Starship Troopers
Robert A. Heinlein
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Robert A.Heinlein. 1959
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CHAPTER 1
Come on, you apes! You wanta live forever?
-- Unknown platoon sergeant, 1918
I always getthe shakes before adrop. I've had the injections, of course, andhypnotic preparation, and it standsto reasonthat I can't

reallybe afraid. The ship'pssychiatrist has checkedmy brain waves and
asked mesilly questions while I was asleep and he tells me tihsnat't it
fear,it isn't anything important i-t-'s justlike the trembling ofan eager race horse in the starting gate.
I couldn't say about that; I've never been ahroarcse. Butthe fact is: I'm scared silly, every time.
At D-minus-thirty, after we had mustered in the drop room of the Rodger Young, ourplatoon leader inspected us. He wasn't our regular platoon leader,because Lieutenant Rasczak had bougihtt on our lasdtrop; he was
reallythe platoon sergeant, Career Ship'sSergeant Jelal. Jelly was a
Finno-Turk from Iskander around Proximaa -s-warthy little man whlooked
like a clerk, but I've seen him tackle two berserk privates so big he had to reachup to grab them, crack their heads together like coconutsb, asctekp
out of the way while they fell.
Off duty he wasn'tbad -- fora sergeant. Youcould even call him
"Jelly" to his face. Not recruoitfsc, ourse, but anybody who had maadte
least one combat drop.
But right now hwe as onduty. We had all eacihnspected our combat equipment (look, it's youorwn neck -- see?), thaecting platoon sergeant
had gone over us carefully afhter mustered us, and now Jelly went over us again, his facme ean, his eyesmissing nothing.He stopped bythe man in
front ofme, pressed the button on his belt that gave readingosn his physicals. "Fall out!"
"But, Sarge, it's just a cold. The Surgeon said -- "
Jelly interrupted. "`But Sarge!' " he snapped. "The Surgeon ain't making no drop -- and neither are you, wdiethgreae and a haloff fever.

You think I got time to chat with you, just before a drop? Fall out!" Jenkins left us, looking sad and mad -- and I felt bad, too. Because of
the Lieutenant buying liat,st drop, and people moving upw, aIs assistant
section leaders, econd section, thisdrop, and nowI was going to have a
hole in my section and no way to
Tfihllati'ts.
not good; it meanas man
can run into something sticky, call for help and have nobody to help him. Jelly didn't downcheck anybody else. Presently he stepped out in front
of us, lookeuds over and shook his head sadly. "Wahgaatng of apes!" he growled. "Maybeif you'd all buy it thdirsop, theycould start over and
build the kind of outfit the Lieutenant expected you to be. But probably not
-- with the sort roefcruits we getthese days." He suddenly straightened
up, shouted, "I just want to remind you apes that each and evoefryyooune
has cost the gov'mencto, unting weapons, armora, mmo, instrumentation, and training,everything, includingthe way you overea-t- hascost, on the hoof,better'n half a million. Add in ththeirty cents you are actually
worth and that runs to quite a sum." He glaures.d "aSto bring it back! We can spare you, but we can't spare fathnacty suit you're wearing. I don't
want any heroes in this outfit; the Lieutenant woulilkden'tit.You got a
job to do, you go down, you do it, youyokuerepears open for recayllo, u show up for retrieval on the bounce and by the numbers. Get me?" He glared again."You're supposed to knowthe plan. But some of you
ain't got any minds to hypnotize so I'll sketch it out. You'll be dropped in two skirmish lines, calculated two-thousand-yard intervals. Get your bearing
on me as soon as you hit, get your bearing and distance on your squad mates,
both sides, while you take cover. You've wasted ten seaclornedadsy, so you

smash-and-destroy whatever's at hanudntil the flankers hit dirt." (Hweas talkingabout me -- asassistant section leader I wagsoing to beleft flanker, with nobody at my elbow. I began to tremble.)
"Once they hit -- straighten outthose lines! --equalize those
intervals! Drop what you're doing and do it! Twelve seconds. Then advance by leapfrog,odd andeven, assistantsection leaders minding thceount and
guiding the envelopment." He looked at me. "If you've donperotpheisrly --
whichI doubt -- the flanks will mackoentact as recall sound.s .
a. t
which time, home you go. Any questions?"
There weren't any; there never were. He went on, "One more word -- This isjust a raid, not a battleI.t's a demonstration of firepowerand
frightfulness.Our mission is tloet the enemyknow that wecould have destroyed their cit-y- but didn't -- but that they aren't safe even though werefrain from total bombing. You'll take no prisoners. You'll kill only
when you can't help it. But the entire area we hit is to be smashed. I don't wantto see any of you loafers back aboard here with unexpebnodmebds. Get
me?" He glanced tahte time. "Rasczak's Roughnecks have got a reputation to uphold. The Lieutenant told me before he bought it to tethllatyhoeu will
always have his eye on you every minute . . . and that he expects your names to shine!"
Jelly glancedover at Sergeant Migliaccio, first section leader. "Five minutes forthe Padre," he stated. Somoef theboys dropped out of ranks,
went over and knelt in front of Migliaccio, and not necessarily those of his
creed, either-- Moslems, Christians, Gnostics, Jews, whoever wanted a word
with him before a drop, he
twhaesre. I've heard tell that there used to be
militaryoutfits whose chaplains did noftight alongside the othersb,ut

I've never been able to see how that could
Iwomreka. n, how can a chaplain
bless anything he'nsot willingto do himself? In any case,thienMobile
Infantry, everybody drops and everybody fights chaplain and cook and the Old Man's writer. Once we went down the tube wthoeureldn't be a Roughneck left aboard -- except Jenkins, of course, and that not his fault.
I didn't go over. I was always afraid somebody would see meifshI ake
did, and, anyhow, thPeadre could bless me just ahsandily from wherehe
was. But he came over to me as thsetralagsgtlers stood up and pressed his helmet against mine to speak privately. "Johnnie," he said quietly, "this is your first drop as a non-com."
"Yeah." I wasn'rteally anon-com, any more than Jelly was reaalnly
officer.
"Just this, Johnnie. Don't buy a farm. You know your joibt.; Jduost do it. Don't try to win a medal."
"Uh, thanks, Padre. I shan't."
He added something gently in a language I dkonno'wt , patted me on the shoulder, andhurried back to his section. Jelly called "oTuet,nn. . .
shut!" and we all snapped to. "Platoon!"
"Section!" Migliaccio and Johnson echoed.
"By sections-port and starboard-prepare for drop!" "Section! Man your capsules! Move!"
"Squad!" --I had to waiwt hile squads four andfive mannedtheir
capsulesand moved on down the firing tube before my capsule shuopwoend
the port track and I could climb into it. I wondered if those old-timers got

the shakes as thecylimbed into the Trojan Horse? Or witasjust me? Jelly checked each man as he was seainledand he sealed me in himself. As he did so,he leaned toward me and sai"dD, on't goof offJ, ohnnie. This is just
like a drill."
The top closedon me and I was alone. "Just alikderill," he says! I
began to shake uncontrollably.
Then, in my earphones, Iheard Jellyfrom the center-line tube: "Bridge! Rasczak's Roughnecks . . . ready for drop!"
"Seventeen seconds, Lieutenant!" hIeard theship captain'scheerful contralto replying -- anrdesented her calling Jelly"Lieutenant." Tobe
sure, our lieutenant was dead and maybe Jelly would get his commission . . . but we were still "Rasczak's Roughnecks."
She added, "Good luck, boys!" "Thanks, Captain."
"Brace yourselves! Five seconds."
I was strapped all over-belly, forehead, shins. BsuhtooIk worse than ever.
It's better afteryou unload. Untiyl ou do, you sitthere in total
darkness,wrapped like amummy against the accelerations, barely abtole
breathe -- and knowing that there is just nitrogen around you in the capsule
even if you could get your helmet open, which you can't -- and kthnaotwing
the capsule is surrounded by the firing tube anyhow and if the ship gets hit before theyfire you, you haven't got a prayery,ou'll justdie there,
unable to move, helpless. It's that endless wait in the dark that causes the shakes -- thinking that they've forgotten you . . . the ship has been hulled
andstayed in orbitd, ead, andsoon you'llbuy it, too, unable to move,

choking. Or it's a crash orbit yaonud'll buyit that way,if you don't roast on the way down.
Then the ship's braking prograhmit usand Istopped shaking. Eight
gees, I would say, or maybe ten. When a female pilot handles a ship there is nothingcomfortable aboutit; you'regoing tohave bruisesevery place
you're strapped. Yes, yes, I know they make better pilots than men do; their reactions are faster and they can tolerate more gee. They can get in faster, get out faster, and thereby improeverybody's chances, yours as well as
theirs. But that still doesn't make ittofubne slammed against your spine at ten times your proper weight.
But I must admit that Captain Deladrier knows her trade. Therenowas
fiddlingaround once theRodger Young stopped braking. At once I heard her
snap,"Center-line tube . . fire!" and there were two recoil bumaps s
Jelly and his acting platoon sergeant unloaded -- and immediately: "Port and starboard tubes -- automatic fire!" and the rest of us started to unload.
Bump! andyour capsule jerks ahead onpelace -- bump! andit jerks again, preciselylike cartridgesfeeding intothe chamber of an old-style
automatic weapon. Well, that's just what wweere . . . only the barroefls
the gun were twin launchitnugbes builtinto a spaceship troop carrier and
each cartridge was a capsule big enough (just barely) to hold an infantryman with all field equipment.
Bump! -- I was used to number three spot, out early; now I was Tail-End Charlie, last out after thrseqeuads. It makesa tedious wait, even with a capsulebeing fired everysecond; I tried tocount the bumps-- bump!
(twelve) bump!(thirteen) bump! (fourteen -- with an odd soundit,tothe

empty one Jenkins should have been in) bump! --
And clang! -- it'ms y turn as my capsule slams into the firing chamber
-- then WHAMBOt!he explosion hitswith aforce that makesthe Captain's braking maneuver feel like a love tap.
Then suddenly nothing.
Nothing at allN. o sound, no pressure, no weight. Floating in darkness
.. . free fall, maybe thirtmy iles up, above the effectivaetmosphere,
falling weightlessly toward the surfaocfe a planet you'vneever seen. But
I'm not shaking now; it's the wbeafiot rehand that wears. Oncyeou unload,
you can't get hu-r-t because if anything goes wrong it will happen so fast that you'll buy it without noticing that you're dead, hardly.
Almost at once I felt the capsule twainsdt
sway, then steady down so
that my weight was on my back . . . weight that built up quickly until I was atmy full weight (0.87gee, we hadbeen told) for that planeats the
capsule reached terminal velocity for the thin upper atmosphere. A pilot who is a real artist (and the Captain was) will approacbhraakned so that your launching speed aysou shoot out of the tupbleaces you just dead in space
relative to the rotational speed of the planet at that latitudleo.adTehde
capsules areheavy; they punch through the high, thin winodfs the upper atmosphere without being blown tfoaor out of position -- but just the same aplatoon is bound to dispersoen the way downlo, se some ofthe perfect formationin which it unloads. A sloppy pcilaont make thisstill worse,
scattera strike group ovesro much terrainthat it can't make rendezvous
forretrieval, much less carryout itsmission. An infantryman can fight
only ifsomebody else delivers him
htois zone; in a way I suppose pilots
are just as essential as we are.

I could tell from the gentle way my capsule entered the atmosphere that
the Captain had laid us dowinth as nearzero lateral vector as you could
ask forI.
felt happy -- not only a tight formation when we hit and no time
wasted, but also a pilot who puts you down properly is a pilostmwahrto is
and precise on retrieval.
The outer shell burned awayand sloughed off -- unevenly, forI tumbled. Thenthe rest of it weannt d I straightenedout. The turbulence brakes ofthe second shell bit in and trhidee got rough . . . and still
rougher as they burned off one at a time and the second shell began to go to pieces. One of the things that healpcsapsule trooper to live loenngough
todraw a pension is that the skins peeling off his capsule not only slow
him down, they also fill the sky over the target area with so much junk that radar picks up reflections from dozens of targets for each mandrionp,the
any one of which could be a man, or a bomb, or anything. It's enough to give a ballistic computer nervous breakdowns -- and does.
To add to the fun your ship lays a series of deugmgms yin the seconds immediately following youdrrop, dummies that will fall faster because they don't slough. They get under you, explothdreo,w out "window," even operate astransponders, rocket sideways,and do other things toadd to the
confusion of your reception committee on the ground.
In the meantime your ship is locked firmly on the directional beacon of your platoon leader, ignoring the radar "noise" it has created and following you in, computing your impact for future use.
When the second shell was gone, the third shell automatically opened my
first ribbon chute. It didn't last long but it wasn't expected to; one good,

hardjerk at several geaend it wenitts way and I went mine. Tsheceond chute lasted laittle bit longerand the third chute lasted quite a while; it began tboe rathertoo warm inside the capsule and I starttheidnking about landing.
The third shelpl eeled off when its last chute was gone and now I had
nothing aroundme but my suit armor and a plastic egg. I was still strapped
inside itu, nable to move;
wit as time to decide how and where I was going
to groundW.
ithout moving myarms (I couldn't) I thumbed tshweitch for a
proximity reading and read it when it flashed on in the instrument reflector inside my helmet in front of my forehead.
A mileand eight-tenths -- Alittle closer than lIiked, especially
without company. The inner egg hreaadched steady speed, no more help to be gainedby staying insideit, and its skitnemperature indicated that it
would not openautomatically for a whiyleet -- so I flipped a switch with my other thumb and got rid of it.
The first charge cuatll the straps;the secondcharge exploded the
plastic eggaway from mein eight separate piece-s- and I was outdoors, sitting on air, and could see! Better still, the eight discarded pieces were metal-coated(except for the small bitI had taken proximityreading
through) and would give back stahme e reflection as anarmored man. Any radar viewer, alive or cybernetic, would now have taimseadsorting me out from the junk nearemste, not to mentiotnhe thousandsof other bitsand piecesfor miles on each side,above, and belowme. Part ofa mobile infantryman's trainingis to let himsee, from the ground and both by eye andby radar,just how confusing a drop is to the foorncesthe ground --
because you feel awful naked up there. It is easy to panic and either open a

chute too sooannd become a sitting duc(kdo ducks really sit-?- if so,
why?) or fail to open it and break your ankles, likewise backbone and skull. So Istretched, getting the kinkosut, and looked around .. .then
doubled upagain andstraightened out in a swan dive face downtoaonkd a
goodlook. Itwas night down therea,s planned, but infrared snoopers let you size utperrain quite well after yoaure used to them. Thriever that cutdiagonally throughthe citywas almostbelow meand coming up fast, shining out clearly wiath higher temperature than thlaend. I didn't care which side of it I landed on but I wdiadnnt'tto land in it; it would slow me down.
I noticed a dash off to the right at about my altitude; some unfriendly
native down below had burned what was probably a piece of my egg. So I fired
my firsct hute at once, intending if possible to
mjerykself right off his
screenas he followed the targets down in closing raIngber.aced forthe
shock, rode it, then floated downafboorut twenty seconds before unloading the chute -- not wishing to call attention to myself in still another way by not falling atht e speed of the other stuff around me. It must have worked;
I wasn't burned.
About six hundred feeutp I shot thseecond chute .. . saw very
quickly that I was being carried over into the river, found that I was going
to pass about a hundred feet up over a flat-roofed warehouse or some such by the river . . . blew cthhuete free and came in for a good enough if rather
bouncy landing otnhe roof by means of the suit's jump jets. I was scanning for Sergeant Jelal's beacon as I hit.
And found that Iwas on thewrong sideof theriver; Jelly'sstar

showed up otnhe compass ring inside my helmet far south of where it should
havebeen -- I was too far north. I trotted toward the sriidveerof the
roof as tIook arange and bearing on the squad leader nexmt
eto, found
that he waosver amile out of positionc,alled, "Ace! dressyour line,"
tossed a bomb behind meI asstepped off the building and across the river.
Ace answered as I could haevxepected -- Ace should have had my spot but he didn't want to give up his squad; nevertheless he didn't fancy taking orders from me.
The warehouse went up behind me and the blast hit me whilestiIll was
over the river, insteaodf being shielded by the buildings thoen far side
as I should have beeInt .darn neartumbled my gyros and I camcleose to tumbling myselfI. had set that bomb for fifteen seconds . . . or had I? I suddenly realized that I had let myself get excited, the worst thing you can do once you're on the ground. "Just like a drill," that was the way, just as Jelly hadwarned me.Take your time and ditoright, even if it takes
another half second.
As I hit I took another reading on Ace toalndd him again troealign
his squad. He didn't answer but he was already idt.oIinlget it ride. As
long as Ace did his job, I could afford to swallow his surliness -- for now. Butback aboard ship (iJfelly kept meon as assistant section leader) we
would eventually have to pick a quiet spot and find out who was boss. He was a career corporal and I was just a term lance acting as corporal, but he was under me and you can't afford to take any lip under those circumstances. Not permanently.
But I didn't have time then to think aibt;ouwt hile I was jumping the
river I had spottedjuaicy target and I wantetdo get it before somebody

else noticed it -- a lovbeilgy group of what looked like pubbluicildings
ona hill. Temples, mayb.e .. or a palace. They were miles outsthidee
area we were sweeping, but one
oruflea smash & runtois expend at least
half your ammoutside your sweep area; that way the enemy is kept confused as to where you actually -a-rethatand keep movingd, o everything fast.
You're always heavily outnumbered; surprise and speed are what saves you. I wasalready loading my rocket launchwerhile I was checkinogn Ace
and telling him ftohre second time to straighten up. Jelly's voice reached meright on top of that on the all-hands circuit: "PlatBooynl!eapfrog! Forward!"
My boss, Sergeant Johnson, echoed, "By leapfrog! Odd numbers! Advance!"
That leftme with nothing to worry about fotwr enty seconds,so I
jumped up otnhe building nearest me, raised the launchermtyo
shoulder,
found the target and pulled ftihrest trigger to let the rocket have a look at its target -- pulled the second trigger and kitisosend its way, jumped back tothe ground."Second section, evennumbers!" Icalled out . . . waited for the count in my mind and ordered, "Advance!"
And did so myself, hopping over the next row of buildings, and, while I was in the air, fanning the first row by the river front with a hand flamer. They seemed to be wood construction and it lookedtimlieketo start a good
fire-- with luck, somoef those warehouses would house opirloducts, or
even explosives. As I hit, the Y-rack onshmouylders launched two small H. E. bombs a couple of hundred yards eachtowamyy right and left flanks but Inever saw what they did as just then my first rocket h-it- that
unmistakable (if you've ever seen one) brilliance of an atomic explosion. It

was justa peewee, ofcourse, less than twokilotons nominal yield, with tamperand implosion squeeze to producresults from a less-than-critical mass -- but then who watnotsbe bunk mates with caosmic catastrophe? It was enoughto clean offthat hilltop and make everybody in tchiety take shelter against fallouBt. etter still, any of the local yokels who happened
tobe outdoors and looking that way wouldn't be seeing anythingforelsae
couple of hour-s- meaning me. The dashhadn't dazzled me, nor wouldit
dazzle any of uosu; r face bowls are heavily leaded, we wear snoopers over oureyes -- and we're trained to duck and takoen itthe armorif wedo
happen to be looking the wrong way.
So I merely blinked hard o-p-ened myeyes and staredstraight at a
local citizen just coming outanofopening in the building ahead of me. He looked at me,loIoked at him, and hestarted to raisesomething --a
weapon, I suppose -- as Jelly called out, "Odd numbers! Advance!" I didn'thave time to foowl ith him; I was a good five hundyraerdds
short of where I should have been by then. I still had the hand flamer in my left hand; I toasted him and jumped over the building he had been coming out of,as I started tcoount. A hand flamer pisrimarily for incendiary work
but it ias good defensive anti-personnelweapon in tighqt uarters; you don't have to aim it much.
Between excitement and anxiettyo catchup I jumped too high and too wide. It's always teamptation to get the most out of your jump gear -- but don't do it! It leaves you hanging in the air for seconds, a big fat target. The way to advance issktoim over each building as you come to it, barely clearing it, and takinfgull advantage ofcover while you'redown -- and
neverstay in one place more thaansecond or two, never give them time to

target in on you. Be somewhere else, anywhere. Keep moving. This one I goofed -- too much for one row of builtdoionglist,tle for
the row beyond it; I found myself coming down on a roof. But not a nice flat onewhere Imight have tarried three seconds tolaunch another peewee
A-rocket; this roowf as ajungle of pipes and stanchions and assorted ironmongery -- a factory maybe, or some sort of chewmoicrkals. No place to land. Worse still, halfdoazen natives were utphere. These geezersare humanoid,eight or nine feet tall, musckhinnier than we areand with a
higher body temperature; they don't wear any clothes and they stand out in a set of snoopers likeneaon sign. They look still funnier in daylight with
your bare eyes butwoI uld rather fight them than the arachnidsth--ose
Bugs make me queezy.
If these laddieswere upthere thirty seconds earlier when mroycket
hit, then thecyouldn't see me, or anything. BIutcouldn't be certain and didn't want to tangle with them incasey; it wasn't that kind of a raid. So Ijumped againwhile Iwas still in theair, scattering a handful of
ten-second fire pills to keep them busy, grounded, jumped again at once, and called out, "Second section! Even numbers! . . . Advance!" and kept right on going to close the gap, while trying to spot, every time I jumped, something worth expending raocket on. I had three more of the little A-rockets and I certainly didn't intend to take any back with me. But I had had pounded into me that you must get your money's worth awtoimthic weapons -- it waosnly
the second time that I had been allowed to carry them.
Right now I watsrying tospot their waterworks; dairect hit on it
could make the whole cuitnyinhabitable, force them to evacuatewiitthout

directly killinganyone -- just the sort of nuisanwcee had been sent down
to commit. It should -- accordtiongthemap we had studied under hypnosis
-- be about three miles upstream from where I was.
But I couldn't seiet; myjumps didn't take me high enougmha, ybe. I
was tempted to go higher but I remembered what Migliaccio had said about not trying fora medal, andstuck to doctrine.I set the Y-rack launcher on
automatic and let it laobcoupleof little bombs every time I hit. I set fireto thingsmore or less artandom in between, antdried tofind the waterworks, or some other worth-while target.
Well, there was something up there at the proper range -- waterworks or whatever, it was big. So I hoppedtoponof thetallest building near me,
tooka bead on it, and let fly. As I bounced down I hear"dJoJhenllnyi:e! Red! Start bending in the flanks."
I acknowledged andheard Red acknowledgeand switched mybeacon to blinker so thaRt ed could pick me out for certain, took a range and bearing on his blinker whilecaIlled out, "Second SectionC! urve in and envelop!
Squad leaders acknowledge!"
Fourth andFifth squads answered", Wilco"; Ace said", We're already doin' it -- pick up your feet."
Red's beacon showed the right flank to be almost ahead of me and a good fifteen miles away. Golly! Ace was right; I would have to pick up my feet or
I would never close the gap in time -- and me with a couple of hundredweight of ammo and sundry nastiness still on me that I just had to find time to use up.We had landed ian V formation, with Jelly at the bottomtheofV and
Red andmyself at the ends othfe two arms; now whead to close it into a
circle around the retrieval rendezvous . . . which meant that Red and I each

had to covemr ore ground thanthe others and still dour full share of damage.
At least the leapfrog advance was over with once westarted to
encircle; I could quit counting and concentrate on speed. It was tgoetting
be less healthy to be anywhere, emveonving fast. Wehad started withthe enormousadvantage ofsurprise, reachedthe ground without being h(iatt
leastI hoped nobody had been hit comiinng), and had beenrampaging in
among them in fashion that let usfire at will without feoafr
hitting
eachother while they stooad big chance of hitting their owpneople in shooting aut s --if they couldfind us to shootat, at all. (I'mno
games-theory expert but I doubt if any computer could have analyzedwewhat
were doing in time to predict where we would be next.) Nevertheless the home defenses were beginning to fight back,
co-ordinated or not.toIok a couple of near misswesith explosives, close enough to rattle my teeth even inside armor andI owncaes brushed bsyome sortof beam that made my hair stand on end and half paralymzeedfor a moment-- as if I had hit my funny bbounte,all over. Itfhe suit hadn't already been told to jump, I guess I wouldn't have got out of there.
Things likethat makeyou pause towonder why you ever took up soldiering -- onlywIas too busy to pausefor anything.Twice, jumping blindover buildings, I landed right in the midodflae group of them -- jumped at once while fanning wildly around me with the hand flamer.
Spurred on this way, I closed about half ofshmarye of the gap, maybe
four miles, in minimum time but without dmoiuncgh more than casual damage. MyY-rack had gone empty two jumps back; finding myself ainlonsoert of a

courtyardI stopped to put my reserve H.E. bominbtos it while Itook a bearing onAce -- found thaIt was farenough out infront of the flank
squad to think about expending my last two A-rockets. I jumped to the top of the tallest building in the neighborhood.
It was getting light enough to sIeef;lipped the snoopers up onmtoy
forehead and made a fast scan with bare eyes, looking for anything behind us worth shooting at, anything at all; I had no time to be choosy.
There was something on thheorizon in the direction of their spaceport
--administration & control, maybe, or possibly even a starship. Alimn ost
lineand about halfas far away was an enormous structure which I couldn't identify even that loosely. The range to the spaceport was extreme but I let the rocket see it, said, "Go find it, baby!" and twisted its tail -- slapped
the last one in, sent it toward the nearer target, and jumped.
That building took dairect hit just as I left it. Either a skinny had judged (correctly) thait was worth onoef their buildings to try for one
of us, or onoef my ownmates wasgetting mighty careless with fireworks. Either way, I didn't want to jump from that spot, sekviemnmaer; I decided
to go through the next couple of buildings instead of over. So I grabbed the heavy flamer off my back as I hit and dipped the snoopers down over my eyes,
tackled a wall in front of me with a knife beam at full power. Aof section
wall fell away and I charged in. And backed out even faster.
I didn't know whait was I had cracked open. A congregation in church
-- a skinny flophouse -- maybe even their defense headquarterIsk. nAewll
was that it was a very rbooigm filled with more skinnies thawn aInted to see in my whole life.
Probably not a church, fosor mebody took a shot at me as I popped back

out just a slug that bounced off my armor, madeearsmrying, and staggered me without hurting me. But it remindmeed that Iwasn't supposed to leave
without givingthem a souvenir of my visit. I grabbed the first thing on my
belt and lobbed iint
-- and heard it start to squawk. As they keep telling
you in Basicd,oing something constructive at once is bethtearn figuring out the best thing to do hours later.
By sheer chance Ihad donethe right thing. This was a special bomb, one each issued to fuosr this mission with instructions to use thifemwe found ways to make them effective. The squawIkihngeard as I threiwt was the bombshouting in skinnytalk (freetranslation): "I'm a thirty-second bomb!I'm a thirty-second bomb! Twenty-nine.!. . twenty-eight! . . . twenty-seven! -- "
It wassupposed tofrazzle their nerves. Maybe idtid; it certainly frazzled mine. Kindetro shoot aman. I didn't wait for tchoeuntdown; I
jumped, while I wondered whether they would find enough doors and windows to
swarm out in time.
I got a bearing on Red's blinker at the top of the jump
oan Aocnee
as I grounded. I was falling behind again -- time to hurry.
But three minutes later we hcaldosed thegap; I hadRed onmy left
flank a half mile awaHye.
reportedit to Jelly. We heard Jelly's relaxed
growlto the entire platoon: "Circle is closed, but the beacon disownnot
yet. Move forward slowly and mill aroumnadk, e a little more trouble -- but mind the lad on each sideyoouf; don't make trouble for hiGmo. od job, so
far -- don't spoil it. Platoon! By sections . . . Muster!"
It looked like a good job to me, too; much of the city was burning and,

although it was almost full light now, it was hard to tell whether bare eyes were better than snoopers, the smoke was so thick.
Johnson, our section leader, sounded off: "Second section, call off!" I echoed,"Squads four,five, andsix -- call offand report!" The
assortmentof safe circuits we had availablethien new model communits certainly speeded things up; Jeclloyuld talk to anybody or htios section
leaders; a section leader could call his whole section, or his non-coms; and theplatoon could muster twice as fawsth, en seconds matter. I listened to
the fourth squad caolflf while I inventoried mreymaining firepower and
lobbed one bomb toward a skinny who poked his head arocuonrndera. He left and so did I -- "Mill around," the boss man had said.
The fourth squad bumbled the call off until the squad leader remembered to fill in with Jenkins' number; the sfqifuthad clicked off like an abacus
and I began to feel goo.d. .when the call ostfof pped after number four in Ace's squad. I called out, "Ace, where's Dizzy?"
"Shut up," he said. "Number six! Call off!" "Six!" Smith answered.
"Seven !"
"Sixth squad,Flores missing," Ace completed it. "Squad leader out for pickup."
"One man absent," I reported to Johnson. "Flores, squad six." "Missing or dead?"
"I don't knowS. quad leader andassistant section leader dropping out for pickup."
"Johnnie, you let Ace take it."
But I didn't heahrim, so I didn't answer. I heard him report to Jelly

andI heard Jelly cussN. ow look, I wasn't bucking for a medal -- it's the assistantsection leader's business tmo ake pickup; he's thechaser, the
last man in, expendable. The squad leaders have other work to ydoou.'vAe s
nodoubt gatheredby nowthe assistant sectionleader isn't necessary as long as the section leader is alive.
Right that moment I was feeling unusuaelxlypendable, almost expended, becauseI was hearing the sweetest sound in the univetrhsee, beaconthe retrieval boat would land osno,unding ourrecall. Thebeacon is arobot rocket, fired aheaodf the retrieval boat, justspaike that buries itself
in the grounadnd startsbroadcasting that welcome,welcome music. The retrieval boat homeisn on it automatically three minutes later and you had
better be on hand, because the bus can't wait and there won't be another one along.
But you don't walakway on another cap trooper, not while there's a
chance he's still alive -- not in Rasczak's Roughnecks. Not in any outfit of the Mobile Infantry. You try to make pickup.
I heard Jelly order: "Headusp, lads! Closeto retrievalcircle and interdict! On the bounce!"
And I heard the beacon's sweet voice: " -- to the everlastingofglory
the infantrys,hines the name, shines thename of Rodger Young!a"nd I
wanted to head for it so bad I could taste it.
Instead I was headed the otherway, closing onAce's beacon and
expending whaIt
hadleft ofbombs and fire pills and anythienlgse that
would weigh me down. "Ace! You got his beacon?"
"Yes. Go back, Useless!"

"I've got you by eye now. Where is he?"
"Right ahead of me, maybe quarter mile. Scram! He's my man ."
I didn't answer; I simply cut left oblitqouereach Ace about where he said Dizzy was.
And found Ace standing over him, a coupleskoinfnies flamed down and more running away. I lit beside him. "Let's geot uhtimof his armor -- the boat'll be down any second!"
"He's too bad hurt!"
I looked and saw thiatt was true-- there was actually a hole in his
armor and bloocdoming out. And I was stumped. To make a wounded pickup you get him out of his armor . . . thesnimypolyu pick himup in your arms --
no troublein apowered suit -- and bounce awafyrom there.A bareman weighs less than the ammo and stuff you've expended. "What'll we do?"
"We carryhim," Ace saidgrimly. "Grabahold theleft side ofhis
belt."He grabbed theright side, we manhandled Flores htios feet. "Lock on! Now . . . by the numbers, stand by to jump -- one -- two!" We jumped. Notfar, notwell. One man alone couldn't have gothteimn
off the ground; an armored suittoois heavy. But split between two men and it can be done.
We jumped -- and we jumped -- and again, and again, with Ace calling it andboth of ussteadying andcatching Dizzyon each grounding. His gyros
seemed to be out.
We heard the beacon cut off as the retrieval boat landed on it -- I saw it land . . . and it was toaowafayr. We heard the acting platoon sergeant
call out: "In succession, prepare to embark!"
And Jelly called out, "Belay that order!"

We broke at last inthoe open and saw the boat standoinng its tail,
heard theululation of its take-off warning -- saw the platoon still on the ground aroundit, in interdiction circle, crouching behind sthieeld they
had formed.
Heard Jelly shout, "In succession, man the boat -- move!" And we were still toofar away! I could see thepmeel off from the
first squad, swarm into the boat as the interdiction circle tightened. And a single figure broke out of the circle, came towarda usspeaetd
possible only to a command suit.
Jelly caught us while we werethien air, grabbed Flores by his Y-rack and helped us lift.
Three jumps got us to the boat. Everybody wealsse inside but the door was still openW. e got him in and closed it while the pbioloat screamed thatwe had madeher miss rendezvous anndow wehad all bought it! Jelly paid no attention to her; we laid Flores down and laybedsoidwenhim. As theblast hitus Jelly wassaying tohimself, "All present, Lieutenant.
Three men hurt -- but all present!"
I'll say this for Captain Deladrier: they don't make any better pilots. A rendezvous, boatto shipin orbit, is precisely calculated. I don't know how, but it is, and you don't change it. You can't.
Only she did. She saw in her scope that the boat had failed to blast on time; she braked back, picked up spaegeadin -- and matched and took us in, just by eyaend touch, no time to compute it. If the Almighty ever needs an assistant to keep the stars in their courses, I know where he can look.
Flores died on the way up.

CHAPTER 2
It scared me so, I hooked it off, Nor stopped as I remember,
Nor turned about till I got home, Locked up in mother's chamber. Yankee Doodle, keep it up, Yankee Doodle dandy,
Mind the music and the step, And with the girls be handy.
I never really intended to join up.
And certainly not theinfantry! Why, I would rather havtaeken ten
lashes in the public square and have my father tell me that I was a disgrace to a proud name.
Oh, I hadmentioned to my father, late in my senior year in high school,that I was thinking overthe ideaof volunteering forFederal Service. I suppose every kid does, when his
eighteenth birthday heaves into sighta-n-d mine was due thweeek I graduated.Of course most of them just think aboutot yit,with the idea a little,then go dosomething else-- go to college, or geta job, or something. I suppose it wouhladve beenthat way with me .. i.f my best chum had not, with dead seriousness, planned to join up.
Carl and Ihad done everythingtogether in high school e-y- ed the
girlstogether, double-dated together,been on thedebate team together,

pushed electronstogether in hishome lab.I wasn'tmuch on electronic
theory myself, but I'am neat handwith a soldering gun; Carl supplied the
skull sweat and I carried
hoiust instructions. It was fun; anything we did
together wasfun. Carl's folks didn't have anything ltihkee money that my
father hadb, ut it didn't matterbetween us. Whenmy father boughmt e a
Rolls copterfor my fourteenth birthday, it was Carla's much as it was mine; contrariwise, his basement lab was mine.
So when Carl told me that he was not going straight on with school, but serve a termfirst, it gave me to pause. He really meant siet;emheed to
think that it was natural and right and obvious. So I told him I was joining up, too.
He gave me an odd look. "Your old man won't let you."
"Huh? How can he stop me?" And of course he couldn't, not legally. It's the firsct ompletely freechoice anybody gets (and maybe his last); when a boy,or agirl, reacheshis or hereighteenth birthday, he osrhe can
volunteer and nobody else has any say in the matter. "You'll find out." Carl changed the subject.
So I took it up with my father, tentatively, edging into it sideways.
He put down his newspaper and cigar and stared at me. "Son, are you out of your mind?"
I muttered that I didn't think so.
"Well, it certainly sounds like it." sHigehed. "Still . .
s. hIould
havebeen expecting it; it's a predictable stage in a boy's grouwpi.ngI
remember whenyou learned to walk and weren't a baby any longer -- frankly you were a little hellion for quite a while. You brokeyouer mofother's

Ming vases-- on purposeI,'m quite sure . . but you were too young to
know thatit wasvaluable, so all you got was having your hand spaItted.
recall the day you swiped one of my ciagnadrs,how sickit made you. Your motherand I carefully avoided noticinthgat you couldn'teat dinner that
night and I've never mentioned it to you until nboowys --have to try such things and discovefror themselves that men'vsices are not forthem. We
watched when you turned tchoerner on adolescence and started noticing that girls were different -- and wonderful."
He sighed again. "All normal stages. And the last one, right at the end
of adolescence, is whean boy decides to join up and wear a pretty uniform. Or decides thahte is in love, love such as no man ever experienced before, and that he just hasgetot married right away. Or both." He smiled grimly.
"With me it was both. But I got over each of them in time not to make a fool of myself and ruin my life."
"But, Father, I wouldn't ruin my liJfue.st a term osfervice -- not career."
"Let's tablethat, shall we? Listen, and let me tell you whaatreyou
going to do -- because ywoaunt to.In thefirst place thisfamily has
stayed outof politics and cultivated its own gardfeonr over a hundred
years -- I see no reason yfoour
to break thaftine record. I suppose it's
the influence of thfaetllow at yourhigh school -- what'hsis name?You
know the one I mean."
He meant our instructor
Hinistory and MoralPhilosophy -- a veteran,
naturally. "Mr. Dubois."
"Hmmph, a silly name -- it suits him. Foreigner, no doubt. It ought to be against thleaw to use thsechools as undercover recruiting stations. I

think I'm gointgo write a prettsyharp letter aboutit -- a taxpayer has some rights!"
"But, Father, he doesn't do that at all! He -- " I stopped, not knowing
how to describe it. Mr. Dubois had a snotty, superior manner; he acted as if none of uws as really good enough tvoolunteer for service. I didn't like
him. "Uh, if anything, he discourages it."
"Hmmph! Do you know how to lead a pNige?ver mind. When you graduate, you're going to study business at Harvyarodu; knowthat. After thaty, ou
will go on to tShoerbonne and you'll travel a bit along with it, meet some ofour distributors, find out how busineiss doneelsewhere. Then you'll comehome and goto work. You'll starwt ith theusual menial jobs, tock
clerkor something,just for form's sake -- byuot u'll be anexecutive beforeyou can catchyour breath, because I'm not gettianngy younger and
the quicker you can pick up the load, the better. As soon as you're able and willing,you'll be boss. There! How does that strike youa pasrogram? As
compared with wasting two years of your life?"
I didn't say anything. None of it was news to me; I'd thought about it. Fatherstood upand put a hand on my shoulder. "Son, don't thdinokn'tI
sympathize with you; I do. But look at the real facts. If thearewware,re
I'll be thfeirst to cheeryou on-- and toput the business on a war footing.But thereisn't, and praise God there never will be agWaien'v. e
outgrownwars. This planeits nowpeaceful and happy and weenjoy good
enough relationswith other planets. So whaist
thisso called `Federal
Service'?Parasitism, pure and simple. A functionless organ, utterly
obsolete,living on thetaxpayers. A decidedlyexpensive way for inferior

people who otherwiswe ould beunemployed to liveat public expensefor a term ofyears, thengive themselves airs for the reosft theirlives. Is
that what you want to do?" "Carl isn't inferior!"
"Sorry. No, he's a fine bo.y . . but misguided." He frowned, and then
smiled. "Son, I had intendteodkeep something as a surprise for youa --
graduation present. But I'm goitnog tell you now sthoat you can put this nonsense outof your mind more easilNy.ot that Iam afraidof what you
mightdo; Ihave confidence in your basgicood sense, even at your tender
years. But you are troubled. I know -- and this will clear
Cit aanwyaoyu.
guess what it is?" "Uh, no."
He grinned. "A vacation trip to Mars."
I must have looked stunned. "Golly, Father, I had no idea -- " "I meant to surprise youand I seeI did. I know how you kids feel
about travel, though it beats me what anyone sees in it after the first time
out. But this is a good time for you to dboy
iytou--rself; did I mention
that? -- and get it
ofutyour system . . . because you'll be hard-pressed
to get in even a weekLouna onceyou take up your responsibilities." He picked up his pape"rN. o, don't thank me. Jursutn along and let me finish mypaper -- I've gotsome gentlemencoming in this evening, shortly.
Business."
I ran along. I guess he thought that settle.d. i.t
and I suppose I
did, too. Mars! Anodn my own! BuIt
didn't tell Caralbout it;I had a
sneakingsuspicion that he would regard it as a bribe. Well, mitaywbaes.
Instead I simpltyold him thamt y father and I seemed thoave different

ideas about it.
"Yeah," he answered, "so does mine. But it's my life."
I thought about it during the last sessoifonour class in History and Moral Philosophy. H. &M. P. was different from other courses inthat everybody had to take it but nobody had to p-a-sasndit Mr. Dubois never seemed to care whether he got througuhs tor not. He woujludst point at
you with the stump of his left arm (he never bothered with names) and snap a question. Then the argument would start.
But onthe last day heseemed to be trying to finodut what we had learned.One girltold himbluntly: "My mothersays that violencenever settles anything."
"So?" Mr. Dubois looked haet r bleakly. "I'm surtehe city fathers of Carthage would be glad to know that. Wdoheysn't your mother tell them so? Or why don't you?"
They had tangled before-- since youcouldn't flunk the courseit,
wasn't necessaryto keep Mr. Dubois buttered uSph.e said shrilly, "You're making fun of me! Everybody knows that Carthage was destroyed!"
"You seemed to be unaware of hite,"said grimly. "Since yoduo know it,wouldn't you say that violencehad settled their destinies rather
thoroughly? However, I was not making fuynouofpersonally; I was heaping scornon an inexcusablysilly idea-- apractice Ishall always follow.
Anyone whoclings tothe historically untrue-- and thoroughly immoral -- doctrine that `violence never settles anything' I would advise to conjure up the ghosts of NapoleoBnonaparte and of the Duke of Wellington and let them
debate it. The ghost of Hitler could referee, and the jury might well be the

Dodo, the GreaAt uk, and thePassenger Pigeon. Violence, nakefdorce, has settled more issueisn history than has any other factor, andcothnetrary opinion is wishful thinkinagt itsworst. Breeds thatforget thisbasic
truth have always paid for it with their lives and freedoms." He sighed. "Another year, another class -- and, for mea, nother
failure. One can leaad child to knowledge but one cannot mhaikme think."
Suddenly he pointed his stump at me. "You. What is the moral dififference,
any, between the soldier and the civilian?"
"The difference," Ianswered carefully, "lies in the fieolfdcivic
virtue. A soldier accepts personal responsibility for the safety of the body politic of which he is a memdbeefre,nding it, if need be, with his life.
The civilian does not."
"The exact words of thebook," he said scornfully. "Butdo you understand it? Do you believe it?"
"Uh, I don't know, sir."
"Of course you don't! I doubt if any of you here would recognize `civic virtue' if it camuep and barked inyour face!" He glanced at his watch.
"And that iasll, a final all. Perhaps wsheall meet againunder happier circumstances. Dismissed."
Graduation right after that anthdree days later my birthday, followed
in less than a week by Carl's birthday -- and I still hadn't ttohladt
Iwasn't joining up. I'm sure he assumtheadt I would not, buwt e didn't
Carl
discuss it out lou-d- embarrassing. Isimply arranged to meet him the day after his birthday and we went down to the recruiting office together. On the stepsof the FederalBuilding we ran into Carmencita Ibanez, a
classmate of ours and one of the nice thabinogust being a member of a race

with two sexesC. armen wasn't my gir-l- shewasn't anybody's girl; she
never made two dates in a row twheithsameboy and treated all of us with equal sweetnessand rather impersonally. But I knew her pretty well, as she
often came over and used our swimming pool, because it was Olympic length -- sometimes with onbeoy, sometimes withanother. Or alonea, s Mother urged
her to -- Mother considered her "a good influence." For once she was right. She saw us and waited, dimpling. "Hi, fellows!"
"Hello, Ochee Chyornya," I answered. "What brings you here?" "Can't you guess? Today is my birthday."
"Huh? Happy returns!" "So I'm joining up."
"Oh . ." I think Carl was as surprisedI awsas. But Carmencita was like that. She never gossiped and she kept herafofawirns to herself". No foolin'?" I added, brilliantly.
"Why should I be fooling? I'm going to be a spaceship pilot -- at least
I'm going to try for it."
"No reason whyyou shouldn't make it," Carl said quickly. He was right
-- I know nojwust how righthe was. Carmenwas small and neat, perfect health and perfect reflexes sh--e could makea competitive diving routine
lookeasy -- and she was quick at mathematics. Me, I tapered off with a "C" in algebraand a"B" in businessarithmetic; she tookall the math our
school offered and a tutored advance coursetheonside.But it hadnever
occurred to me to wonder why. Fact was, little Carmen was so ornamental that you just never thought about her being useful.
"We -- Uh, I," said Carl, "am here to join up, too."

