Starship Troopers

and men. Al Jenkins had bought his farm, covering a pickup — and that one had cost us the Padre, too. And besides that, I had to be replaced. I was wearing brand-new sergeant’s chevrons (vice Migliaccio) but I had a hunch that Ace would be wearing them as soon as I was out of the ship — they were mostly honorary, I knew; the promotion was Jelly’s way of giving me a good send-off as I was detached for O.C.S.

But it didn’t keep me from being proud of them. At the Fleet landing field I went through the exit gate with my nose in the air and strode up to the quarantine desk to have my orders stamped. As this was being done I heard a polite, respectful voice behind me: “Excuse me, Sergeant, but that boat that just came down — is it from the Rodger—”

I turned to see the speaker, flicked my eyes over his sleeves, saw that it was a small, slightly stoop- shouldered corporal, no doubt one of our—

“Father!”

Then the corporal had his arms around me. “Juan! Juan! Oh, my little Johnnie!”

I kissed him and hugged him and started to cry. Maybe that civilian clerk at the quarantine desk had never seen two non-coms kiss each other before. Well, if I had noticed him so much as lifting an eyebrow, I would have pasted him. But I didn’t notice him; I was busy. He had to remind me to take my orders with me.

By then we had blown our noses and quit making an open spectacle of ourselves. I said, “Father, let’s find a corner somewhere and sit down and talk. I want to know … well, everything!” I took a deep breath. “I thought you were dead.”

“No. Came close to buying it once or twice, maybe. But, Son … Sergeant — I really do have to find out about that landing boat. You see—”

“Oh, that. It’s from the Rodger Young. I just—”

He looked terribly disappointed. “Then I’ve got to bounce, right now. I’ve got to report in.” Then he added eagerly, “But you’ll be back aboard soon, won’t you, Juanito? Or are you going on R&R?”

“Uh, no.” I thought fast. Of all the ways to have things roll! “Look, Father, I know the boat schedule. You can’t go aboard for at least an hour and a bit. That boat is not on a fast retrieve; she’ll make a minimum-fuel rendezvous when the Rog completes this pass — if the pilot doesn’t have to wait over for the next pass after that; they’ve got to load first.”

He said dubiously, “My orders read to report at once to the pilot of the first available ship’s boat.”

“Father, Father! Do you have to be so confounded regulation? The girl who’s pushing that heap won’t care whether you board the boat now, or just as they button up. Anyhow they’ll play the ship’s recall over the speakers in here ten minutes before boost and announce it. You can’t miss it.”

He let me lead him over to an empty corner. As we sat down he added, “Will you be going up in the same boat, Juan? Or later?”

“Uh—” I showed him my orders; it seemed the simplest way to break the news. Ships that pass in the night, like the Evangeline story — cripes, what a way for things to break!

He read them and got tears in his eyes and I said hastily, “Look, Father, I’m going to try to come back — I wouldn’t want any other outfit than the Roughnecks. And with you in them … oh, I know it’s disappointing but —”

“It’s not disappointment, Juan.”

“Huh?”

“It’s pride. My boy is going to be an officer. My little Johnnie — Oh, it’s disappointment, too; I had waited for this day. But I can wait a while longer.” He smiled through his tears. “You’ve grown, lad. And filled out, too.”

“Uh, I guess so. But, Father, I’m not an officer yet and I might only be out of the Rog a few days. I mean, they sometimes bust ’em out pretty fast and—”

“Enough of that, young man!”

“Huh?”

“You’ll make it. Let’s have no more talk of ‘busting out.’” Suddenly he smiled. “That’s the first time I’ve been able to tell a sergeant to shut up.”

“Well … I’ll certainly try, Father. And if I do make it, I’ll certainly put in for the old Rog. But—” I trailed off.

“Yes, I know. Your request won’t mean anything unless there’s a billet for you. Never mind. If this hour is all we have, we’ll make the most of it — and I’m so proud of you I’m splitting my seams. How have you been, Johnnie?”

“Oh, fine, just fine.” I was thinking that it wasn’t all bad. He would be better off in the Roughnecks than in any other outfit. All my friends … they’d take care of him, keep him alive. I’d have to send a gram to Ace — Father like as not wouldn’t even let them know he was related. “Father, how long have you been in?”

“A little over a year.”

“And corporal already!”

Father smiled grimly. “They’re making them fast these days.”

I didn’t have to ask what he meant. Casualties. There were always vacancies in the T.O.; you couldn’t get enough trained soldiers to fill them. Instead I said, “Uh … but, Father, you’re — Well, I mean, aren’t you sort of old to be soldiering? I mean the Navy, or Logistics, or—”

“I wanted the M.I. and I got it!” he said emphatically. “And I’m no older than many sergeants — not as old, in fact. Son, the mere fact that I am twenty-two years older than you are doesn’t put me in a wheel chair. And age has its advantages, too.”

Well, there was something in that. I recalled how Sergeant Zim had always tried the older men first, when he was dealing out boot chevrons. And Father would never have goofed in Basic the way I had — no lashes for him. He was probably spotted as non-com material before he ever finished Basic. The Army needs a lot of really grown-up men in the middle grades; it’s a paternalistic organization.

I didn’t have to ask him why he had wanted M.I., nor why or how he had wound up in my ship — I just felt warm about it, more flattered by it than any praise he had ever given me in words. And I didn’t want to ask him why he had joined up; I felt that I knew. Mother. Neither of us had mentioned her — too painful.

So I changed the subject abruptly. “Bring me up to date. Tell me where you’ve been and what you’ve done.”

“Well, I trained at Camp San Martin—”

“Huh? Not Currie?”

“New one. But the same old lumps, I understand. Only they rush you through two months faster, you don’t get Sundays off. Then I requested the Rodger Young—and didn’t get it — and wound up in McSlattery’s Volunteers. A good outfit.”

“Yes, I know.” They had had a reputation for being rough, tough, and nasty — almost as good as the Roughnecks.

“I should say that it was a good outfit. I made several drops with them and some of the boys bought it and after a while I got these.” He glanced at his chevrons. “I was a corporal when we dropped on Sheol—”

“You were there? So was I!” With a sudden warm flood of emotion I felt closer to my father than I ever had before in my life.

“I know. At least I knew your outfit was there. I was about fifty miles north of you, near as I can guess. We soaked up that counterattack when they came boiling up out of the ground like bats out of a cave.” Father shrugged. “So when it was over I was a corporal without an outfit, not enough of us left to make a healthy cadre. So they sent me here. I could have gone with King’s Kodiak Bears, but I had a word with the placement sergeant — and, sure as sunrise, the Rodger Young came back with a billet for a corporal. So here I am.”

“And when did you join up?” I realized that it was the wrong remark as soon as I had made it — but I had to get the subject away from McSlattery’s Volunteers; an orphan from a dead outfit wants to forget it.

Father said quietly, “Shortly after Buenos Aires.”

“Oh. I see.”

Father didn’t say anything for several moments. Then he said softly, “I’m not sure that you do see, Son.”