Starship Troopers

C Company:

“Warren’s Wolverines”

1st Lt. Warren

1st platoon — 1st Lt. Bayonne

2nd platoon — 2nd Lt. Sukarno

3rd platoon — 2nd Lt. N’gam

D Company:

“Blackie’s Blackguards”

Cpt. Blackstone (“second hat”)

1st platoon — (1st Lt. Silva, in hospital)

2nd platoon — 2nd Lt. Khoroshen

3rd platoon — 2nd Lt. Grahgam

I would have been under Lieutenant Silva, but he left for hospital the day I reported, ill with some sort of twitching awfuls. But this did not necessarily mean that I would get his platoon. A temporary third lieutenant is not considered an asset; Captain Blackstone could place me under Lieutenant Bayonne and put a sergeant in charge of his own first platoon, or even “put on a third hat” and take the platoon himself.

In fact, he did both and nevertheless assigned me as platoon leader of the first platoon of the Blackguards. He did this by borrowing the Wolverine’s best buck sergeant to act as his battalion staffer, then he placed his fleet sergeant as platoon sergeant of his first platoon — a job two grades below his chevrons. Then Captain Blackstone spelled it out for me in a head-shrinking lecture: I would appear on the T.O. as platoon leader, but Blackie himself and the fleet sergeant would run the platoon.

As long as I behaved myself, I could go through the motions. I would even be allowed to drop as platoon leader — but one word from my platoon sergeant to my company commander and the jaws of the nutcracker would close.

It suited me. It was my platoon as long as I could swing it — and if I couldn’t, the sooner I was shoved aside the better for everybody. Besides, it was a lot less nerve-racking to get a platoon that way than by sudden catastrophe in battle.

I took my job very seriously, for it was my platoon — the T.O. said so. But I had not yet learned to delegate authority and, for about a week, I was around troopers’ country much more than is good for a team. Blackie called me into his stateroom. “Son, what in Ned do you think you are doing?”

I answered stiffly that I was trying to get my platoon ready for action.

“So? Well, that’s not what you are accomplishing. You are stirring them like a nest of wild bees. Why the deuce do you think I turned over to you the best sergeant in the Fleet? If you will go to your stateroom, hang yourself on a hook, and stay there! … until ‘Prepare for Action’ is sounded, he’ll hand that platoon over to you tuned like a violin.”

“As the Captain pleases, sir,” I agreed glumly.

“And that’s another thing — I can’t stand an officer who acts like a confounded kaydet. Forget that silly third-person talk around me — save it for generals and the Skipper. Quit bracing your shoulders and clicking your heels. Officers are supposed to look relaxed, son.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And let that be the last time you say ‘sir’ to me for one solid week. Same for saluting. Get that grim kaydet look off your face and hang a smile on it.”

“Yes, s — Okay.”

“That’s better. Lean against the bulkhead. Scratch yourself. Yawn. Anything but that tin-soldier act.”

I tried … and grinned sheepishly as I discovered that breaking a habit is not easy. Leaning was harder work than standing at attention. Captain Blackstone studied me. “Practice it,” he said. “An officer can’t look scared or tense; it’s contagious. Now tell me, Johnnie, what your platoon needs. Never mind the piddlin’ stuff; I’m not interested in whether a man has the regulation number of socks in his locker.”

I thought rapidly. “Uh … do you happen to know if Lieutenant Silva intended to put Brumby up for sergeant?”

“I do happen to know. What’s your opinion?”

“Well … the record shows that he has been acting section leader the past two months. His efficiency marks are good.”

“I asked for your recommendation, Mister.”

“Well, s — Sorry. I’ve never seen him work on the ground, so I can’t have a real opinion; anybody can soldier in the drop room. But the way I see it, he’s been acting sergeant too long to bust him back to chaser and promote a squad leader over him. He ought to get that third chevron before we drop — or he ought to be transferred when we get back. Sooner, if there’s a chance for a spaceside transfer.”

Blackie grunted. “You’re pretty generous in giving away my Blackguards — for a third lieutenant.”

I turned red. “Just the same, it’s a soft spot in my platoon. Brumby ought to be promoted, or transferred. I don’t want him back in his old job with somebody promoted over his head; he’d likely turn sour and I’d have an even worse soft spot. If he can’t have another chevron, he ought to go to repple-depple for cadre. Then he won’t be humiliated and he gets a fair shake to make sergeant in another team — instead of a dead end here.”

“Really?” Blackie did not quite sneer. “After that masterly analysis, apply your powers of deduction and tell me why Lieutenant Silva failed to transfer him three weeks ago when we arrived around Sanctuary.”

I had wondered about that. The time to transfer a man is the earliest possible instant after you decide to let him go — and without warning; it’s better for the man and the team — so says the book. I said slowly, “Was Lieutenant Silva already ill at that time, Captain?”

“No.”

The pieces matched. “Captain, I recommend Brumby for immediate promotion.”

His eyebrows shot up. “A minute ago you were about to dump him as useless.”

“Uh, not quite. I said it had to be one or the other — but I didn’t know which. Now I know.”

“Continue.”

“Uh, this assumes that Lieutenant Silva is an efficient officer—”

“Hummmph! Mister, for your information, ‘Quick’ Silva has an unbroken string of ‘Excellent — Recommended for Promotion’ on his Form Thirty-One.”

“But I knew that he was good,” I plowed on, “because I inherited a good platoon. A good officer might not promote a man for — oh, for many reasons — and still not put his misgivings in writing. But in this case, if he could not recommend him for sergeant, then he wouldn’t keep him with the team — so he would get him out of the ship at the first opportunity. But he didn’t. Therefore I know he intended to promote Brumby.” I added, “But I can’t see why he didn’t push it through three weeks ago, so that Brumby could have worn his third chevron on R&R.”

Captain Blackstone grinned. “That’s because you don’t credit me with being efficient.”

“S — I beg pardon?”

“Never mind. You’ve proved who killed Cock Robin and I don’t expect a still-moist kaydet to know all the tricks. But listen and learn, son. As long as this war goes on, don’t ever promote a man just before you return to Base.”

“Uh … why not, Captain?”

“You mentioned sending Brumby to Replacement Depot if he was not to be promoted. But that’s just where he would have gone if we had promoted him three weeks ago. You don’t know how hungry that non-com desk at repple-depple is. Paw through the dispatch file and you’ll find a demand that we supply two sergeants for cadre. With a platoon sergeant being detached for O.C.S. and a buck sergeant spot vacant, I was under complement and able to refuse.” He grinned savagely. “It’s a rough war, son, and your own people will steal your best men if you don’t watch ’em.” He took two sheets of paper out of a drawer. “There—”

One was a letter from Silva to Cap’n Blackie, recommending Brumby for sergeant; it was dated over a month ago.