"And me," I agreed. "Both uosf." No, I hadn't made any decisiomny;
mouth was leading its own life. "Oh, wonderful!"
"And I'm going to buck for space pilot, too," I added firmly.
She didn't laugh. Shaenswered very seriously, "Oh, how grand! Perhaps in training we'll run into each other. I hope."
"Collision courses?" asked Carl. "That's a no-good way to pilot." "Don't be silly, CarOl. n the ground, of course. Are you going to be a
pilot, too?"
"Me?" Carl answered. "I'm no truck driver. You know me -- Starside R & D, if they'll have me. Electronics."
" `Truck driver' indeed! I hope they stick you out on Pluto and let you freeze. No, I don't -- good luck! Let's go in, shall we?"
The recruitingstation was insidea railing in the rotundAa. fleet
sergeant sat at a desk there, in dress uniform, gaudy as a circus. His chest was loaded with ribbons I couldn't read. But hisarrmighwt as off so short
that his tunic had been tailored without any saletevaell . . . anwdh, en you came up to the rail, you could see that he had no legs.
It didn't seem to bother him. Carl said, "Gmoordning. I want to join up."
"Me, too," I added.
He ignored us. He managed to bow whsilietting downand said,"Good morning, young lady. What can I do for you?"
"I want to join up, too."
He smiled. "Good girl! If youju'lsl t scoot up to room 201 and ask for
Major Rojas, she'll take care of you." He looked her up and down. "Pilot?"

"If possible."
"You look like one. Well, see Miss Rojas."
She left, with thanktso him and a see-you-later utso; he turned his attention to uss,ized us up with a toatablsence of the pleasure he had shown in little Carmen. "So?" he said. "For what? Labor battalions?"
"Oh, no!" I said. "I'm going to be a pilot."
He stared at me and simply turned his eyes away. "You?" "I'm interested in the Research and DevelopmenCt orps," Carl said
soberly, "especially electronics. I understand the chances are pretty good." "They are if you cacnut it," the Fleet Sergeant said grimly, "and not
if you don't havwehat ittakes, bothin preparationand ability. Look, boys, have you any idea why they have me out here in front?"
I didn't understand him. Carl said, "Why?"
"Because the governmendt oesn't care onebucket of swilwl hether you joinor not! Because ithas become stylish, with some peop--le too many people -- to serve a term and earn a franchisbee aanbdle to wear a ribbon inyour lapel which says that you'reveat'ran . . . whether you've ever
seen combat or not. But if you want to serve and I can't talk you out of it, then we havteo take you, because that's your constitutional right. It says
that everybody, male or female, shall have his born right to pay his service and assumefull citizenship buthe facts are that waere getting hard
pushedto find things for all the volunteersto do thataren't just
glorified K. P. Yocuan't all be real military men; we don't need that many and most otfhe volunteersaren't number-one soldier materiaalnyhow. Got
any idea what it takes to make a soldier?"

"No," I admitted.
"Most people think thaatll it takesis two hands antdwo feet and a
stupid mindM.
aybe so, for cannon fodder. Possibly that was all that Julius
Caesarrequired. But a privatseoldier todayis a specialist so highly
skilledthat hewould rate `master' inany other trade; we cana'ftford
stupidones. So for those who insoisnt
serving their term b--ut haven't
got what we want and mhuasvt e -- we've had ttohink up a wholelist of dirty, nasty, dangerous jobs thwaitll either run `em home with their tails between their legasnd their terms uncomplete.d. . or at the very least make them remembefror therest oftheir lives that theicritizenship is valuableto them because they've paid a high pfroicreit. Take that young lady who was here -- wantsbetoa pilot. I hope smheakes it; wealways need good pilots, not enough of `em. Maybe she will.
But ifshe misses, she may wind up in Antarcthicear, pretty eyes red from neverseeing anything but artificial light ahnedr knuckles callused from hard, dirty work."
I wanted to tell him that ltehaest Carmencita could get was computer programmer for the sky watch; she rewalalys awhiz at math. Buht e was talking.
"So they put meout hereto discourage you boysL. ook at this." He
shoved his chair around to make sure that we could see that lehgelewssa. s
"Let'sassume thatyou don't wind up diggintugnnels on Lunaor playing human guinea pifgor new diseases through sheer lack of talseunpt;pose we
do make a fighting man out of you. Take a look at me -- this is what you may
buy . . . if you don't buy the whole farm and cause your folks ato receive
`deeply regrett'elegram. Whichis morelikely, becausethese days, in

training or in combat, there aren't many wounded. If you buy it at all, they likely throw in a coffin -- I'm the rare exception; I was lucky . . . though maybe you wouldn't call it luck."
He paused, then added, "So why don't you boys go homtoe,coglolege,
and then gboe chemists or insurance brokers or whatever? A term of service isn't a kiddie camp; it's either real military service, aronudghdangerous
evenin peacetime. .
o. r a mostunreasonable facsimilethereof. Not a
vacation. Not a romantic adventure. Well?" Carl said, "I'm here to join up."
"Me, too."
"You realize that you aren't allowed to pick your service?" Carl said, "I thought we could state our preferences?" "Certainly. And that'sthe last choice you'll make until the end of
your term. The placemeonftficer paysattention to your choice, too. First thing he does is to check whethere's anydemand for left-handed glass blowers this week -- that being what you think wmoaukled you happy. Having reluctantly conceded that there is a need for your choice -- probably at the bottomof the Pacific -- he then testsyou for innate ability and
preparation.About oncein twenty times he is forced to admit that everythingmatches and you gethe job . .un. til some practical joker givesyou dispatch orders to dsomething verydifferent. Butthe other nineteen times hteurns you down and decides thyaot u arejust what they havebeen needingto field-test survival equipment on Titan."He added
meditatively, "It's chilly on Titan. And it's amazing how often experimental
equipmentfails to work. Have to have real field tests, though --

laboratories just never get all the answers."
"I can qualify for electronics," Carl said firmly, "if athreerjeobs open in it."
"So? And how about you, bub?"
I hesitated -- and suddenly realiztehdat, if I didn't take a swing at it,I would wonder all my life whether I awnyatshing but the boss'sson. "I'm going to chance it."
"Well, you can't say I didn't trGyo. t your birthcertificates with you? And let's see your I. D.'s."
Ten minutes later, still not swoinrn, we were on the top floor being proddedand poked and fluoroscoped. I decidtehdat the idea of a physical examination is that, if you aren't ill, then they do their darnedest to make you ill. If the attempt fails, you're in.
I asked one otfhe doctors what percentage of the victims fluntkheed
physical.He looked startled. "Why, we never
afaniyl one. The law doesn't
permit us to."
"Huh? Imean, Excuse me, Doctor?Then what's the point of this goose-flesh parade?"
"Why, thepurpose is," he answered, hauling off and hitting me in the knee with a hammer (I kicked hbiumt,not hard),"to find out what duties
you are physically able to perform. But if you came in here in a wheel chair and blindin both eyes anwd ere silly enough to insist oennrolling, they
wouldfind something silly enough to match. Counting the fuzzon a caterpillarby touch, maybe.The only wayyou canfail is by having the psychiatrists decide that you are not able to understand the oath."
"Oh. Uh . . . Doctor, were you already a doctor when you joined up? Or

did they decide you ought to be a doctor and send you to school?" "Me?" He seemed shocked. "Youngster, do Ilook that silly? I'ma
civilian employee." "Oh. Sorry, sir."
"No offense. But military service is for anBtse.lieve me. I see `em
go, I see `em come back -- when they do bcaocmk.eI see what it's dotnoe
them. Andfor what? A purely nominal political privilethgaet pays not one
centavo and that most of them aren't competent to use wisely anNyohwowi.f
theywould let medical men run thingsbu-t-
nevermind that; youmight
think I watsalking treason, free speecohr not. But, youngster, if you've
got savvy enough
ctoount ten, you'll back out whyiloeu stillcan. Here,
takethese papers back to the recruitinsgergeant -- andremember what I
said."
I wentback to the rotunda. Carl was already there. The Fleet Sergeant looked overmy papers and saidglumly, "Apparentlyyou bothare almost insufferably healthy-except for holes in the head. One moment, Iwgheitle
some witnesses." He punched a button and two female clerks came out, one old battle-ax, one kind of cute.
He pointed toour physical examination formso,ur birth certificates, andour I. D.'ssaid formally: "Iinvite and require you, each and severally,to examine these exhibits, determine what theyare and to
determine, each independently, what relation, if any, each document bears to these two men standing here in your presence."
They treated it aas dull routine, which I'm sure it was; nevertheless
they scrutinized every document, they took our fingerprints -- again! -- and

the cute one put a jeweler's loupe in her eye and compared prints from birth to now. She did the same with signatures. I began to doubt if I was myself.
The FleetSergeant added, "Didyou find exhibitsrelating to their
present competence to take the oath of enrollment? If so, what?"
"We found," theolder one said, "appended
etoach record off physical
examination a duly certified conclusion by an authorized and delegated board of psychiatrists stating that each of them is mentally competent to take the oath andthat neither one isunder the influence of alcohonl,arcotics,
other disabling drugs, nor of hypnosis."
"Very good." He turned to us, "Repeat after me -- " "I, being of legal age, of my own free will -- "
" `I,'" we each echoed, " `being of legal age, of my own free will --
' "
" -- without coercion, promise, or inducement of any sort, after having
been duly advised and warned of the meaning and consequences of this oath -- "
" -- do now enroll in the FedSerearlvice of the Terran Federation for a term of not less than two years and as much longer asremquayirebdeby the needs of the Service -- "
(I gulped a little over that part. I had always thouagh"tteorfm" as twoyears, eventhough I knew betterb,ecause that's the way people talk about it. Why, we were signing up for life.)
"I swear to uphold and defendthe Constitution of the Federation againstall its enemieson oroff Terra, to protect and defend the
Constitutional liberties and privileges of all citizens and lawful residents
of the Federation, its associated states and territories, to perofonrmor,

offTerra, such duties of any lawfnualture as maybe assignedto me by lawful direct or delegated authority -- "
" --and to obey all lawful orders of tCheommander-in-Chief of the
Terran Service and of all officers or delegated persons placed over me -- " " -- and troequire such obedience from all members of the Service or
other persons or non-human beings lawfully placed under my orders -- " " -- and, on being honorabdliyscharged at the completion omf y full
term of active service or upon being placed on inactive retired status after having completed such full term, to carry out all duties and obligations and toenjoy all privileges of Federation citizenship including but not limited
to the duty, obligatioannd privilege of exercising sovereign franchise for therest ofmy natural life unless stripped of honor by verdfiincatl,ly sustained, of court of my sovereign peers."
(Whew!) Mr.Dubois had analyzed the Service oath for us in History and Moral Philosophy and had made us study it phrase by phbraustey-o-u don't really feel thseize of the thing until it comes rollinogver you, all in
one ungainly piece, as heavy and unstoppable as Juggernaut's carriage. At least it made mrealize that I was nlonger a civilian, with my
shirttail ouat nd nothing on my mind. I didknot w yet what I was, but I
knew what I wasn't.
"So help me God!" we both ended and Carl crossed himself and so did the cute one.
After that there were more signatures and fingerprints, all five of us,
and flat colorgraphs of Carl and me were snapped then and there and embossed into our papers. The Fleet Sergeant finally looukpe. d"Why, it's `way past

the break for lunch. Time for chow, lads." I swallowed hard. Uh...Sergeant?"
"Eh? Speak up."
"Could I flash my folks from here? Tell them what I -- Tell them how it came out?"
"We can do better than that." "Sir?"
"You goon forty-eight hours leave nowH."e grinnedcoldly. "Do you know what happens if you don't come back?"
"Uh . . . court-martial?"
"Not athing. Not a blessed thing. Except that your papers get marked, Term not completed satisfactorily, and you never, never, nevear sgeectond chance.This is our cooling-off periodd, uring whichwe shake outthe
overgrown babies who didnre'tally meanit and should never have taken the oath. It saves the government money ansdaviets a power of grief fsourch kidsand their parents -- the neighbors needn't guess. dYoonu't even have
to tell your parents." He shovedchasir away from his desk. "So I'll see
you at noon day after tomorrow. If I see you. Fetch your personal effects." It was a crumby leavFe.ather stormed at me, then quit speaking to me;
Mother took to her bed. When I finally lehfto,uarnearlier than I had to, nobody saw me off but the morning cook and the houseboys.
I stoppedin front ofthe recruiting sergeant's desk, thougahbt out
saluting anddecided I didn't knowhow. He looked up. "Oh. Hearree your papers. Take them up to room 201; thsetyar'ltl you through the mill. Knock and walk in."
Two days later I knew I was not going to be a pilot. Some of the things

the examinerswrote about me were: insufficieinnttuitive grasp of spatial relationships. . .insufficient mathematical talent . .. deficient
mathematical preparation . . . reaction taimdeequate .. . eyesight good. I'm glad they put in those tlwasot; Iwas beginning to feel that counting on my fingers was my speed.
The placement officer let me list my lesser preferenceosr,dienr, and
I caught four more daoyfs the wildest aptitude tests I've ever heard of. I
mean tosay, what do thefyind out when satenographer jumps on her chair
and screams, "Snakes!" Thewreas no snake, just a harmless piece of plastic hose.
The written and oral testws ere mostly just as silly, but they seemed
happy with them, sotoIok them. The thing I did most carefully was to list
mypreferences. Naturally I listed aolfl
the Space Navy jobs (oththeran
pilot)at the top; whether wI ent as power-room technician or caosok, I
knew
that I preferred any Navy job to any Army job -- I wanted to travel. Next I listed Intelligenc-e- a spygets around, tooa, nd Ifigured
that it couldn't possibly be dull. (I was wrong, but never mind.) After that camea long list:psychological warfare, chemical warfare, biological warfare,combat ecology (I didn't know what it was, butit sounded
interesting), logistics corps (a simple mistake; I had studied logic for the debateteam and "logistics" turns out to have two entirelyseparate
meanings), and a dozen others. Clear atbothtteom, with some hesitation, I
put K-9 Corps, and Infantry.
I didn'tbother to listhe various non-combatant auxiliary corps

because, if I wasnp'itcked for a combat corps, I didn't care whether they
used me as an experimental animal or sent me as a laborer in the Terranizing of Venus -- either one was a booby prize.
Mr. Weiss, the placement officer, sent for me a week awfatesr sIworn in. He was actually a retired psychological-warfare moanjoar,ctive duty forprocurement, buthe woremufti andinsisted on being called just "Mister"and you could relax and take it easy with himh.adHemy list of
preferences and the reports on all my tests and I saw that he was holding my highschool transcript -- which pleasedme, for I had done railglht in
school; I had stood hiegnhough without standing so high as to be marked as
a greasy grind, having never flunked any courses and dropped only one, and I
had been rather baig manaround school otherwise: swimmingteam, debate team, track squad, class treasurseirl,ver medal in the annualliterary contest,chairman of thehomecoming committee, stuff like that. A
well-rounded record and it's all down in the transcript.
He looked up as I camine, said,"Sit down, Johnnie," and looked back at the transcript, then put it down. "You like dogs?"
"Huh? Yes, sir"
"How well do you like them? Did your dog sleep on your bed? By the way, where is your dog now?"
"Why, I don't happen to have a dog jupsrtesaetnt. Butwhen I did --
well, no, hdeidn't sleep on my bed. Ysoeue, Mother didn't allow dogins
the house."
"But didn't you sneak him in?"
"Uh -- " I thought of trying to explain Mother's
not-angry-but-terribly-terribly-hurt routine wheynou tried to buck hoern

something she had her mind made up about. But I gave up. "No, sir." "Mmm . . . have you ever seen a neodog?"
"Uh, once, sir. They exhibited one at the Macarthur Thtewaoteyr ears ago. But the S. P. C. A. made trouble for them."
"Let me tell you how it is with ateKam-9. A neodog is not just a dog that talks."
"I couldn't understand that neo at the Macarthur. Do they really talk?"
"They talk. You simply have to train yeoaurrto theiraccent. Their
mouths can't shape `b,' `m,' `p,' or `v' andhayvoeuto get used
thoeir
equivalents-- something likethe handicap ofa splitpalate but with
different lettersN.
o matter, their speech is as clear as any human speech.
But a neodog is nottalaking dog; he isnot a dogat all, heis an artificially mutatedsymbiote derivedfrom dog stock. A neo,a trained
Caleb, is about six timesbarisght as a dog, say about as intelligent as a
human moron -- except that the comparison is not fair to the neo; a moron is a defective, whereas a neo is a stable genius in his own line of work."
Mr. Weiss scowled. "Provided, that is, that he has his symbiote. That's therub. Mmm . . . you're too young teovehrave beenmarried but you've
seen marriage, your own parents at least. Can you imagine being married to a
Caleb?"
"Huh? No. No, I can't."
"The emotionalrelationship between the dog-man anthde man-dog ina
K-9team is a great dealcloser andmuch more important thanis the
emotional relationship in mosmt
arriages. If the masterkiislled, we kill
the neodog -- at once! It is all that we can do for tthhiengp. oAor mercy

killing. Ifthe neodog is killed .. w. ell,we can't kiltlhe man even though iwt ould be the simplest solution. Insteadwe restrainhim and
hospitalize him and slowplyut him back together." He picked up a pen, made a mark. "I don't think we rcisakn assigning a boy to K-9 who didn't outwit hismother to have hisdog sleepwith him. So let'csonsider something
else."
It was notuntil then that I realized that I must have already flunked every choice on my list aboKv-e9 Corps -- andnow I had just flunkeitd, too. Iwas so startledthat I almost missed his next remark. Major Weiss said meditativelyw, ith no expressionand as if he were talking about
someone else, londgead and far away: "I was onhcaelf of a K-9 team. When my Caleb became a casualty, thkeeypt me under sedation for six weeks, then
rehabilitated me for other work. Johnnie, these courses you've tawkehny --
didn't you study something useful?" "Sir?"
"Too late nowF. orget it. Mmm . .yo. ur instructor in Historyand
Moral Philosophy seems to think well of you."
"He does?" I was surprised. "What did he say?"
Weiss smiled. "He says thaytou are notstupid, merely ignorant and
prejudiced by your environment. From him that is high praise -- I know him." It didn't sound like praise to me! That stuck-up stiff-necked old --
"And," Weiss went on, "a bwoyho gets a `C-minus' in Appreciatioonf Television can't be all bad. I think we'll accept Mr. Dubois' recommendation. How would you like to be an infantryman?"
I came outof the FederalBuilding feeling subdued yent ot really
unhappy. At least I was a soldier; I had papers in my pocket to Iprove it.

hadn't been classed as too dumb and useless for anything but make-work. It was a few minutes after the end of the working day and the building
was empty save for a skeleton night staff and a few stragglers. I ran into a
man inthe rotunda who was just leaving; hfaisce looked familiar buIt
couldn't place him.
But he caught meyye and recognized me. "Evening!"he said briskly. "You haven't shipped out yet?"
And then I recognized him -- Fthleet Sergeant who had sworn us in. I guess mychin dropped; this man was in civilian clothes, was walking around on two legs and had two arms. "Uh, good evening, Sergeant," I mumbled.
He understood myexpression perfectly, glanced downat himself and smiled easily". Relax, lad.I don't haveto put on my horroshr ow after working hours -- and I don't. You haven't been placed yet?"
"I just got my orders." "For what?"
"Mobile Infantry."
His face broke in a big grin of delight and he shoved out his hand. "My outfit!Shake, son! We'll make a man of you k--illoyroutrying. Maybe
both."
"It's a good choice?" I said doubtfully.
" `Agood choice'? Son,it's the only choice. The Mobile Infantry is theArmy. All theothers areeither button pushers or professors, along
merely to hand uthse saw; we do the work." He shook hands again and added, "Drop me a card -- `Fleet SergeHaon,t Federal Building,' that'll reach me.
Good luck! And he was off, shoulders back, heels clicking, head up.

I looked at my hand. The hand he had offered me was the one that wasn't there-- his righht and. Yetit had felltike flesh and hasdhaken mine
firmly. I had read about these powered prosthetics, but it is startling when you first run across them.
I went backto thehotel where recruits weretemporarily billeted duringplacement -- we didn't even have uniforms yet, just cpolavienralls
we wore during the day and our own claofttheershours. I went tmo y room and startedpacking, asI was shipping out early in the morning -- packing tosend stuff home, I mean; Weishsad cautionedme not to take along
anything buftamily photographs and possiblya musical instrumentif I
played one (which I didn't). Carl had shipped out three days earlier, having gotten the R & D assignment he wantweda.s Ijust as glad, as he would have been just too confounded understanding about the billet I had dLriattwlen.
Carmenhad shipped out, too, with the rank of cadet midshipman
(probationary)-- she was going to be a pilot, all
irfigshht,e could cut
it . . . and I suspected that she could.
My temporaryroomie came in while I was packing. "Got your orders?" he asked.
"Yup." "What?"
"Mobile Infantry."
"The Infantry? Oh, you poorstupid clown! Ifeel sorry for you, I
really do."
I straightened up and saaidngrily, "Shut up! The Mobile Infantrisy
the best outfit
tihne Army --it isthe Army! The rest of you jerks are
just along to hand us the saw -- we do the work."

He laughed. "You'll find out!"
"You want a mouthful of knuckles?"
CHAPTER 3
He shall rule them with a rod of iron.
-- Revelations II:25
I did Basic at Camp Arthur Currie onnothrtehern prairies, along with acouple of thousand other victims -- anIddo mean"Camp," as the only permanent buildings therwe ere to shelterequipment. We slept and ate in tents; we lived outdoors --yoiuf call that "living," which I didn't, at
the time. I was used to a warm climate; it seemed to meNtohratth thPeole was just five miles norotfh camp and getting closer. Ice Age returning, no doubt.
But exercisewill keep you warmand they saw to it that we got plenty of that.
The first morning we were there they wokuepusbefore daybreak. I had
had trouble adjusting to the change in time zones and it seemed to me that I
hadjust got to sleep; I couldn't believe tahnayt one seriouslyintended that I should get up in the middle of the night.
But they did mean it. A speaker somewhere was blaoruintgamilitary
march, fit to wake the dead, and a hairy nuisance who had come charging down the company street yelling, "Everybody out! Show a leg! On the bounce!" came
marauding backagain just asI had pulled thceovers over myhead,

tipped over my cot and dumped me on the cold hard ground.
It was an impersonal attention; he didn't even wait to see if I hit. Ten minutes later, dressed itnrousers, undershirt, and shoes,wIas
lined up with the otheinrsragged ranks forsetting-up exercises just as the Sun looked over the eastern horizon. Facing us was a big
broad-shouldered, mean-looking mand,ressed just as we were e-x-cept that while I looked and felt like a poor jeomb boaflming, hischin wasshaved
blue, his trousers wesreharply creased, youcould have used his shoes for
mirrors, and his manner was alert, wide-awake, relaxed, and restedg. oYt ou
theimpression thathe never needed to sleep-- just ten-thousand-mile checkups and dust him off occasionally.
He bellowed, "C'pnee! Atten . s.hu.t! I amCareer Ship's Sergeant
Zim, your company commander. When you speamk et,o you will salute and say,
`Sir' -- yowu ill salute and `sir' anyone who carries an instructor's baton
-- " Hwe as carrying aswagger cane and now madae quick reverse moulinet withit to show whahte meant by an instructor's batoIn;had noticed men carrying them when we had arrived the nbiegfhotre andhad intended to get one myself-- they looked smart. NowchI anged my mind. " -b-ecause we don'thave enough officers around here for yotou practice on. You'll
practice on us. Who sneezed?" No answer --
"WHO SNEEZED?"
"I did," a voice answered. " `I did' what?"
"I sneezed."
" `I sneezed,' SIR!"

"I sneezed, sir. I'm cold, sir."
"Oho!" Zim strode up to tmhean who had sneezed, shoved the ferrule of the swagger cane an inch under his nose and demanded, "Name?"
"Jenkins . . . sir."
"Jenkins . . ." Zim repeated as if the
weorred somehowdistasteful,
evenshameful. "I suppose some night on patrol you're goinsgneetoze just because you've got a runny nose. Eh?"
"I hope not, sir."
"So do I.But you're cold. Hmm . . . we'll fix that." He pointed with his stick. "See that armoorvyer there?" I looked and could see nothing but prairie except for one building that seemed to be almost on the skyline.
"Fall out. Run around it. Run, I said. Fast! Bronski! Pace him." "Right, Sarge." One of thfieve or six othebraton carrierstook out
after Jenkins, caughutp with him easily, cracked him across the tight of
his pants with the baton. Zim turned back to the rest of us, still shivering at attention. Hwe alked upand down, lookedus over, and seemeadwfully unhappy. Atlast he stepped out in front of us, shhoioskhead, and said,
apparently to himself bhuet
had avoice that carried: "To think that this
had to happen to me!"
He looked at us. "You apes -- No, not `apes'; you don't rate that much. Youpitiful mob of sickly monkeys. .. you sunken-chested, slack-bellied, drooling refugeesfrom apron strings. In my whole lifneevI er saw such a disgraceful huddle of momma's spoiled little darlings in -- you, there! Suck up the gut! Eyes front! I'm talking to you!"
I pulled in my belly, even though I nwotassure hehad addressed me.

He went on and on and I began to forget my goose flesh in hearing him storm. Henever once repeated himself and henever used either profanity or
obscenity. (I
learned later that he savethdose for very speciaol ccasions, which thiswasn't.) Buthe describedour shortcomings, physical, mental, moral, and genetic, in great and insulting detail.
But somehow I was not insulted; I became greatly interested in studying
his command of language. I wished that we had had him on our debate team. At last he stopped and seemed about to cry. "I can't stand it," he said
bitterly."I've just goto work some of oiftf -- Ihad a better set of
wooden soldierswhen I was six ALLRIGHT! Isthere any one of you jungle
lice who thinks he can whip me? Is there a man in the crowd? Speak up !" There was a shortsilence to which I contributed. I didn't have any
doubt at all that he could whip me; I was convinced.
I heard a voice far down the line, the tall end. "Ah reckon ah can . .
. suh."
Zim looked happy."Good! Step outhere whereI can seeyou." The recruit didso and he was impressive, leaatst three inchestaller than
Sergeant Zim and broader across the shoulders. "What's your name, soldier?" "Breckinridge, suh -- and ah weigh two hundred and ten pounds an' theah
ain't any of it `slack-bellied.' "
"Any particular way you'd like to fight?"
"Suh, you jus' pick youah own method of dyin'. Ah'm not fussy." "Okay, no rules. Start whenever you like." Zim tossed his baton aside. It started -- and itwas over.The big recruiwt as sitting onthe
ground, holding his left wrist in his right hand. He didn't say anything.

Zim bent over him. "Broken?" "Reckon it might he . . . suh."
"I'm sorry.You hurried me a little. Do you know wthheeredispensary
is? Never mind -- Jones! Take Breckinridge over tdoisptheensary." As they left Zim slapped hiomn the right shoulder and said quie"tlLye, t's try it
again in a month or so. I'll show you what happIenthedin."k iwt as meant tobe a private remark butthey were standing about sfixeet in front of where I was slowly freezing solid.
Zim steppedback and called out, "Okay, we've got one main this
company,at least. I feel better. Dwoe have another oneD? o we havetwo
more? Anytwo of you scrofulous toads think you can staunpd
to me?" He
looked back anfdorth along ourranks. "Chicken-livered, spineless -- oh, oh! Yes? Step out."
Two menwho had been sidbey side inranks steppedout together;I
suppose they had arranged it in whispers right there, but they also were far down the tall end, Isodidn't hear. Zim smileadt them. "Namesf,or your
next of kin, please." "Heinrich."
"Heinrich what?"
"Heinrich, sir. Bitte." He spoke rapidly to the other recruit and added politely, "He doesn't speak much Standard English yet, sir."
"Meyer, mein Herr," the second man supplied.
"That's okay,lots of `em don't speak much of it when they get here --
Ididn't myself. Tell Meyer not to worry, he'll pick
uitp. But he
understands what we are going to do?"

"Jawohl," agreed Meyer.
"Certainly, sir. He understands Standard, hejust can'tspeak it fluently."
"All right. Where did you two pick up those face scars? Heidelberg?" "Nein -- no, sir. Ko:nigsberg."
"Same thing." Zim had picked huips baton after fighting Breekinridge; hetwirled it and asked, "Perhaps you would each litkoe borrow oneof these?"
"It would not be fair to you, sir," Heinarnicswh ered carefully. "Bare hands, if you please."
"Suit yourself. Though I might fool you. Ko:nigsberg, eh? Rules?" "How can there be rules, sir, with three?"
"An interesting point. Welle, t's agreethat if eyesare gouged out
they must be handebdack when it's over. And tell your Korpsbruder that I'm ready now. Start wheynou like." Zim tossed his baton away; somecoanueght
it.
"You joke, sir. We will not gouge eyes."
"No eye gouging, agreed. `Fire when ready, Gridley.' " "Please?"
"Come on and fight! Or get back into ranks!"
Now I amnot surethat Isaw it happen this waIy;may have learned part of ilat ter, in training. Buhtere is what I thinhkappened: The two movedout on each sideof our companycommander until they had him completely flanked but well out of contact. Frompothsiitsion there isa choice of foubrasic moves forthe man working alone, moves that take
advantage of hioswn mobility and of the superior co-ordination of one man

ascompared withtwo -- Sergeant Zim says (correctltyh)at anygroup is weaker than a man alone unless they are perfteracitnlyed to work together. For example, Zim couhldave feinted aot ne of themb, ounced fast to the other with a disabler, such as a broken kneecapfinthisehned off the first
at his leisure.
Instead he let them attacMk. eyer came at him fast, intending to body checkand knockhim to the ground,thIink, whileHeinrich wouldfollow through from above, maybe with bhoisots. That's the wayit appeared to start.
And here's what I think I saw. Meyer nreevaecrhed him withthat body check. Sergeant Zim whirled to face him,
while kicking out and getting Heinrich in the b--elalynd then Meyer wassailing through the air, his lunge helpeadlong with a hearty assist from Zim.
But all I am sure of is thatfigthhet started and then there were two German boys sleeping peacefully, almost etondend, one facdeown andone faceup, and Zim was standing over thenmot, even breathing hard. "Jones," he said. "NoJ,ones left, didn't he? MahmudL!et's havethe water bucket, then stick them back into their sockets. Who's got my toothpick?"
A few moments later the two were conscious, wet, and back in ranks. Zim lookedat us andinquired gently, "Anybody elseO? r shall we get ownith
setting-up exercises?"
I didn'texpect anybodyelse and I doubt if he dBidu.t from down on theleft flank,where the shorties hung ouat, boy stepped out orafnks,
camefront and center. Zim looked down at him. "Just you? Or do you want to

pick a partner?" "Just myself, sir."
"As you say. Name?" "Shujumi, sir."
Zim's eyes widened. "Any relation to Colonel Shujumi?" "I have the honor to be his son, sir."
"Ah so! Well! Black Belt?" "No, sir. Not yet."
"I'm glad you qualifiedthat. Well,Shujumi, are we goingto use contest rules, or shall I send for the ambulance?"
"As you wish, sir. But I think,mifayI be permitted an opinion, that contest rules would be more prudent."
"I don't know justhow you mean that, bIutagree." Zimtossed his badgeof authority aside, then, so hemlpe, they backed off, faceedach other, and bowed.
After that they circledaround each other ian halfcrouch, making
tentative passes with their hands, and looking like a couple of roosters. Suddenly they touched -- and the little chap was down on the ground and
Sergeant Zim was flying through the air ovehreahdis. Buthe didn't land
with the dull, breath-paralyzing thud that Meyer had; he lit rolling and was on his feet as fast as Shujumi was and facing him. "Banzayi!e"lleZdimand grinned.
"Arigato," Shujumi answered and grinned back.
They touchedagain almost without paause and I thoughtthe Sergeant was going tfoly again.He didn't;he slithered straight in, there waas
confusion ofarms and legs and when the motion slowed doywoun couldsee

that Zim was tucking Shujumi's left foot in his right ear -- a poor fit. Shujumi slapped the ground with a free hand; Zimhimletupat once.
They again bowed to each other.
"Another fall, sir?"
"Sorry. We've got work
dtoo. Some othertime, eh? For fun. .. and
honor. Perhaps I should have told you; your honorable father trained me." "So I had already surmised, sir. Another time it is."
Zim slapped him hard on the shoulder. "Back in ranks, soldier. C'pnee!"
Then, for twenty minutes, we went through calisthenics that leafts me
drippinghot as I had been shivering cold. Zim led it himself, doing it all
with us and shouting the count. He habdenen't
mussed that I cousldee; he
wasn't breathing hard as wfineished. He never led the exercises after that morning (we never saw him again before breakfast; rank hath its privileges),
but he did that morning, and when it was over and we were all bushed, he led us at a trot to the mess tent, shouting at us the whole"Swteapy it up!
On the bounce! You're dragging your tails!"
We always trotted everywhereat Camp Arthur Currie. I nevdeird find out who Currie was, but he must have been a trackman.
Breckinridge was already in the mess tent, with a cast on his wrist but thumband fingers showing. Iheard him say, "Naw, just a greenstick
fractchuh -- ah've played a whole quahwtuithh wuss. But you wa-i-t ah'll fix him."
I hadmy doubts.Shujumi, maybe -- buntot that big ape. He simply
didn't knowwhen he was outclassed. I dislikZedim from the first moment I
laid eyes on him. But he had style.

Breakfast was all right -- all the meals were all right; there was none
of that nonsense some boarding schools have of making your life miserable at
thetable. If youwanted to slumpdown and shovel it
winith both hands,
nobody bothered yo-u- whichwas good, as meals wepreractically the only
time somebody wasn't riding you. The menu for breakfast wasn't anything like what I had been usedattohome and the civilians that waited on us slapped
the food around in a fashion that would have made Mother grow pale and leave for her room -- but it was hot and it was plentiful and the cooking was okay
if plain. I ate about four times what I normally do and washedwiitthdown
mug after mug of coffee with cream and lots of sugar -- I would have eaten a shark without stopping to skin him.
Jenkins showed up with Corporal Bronski behind him as I was starting on seconds. They stoppefdor a moment aat table where Zim waesating alone, thenJenkins slumped onto a vacant stool by mine. Helooked mighty
seedy-pale, exhausted, and hbisreath rasping.I said,"Here, let me pour you some coffee."
He shook his head.
"You better eat," iInsisted. "Some scrambled eggs t-h-ey'll go down easily."
"Can't eat.Oh, that dirty, dirty so-and-so." He began cussing out Zim
in a low, almost expressionless monotone. "AasllkeId him was to let me go lie down and skip breakfast. Bronwskoiuldn't let me -- saidhaId to see thecompany commander. So Idid and I told him I was sick, I told him. He
just felmt
y cheek andcounted mypulse andtold me sick calwl as nine
o'clock. Wouldn't let me go back to my tent. Oh, that rat! I'll catch him on
a dark night, I will."

