them with a completely different unit once the deal is closed. Is that it?"
Phule turned to Governor Wingas, who shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
"That's show business, Captain... or, should I say, that's politics!"
I have been very open in the chronicling of my employer's fallibility. Lest the wrong impression be given, however, I would hasten to add that, without a doubt, he is the best fighter I have ever had the privilege to observe, much less serve, when pushed into a corner.
"Of all the double-crossing, ballot-stuffing, two-faced-"
"That's enough, Armstrong!" The company commander's voice cracked like a whip. "We don't have time to discuss the moral or genetic shortcomings of the governor. Not if we're going to put together a plan of action before the competition tomorrow!"
"The company's still waiting in the dining hall, Captain," Brandy announced, sticking her head in the door of the commander's office. "What do you want me to tell them?"
"Tell them I'll be down to talk to them in about half an hour. Oh, and Brandy... in the meantime start talking it up that we've already won."
"We have?"
"Certainly. We won the minute the Army decided it would take the Red Eagles to compete with us. Even if we get our brains beat out tomorrow, there always will be the question in people's minds as to whether or not we could have beaten any normal Army unit."
"If you say so, sir." The top sergeant's voice was doubtful. "Oh... almost forgot. Do-Wop said you wanted this."