“Due to arrive in about twenty mikes, Sergeant. They made better time than expected, the last checkpoint said. So you can get on out there and stomp some bad guys into snail snot sooner than I thought.”
“Watch your mouth,” said Tad.
“I.D. Cards,” said Galen.
“What?”
“We forgot to get our I.D. cards.”
They stepped outside and walked directly across the quadrangle to the administration building. They could hear the distant sounds of an approaching armor column, the pop and squeak of tracked vehicles on the move.
“Better make this quick, I hear the convoy,” said Galen.
They went in the building, consulted the directory, and then headed to the second floor.
“Greetings, Sergeants. You here for I.D. cards?” A Troop sat behind her desk in her office, door open to the hallway, facing the top of the stairs.
“Yes.” said Galen.
“Come right in.” She stood and waved them towards the holo booth. Her light blond hair was in a tight French braid. She wore conservative flat-soled shoes, dark brown slacks and a khaki blouse buttoned all the way up. A small brown woman’s tie was clipped to her throat. Galen admired her figure. Breasts larger than her fists, a trim waistline and hips as wide as her shoulders. He couldn’t see any panty or bra lines, but no part of her body jiggled when she walked. The beginnings of crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes showed she was no spring chicken. Galen assumed she had one of those body forming ultra-sheer things on under her class B uniform. She was just over two meters tall and looked like she could handle a big man.
“Give me your orders and step into the booth one at a time so I can get your hologram, and I’ll have you out of here in a couple of minutes.”
“Yes, recruit, uh…” said Galen, trailing off in hopes of getting her name.
“Not recruit. Troop. Trooper Harover.”
“But you wear recruit rank.”
Spike was just stepping out of the booth. Tad smirked at him and made a subtle gesture toward Galen and Trooper Harover. Spike grinned and nodded and patted Tad on the back as he entered the holo-booth.
“Oh, that Mandarin stuff. We use their insignia because it helps us to work with them. The liaison thought up the idea when the Panzers first came to Mandarin space. But we go by different tittles, ones that fit our TO&E. I’m a Troop. We drop the ‘lance’ from Corporal and Sergeant, ‘Gunny’ is called ‘Chief’, and he’s in charge of a platoon. ‘Master Gunny’ is called ‘Master Sergeant,’ and he’s in charge of a company,” She paused for breath, “and a ‘sub commander’ is called ‘Sergeant Major.’”
“And officer rank?”
“Who cares? We just call them all ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ anyway. Don’t see a lot of officers here in the infantry. I think your company is led by a Lieutenant, and the battalion is led by a Captain right now.”
“Next!” said Tad, stepping out of the booth.
Galen stepped in and shut the door. A red indicator light went out, an electronic buzzing sound came from the holo camera, and then a green indicator light came on. All finished, Galen stepped back out and noticed that Trooper Harover was bent over a workbench attached to the booth. He admired her haunches while she prepared the I.D. cards. She shifted her body’s orientation to give Galen a direct view of her behind. Whether the action was deliberate or not, he wasn’t sure. She stood and turned around, handing each warrior his new card. She saved Galen’s for last, gazing into his eyes as she handed it to him. “Look them over for any mistakes, then come to my desk and sign for them.”
Her eyes were blue, a deep, clear blue with no flecks or speckles of any other color. She must have been wearing makeup, but Galen didn’t notice any. Just good, clear skin. He examined his I.D. card. The holo picture seemed to stand out of the card half a centimeter. On the front was his name, rank and the expiration date, one year away. On the back was a magnetic data strip as well as printed information about Galen’s height, weight, blood type and date of birth. “My card’s perfect, Harover.”
“Then sign here. When you rotate out to the fleet, come see me again for your new card.”
“I’m looking forward to it. But I’d like to see you again sooner than that, though. Socially?”
“That suits me fine. When you rotate in for pass, look me up. I stay in building three six oh nine. Buzz the main door and ask for Inger.”
“You can count on it. See you in about three months.”
She smiled and waved at him as he left to join Spike and Tad outside. The rumbling of the approaching armor column was louder, closer. The purr and churn of the internal combustion engines was audible over the clank, pop and squeak of the tracks. Suddenly an armored personnel carrier rounded the corner of the in-processing building and lurched to a halt. Three more came and parked on line, dress-right-dress with the first one.
Chapter Five
“What the hell is that?” said Tad.
Spike answered his question, “Those are fully tracked vehicles powered by turbine engines using liquid organic fuel. They’re armed only with a machine gun mounted on a traversing ring in the track commander’s hatch. They’re impervious to small arms fire, can take a direct hit one time from most handheld missiles, but are a sitting duck for automatic cannon fire. Their purpose is to serve as basic transportation for infantry in tactical situations.”
“Please don’t quote the entire mounted infantry manual,” said Galen.
“Organic fuel,” said Tad. “I hate that stuff. A fireball waiting to happen, that’s all it is.”
“Well, maybe. But it helps us earn our pay. I just hope I’m not in one of those cans when it takes a hit from a thermal round,” said Spike.
Troops, clean and fresh, emerged from nearly every building and converged on the vehicles. Tired and dirty troops dismounted from the Armored Personnel Carriers and walked into the welcome center. A Corporal dismounted from the top hatch of the first APC and stood about ten meters in front of his vehicle.
“Fall in,” he ordered.
Galen, Tad and Spike walked over and stood behind the formation. There were four ranks of nine each.
“You three in the back. You all deaf or something? I said fall in.”
“We’re Sergeants, you’re a Corporal,” said Tad.
“At ease, men. Rest in place,” ordered the Corporal. He then walked to the rear of the formation to have a talk with the three Sergeants. He was in his late twenties, dressed in field coveralls and combat gear, and looked like a competent veteran. He also looked upset. Restrained anger dominated his dark brown face. His fists were knotted in frustration.
“Does the term ‘in charge’ mean anything to you Sergeants?” He spoke into Galen’s chest, standing only ten centimeters from him. The Corporal was nearly a half meter shorter than Galen but refused to look up.
“Maybe you better explain things,” said Galen, giving the unruly Corporal one last chance to redeem himself.
The Corporal stepped back, relaxed his posture and said, “You snapper Sergeants need to understand, I’m in charge of this convoy. It’s my job. If you don’t like the way I do it, you’ll have to take the matter up with my Chief. Now I ain’t just making this up as I go along, I have certain things I have to accomplish, guidelines to follow and objectives to meet. So if you can’t handle being treated like a troop, fine. Just suck it up and do what I tell you until you’re released from my command. That’s right, command. I’m running this show and have the full authority of a commander.”
“Oh, we didn’t know all that,” said Spike, breaking the tension between Galen and the Corporal.
“Then fall in on the right. I’m making you Sergeants my track commanders. You take second, you take third and you take fourth track.” He pointed at each Sergeant as he made the assignments. Galen moved to the right end of the second rank of troops. He looked to his left and saw nine young troops, all dressed in field uniform and ready for battle. None of them had side arms, only rifles. Corporals and Sergeants had pistols and the choice between rifle or submachine gun. The Corporal moved down the first rank, performing a pre-combat inspection on each troop. Finally he came to the second rank and started its inspection with Galen.