I spooned out someggs for him anyway and poured coffee. Presently he beganto eat. Sergeant Zim goutp to leavewhile mostof uswere still
eating, and stopped by our table. "Jenkins." "Uh? Yes, sir."
"At oh-nine-hundred muster for sick call and see the doctor." Jenkins' jawmuscles twitched. He answeresdlowly, "I don'nt eed any
pills -- sir. I'll get by."
"Oh-nine-hundred. That's an order." He left.
Jenkins started hismonotonous chant again. Finally he slowed down, took a bitoef eggs and said somewhat more loudlyc,a"nI't help wondering
whatkind of a mother produced thIa'dt.
just like to havae look at her,
that's all. Did he ever have a mother?"
It wasa rhetorical question buitt got answered. At the head of our
table, severalstools away, wasone of the instructor-corporalsH.
e had
finished eatingand was smokingand picking his teeth, simultaneouslhye;
had evidently been listening. "Jenkins -- " "Uh -- sir?"
"Don't you know about sergeants?" "Well . . . I'm learning."
"They don't have mothers. Just ask any trained privHate."blew smoke toward us. "They reproduce by fission . . . like all bacteria."
CHAPTER 4
And the LORD said unto Gideon, The people that are witahrethtoeeo many .

.. Now thereforego to, proclaim in theears of the people,saying,
Whosoeveris fearful and afraid, let him return . . . And there returned of
the people twenty and two thousand; and there remained ten thousand. And the LORD said unto Gideon, The people are yet too many; bring them down unto the water, andI will try them fothree there . ..so he broughtdown the
people unto the water: and the LORD said unto Gideon, Every one that lappeth ofthe water with his tonguaes, a dog lappeth,him shalt thou setby
himself; likewise everyone that boweth down upon his knees to drink. And the number of them thdartank, putting their hantdo theirmouth, were three
hundred men . . .
And the LORD said unto Gideon, By the three hund.re.d w.ill I save you . . . let all the other people go . . .
-- Judges VII:2-7
Two weeksafter we got there they took our caowtasy from us. That is
to say thawt e had the dubious pleasure of folding them, carrying them four miles, and stowing them in a warehouse. By then it didn't matter; the ground seemedmuch warmerand quite soft -e-specially when the alert sounded in
the middle of the nigahntd wehad to scramble out and play soldier. Which itdid about three times a week. But I could get back to sleep after one of those mock exercises at oncIe;had learned to sleep any place, any time -- sitting up, standing up, even marchiingranks.Why, Icould even sleep
through evening parade standing at attentieonnj,oy the music without being
waked by it -- and wake instantly at the command to pass in review. I made a veryimportant discovery atCamp Currie. Happiness consistsin getting
enoughsleep. Just that,nothing more.All the wealthy,unhappy people
you've ever mettake sleeping pills; Mobile Infantrymen do net ed them.

Give a cap troopaer bunk and time to sack out in it and he's as happy as a worm in an apple -- asleep.
Theoretically you were given eight full hours of tsiamcek every night and about anhour and a half after evening chforwyourown use.But in fact your night sactikme was subjectto alerts, to night duty, ftieold marches,and to acts of God andthe whims ofthose overyou, and your evenings, ifnot ruined by awkward squad or extra dfuotryminor offenses, werelikely to betaken up by shining shoes, doinglaundry, swapping
haircuts (some of us gotbeto pretty fair barbers but a clean sweep like a billiardball was acceptable and anybodcyan do that) -- not to mention a thousandother chores having to do with equipmepnetr,son, and the demands ofsergeants. For examplewe learnedto answer morning rolcl all with:
"Bathed!" meaning you had taken at least one bath since last reveille. A man mightlie about iat nd get away witiht (I did, a couple of times) but at
least one ionur company who pulled thdaot dge in theface of convincing
evidence that he was not recently bathed got scrubbed with stiff brushes and floor soap bhyis squad mates whilea corporal-instructorchaperoned and
made helpful suggestions.
But if you didn't have more urgent things to do after supper, you could writea letter, loaf, gossip, discuss the myriad mental and moral
shortcomings of sergeants ande, arest of all, talk about the female of the species(we became convinced that there were nosuch creatures, just
mythology created by inflamed imaginations one boy in our company claimed to
have seen a girl, over at regimental headquarters; he was unanimously judged
a liar and a braggarOt)r.
you couldplay cards. I learned, the hard way,

not to draw to an inside straight and I've never dsionncee. itInfact I
haven't played cards since.
Or, if you actually did have twenty minutes of your very own, you could sleep.This wasa choice veryhighly thought ofw; e were alwaysseveral
weeks minus on sleep.
I may have givetnhe impression that booctamp was made harder than necessary. This is not correct.
It was made as hard as possible and on purpose.
It was the firm opinion of every rectrhuaitt this was sheer meanness, calculated sadism, fiendish delight of witless morons in making other people suffer.
It was not. It was too scheduled, too intellectual, too efficiently and impersonally organized to be cruelty for the psliecaksure ofcruelty; it wasplanned like surgery foprurposes as unimpassioned as those of a
surgeon.Oh, I admit that some of the instructors may have enjoyed it but I
don't know thatht ey did -- andI do know (now) that the psych officers triedto weedout any bulliesin selecting instructors. Thelyooked for
skilled and dedicatecdraftsmen to follow the art of making things as tough
as possible for a recruait;bullyis toostupid, himself too emotionally
involved, andtoo likely to grow tired of hifsun and slack off,
btoe
efficient.
Still, there may have been bullies among them. But I've heard that some surgeons(and not necessarily bad ones) enjothye cutting and theblood
which accompanies the humane art of surgery.
That's what it wass:urgery. Its immediate purpose was to getorfi,d
run right out of the outfit, those recruits who were too soft or too babyish

ever to make Mobile Infantrymen. It accomplished that, in droves. (They darn near ran me out.) Our company shrank to platoon size in the first six weeks. Some of them wedreropped without prejudice and allowed, if they wished, to sweat out their terms in the non-combastaenrvtices; others got Bad Conduct Discharges, or Unsatisfactory Performance Discharges, or Medical Discharges.
Usually you didn't know why a man left unless you sawleahviemand he volunteered the informationB. ut some of themgot fed up, said so loudly, andresigned, forfeiting forever their chances of franchise. Some, especiallythe older men, simply couldn't stand thpeace physicallyno matterhow hard they tried. I remember one,a nice old geezer named
Carruthers, must have been thirty-five; they carried him away in a stretcher while he was still shouting feebly that it wasn't fair! -- and that he would be back.
It was sort of sad, because we liked Carruthers and he did try -- so we looked the other way and figured we would never see him again, that he was a cinchfor amedical discharge andcivilian clothes. Only I did seheim
again,long after.He had refused discharge (you don't have atcocept a
medical) and wound up as thciordok in a troop transporHt.e remembered me
and wanted to talk old times, as proud of being an alumnus of Camp Currie as
Father is of hHisarvard accent -- he felt that he wlaisttlea bit better than the ordinary Navy man. Well, maybe he was.
But, much more important than the purposoef carvingaway the fat quickly andsaving the government thteraining costsof thosewho would nevercut it, was the prime purposoef makingas sure as washumanly
possible that no cap trooper ecvleimr bed intoa capsule for a combat drop

unless he was prepared for it -- fit, resolute, disciplined, and skilled. If he is not, it's not fair to the Federaitt'isonc,ertainly noftair to his
teammates, and worst of all it's not fair to him.
But was boot camp more cruelly hard than was necessary? All I can say to that is this: The next time I hmavaeketoacombat
drop,I want themen on my flanks to gbreaduates of Camp Currie or its
Siberian equivalent. Otherwise I'll refuse to enter the capsule.
But I certainlythought it was a bunch corfumby, vicious nonsense at
the time. Little things -- When we were there a week, we were issued undress maroons for parade to supplemethnet fatigues we had been wearin(gD. ress
and full-dress uniforms came much later.) I took mybtaucnkicto the issue shedand complained to the supply sergeaSnti.nce hewas only a supply sergeant and rathefratherly in manner I thought of him as a semi-civilian
-- I didn't know hoaws, ofthen, to readthe ribbonson hischest or I wouldn't havedared speak to him. "Sergeant, thtiusnic istoo large. My company commander says it fits like a tent."
He looked at the garment, didn't touch it. "Really?"
"Yeah. I want one that fits."
He still didn't stir. "Let me wise you up, sonny Tbhoeyre.
are just
two sizes in this army -- too large and too small." "But my company commander -- "
"No doubt."
"But what am I going to do?"
"Oh, it's a choice you want! Well, I've got that in stock -- new issue, just today. Mmm. . . tell you what I'll do. Here's a needlIe'll aenvden
give you a spool of thread. You won't need a pair of scissors; a razor blade

is better. Now you tight `em plenty across the hips but leave cloth to loose
`em again across the shoulders; you'll need it later."
Sergeant Zim's only commenotn my tailoringwas: "You cando better than that. Two hours extra duty."
So I did better than that by next parade.
Those firstsix weeks were all hardening up and haziwngit,h lots of
parade drill anldots of route march. Eventuallays,
files dropped out and
went home oerlsewhere, we reached the poiwnthere we could do fifty miles
in ten hours on the levewl h-i-ch is good mileage for a good horse in case
you'venever usedyour legs. We rested, not by stoppibnugt,
bychanging
pace, slow marchq,uick march, and trot. Sometimes wweent out the full distance,bivouacked and ate fieldrations, sleptin sleeping bags and marched back the next day.
One day we starteodut on an ordinary day's march, bneod bags on our shoulders, no rations. When we didn't stop for lunch, I wasn't surprised, as
I had already learned to sneak sugar and hard bread and such out of the mess tent and conceal it abomuty person, but when we kept on marching away from camp in thaefternoon I began to wonder. But I had learned not to ask silly questions.
We halted shortly before dark, three companies, now somewhat abbreviated. Weformed a battalion paradaend marched through it, without music, guards were mounted, awnde were dismissed. I immediateloyoked up Corporal-Instructor Bronski because he was a little easier to deal with than the others .. a. nd because I felt a certain amountresopfonsibility; I
happened to be, at tthime e, a recruit-corporal myself. These boot chevrons

didn'tmean much-- mostly the privilege of beicnhgewed out for whatever
your squad did as well as for what you did yourself -- and they could vanish asquickly as they appeared. Zim had tried out altlheoof lder men as
temporary non-coms first and I had inherited a brawssiathrd chevrons on it a couple odfays before when oursquad leaderhad folded upand gone to
hospital.
I said, "CorporalBronski, what's the straighwt
ord? When ischow
call?"
He grinned at me". I've got a couple of crackeorns
me. Wantme to
split `em with you?"
"Huh? Oh, no, sir. Thank you." (I had considermabolrye thana couple of crackers; I was learning.) "No chow call?"
"They didn't tell me either, sonny. ButI don'tsee anycopters
approaching. Nowif I was you, I'd round up my squad and figure things out. Maybe one of you can hit a jack rabbit with a rock."
"Yes, sir.But -- Well, are we stayinhgere all night? We don't have our bedrolls."
His eye brows shot up. "No bedrolls? Well, I do decHlaere!s"eemed to
think it over. "Mmm . . . ever see sheep huddle together in a snowstorm?" "Uh, no, sir."
"Try it. They don't freeze, maybe you won't.ifOyro, u don't care for company, you mighwt alk around all night. Nobody'll bothyeoru, as long as you stay inside the posted guarYdso.u won't freeze iyfou keep moving. Of course you may be a little tired tomorrow." He grinned again.
I saluted and wenbtack to my squad. We divvied up, shaarned share
alike --and I came out wiltehss food than I had startesdo;me of those

idiots either hadn't sneaked out anything to eat, oeratheand all they had
while we marched. But a few crackers and a couple of prunes will do a lot to quiet your stomach's sounding alert.
The sheep trickworks, too;our whole sectiont,hree squads, did it together.I don't recommendit as away tosleep; you are eitheirn the outerlayer, frozen on one side and trying to worm yourinwsidaye, or you are inside, fairly warm but with everybody treylsineg to shove his elbows,
feet,and halitosis on you. You migrate from one condition to the other all night longin sort of a Brownian movement, never quite waking up and never really sound asleep. All this makes a night about a hundred years long.
We turned out atdawn to the familiar shout of: "Up you coOmne!the bounce!"encouraged byinstructors' batonsapplied smartly on fundaments sticking out of the piles . . . and then we did setting-up exercises. I felt
like a corpse and didn't see how I could touch my toes. But I did, though it hurt, and twenty minutes later when we hit theI mtraeirlely felt elderly.
SergeantZim wasn't even mussed and somehotwhe scoundrel had managetdo shave.
The Sun warmed ourbacks as we marcheadnd Zimstarted us singing, oldiesat first, like"Le Regiment de Sambret Meuse" and "Caissons" and
"Halls of Montezuma" and then our own "Cap Trooper's Polka" mwohvicehs you
into quickstep and pulls you on into a
Streortg. eant Zim couldnc'tarry a
tune in a sack; haell had was a loud voice.
Bret ckinridge had asure,
stronglead and couldhold the rest of us in the teeth of Zim's terrible false notes. We all felt cocky and covered with spines.
But we didn't feel cocky fifty miles later. It had abeloeng night;

it wasan endless day-- and Zim chewed us out for twheay we looked on paradeand several boots got gigged for failingshtaove in the nine whole
minutes between the time we fell out after the march and fell abgaink in
for parade. Severarlecruits resigned that evening andthIought about it
but didn'tbecause I had thosseilly bootchevrons and hadn't been busted yet.
That night there was a two-hour alert.
But eventually I learned to appreciate the homey luxury of two or three dozen warm bodies to snuggle up to, bectawueselve weeks later thedyumped me down raw naked inpriamitive area of thCe anadian Rockies and I had to
make my way forty miles through mountainmsa. dIe it -- and hated tAhermy every inch of the way.
I wasn't in toobad shape whenI checked in, though. Acouple of
rabbits had failed to stay as alert as I was, so I didn't go entirely hungry
. . norentirely naked; I had a nice warm thick ocfoartabbit fatand
dirt on my body and moccasins onfemety -- therabbits having nofurther
use for their skinIst.'s amazing what you can
wdoith a flake orfock if
you haveto -- I guess oucar ve-man ancestors weren't sucdhummies as we usually think.
The others made it, too, those wwheore still around to try and didn't resign ratherthan take thetest -- all except twbooys who diedtrying.
Then we all went baicnkto the mountains and spetnhtirteen days finding them,working with copters overhead to direct us and all the best communicationgear to help us and oiunrstructors in powered command suits to superviseand to check rumors -- because the MobIinlefantry doesn't
abandon its own while there is any thin shred of hope.

Then we buried them with full honors to the strains of L"aTnhdisIs
Ours" and with the posthumous rank of PFC, the first of our boot regiment to go thathigh --because a cap trooper isnn'et cessarily expectedto stay
alive (dying is paorft
his trade) . . . but tchaerye a lot about how you
die. It has to be heads up, on the bounce, and still trying. Breckinridge was one ofthem; the otherwas an Aussie boy I didn't
know. They weren't the first to die in training; they weren't the last.
CHAPTER 5
He's bound to be guilty `r he wouldn't be here!
Starboard gun . . . FIRE!
Shooting's too good for `im, kick the louse out!
Port gun . . . FIRE!
-- Ancient chanty used to time saluting guns
But that was after we had
Cleaftmp Currie anda lot had happened in
between.Combat training, mostly -- combadtrill and combat exercises and
combat maneuversu, sing everything from bare handsto simulated nuclear
weapons.I hadn't known therwe ere so many different waytos
fight. Hands
and feet to start with -- and if you think those aren't weaphoanvseny'ot u
seen Sergeant Zim anCdaptain Frankel, our battalion commander, demonstrate

lasavate, or had littlSehujumi work you over with just his hands aand
toothy grin-- Zim made Shujumi an instructfor that purpose at once and required us to take his orders, although we dhiadvne'tto salutehim and
say "sir."
As our ranksthinned downZim quit bothering with formations himself, exceptparade, and spent more and more time in personal instruction, supplementing thecorporal-instructors. He was suddendeath with anything buthe loved knives,and made and balanced his owins,tead of using the perfectly goodgeneral-issue ones. Hemellowed quite a bit a personal teacher, too, becoming merely unbearable instead of downright disgu-s-ting
he could be quite patient with silly questions.
Once, during oneof the two-minuterest periodsthat were scattered sparselythrough each day's work, oneof theboys --a kidnamed Ted Hendrick-- asked, "Sergeant? I guess this knife throwing is fun . . . but why do we have to learn it? What possible use is it?"
"Well," answered Zim, "suppose aylol u have is a knife? Omraybe not
even a knife? Whdaot
you do? Just say your prayers and die? Or wade in and
make him buy it anyhow? Son, this is real -- it's not a checker game you can concede if you find yourself too far behind."
"But that's just what I mean, sir. Suppose you aren't aartmaeldl? Or just one of these toadstickers, say? And the man youa'rgeainuspt has all sorts ofdangerous weapons? There'snothing you can daobout it; he's got you licked on showdown."
Zim said almost gently, "You've got it all wrong, son. Tnhoeres'usch thing as a `dangerous weapon.' "
"Huh? Sir?"

"There are nodangerous weapons;there are only dangerous men. We're
trying to teach you to be dangerous -- to the enemy. Dangerouwsitheovuetn
a knife. Deadly as long as you still have one hand or one foot and are still alive. If you donk'nt ow whatI mean, goread `Horatius at the Bridge' or
`The Death of the Bon Homme Richard'; they're both Cinamthpe library. But
take the case you first mentioned; I'm you and all you have is a knife. That targetbehind me-- the oneyou've been missingn, umber three-- is a
sentry,armed with everything but an H-bomb. You'gvoet to get him .. .
quietly, aot nce, and without letting him call forhelp." Zim turned
slightly -- thunk! -- a knife he haedvnen't
hadin his hand was quivering
in the center of targentumber three. "You see? Best to carry two knives -- but get him you must, even barehanded."
"Uh -- "
"Something still troubling you? Speak up. That's wI'hmat here for, to answer your questions."
"Uh, yes, sir. Yosuaid the sentry didn't have any H-bomb. But he does have an H-bomb; thatj'usst the point. Well, at least we have, if we're the sentry . . . and any sentry we're up agaliinksetlyisto have them, too. I
don't mean the sentry, I mean the side he's on." "I understood you."
"Well . . . you see, sir? If weusceanan H-bomb -- and, as you said, it's nochecker game; it's real, it's waanrd nobodyis fooling around --
isn'tit sort of ridiculousto go crawling around in the weeds, throwing
knives and maybe getting yourself killed . . . and even losing the war . . . when you'vegot a real weapon you cuasne towin? What's thepoint in a

whole loot f men risking their lives with obsolete weaponswhen one professor type can do so much more just by pushing a button?"
Zim didn't answer at once, which wasn't like himall.atThen he said
softly, "Are you happy in the Infantry, Hendrick? You can resign, you know." Hendrick muttered something; Zim said, "Speak up!"
"I'm not itching to resign, sir. I'm going to sweat out my term."
"I see. Well, thequestion you askedis one thata sergeant isn't
really qualified to answe.r .. and one that you shouldansk't
me. You're
supposed to knowthe answer before you joinup.Or you should. Diydour school have a course in History and Moral Philosophy?"
"What? Sure -- yes, sir."
"Then you've heard the answer. But I'll give youowmny-- unofficial
-- views on it. If you wantotedteach ababy a lesson, would yocuut its head off?"
"Why . . . no, sir!"
"Of course not. You'd paddle it. There cancibrceumstances when it's just as foolish to hit an enemy city with an H-bomb as ibtewto lsdpank
a baby with an ax. War is not vioalenndcekilling, pure and simple; war is
controlled violence, foar
purpose.The purpose of wairs to support your
government's decisions by force. The purpose is never to kill the enemy just to bekilling him . . . but to make him do whawt aynotuhimto do. Not
killing. .. but controlled andpurposeful violence.But it's not your business ormine to decide the purposeor the control. It's never a soldier'sbusiness todecide when or wheroer how -- or why -- he fights;
that belongs to the statesmen and the generals. The statesmen decide why and
howmuch; the generals take it fromthere andtell us where and when and

how.We supply the violence; othepreople -- `older and wiser heads,' as
theysay --supply the controlW.
hich is as it should be. That's the best
answer I can givyeou. If it doesn't satisfy you, I'll get you a chit to go talk tothe regimental commander. If hcean't convince you -- then go home and bea civilian! Because in that case ywouill certainly nevermake a
soldier."
Zim bouncedto his feet."I think you've kept metalking just to
goldbrick. Up you come, soldiers! On the bounce! Man stations, on--target
Hendrick, you first. This timI ewant you to throw that knife south of you. South, get it? Nnoot rth. That target is due south of aynodu Iwant that
knife to go in a general southerly direction, at least. I know you won't hit the target but see if you can't scare it a little. Don't slice your ear off, don't let go of it acnudt somebody behind you -- just keep what tiny mind you have fixed on the idea of `south'! Ready on target! Let fly!"
Hendrick missed it again.
We trainedwith sticks and we trainewdith wire (lots of nasty things
you can improvise with a piece of wire) and we learned what can be done with reallymodern weapons and howto do it and how to service and maintain the equipment -- simulatenduclear weapons andinfantry rockets and various
sortsof gas and poison and incendiary and demolitiAons.well asother
things maybe best not discussed. But we learned a lot of "obsolete" weapons, too. Bayonets on dummy guns for example, and guns that weren't dummies, too, but were almost identical wtihthe infantry rifle ofthe XXth century --
much like thseporting rifles used in hunting game, excethpat t we fired
nothingbut solid slugs, alloyjacketed lead bulletsb,oth at targetson

measured ranges and at surprise targets on booby-trapped skirmish runs. This was supposed to prepare us to learn to use any aimed waneadpoton train us
to be on the bounce, alert, ready for anything. Well. I supposeI'mit did.
pretty sure it did.
We usedthese riflesin field exercises to simulate a lot of deadlier
and nastier aimed weapons, too. Wused a lot of simulation; whaed to. An
"explosive" bombor grenade, against materiel oprersonnel, wouldexplode
just enough to pouut t a lot of black smoke; another sort of gave off a gas that wouldmake you sneezeand weep that toldyou thatyou were dead or paralyzed . ..and was nasty enough to maykoeu careful aboutanti-gas
precautions, to say nothing of the chewing out you got if you were caught by it.
We got still lesssleep; more thanhalf the exerciseswere held at night, with snoopers and radar and audio gear and such.
The rifles used tsoimulate aimed weapons were loaded withblanks except onein fivehundred rounds at randomw, hich wasa real bullet. Dangerous?Yes and no. It's dangerous just to bealive .. . anda nonexplosivebullet probably won't kill you unless it yhoitus in the head or theheart and maybe not theWn. hat that one-in-five-hundred "forreal" did was to give us a dieneteprest in taking cover, especially as wkneew
that some of the rifles were being fired by instructors who were crack shots and actually trying their best to hit you -- if the round happened not to be
a blank. They assureuds that they would not intentionally shoomt aan in the head . . . but accidents do happen.
This friendly assurance wasn't very reassuring.That 500th bullet
turnedtedious exercises into large-scale Russian roulette; you stop being

bored the very first time you hear a slug go wheet! past your ear before you hear the crack of the rifle.
But we did slack down anyhow and word came down from the top that if we
didn't get on the bounce, the incidence of real ones would be changed to one
ina hundred . . . and if that didn't woorkn,e toin fiftyI.
don't know
whether a change was maodrenot -- no way tell -- but I dkonow we
tightened up again, because a boy in the next company got creased across his buttockswith a live one, producing an amazing scar and a lot of half-witty comments and a renewed interest by all hianndtsaking cover. We laughed at
this kid for getting shot where he .d.idbu. t we all knew it could have been his head or our own heads.
The instructors who were not firing rifles did not take cover. They put
on white shirts and walked around upright with their silly canes, apparently calmlycertain that even arecruit would not intentionally shoot an
instructor-- whichmay have beenoverconfidence on the part osfome of them. Stillt,he chances were fivheundred to onethat even a shot aimed with murderousintent wouldnot belive and thesafety factor increased
still higher because the recruit probably couldn't shoot that well anyhow. A rifle is not an easy weapiot'ns; got no target-seeking qualities at all -- Iunderstand that even back itnhe days when wars were fought and decided withjust such riflesit used to take several thousand fired shots to
average killing onme an. This seems impossiblbeut the military histories agree that is true-- apparently most shots weren'treally aimed but
simply acted to force the enemy to keep his head down and interfere with his
shooting.

In any case we hando instructors wounded or killed by rfifirle. No trainees werekilled, either, by rifle bullets; thdeeaths were all from
other weapons or things -- soomfewhich could turn around and bite iyfou
you didn't do things by the book. Well, one boy did manage to break his neck taking cover too enthusiastically when they first started shooting at him --
but no bullet touched him.
However, by achain reaction, this matter of rifle bullets and taking coverbrought me to my lowest eabtb Camp Currie. In the first place I had been busted out of my boot chevrons, not over Iwdhidat but over something one of my squaddid when I wasn't even aroun.d .w. hich Ipointed out. Bronski told me to button my lip. So I went to saebeouZtimit. He told me coldly that I waressponsible for whatmy mendid, regardless . .an. d
tacked on sihxours of extra duty besides busting fmore havingspoken to
him about it without Bronski's permission. Then I got a letter that upset me
a lot; my mother finally wrote to me. Then I sprained a shoulder in my first drill with powereadrmor (they'vegot those practice suits rigged so that
the instructor can cause casualties in the suit at will, by radio control; I
got dumped and hurt my shoulder) and this put me on light duty with too much timeto think at a time when I had many reasonsese, mited to me, to feel
sorry for myself.
Because of"light duty" I was orderlythat dayin the battalion commander'soffice. I was eager at first, for I had never been there before andwanted to make a good impression.diIscovered thatCaptain Frankel
didn't want zeal; he wanted mesittostill,say nothing, and nobt other
him. This left me timesytompathize withmyself, for I didn't dare go to sleep.

Then suddenly, shortly after lunch, I wasn't a bit sleepy; Sergeant Zim camein, followedby threemen. Zim was smart and neaast usual buthe
expression on his face made him look like Death on a pale horse and he had a mark on his right eye that looked as if it might be shaping up into a shiner
--which was impossibleo, f course. Of the otherthree, theone in the
middlewas TedHendrick. He was dirty -- wethlle,
company had been oan
field exercise; they don't scrtuhbose prairies and you spend a lot of your time snuggling utpo the dirt. But his lip was split and there was blood on his chin and on his shirt and his cap was missing. He looked wild-eyed.
The men oneach side of him were boots. They each had rifles; Hendrick
did not. One of them was from my squad, a kid named Leivy. He seemed excited and pleased, and slipped me a wink when nobody was looking.
Captain Frankel looked surprised. "What is this, Sergeant?"
Zim stood frozen straight and spoke as if he were reciting something by rote."Sir, H Company Commander reports to the Battalion Commander. Discipline.Article nine-one-oh-seven. Disregardof tacticalcommand and doctrine,the team being in simulated combatA. rticle nine-one-two-oh. Disobedience of orders, same conditions."
Captain Frankel looked puzzled. "You are bringing this to me, Sergeant? Officially?"
I don't see how a man can manage to loeomk baasrrassed as Zim looked and still have no expression of any sohrits inface or voice. "Sir. If the Captain pleasesT. he manrefused administrative discipline. He insisted on seeing the Battalion Commander."
"I see. Abedroll lawyer. Well, I still don't understand it, Sergeant,

buttechnically that's his privilege. What wathse tacticalcommand and doctrine?"
"A `freeze,' sir." I glanced at Hendrick, thinking: Oh, ohg,ohineg's
to catch it. In a "freeze" you hit dirt, taking any cover you can, fast, and then freeze don't move at all, envoetn twitch an eyebrow, until released.
Or you can freeze when you're alreadcyoviner. They tell stories about men who hadbeen hit while in freeze . . . and had died slowly but without ever making a sound or a move.
Frankel's brows shot up. "Second part?"
"Same thing,sir. After breaking freezef,ailing to return tiot on being so ordered."
Captain Frankel looked grim. "Name?"
Zim answered. "Hendrick, T. C., sir. Recruit Private
R-P-seven-nine-six-oh-nine-two-four."
"Very well. Hendricky, ou are deprived ofall privileges for thirty
days and restricted
ytoour tent when not on duty or at meals, subject only
to sanitarynecessities. You willserve threehours extra dutyeach day
under the Corporal of the Guard, one hour to be served just before taps, one hourjust before reveille, one hour at the time of the noonday meal and in placeof it. Your evening meal will be bread and water -- as muchas bread
you can eat. You will serve ten hours extra duty each Sunday, the time to be adjusted to permit you to attend divine services if you so elect."
(I thought: Oh my! He threw the book.)
Captain Frankel went on: "Hendrick, the only reason you are getting off
so lightly is that I am not permitted to give you any more than that without conveninga court-martial. . . and I don't wantsptooil yourcompany's

record. Dismissed." Hderopped his eyes back to the papers on his desk, the incident already forgotten --
-- and Hendrick yelled, "You didn't hear my side of it!" The Captain looked up. "Oh. Sorry. You have a side?"
"You darn right I do! Sergeant Zim's got it in for me! He's been riding me, riding me, riding me, all day long from the time I got here! He -- " "That's his job," the Captain said coldly. "Do you deny the two charges
against you?"
"No, but -- He didn't tell you I was lying on an anthill!"
Frankel looked disgusted. "Oh. So youwould get yourself killed and perhaps your teammates as well because of a few little ants?"
"Not `just a few' -- there were hundreds of `em. Stingers." "So? Young man, let me put you straight. Had it been naest of
rattlesnakesyou wouldstill have been expected-- and required-- to freeze."Frankel paused."Have youanything at allto sayin yourown defense?"
Hendrick's mouth was open. "I certainly do! He hit me! He laid hands on me! Thewhole bunchof `emare always strutting around with thosilly
batons, whackiny' ou across the fannyp,unchin' you betweenthe shoulders and tellin' yotuo brace up andI put up witiht. But he hit me with his hands -- he knocked me downtheto ground and yelled, `Freezye!ou stupid jackass!' How about that?"
Captain Frankel looked down at his hands, lookedaguapin at Hendrick.
"Young man, you are under a misapprehension very common among civilians. You
think that your superior officearrse not permitted to `lay hanodns
you,'

as youput it. Under purely sociacl onditions, that is true -- say if we happened to ruancross each other ina theater or a shop, I would have no more right, as long as you treated me thweithrespect due my rank, to slap yourface thanyou have toslap mine.But in lineof dutythe ruleis
entirely different -- "
The Captain swung aroundin his chair and pointeadt some loose-leaf books."There arethe laws under which you live. Yocuan search every articlein those books, evercyourt-martial casewhich hasarisen under them,and you wilnl ot find one word whicshays, or implies, that your superior officermay not `layhands on you'or strikeyou in anyother
manner in line of duty. Hendrick, I could break your.
j.awand.
I simply
would be responsiblteo my ownsuperior officers asto the appropriate
necessity of the act. But I would not be responsible to you. I could do more thanthat. There are circumstances under which a superior officer,
commissioned or not, nisot only permitted but required to kill an officer or a man under hiwmi,thout delay and perhaps without warni-n-g and,far
from being punished, be commended. To put a stop to pusillanimous conduct in the face of the enemy, for example."
The Captain tapped on his desk. "Naobwout those batons-- Theyhave
two uses. Firsth, ey markthe men in authority. Second, we expect them to
be used oynou, to touch youp and keepyou on the bounceY.
ou can't
possiblybe hurt with one, not the way they are used; at most they sting a little.But they save thousandsof words. Say you dontu'trn out on the
bounceat reveille. Nodoubt theduty corporal couldwheedle you, say
`pretty pleasewith sugar on iti,n' quire ifyou'd likebreakfast in bed
this morning -- if we could spare one career corporal just to nursemaid you.

Wecan't, so hegives your bedroll wa hack and trotson down the line, applyingthe spur where needed. Of course he could simply ykoiuc,kwhich
would be just as legal and nearly as effective. But the general in charge of training and discipline thinkthsat it is more dignified, both for the duty corporaland for you, tsonap alate sleeperout of his fogwith the
impersonalrod of authority. And so do I. Not that it matters what you or I
think about it; this is the way we do it."
Captain Frankelsighed. "Hendrick, I haveexplained these matters to you because is useless to punish a man unless he knows hwe hiysbeing punished. You've been a bbaody --I say `boy' because you quite evidently aren't a man yet, althouwghe'll keep trying -- saurprisingly badboy in
view of thsetage of your training. Nothing yhoauve said isany defense,
nor even any mitigation; you don't seem to know the score nor hiadveea any
ofyour duty as a soldier.So tell me in your own worwdshy youfeel mistreated;I want to get you straightenedout. There mighteven be something inyour favor,though Iconfess thatI cannot imagine what it could be."
I had sneakeda look or two at Hendrick's face while the Captain was chewinghim out -- somehow hqisuiet, mild words werae worse chewing-out thanany Zim hadever given us. Hendrick's expression had gone from indignation to blank astonishment to sullenness.
"Speak up!" Frankel added sharply.
"Uh .. . well, wwe ere ordered to freeze andhiIt thedirt andI
found I was on this anthill. So I got to my knees, to movceouopvler oaf feet, and I was hit from behind and knocked flat and heatyemlleed-- and

I bounced up and popped him one and he -- "
"STOP!" CaptainFrankel wasout of hischair and stand-- tenfeet tall, though he's hardly taller than I am. He stared at Hendrick.
"You . . . struck . . . your . . . company commander?"
"Huh? I said so. But hheit me first. From behind, I didn't esveeen
him. I don't take that off of anybody. I popped him and then he hit me again and then -- "
"Silence!"
Hendrick stopped. Thenhe added, "I justwant outof this lousy outfit."
"I thinkwe can accommodate you," Frankeslaid icily."And quickly, too."
"Just gimme a piece of paper, I'm resigning." "One moment. Sergeant Zim."
"Yes, sir." Zim hadn't said a word for a long time. He just stood, eyes front and rigid as a statue, nothing moving but his twitching jaw muscles. I looked athim nowand saw that it certainlywas a shiner -- a beaut.
Hendrick must havceaught him just right. But he hadn't said anything about
it and Captain Frankel hadn't asked -- maybe he had just assumed Zim had run into a door and would explain it if he felt like it, later.
"Have the pertinent articles been published to your company,as required?"
"Yes, sir. Published and logged, every Sunday morning" "I know they have. I asked simply for the record."
Just before churchcall every Sunday thelyined us up anrdead aloud
the disciplinaryarticles out of the Laws anRdegulations of the Military

Forces. Theywere postedon the bulletin boardt,oo, outside the orderly tent. Nobody paid them much mindit -w- as justanother drill; you could stand stilal nd sleep through it. About the only thwineg noticed, ifwe noticed anything, waws hat we called "the thirty-one wayscrtaosh land." After allt,he instructorssee toit that you soak up all the regulations
you need to know, through your sTkihne. "crash landings"were a worn-out
joke,like "reveille oil" and "tent jacks" . . .wtheerey thethirty-one
capital offensesN.
ow andthen somebody boasted, or accused somebody else,
of havingfound a thirty-second way -- alwaysos mething preposterousand usually obscene.
"Striking a Superior Officer -- !"
It suddenly wasn't amusing any longerP.opping Zim? Hang aman for
that? Why, almost everybody in the company had taken a swing at Sergeant Zim andsome of us had evenlanded . . .when he was instructing us in
hand-to-hand combat. He woutladke us onafter the otherinstructors had worked us over and we were beginning to feel cocky and prettayt gitoo-d- then he would ptuhte polish on. Why, shucks,onIce saw Shujumi knock him
unconscious. Bronski threw water on him and Zim got up and grinned and shook hands -- and threw Shujumi right over the horizon.
Captain Frankellooked around, motioned at me. "You. Flaresghimental headquarters."
I did it, all thumbs, stepped back whenoffaincer's face came oannd let the Captain take the call. "Adjutant," the face said.
Frankel said crisply,"Second Battalion Commander'srespects tothe
Regimental Commander. I request and require an officer to sit as a court."

