For the first time since entering the rec room, Phule allowed himself a small smile.
"Like I said, gentlemen... and ladies... things are going to be different from now on. Officers and cadre... outside my office. Now!"
CHAPTER THREE
Journal File #014
Honoring the tradition of the Space Legion, my employer did not have, nor did he request, any information regarding the lives of those under his command prior to their enlistment. Not being a member of the Legion, however, I felt no obligation to be so restrained, and consequently had compiled substantial dossiers on the individuals that would be affecting my employer's, and therefore my own, life and well-being for the foreseeable future.
For the most part, this was relatively easy to accomplish. A computer check of the police records and news items around the time and place of each Legionnaire's enlistment provided a starting point for most of the searches. There were some, however, that required much more extensive research, and occasionally I was forced to resort to mere extrapolation and guessing. Such was the case of the two lieutenants my employer had inherited with his command.
"Good evening, Lieutenant Armstrong,... Lieutenant Rembrandt. Please, have a seat."
Phule had deliberately kept his office as small and spartan as possible. It was his belief that large meetings were useless for anything except announcements. Consequently there were only two visitor chairs in his retreat.
Rembrandt nodded her thanks and reached for one of the seats. She was of medium height which made her look small beside Lieutenant Armstrong's six foot plus-with dark hair, a round face, and a vaguely rotund body... not fat, but broad across the rump and far from slender.
"Thank you, sir. I'd rather stand."
Armstrong, recruiting-poster correct in his parade-rest stance, barked out his response just as his counterpart's rump was beginning its downward movement toward her chair. At his outburst, however, Rembrandt abandoned her maneuver, electing instead to stand beside Armstrong in a rough approximation of his posture. From her grimace and his smirk, it was apparent to Phule that this little game of one-upmanship was nothing new between them.
"Very well," he said. "I'll try to keep this short.
"I'm probably going to be rougher on you two than on anyone else in the company... with the possible exception of myself. Being an officer is more than paying for your exam fee. As I said in the general meeting, this company needs leadership, and if we're going to inspire and lead the Legionnaires, we're going to have to stay one jump ahead of them. You two are going to be my stand-ins when I'm otherwise occupied, but though I'll try to be understanding while you're learning my priorities and style, I will not tolerate laziness. In fact, the only thing I detest more than sloth is thoughtlessness. I want you two to be thinking and analyzing all the time. For example... Lieutenant Armstrong. "
"Sir?"
"From your manner and performance reports, you fancy yourself to be a disciplinarian... a by-the-book man. Right?"
For a moment, Armstrong's apparent confidence was shaken.
"I... that is..." he stammered, obviously unsure of what response was expected.
"Well?"
"Yes, sir."
"All right." The captain smiled. "Then consider this... By the book, is it better or order soldiers to shape up or to lead by example?"
"Lead by example, sir," Armstrong replied briskly, back on familiar ground.
"Then why don't you?"
The lieutenant under fire frowned, his eyes wandering from their straight-ahead stare to look directly at the commander for the first time since the interview began.
"I... I don't understand, sir," he said. "I try to conduct myself in an exemplary manner. I thought I was... I try to be the best Legionnaire in the company."
"You have that potential," Phule acknowledged easily, "but I think you're overlooking one vital element. Most people don't want to be seen as a tight-assed, overbearing prig... which is what you tend to show them. If anything, your manner is driving them away from proper military behavior because no one wants to be like you."
Armstrong opened his mouth to reply, but the commander cut him off with a gesture.
"I don't want to talk about it, Armstrong. I want you to think about it. Then maybe we'll talk about specifics. If you can temper your rigid manner with a little compassion, show that someone can be a bandbox soldier and still be human, then the troops will follow you anywhere because they want to, not because they're ordered to."
The lieutenant wrenched his gaze back to its original distant stare and nodded once, curtly, as his only acknowledgment of having heard Phule's words.
"As for you, Lieutenant Rembrandt," the commander said, swiveling his chair to face the second of his sub-chieftains, "it appears you don't expect, or want, anyone to look to you for an example. "
The dark-haired lieutenant blinked at him in surprise. She made no effort to duplicate Armstrong's distant stare, but met Phule's eyes directly as he continued.
"From the notes on your record, it would seem you're content to let the sergeants run the company when you're supposedly in command, while you wander off with your sketch pad looking for things to draw. " He paused and shook his head ruefully. "Now, I'm all in favor of art, Rembrandt, and I don't mind at all your pursuing it as a hobby during your off hours. I may even be able to pull a few strings to help you get a showing when your enlistment is up. However, during duty hours I expect your attention to be focused on the company. The sergeants may be experts in their own right and may think they run the company, but their focus is on the immediate job and not the long term. That's your job, as well as Armstrong's and mine, and if we don't do it, the company will flounder. We can't do that job if we don't know what's going on or aren't familiar with the performance of the Legionnaires as individuals and as a group. Now, the three of us will be meeting on a weekly if not daily basis to discuss the troops and the company, and I'll expect you to take an active and knowledgeable part in those discussions. Do I make myself clear?"
"I... I'll try, Captain."
"Good. As long as people are willing to try, I can work with them. That goes for you, too, Armstrong. The three of us have to be the eyes and the brains of the company, and that means functioning as a team within the team. Which reminds me..."
He stabbed a finger into the air between the two lieutenants and made a little stirring motion.
"I don't want to see any more little games between the two of you as to who's the better soldier. As of now, you two are partners... and your first order of business is to start building a tolerance for your differences. It's my belief those differences will work in your favor if each of you can learn to rely on the other's strengths rather than envying them. I won't ask for respect, though I'm hoping that will come with time. Just realize that you're holding opposite sides of the same bucket, and you're going to have to learn to move together to keep it from falling or splashing."
The commander leaned back in his chair and made a little shooing gesture.
"Now, I suggest you get out of here and hole up over coffee or a drink and start figuring out what you have in common..."
He allowed a ghost of a smile to flit across his face... aside from the belief that your new commander is an unreasonable and unjustly demanding sonofabitch, that is."
Escrima, the mess sergeant, was a wiry, swarthy little man with wavy black hair, dark wide-spaced eyes, and a nearly perpetual grin that beamed from his wrinkled walnut face. It was the "nearly" part that made him someone worth watching.
Phule returned his somewhat exaggerated salute and studied him for a few moments before speaking.