Shading his eyes against the sun, Spengler peered toward the starting line where the company of Legionnaires was massing.
It wouldn't be long now. Another half hour at the most and this whole harebrained competition would be over. He assumed it wouldn't take the Legionnaires longer than that to run, the course... or give up. The Army would have its contract-and publicity-and the Eagles would have their promised night on the town.
With the conscientiousness that earned him his stripes, the sergeant began checking over his position. When the Legionnaires reached this point in the course, it would be his job to fire a steady stream of machine-gun bullets above their heads as they crawled under the strands of barbed wire, which were conveniently stapled to posts, something else one never saw in real combat. The obstacle was designed to demonstrate to the participants that they could move and perform minimal functions while under fire. It was also, invariably, the biggest bottleneck on the course and the one that ate up the most minutes during a timed run. There was simply no way to crawl under barbed wire fast, especially since the maneuver called for lying on your back and pushing through with your feet, all the while using your hands to guide the lower strands of wire up and over the rifle lying on your chest.
Stepping onto the raised platform that housed the machine gun, set back some twenty meters from the wire itself, Spengler immediately noticed something amiss. Specifically the small frame that normally held the weapon's muzzle at a pre-set height was missing! What that meant was that all that was keeping the weapon from raking the course participants with live ammo was the steady hand of whoever was firing it!
The sergeant cursed softly under his breath.
He had thought the tracer fire looked awfully low while he was going under the wire. Well, two could play that game. When this was all over, he'd have a word or two with the Legionnaire sergeant who had manned the weapon during the Red Eagles' run. What was her name again... Brandy? Yes, that was it.
Spengler allowed himself the ghost of a smile as he recalled the magazine spread that had been passed around when they got this assignment.
He had to admit, they didn't have anything that looked like that in his unit. While there were women in the ranks of the Red Eagles, their build and manner was from flat-faced, big-boned, muscular genes that would look more at home behind the wheel of a truck or a bulldozer than on a dance floor or in a centerfold. Maybe he wouldn't lean on this Brandy girl too hard. Perhaps a sociable drink or five...
The sharp report of a starting gun drew the sergeant's attention. The Legionnaires had started their run. There were many obstacles to clear before they reached his position, and since there was no sense in spraying bullets over the barbed wire when there was no one there, the sergeant had time to watch for a while before settling in behind the machine gun.
At first, he thought the Legionnaires had gotten their signals crossed and were following the normal procedure of running the course in "flights," as half a dozen figures darted out from the starting line. Then he realized that the entire company was, indeed, moving, but in a steady, ground-eating jog rather than a headlong sprint.
Interesting. The force was better organized and disciplined than he would have expected. Sending scouts on ahead, since that was the obvious role of the lead runners, was an innovative idea. Almost as if-well, yes-like real combat conditions. Who would have thought to find such conscientious roleplaying in the Space Legion?
Spengler was amused to note that the two weird-looking nonhumans-what were they again? Sinthians?-were literally being carried by some of their teammates. The sergeant had both performed and supervised similar exercises as a drill for carrying wounded comrades, but had never seen anyone attempt the practice through an entire confidence course. And wasn't that... Yes! The unit's commanding officer he had seen earlier was running the course along with his troops! For that matter, so were the other officers and what looked like the entire cadre!
The master sergeant's normal disdain for the Space Legion was slipping away and being replaced by a growing, though grudging, admiration for this scrappy crew. They weren't the Red Eagles, to be sure... not even close. Still, if one couldn't make the grade in a real outfit, this wouldn't be a bad outfit to belong to.
A flicker of motion on the course ahead of the main force caught the sergeant's eye.
What the... ? One of the "scouts" had apparently climbed up the wooden framework of the first obstacle and was cutting down the "swinging ropes," tossing them to his teammates on the ground who, in turn, scampered off down the course bearing their prizes.
They couldn't do that! What were they trying to pull, anyway? More to the point, how were the rest of the Legionnaires supposed to cross the ditch with the ropes gone?
As if in answer to his mental question, the first runners of the main body reached the edge of the ditch. Ignoring the remaining ropes, they simply stepped off the bank into the chest-deep slime... and just stood there! The Legionnaires behind them stepped on their shoulders, then dropped into the ditch taking similar positions farther on, until...
Stepping-stones! Even as Spengler realized what they were doing, the chains were completed, and the main body was moving across the ditch with next to no loss of speed, stepping from shoulder to shoulder of their teammates standing in the slime. The maneuver had obviously been painstakingly practiced from the smoothness of its execution. There were even a couple chains where the "stones" were standing closer together to accommodate the smaller members of the company.
A short story he had read in high school, one of the few he remembered, flashed through Spengler's mind. "Lennington vs. the Ants," it was called, and told the tale of a plantation owner's fight against the advance of a force of army ants. Watching the Legionnaires advance steadily on his position, the sergeant experienced a chilling moment as his mind's eye superimposed the image of that merciless, unstoppable swarm over the black-uniformed figures jogging toward him. This Space Legion troop no longer seemed quite as comical as they had this morning. If they were...
The dull whump of a nearby explosion made the master sergeant duck reflexively. At first he thought there had been some sort of catastrophic accident on the course, but then the truth dawned on him.
They were blowing up the obstacles!
Horror and outrage warred within the sergeant as he witnessed another barrier, the three-meter wall this time, disappear in a flash-boom, followed by a shower of splinters and debris. Before the echoes of the explosions had fully died away, the advancing black company appeared, maintaining their dogged advance through the clouds of dust, unnervingly close now.
With the iron discipline of a combat veteran, the master sergeant turned his back on the spectacle and began loading the first belt of ammunition into the machine gun.
Let the major fight it out over whether or not the Legionnaires' tactics were acceptable. His job was to see to it that they kept their heads down while they went under the wire. Nobody passed this position rapidly. Not with tracers whining around their...