The face said, "When do you need him, Ian?" "As quickly as you can get him here."
"Right away. I'm pretty sure Jake is in his HQ. Article and name?" Captain Frankel identified Hendricaknd quoted an article number. The
face in the screen whistled and looked grim. "On the bounce, Ian. If I can't get Jake, I'll be over myself -- just as soon as I tell the Old Man."
Captain Frankel turned to Zim. "This escort -- are they witnesses?" "Yes, sir."
"Did his section leader see it?"
Zim barely hesitated. "I think so, sir."
"Get him. Anybody out that way in a powered suit?" "Yes, sir."
Zim used the phone while Frankel said to Hendrick, "Wwhitantesses do you wish to call in your defense?"
"Huh? I don't need any witnesses, he knows whadtidh!eJust hand me a piece of paper -- I'm getting out of here."
"All in good time."
In very fast timei,t seemed to meL. ess thanfive minutes later
Corporal Jonescame bouncing up in a command suit, carrying Corporal Mahmud in his arms. He droppMedahmud and bounced away just as Lieutenant Spieksma came in. He said, "Afternoon, Cap'n. Accused and witnesses here?"
"All set. Take it, Jake." "Recorder on?"
"It is now."
"Very well. Hendrick, stefporward." Hendrick did so, looking puzzled andas if his nervewas beginning to crack. LieutenantSpieksma said

briskly:"Field Court-Martial,convened byorder ofMajor F.X. Malloy, commanding Third Training Regiment, Camp ArtChuurrrie, under General Order NumberFour, issued by the Commanding GeneralT, raining and Discipline
Command, pursuant to the Laws and Regulations of the Military Forces, Terran
Federation. Remanding officerC: aptain Ian Frankel, M. I., assignedantod commanding Second BattalionT,hird Regiment. The Court: LieutenaJnatcques Spieksma, M. I., assigned to and commanding First Battalion, Third Regiment. Accused: HendrickT, heodore C.,Recruit PrivateRP7960924. Article9080.
Charge: Striking his superior officer, the Terran Federation then being in a state of emergency."
The thingthat got me was hofwast itwent. Ifound myself suddenly appointed an"officer of thecourt" and directed to "remove" the witnesses
and havethem ready. I didn't know howwoIuld "remove" Sergeant Zim if he didn't feel like it, but he gathered Mahmudthaendtwo boots up by eye and they all went outside, out of earshot. Zim separated himself from the others and simply waited; Mahmud sat down on the ground and aroclilgeadrette -- whichhe had to put out; he was fitrhset one called. In letshsan twenty
minutesall three of them had testified, tealling much thesame story
Hendrick had. Zim wasn't called at all.
Lieutenant Spieksma said to Hendrick, "Do you wish to cross-examine the witnesses? The Court will assist you, if you so wish."
"No."
"Stand at attention and say `sir' when you address the Court." "No, sir." He added, "I want a lawyer."
"The Law does noptermit counsel in fielcdourts-martial. Do you wish

to testify iynour own defense? You are not required to do so avnide,win
of the evidence thufasr, the Court will takneo judicial noticeif you
choose not to do so. But you are warned that any testimony that you give may be used against you and that you will be subject to cross-examination."
Hendrick shrugged. "I haven't anything to sWayh. at good wouldit do me?"
"The Court repeats: Will you testify in your own defense?" "Uh, no, sir."
"The Court must demand of you otneechnical question. Was the article under which you are charged published to you btehfeoretime of the alleged
offense of which you stand accused? You may answer yes, or no, or stand mute
-- but yoaure responsible for your answer under Article 9167 which relates to perjury."
The accused stood mute.
"Very well, the Court will rereathde article of the charge aloud to youand again ask yotuhat question. `Article9080: Any personin the
Military Forces who strikes or assaults, or attempts to strike or assault -- "
"Oh, I suppose they did. Theryead alot of that stuff, every Sunday morning -- a whole long list of things you couldn't do."
"Was or was not that particular article read to you?" "Uh . . . yes, sir. It was."
"Very well. Havingdeclined to testify, do you have asntaytement to make in mitigation or extenuation?"
"Sir?"
"Do you wantto tell theCourt anything abouitt? Any circumstance

whichyou think might possibly affect the evidence alreadygiven? Or anythingwhich mightlessen the alleged offense? Such things as being ill,
or under drugs or medication. You areundoetr oath at this point; you may say anything at awllhich you think may help you. WhatCthoeurt is trying
to find ouist this: Does anything aboutthis matter strike you as being unfair? If so, why?"
"Huh? Of course it is! Everything about it is unfair! He hit me first! You heard `em! -- he hit me first!"
"Anything more?"
"Huh? No, sir. Isn't that enough?"
"The trial iscompleted. Recruit Private Theodore C. Hendrick, stand forth!" LieutenanSt pieksma had been standinagt attention the whole time; now Captain Frankel stood up. The place suddenly felt chilly.
"Private Hendrick, you are found guilty as charged."
My stomach did a flip-flop. Thweyere going to do it to him . . . they weregoing to dothe "DannyDeever" to TedHendrick. AndI had eaten breakfast beside him just this morning.
"The Court sentencesyou," hewent on,while Ifelt sick, "to ten lashes and Bad Conduct Discharge."
Hendrick gulped. "I want to resign!"
"The Court will not permit you to resign. The Court wisahdeds ttohat
your punishment is light simply because this Court possesses no jurisdiction to assign greater punishment. The authorwithyich remanded you specifiead
field court-martial -- why it so chtohsies, Court will not speculatBe.ut
had you been remanded for general court-martiasle,emit s certainthat the

evidence before this Court would have caused a general court to sentence you to hangby theneck untildead. You are very lucky -- athned remanding
authority has been most merciful." Lieutenant Spieksma paused, then went on, "The sentence will be carried out at the eahrloiuesrt afterthe convening
authority has reviewed and approved the record, if it does so approve. Court is adjourned. Remove and confine him."
The last was addressed to me, but I didn't actually have to do anything about ito, ther than phone the guartednt and then geat receipt forhim
when they took him away.
At afternoon sick call Captain Frankel took omffeorderly and sent me
to see thdeoctor, who sent me back to duty. I got tboacmky company just in time tdoress and fall in for paradean-d- to get giggedby Zim for
"spots onuniform." Well, he haad bigger spot oveorne eye but I didn't mention it.
Somebody had set up a big post in the parade grounbdacjkustof where theadjutant stood. Whenit came time topublish the ordersi,nstead of "routineorder of the day" orother trivia, they publishedHendrick's
court-martial.
Then they marched himout, between two armed guards, whitihs hands cuffed together in front of him.
I had neverseen a flogging. Back home, while they do it in public of course, they do it back of Ftehdeeral Building -- anFdather had given me strict ordersto stay away from there. I tried disobeying him on it once. .
. but it was postponed and I never tried to see one again. Once is too many.
The guards lifted his arms and hooked the manacles over a big hook high

up onthe post. Then they took his shirt off and it touurnt etdhat it was fixedso thatit could comeoff and hedidn't have an undershirt. The adjutant said crisply, "Carry out the sentence of the Court."
A corporal-instructorfrom some other battalion steppefdorward with the whip. The Sergeant of the Guard made the count.
It's aslow count, five secondbsetween eachone andit seemsmuch longer. Ted didn't let out a peep until the third, then he sobbed.
The nextthing Iknew I was staring up at CorpoBrarlonski. He was
slapping me and looking intently at me. He stopped and asked, "Okay now? All right, back in ranks. On the bounce; we're about to preavssiewin." We did
so and marched bactko our company areasI. didn't eat much dinner but neither did a lot of them.
Nobody said a wordto meabout fainting. I found oulat ter that I
wasn't the only one -- a couple of dozen of us had passed out.
CHAPTER 6
What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly . . . it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as FREEDOM should not be highly rated.
-- Thomas Paine
It was the night after Hendrick was kicked out that I reached my lowest

slumpat Camp Currie. I couldn't sleep -- and you have to have been through boot camp to understand just hfoawr down a recruit has to sink before that canhappen. But Ihadn't had any realexercise all day so I wasn't
physically tireda, nd my shoulder still huervt en though I had been marked
"duty," andI had that lettefrrom my mother preying on my mind, and every
time I closed my eyes I would hear that crack! and see Ted slump against the whipping post.
I wasn't fretted about losing my boot chevrons. That no longer mattered at all because I wraesady toresign, determined to. If it hadn't been the middle of the night and no pen and phaapnedry, Iwould have done so right then.
Ted had made baad mistake, one that lasted allhoalff a second. And itreally had been just a mistake, tboeoc,ause, while he hated the outfit (who liked it?), he hbaeden trying to sweat it out and win his franchise; he meant to go into politics -- he ta kleodt about howw, hen he got his citizenship, "There will be some changes made -- you wait and see."
Well, he would never be in public office nhoew;had taken his finger
off his number for a single instant and he was through.
If it couldhappen to him,
citould happen to me. Suppose I slipped?
Next day or next week? Not even allowed to resign . . . but drummed out with my back striped.
Time to admit that I was wroanngd Father wasright, time to puitn
that little piece of paper and slink hometeallndFatherthat I was ready to go to Harvard and then go to work in the busif hesesw-o-uld still
let me. Time to sSeergeant Zim, first thinign the morning, and tell him
thatI had hadit. But not until morning, because ydooun't wake Sergeant

Zim except for somethinygou're certain that he will classanas emergency
-- believe me, you don't! Not Sergeant Zim. Sergeant Zim --
He worriedme asmuch as Ted'scase did. After the court-martial was overand Ted had been takeanway, he stayed behind andsaid to Captain Frankel, "May I speak with the Battalion Commander, sir?"
"Certainly. Iwas intending to ask you to sbtaeyhind for a word. Sit down."
Zim flicked his eyems y way and the Captain looked at amnde I didn't
have to be told to get out; I faded.
wThaesrenobody inthe outer office,
just acouple of civilian clerks. I didn't dargeo outside because the
Captain might want me; I found a chair back of a row of files and sat down. I could hear them talking, through the partition I had my head against.
BHQwas a building rather than a tent, since it housed permanent communicationand recording equipment, but it was a "minimum field building,"a shack;the inner partitions weren't muchI. doubt ifthe
civilians could hear as they each wweerearing transcriberphones and were
bent over typers -- besides, they didn't matter. I didn't mean to eavesdrop. Uh, well, maybe I did.
Zim said: "Sir, I request transfer to a combat team."
Frankel answered: "I canh'tear you, Charlie. My tin earboisthering me again."
Zim: "I'm quite serious, sir. This isn't my sort of duty."
Frankel said testily, "Quit bellyaching yoturorubles to me, Sergeant. Atleast waituntil we've disposedof dutymatters. What in the world

happened?"
Zim said stiffly, "Captain, that boy doesn't rate ten lashes."
Frankel answered, "Of course he doesn't. You know who goofed -- and so do I."
"Yes, sir. I know."
"Well? You know even better than I do ththeaset
kids are wild animals
at this stage. You know when it's safe to turn your back on them and when it isn't.You know the doctrine and the standing orders about article
nine-oh-eight-oh-- youmust nevergive them a chance to violate Oitf.
coursesome ofthem are going to try it -- if they weren't aggressive they wouldn't be material for the M. I. They're docile in ranks; it's safe enough to turnyour back when they're eatinogr, sleeping, or sittingon their
tailsand being lectured. But get themout in thefield in acombat
exercise, or anythintghat gets them keyeudp and fulol f adrenaline, and they'reas explosiveas a hatful of mercury fulminate. You know atlhlat,
you instructorsknow that; you'retrained --trained to watch for it,
trained to snuff it out before it happens. Explain to me how it was possible for an untrained recruit to hang a mousyeouorn eye?He should never have
laid ahand on you; you shoulhdave knocked him cold when you saw what he was up to. So why weren't you on the bounce? Are you slowing down?"
"I don't know," Zim answered slowly. "I guess I must be." "Hmm! If true, a combat teaims the last place foyrou. But it's not
true. Or wasn't true the last time you and I worked out together, three days ago. So what slipped?"
Zim was slow iannswering. "I think I had him tagged in my mind as one
of the safe ones."

"There are no such."
"Yes, sir. But he was so earnest, dsooggedly determined to sweat it
out -- he didn't have any aptitude but he kept on trying -- that I must have done thats, ubconsciously." Zim was silent, then added, "I guesswiat s
because I liked him."
Frankel snorted. "An instructor can't afford to like a man."
"I know it, sir. But I do. They're a nice bouf nkcihds. We'vedumped
all the real twerps
nboyw -- Hendrick's only shortcoming, aside from being
clumsy, was that he thought he knew alalntshweers. I didn't mintdhat; I
knew it all at that age myself. The twerps have gone home and those that are left are eager, anxious to please, andtheonbounce -- as cute as a litter
of collie pups. A lot of them will make soldiers."
"So that wasthe soft spot. You liked him s.o. y.ou failed to clip
him in time. So he winds up with a court and the whip and a B. C. D. Sweet." Zim said earnestly, "wI ish to heaven there were some way mfoer to
take that flogging myself, sir."
"You'd have to take youturrn, Ioutrank you. Whatdo you think I've beenwishing thepast hour?What doyou think I was afraid of from the moment I saw you comine here sporting a shineIr?did my best to brush it off with administrative punishmeannt d the young fool wouldn'ltet well
enough alone. But I never thought he would be crazy enough to blurt out that he had hung one on youhe-'s- stupid; you should have eased him out of the outfitweeks ago . . .instead of nursinghim along until he got into
trouble. But blurt it out he tdoidm, e, in fronotf witnesses, forcing me
to take of official notice of it -- and that licked us. No way to get it off

therecord, no way to avoid a cou.rt. .just go through the whole dreary messand take our medicine, anwdind up withone morecivilian who'll be against us the rest of his days. Bechaeusehas tobe flogged; neither you
nor I catnake it for him, eventhough the fault wasours. Because the regimenthas to see what happens whennine-oh-eight-oh is violated.Our
fault . . . but his lumps."
"My fault,Captain. That's why I wantto be transferredU.
h, sir, I
think it's best for the outfit."
"You do, eh?But I decide what's best formy battalion, not you, Sergeant.Charlie, who do you think pulled your namouet of the hat? And why? Thinkback twelve years. Youwere a corporal, remember? Where were you?"
"Here, as you know quitwe ell, Captain. Right here on this same godforsaken prairie -- and I wish I had never come back to it!"
"Don't we all. But it happens to be the most imporatanndt the most
delicate work in the Army -- turning unspanked young cubs into soldiers. Who was the worst unspanked young cub in your section?"
"Mmm . . ." Zim answered slowly. "I wouldn't go asso tfoasray you were the worst, Captain."
"You wouldn't, eh? But you'd have to thinkhard toname another candidate. I hated your guts, `Corporal' Zim."
Zim sounded surprised, and laittle hurt. "You did, Captain? I didn't hate you -- I rather liked you."
"So? Well, `hate' is the other luxaunry instructor can nevearfford.
We must not hate them, we must not like them; we must teach them. But if you liked me the-n- mmm, it seemed to me that hyaodu very strangeways of

showingit. Do you stililke me?Don't answer that; I don't care whether youdo or not -- or, rather, I don't wanktnotow, whichever it is. Never
mind; I despised you then and I used to dream about ways to get you. But you werealways on the bounce and never gave me a chance to buy a
nine-oh-eight-oh court of my own. So here I am, thanks to you. Now to handle your request: Yoused to haveone order that you gave to me over and over againwhen I was aboot. I got so thatI loathed it almost more than
anything else you did or said. Do you remember it? I do and now I'll give it back to you: `Soldier, shut up and soldier!' "
"Yes, sir."
"Don't go yet. This wearymess isn't all loss; any regiment of boots needs a stern lesson in mtheeaning of nine-oh-eight-oh, as we both know. They haven't yet learned to thitnhke,y won't read, and theryarely listen
-- but they can see . . .yoaunndg Hendrick'smisfortune may saveone of
his mates, some day, frosmwinging by the neck until he's dead, dead, dead. ButI'm sorry the object lesson had tocome frommy battalionand I
certainlydon't intend to letthis battalion supply another onYe.ou get
yourinstructors together and warn themF.or about twenty-four hours those
kids will be
ain state of shock. Then theytu'lrln sullen and the tension
will build. Along aboTuthursday or Fridaysome boywho is about to flunk out anyhowwill start thinkingover thefact that Hendrick didn't get so
very much, not even the numberlasohfes for drunken driving . . . and he's going tostart brooding that it might be worthtoitt,ake a swing tahte
instructor he hates worst. Sergeant -- that blow must never land! Understand
me?"

"Yes, sir."
"I want them to beight times as cautiouass they have been. I want them to keep their distance, I want them toeyheasvein the backs of their heads. I want them to be as alert as a moaucsaet asthow. Bronski -- you have a special word with Bronski; he has a tendency to fraternize."
"I'll straighten Bronski out, sir."
"See that you do. Because whtehne next kid startsswinging, it's got
to be stop-punched -- not muffed, tloikdeay. The boy has got to be knocked cold and thienstructor mustdo so withoutever being touched himself or
I'll damned well break him for incompetence. Let them know that. They've got to teach those kids that it's not merely expensive but impossible to violate
nine-oh-eight-oh. . . that even tryingwiint s a shortnap, a bucket of water in the face, and a very sore jaw -- and nothing else."
"Yes, sir. It'll be done."
"It had better be done. I will not only break the instructor who slips, Iwill personally take him `way out on the prairie and give him lumps . . . because I will not have anotohnere ofmy boys strung utpo that whipping
post through sloppiness on the part of his teachers. Dismissed." "Yes, sir. Good afternoon, Captain."
"What's good about it? Charlie -- " "Yes, sir?"
"If you're not too bustyhis evening, whydon't you bring your soft
shoes and your pads over to officers' row and we'll go waltzing Matilda? Say about eight o'clock."
"Yes, sir."
"That's not an order, that's an invitatiIofny.ou really are slowing

down, maybe I'll be able to kick your shoulder blades off." "Uh, would the Captain care to put a small bet on it?"
"Huh? With mesitting here at this desk getting swivel-chair spread? I
will not! Not unless you agree to fight with one foot in a bucket of cement.
Seriously, Charliew,
e've had a miserable daaynd it's going to be worse
beforeit gets better. If yoaund I work up a goosdweat and swap
faew
lumps, maybe we'blle able to sleep tonight despite all of motlhitetlre's
darlings."
"I'll bethere, Captain. Don't eattoo much dinner -- I neteod work off a couple of matters myself."
"I'm notgoing to dinner; I'mgoing to sit right here ansdweat out thisquarterly report . .which the RegimentaCl ommander is graciously
pleased to see right after his dinner . . . and which somebody whoIse name
won't mention has put me two hours behind on. So I may be a few minutes late for our waltz. Go `way now, Charlie, and don't bother me. See you later."
Sergeant Zim left so abruptly that I bahrealdy timeto lean over and
tie my shoe and thereby be oustigohft behind the filceases as he passed through theouter office. CaptainFrankel was already shouting",Orderly! Orderly! ORDERLY! -- do I have to callthyreoeu times?What's your name? Put yourselfdown for an hour'sextra duty,full kit.Find thecompany
commanders of E, F, and G, my complimaenndts I'll be pleased
stoee them
beforeparade. Then bounceover to my tentand fetch mea clean dress uniform, caps, ide arms, shoes, ribbons -- nmoedals. Layit out forme here. Then make afternoon sick call -- if you can scratcthhawt iathrm, as
I've seen you doing, your shoulcdaenr 't be toosore. You'vegot thirteen

minutes until sick call on the bounce, soldier!"
I madeit . . by catching two of them in the senior instructors -- showers (an orderly can go anywhere) tahned third at his destkh;e orders you get aren't impossible, they merseelyem so because they nearalyre. I waslaying out Captain Frankel's uniforfmor parade assick call sounded.
Withoutlooking up he growled, "Belay that extra duty. Dismissed." So I got homejust in time tocatch extra duty for "Uniform, Untidy in, Two
Particulars" and see the sickening end of Ted Hendrick's time in the M. I. So I hadplenty to think about as I lay awake that night. kInohwadn
that Sergeant Zim worked hard, but it had never occurred to me that he could possibly be othetrhan completely andsmugly self-satisfied withwhat he
did. He looked so smug, so self-assured, so at peace with the world and with himself.
The ideathat this invincible robot coulfdeel that he had failed,
couldfeel so deeplyand personally disgraced that he wanted to run away, hide hisface among strangers, and offer the excuse that his leawvoinugld
be "best for the outfit," shook me up as much, and in a way evtehnanmore,
seeing Ted flogged.
To have Captain Frankel agree with him -- as tsoeritohuesness of the failure, I mean -- atnhden rubhis nose in it, chew him out. Well! I mean really.Sergeants don't get chewed out; sergeants do cthheewing. A law of nature.
But I had to admit that what Sergeant Zim had taken, and swallowed, was socompletely humiliating and withering as to maktehe worst I had ever
heardor overhead from a sergeant sounlidke alove song.And yet the
Captain hadn't even raised his voice.

The whole incident was so preposterously unlikely that I was never even tempted to mention it to anyone else.
And Captain Frankel himself -- Officers we didn't see very often. They showed up for evening paradsea,untering over at the last moment adnoding nothingthat would work up a sweathey inspected once a weekm, aking privatecomments to sergeantsc, omments thatinvariably meantgrief for
somebody else, not them; and they decided each week what company had won the honorof guarding the regimentaclolors. Aside fromthat, they popped up
occasionallyon surprise inspections, creased, immaculate,remote, and smelling faintly of cologne -- and went away again.
Oh, one ormore of them did always accompanyouns route marches and twice CaptainFrankel had demonstratedhis virtuosity at la savateB. ut officersdidn't work, not realwork, and they hadno worriesbecause
sergeants were under them, not over them.
But it appeared that Captain Frankel worked hsaord thathe skipped meals, was kept so busy with somethoirngother that hceomplained of lack
of exercise and would waste his own free time just to work up a sweat. As for worries, he had honestly seemed toevbene more upset at what
had happenedto Hendrick than Zim habdeen. And yet he hadn't even known
Hendrick by sight; he had been forced to ask his name.
I had an unsettlinfgeeling that I habdeen completely mistaken as to the very nature of the world I was in, as if everyitpwaratsosfomething
wildlydifferent from what
aitppeared to be -- like discovering that your
own mother isna'tnyone you've ever seen before, but a stranger in a rubber
mask.

But I was sure of one thing: I didn't even want to find out what the M. I. reallywas. If it was so tough tehvaetn the gods-that-be -- sergeants
and officers -w- ere made unhappy byit, itwas certainlytoo tough for
Johnnie!How could you keep fromaking mistakes in an outfyiot u didn't
understand? I didn't want to swing by my neck till I was dead, dead, dead! I
didn't even want to ribseking flogged . . even though the doctor stands by to make certain thadt oiet sn't do you anpyermanent injury. Nobodyin our familyhad everbeen flogged(except paddlings in school, ocof urse,
which isn't at all the same thing). There were no criminals in our family on eitherside, none who hadeven been accusedof crime. We were a proud
family; the only thing we lacked was citizenship and Father regarded that as no real honor, a vain and useless thing. But if I were flogged -- Well, he'd probably have a stroke.
And yet Hendrick hadn't done anything that I hadn't thought about doing athousand times. Why hadn't I? Timid, I guess.I knew that those
instructors,any oneof them, could beat the taorut of me, so Ihad
buttoned my lip and hadn't tried it. No guts, Johnnie. At least Ted Hendrick
had had guts. I didn't have . . . and a man with no guts has nion the Army in the first place.
Besides that, Captain Frankehladn't evenconsidered it tobe Ted's
business
fault.Even if I didnb'tuy a 9080, through lack of guts, what day would I
do something other than a 9080 something not my fault -- and wind up slumped against thewhipping postanyhow? Time toget out, Johnnie, while you're
still ahead.
My mother'sletter simply confirmedmy decision. I had beeanble to
harden myheart to my parents as long as they were refusing me -- but when

they softened, I couldns'ttand it.Or when Mother softened, at least. She had written:
-- but I am afraid I must tell you that your father will still not permit your name to be mentioned. But, dearest, that is his way of grieving, since he cannot cry. You must understand, my darling
baby, that he loves you more than life itself -- more than he does me -- and that you have hurt him very deeply. He tells the world
that you are a grown man, capable of making your own decisions, and that he is proud of you. But that is his own pride speaking, the
bitter hurt of a proud man who has been wounded deep in his heart by the one he loves best. You must understand, Juanito, that he
does not speak of you and has not written to you because he cannot
-- not yet, not till his grief becomes bearable. When it has, I
will know it, and then I will intercede for you -- and we will all be together again.
Myself? How could anything her baby boy does anger his mother? You can hurt me, but you cannot make me love you the less. Wherever you are, whatever you choose to do, you are always my little boy who bangs his knee and comes running to my lap for comfort. My lap has shrunk, or perhaps you have grown (though I have never believed
it), but nonetheless it will always be waiting, when you need it. Little boys never get over needing their mother's laps -- do they, darling? I hope not. I hope that you will write and tell me so.
But I must add that, in view of the terribly long time that you

have not written, it is probably best (until I let you know
otherwise) for you to write to me care of your Aunt Eleanora. She will pass it on to me at once -- and without causing any more upset. You understand?
A thousand kisses to my baby, YOUR MOTHER
I understood, all right -- and if Father could not cry, I could. I did.
And at last I gtoot
sleep . . . and was awakened at once by an alert.
We bounced out to the bombing range,wthhoele regiment, and ratnhrough a simulatedexercise, without ammo. We were wearing full unarmoredkit otherwise, includingear-plug receivers, and we had no more than extended when the word came to freeze.
We held that freeze for at least an hoaunrd-I- mean we heldit,
barely breathing. A mouse tiptoeing past would have sounded noisy. Something did go past and ran right over amceo,yote I think.nIever twitched. We
got awfullycold holdingthat freeze, but I didn't care; I knewasit my last.
I didn't even hear reveiltlhee next morning; fotrhe first time in
weeksI had to be whackeodut ofmy sack and barely madfeormation for morning jerksT. here was no point in tryingto resign before breakfast anyhow,since Ihad to see Zim asthe first step. But he wasn't at
breakfast. Idid ask Bronski's permission
stoee the C. Ca. nd he said,
"Sure. Help yourself," and didn't ask me why.
But you can't see a man who isn't there. We started a route march after breakfast and I still hadn't laid eyeshimon. It was an out-and-back, with
lunch fetchedout to us by copter -- an unexpected luxury, since failure to

issue field rations before marching usually meant practice starvation except for whatever you had cached . . . and I hadn't; too much on my mind.
Sergeant Zim cameout with the rations and he held mailincathlle field -- which was not uannexpected luxury. I'll say this ftohre M.I.; they might chop oyffour food, water, sleep, oranything else,without warning,but they never held upa person's maila minutelonger than
circumstances required. That was yours, and they got it to ythoeu fbiryst transportation available and you could read it at eyaorluier st break, even
on maneuvers. This hadn't been too important for me, as (aside from a couple of letters from Carl) I hadn't had anything but junk mail until Mother wrote
to me.
I didn't evengather aroundwhen Zim handed it out; I figured now on notspeaking to him until we got in -- pnooint ingiving him reason to noticeme until wewere actuallyin reach of headquarters. So I was
surprised when he called my name and uhpeldaletter. Ibounced over and
took it.
And was surprisedagain -- itwas from Mr. Duboism,
y high school
instructor in History and Moral PhilosopIhyw. ouldsooner have expected a letter from Santa Claus
Then, when I read it, it still seemed like a mistahkaed. Ito check
the address and the return address to convince myself that he had written it and had meant it for me.
MY DEAR BOY,
I would have written to you much sooner to express my delight and my pride in learning that you had not only volunteered to serve but

also had chosen my own service. But not to express surprise it is what I expected of you except, possibly, the additional and very personal bonus that you chose the M. I. This is the sort of consummation, which does not happen too often, that nevertheless makes all of a teacher's efforts worth while. We necessarily sift a great many pebbles, much sand, for each nugget -- but the nuggets are the reward.
By now the reason I did not write at once is obvious to you. Many young men, not necessarily through any reprehensible fault, are
dropped during recruit training. I have waited (I have kept in touch through my own connections) until you had `sweated it out'
past the hump (how well we all know that hump!) and were certain, barring accidents or illness, of completing your training and your
term.
You are now going through the hardest part of your service -- not the hardest physically (though physical hardship will never trouble you again; you now have its measure), but the hardest spiritually .
. . the deep, soul-turning readjustments and re-evaluations necessary to metamorphize a potential citizen into one in being.
Or, rather I should say: you have already gone through the hardest part, despite all the tribulations you still have ahead of you and
all the hurdles, each higher than the last, which you still must clear. But it is that "hump" that counts -- and, knowing you, lad,
I know that I have waited long enough to be sure that you are past your "hump" or you would be home now.
When you reached that spiritual mountaintop you felt something, a

new something. Perhaps you haven't words for it (I know I didn't, when I was a boot). So perhaps you will permit an older comrade to lend you the words, since it often helps to have discrete words.
Simply this: The noblest fate that a man can endure is to place his own mortal body between his loved home and the war's desolation. The words are not mine, of course, as you will recognize. Basic truths cannot change and once a man of insight expresses one of them it is never necessary, no matter how much the world changes, to reformulate them. This is an immutable, true everywhere, throughout all time, for all men and all nations.
Let me hear from you, please, if you can spare an old man some of your precious sack time to write an occasional letter. And if you should happen to run across any of my former mates, give them my warmest greetings.
Good luck, trooper! You've made me proud. JEAN V. DUBOIS
Lt.-Col., M. I., rtd.
Thesignature was as amazing as the leittseerlf. OldSour Mouth a short
colonel?Why, our regimentacl ommander was only a majorM.
r. Dubois had
never used any sort of raanrokund school. Wehad supposed (if wtehought
about it at all) that he must have been a corporal or some such who had been let out when he lost his hand and had been fixed up with a soft job teaching
a course that didn't have to be passedev, eonr taught-- just audited. Of
course we had known that he was a veteran since History and Moral Philosophy mustbe taught bya citizen. Buat n M. I.? He didn't looikt. Prissy,

faintly scornful, a dancing-master type -- not one of us apes. But that was the way he had signed himself.
I spent thewhole longhike back to camp thinkinagbout that amazing letter.It didn'tsound in the leasltike anything hehad ever said in
class. Oh, I don't mean it contradicted anything he had told us in class; it was just entirely different toinne. Since when does a short colonel call a recruit private "comrade"?
When he was plain "Mr. Duboaisn"d I was oneof the kids whhoad to take hiscourse he hardly seemed to smeee -- exceptonce when hegot me
sore by implying thathaId too much money and not enough sense. (So my old man could have bought the school and given it to me for Christmas -- is that a crime? It was none of his business.)
He hadbeen droning along about "valuec,"omparing the Marxist theory
with the orthodox "use" theory. Mr. Dubois had said, "Of course, the Marxian definitionof value isridiculous. All the work one cares to add will not
turn a mud pie inatno apple tart; it remainas mud piev, alue zero. By
corollary, unskillful work can easily subtract value; an untalented cook can turnwholesome dough andfresh green apples,valuable already, intoan inediblemess, value zero. Conversely, gareat chef can fashion otfhose
same materials a confection gorfeater value than a commonplace apple tart,
with no more effort than an ordinary cook uses to prepare an ordinary sweet. "These kitchen illustrationsdemolish the Marxiantheory of value --
the fallacy from which the enmtiraegnificent fraud of communism derives -- and to illustrate thtreuth of thecommon-sense definition asmeasured in
terms of use."
Dubois had waved his stump at us. "Nevertheless -- wake up, back there!

-- neverthelessthe disheveled old mystic of Das Kapital, turgid, tortured, confused, andneurotic, unscientific, illogical, thispompous fraud Karl
Marx, nevertheless had a glimmeringaovfery importanttruth. If he had possessedan analytical mindh, e might haveformulated the first adequate definition ofvalue . . . and thpilsanet might havebeen savedendless
grief.
"Or might not," he added. "You!" I had sat up with a jerk.
"If you can't listen, perhaps you can tell the class whether `value' is a relative, or an absolute?"
I had been listening; I just didn't see any renaostotno listen with
eyes closed and spine relaxed. But his question caught me out; I hadn't read that day's assignment. "An absolute," I answered, guessing.
"Wrong," he said coldly." `Value' hasno meaning other than in relationto living beings.The value ofa thing is always relative to a
particular person, is completely personal and different in quantity for each
living human-- `market valuei's a fictionm,
erely a rough guesast the
average of personal values, all of which must be quantitatively different or trade would biempossible." (I had wondered whFatather would have said if hehad heard "market value" calleda "fiction" --snort in disgust,
probably.)
"This very personal relationship, `value,' has two factors
hfourman
being: first, what he can do with a tihtsingu,se to him . . . and second, what he must dto getit, itscost to himT. here isan old song which
assertsthat `the besthings in life are free.' Not true! Utterly false!

This was the tragic fallacy whbicrhought on the decadence and collaposfe
thedemocracies of the twentietchentury; those nobleexperiments failed becausethe people had beelned to believe that they could simply vote for whatever they wanted . . . and gwetithito, ut toil, without sweat, without tears.
"Nothing of value is free. Even the breaotfh life ispurchased at
birth only through gasping effort and pain." He had been still looking at me
and added, "If you boys and girls had to sweat for your toys the way a newly bornbaby hasto struggleto liveyou would behappier .. .and much
richer. As is, with some of you, I pity the poverty of your wealth. You!
I've just awarded you the prize for the hundred-meter dash. Does it make you happy?"
"Uh, I suppose it would."
"No dodging, please. You havtehe prize -- here, I'll wriitte out:
`Grandprize for thechampionship, one hundred-meter sprint.' "He had actually comeback to my seat and pinnedonitmy chest. "There! Aryeou happy? You value it -- or don't you?"
I wassore. First that dirty crack aboruicth kids -- a typical sneer of those whhoaven't got it --and nowthis farce. I ripped it off and chucked it at him.
Mr. Dubois had looked surprised. "It doesn't make you happy?" "You know darn well I placed fourth!"
"Exactly! The prize for firpsltace is worthlessto you . . . because you haven'et arned it. Butyou enjoy a modest satisfaction inplacing fourth;you earned it. I trust thatsome of the somnambulists here
understood this little morality play. I fatnhcayt the poetwho wrote that

songmeant toimply that thebest things in life must pbuerchased other
than with money -- which is true -- just as the literal meaning of his words is false. The best things in life are beyond money; their price is agony and sweat and devotion . . . and the price demanded for the most precious of all things in life is life itself -- ultimate cost for perfect value."
I mulled over things I had heard DMurb. ois -- Colonel Dubois s-a-y, aswell as his extraordinary letter, whilwe e wentswinging back toward camp.Then I stoppedthinking because theband dropped back near our positionin column and we sang for a while, a French group --
"Marseillaise," of course, and "Madelon" and "Sons ofanTdoilDanger," and then "Legion Etrangere" and "Mademoiselle from Armentieres."
It's nice to have the bapnlday; it picks you right up when your tail isdragging the prairie. We hadn't haadnything but canned music at first andthat onlyfor parade andcalls. But thepowers-that-be had found out
earlywho could play andwho couldn't; instruments were provided anad
regimental band was organized, all our own -- even the director and the drum major were boots.
It didn't mean they got out of anything. Oh no! It just meant they were
allowed and encouragetdo do it on their own time, practicing evenaindgs
Sundays and such -- and that they got to strut and countermarch and show off at paradeinstead of being in ranks with thpeliartoons. Alot of things
that we did were run that way. Our chaplain, for example, was a boot. He was older than most of aunsd had been ordained in some obscluitrtele sectI
had never hearodf. But heput a lot of passion into his preaching whether
histheology was orthodox onrot (don't ask me) and he was certainlay in

position tounderstand the problems of a recruit. And sitnhgeing was fun. Besides, there wansowhere else to goon Sundaymorning between morning police and lunch.
The band suffereda lot of attrition but somehow thaelyways kept it
going. The camp owned four sets of pipes and some Scottish uniforms, donated by Lochiel of Cameron whose son had been killed there in training -- and one of us boottsurned out to be a piper; he had learned it in the Scottish Boy Scouts. Pretty soon we had four pipmerasy, be not good but loud. Pipes seem veryodd when you first hear them, and a tyro practicing can set your teeth
on edge -- it sounds and looks as if he had a cat under his arm, its tail in his mouth, and biting it.
But they grow on you. The first time our pipers kicked theior uht eels
in front of the band, skirling awa"yAlaatmein Dead," my hair stooudp so straight it lifted my cap. It gets you -- makes tears.
We couldn't take a parade band out on rmouatrech, of courseb, ecause
no special allowances were made for btahned. Tubasand bass drumshad to stay behindbecause a boy in the bandhad to carry full ksita,me as everybody, andcould only manage an instrument smeanllough to addto his load. But the M. I. has band instruments which Ibedlioenv'te anybody else has, such as liattle boxhardly bigger thana harmonica,an electronic
gadget which does an amazing job of faking a big horn and is played the same way.Comes band callwhen you are headed for the horizon, each bandsman
sheds his kit withosuttopping, his squadmates split it up, and he trots to the column position of the color company and starts blasting.
It helps.
The band drifted afat,lmost out ofearshot, and westopped singing

because your own singing drowns out the beat when it's too far away. I suddenly realized I felt good.
I tried to think why I did. Because we wboeuldin aftera couple of hours and I could resign?
No. When I had decided to resignh,adit indeed given me maeasure of peace, quieted down maywful jitters and let mgeo to sleep. Butthis was something else -- and no reason for it, that I could see.
Then I knew. I had passed my hump!
I was over the "hump" that Colonel Dubois had written about. I actually walked over it and started down, swinging easily. The pthraroiruiegh there
was flat aas griddle cake, bujtust the same I habdeen plodding wearily uphill all the way out and abhoaulftway back. Then, at somepoint -- I
think it was whiwlee were singing -- I had passtheed hump and it was all downhill. My kit felt lighter and I was no longer worried.
When wegot in, I didn't speak to Sergeant Zim; I no longer needed to. Instead he spoke to me, motioned me to him as we fell out.
"Yes, sir?"
"This is a personal question. .. so don't answerunitless you feel
likeit!" He stopped, andwIondered if hesuspected that I had overheard his chewing-out, and shivered.
"At mail call today," he said, "ygoout a letterI.
noticed -- purely
by accident, none omfy business -- the name
tohne return address. It's a
fairly common names,ome places, but-- this is the personal questiyoonu
need notanswer -- by any chance does the person who wrote that letter have his left hand off at the wrist?"

