"What is it, Captain?" Rembrandt said, craning her neck to try to read the sheet of paper Phule was studying.
"Hmm? Oh. It's a copy of the personnel roster for the Red Eagles. I guess they left it lying around the terminal somewhere. "
"Shall I ask Beeker to run it through his computer?"
"Never mind, Armstrong. I've already found it. Damn! I should have known!"
"What did you find?"
Both lieutenants were crowding in next to Phule now, staring at the paper as if the names listed were some kind of coded message.
"I thought O'Donnel was awfully eager to agree to a fencing match!" the commander muttered, almost to himself. "See this name? Third from the top? Isaac Corbin! He was Tri-Planetary saber champion for five years running! What in the hell is he doing in the Army?"
"Getting ready to cancel our checks, I'd say." Armstrong grimaced. "At least it's just one bout out of three."
"Maybe, maybe not," Phule murmured thoughtfully. "I think we'll-"
The shriek of his wrist communicator cut him short.
"Colonel Battleax wishes to view your classic features sir!"
"Oh great... just great. On the way, Mother."
"I see you're getting your usual amount of press coverage, Captain. Certainly taking on the Regular Army in a public challenge is an ambitious effort."
"Look, Colonel. I didn't know they were going to run the Red Eagles in on us. I'll even admit it's my fault for letting the media wave a targeting flag over us, but..."
"Whoa. Relax, Captain," Battleax insisted. "I'm not trying to hassle you. I just called in to wish you luck in tomorrow's competition. If you don't mind my saying so, I think you're going to need it."
"You can say that again," Phule said with a snort. "Sorry, ma'am. Didn't mean to snap at you, there. I'm just a bit pressured trying to get ready for tomorrow."
"Well, I won't keep you, then. Just between you and me, though, Jester, do you think there's any chance at all you can pull it off?"
"There's always a chance, ma'am," he replied automatically. "But seriously... I'd just go ahead and concede the close order drill except for the fact that I don't think we should ever give up without a fight. I would have bet we could hold our own against a normal Army unit on the confidence course, but now... I don't know. About the only thing that's definitely in our favor is that, even though it's supposed to be impartial judging, my crew has gotten in pretty good with the locals here on Haskin's. It just might give us the home court advantage."
"I'm surprised at you, Captain." Battleax laughed. "And with your business background, too. You may have inadvertently set yourself a rougher road to hoe. I don't mean to rain on your parade, but we both know that an expert is someone from off-planet with a briefcase. I just hope your success with the locals hasn't made your troops too familiar figures, so that they only make the Red Eagles seem that much more exotic... or expert!"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Journal #129
I was fortunate enough to witness the events which made up the Legion vs. Army competition firsthand... though as a spectator, not as a judge. Though I normally try to stay emotionally detached from the antics of the company beyond what has immediate effect on my employer, I will admit to having formed a certain affection for the Legionnaires as individuals and as a group, and felt they might need whatever moral support they could get in the conflict. As it turned out, I was right.
The competition itself took place at the Legion facilities, which seemed to impress the Red Eagles even if the Legionnaires did not. Governor Wingas was on hand, along with the entire Settlement Council and assorted other local dignitaries who were to serve as judges... and, as might be expected, the media.
The less said about the close order drill event, the better, save to note that it took place. The Legionnaires managed to stagger through their portion without too many mistakes which would be noticeable to a civilian eye, and thus managed to avoid any actual embarrassment. There was no question, however, as to which group had the greater expertise.
Rather than restricting themselves to the normal Manual of Arms-right-face, left face, about-face, that sort of rubbish-the Red Eagles dipped into their knowledge of the Exhibition Manual of Arms. Again, for the enlightenment of my fellow nonmilitary creatures, this consists of a series of rifle spins, ripple movements, and toss-exchanging of rifles, more often than not carried out while the participants are marching in a bewildering variety of directions. Needless to say, this impressed the judges and spectators in the reviewing stand, who rewarded the Eagles with frequent and loud bursts of applause. I somehow managed to restrain myself, but noticed I seemed to be the only one of the spectators who exercised such control.
As a finale, it was announced that the Eagles would repeat one of their more intricate maneuvers, only blindfolded and without the benefit of anyone counting cadence or calling orders... which they proceeded to do with chilling precision.
It might be expected that this display would move the already nervous Legionnaires to the depths of despair. Strangely enough, it seemed to have the exact opposite effect. From where I sat, I was able to overhear some of the comments the company whispered back and forth within their formation while the Eagles were performing. The general thrust of the comments was that they felt that the Eagles could have won the event without resorting to "the snazzy stuff," but that the soldiers had chosen their specific routines to "show off" and otherwise make the Legionnaires "look worse than we really are"! By the end of the Red Eagles' exhibition, a new, dark resolve had settled over the Legionnaires. What had been a contest for a soft contract had suddenly escalated in their eyes to a full-blown vendetta.
I felt this boded ill for the upcoming confidence course event.
Standing at his post by the barbed-wire and machine-gun portion of the confidence course, Master Sergeant Spengler shook his head again in wonderment. Of all the crazy things he had seen and done during his years in the Army, today had to be in a category all its own. These Legionnaires had guts... he'd give them that. More guts than brains, though. After the shellacking the Eagles had given them at close order drill, he wouldn't have been surprised if they had simply conceded the rest of the events rather than suffer additional humiliation. Instead, they had not only been willing to continue the competition, they had insisted on some of the roughest rules for running the confidence course that Spengler had ever heard of!
The sergeant momentarily slipped off his cherished red beret and ran a sleeve across his brow before replacing it. He was still sweating from the Eagles' run at the course, and, though they might look jaunty, the berets tended to seal the heat in.
If he hadn't been standing within earshot to hear it all for himself, he never would have believed that the Legionnaire commander had posed these rules himself.
First of all, they were supposed to run the course in what he called "full combat conditions," which mostly meant they had to do it under arms and carrying a full field pack. There had been some discussion as to whether some of the Legionnaires could use their glide boards and hover cycles, but the major had stood firm and those particular pieces of equipment had been barred from the course.
The real surprise, though, came when the black-uniformed officer had insisted that the groups run the course and be timed as a unit rather than as individuals, with time penalties for any "skipped" obstacles. The major had protested, pointing out that as there were only twenty Red Eagles and nearly two hundred Legionnaires, his rival could lose most of his "dead weight" while paring his force down to an equal size, sending only his twenty best through the course against the Eagles. Sergeant Spengler had thought that even yielding this advantage to the Legionnaires would have little effect on the outcome, though at the time he held his silence rather than intervene in an argument between officers. Incredibly, however, the Legionnaire commander declared that he had no intention of paring down or otherwise reducing the number of his company, that he wished to match the timed run of his entire command against that of the twenty Red Eagles! The major had been so dumbfounded at this revelation that he agreed to the terms without further attempts at modification.