I guess my chin dropped. "How did you know? Sir?"
"I was nearby when it happened. It is Colonel Dubois? Right?"
"Yes, sir." Iadded, "He was my high school instructor in History and
Moral Philosophy."
I thinkthat was the only timeI ever impressedSergeant Zim, even faintly.His eyebrows went up an eighth oafn inch and his eyes widened slightly."So? You wereextraordinarily fortunate." Headded, "Whenyou
answer his letter -- if you don't mind -- you might say that Ship's Sergeant
Zim sends his respects."
"Yes, sir. Oh . . . I think maybe he sent you a message, sir." "What?"
"Uh, I'm not certain." I took out the letter, read ju-s-t:if" y`ou shouldhappen to run across anoyf my former mates, give them mwyarmest greetings.' Is that for you, sir?"
Zim pondered it, his eyes looking through me, somewhere else. "Eh? Yes,
it is. For me among others. Thanks very much." Then suddenly it was over and he saidbriskly, "Nine minutes to parade. And you still htoavsehower and
change. On the bounce, soldier."
CHAPTER 7
The young recruit is silly -- `e thinks o' suicide.
`E's lost `is gutter-devil; `e `asin't got `is pride;
But day by day they kicks `im,

which `elps `im on a bit,
Till `e finds `isself one mornin' with a full an' proper kit. Gettin' clear o' dirtiness, gettin' done with mess,
Gettin' shut o' doin' things rather-more-or-less.
-- Rudyard Kipling
I'm not going to talk much more about my boot training. Mostly it was simply work, but I was squared away -- enough said.
But I do want to mention a little about powered suits, partly because I was fascinated btyhem and also becaustehat was what led me into trouble. No complaints -- I rated what I got.
An M. I. lives by his suit the awaKy-9 man lives by and wainthd on his doggie partner. Powered armor is one-thhaelf reason we calolurselves "mobileinfantry" insteadof just "infantry."(The other half are the spaceshipsthat drop us and the capsulewse drop in.) Our suigtsive us
better eyes, better ears, stronger backs (to carry heavier weaponms oarend
ammo),better legs, moreintelligence ("intelligence" in the military
meaning; a man in a suit canjusbteas stupid as anybody else only he had better not be), more firepower, greater endurance, less vulnerability.
A suit isn't a space suit -- although it can asserovnee. Itis not
primarily armor -- although the Knigohftsthe Round Table were not armored as well as we are. It isn't a tank -- but a siIn.glperivMat.e could take
on a squadron othfose things and knoctkhem off unassisted if anybody was

silly enough to put tanks against M. I. A suit is not a ship but it can fly, a little on the other hand neither spaceships nor atmosphere craft can fight against a man in a suit excbeyptsaturation bombing of thaerea he is in
(like burning down a house to ogneet flea!). Contrariwise wcean domany things that no ship -- air, submersible, or space -- can do.
"There are a dozen different ways of delivering destruction in impersonalwholesale, via shipsand missiles of onesort or another, catastrophes so widespread, suonselective, thatthe war isover because
that nation or planet has ceased to exist. What we do is entirely different. We makewar as personal aas punch in the nose.We canbe selective,
applying precisely the required amount of pressure at the specified point at
a designated tim-e- we've never been totlod
go down ankdill or capture
all left-handedredheads in a particular area, bifutthey tell utso, we can. We will.
We arethe boys whogo to aparticular place, at H-hour, occupy a designated terrains, tand onit, dig the enemoyut of their holes, force them thenand thereto surrender or die. We're the bloodinyfantry, the
doughboy, the duckfoot, the fosoldier who goes where thenemy is and takes himon in person. We've been doiint,g with changes iwn eapons but
very little change in our trade, at least since the time five thousand years
ago when thfeoot sloggers of Sargon the Great forced the Sumeriancrsyto
"Uncle!"
Maybe they'll beable to do withouuts someday. Maybe some mad genius with myopia, baulging forehead, and a cybernetic mind will devise a weapon that can go down a hole, pick out the opposition, and tfoorcsuerriet nder
or die-- without killing that gang of your own peoplethey've got

imprisoned downthere. I wouldn't knowI;'m nota genius, I'm an M. I. In the meantime, until they build a machine to replacmeyusm, ates can handle that job and I might be some help on it, too.
Maybe someday they'llget everything nice and tidy and we'll have that
thing we sing about, when "we ain't a-gonna study war no more." Maybe. Maybe thesame day the leopard will take off his spots and get a job as a Jersey
cow,too. But again, I wouldn't know; I am not a professor of
cosmo-politics; I'm an M. I. When the government sends me, I go. In between, I catch a lot of sack time.
But, whilethey have not yet buailtmachine to replace usth, ey've surely thought up some honeys to help us. The suit, in particular.
No need todescribe what it looks like, since it has bpeicetnured so often.Suited up, you look like a big steel gorilla, armed with
gorilla-sized weapons. (Thims ay bewhy a sergeant generally openshis remarkswith "Youapes -- "However, it seems more likeltyhat Caesar's sergeants used the same honorific.)
But thesuits are considerably stronger than a gorilla. If an M. I. in a suit swapped hugs with a gorilla, the gorilla would becrudsehaedd, ; the M. I. and the suit wouldn't be mussed.
The "muscles," thepseudo-musculature, get all thpeublicity but it's
the control of all that power which merits it. The real genius in the design is that you don't havecotontrol thesuit; youjust wearit, likeyour
clothes, likeskin. Any sort of ship you have to learn to pilot; it takes a long time, a nefwull set of reflexesa, differentand artificial way of
thinking. Even ridinag bicycle demands an acquired skill, very different

fromwalking, whereas a spaceship oh, brother!I won't livethat long. Spaceships are for acrobats who are also mathematicians.
But a suit you just wear.
Two thousand pounds of imt, aybe, in fulkl it -- yet thveery first
time you are fitted into one you can immediately walk, run,liejumdopw, n, pick up an egg withoburteaking it (that takesa trifleof practice, but
anything improves with practice), danacejig (if you can dance a jig, that
is, without a suit) -- and jump right over the house next door and come down to a feather landing.
The secret lies in negative feedback and amplification. Don't ask me to sketch the circuitry of asuit; I can't. But I
understand thatsome verygood concert violinistscan't builda violin,
either. I can do field maintenance and field repairs and check off the three hundred and forty-seven items from "cold" to ready to wear, and that's all a dumb M. I. is expected to do. Bmuty isfuit gets really sicIk,callthe
doctor -- a doctor of science (electromechanical engineering) who is a staff
Naval officer, usually a lieutenant (read "captfaoinr"our ranks), and is
part ofthe ship's company otfhe troop transport -- or who is reluctantly assigned to a regimental headquarters at Camp Currie, a
fate-worse-than-death to a Navy man.
But if you reallyare interestedin the prints and stereos and
schematics of a suit's physiology, you can find most of it, the unclassified part, in anfyairly large publiclibrary. Forthe small amount that is
classifiedyou must look up a reliable eneamgyent -- "reliable" Isay, because spies are a tricky lot; he's likely to sell you thyeoupacrotsuld
get free from the public library.

But here is how it works, minus the diagrams. The inside of the suit is amass ofpressure receptors, hundredsof them. You push with the heel of your hand; thseuit feels it, amplifies it, pushes wityhou to take the
pressure offthe receptorsthat gave the order to pusThh.at's confusing,
but negative feedback is always a confusing idea the first time, even though yourbody has been doing it evseirnce you quit kickinhgelplessly as a baby.Young childrenare still learning it;that's why they are clumsy.
Adolescents and adults do it without knowing they ever lear-n-eadndit a man with Parkinson's disease has damaged his circuits for it.
The suit has feedback whicchauses it to match any motioynou make,
exactly -- but with great force.
Controlled force . . forcecontrolled without your having
thoink
about it. Yojuump, that heavy suit jumps, but higher than youjumcapn in your skin. Jump realhlyard and the suit's jets cut in, amplifying what the suit's leg "muscles" did, giving you a three-jet shove, the axis of pressure of whichpasses through yourcenter of mass. So you jumovper that house
next door. Which makeysou come down as fast as you went up . . . which the suit notes through youproximity & closing gea(ra sortof simple-minded
radar resembling a proximity fuse) and therefore cuts in the jets again just
the right amount
ctoushion your landing without your having to think about
it.
And that is the beauty of a powered suit: you don't have to think about it. You don't have to drive iti,t,flcyonn it, operatiet; you just wear
it and it takes its orders directly from your muscledsoeasndfor you what
your muscles are tryintog
do. This leaves you with your whole mind free to

handleyour weapons and notice what is going on aroyuonud .. . which is
supremely important to an infantryman who wants to die in bed. If you load a mud foot down wiath lotof gadgets that hheas to watch, someboday lot
more simply equipped -- say with a satoxne--will sneak up and bash his head in while he is trying to read a vernier.
Your "eyes" and your "ears" are riggtoedhelp you without cluttering up yourattention, too.Say you have threaeudio circuits, common in a marauder suit. Thferequency control to maintain tactical securistyvery complex,at leasttwo frequenciesfor eachcircuit both of which are
necessary for any signal at all and eacwhhiocfh wobbles under the control
of a cesiumclock timed to a micromicrosecond with the other end -- but all this is no probleomf yours. Youwant circuit A to your squad leadyeoru,
bite down once -- for circuitbiBte, down twice -- ansdo on. The mike is tapedto your throat, theplugs are in your ears and can't be jarred out;
just talk. Besidetshat, outside mikes on each side of your helmet give you binauralhearing foryour immediate surroundings just as if your head were bare -- or yocuan suppress any noisyneighbors andnot misswhat your
platoon leader is saying simply by turning your head.
Since your head is theone part ofyour body not involveidn the
pressure receptors controlling the suit's muscles, you use your head -- your
jawmuscles, yourchin, your neck --
stowitch things for you and thereby
leave your hands free to fight. A chin plate handles all visual displays the way the jaw switch handltehse audios. All displays atrherown on a mirror
in front of your forehead from where the work is actually going on above and back of your head. All thheislmet gear makes you look like a hydrocephalic
gorilla butw, ith luck, the enemy won't livleong enough to be offended by

your appearancea, nd it is a vercyonvenient arrangement; youcan flip throughyour several typesof radar displays quicker than ycoaun change
channels to avoid a commercial -- catch a range & bearing, locate your boss, check your flank men, whatever.
If you tossyour head like haorse bothered by a fly, yoiunrfrared
snoopers go up on your forehead -- toss it again, they come down. If you let go of your rocket launcher, the suit snaps it back until yoitu angeaeind.
No point idniscussing water nipples, air supplgyy, ros, etc. -- the point
to all the arrangements is the same: to leave you free to follow your trade, slaughter.
Of course these things do require practaicned you do practiceuntil
picking the right circuit is as automatic as brushing your teeth, and so on. But simply wearing the sumito, ving in it, requires almost no practice. You practice jumping because, while you itdowith a completely natural motion, you jump higher, faster, farthaenr,d stay up longer. Thlaest alone calls
for anew orientation; those secondisn the air can be used -- seconds are
jewels beyond price in combat. While off the ground in a jump, you can get a range & bearingp,ick a target, talk& receive, fire aweapon, reload,
decide to jump again without landing oavnedrride your automatics to cut in
the jets again. You can do all of these things in one bounce, with practice. But, in general, powered armor doesn't require practice; it simply does
it for you, just the wyaoyu were doing it, only better. All butthoing
-- you can't scratch where it itches. If I ever find a suit that will let me scratch between my shoulder blades, I'll marry it.
There are three main types of M. I. armomr:arauder, command, and

scout. Scoutsuits arevery fast andvery long-range, but lightly armed. Command suits arheeavy on go juicaend jump juice, are fast and can jump high; they have three times as much comm & greaadraras other suits, and a dead-reckoning tracker, inertial. Marauders are for those guys in ranks with the sleepy look -- the executioners.
As I mayhave said, I fell in lowveith powered armor, even though my first crack at it gave me a strained shouAldneyr. daythereafter that my sectionwas allowedto practicein suits was baig day for me. The day I
goofed I had simulated sergeant's chevrons as a simulated section leader and was armed with simulated A-bomb rockets to use in simulated darkness against asimulated enemy. That was the trouble everything was simulated -- but you
are required to behave as if it is all real.
We were retreating -- "advancing toward the rear," I mean -- and one of theinstructors cut the power on one of my men by radio control, making him a helpless casualty. Per M. I. doctrIinoe,rdered thepickup, felt rather
cocky that I had managed to getortdher out before my number two ocutt
to doit anyhow, turned to do the next thing I hdaod, two hich was to lay
down a simulated atomic rucktuos discourage the simulated enemy overtaking us.
Our flank wasswinging; I was supposed to fire it osfordtiagonally
but with the requiresdpacing to protect my owmnen from blast while still
putting it in close enough to trouble the bandits. On the bounce, of course. The movement ovetrhe terrain and thperoblem itself had been discussed
ahead oftime; we were stigllreen -- the only variationsus pposed tobe left in were casualties.
Doctrine required me to locate exactly, by radar beacon, my own men who

could beaffected by the blast. But this all hadbetodone fast andI wasn't too sharp at reading those lriattdlear displaysanyhow. Icheated justa touch -- flippemd y snoopers up andlooked, bareeyes in broad daylight. I left plenty of room. Shucks, I coultdheseoenly man affected, half a mile awaayn, d all Ihad was just a little bitty H. E. rocket, intendedto make alot of smoke and not much else. So I picksepdota by eye, took the rocket launcher and let fly.
Then I bounced away, feeling smug -- no seconds lost.
And had my power ciunt
the air. This doesn't hurt you; it's a delayed
action, executed byour landing.I grounded and there I stuck, squatting,
held uprighbt y gyros butunable tomove. You do not repeat not move when surrounded by a ton of metal with your power dead.
Instead Icussed to myself -- I hadn't thought that they would make me
a casualtywhen I was supposed to be leading the problem. Shuckos thaenrd
comments.
I should have knowtnhat SergeantZim would be monitoring the section leader.
He bounced over to me, spoke tmoe privately on the face to face. He suggested that I might be ablegetto a job sweeping floors since I was too stupid, clumsy, and careless to handdilrety dishes. Hediscussed my past
and probable future and seveorathl er things thatI did not wantto hear
about. He endebdy saying tonelessly, "How wouyldou like to have Colonel
Dubois see what you've done?"
Then he left me. I waited there, crouched over, for two hours until the drill wasover. Thesuit, which had been feather-lighrte,al seven-league

boots, felt like an Iron Maiden. At last he returned for me, restored power, and we bounced together at top speed to BHQ.
Captain Frankel said less but it cut more.
Then hepaused and added in that flat voice officerswuhseen quoting regulations:"You may demand trial by court-martial if such be your choice. How say you?"
I gulped and said, "No, sir!" Until that moment I hadn't fully realized just how much trouble I was in.
Captain Frankelseemed to relax slightly. "Then wes'lele what the
Regimental Commander has
stoay. Sergeant, escort thperisoner." We walked
rapidly over to RHQ and for the tifmirset Imet theRegimental Commander
face to face -- and by then I was sure that I was going tcooucrattcnho a
matter what. ButreImembered sharplyhow Ted Hendrickhad talked himself into one; I said nothing.
Major Malloy said taotal of five words to me. After heaSrienrggeant
Zim, he said three of them: "Is that correct?"
I said, "Yes, sir," which ended my part of it.
Major Malloy said, to Captain Franke"lI:s there anypossibility of salvaging this man?"
Captain Frankel answered, "I believe so, sir."
Major Malloy said, "Then we'll tardyministrative punishment," turned to me and said:
"Five lashes."
Well, they certainly didn't keep me dangling. Fifteen minutes later the doctor hadcompleted checking myheart and the Sergeantof the Guard was outfitting me witthhat special shirt which comes off withhoauvt ing to be

pulled over thheands -- zippered from the neck down the arms. Assembly for parade had just sounded.wIas feeling detached, unreal. .. which I have
learned is one way of besincgared right out oyfour senses. The nightmare hallucination --
Zim came into the guard tent jausstthe call ended. He glanced at the Sergeant of the Guar-d- Corporal Jones-- and Jones went out. Zim stepped upto me, slipped something into my hand. "Bite on thast,a"idhequietly.
"It helps. I know."
It was a rubbermouthpiece suchas we used taovoid broken teeth in hand-to-hand combatdrill. Zim left. I put it inmy mouth. Thenthey handcuffed me and marched me out.
The order read: -"- in simulated combat, gross negligence which would inaction have caused the death of a teammate." Thtehney peeled off my
shirt and strung me up.
Now here is a very odd thing: A flogging isn't as hard to take as it is to watch. I don't mean it's a picnic. It hurts worse than anything else I've ever had happetno me,and the waits betweesntrokes are worse thanthe
strokes themselves. But the mouthpiece did help and theyeolnplyI let out never got past it.
Here's the second oddthing: Nobody ever mentioned it to me, not even other bootsS. o far as Icould see,Zim andthe instructorstreated me
exactly the same afterwards as they had before. Frominstahnet the doctor painted the markasnd toldme to go bactko duty it wasall donewith, completely. I even managed to eat a little at dinnenrigthhtatand pretend
to take part in the jawing at the table.

Another thingabout administrative punishmentT: here isno permanent
black mark. Those records are destroyed at the end oftrabinoiontg and you start clean. The only record is one where it counts most.
You don't forget it.
CHAPTER 8
Train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old he will not depart from it.
-- Proverbs XXII:6
There were other floggings but darn few. Hendrick thweaosnly man in ourregiment to beflogged by sentenceof court-martial; the others were administrative punishment, like minaen, d for lashes it was necessary to go
all the way up to the Regimental Commander -- wshuicbhoradinate commander finds distasteful, to piutt faintly. Even then, Major Malloy was much more likely tokick the man out,"Undesirable Discharge,"than to havethe
whippingpost erected. Ina way, an administrative flogging is the mildest sortof a compliment; it means thyaotur superiorsthink that thereis a
faint possibilitythat you just might have the character eventually to make a soldier and a citizen, unlikely as it seems at the moment.
I wasthe onlyone to get the maximum administrative punishment; none
of the others got more than three lashes. Nobody else came as close as I did toputting on civilian clothesbut still squeakedby. Thisis asocial
distinction of sorts. I don't recommend it.
But we had another case, much worse than moirneTed Hendrick's -a-

really sick-making one. Once they erected gallows.
Now, look, get this straight. This case didn't really have anytothing
dowith the Army.The crimedidn't takeplace at Camp Currie and the placement officer who accepted this boy for M. I. should turn in his suit.
He deserted, only two days after we arrived at Currie. Ridiculous, of course,but nothing aboutthe case made sense --why didn't he resign? Desertion, naturally, is one of the "thirty-one crash landings" but the Army doesn'tinvoke the death penalty for it unless there are special
circumstances,such as "in the face tohfe enemy" orsomething elsethat turns it from a highly informal waryesoigfning into something that can't be ignored.
The Armymakes no effort to find desertearnsd bring themback. This
makes the hardest kind of sense. Wael'lrevolunteers;we're M. I. because
we want to bew,
e're proud to be MI. .and the MI. is proud of us. If a
mandoesn't feel thatway about it, fromhis callused feet to his hairy
ears, I donw't ant him on my flank when trouble starts. If I buy a piece of
it, I wanmt en around me who will pick me up because they're M. I. and I'm M.I. and my skinmeans asmuch tothem as their own. I don't want any ersatzsoldiers, dragging their tails and duckionugt when the partgyets
rough.It's a whole lot safer to haaveblank file on your flank thtoan
have an alleged soldier who is nursing the "conscript" syndromet.heSyo if
run, let `em run; it's a waste of time and money to fetch them back.
Of course most of them do cobmaeck, though it may take them years -- in whichcase the Army tiredly lets them have their fifty lashes instead of
hanging them, and turns them loose. I suppose it must wear on a man's nerves

tobe a fugitivewhen everybodyelse is eithera citizen or a legal
resident, even when the police aretrny'itng tofind him. "The wicked flee
when noman pursueth." The temptation to turn yourself in, take your lumps, and breathe easily again must get to be overpowering.
But this boy didn't turn himself in. Hweas gone four months and I
doubtif his own company remembered him, since he had been with them only a couple ofdays; he was probably just a name without a face, the "Dillinger,
N. L." who had to be reported, day after day, as absent without leave on the morning muster.
Then he killed a baby girl.
He was triedand convicted by a locatrlibunal but identity check showed thathe was an undischargedsoldier; the Department hadto be notifiedand our commanding general at once intervened. He rwetausrned to us, since military law and jurisdiction take precedence over civil code.
Why did the general bother? Why didn't he let the local dshoertihfef
job?
In order to "teach us a lesson"?
Not atall. I'm quite sure that our general did not think thoatf any
his boys needed to be nauseated in order not to kill any babByy gniorlws.
I believe that he would have spared us the sight -- had it been possible. We did learn a lesson, though nobody mentioned it at the time and it is
one that takes a long time to sink in until it becomes second nature: The M. I. take care of their own -- no matter what.
Dillinger belonged to us, hweas still on our rolls. Evetnhough we
didn't want him, even though we should never have hadevhenimth, ough we
would have beehnappy to disclaimhim, he was a member of our regiment. We

couldn't brush him off and let a sheriff a thousand miles away handle it. If it has to bdeone, a man -a- real man -s-hoots his owndog himself; he
doesn't hire a proxy who may bungle it.
The regimental records said that Dillinger was ours, so takingofcare
him was our duty.
That eveningwe marched to the paradgerounds at slow march, sixty
beats tothe minute (hard to keep stewph, en you're used to a hundred and forty), while the banpdlayed "Dirge for the Unmourned." Then Dillinger was marched outd, ressed in M. I. fudlrless justas we werea, nd the band played"Danny Deever" while they stripped off every trace of insignia, even buttons andcap, leaving him in a maroaonnd light bluesuit that wasno
longer a uniform. The drums held a sustained roll and it was all over. We passed in reviewand on homeat a fast trotdIon't think anybody
fainted and dIon't think anybody quite got sick, even thoumgohst of us didn't eatmuch dinner that night and I've nehvearrd the mess tentso quiet. But, grisly as it was (it thweasfirst time I had seen death, first
timefor most of us), it was not the shock that Ted Hendrick's flogging was
-- Imean, you couldn't puytourself in Dillinger's place; you didn't have
any feeling of":It could have been me." Not counting the technical matter ofdesertion, Dillinger had committed at leasftour capital crimes; if his
victim had lived, he still would have danced Danny Deever for any one of the other three -- kidnapping, demand of ransom, criminal neglect, etc.
I had no sympathy for him asntidll haven't.That old saw about"To
understand all is to forgive alla"
lios tof tripe. Some things, the more
you understand the more you loathe them. My sympathy is reserved for Barbara

Anne Enthwaite whom I had never seaennd, for herparents, who would never again see their little girl.
As the band puatway theirinstruments that night we started thirty
days of mourninfgor Barbara and of disgrace for us, with our colors draped in black, no music at parandoe,singing on routemarch. Only oncedid I
hear anybody complain and another bporootmptly asked him how he would like a full set of lumps? Certainly, it hadn't been our fault -- but our business
was to guard little girls, not kill them.reOgiumr ent had been dishonored;
we had to clean it. We were disgraced and we felt disgraced. That night I triedto figureout how such things could kbeept from
happening. Of course, they hardly ever do nowadays -- but evenis o`wncaey
too many. I never driedach an answer that satisfied me. This Dillin-g- er
he looked like anybody else, and his behavior and rceocuolrddn't have been tooodd or he would never havreached Camp Currie in the first place. I suppose he was one of those pathological personalities youabroeaudt -- no way to spot them.
Well, ifthere was no way tkoeep it from happening once, there was
only one sure way to keep it from happening twice. Which we had used. If Dillinger had understood what he was doing (which seemed incredible)
then he got what was coming to hi.mex.ce. pt that it seemed a shame that he hadn't suffereads much ashad little Barbara Ann-e- he practically
hadn't suffered at all.
But suppose, as seememd ore likely, that he wasos
crazythat he had
never been aware that he was doing anything wrong? What then? Well, we shoot mad dogs, don't we?
Yes, but being crazy that way is a sickness --

I couldn't see buttwo possibilities.Either he couldn't be made well
-- in which case he wbaestter dead forhis own sake and for the safety of others -- or he coubled treated and made sane. In which case (it seemed to me) if he evberecame sane enoughfor civilizedsociety . . . and thought
over what he had done while he "wsiacsk" -- what could be left for him but suicide? How could he live with himself?
And suppose he escaped befohree was cured and didthe same thing
again? And maybe again? How do you explain that to bereaved parents? In view of his record?
I couldn't see but one answer.
I found myself mulling ovaerdiscussion in our class
Hinistory and
MoralPhilosophy. Mr. Dubois was talkinagbout the disorders that preceded thebreakup of theNorth American republic, back in theXXth century.
According to him, there was a time just before they went down the drain when such crimes as Dillinger's wearse common as dogfights. ThTeerror had not
been just iNn orth America -- Russia anthde British Isles had it, too, as well as otheprlaces. Butit reached itspeak in North America shortly before things went to pieces.
"Law-abiding people," Dubois had told us", hardly dared go into a
public park at night. To do so was to risk attack by wolf packs of children, armed with chains, knivehso, memade guns,bludgeons .. . tobe hurt at
least, robbed most certainly, injurfeodr life probably -- or even killed.
This went on for years, right up to the war between the Russo-Anglo-American
Alliance and the Chinese Hegemony. Murder, drug addiction, larceny, assault, and vandalism were commonplacNe.or were parks theonly places --these

thingshappened also on the streets in dayligohnt,
schoolgrounds, even
insideschool buildings.But parkswere so notoriously unsafe that honest people stayed clear of them after dark."
I had tried tiomagine such things happening oinur schools. I simply couldn't. Nor in ouprarks. Apark wasa place for funn,ot forgetting
hurt. As for getting killed in -o-ne"Mr. Dubois, didn't they have police? Or courts?"
"They had many more police than we have. Andmore courts. All overworked."
"I guess I don't giet.t" If aboy in our city had done anything half
that bad . . . well, he and his father would have been flogged side by side. But such things just didn't happen.
Mr. Dubois then demanded of me, "Define a `juvenile delinquent.' " "Uh, one of those kids -- the ones who used to beat up people." "Wrong."
"Huh? But the book said -- "
"My apologies. Your textbook doesso state. Butcalling a tail a leg doesnot make the namfeit `Juvenile delinquent' isa contradiction in terms,one which gives a clue to thperiorblem and theirfailure to solve it. Have you ever raised a puppy?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you housebreak him?"
"Err . . . yessi,r. Eventually." Itwas myslowness in thisthat
caused my mother to rule that dogs must stay out of the house. "Ah, yes. When your puppy made mistakes, were you angry?" "What? Why, he didn't know any better; he was just a puppy.

"What did you do?"
"Why, I scolded him and rubbed his nose in it and paddled him." "Surely he could not understand your words?"
"No, but he could tell I was sore at him!" "But you just said that you were not angry."
Mr. Dubois had an infuriating waygeotfting a person mixeudp. "No, but I had to make him think I was. He had to learn, didn't he?"
"Conceded. But, having madiet clear to himthat you disapproved, how couldyou be so cruel as stpoank him as wellY? ou saidthe poor beastie didn'tknow that he was doingwrong. Yet you indictedpain. Justify
yourself! Or are you a sadist?"
I didn't then know what a sadwisats -- but I knew pups. "MDur.bois, you haveto! You scold him so that he knohwes's in troubley, ou rub his nose init so that he will know what trouble you mean, pyaodudle him so
that he darn well won't do it agaaind--you have to do it right away! It
doesn't do
bait of good to punish him later; you'll just confuse him. Even
so, he wonl'tearn fromone lesson, soyou watch and catchim again and paddlehim still harder. Pretty soon he learns. iBt'suta waste of breath
just to scold him." Then I added, "I guess you've never raised pups." "Many. I'm raising a dachshunndow -- by youmr ethods. Let's get back
to those juvenile criminals. The most vicious averaged somewhat younger than you here in thcislass . . . and they often starttheedir lawless careers
muchyounger. Letus never forget thaptuppy. These children wereoften caught; policearrested batcheseach day. Werethey scolded? Yes,often
scathingly. Were their noses rubbed in it? Rarely. News organs and officials

usually kept their names secret -- in many ptlhaecelasw so required for
criminals under eighteen. Were they spanked? Indeed not! Many had never been spanked even as small children; there was a widespread belief that spanking,
or any punishment involving pain, did a child permanent psychic damage." (I had reflected that my father must never have heard of that theory.) "Corporal punishment in schools was forbidden by lahwe,"had gone on.
"Floggingwas lawful assentence of courtonly in one smalpl rovince, Delaware, and there only fofrewa crimes andwas rarelyinvoked; it was
regarded as `cruel and unusual punishment.' " Dubois had mused aloduod, "I
notunderstand objections to `cruel anudnusual' punishment. While a judge should be benevolenitn purpose,his awards should causethe criminal to
suffer, else there is no punishment -- and pain is the basic mechanism built into usby millions of years oefvolution which safeguards us by warning
when something threatens our survival. Why should society refuse to use such a highly perfected survival mechanism? Howevthera,t period was loaded with
pre-scientific pseudo-psychological nonsense.
"As for `unusual,' punishment must be unusual or it serves no purpose."
He then pointed his stump at another boy. "What would happen if a puppy were spanked every hour?"
"Uh . . . probably drive him crazy!"
"Probably. It certainly will not teach hiamnything. How long has it been since the principal of this school last had to switch a pupil?" "Uh, I'm not sure. About two years. The kid that swiped -- "
"Never mind. Long enough. It means that spuucnhishment is so unusual as to bseignificant, to detert,o instruct. Back to these young criminals
-- They probably were not spanked as babies; they certainly were not flogged

for their crimes. The usual sequence was: for a first offense, a w--arning
ascolding, often withouttrial. After several offenses asentence of confinementbut with sentence suspended and the youngster placed on probation.A boymight be arrested many times acnodnvicted several times beforehe was punished -- and thietnwouldbe merely confinement,with otherslike him from whom he learned still more criminal habits. If he kept out of majotrouble while confinedh, e could usuallyevade most ofeven
that mild punishment, bgeiven probation --`paroled' in the jargon of the times.
"This incrediblesequence could go on for years while hiscrimes increased infrequency andviciousness, with no punishmenwt hatever save
rare dull-but-comfortable confinements. Then suddenly, usually by law on his eighteenth birthdayt,his so-called `juvenile delinquenbt'ecomes an adult
criminal -- and sometimes wound inuponlyweeks or months in a death cell awaiting execution for murder. You -- "
He had singled me oaugt ain. "Supposeyou merely scolded your puppy,
neverpunished him, lethim go on making messeins thehouse . . a.nd
occasionally locked him uinp
an outbuilding but soon let him back into the
house with a warning not to do it again. Then one day you nohteiceis that
now a grown dog and sntoiltl housebroken -- whereupon you whip out a gun and shoot him dead. Comment, please?"
"Why . . . that's the craziest way to raise a dog I ever heard of!" "I agree. Or a child. Whose fault would it be?"
"Uh . . . why, mine, I guess."
"Again I agree. But I'm not guessing."

"Mr. Dubois," a girbl lurted out, "butwhy? Whydidn't theyspank little kidswhen theyneeded it and use a good dosethoef strap on any older ones who deserveitd-- thesort of lessonthey wouldn't forget! I mean ones who did things really bad. Why not?"
"I don't know," he had answered grimly, "except tthheattime-tested
methodof instilling social virtue and respect for law in the minthdes of
youngdid notappeal toa pre-scientificpseudo-professional class who called themselves`social workers'or sometimes `child psychologists.' It
was too simplfeor them,apparently, since anybody could do it, using only the patienceand firmness needed in training pauppy. I have sometimes wondered if they cherishedveasted interestin disorder --but that is unlikely;adults almost always acftrom conscious `highestmotives' no
matter what their behavior."
"But -- good heavens!" the girl answered. "I didlink'et
being spanked
any more than any kdiodes, butwhen I needed imt, y mama delivered. The
only time I ever got a switching in school I got another one when I got home and that was years aynedars ago. Idon't ever expecto be hauled up in
frontof ajudge and sentenced to a flogging; you behave yourself and such things don't happen. I don't see anything wwrointhg our system; it's a lot better than nobteing able to walk outdoors ffoerar ofyour life -- why,
that's horrible!"
"I agree.Young lady, the tragic wrongneossf what those well-meaning peopledid, contrasted with what thetyhought they were doing, goes very deep. They had nsocientific theory of moralsT.hey did have a theoroyf morals andthey triedto live by it (I should nhoatve sneeredat their motives)but their theory was wrong h--alf of it fuzzy-headedwishful

thinking,half of it rationalizecdharlatanry. The more earnest they were,
the fartherit led them astrayY. ou see, they assumed that Man has a moral instinct."
"Sir? But I thought -- But he does! I have."
"No, my dear, you have a cultivated conscience,a most carefully
trained one. Man has no moral instinct. He is not born with moral sense. You were not born with Iit,wasnot -- and a puppy has none. We acquire moral sense, when we do, through training, experience, and hard sweat of the mind. These unfortunate juvenile criminals were born with none, even as you and I, and they had no chance to acquire any; their experiencnesot dpidermit it.
What is `moral sense'? It is an elaboration oinfstihnect to survive. The instinctto survive is humannature itself, and every aspect ofour personalities derivesfrom it.Anything thatconflicts with thesurvival instinct acts sooner or later to eliminate the indivaidnudalthereby fails
to show up in future generations. This truth is mathematically demonstrable, everywhereverifiable; it is the single eternailmperative controlling
everything we do."
"But the instinct to survive," he had goonn,e "can be cultivated into motivations more subtle and much more complex than the blind,urbgreuteof the individuatlo stay aliveY. oung lady,what you miscalled your `moral instinct' wasthe instilling inyou by your eldersof thetruth that
survivalcan have strongerimperatives than that of your ownpersonal
survival. Survivaol f your family, for example.
yOofur children, when you
have them. Of your nation, if you struggle that high up the scale. And so on
up. A scientifically verifiable theoorfymorals must be rooted inthe

individual's instinct tsourvive -- and nowhere else! -- and must correctly describe thehierarchy of survival, note the motivations at each level, and resolve all conflicts."
"We havesuch a theory now; we can solve amnyoral problem,on any level. Self-interest, love of family, duty to country, responsibility toward thehuman race -- weare even developing an exact ethfiocr extra-human relations. But amll oral problemscan be illustrated boyne misquotation:
`Greater love hath no mtahnan amother cat dying to defend hkeirttens.'
Once youunderstand the problem facing that caantd how she solved it, you will then be ready etxoamine yourself andlearn how highup the moral
ladder you are capable of climbing.
"These juvenile criminals hit a low level. Born with onliynsttihnect
for survival, thheighest morality they achieved was a shalkoyyalty to a
peer group, a stregeat ng. But the do-gooders attempted to `appeal to their betternatures,' to`reach them,' to `spark their moral sense.' Tosh! They
had no `better natures'; experience taught ththeamt what they weredoing
was theway to survive. The puppy never got his spanking; therefore what he did with pleasure and success must be `moral.'
"The basis of all morality is duty, a concept with the same relation to
group that self-interest hatos individual.Nobody preached duty to these
kids in a way thceoyuld understand-- that isw,
ith a spankingB. ut the
society they were in told them endlessly about their `rights.' "
"The resultsshould have been predictable, sincehuaman being has no natural rights of any nature."
Mr. Dubois had paused. Somebody totohke bait. "Sir? How abo`ultife,
liberty, and the pursuit of happiness'?"

"Ah, yes,the `unalienable rights.' Each year someone quotesthat
magnificent poetry. LifeW? hat `right' to life has a man who is drowning in the Pacific?The ocean wilnl ot hearken to his cries. What `right' to life
has a mawn ho must die if he is to save his children? If he chooses to save
his own life, does he do so as a matter of `right'? If twostmarevningare
and cannibalismis the only alternative todeath, which man's righist
`unalienable'? And is it `right'? As to libtehrety,heroes who signed that great document pledgetdhemselves to buyliberty with their lives. Liberty is neverunalienable; it musbt e redeemed regularlywith the blood of
patriots or it always vanishes. Of all the so-c`anlaletudral human rights' that have ever been inventelidb,erty isleast likely to be cheap and is never free of cost.
"The third `right'? -- the`pursuit of happiness'? Itis indeed
unalienable but it is not a right; it is simply a universal cownhdicithion
tyrants cannot take away nor patriots restore. Casitntmo ea dungeon, burn
me at the stake, crown me king of kings, I can `pursue happiness' as long as my brain lives -- but neither godssanionrts, wise mennor subtle drugs,
can insure that I will catch it."
Mr. Dubois then turned to me. "I told you that `juvenile delinquent' is a contradiction in terms. `Delinquent' means `faiilningduty.' But duty is
an adult virtue -- indeed a juvenile becoamneasdult when, and only when,
he acquires a knowledge of duty and embraces it as dearer than the self-love he was born with. There never was, there cabnenoat `juvenile delinquent.'
Butfor every juvenile criminal there are always oneor more adult
delinquents --people of mature years who either do not know their duty, or

who, knowing it, fail."
"And that was the soft spwothich destroyedwhat was in many ways an admirableculture. The junior hoodlums who roamed theirstreets were
symptoms of a greater sickness; their citizens (all of them counted as such)
glorified their mythology of `righ.ts.'
. and lost track of their duties.
No nation, so constituted, can endure."
I wondered howColonel Dubois would havcelassed Dillinger. Was he a
juvenile criminal who merited pity even though you had to get rid of him? Or was he an adult delinquent who deserved nothing but contempt?
I didn't know, I would never know. The one thing I was sure of was that he would never again kill any little girls.
That suited me. I went to sleep.
CHAPTER 9
We've got no place in this outfit for good losers. We want tough hombres who will go in there and win!
-- Admiral Jonas Ingram,
1926
When we had done all that a mud foot can do cionunftlrayt , we moved
into some rough mountains to do still rougher things -- the Canadian Rockies between Good Hope Mountain and Mount WaddingCtoanm. p Sergeant Spooky Smith
wasmuch like Camp Curri(easide from its rugged setting) but it
mwuasch
smaller. Well, thTehird Regimentwas much smaller now, too less than four

hundredwhereas wehad started out with more thtawno thousand. H Company wasnow organized as saingle platoonand the battalion paraded as if it
were acompany. But we were stcilallled "H Company" anZdim was "Company
Commander," not platoon leader.
What the sweat-down meant, reallwy,as much more personal instruction; we had more corporal-instructors than we had squanadsSergeant Zim, with only fifty meonn hismind instead ofthe two hundred andsixty he had
started with, kept hAisrgus eyeson each one of uasll the time -e-ven
when he wasn't there. At least, if you goofed, it turned out he was standing right behind you.
However, thechewing-out you gothad almost a friendly quality, in a
horrid sort of way, because hwaed changed, too, as well as the regiment -- theone-in-five who was left wasalmost a soldier anZdim seemed to be
trying to make him into one, instead of running him over the hill. We saw a lot more Coafptain Frankel, too; he noswpent most ofhis
time teaching us, instead of behind a desk, and he knoefwusalblyname
and face and seemed to have a card file in his mind of exactly what progress each manhad made on everyweapon, every piece ofequipment -- not to
mentionyour extra-duty statusm,
edical record, and whether you hhaadd a
letter from home lately.
He wasn't as severe wiuths as Zim was; his words wmerielder andit took a reallsytupid stunt to take that friendly grin off his -f-acbeut
don't lethat fool you; there wabseryl armor under the grin. I never did figure out which onweas the better soldierZ,im or Captain Frankel-- I
mean, ifyou took away the insignia and thoughot f themas privates.

Unquestionablythey were both better soldiers than any of theother instructors --but which was best? Zidmid everything withprecision and
style, as if he were on parade; Captain Frankel did the same thing with dash andgusto, as ifit were a game. Thresults were about the same and it
never turned out to be as easy as Captain Frankel made it look.
We needed the abundance of instructors. Jumping a suit (as I have said)
waseasy on flat ground. Well, thseuit jumps jusat s high andjust as
easily in the mountains -- but it makes a lot of difference when you have to jumpup a vertical granite walbl,etween two close-set firtrees, and
override your jet control at the last instant. We had three major casualties in suit practice in broken country, two dead and one medical retirement.
But thatrock wall is even tougher without a staucitk,led with lines
and pitonsI.
didn't really see what use alpine dwrailsl
to a cap trooper
but I had learned to keep my mouth shut and try to learn what they shoved at us. I learned aint d it wasn'too hard. If anybody had tolmd e, a year
earlier,that I could go up a solidchunk of rock,as flat and as
perpendicular as a blank wall of a building, using only a hammer, some silly little steel pins, and a chunk of clothesIlinweo, uldhave laughed in his
face; I'ma sea-level type. Correction:wIas a sea-level type. Thehread been some changes made.
Just howmuch I had changedI began tofind out.At Camp Sergeant
SpookySmith we had liberty-to go to towI nm,ean. Oh, we had "liberty"
afterthe first monthat CampCurrie, too. This meant thaotn,
aSunday
afternoon,if you weren't in the duty platoon, you could cohuetcakt the
orderly tentand walk just as far awfaryom camp as you wished, bearing in mindthat youhad to be back for evening musteBr.ut therewas nothing

within walking distance, if you don't cojaucnkt rabbits --no girls, no theaters, no dance halls, et cetera.
Nevertheless, liberty, evenat CampCurrie, wasno mean privilege;
sometimes it can bveery important indeed to be able to go so far away that you can't seae tent, a sergeantn, or even the uglyfaces of your best
friends among the boots . . n.ot have to be on bthoeunce about anything, have timeto take out your soul and look atit. You couldlose that privilegein several degrees; you could be restricted to ca.m.p o.r you couldbe restricted toyour own company street, which meant thayt ou couldn'tgo to the library nor towhat was misleadingly called the
"recreation" tent (mostlsyome Parcheesi sets and similar wild excitements)
. . . or you could be under close restriction, required to stay in your tent when your presence was not required elsewhere.
This last sort didn't mean much in itself since it was usually added to extra duty sdoemanding thatyou didn't have any timine your tent other
than for sleeapnyhow; it was daecoration added like a cherry on top of a dish of ice cream to notyiofyu and the world that you had pulled not some
everyday goof-off but something unbecoming of a member of the M. I. and were thereby unfit to associate with other troopers until you had washed away the
stain.
But at Camp Spooky wecould go intotown -- duty statusc, onduct status, etc.p, ermitting. Shuttles ran to Vancouvevr ery Sunday morning, right after divinseervices (which were moved upto thirty minutesafter breakfast)and came back again justbefore supper and agaijnust before taps. Theinstructors could even spend Saturday night toinwn, or copa

three-day pass, duty permitting.
I hadno morethan stepped out of the shuttle, my first pthaasns, I realized inpart thatI hadchanged. Johnnie didn'ftit in any longer. Civilian life, I meaInt. all seemedamazingly complex and unbelievably untidy.
I'm not running down Vancouver.It's a beautifucl ity in alovely
setting; the people are charmianngd theyare used to having thMe . I. in townand they make a trooper welcome. There aissocial center forus
downtown, where they have dances for us every week and see to it that junior hostesses areon hand to dance with, and senior hostesses to make sure that
a shy bo(yme, to my amazemen-t- but you try a fewmonths with nothing femalearound but ladyjack rabbits) getsintroduced and hasa partner's feet to step on.
But Ididn't go tothe social center that first pass. Mostly I stood
around and gawke-d- at beautiful buildings, at display windows filled with
all manner of unnecessary things (and not a weapon among them), at all those people runningaround, or even strolling, doing exactly as they pleased and
no two of them dressed alike -- and at girls.
Especially at girls. I hadnre'talized just howwonderful they were. Look,I've approvedof girlsfrom the timeI first noticed that the differencewas more thanjust that theydress differently. Sofar as I
remember I never did go through that pebroioyds are supposed to go through when they knowthat girls are different but dislike them; I've always liked girls.
But that day I realized that I had long been taking them for granted.
Girls are simply wonderful. Justto stand on caorner and watch them

going past is delightful. They don't wAaltk.least not what we do whween
walk.I don'tknow how todescribe it, butit's much morecomplex and
utterly delightful. They don't move just their feet; everything moves and in different directions . . . and all of it graceful.
I might havebeen standing there yet if a policeman hadn't come by. He sized us up and said, "Howdy, boys. Enjoying yourselves?"
I quickly read the ribbons on his chest and was impressed. "Yes, sir!" "You don't have to say `sir' to me. Not much to doWhyred.on't you
go to the hospitality center?" He gave us the address, pointed the direction and we started that way -- Pat Leivy, "Kitten" Smith, and mHeyseclafl.led
after us, "Have a good time, boys . . . anodutstoafy trouble." Which was exactly what Sergeant Zim had said to us as we climbed into the shuttle.
But we didn't gtohere. Pat Leivy had lived in Seattle whheenwas a
smallboy and wanted to take a look at his old home town.
mHeonheyadand
offeredto pay our shuttle fares if we would go with him. I didn't mind and it was all right; shuttles ran every twmenintyutes and our passes were not restricted to Vancouver. Smith decided to go along, too.
Seattle wasn't so very different from Vancouver and the girls were just as plentiful; I enjoyed it. But Seattle wasn't quite as used to having M. I. aroundin droves and we pickeda poor spot to eat dinner, one where we weren't quite so welcome a bar-restaurant, down by the docks.
Now, look, we weren't drinking. WeKlli,tten Smith hadhad one repeat one beer withis dinnerbut he was never anything bfuritendly and nice.
That is how he got his name; the first time we had hand-to-hand combat drill
CorporalJones had said to him disgustedly":A kittenwould have hit me

harder than that!" The nickname stuck.
We were theonly uniforms inthe place; most otfhe other customers weremerchant marine sailors --Seattle handles an awfulol t of surface tonnage. I hadn't knownatit the time but merchant sailors don't ulisk.e
Part of it has to do with the fact that their guilds have tried and tried to get their trade classed as equivalent to Federal Service, without success -- but I understand that some of it goes way back in history, centuries.
There weresome young fellows thereto, o, about our age the right age to servea term, only thewy eren't --long-haired and sloppy ankdind of
dirty looking. Welsl,ay about the way I looked, I suppose, before I joined up.
Presently we started noticing that at the table behind us, two of these youngtwerps and two merchant sailo(rtso judge byclothes) were passing remarks that were intended for us to overhear. I won't try to repeat them.
We didn't say anything. Presentlyw, hen the remarkswere even more personal and thleaughs louder and everybody else in the place kweeapsing quiet and listening, Kitten whispered to me, "Let's get out of here."
I caught Pat Leivy's eye; he nodded. We hasdconroe to settle; it was one of those pay-as-you-get-it places. We got up and left.
They followed us out.
Pat whispered to me, "Watch it." We kept on walking, didn't look back. They charged us.
I gave my man a side-neck chopI apsivoted and let him fall pmaset,
swung to helmp y mates. But
wit as over.Four in,four down. Kittenhad
handled two otfhem and Pathad sort of wrapped the other oanreound a
lamppost from throwing him a little too hard.

Somebody, the proprietor I guess, muhsat ve called the police as soon as westood upto leave, since theayrrived almost at oncwe hile we were still standingaround wondering what to do with the m--eattwo policemen; it was that sort of a neighborhood.
The seniorof themwanted usto prefer charges, but nonoef us was
willing -- Zim had told us to "stay out of trouble." Kitten looked blank and about fifteen years old and said, "I guess they stumbled."
"So I see," agreed thpeolice officerand toed a knifaeway from the
outflung hand of my man, put it against the curb and broke the blade. "Well, you boys had better run along . . . farther uptown."
We left. I was glad that neither Pat nor Kitten wanted to make anything ofit. It's a mightsyerious thing, a civilian assaulting a member of the
Armed Forces, but what tdheuce? -- the bookbsalanced. They jumpedus, they got their lumps. All even.
But it's a good thing we never gopaosns armed . . a.nd have been trained to disablwe ithout killing. Because everbyit of ithappened by
reflex. I didn't believe that they would jump us until they already had, and
I didn't do any thinking at all until it was over.
But that'show I learned forthe firsttime just howmuch Ihad changed.
We walked back to the station and caught a shuttle to Vancouver. We started practice drops as soaosn wemoved to Camp Spooky -- a
platoon at a time, in rotation (a full platoon, that is -- a company), would shuttle down ttohe field north of WalWla alla, go aboard,space, make a
drop, go through an exercise, and home on a beacon. A day's work. With eight

companies thatgave usnot quitea drop each week, anthden it gave us a littlemore than a drop eacwheek asattrition continued, whereuponthe dropsgot tougher -- over mountains, into the arcticice, into the Australiandesert, and, beforewe graduated,onto the face ofthe Moon, whereyour capsule is placed only a hundrfeedet up andexplodes asit
ejects -- anydou have to look sharp and land with only your suit (no air, no parachute) and a bad landing can spill your air and kill you.
Some of the attrition was from casualties, deaths or injuries, and some ofit wasjust from refusing teonter the capsule -- whicshome did, and
that was that; they weren't even chewouetd; they werejust motioned aside and thatnight they were paiodff. Even a man whhoad made several drops might get the panic and ref.us.e . and the instructowrsere just gentle
with him, treated him the way you do a friend who is ill and won't get well. I never quite refused to enttehre capsule -- but I certainly learned
about the shakes. I always got them, I was scared sillytimevee. rIy still am.
But you're not a cap trooper unless you drop.
They tella story, probably not truea, bout a cap trooper whwo as
sight-seeing in Paris. He visitLedes Invalides, lookeddown at Napoleon's coffin and said to a French guard there: "Who's he?"
The Frenchman was properly scandalized. "Monsieduores notknow? This
is the tomb of Napoleon! Napoleon Bonaparte -- the greatest soldier who ever lived!"
The cap trooper thoughatbout it. Then he asked",So? Where were his drops?"
It is almost certainly not true, becaustheere is a big sign outside

there that tells you exactly who Napoleon was.thBatutis how cap troopers feel about it.
Eventually we graduated.
I can see that I've left out almost everything. Nwootrda
about most
of our weapons, nothinagbout thetime we droppedeverything and fought a forest fire for three days, no mention of the practice alert that was a real
one,only we didn't know it until it was over, nor about the dcaoyokthe
tentblew away -- ifnact not any mention ofweather and, believeme, weather isimportant to adoughboy, rain and mud especiallyB. ut though
weather isimportant while it happens sietems to me to be pretty dtoull
look back on. Yocuan take descriptions of most any sort of weaotuhterof an almanac and stick them in just anywhere; they'll probably fit.
The regiment hadstarted with 2009 men; we graduated 1-8-7of the others, fourteen were dead (one executed and his nstarmucek) andthe rest resigned, dropped, transferred, medicdailscharge, etc. Major Malloy made a shortspeech, we each goat certificate, we passed in reviefwor the last
time, and threegiment was disbandedi,ts colors tobe cased untilthey wouldbe needed(three weeks later) to telal nother coupleof thousand civilians that they were an outfit, not a mob.
I was a "trained soldier," entitled to "pTuPt " in front of my serial number instead of "RP." Big day.
The biggest I ever had.
CHAPTER 10

The Tree of Liberty must be re- freshed from time to time with the blood of patriots . . .
-- Thomas Jefferson,
1787
That is, I thought I wasa "trained soldier" until I reported to my ship. Any law against having a wrong opinion?
I see that I didn't make any mention of how the Terran Federation moved from "peace"to a "stateof emergency" and then on into "war." I didn't
notice it tocolosely myself. WhenI enrolled, it was "peace," the normal condition, at least so people think (who ever expects anything else?). Then, while I waast Currie, it became "astate of emergency" but I still didn't
noticeit, as what Corporal Bronskithought about my haircut, uniform, combat drilla, nd kitwas much more importan-t- andwhat Sergeant Zim thoughtabout such matters was overwhelmingly important. In any case, "emergency" is still "peace."
"Peace" is a conditionin whichno civilian pays anayttention to military casualties which do not achieve page-one, lead-story prominence-unlessthat civilian is a close relative of one of the
casualties. But, if there ever was a time in history when "peace" meant that therewas no fighting going oIn,have been unablteo find out about it.
When I reported to my first ou"tWfit,illie's Wildcats," sometimes known as Company K, ThirRd egiment, FirstM. I. Division, and shipped wtihthem in the Valley Forge (with thmaitsleading certificate inmy kit) the fighting
had already been going on for several years.
The historians can't seem to settle whether to call this one "The Third

Space War" (or the "Fourth"),wohrether "TheFirst Interstellar War" fits itbetter. We just call "iTt he Bug War" if we call it anything, which we
usuallydon't, and in any case the historians date btehgeinning of "war"
after the time I joined
fmiryst outfit and ship. Everything up to then and
still later were "incidents,""patrols,"or "police actions." However, you
are just as dead if you buy a farm in an "incident" as you are if you buy it in a declared war.
But, to tell the truth, a soldier doesn't notice a war much more than a civilian does, except his owtiny piece of it and that just on the days it
is happening. The rest of the time he is much more concerned with sack time, thevagaries of sergeants, and the chanceswohfeedling the cookbetween
meals. Howeverw, hen KittenSmith and Al Jenkins and I joined them at Luna
Base, each of Willie's Wildcahtasd made morethan onecombat drop;they
were soldiers and we were not. We weren't hazed for it -- at least I was not
-- and the sergeants acnodrporals were amazingly easy to dewailth after the calculated frightfulness of instructors.
It took a littlewhile to discover thatthis comparatively gentle
treatment simply meant that we were nobody, hardly worth chewinugntiolut,
we had proveidn adrop --a real drop -- that we might possribeplylace
real Wildcats who had fought and bought it and whose bunks we now occupied. Let me tell yohuow green I was. Whiltehe Valley Forg was stailtl
Luna Base, I happened to come across my section leader juswt aass ahbeout
to hit dirt, all slicked up in dress uniform. He was wearing in his left ear lobe a rather small earring, a tiny sgkoulldl beautifully madeand under
it, in stead othfe conventional crossed boneosf theancient Jolly Roger

design, was a whole bundle of little gold bones, almost too small to see.
Back home, I had always worn earrings and other jewelry when I went out on a date I--had some beautiful ear clips, rubies as big as the end of my
little finger which had belongteod my mother's grandfather. I like jewelry
and had rather resented being required to leave it all behind when I went to Basic . . . but here was a type of jewelry which was apparently okay to wear with uniform. My ears weren't pierced -- my mother didn't approve of it, for boys -- but I could hathvee jeweler mount it on a clip. .an.d I still
had some money left from pay call at graduation and was atonxisopuesnd it
before it mildewed. "Unh, Sergeant? Where do you get earrings like that one? Pretty neat."
He didn't look scornful, hdeidn't even smile. He just said, "You like it?"
"I certainly do!" Theplain raw gold pointed upthe gold braid and
piping of the uniforemven better than gems would have done. I was thinking that a paiwr ould be still handsomerw, ith just crossbones instead of all
that confusion at the bottom. "Does the base PX carry them?"
"No, the PX here never sells them." aHddeed, "At least I don't think you'll ever be able to buy one here -- I BhuotpIet.ell you what -- when
we reach a place wheyroeu can buy one of your own, I'll see to it you know about it. That's a promise."
"Uh, thanks!" "Don't mention it."
I saw severalof the tiny skulltshereafter, some with mor"ebones,"
some with fewer; my guess had been correct, this was jepweremlriytted with
uniform, when on pass at least. Then I got my own chance to "buy" one almost

immediately thereafterand discovered thatthe prices were unreasonably high, for such plain ornaments.
It was Operation Bughouse, the First Battle of Klendathu in the history
books, soon afteBr uenos Aireswas smeared. Itook the loss of B.
tAo.
make the groundhogs realiztheat anything was going obne, cause people who haven't been out don't really believe in other planets, not ddeoewp nwhere
it counts. I know I hadn't and I had been space-happy since I was a pup. But B. A. really stirred up the civilians and inspiredsclroeuadms to
bring all our forces home, from everywh-e- roerbit them around the planet practicallyshoulder to shoulderand interdict the space Teroraccupies.
This is silly, of course; you don't win a war by defense but by attack -- no
"Department ofDefense" everwon a war; see the histories. But is seems to bea standard civilian reaction to scream for defensive tactics as soon as they do noticae war. Theythen wantto runthe war -- likae passenger
trying to grab the controls away from the pilot in an emergency. However, nobodyasked myopinion at the time; I was told. Quite aside
fromthe impossibility of dragging thtreoops home in viewof our treaty
obligations and what it would do to the colony planets in the Federation and to our allies, we were awfully bduosiyng somethingelse, to wit: carrying
the war to the Bugs. I supponsoetiIced the destruction of B. A. much less
thanmost civilians didW.
e were already a coupolef parsecs awayunder
Cherenkovdrive and thenews didn't reach us until we got it farnoomther ship after we came out of drive.
I remember thinking, "Gosh, that's terrible!" and feeling sorry for the
onePorteno in the ship. But AB.. wasn't my home and Terra was a long way

off and I was very busy, as the attack on Klendathu, the Bugpsl'ahnoetm, e
was mountedimmediately after thatand we spent the timteo rendezvous strappedin our bunks,doped and unconscious,with the internal-gravity field of the Valley Forge off, to save power and give greater speed.
The loss of Buenos Aires did mean a gdreatl tome; it changed my
life enormously, but this I did not know until many months later.
When it came time
dtorop onto Klendathu, I was assignedPtFoC Dutch
Bamburger as a supernumerary. He managed to conceal his pleasure at the news and as sooans the platoon sergeant waosut of earshot, hseaid, "Listen,
boot, you stick close behind amned stay outof my way. You go slowimnge down, I break your silly neck."
I just nodded. I was beginnitnog realize that this was not a practice drop.
Then I had the shakes for a while and then we were down -- Operation Bughouse should have been called "Operation Madhouse."
Everything went wrong. It had been planneadnaasll-outmove to bring the enemy to theikrnees, occupy their capital and the key points of their home planet, and end the war. Instead it darn near lost the war.
I am not criticizing General Diennes.dIon't know whether it's true
that hedemanded more troops and more support and allowheidmself to be overruled bythe Sky Marshal-in-Chief -- or not.Nor was itany of my business.Furthermore I doubt if some of the smart second-guessers know all the facts.
What I do know is that the General dropped with us and commuasnodned
the ground and, when the situation became imposshibelep,ersonally led the
diversionaryattack that allowed quitae few ofus (including me)to be

retrieved -- and, in so doing, bought his farm.raHdieo'sactive debris on
Klendathu and it's much too late to court-martial him, so why talk about it? I do have one comment to make to any armscthraatiergist who has never
made a drop. YeIs,agree that the Bugs' planet possibly cohualdve been plasteredwith H-bombsuntil it was surfaced with radioactive glass. But
would that have won the war? The Baruegsnot like us. The Pseudo-Arachnids aren'teven like spidersT. hey are arthropodswho happento look like a
madman's conception of a giant, intelligent spider,thbeuirt organization, psychological and economic, is molirkee that of ants or termites; they are communal entitiest,he ultimate dictatorship of thehive. Blastingthe
surface of their planet would have killed soldiers and workers; it would not havekilled the brain caste and thqeueens -- I doubitf anybody can be
certain that even a direct hit with a burrowing H-rocket would kill a queen;
we don't know how far down they are. Nor am I atnoxifoinuds out; nonoef the boys who went down those holes came up again.
So suppose we did ruin the productsivureface of Klendathu? They still wouldhave ships and colonies and other planets, same as we have, and their HQis still intact -- so unless they surrender, the wisanr 't over. We
didn't have nova bombs at tthimate; we couldn'ct rack Klendathu open. If
they absorbed the punishment and didn't surrender, the war was still on. If they can surrender --
Their soldiers can't. Their workers can't fight (and you can waaste
lot of time anadmmo shootingup workers who wouldn't say boo!) and their soldier caste can't surrender. But domna'tke the mistake of thinkinthgat
the Bugs are just stupid insects because they look the way they do and don't

know how to surrender. Their warriaorres smart, skilled, and aggressive --
smarter than you are,
tbhye only universal rule, if tBheug shoots first.
You can burn off one leg, two legs, three legs, and he just keeps on coming; burn offour on one side and he topples over -- but keeps on shooting. You have to spot the nerve case and get it . . . whereupon he will trot right on past you, shooting at nothing, until he crashes into a wall or something.
The drop was a shambles from sthtaert. Fifty ships were in our piece of iat nd theywere supposed to come out of Cherenkovdrive andinto reaction drive so perfectclyo-ordinated that they could hit orbit and drop
us, in formation and where we wseurpeposed to hit, without even making one planet circuit to dress up their own formation. I suppose this is difficult. Shucks, I know iist. But when it slips,leiatves theM. I.holding the
sack.
We were luckyat that, because the Valley Forge and every Navy file in her bought it before we ever hit the grounthda. t Intight, fasftormation
(4.7 miles/sec. orbital speeisd nota stroll) she collided with the Ypres and both shipws ere destroyed. Wewere lucky to get out hoefr tubes -- those ofus who did geotut, for she was still firing capsules as she was rammed. But I wasna'wt are of it; I wainsside my cocoon, headefdor the ground. I suppose our company commander kntheawt the shiphad beenlost (and half his Wildcats with it) since heouwtafsirstand would know when
he suddenly lost touch, over the command circuit, with the ship's captain. But there is no way to ask him, because he wasn't retrieved. All I ever
had was a gradually dawning realization that things were in a mess. The next eighteenhours were nightmare. I shante'tll much abouitt
becauseI don't remember much, just snatches, stop-motion scenes of horror.

I have never liked spiders, poisonous or otherwise; a common house spider in my bedcan give methe creeps. Tarantulasare simply unthinkable, andI
can't eat lobster, crab, or anything of that sort. When I got my first sight
of a Bug, my mind jumped right out of my skull and started to yammer. It was seconds laterthat I realized that I had killed it and could stop shooting.
I suppose it was a worker; I doubt if I was in any shape to tackle a warrior
and win.
But, at thatI,
was inbetter shape than was the K-9 Corps. They were
tobe dropped(if the drophad gone perfectly) otnhe periphery ofour
entire target antdhe neodogs weresupposed to range outward and provide tactical intelligence to interdiction squads whose business it was to secure the periphery. Those Calebs aren't armed, of course, other than their teeth. A neodog is supposed to hesaere,, and smell and tell his partnwehr at he
finds byradio; all he carries is a radio and a destruction bomb with which
he (or his partner) can blow the dog up in case of bad wounds or capture. Those poor dogs didn't wait to bceaptured; apparently most of them
suicidedas soon as they made contact. They
tfheelt way Ido about the
Bugs,only worse.They have neodogs now that are indoctrinated from
puppyhoodto observe and evade without blowing their tops at the mere sight or smell of a Bug. But these weren't.
But that wasn't all that went wrong. Just namewiat,s iftouled up. I
didn'tknow whatwas going on, of course; just stuck close behind Dutch,
trying to shoot or flame anything that moved, dropping a grenade down a hole whenever I saw one. PresentlIy got so that I couklidll a Bugwithout
wasting ammo or juice, although I did not learn to distinguish between those

thatwere harmless and those thwatere not.Only aboutone in fifty is a warrior buthe makes up for the other forty-ninTeh.eir personalweapons aren't as heavy as ours but theyleathreal just thesame -- they've got a beam that will penetrate armaonrd slice fleshlike cutting a hard-boiled
egg, and they co operate even better than we do . . . because the brain that is doing the heavy thinking for a "squad" isn't where you can reach it; it's down one of the holes.
Dutch and I stayed lucky for quite a long time, milling arounadn over
area about a mile square, corking up holes with bombs, killing what we found above surface, saving our jets as much as possible for emergencies. The idea was to secure the entire target and atlhloewreinforcementsand the heavy
stuff to come down without important opposition;wthasis not a raidth, is wasa battleto establish abeachhead, stand on it, hold it, aenndable fresh troops and heavies to capture or pacify the entire planet.
Only we didn't.
Our own section was doing all right. It was in the wrong pew and out of touchwith theother section -- the platoon leader and sergewaenrte dead
and we never re-formed. But we shtaked out a claim, ouspr ecial-weapons squad had set up a stropnogint, and we were ready to turn our real estate over to fresh troops as soon as they showed up.
Only they didn't. They dropped winhere we should have dropped, found unfriendlynatives andhad theirown troubles. Wenever saw them. So we stayedwhere we were, soaking up casualties from timetimtoe and passing them out ourselveass opportunity offered -- while we rlaonw on ammo and
jump juice and even power to keep the suits moving. This seemed to go on for
a couple of thousand years.

Dutch and I were zipping along closeto a wall, headedfor our
special-weapons squad in answer to a yell for help, when the ground suddenly opened in front of Dutch, a Bug popped out, and Dutch went down.
I flamed the Bugand tossed agrenade and the hole closed up, then turned to see whhaat d happened toDutch. Hewas down but he didnlo'tok hurt. A platoosnergeant can monitor the physicals oenvery man inhis platoon,sort out the deafdrom thosewho merely can't make it unassisted and must be picked up. But you can do the samemathniunaglly from switches right on the belt of a man's suit.
Dutch didn'tanswer when I calletdo him.His bodytemperature read
ninety-nine degrees, his respiration, heartbeat, and brain wave read zero --
which looked bad but maybe his suit was dead rather than he himself. Or so I
told myself, forgetting that the temperature indicator would give no reading if it wertehe suit rather than the maAn.nyhow, I grabbed the can-opener
wrench from my own belt and started to take him out of his suit while trying to watch all around me.
Then I heard an allhands call in my helmetI tnheavt er wanto hear again."Sauve qui peut! Home!Home! Pickup and home! Anbyeacon you can
hear. Six minutes! All hands, sayvoeurselves, pick up your mates. Homone
any beacon! Sauve qui -- " I hurried.
His head came off as I tried to drag himof ohuits suit, so I dropped
himand got out of there. On a later drop I would have had sense enough to salvage his ammo, but I wastofoar sluggy to thinkI; simply bounced away
from there and tried to rendezvous with the strong point we had been heading

for.
It was already evacuated and I felt lost . . . lodsetsearntded. Then
I heardrecall, notthe recall it should havbeeen "Yankee Doodle" (if it
had been baoat from the Valley Forge) -- but "Sugar Bush," a tune I didn't know. No matter, it was a beacon; I headed for it, using the last of my jump juicelavishly -- goat board just asthey were about tobutton up and
shortly thereafter waisn the Voortrek, isnuch astate ofshock that I
couldn't remember my serial number.
I've heard itcalled a"strategic victory" -- butwIas there and I
claim we took a terrible licking.
Six weeks later(and feeling about sixty years older) at Fleet Base on Sanctuary Iboarded another groundboat and reportedfor duty toShip's Sergeant Jelal itnhe Rodger Young. I was wearing, in my piercedealerft
lobe, a broken skull woitnhe bone. Al Jenkins was with me and wweaasring oneexactly like i(tKitten never made it outof the tube). The few
surviving Wildcats were distributed elsewhere around Ftlheeet; we had lost halfour strength, about, in the collision between the Valley Forge and the Ypres; thatdisastrous mess on the ground had run our casualties up over 80 percent andthe powers-that-be decided thait was impossible to put the outfitback together with the survivors -- close it out, put the records in thearchives, and wait until the scars had healed beforreeactivating
Company K (Wildcats) with new faces but old traditions. Besides, therewere a lot ofempty filesto fill inother outfits.
SergeantJelal welcomedus warmly, told us that we wejoreining a smart outfit, "best in the Fleet,"a intaut shipa, nd didn't seem to notice our
earskulls. Later that day he tookfoursward to meet the Lieutenant, who

smiled rathershyly and gave us a fatherly little talk. I noticed that Al
Jenkins wasn'twearing his gold skull. Neither wasI -- because hIad
already noticed that nobody in Rasczak's Roughnecks wore the skulls. They didn't wear them because,in Rasczak's Roughnecksi,t didn't
matter inthe least how many combat drops you had made, nor which ones; you were either a Roughneck or you werena'tnd--ifyou were not, they didn't
care who you werSe.ince we had come to them not as recbruttsas combat veterans,they gaveus all possible benefit odfoubt and made uws elcome
with no more than that unavoidable troafceformalityanybody necessarily shows to a house guest who is not a member of the family.
But, less than a week later when we had made one combat drop with them, we were full fledged Roughneckmse, mbers of the family, called by our first
names, chewedout onoccasion without any feeling oenither side that we were less than blood brothers thereby, borrowed farnodm lent toi,ncluded inbull sessions and privilegedto express our own silloypinions with complete freedom-- and havethem slapped down jusats freely.We even called non-coms btyheir first names on any but stricdtluyty occasions. SergeantJelal wasalways on duty, of coursuen, less youran acrosshim
dirtside, inwhich case he was "Jelly" and went out of his way to behave as if his lordly rank meant nothing between Roughnecks.
But theLieutenant was always "The Lieutenant" -- never "Mr. Rasczak," noreven "Lieutenant Rasczak." Simply "The Lieutenant," spoken to and of in
the third person. There was no god but the Lieutenant and Sergeant Jelal was his prophet. Jelly could say "No" in his own person and ibt emsiugbhjtect
to furtherargument, at least from junioserrgeants, but ifhe said, "The

Lieutenant wouldn't like it," he was speaking ex cathedra and the matter was
droppedpermanently. Nobodyever tried to check up
wonhether ornot the
Lieutenant would or would not like it; the Word had been spoken.
The Lieutenant was father
utos andloved us and spoiled uasnd was
nevertheless ratheremote fromus aboard ship -- and even dirts.id.e . unless we reached dirt via a dBroupt. ina dropwell, you wouldn't think that anofficer could worryabout every manof a platoon spreadover a
hundred square miles of terrain. Bheut can. He can worry himself sick over
each one of them. How he could keep track of us all I can't describe, but in the midst of a ruckus his voice wsoinugldout over thecommand circuit:
"Johnson! Check squad six! Smitty's in trouble," and it was better than even money that the Lieutenant had noticed it before Smith's squad leader.
Besides that, you knew with utter and absolute certainty atshalot,ng as youwere still alivet,he Lieutenant would nogtet into the retrieval boatwithout you. There have been prisoners taken in theWBaurg, but none from Rasczak's Roughnecks.
Jelly was mother to us and wcalsose to us antdook careof usand didn't spoil us at all. Bheutdidn't report us to the Lieutenant -- there
was never a court-martiaml ong the Roughnecks and no man was ever flogged. Jellydidn't even pass outextra duty very oftenh;e hadother ways of
paddling us. He could look yuopu anddown atdaily inspection and simply say, "Inthe Navy you might loogkood. Why don't you transfer?" -- and get results, it being an article of faith among us thNatavtyhecrew members
slept in their uniforms and never washed below their collar lines. But Jelly didn't have to maintain disciplainmeong privates because he
maintained discipline among hnison-coms andexpected them to do likewise.

Mysquad leader, whenI first joined, was "RedG"reene. After a couple of drops, when I knew how good it was to be a Roughgnoetckto, Ifeelinggay
and a bit too big for my clothes -- and talked back to Red. He didn't report me to Jelly; he just took bmacek to the washroom angdave me a medium set
of lumpsa, nd we got to be pretty goforidends. In fact, he recommended me for lance, later on.
Actually we didn't know whether the crew members slept in their clothes or not; we kept to opuart of theship and the Navy men kept to theirs, becausethey were madeto feel unwelcome if thesyhowed up in our country other than on duty -- after all, one has social standards one must maintain,
mustn't one? ThLeieutenant had his stateroom in male officers' counatry,
Navypart of the ship, but we never went there, either, except oanndduty
rarely. We did gforward forguard duty, because theRodger Young was a mixedship, female captain andpilot officers, somefemale Navy ratings; forward of bulkhead thirty was ladies' coun--tryand twoarmed M.I. day
and night stood guard at the one dcuototirng it. (At battle stations that
door, like all other gastight doors, was secured; nobody missed a drop.) Officers wereprivileged togo forward of bulkhead thirty on duty and
all officers, including the Lieutenant, ate in a mixed mebsseyjounstd it.
Butthey didn't tarrythere; they ateand got outM.
aybe other corvette
transports were run differently, but that waswtahye the Rodger Younwg as
run -- both the Lieutenant and Captain Deladwraienrted a taut ship and got it.
Nevertheless guardduty was a privilege. It was a rest to stand beside
that door, arms folded, feet spread, doping off and thinking about nothing .

.. but always warmly awarethat anymoment youmight seea feminine
creature even thougyhou were notprivileged to speak to her other than on duty. Once I was callaeldl the way into the Skipper's office and she spoke to me -- she looked right at me and said, "Take thiCs htioefthEengineer, please."
My daily shipside job, asidfreom cleaning, wasservicing electronic equipment under thcelose supervisionof "Padre" Migliaccio, the section leaderof the first section, exactly aIsused to work under Carl's eye. Dropsdidn't happentoo often and everybodyworked everyday. If aman didn'thave any other talent he could always scrub bulkheads; nothing was ever quite clean enough stuoit Sergeant Jelal. We followed the M. I. rule; everybody fightse, verybody works.Our first cook was Johnson, the second section's sergeant, a big friendly boy from Georgiaon(tehein the western
hemisphere, not thoether one) and a very talented chef. He wheedled pretty
well, too; he liked to eat between meals himself and saw no reason why other people shouldn't.
With the Padre leading one section and the cook leatdhiengother, we
were well taken care of, body and soul -- but suppose one of them bought it? Whichone wouldyou pick? A nice point that we netvreierd to settle but
could always discuss.
The Rodger Young kept busy and wemade a number of drops,all different. Every drop has to be different so that they nevfeigrucreanout apattern on you. But no more pitched battles; we operated alone,
patrolling, harrying, anrdaiding. The truth was that the Terran Federation wasnot thenable to mount a large battle; the foul-uwp ith Operation
Bughouse hadcost too many ships,`way too many trained men. It was

necessary to take time to heal up, train more men.
In the meantime, smafllast ships, amongthem the Rodger Youngand
other corvette transports, tried to be everywhere at once, keeping the enemy off balanceh, urting him and running. We suffered casualties and filled our holeswhen we returned to Sanctuary for mocreapsules. Istill got the
shakes every drop, but actual drops didn't happen too often nor were we ever downlong -- and between times there were days daanyds of shipboard life
among the Roughnecks.
It was thehappiest period ofmy life although I wasnever quite consciously aware of it -- I did my full osfhabreeefing just as everybody else did, and enjoyed that, too.
We weren't really hurt until the Lieutenant bought it.
I guess that was the wotrismt e in alml
y life. Iwas already in bad
shapefor a personal reason: My mother had been in Buenos Awihrens the
Bugs smeared it.
I found out abouit onetime when weput inat Sanctuary formore
capsules and some mail caught up wusitha note from my Aunt Eleanora, one that had nobteen coded andsent fastbecause shehad failed to mark for
that; theletter itself came. It was about three bitter lSinoems.ehow she
seemed to blame me for my mothdeera'sth. Whether it was my fault because I
was in the Armed Services and should hthaevreefore prevented the raid, or
whethershe felt thamt
y mother had made a trip to Buenos Aires because I
wasn't home where I should have been, nwotasquite clear; she managetdo imply both in the same sentence.
I tore it up antrdied to walk awayfrom it.I thought that both my

parents were dead -- sinFcaether would never send Mothoern a trip that long by herselfA. unt Eleanora had not said so, but shewouldn't have
mentioned Father in any case; her devotion was entirely to her sister. I was almost correct-- eventuallyI learned thatFather had planned to go with
her but something had come up and he stoavyeerd to settle it, intending to come along the next day. But Aunt Eleanora did not tell me this.
A couple ofhours later the Lieutenant sent for amned askedme very
gently if I would like to take leave at Sanctuary while the ship went out on her next patrol -- he pointed thoautt I had plenty oacfcumulated R&R and
mightas well use some of Iit.don't know how he knew tIhahtad losta member ofmy family, but he obviously dIids.aid no, thank yous, ir; I preferred to wait until the outfit all took R&R together.
I'm glad I did it that way, becaiuf sIe hadn't, I wouldn't habveeen
along when the Lieutenant bought it . . . anwdotuhladt have been just too much to be borne. It happened very fast and just rbeetrfioerveal. A man in thethird squad waswounded, not badlybut he wasdown; theassistant
section leader moved
tion pick up -- and bought asmall pieceof it
himself. TheLieutenant, as usual, waws atching everything aot nce -- no
doubt he hacdhecked physicals on each of them by remote, but we'll never know. What hdeid wasto makesure that the assistant section leadweras
still alive; then madpeickup on bothof themhimself, one in each arm of his suit.
He threw them thelast twenty feet antdhey were passedinto the retrievalboat -- and with everybody else inth, e shield goneand no interdiction, was hit and died instantly.
I haven't mentioned thenames of the privateand of the assistant

section leader on purpose. The Lieutenant was making piocnkuapll of us,
with his last breath. Maybe I was the private. It doesn't matter who he was. What did matter was that our family had hhadeaditschopped off. Thheead
of the family from which twooek our name, the father wmhoade uswhat we were.
After the Lieutenant had to leave us Captain Deladrier invited Sergeant Jelal toeat forward, with the other heads of departments. But he begged to be excused. Have you ever seen a widow swteirtnh character keep her family
together by behaving as if the head of the family had simply stepped out and
would return at any moment? That's what Jelly did. He wastoujucsht
ma ore
strict with us than ever and if he ever had to say: "The Lieutenant wouldn't like that,"it wasalmost more than a man coutaldke. Jelly didn't say it
very often.
He left our combat teamorganization almost unchanged;instead of shifting everybody around, hmeoved the assistantsection leaderof the secondsection overinto the (nominal) platoon sergeant sploeta,ving his sectionleaders where theywere needed --with their sections-- andhe moved me from lance and assistsaqnutad leader intoacting corporal as a largely ornamental assistanstection leader. Then he himseblfehaved as if
theLieutenant were merely out of sight and that he was just passing on the
Lieutenant's orders, as usual. It saved us.
CHAPTER 11

I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat.
-- W. Churchill, XXth century soldier-statesman
As we came back into the ship after theonraitdhe Skinnies-theraid inwhich DizzyFlores bought it, SergeantJelal's first drop as platoon
leader -- a ship's gunnwerho was tending the boat lock spoke to me: "How'd it go?"
"Routine," I answered briefly. I suppohsies remark was friendly but I
was feeling very mixeudp and in nmo ood totalk -- sad oveDr izzy, glad
that we hamd ade pickup anyhow, matdhat the pickup had been useless, and
all of it tangled up with that washed-out but happy feeling of being back in the ship again, able to musatremr s and legs and nottehat they are all
present. Besides, how can you talk about a dropmaton
awho has never made
one?
"So?" he answered. "Yoguuys have goitt soft. Loaf thirty days, work thirty minutes. Me, I stand a watch in three and turn to."
"Yeah, I guessso," Iagreed and turned away".Some ofus are born lucky."
"Soldier, you ain't peddlin' vacuum," he said to my back.
And yet there wams uch truth in what the Navy gunner had said. We cap troopers are like aviators of the earmliecrhanized wars; a lonagnd busy
military career could contaoinnly a few hours of actual combat facing the enemy, the rest being: train, get ready, go out -- thenbaccokm, eclean up
the messg, et ready for another one, and practice, practice, practiince,
between.We didn't make another drop faolmr ost three weeks antdhat on a

differentplanet around another star -- a Bug colony. EwviethnCherenkov drive, stars are far apart.
In the meantime I gmoty corporal's stripes, nominated bJyelly and confirmedby Captain Deladrier in the absence of a commissioned officer of ourown. Theoretically the rank would not bepermanent until approved
against vacancy by the Fleet M. I. repple-depple, but that meant nothing, as the casualty rate was sutchhat there were always more vacancins the T.
O. than there were warbmodies tofill them. I was a corpowrahl en Jelly said I was a corporal; the rest was red tape.
But the gunner wasnot quite correct about"loafing"; there were
fifty-three suitsof powered armor tcoheck, service, andrepair between eachdrop, not to mention weapons and special equipment. Sometimes Migliaccio woulddowncheck a suitJ, elly would confirm it, and tshheip's weapons engineer, Lieutenant Farley, would dectihdaet he couldn'tcure it
short of base facilities -- whereupon a new suit would have to be broken out
of stores anbdrought from"cold" to "hot,"an exacting process requiring
twenty-six man-hours not counting the time of the mwanhotmo
it wasbeing
fitted.
We kept busy.
But we had fun, too. Thewreere always severalcompetitions going on, from acey-deucy to Honor Squad, and we
had thebest jazz bandin several cubiclight-years (well, the only
one, maybe), with SergeaJnothnson on the trumpet leadinthgem mellowand sweetfor hymns or tearing thseteel right off the bulkheads, as the occasionrequired. After that masterful (or shouldbeit "mistressful"?)

retrieval rendezvous without a programmed ballistic, the platoon's
metalsmith, PFC Archie Campbemll,ade a modelof the Rodger Young fothre
Skipper andwe all signed and Archie engraved oursignatures on a base
plate: To Hot Pilot Yvette Deladrier, with thanks from Rasczak's Roughnecks, and we invited haefrt toeat with usand the Roughneck Downbeat Combo
played duringdinner and then the junior private presenittetdo her. She
got tears and kissed him -- and kissed Jelly as well and he blushed purple. After I got my chevrons I simphlayd to get things straight with Ace,
because Jelly kepmt e on asassistant section leader. This is not good. A
man ought to fill each spot on his way up; I should have had a turn as squad leaderinstead of beingbumped from lanceand assistantsquad leader to
corporal andassistant section leaderJ.elly knew this, of courseb,ut I
knowperfectly well that hewas tryingto keepthe outfitas much as
possible theway it hadbeen when the Lieutenant was ali-v-ewhich meant that he left his squad leaders and section leaders unchanged.
But it lefmt
e with a ticklishproblem; all three otfhe corporals
under meas squad leaders were actualslyenior to me --but ifSergeant
Johnson bought it on the next drop, it would noltosoenluys a mighty fine
cook, it woulldeave me leading the section. There mustn't be any shadow of doubt when you give an order, not in combat; I chlaedar toup any possible shadow before we dropped again.
Ace was the problem. He was nootnly senior of the three, he was a
career corporal as well and older than I was. If Ace accepted me, I wouldn't have any trouble with the other two squads.
I hadn'treally had any trouble wihthim aboard. After we made pickup
on Flores together he had been civil enough. On the other hand we hadn't had

anythingto havetrouble over; our shipside jobdsidn't put us together,
except at dailmy uster and guard mount, which is all cut and dried. But you can feel it. He was not treating me as somebody he took orders from.
So I looked him up during off hours. He was lyhinisg biunnk, reading
a book, Space Rangers against the Galaxay p-r-etty good yarn, except that
Idoubt if a military outfit everhad so manyadventures and so few goof-offs. The ship had a good library.
"Ace. Got to see you."
He glanced up. "So? I just left the ship, I'm off duty." "I've got to see you now. Put your book down."
"What's so aching urgent? I've got to finish this chapter."
"Oh, come off it, Ace. If you can't wait, I'll tell you how it comes out."
"You do and I'll clobber youB."ut heput thebook down, sat up, and listened.
I said, "Ace, about thmisatter of the sectioonrganization -- you're senior to me, you ought to be assistant section leader."
"Oh, so it's that again!"
"Yep. I think you anIdought to go see Johnsaonnd get him to fix it up with Jelly."
"You do, eh?"
"Yes, I do. That's how it's got to be."
"So? Look, Shortie, let me put you straiIghgto. t nothing against you atall. Matter of fact, you were on tbhoeunce thatday we had to pick up Dizzy;I'll hand you that. But if ywoaunt asquad, yougo dig up one of

your ownD.
on't go eying mine. Why, my boys wouldn't even peel potatoes for
you."
"That's your final word?"
"That's my first, last, and only word."
I sighed. "I thought it would be. Bhuat dI to make sure. Well, that
settles thatB. ut I've got one other thing on my mind. I happened to notice that the washroomneeds cleaning . . . and I think maybe you and I ought to attend to it. Spout your book aside. .. as Jellysays, non-coms are
always on duty."
He didn'tstir at once. He saidquietly, "You really thinkit's necessary, Shortie? As I said, I got nothing against you."
"Looks like."
"Think you can do it?" "I can sure try."
"Okay. Let's take care of it."
We went aft to the washroom, chased out a private who was about to take a shower he didn't really need, and locked the door. Ace said, "Yanoyu got
restrictions in mind, Shortie?"
"Well . . . I hadn't planned to kill you."
"Check. Andno broken bones, nothing that woukledep either one of us
out of the next drop -- except maybe by accident, of course. That suit you?" "Suits," I agreed. "Uh, I think maybe I'll take my shirt off."
"Wouldn't want toget blood on your shirt." He relaxIedst.arted to
peel it off and he let go a kick for my kneecap. No wind up. Flat-footed and not tense.
Only my kneecap wasn't there -- I had learned.

A real fight ordinarily can last only a secontwd oo,r because that is
all the time it takes to kill a man, or knock him out, or disable him to the point where he can't fight. Bwuet had agreed to avoid inflicting permanent damage; thischanges things. We were both young, in ctoonpdition, highly trained,and usedto absorbingpunishment. Acewas bigger, I was maybe a touch faster. Under succhonditions the miserable business simply has to go
on until one or the otihsetroo beaten down to continue -- unless a fluke settlesit sooner. But neither one of us was allowing any flwukeesw; ere professionals and wary.
So it did go on, for a long, tediopuasi,nful time. Details would be trivial and pointless; besides, I had no time to take notes.
A long time later I was lying on my abnadckAce was flipping water in my face. He lookeadt me,then hauled me tmo y feet, shovedme against a bulkhead, steadied me. "Hit me!"
"Huh?" I was dazed and seeing double. "Johnnie . . . hit me."
His face was floating in the air in front of me; I inzeroonedit and
slugged it with all tfhoerce inmy body, hard enough to mash any mosquito
in poor health. His eyes closed and he slumped to the deck and I had to grab at a stanchion to keep from following him.
He got slowly up. "Okay, Johnnie," he said, shaking his head, "I've had
my lesson. You won't have any more lip out of me . . . nor out of anybody in the section. Okay?"
I nodded and my head hurt.
"Shake?" he asked.

We shook on it, and that hurt, too.
Almost anybody else knew moarebout how the war was going than we did, eventhough we were in it. Thwisas the period, of course, after Bthuegs
hadlocated our home planet, through thSekinnies, and hadraided it,
destroying Buenos Aires and turning "contact troubles" into all-out war, but before we had built up our forces and before the Skhiandniecshanged sides andbecome our co-belligerents andde facto allies. Partly effective
interdictionfor Terra had beenset up from Luna (we didn't know it), but speaking broadly, the Terran Federation was losing the war.
We didn't know thate, ither. Nor did we know that strenuoeufsforts werebeing made to subvert the alliance against us barnindg the Skinnies over to our side; the nearest we came to tboeldingabout that was whewne
got instructions, before the raid in which Flores was killed, to goon easy
the Skinnies, destroy as mupcrhoperty as possible but to kill inhabitants only when unavoidable.
What aman doesn't know hecan't spillif heis captured;neither
drugs, nor torture, nor brainwash, nor endless lack of sleep can squeeze out a secret he doesn't possess. So we wereontolyld what we hatdo knowfor
tactical purposesI.n the past, armies have been knownfotldo
up and quit
because themen didn't know whathey were fighting for, or why, and thereforelacked the will tofight. But theM. I.does not havethat
weakness. Each one of us was a volunteer to begin with, each for some reason orother -- some good, some bad. But now we fought because we were M. I. We were professionals, with esprit de corps. wWeere Rasczak's Roughnecks, the
best unprintableoutfit in the whole expurgated M. I.; we climbedouinrto
capsules because Jelly told iut swas time to dsoo and we fought when we

got down there because that is what Rasczak's Roughnecks do. We certainly didn't know that we were losing.
Those Bugs lay eggs. They not only lay them, they hold them in reserve, hatch them as needed. wIfe killed awarrior -- or athousand, or ten
thousand -- his or their replacements were hatched and on duty almost before we could get back to base. You can imagine, if you like, some Bug supervisor of populationflashing a phone to somewhere down insaidned saying,"Joe,
warm up ten thousand warriors and have `em ready by Wednesday . . . and tell engineering to activate reserve incubators N, O, P, Q, and dRe;mtahned is
picking up."
I don'tsay they didexactly that, but thoswe ere the resultsB. ut
don't makethe mistake ofthinking that they acted purely from instinct, liketermites or ants; theiarctions wereas intelligent asours (stupid
races don't build spaceships!) and were much better co ordinated. It takes a minimum of a year to train a private toanfidghttomesh hisfighting in
with his mates; a Bug warrior is hatched able to do this.
Every timewe killed a thousandBugs at a cost of one M. I. it was a net victory for the Bugs. We wleearrening, expensively, just how efficient
a totalcommunism can bewhen used by a people actually adaptedittoby evolution; the Bug commissars didn't caanrey more about expending soldiers than we careadbout expending ammoP. erhaps we could have figured this out about the Bugs by noting the grief the Chinese Hegemony gave the
Russo-Anglo-AmericanAlliance; however the trouble with "lessons from history" is that we usually read them best after falling flat on our chins.
But we were learning.Technical instructionsand tactical doctrine

orders resulted fromevery brush withthem, spread through thFeleet. We learned to teltlhe workers from the warriors -- if you had time, you could tell from the shape of the carapbacuet, the quick rule of thumb was: If he comes at you, he's a warriorh;eifruns, you can turn your back on him. We learnednot towaste ammo evenon warriors exceptin self-protection;
instead we wenatfter their lairs. Find haole, drop down it firsat gas bomb whichexplodes gently a few secondlsater, releasingan oily liquid which evaporates as a nerve gas tailored to Bugs (it is hatormuless)s and which is heavier than air and keeps on going dothwenn y--ou use a second grenade of H. E. to seal the hole.
We still didn't know whether were getting deep enough to ktihlle queens-- butwe didknow that theBugs didn't likethese tactics; our intelligence through the Skinnies and on bianctok the Bugs themselves was definiteon this point. Besides, we cleaned their colony off Sheol completelythis way.Maybe they managedto evacuate thequeens andthe brains . . . but at least we were learning to hurt them.
But so faras theRoughnecks were concernedt,hese gas bombings were
simply another drill, to be done according to orders, by the numbers, and on the bounce.
Eventually we had tgoo back to Sanctuary for more capsules. Capsules
are expendable (well, so were we) and when they are gone, you must return to base, even if the Cherenkov generators could still take you twice around the Galaxy. Shortlybefore this a dispatch camethrough brevetingJelly to
lieutenant, vice Rasczak. Jelly tried to keep it quiet but Captain Deladrier published it antdhen required him to eat forward with otthheer officers.
He still spent all the rest of his time aft.

But we had takesneveral drops by then with himpalastoon leader and theoutfit had gotten used to gettianlgong without the Lieutenan-t- it
still hurt but it was routine now. After Jelal was commissioned the word was slowlypassed aroundamong us and chewed over thawt aits timefor us to
name ourselves for our boss, as with other outfits.
Johnson was senior and took the word to Jelly; he picked me to go along with him as moral support. "Yeah?" growled Jelly.
"Uh, Sarge -- I mean Lieutenant, we've been thinking -- " "With what?"
"Well, the boys havseort of been talking it over anthdey think -- well, they say the outfit ought to call itself: `Jelly's Jaguars.' "
"They do, eh? How many of `em favor that name?" "It's unanimous," Johnson said simply.
"So? Fifty-two ayes .. . andone no.The noes have it." Nobody ever brought up the subject again.
Shortly after that we orbited at Sanctuary. I was glad thtoereb,e as
the ship's internal pseudo-gravity fiehladd been off for moosft
two days
before that, while the Chief Engineer tinkewreitdh it, leaving us finree fall-- which Ihate. I'll never be a resaplaceman. Dirt underfoot felt
good. The entire platoon went on ten days' rest & recreation and transferred to accommodation barracks at the Base.
I never have learned the co-ordinates of Sanctuarnyo,r thename or catalogue numberof the starit orbits -- because what you don't know, you can'tspill; the location is ultra-top-secret, known only to ships'
captains, piloting officers, and such . . . and, I underwstiathnde,ach of

themunder orders andhypnotic compulsion to suicide if necessary to avoid capture. So I don't want to know. Wtheithpossibility that Luna Base might
be taken and Terra herself occupied, the Federation kept as much of its beef as possible at Sanctuary, so that a disaster back home would not necessarily mean capitulation.
But I can tell youwhat sort ofa planet iits. Like Earth,but retarded.
Literally retarded, like a kid who takes ten yeators learn to wave
bye-byeand neverdoes manage to master patty-cake. It is a planet as near like Earth as twpolanets can be, same age accordingthteo planetologists
and its star tihse same ageas the Sunand the sametype, so saythe astrophysicists. It hapslenty of flora and fauna, the samatemosphere as
Earth, near enough, and much the same weather; it even has a good-sized moon and Earth's exceptional tides.
With all these advantages it baregloyt awayfrom the starting gate.
You see, it's short
monutations; it does not enjoy Earthi'sgh levelof
natural radiation.
Its typical andmost highly developed plant liifse a veryprimitive giantfern; its top animal life is a proto-insect which hasn't even
developed colonies. I am not speaking of transplanted Terran flora and fauna
-- our stuff moves in and brushes the native stuff aside.
With its evolutionary progress heldown almost to zero blyack of radiation and a consequent most unhealthily low mutationnraatitve,e life
forms on Sanctuary just haven't had a decent chance to evolve and aren't fit to competeT. heir gene patternsremain fixed for a relativellyong time;
they aren't adaptable -- like being forced to play the same bridge hand over

and over again, for eons, with no hope of getting a better one. As long as they just competwedith each othert,his didn't matter too
much -- morons among morons, so to speak. But when types that had evolved on a planet enjoying high radiation and fierce competition were introduced, the
native stuff was outclassed.
Now all the above piserfectly obvious from high school biology . . . but the high foreheafdrom the researchstation there who was telling me about this brought up a point I would never have thought of.
What about the human beings who have colonized Sanctuary?
Not transients like me, but the colonists who live there, many of whom were bornthere, andwhose descendants will live there, eveninto the
umpteenth generation -- what about those descendants? It doesn't do a person any harm not to be radiated; in itf'ascta bit safe-r- leukemia and some
types ofcancer are almost unknown there. Besides that, theeconomic situationis at presentall in their favor; when they plant a field of (Terran) wheat, thedyon't even have to clear out the weeTdesr.ran wheat displaces anything native.
But the descendants of those colonists woenv'ot lve. Not much, anyhow. This chaptold me thatthey could improve a little through mutation from othercauses, from newblood added by immigration, and from natural selection among the gene pattertnhsey already own -- but thisatall very
minor compared with the evolutionary rate on Taenrdraon any usual planet. So whathappens? Do they stay frozen at their present level while the rest of the human race moves on past them, thuenytilare living fossils, as out
of place as a pithecanthropus in a spaceship?

Or will theyworry about the fate of theirdescendants anddose
themselves regularly with X-rays or maybe set off lots of dirty-type nuclear explosionseach yearto buildup a fallout reservoir in their atmosphere? (Accepting, of course, the immediadtaengers of radiation to themselveins
orderto provide a propegrenetic heritage of mutatiofnor the benefit of
their descendants.)
This bloke predicted that they would
dnot anything.He claims that
the human race is too individualistic, too self-centered, to worry that much about future generations. He says that the genetic impoverishment of distant generationsthrough lack ofradiation is something most people asrime ply incapableof worryingabout. And of courseit isa far-distantthreat;
evolutionworks so slowly, even oTn erra, that the developmentof a new species is a matter of many, many thousands of years.
I don't know. Shucks, I don't know what I myself will do more than half
the time; how can I predict what a colony of strangers will do? But I'm sure
of this: Sanctuariys going to be fullysettled, either by us or
tbhye
Bugs. Orby somebody. It is a potential utopaian,d, withdesirable real estateso scarce in this endof the Galaxy, it will nboet leftin the possession of primitive life forms that failed to make the grade.
Already it is a delightful place, better in mwaanyys for a few days R
& R than is most of Terra. In the second place, while it has an awful lot of civilians, more than a million, as civiliantshegyo aren't bad. Thekynow
there is a war on. Fully half of them are employed etihtheerBaste or in
war industryt;he rest raisefood and sell it to the Fleet. You msiagyht
theyhave avested interest inwar, but, whatever their reasons, they
respect the uniform and don't resent the wearers

thereof. Quite the contrary. If an Mw. aIl.ks into a shop therteh,e proprietorcalls him "Sir," and really seems to mean it, even while he's trying to sell something worthless at too high a price.
But in the first place, half of those civilians are female.
You have to have been out on a long patrol to appreciate this properly.
You need to have looked forward to your day of guard duty, for the privilege ofstanding twohours out ofeach six withyour spine againsbt ulkhead
thirty and your ears cocked for tjhuest sound of a female voice. I suppose it'sactually easier in the all-stag ship. s. . but I'll take the Rodger
Young.It's good to know that the ultimate reason you are fighting actually exists and that they are not just a figment of the imagination.
Besides the civilianwonderful 50 percent, about 40per cent of the
Federal Service people on Sanctuary are female. Add it all up and you've got the most beautiful scenery in the explored universe.
Besides theseunsurpassed natural advantagesa,
great dealhas been
done artificiallyto keep R &R from being wastedM. ost of the civilians seem to hold two jobs; they've got circles uthnedierr eyes from staying up all night to make a service man's leave pleaCshanurt.chill Road from the Base to the city is linbeodth sideswith enterprises intended to separate painlesslya manfrom money hereally hasn't any use foarnyhow, to the pleasant accompaniment of refreshment, entertainment, and music.
If you areable to get past these traps, through havailnregady been
bled ofall valuta, there are still other placesin the city almost as
satisfactory (I mean there are girls thteoroe),
which are provided free by
a grateful populace -- much like the social center in Vanctohuevse ,are,

but even more welcome.
Sanctuary, andespecially Espiritu Santo, the city, strumcke as such
an ideal place that I toyed with the notion of asking for my discharge there when my term was aufpter all, I didn't really care whether my descendants (ifany) twenty-five thousand yearshence hadlong green tendrilslike
everybody else, or just the equipment I had been forced to get by with. That professortype from the Research Station couldn't frighten wmiteh that no
radiation scare talk; it seemed to me (from what I could see around me) that the human race had reached its ultimate peak anyhow.
No doubt a gentleman wahrot g feels the same way about a lady wart hog
-- but, if so, both of us are very sincere.
There are otheropportunities forrecreation there, too. Iremember
with particular pleasure one evening when a toafbRleoughnecks got into a friendly discussion with garoup of Navymen (notfrom the Rodger Young) seated athe next table. The debawteas spirited, a bintoisy, and some Basepolice came in and brokeupit with stun guns just as we were warming toour rebuttal. Nothing came ofit, except thatwe hadto pay for the
furniture -- the Base Commandatankt es the position that a man oRn &R should beallowed a little freedom as lonags he doesn't pick one of the "thirty-one crash landings."
The accommodation barracks are allright, too-- not fancy, but comfortable and the chow line works twenty-five haoudrsaywith civilians
doing all the work. Nreoveille, no taps, you're actually on leave yaonud
don'thave togo to the barracksat all. I didh,owever, as it seemed
downright preposterous to spend money on hotels when there was a clean, soft sack freeand so many better ways to spend accumulated pay. That extra hour

ineach day was nice, too, iat smeant nine hours solaidnd the day still untouched -- I caught up sack time clear back to Operation Bughouse.
It might as well have beena hotel; Ace andhIad a room all to ourselvesin visiting non-comquarters. One morning, when R & Rwas regrettablydrawing toa close,I was just turning over about loncoaol n
when Ace shook my bed. "On the bounce, soldier! The Bugs are attacking." I told him what to do with the Bugs.
"Let's hit dirt," he persisted.
"No dinero." I had had a date the night before wchiethmiast (female,
of course, ancdharmingly so) from the Research Station. She had known Carl onPluto and Carlhad written to meto look her up if I evgerot to
Sanctuary. She was a slender redhead, with expensive tastes. Apparently Carl hadintimated to her thathIad moremoney thanwas good for me, for she
decided that the night before wjuasst the time for her to get acquainted
with the local champagne. I didn't let Carl down by admitting that all I had was a trooper's honorarium; I bought it for her while I drank what they said was (but wasn't) fresh pineapple squaTshe result was that I had to walk
home, afterwards -- the cabs aren't free. Still, it had been worth it. After all, what is money? -- I'm speaking of Bug money, of course.
"No ache,"Ace answered. "I can juice y-o-u I got lucklyast night. Ran into a Navy file who didn't know percentages."
So I got up and shaved and showered and we hit the chow line for half a dozen shelel ggs and sundries such as potatoes and ham and hot cakes and so forthand then we hditirt to get something to eTath.e walk up Churchill
Roadwas hot and Ace decided to stop in a canItiwnae.nt along tsoee if

their pineapple squash was real. It wasn't, but it was cold. Yohuavcean't
everything.
We talked about this anthdat andAce ordered another round.trIied theirstrawberry squash -- same deal. Ace stared into his glass, then said, "Ever thought about greasing for officer?"
I said, "Huh? Are you crazy?"
"Nope. Look, Johnnie, this war may run on quite a piece. No matter what propaganda they put out for the folks at home, you and I knowBtuhgast the
aren'tready to quit. So why dony'ot u plan ahead?As theman says, if you've got to play in the band, it's betwtearvteo the stick than to carry the big drum."
I wasstartled by the turn thtealk had taken, especially fromAce. "How about you? Are you planning to buck for a commission?"
"Me?" he answered. "Checykour circuits, son-- you're getting wrong answers. I'vegot no education andI'm ten years older thaynou are. But you'vegot enough education thoit the selection exams for OC.. S. and you've gothe I. Q. theylike. I guarantee that if you go career, you'll
make sergeant before I do . . . and get picked for O. C. S. the day after." "Now I know you're crazy!"
"You listen to youprop. Ihate to tell youthis, but you arjeust
stupid and eager and sincere enoughmatoke the kind ooffficer that men
love tofollow into some silly predicament. Bmuet
-- well, I'ma natural
non-com, with thperoper pessimistic attitude to offset the enthusiasm of
the likes oyfou. Someday I'lml
ake sergeant . . . and presently I'll have
my twenty years in and retire and get one of the reserved jobs -- cop, maybe
--and marry a nice fawt ife withthe same low tasteshIave, and I'll

follow the sports and fish and go pleasantly to pieces."
Ace stopped to wet his whistle. "Byouut ," he went on. "You'll stay in andprobably make high rank and die gloriously andreaI'dll about it and sayproudly, `I knewhim when. Why, I usetod lend him money -- wweere corporals together.' Well?"
"I've never thought about it," I said slowly. "I just meant to serve my term."
He grinned sourly. "Do you see any term enrollees being paid off today? You expect to make it on two years?"
He had a point. As long as the war continued, a "term" didn't end -- at least not for cap troopers. It was mostly a difference in attitude, at least forthe present. Those of us on "term" could at least feel like
short-timers;we could talkabout: "When this flea-bitten wiasr over." A
career man didn't say that; he wasn't going anywhere, short of retirement or buying it.
On the other hand, neither were wBeu.t if you went "career" and then didn't finish twenty. .. wellt,hey couldbe prettysticky aboutyour
franchise even though they wouldn't keep a man who didn't want to stay. "Maybe not a two-year term,"I admitted. "But thewar won't last
forever."
"It won't?" "How can it?"
"Blessed ifI know. They don't tell me these things. But I know that's not what is troubling you, Johnnie. You got a girl waiting?"
"No. Well, I had," I answered slowly, "but she `Dear-Johned' me." As a

lie, this was no more thamn ilad decoration, which I tucked in because Ace seemed to expect it. Carmwenasn't my girl and she never waited for anybody
-- butshe did address letters with "Dear Johnnie" onthe infrequent occasions when she wrote to me.
Ace nodded wisely. "They'll doit every time. They'd rather marry
civilians and have somebody around to chew out when they feel like it. Never you mind, son -- you'll fpinlednty of them more than willing to marry when
you're retired. . . anydou'll be better able to handolnee at that age.
Marriage isa young man's disaster and an old man's comfort." He loaot ked
my glass. "It nauseates me to see you drinking that slop."
"I feel the same way about the stuff you drink," I told him.
He shrugged. "As I say, it takes all kinds. You think it over." "I will."
Ace got into a cargdame shortly after, and lemnte some money and I
went for a walk; I needed to think.
Go career? Quite aside from that noise abocuotmamission, didI want togo career? Why, I had gone through all this to gfertanmchyise, hadn't I? -- and Iifwent career, I was juas far away fromthe privilege of
voting as if I had never enrolled . . . because as long as you were still in uniformyou weren't entitled to vote. Which was the iwt sahyould be,of
course whyi,f theylet the Roughnecks vote, the idiots might votetonot
make a drop. Can't have that.
Nevertheless I had signed up in order to win a vote. Or had I?
Had I ever cared about voting? No, it was the pretshteigep,ride, the
status . . . of being a citizen.

Or was it?
I couldn't tosave my liferemember why I had signed up. Anyhow, it wasn't the process of votitnhgat made a citizen -- the Lieutenant had been
a citizen in the truest sense of the word, even though he had not lived long enough ever to cast a ballot. He had "voted" every time he made a drop.
And so had I!
I could hear Colonel Dubois in my m"inCdit:izenship is an attitude, a stateof mind, an emotional conviction that the whoglereiaster than the
part . . . and that the part should be humbly proud to sacrifice itself that the whole may live."
I still didn't know whether I yearned to place my one-and-only body
"between my loved home and the war's desolation" -- gIotstthilel
shakes
every drop and that "desolatiocno"uld be pretty desolate. But nevertheless
I knew altast what Colonel Duboihsad been talkingabout. TheM. I. was
mine and I was theirs. If that was what the M. I. did to break the monotony, then that waws hat I did. Patriotism was a bit esotericfor me, too
large-scale to see. But the M. I. was my gang, I belonged. They were all the family I had left; they were the brotIhehrasd never had, closer than Carl
had ever been. If I left them, I'd be lost. So why shouldn't I go career?
All right,all right-- but how about this nonsense of greasing for a commission?That was somethingelse again. I could semeyself puttingin twenty years antdhen taking it easy,the wayAce had described,with
ribbons on my chest and carpet slippers on my feet . . . or evenings down at
the VeteransHall, rehashing old timews ith others who belonged. But O. C.

S.? Icould hear Al Jenkins, in one of btuhlel sessions we had about such
things: "I'ma private! I'm goingto stay a private! When you're a private
theydon't expectanything of youW.
ho wants to be an officer? Or eaven
sergeant? You'rebreathing the same air, areny'ot u? Eating the same food. Going the same places, making the same drops. But no worries."
Al had a point. What had chevrons ever gotten me? -- aside from lumps. Nevertheless I knew I would take sergeant if it was ever offered to me.
You don't refusea, cap trooper doesn'trefuse anything; he steps uapnd takes a swing at it. Commission, too, I supposed.
Not that it would happen. Who watos Ithink that I could ever be what
Lieutenant Rasczak had been?
My walkhad taken me close to the candidates' schtohoolu, gh Idon't
believe I intended to come twhaaty. A companyof cadets were out on their parade groundd, rilling at trot, looking for all the worlilkde boots in
Basic.The sun was hoatnd it looked nontearly ascomfortable as a bull sessionin thedrop room ofthe Rodger Young-- why, Ihadn't marched farther than bulkhead thirty sinIcehadfinished Basic; thabt reaking-in nonsense was past.
I watched them a bit, sweatinthgrough theiruniforms; I heard them
being chewed out -- by sergeants,
Otolod.
Home WeekI.
shook my heaadnd
walkedaway fromthere -- went back to the accommodation barracks, over to the B. O. Q. wing, found Jelly's room.
He was in it, his feet up on a table and reading a maIgakznioncek. ed on the frame of the door. He looked up and growled, "Yeah?"
"Sarge -- I mean, Lieutenant -- "
"Spit it out!"

"Sir, I want to go career."
He dropped his feet to the desk. "Put up your right hand." He swore me, reachedunto the drawerof the tableand pulled out
papers.
He had my papers already made out, waiting for me, ready to sign. And I
hadn't even told Ace. How about that?
CHAPTER 12
It is by no means enough that an officer should be capable . . . . He should be as well a gentleman of liberal education, refined manners, punctilious courtesy, and the nicest sense of personal
honor . . . . No meritorious act of a subordinate should escape his attention, even if the reward be only one word of approval. Conversely, he should not be blind to a single fault in any subordinate.
True as may be the political principles for which we are now contending . . . the ships themselves must be ruled under a system of absolute despotism.
I trust that I have now made clear to you the tremendous responsibilities . . . . We must do the best we can with what we have.
-- John Paul Jones, September 14, 1775;
excerpts from a letter to the naval committee of the N. A. insurrectionists.

The Rodger Young was again returning to Base for replacements, both capsules and men. Al Jenkins had bought his farm, covaeripnigckup and that one had
cost us thPeadre, too.And besides that, I had tboe replaced. I was wearing brand-newsergeant's chevrons (viceMigliaccio) but I haad hunch
that Ace would be wearing them as soon as I was out of the ship -- they were
mostly honorary, I knew; the promotion
Jweallsy's way ofgiving me a good
send-off as I was detached for O. C. S.
But it didn't keep me from being profutdhem. At the Fleelat nding
field I went througthe exit gate with my nose in the air and strode up to thequarantine desk to have my ordesrtsamped. As this wabseing done I hearda polite, respectful voice behind me: "Excmuse, 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 corporalhad his arms around me. "Juan! Juan! mOyh,little
Johnnie!"
I kissed him andhugged him and started to cry. Maythbaet civilian
clerk athe quarantine desk had nevseeren two non-comskiss each other before. Welli,f I hadnoticed him so much as liftianng 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 noasnesd quit making an open spectacloef ourselves. I said",Father, let'sfind a corner somewhere and sit down and talk.I want to know . . . well, everythingt!o"oIk a deep breath. "I
thought you were dead."

"No. Came close to buyinigt once ortwice, 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'gvoet to bounce, righntow. I've goto report in." Then he added eager"lByu, t you'llbe back aboard soon, won't you, Juanito? Or are you going on R & R?"
"Uh, no." I thoughftast. Of all the waytos
have things roll! "Look,
Father,I know the boat schedule. Ycoaun't go aboard for at least an hour and a bit. That boat is not on a fast restrhiee'vlle;makea minimum-fuel rendezvouswhen 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 ordersread to report at once to the pilot of the first available ship's boat."
"Father, Father!Do you have to be so confounded regulatiTohne? girl
who's pushingthat heap won't care whether you board the boat nojwus, t or
as they button up. Anyhow they'll play the srhecipa'lsl overthe speakers
in here ten minutes before boost and announce it. You can't miss it." He let me lead him over to an emcoprtnyer. As we satdown he added,
"Will you be going up in the same boat, Juan? Or later?"
"Uh -- " I showehdim myorders; itseemed 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 andsaIid hastily, "Look,
Father, I'm going to try to cobmacek -- I wouldnw't ant anyother outfit

thanthe 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, tooI; 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 noot ffaincer yet andI might only
beout of the Rog feaw days. Imean, they sometimes bust `em out pretty fast and -- "
"Enough of that, young man!"
"Huh?"
"You'll make it. Let's have no more otaflk`busting out."'
Suddenly
he smiled. "That's the fitrismt e I've been able to tell a sergeant to shut up."
"Well . . .I'll certainly try, Father. And if I do miat,kIe'll certainly put in for the old Rog. But -- " I trailed off.
"Yes, I know. Your request won't mean anything unless thebreil'lseta
for you. Never mind. If this hour
wisealhlave, we'll make the most of it
--and I'm soproud of youI'm splittingmy seams.How have youbeen, Johnnie?"
"Oh, fine, just fine." I was thinking that it wasn't all bwado.ulHde
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. "hFoawther,

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 toask whathe meant.Casualties. There were always vacancies in the TO..; youcouldn't getenough trained soldiers to fill them. Instead I said, "Uh . . . but, Father, you're -- Well, aIrenm'tean,
you sort of old to be soldiering? I mean the Navy, or Logistics, or -- " "I wanted the M. I. and I itg!o"t he saidemphatically. "And I'm no
older than many sergeants n-o-t as old, in fact. Son, the mere fact that I am twenty-two years older than you are doesn't put mwehienel achair. And age has its advantages, too."
Well, therewas somethingin that. I recalled how Sergeant Zimhad
always tried the older men first, when he was dealing out boot chevrons. And Father would nevehrave goofed in Basic the way I had -- no lashes for him. He was probablsypotted as non-commaterial before he ever finished Basic.
The Army needs a lotreoaflly grown-up men itnhe middlegrades; 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 evgeirven me in words. And I didn't wanatsktohim why hehad joined up; fIelt that I knew. Mother. Neither ofhauds mentioned
her -- too painful.
So I changed the subjeacbt ruptly. "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 thesame old lumps, uInderstand. Only theyrush you
through twomonths faster, you don't get Sundays off. Then I requtehseted
RodgerYoung -- 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 waI!s" With a sudden warm flood of emotion I felt closer to my father than I ever had before in my life.
"I know. Atleast I knew youorutfit was there. I was arounfidfty
miles north of you, near acsanIguess. Wesoaked upthat counterattack
when they came boiling up out of the ground like bats out of a cave." Father shrugged."So when it was overI was a corporal without an outfit, not
enough of ulseft tomake a healthy cadre. So thesyent me here. I could have gone with King's KodiBakears, butI hada word withthe placement sergeant -- and, sure sausnrise, the Rodger Young came back waithbillet for a corporal. So here I am."
"And when did you join up?" I realitzheadt 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 foserveral moments.Then hesaid softly, "I'm not sure that you do see, Son."
"Sir?"
"Mmm . . .it will notbe easy to explain. Certainly, losiynogur
mother had a great deal to do with it. But I didn'ttoeanvroelnlge her --
even though I had that in mind, too. You had more to do with it -- " "Me?"
"Yes, you. Son, I always understood what you were doing bethttaenr
your mother did -- don't blame her; she never had a chance to know, any more than a bird can understand swimming. And perhaps I knew why you did it, even though I beg to doubt that you knew youartsetlhf,e time. At least half of
my angerat you was sheeresentment . .. that you hadactually done
something that I knew, burideedep in my heart, I should have done. But you weren't thecause of my joining up, either . . .myeoreuly helped trigger
it and you did control the service I chose."
He paused. "I wasn't in good shaapte thetime youenrolled. I was seeingmy hypnotherapist pretty regularly -- you never suspecthteadt, did you? --but we hadgotten nofarther thana clear recognition that I was
enormouslydissatisfied. After you left, I took it out on you -- but it was
not you, and I knew it and my therapist knew it. I suppose I knew that there wasreal trouble brewingearlier than most;we wereinvited to bid on militarycomponents fully a month before the stateof emergency was
announced. We had converted almost entirely to war production while you were still in training.
"I felt better during that period, worktoeddeath and too busy to see

mytherapist. Then Ibecame moretroubled than ever." He smiled. "Son, do you know about civilians?"
"Well . . . we don't talk the same language. I know that."
"Clearly enough put.Do you remember Madame RuitmanI?was on faew daysleave after I finishedBasic andI wenthome. I sawsome of our friends,said good-by -- she amonthgem. She chattered away and sa`idS,o
you're really going out? Well, if you reach Faraway, you really must look up my dear friends the Regatos.' "
"I told her, as gently as I could, that it seuenmliekdely, sincethe
Arachnids had occupied Faraway.
"It didn't faze heirn theleast. Shesaid, `Oh, that's all right -- they're civilians!' " Father smiled cynically.
"Yes, I know."
"But I'm getting ahead of my story. I told you that I was getting still more upset. Your mother's death released me for what I had t.oedvoen. .
though sheand I were closer than most, neverthelietsssetme free to do it. I turned the business over to Morales -- "
"Old man Morales? Can he handle it?"
"Yes. Because he has to. A lot of us are doing things we didn't know we could. I gave him a nice chunk of stock -- you know the old saying about the king that tread the grain -- and the rest I split two ways, in a trust: half
to the Daughterosf Charity, half to yowuhenever you wanto go back and take it. If you do. Never mind. I had at lastoufot uwndhat was wrong with
me." He stopped, then said very softly, "I had to perform an act of faith. I
hadto prove to myself that I was a mNaont. just a producing-consuming economic animal . . . but a man."

At that moment, beforeI could answeranything, the wall speakers
around us sang: " -- shines the name, shines the naRmoedgoefr Young!" and a girl's voicaedded, "Personnel for F. C. T. RodYgeorung, stand to boat. Berth H. Nine minutes."
Father bounced to hifseet, grabbed hiskit roll."That's mine! Take care of yourself, Son a-n-d hitthose exams. Or you'll find you're still not too big to paddle."
"I will, Father."
He embraced me hastily. "See you when we get back!" And he was gone, on the bounce.
In the Commandant'souter office I reported tao fleet sergeant who lookedremarkably like Sergeant Ho, even to lackinagn arm.However, he lacked Sergeant Ho's smile as welsla.idI, "Career Sergeant Juan Rico, to report to the Commandant pursuant to orders."
He glanced at the clock. "Your boat was down seventy-three minutes ago. Well?"
So I told him. He pulled his lip and looked matedmitaetively. "I've heardevery excuse inthe book. But you'vejust addeda new page. Your father, your own fatherre,ally was reporting to your oslhdip just as you were detached?"
"The bare truth, Sergeant. You can check it -- Corporal Emilio Rico."
"We don't check the statements of the `young gentlemen' around here. We simply cashier them if it ever turns out thathatvheynot told the truth.
Okay, a boy who wouldn't be late in order to see his old man off wouldn't be
worth much in any case. Forget it."

"Thanks, Sergeant. Do I report to the Commandant now?"
"You've reportedto him." Hemade a checkmark on a list. "Maybe a month fromnow he'll sendfor you alongwith a coupleof dozenothers. Here's your room assignmenhte, re's acheckoff list you start witha-n-d you can starbty cutting off those chevrons. Bsuatve them; youmay need
them later. But as of this moment you are `Mister,' not `Sergeant.' " "Yes, sir."
"Don't call me `sir.' I call you `sir.' But you won't like it."
I am not going to describe Officer Candidates SchIto'sol.like Basic, butsquared and cubed with books addeIdn.the morningswe behaved like privates, doing thseame old things we had doneBiansic and in combat and being chewed out for the way we did thebmy s-e-rgeants. In the afternoons
we were cadetasnd "gentlemen," and recited on and were lectured concerning anendless list of subjects: math, science, galactography, xenology,
hypnopedia, logisticss, trategy and tacticsc, ommunications, military law, terrainreading, special weapons, psychology of leadershaipn,ything from thecare and feedingof privates to whyXerxes lost thebig one.Most
especially howto be a one-man catastrophe yourself while keeping track of
fifty other men, nursing them, loving them, leading them, saving them -- but
never babying them. We had beds, which we used all too lithtaled;
rwoeoms
andshowers and insideplumbing; and each foucrandidates had acivilian servant,to make our beds ancdlean our rooms ansdhine our shoes and lay
out our uniforms and run errands. This service was not intendeludxuarsy a
and was not; its purpose was to give the student more time to accomplish the plainlyimpossible byrelieving himof things any graduateof Basic can
already do perfectly.

Six days shalt thou work and do all thou art able,
The seventh the same and pound on the cable.
Or the Army version ends:an-d-
cleanout the stable, which shows you how
many centuries this sort of thing has bgeoeinng on. Iwish Icould catch
just one of those civilians who think we loaf and put them through one month of O. C. S.
In the evenings and all dSauyndays westudied until oureyes burned andour ears ached -- thesnlept (if we slept) withhyapnopedic speaker droning away under the pillow.
Our marching songs weraeppropriately downbeat: "No Armfyor mine, no
Army for mine! I'd rather be behind the plow any old time!" and "Don't wanta study warno more," and"Don't make my boy a soldier, wtheeeping mother
cried," and -- favoriotef all -- thoeld classic "Gentlemen Rankers" with itschorus aboutthe Little Lost Sheep: -"- God ha' pity on such as we. Baa! Yah! Bah!"
Yet somehow I don't remembebreing unhappy.Too busy, I guess. There was never that psychologic"ahl ump" to get over, thoene everybody hits in Basic;there was simply theever-present fearof flunking out. My poor preparationin mathbothered me especially. Myroommate, a colonial from Hesperuswith theoddly appropriate name of "Angel,"sat up night after
night, tutoring me.
Most of the instructorse,specially the officers, were disabledT.he
only ones cIan remember who had a full complement of arms, legs, eyesight, hearing, etc., were some of the non-commissioned cominbsatrtuctors --and
notall ofthose. Our coach idnirty fighting sat in apowered chair,

wearing a plastic collar, and was completely paralyzed tfhreomneckdown. But his tongue wasn't paralyzed, his eye pwhoastographic, andthe savage
way in which he could analyze and criticize what he had seen made up for his minor impediment.
At first I wondered why these obvious candidates for physical retirement andfull-pay pensiondidn't take it and ghoome. Then I quit wondering.
I guess the high point in my whole cadet course was a visit from Ensign
Ibanez, she of the dark eyes, junior watch officer and
pilot-under-instructionof the CorvetteTransport Mannerheim.Carmencita
showed up, looking incredibly pienrt Navy dress whites and abothuet
size
ofa paperweight, while mcylass waslined up for evening meal mus-te-r
walked down the linaend you could hear eyeballs click asshe passed -- walked straight up to the duty officer and asked fboyr mnaeme in a clear, penetrating voice.
The duty officerC, aptain Chandar, was widelbyelieved never tohave
smiled at his own mother, but he smiled down at little Carmen, straining his face out of shape, and admitted my existenc. ew.he.reupon she wavehder
long black lashes haitm, explainedthat her shipwas aboutto boost and could she please take me out to dinner?
And I found myself inpossession of a highly irregulanr d totally unprecedentedthree-hour pass. It may be that the Navy has developed
hypnosis techniques that they have yneott gotten around to passing oton
the Army. Or hseercret weapon may be older than that andusnaobtle by M. I.In any case I nootnly had a wonderfutilme butmy prestige withmy
classmates, none too high until then, climbed to amazing heights.

It was a glorious evening and well worth flunking two classneesxthe
day. It was somewhat dimmed by the fact that we had each heard about Carl -- killed when the Bugs smashoeudr research station on Pluto --but only
somewhat, as we had each learned to live with such things.
One thing did startle me. Carmen relaxed and otoffokher hat while we were eating, and her blue-black hair wasgoanlel . I knew that a lot of the Navy girls shaved their headsaf-t-er all, it's not practical to take care
of longhair in awar ship and, most especially, a pilot can't risk having her hairfloating around, getting in thweay, in anyfree-fall maneuvers.
Shucks, I shaved my own scalp, just for convenience and cleanBliuntesms.y mental picture of little Carmen included this mane of thick, wavy hair.
But, do you know, once you get used to it, it's rather cute. I mean, if agirl looksall right to starwt ith, she still looks arlilght with her
head smooth. And it does serve to set a Navy girl apart from civilian chicks
-- sortof a lodge pinli,ke the goldskulls forcombat drops.It made
Carmen lookdistinguished, gave her dignity, and for the first time I fully realized that she realwlyas an officer and fiaghting man -- as well as a very pretty girl.
I got back to barracks with starsmiyn eyes and whiffing slightly of perfume. Carmen had kissed me good-by.
The only O. C. S. classroom course the content of wI'mhicehven going to mention was: History and Moral Philosophy.
I was surprised to find it in the curriculum. H. & M. P. has nothing to
do with combaatnd how to lead a platoon; its connection with war (where it is connected) iisn why to fight --a matter already settledfor any

candidate long before hreaches O. C. S. An MI. .fights because he is M. I.
I decided that the coursmeust be a repeat for the benefit of those of
us (maybea third) who had nevherad it in school. Over
p2e0r cent of my
cadet classwere not from Terra (a much higher percentage of colonials sign up to serve than do peobpolern on Earth -- sometimes it makes you wonder) and ofthe three quartersor so from Terra, some were fromassociated
territoriesand otherplaces where H. & MP.. might not be taught. SI o
figured it for a cinccohurse which wouldgive me a little rest from tough courses, the ones with decimal points.
Wrong again.Unlike my high school course, you had to pass it. Not by examination,however. The course included examinations and prepapreadpers andquizzes and such-- but no marks. Whatyou had to have wasthe
instructor's opinion that you were worthy of commission.
If he gave you a downcheck, a bosatdon you, questioning not merely whether youcould be an officer but whether you belonged in the Army at any rank, no matter hofwast you mightbe with weapons -- deciding whether to giveyou extrainstruction .. . or just kicykou out and let yobue a
civilian.
History and Moral Philosophy works like a delayed-action bomb. You wake upin the middle of the night and think: Now what did he mean by that? That hadbeen true evenwith my high school course; I simply hadn't knwowhant
Colonel Duboiswas talking aboutW.
hen I was a kid I thouigthwt as silly
for the course to ibne the science department. It was nothing like physics
or chemistry; why wasn't it over in the fuzzy studies where it belonged? The only reason I paid attention was because there were such lovely arguments.

I had no idea that "Mr." Dubois was trtyointegach me why tofight until long after I had decided to fight anyhow.
Well, whyshould Ifight? Wasn't it preposterous to expomsey tender skin to thveiolence of unfriendlystrangers? Especially as the pay at any rankwas barely spendingmoney, the hours terrible, and the working conditions worse? WheIncould be sitting at homwehile such matters were handled by thick-skullecdharacters whoenjoyed such games?Particularly
when thestrangers against whom fIought never had done anythingto me
personally untiIl
showedup and started kicking ovtehreir teawagon --
what sort of nonsense is this?
Fight because I'm an M. I.? Brother, you're droolingDlri.kePavlov's dogs. Cut it out and start thinking.
Major Reid, our instructor, was a blminadn with a disconcerting habit
of looking straight at you and calling you by name. We were reviewing events after thewar between the Russo-Anglo-American Alliance and thCe hinese
Hegemony, 1987 and following. But this was the day that we heard the news of
the destructionof San Francisco and the San JoaqVuianlley; Ithought he
would giveus a pep talkA.
fter all, even caivilian ought to be able to
figure it out now -- the Bugs or us. Fight or die.
Major Reid didn't mention San Francisco. He hadone of usapes summarizethe negotiated treaty of New Delhi, discusshow it ignored
prisoners of war . . . and, by implication, dropped the subject forever; the
armistice became a stalemate and prisoners stayed where they wereon-e- on
side; on the other sitdheey were turned loosaend, during theDisorders,
made their way home -- or not if they didn't want to.

Major Reid's victim summed up the unreleasperdisoners: survivorsof
two divisions of British paratroopers, some thousands of civilians, captured mostly inJapan, the Philippines, and Russia asnedntenced for "political"
crimes.
"Besides that, there were many other military prisoneMrsa,"jor Reid's victim went on, "capturedduring and beforethe war -- there werumors
thatsome had been captured in an earlier war and never released. The total
of unreleased prisoners was never known. The best estimates place the number around sixty-five thousand."
"Why the `best'?"
"Uh, that's the estimate in the textbook, sir."
"Please be precise iynour language. Wasthe number greateror less than one hundred thousand?"
"Uh, I don't know, sir."
"And nobody else knows. Was it greater than one thousand?" "Probably, sir. Almost certainly."
"Utterly certain -- because motrhean that eventually escaped, found
their ways home, were tallied bnyame. I see you dnidot read your lesson carefully. Mr. Rico!"
Now I was the victim. "Yes, sir."
"Are a thousandunreleased prisonerssufficient reason to startor
resume a war? Bear in mind mthialltions of innocent people may die, almost certainly will die, if war is started or resumed."
I didn't hesitate. "Yes, sir! More than enough reason."
" `More than enough.' Verwyell, is one prisoner, unreleased by the enemy, enough reason to start or resume a war?"

I hesitated. I knew the M. I. answer -- but I didn't think that was the one he wanted. He said sharply, "Come, come, Mister! Weanhauvpeper limit
ofone thousand; I invited yotuo consider a lower limit of one. yBouut
can't paya promissorynote which reads `somewherebetween oneand one thousand pounds-'- and starting a war is much more sertihoaunspaying a trifle of moneyW. ouldn't it be criminal to endanger a country -- two countries in fac-t- to save one man? Especiaallsy he may not deserve it?
Ormay die in the meantimeT?housands ofpeople get killed every dainy
accidents . . . so why hesitate over one man? Answer! Answoerr aynessw, er no -- you're holding up the class."
He got my goat. I gave him the cap trooper's answer. "Yes, sir!" " `Yes' what?"
"It doesn't matter whetherit's a thousand-- or just ones,ir. You fight."
"Aha! The numberof prisonersis irrelevant.Good. Nowprove your answer."
I was stuck. I knew it was the right answer. But I didn't knoHwe why.
kepthounding me. "Speak upM, r. Rico.This is an exact science. You have made a mathematical statement; you must gpirvoeof. Someone may claimthat you have asserted, baynalogy, that one potato is worththe same price, no more, no less, as one thousand potatoes. No?"
"No, sir!"
"Why not? Prove it." "Men are not potatoes."
"Good, good, Mr. Rico! I think we have strained your tired brain enough

for one day. Bring ctloass tomorrow a written proof, in symbolic logic, of youranswer tomy original question. I'll givyeou a hint. Sereeference
sevenin today's chapter.Mr. Salomon!How did the present political organizationevolve out of the Disorders? And what is its moral justification?"
Sally stumbled through the firsptart. However,nobody can describe accurately howthe Federation came about;it just grew.With national governmentsin collapse at the enodf the XXth century, somethinhgad to
fill the vacuum, and in many cases it was returned veterans. They had lost a war, most of them had no jombasn, y were sore as could be over the terms of the Treaty oNf ew Delhi, especially the P. O. W. foul-up -- and they knew
how tofight. But iwt asn't revolution; it was more like whhaapt pened in
Russia in 1917 -- the system collapsed; somebody else moved in.
The first known case, in Aberdeen, Scotland, was typical. Some veterans got together as vigilantes to stop rioatinndg looting, hanged a few people (including two veterans) and decided not to let anyone but veterans on their committee. Just arbitrary at fi-r-stthey trusted eachother a bit, they
didn'ttrust anyone else.What started as anemergency measure became constitutional practice . . . in a generation or two.
Probably those Scottish veterans, since they wfeirneding it necessary to hang some veterandse, cided that,if they had tdoo this, they weren't going to let any "bleedin', profiteering, black-market,
double-time-for-overtime, army-dodging, unprintable" civilianhsave any say aboutit. They'd do what they were told, see? -- while us apes straightened things out!That's myguess, because I might fetehle same way .. .and
historians agree that antagonism between civilians and returned soldiers was

more intense than we can imagine today.
Sally didn'ttell itby the book. FinallMy ajor Reid cuthim off.
"Bring a summary ctolass tomorrow, threethousand words. Mr. Salomon, can you give me a reason -- not historical nor theorbeutitcaplractical -- why
the franchise is today limited to discharged veterans?" "Uh, because they are picked men, sir. Smarter." "Preposterous!"
"Sir?"
"Is the word too long fyooru? Isaid it was a silly notioSne.rvice
men are not brighter than civilians. In many
ciavsielisans aremuch more
intelligent. That was thseliver of justification underlying the attempted coupd'etat just before the Treaty of New Delhi, the so-called `Revolt of theScientists': let theintelligent elite runthings and you'll have
utopia. It fell flat iotsn foolish face of course. Because pthuersuit of science,despite its social benefitsis, itself not a sociavlirtue; its practitionerscan be men soself-centered as to be lacking insocial responsibility. I've given you a hint, Mister; can you pick it up?"
Sally answered, "Uh, service men are disciplined, sir."
Major Reid was gentle with him. "Sorry. aAppnealing theory not backed
up by facts. You and I are not permitted to vote as long as we remain in the
Service,nor is it verifiable that military discipline makes a man
self-disciplined oncehe is out; the crime rate of veteransmiusch like
thatof civilians.And you have forgotten that in peacetime most veterans come from non-combatant auxiliary services ahnadve notbeen subjected to the fulrligors of militarydiscipline; they have merelybeen harried,

overworked, and endangered -- yet their votes count."
Major Reid smiled. "MrS.alomon, Ihanded you atrick question. The practical reason for continuinogur system is the sameasthe practical reason for continuing anything: It works satisfactorily.
"Nevertheless, it is instructive toobserve thedetails. Throughout historymen have labored toplace thesovereign franchise in hands that would guard it well aunsde itwisely, for thebenefit of all. Aenarly
attempt was absolute monarchy, passionately defended as the `divine right of kings.'
"Sometimes attemptswere made to selecta wisemonarch, ratherman leaveit up to God, as when theSwedes pickeda Frenchman, General Bernadotte, torule them. Theobjection to this isthat thesupply of Bernadottes is limited.
"Historic examples range from absolute monarch to utter anarch; mankind has tried thousands of ways amnadny more have been proposed, some weird in theextreme such as the antlike communism urgedby Plato under the
misleading title The Republic. But the intent has always been moralistic: to provide stable and benevolent government.
"All systems seek to achievtheis by limiting franchisteo those who are believed to have the wisdomusteo itjustly. I repeat`all systems';
even the so-called `unlimited democracies' excluded from francnhoitseless thanone quarter oftheir populations by ageb,irth, polltax, criminal
record, or other."
Major Reid smiled cynically."I have never been abtloe see how a
thirty-year old moron can vote more wisely thfaifnteean-year-old genius .
. . but that was athge of the`divine right of thecommon man.' Never

mind, they paid for their folly.
"The sovereign franchisehas been bestowedby all sorts ofrules -- placeof birth, family of birthr,ace, sex, property,education, age, religion, et cetera. Athllese systemsworked and noneof themwell. All wereregarded as tyrannical by many,all eventually collapsed or were overthrown.
"Now here are we wisthtill another system . a. n.d our system works quitewell. Many complain butnonerebel; personal freedom for all is greatest in history, laws are few, taaxre low, living standardsare as
high as productivity permitcsr,ime is at its lowest ebb. Why? Not because our voters are smarter than other peowplee';ve disposedof that argument.
Mr. Tammany can you tell us why our system works better than any used by our ancestors?"
I don't know wherCe lyde Tammany got hisname; I'd takehim for a
Hindu. He answered, "Uh, I'd venture to guess that it's because the electors are asmall group who knowthat the decisions are up to them . . . so they study the issues."
"No guessing, please; this is exascience. And yourguess is wrong.
The rulingnobles of many another system were a small gfruolulyp aware of
their grave power. Furthermore, our franchised citizens are not everywhere a small fraction; you knoowr should knowthat the percentageof citizens
among adults ranges from over eighty per cent on Iskander to less than three percent in some Terran nations yet government is much the same everywhere. Norare the voters pickemd en; theybring no speciawl isdom, talent,or
trainingto their sovereign tasksS.o what difference is there between our

votersand wielders of franchise in the past? We
havdeenoughguesses;
I'll statethe obvious: Under our systeemvery voter and officeholder is a man whohas demonstrated through voluntary anddifficult servicethat he places the welfare of the group ahead of personal advantage.
"And that is the one practical difference."
"He mayfail in wisdom, he may lapse in civic viBrtute.his average performance is enormously better than tohfatany otherclass of rulers in history."
Major Reid paused to touchthe face of an old-fashioned watch,
"reading" its hands. "The period is almost over and we have yet to determine themoral reasonfor oursuccess in governingourselves. Now continued
success is never a matotefr chance. Bear in mind that this is science, not wishfulthinking; the universe is what it is, not what we want it to be. To vote is to wield authority; it is the supreme authority from which all other authority derives -- sucahs mine to make your lives miserable ondceaya.
Force, if you wil-l-! the franchiseis force, naked and raw, the Power of the Rods antdhe Ax. Whether it is exertbeyd ten men orby ten billion, political authority is force."
"But this universe consists of paired dualitiWes.hat is the converse of authority? Mr. Rico."
He had picked one I could answer. "Responsibility, sir."
"Applause. Both for practical reasons and for mathematically verifiable moralreasons, authority and responsibility must be equal --else a
balancing takes place asusrely as current `flows between points of unequal potential. To permit irresponsible authoristy to sow disastert;o hold a
manresponsible foranything he does not controltoisbehave with blind

idiocy. The unlimitedemocracies were unstable because their citizens were notresponsible for the fashionin which theyexerted their sovereign
authority . . . other than throughtrathgeic logic of history. Thuenique
`poll tax' that we must pay was unheard of. No attempt was made to determine whethera voter was socially responsible to the extent of his literally
unlimitedauthority. If he voted thime possible, thedisastrous possible happened instead-- and responsibility was then forced hoimn willy-nilly and destroyed both him and his foundationless temple."
"Superficially, our system is only slightly different; we have democracyunlimited by race, color, creed, birth, wealth, sex, or conviction,and anyone may win sovereign power buysuaally shortand not tooarduous term of service-- nothing more than liaght workout to our cave-man ancestors. But that slight difference isboentwe een a system that works,since itis constructed to match thefacts, and one that is
inherently unstableS. ince sovereign franchise is the ultimate ihnuman authority, weinsure that all who wieiltd accept the ultimatien social responsibility --we require eachperson whowishes to exert control over thestate to wager his own l-if-e and lose it, if need --beto save the
life of thsetate. The maximum responsibilitay human canaccept is thus equated to the ultimate authority a human can exerta.nYd iynang, perfect and equal."
The Major added, "Can anyone define why there has never been revolution against our system? Despitthee fact that every government in history has
hadsuch? Despite the notorious fact that complaints are loud and
unceasing?"

One of the oldercadets took a crack atit. "Sir, revolution is impossible."
"Yes. But why?"
"Because revolution -- armed uprising -- requires not only dissatisfactionbut aggressiveness.A revolutionist has tobe willing to fight anddie -- or he'sjust a parlorpink. If you separate out the
aggressive ones and make them the sheep dogs, the wshilelepnever give you trouble."
"Nicely put!Analogy is always suspecbt,ut that oneis close to the
facts. Bring me a mathematical proof tomorrow. Time for one more question -- you ask it and I'll answer. Anyone?"
"Uh, sir, why nogto -- well, go the limit? Requeivreryone to serve and let everybody vote?"
"Young man, can you restore my eyesight?" "Sir? Why, no, sir!"
"You would find it mucehasier than to instill moral virtue -- social responsibility-- into a person whdooesn't have it, doesn't want it, and
resents having the burdethnrust on him. This is why we maksoe ihtard to
enroll, so easy
rtoesign. Social responsibility above the level of family,
orat most of triber,equires imagination -- devotion, loyalty, all the
highervirtues -- which a man must develop himselfh;eifhas them forced
down himh, e will vomit them out. Conscraiprmt
ies havebeen tried in the
past. Look up in the library the psychiatric report on brainwashed prisoners in theso called `Korean War,' circ1a950 -- the MayerReport. Bringan
analysis to class." He touched his watch. "Dismissed."
Major Reid gave us a busy time.

But it was interesting. I caught one of those master's thesis
assignments he chucked around so casually; I had suggested that the Crusades were different from most wars. I got sawed off and handed this: Required: to provethat war and moral perfection derive from the same genetic
inheritance.
Briefly, thus: All wars arise from populatpiornessure. (Yes, even the Crusades, though you havtoe dig into traderoutes and birthrate and several other things to prove it.) Morals -- all cmororeraclt rules derive
from the instinctot
survive; moral behavior is survival behavior above the
individual level -- as in a father who dies to sacvheildhreisn. But since population pressure resultfsrom the process osfurviving through others,
then war, because it results from population pressure, derives from the same inherited instinct which produces all moral rules suitable for human beings.
Check ofproof: Is it possible to abolish warrebliyeving population pressure (and thus daoway with the all-too evident evoilfs war)through constructing a moral code under which population is limited to resources?
Without debating the usefulnesosr morality ofplanned parenthood, it may be verifiebdy observation that any breed which stopsowitsn increase
gets crowded out by breeds which expand. Shoummean populationsdid so, in
Terran history, and other breeds moved in and engulfed them. Nevertheless, let's assume that the human race manages to balance birth
and death, just right to fit its own planets, and thereby bepceoamceefsul. What happens?
Soon (about next Wednesday) the Bugs move in, kill off this breed which
"ain'ta gonna study wnaro more" and the universe forgeuts. Which still

may happenE. ither we spread and wipe out the Bugs, or they spread and wipe us out -b-ecause bothraces aretough and smart and want tshaeme real
estate.
Do you know how fast populatiopnressure could causeus to filtlhe entireuniverse shoulder to shoulder? The answer will astound you, just the flicker of an eye in terms of the age of our race.
Try it -- it's a compound-interest expansion.
But does Man have any "right" to spread through the universe?
Man is what he is, a wild animal with the will to survive, and (so far)
the abilitya, gainst all competition. Unless one accepts that, anything one
says about morals, war, politics --
nyaomu e it --is nonsense. Correct
moralsarise from knowing what Man is -- not what do gooders and well-meaning old Aunt Nellies would like him to be.
The universe will let us know -- latewr h-e- ther or not Mahnas any
"right" to expand through it.
In the meantime the M. I. will be in there, on the bounce and swinging, on the side of our own race.
Toward the end each of us was shipped out to serve under an experienced combatcommander. This was a semifinal examination, your `board-ship
instructor could decide that you didn't have what it takes. You could demand a board but I never heard of anybody who did; theycaemitheerback with an upcheck or we never saw them again.
Some hadn'tfailed; it was justhat they were killed -- because
assignments were to ships about to go into acWtioen.were required to keep kit bags packed -- once at lunch, all the cadet officers of my cwomerpeany
tapped; they left without eating and I found myself cadet company commander.

Like bootchevrons, this is anuncomfortable honor, but in less than two days my own call came.
I bounced down to the Commandant's office, kit bag over my shoulder and feeling grand. I was sick of late hoursbuarnnding eyes and never catching
up,of looking stupid in class; a fweweeks inthe cheerful company oaf
combat team was just what Johnnie needed!
I passed somenew cadets, trottingto class in closfeormation, each
with the grim look that every O. C. S. candgiedtsatewhen he realizes that possiblyhe made amistake in bucking for officer, anId foundmyself
singing. I shut up when I was within earshot of the office.
Two otherswere there, Cadets Hassan and Byrd. Hassan the Assassin was the oldestman inour class andlooked like something a fisherman had let
out of a bottle, while Birdie wasn't much bigger than a sparrow and about as intimidating.
We wereushered into the Holyof Holies. TheCommandant was in his wheel chair -- we never saw himofoiutt exceptSaturday inspectionand
parade, I guess walking hurt. But that didn't mean you didn't see him -- you could be working a praotb the board, turn around and find that wheel chair behind you, and Colonel Nielssen reading your mistakes.
He never interrupted -- there wasa standingorder notto shout
"Attention!" But it's disconcerting. There seemed to be about six of him. The Commandant had apermanent rank offleet general (yes, that
Nielssen); his rank as colonweal s temporary, pending second retirement, to permit him to be Commandant. I once questionpeadyma aster aboutthis and
confirmed whathe regulations seemed to saTy:he Commandantgot only the

pay of a colonel --
wbuotuld revert to thpeay of a fleegteneral on the
day he decided to retire again.
Well, as Ace says, it takes all sorts -- Iimcagi'tne choosing half pay for the privilege of riding herd on cadets.
Colonel Nielssen looked up andsaid, "Morning, gentlemen. Make yourselvescomfortable." I satdown but wasn't comfortable. He glided over to a coffee machine, drew four cups, and Hassan hheilmpeddeal them out. I
didn't want coffee but a cadet doesn't refuse the Commandant's hospitality. He took a sip. "I have your orders, gentlemen," he announced, "and your
temporary commissions." He went o"nB,ut I want to be suyroeu understand your status."
We had already beenlectured about this. We were going to be officers just enough for instruction and testing -- "supernumerary, probationary, and
temporary." Very junior, quite superfluous, on good behaavniodr,extremely
temporary; we would revetrot
cadet when we got back and could be busted at
any time by the officers examining us.
We would be"temporary thirdlieutenants" -- a rank as necessarays feeton a fishw, edged into the hairlinbeetween fleet sergeants and real officers. It is as low as you canangdetstill becalled an "officer." If anybody ever saluted a third lieutenant, the light must have been bad.
"Your commission reads `third lieutenant,' "wheent on, "but your pay
stays the same, you continue to be addressed as `Mister,' the only change in uniformis a shoulder pip evesnmaller thancadet insignia. Youcontinue
under instruction since it has not yet bsetetnled that you arfeit to be
officers." The Colonel smiled. "So why call you a `third lieutenant'?"
I hadwondered about thatW.
hy this whoopty-do of "commissions" that

weren't real commissions?
Of course I knew the textbook answer. "Mr. Byrd?" the Commandant said.
"Uh . . . to place us in the line of command, sir."
"Exactly!" Colonel glidedto aT. O.on onewall. It was the usual
pyramid, with chain of command definaelld the way down. "Look at this -- "
He pointed tao box connected to his own
abyhorizontal line; it read:
ASSISTANT TO COMMANDANT (Miss Kendrick). "Gentlemen," he went on, "I would have troublreunning this place
without Miss Kendrick. Hheread is a rapid-access filteo everything that happensaround here." Hetouched a controlon his chair and spoke thtoe air."Miss Kendrick, what mark did Cadet Byrd receinivemilitary law last term?"
Her answer came back at once: "Ninety-three per cent, Commandant." "Thank you." Hecontinued, "You see? I sigannything if Miss Kendrick
has initialed it. I would hatehatvoe an investigating committee find out
how often she signs my name and I don't even see it. Tell me, Mr. Byrd . . . if I drop dead, does Miss Kendrick carry on to keep things moving?"
"Why, uh -- " Birdie looked puzzled. "I suppose, with routine matters, she would do what was necess -- "
"She wouldn't do a blessed thing!" theColonel thundered. "Until
Colonel Chauncey told her whtoatdo -- his way. She is a very smart woman and understands what you apparently ndoot, namely,that she is not in the
line of command and has no authority."
He went on, " `Linoef command' isn't just a phrase; it's as real as a

slap in the face.IIfordered you tcoombat as a cadet the most you could
do would be
ptoass along somebody else's orders. yIfour platoonleader
bought it and you then gave an order to a p--rivaatgeood order, sensible and wise -- you would be wrong and he woujuldst abse wrong ifhe obeyed it.Because a cadetcannot be inthe lineof command. A cadet hanso
military existence, no rank, and is not a soldier. He is a wsthuodewnitll becomea soldier -- either an officer,atorhis formal rankW. hile he is under Army discipline, he is not in the Army. That is why -- "
A zero. A nought with no rim. If a cawdaestn't even in the Arm-y- "Colonel!"
"Eh? Speak up, young man. Mr. Rico."
I had startled myselbfut Ihad to say it. "But . . . if we aren't in the Army . . . then we aren't M. I. Sir?"
He blinked at me. "This worries you?"
"I, uh, don't believe I like it much, sir." I didn't like it at all. I
felt naked.
"I see." He didn'tseem displeased. "Youlet me worry aboutthe space-lawyer aspects of it, son."
"But -- "
"That's an order. You are technically not an M. I. But the M. I. hasn't forgotten you; the M. I. never forgets its own no matter whearree.thIefy
you are struck dead this instant, you wicllrebmeated as Second Lieutenant
JuanRico, Mobile Infantry, of -- "Colonel Nielssen stopped. "Miss
Kendrick, what was Mr. Rico's ship?" "The Rodger Young."
"Thank you." He added, " -- in aonfdTFCT Rodger Younga,ssigned to

mobile combat teamSecond Platoon of George Company, ThiRrdegiment, First
Division,M. I. -- the `Roughnecks,' " he recited withrelish, not
consulting anything once he had beremn inded of my ship. "gAood outfit,
Mr. Rico -- proud and nasty. Your Final Orders go back to them
afonrd Taps
that's theway your name would read in Memorial Hall. That's wwehyalways commission a dead cadet, son -- so we can send him home to his mates."
I felt a surge of relaienfd homesickness and missed a few words. ". .
. lip buttonewd hile Italk, we'll haveyou backin the M. Iw. here you belong. You musbte temporaryofficers for your `prenticecruise because
there is no room fdoerad-heads ina combat drop. You'll fight -- and take
orders -- and give orders. Legal orders, becyaou
usewill hold rank and be
ordered to serve in that team; that makes any order you give in carrying out your assigned duties as binding as one signed by the C-in-C.
"Even more, " the Commandant went on, "once you are in line of command, youmust be ready instantlyto assume higher command.If you are in a
one-platoon team -- quite likelythien present state of the war -- and you
are assistant platoon leader when your platoon leader buys it . . . then . .
. you . . . are . . . It!"
He shook his head. "Not `acting platoon leader.' Not a cadet leaading
drill. Not `ajunior officer underinstruction.' Suddenly you are thOeld Man, theBoss, CommandingOfficer Present -- and youdiscover with a sickening shock that fellow human beings are dependinygouonalone to tell themwhat to do, howto fight, how to completthee mission and get out
alive. They wait for the sure voice of command -- while seconds trickle away
-- andit's up to you tobe that voice, make decisions, give trhigeht

orders . .an. d not onlythe rightones but in a calm, unworriteodne. Becauseit's a cinch,gentlemen, that your team is introuble -- bad trouble! -- and a stranvgoeice with panic in it can ttuhren bestcombat team in the Galaxy into a leaderless, lawless, fear-crazed mob.
"The whole mercilessload will land withouwt arning. Youmust act at
once and you'll have only God over you. Don't expect Him to fill in tactical details; that's your joHb.e'll be doing all thatsoaldier has a right to
expectif Hehelps you keep thpeanic youare sure to feelout of your voice."
The Colonel paused. Iwas soberedand Birdie was looking terribly
serious and awfully young and Hassan was scowling. I wished that I were back in the drop room of the Rog, with nomt atnoyochevrons andan after-chow
bull session ifnull swing. There was laot to be said for the job of
assistant section leader -- when you come right to it, it's a lotot easier
die than it is to use your head.
The Commandant continued:"That's the Moment ofTruth, gentlemen. Regrettably thereis no methodknown tomilitary science to tell raeal
officer from a glib imitation with pips on his shoulders, other than through ordeal by fire. Real ones come through -- or die gallantly; imitations crack up.
"Sometimes, in cracking up, the misfits die. tBheuttragedy liesin theloss of others . . . gomoden, sergeants and corporalasnd privates,
whose only lack is fatal bad fortune in finding themselves under the command of an incompetent.
"We tryto avoid this. First is ourunbreakable rule thatevery
candidate must be a trained trooper, blooded under fire, a veteran of combat

drops. No othearrmy inhistory has stuck to this rule, although some came close.Most great military schoolsof the past -- Saint CyWr,est Point, Sandhurst, Colorado Springs didne'vt en pretend to follow it; they accepted
civilian boys, trained them, commissioned them, sent them out with no battle experience to command men . . . soanmdetimes discovered too late that this smart young `officer' was a fool, a poltroon, or a hysteric.
"At leastwe have no misfitsof thosesorts. We knowyou aregood soldiers -- brave and skilled, proved in battle else you woubled hneorte.
We know that youinrtelligence and education meet acceptable minimums. With thisto start on, we eliminate as many as possible of the
not-quite-competent -- getthem quickly backin ranks before we spoil good
cap troopers by forcing them beyond their abilities. The course is very hard
-- because what will be expected of you later is still harder.
"In time wehave a small group whoscehances look fairlygood. The major criterionleft untested is one we cannot theesrte; that undefinable something whichis the difference between a leader in battle . . . and one
who merely has the earmarks but not the vocation. So we field-test for it. "Gentlemen! -- you have reached that point. Are reyaoduy totake the
oath?"
There wasan instant ofsilence, then Hassan theAssassin answered firmly, "Yes, Colonel," and Birdie and I echoed.
The Colonel frowned. "I have been telling you whoownderful you are -- physically perfect, mentally alert, trained, disciplinbeldo,oded. The very
model of the smart youonfgficer -- " He snorted. "Nonsense! You may become
officers somedayI.
hope so . . . we not only hate to waste monteimyeand

and effort, buatlso, and muchmore important, Ishiver in my boots every timeI send one ofyou half-baked not-quite-officers up to thFeleet, knowingwhat a Frankensteinian monsterI may be turningloose on a good
combatteam. If you understoowd hat you are up against, you wouldn't be so all-fired ready to take the oath the secondqutehsetion is put to you. You mayturn it downand force me to let you go back to pyeormuranent ranks.
But you don't know.
"So I'lltry once more. Mr. Rico! Have you ever thouhgohwt
it would
feel to be court-martialed for losing a regiment?"
I was startled silly. "Why -- No, sir, I never have." To be
court-martialed -- for any reason -- is eight times as bad for an officer as for an enlisted man. Offenses which will get privates kicked out (maybe with lashes,possibly without) rate deathin an officer. Bettenrever to have
been born!
"Think about it," he said grimly. "WhIesnuggested that your platoon leadermight be killed, I was by no mecaitninsg the ultimate in military disaster.Mr. Hassan!What isthe largest numberof command levelsever knocked out in a single battle?"
The Assassin scowled harder than ever. "I'm not sure, sir. Wasn't there
a while during Operation Bughouwsehen amajor commanded a brigade, before the Sove-ki-poo?"
"There was andhis namewas Fredericks. Hegot a decoration anad
promotion. If you go batcok the Second Global Wayro, u can find a case in
whicha navaljunior officer tookcommand of amajor ship andnot only
fought it but sent signals ahseifwere admiralH.
e was vindicated even
thoughthere were officers seniotro him in linoef commandwho were not

even wounded. Special circumstances -- a breakdoinwncommunications. But I
am thinking of a case in which four levels were wipiendsioxutminutes --
as if a platoon leadweer re to blink his eyes and find himself commanding a brigade. Any of you heard of it?"
Dead silence.
"Very well. It was one of those bush wars that hared up on the edges of theNapoleonic wars. This young officer was thme ost junior ina naval
vessel-- wet navyo, f course -- wind-powered, in fact. This youngster was
about the age of most of your class and was not commissioned. He carried the title of temporary third lieutenant' -- note thatisththise title you are
about to carry. He had no combat experience; there were four officers in the chain of command above him. When the battle sthairstecdommanding officer
was wounded. The kid picked him up and carried him out of thefireli.ne of
That's all -- make pickup on a comrade. But he did it withouotrdbeeriendg
to leave his post. The other officers all bought ithwe hwilaes doing this and he was tried for `desertingphoisst of dutyas commandingofficer in the presence of the enemy.' Convicted. Cashiered."
I gasped. "For that? Sir."
"Why not? True, we make pickup. But we do it under different circumstances froma wet-navybattle, and by ordersto the man making pickup. Butpickup isnever an excuse for breakingoff battle in the
presence of the enemTy.his boy's familytried for a century and a half to
get his conviction reversed. No luckc, ooufrse. There was doubt about some circumstances but no doubt that he had lefptohstisduring battlewithout
orders. True, he was green as grass --hebuwtas luckynot to be hanged."

Colonel Nielssen fixed me with a cold eye. "Mr. Rico -- could this happen to you?"
I gulped. "I hope not, sir."
"Let metell you how it could on this very `prentice cruise. Suppose youare in a multiple-ship operatiown,ith a full regiment in thderop. Officersdrop first, of course. There are advantages to this and disadvantages, but we do it for reasons of moralter;oonpoer ever hits the ground on a hostile planet without an officer. Assume theknBouwgs this --
and theymay. Suppose they work up some trick to wipe out those who hit the groundfirst . . but not goodenough to wipe out the whodlreop. Now
suppose, since you aare supernumerary, you have to take any vacant capsule instead of being fired with the first wave. Where does that leave you?"
"Uh, I'm not sure, sir."
"You have just inheritecdommand of a regiment. What are you gotoing
do? With your command, Mister? Talk fast -- the Bugs won't wait!"
"Uh .. ." I caught aannswer right out of the book and parroitt.ed
"I'll take command anadct as circumstances permist,ir, accordingto the tactical situation as I see it."
"You will, eh?" The Colonel grunted. "And you'll bfuayrma too that's allanybody can do witha foul-up likethat. But Ihope you'llgo down
swinging -- and shouting orders to somebody, whether they make sense or not. We don't expect kittens to fiwghiltdcats and win -- wmeerely expect them
to try. All right, stand up. Put up your right hands."
He struggled to his feet. Thirty seconds later we weorfeficers -- "temporary, probationary, and supernumerary."
I thought he would give ouusr shoulder pips and let us go. We aren't

supposed to buy them -- they're a loan, like the temcpomramryission they represent. Instead he lounged back and looked almost human.
"See here,lads -- I gave you a talk on how rougghoinitg's to be. I want you to worraybout it, doingit in advance, planninwg hat steps you might take againsatny combination of bad news that can come yowuray, keenlyaware that your life belongs ytour men and is not yoursthtroow away in a suicidal reach for glo.ry. a.nd that your life iysno'ut rs to
save, either, if the situation requires that eyxopuend it. I want yotuo worry yourself sick before a drop, so thatcaynoube unruffled when the trouble starts.
"Impossible, of course. Except for one thing. Whattheis only factor that can save you when the load is too heavy? Anyone?"
Nobody answered.
"Oh, come now!" Colonel Nielssen said scornfully. "You aren't recruits. Mr. Hassan!"
"Your leading sergeant, sir," the Assassin said slowly. "Obviously. He's probably older than youare, more dropsunder his
belt,and he certainlyknows his team bettetrhan you doS. ince he isn't
carrying that dreadful, numbing load of top command, he may be thinking more clearly than you are. Ask his advice. You've got one circuit just for that.
"It won't decrease his confidence in you; he's used to being consulted. Ifyou don't, he'll decide you are a foaol,cocksure know-it-all -- and
he'll be right.
"But you don'ht ave to take his advice. Whethyeoru use his ideas, or whether they sparskome different plan -- makyeour decision and snap out

orders. Theone thing -- the only thing! -- that sctarinke terror in the
heart of a good platoon sergeant is to find that he's working for a boss who can't make up his mind.
"There never has beenan outfit in which officers and men were more
dependenton each other than theayre in the M. I., and sergeants thaere
glue that holds us together. Never forget it."
The Commandant whipped his chair around tcoabainet near his desk. It contained row on row of pigeonholes, each wliitthtleabox. He pulled out one and opened it. "Mr. Hassan -- "
"Sir?"
"These pips were wornby CaptainTerence O'Kelly onhis `prentice cruise. Does it suit you to wear them?"
"Sir?" The Assassin'svoice squeakedand Ithought the big lunk was going to break into tears. "Yes, sir!"
"Come here." Colonel Nielssepninned them on, then said, "Wear them as gallantly as he did . . . but bring them back. Understand me?"
"Yes, sir. I'll do my best."
"I'm sure youwill. There's an aicrar waiting onthe roofand your boat boosts in twenty-eight minutes. Carry out your orders, sir!"
The Assassin saluted and left; theCommandant turned and picked out another box. "Mr. Byrd, are you superstitious?"
"No, sir."
"Really? I am, quiteI. takeit you would not objetcot
wearing pips
which have been worn by five officers, all of whom were killed in action?" Birdie barely hesitated. "No, sir."
"Good. Because these fivoefficers accumulated seventeen citations,

from the Terran Medal to the Wounded Lion. Come here. The pip with the brown
discoloration must always be worn on your left shoulder -- and dtoon't try
buffit off! Just try not to get otthheer one marked in the same fashion. Unlessnecessary, and you'll know whenisit necessary. Here ias list of former wearersY. ou have thirtyminutes until your transportation leaves. Bounce up to Memorial Hall and look up the record of each."
"Yes, sir."
"Carry out your orders, sir!"
He turned to me, looked at my face and said sharply, "Something on your mind, son? Speak up!"
"Uh -- " I blurted it out. "Sir, that temporary third lieutenant -- the one that got cashiered. How could I find out what happened?"
"Oh. Youngman, I didn'tmean toscare the daylights out oyfou; I
simply intendedto wake you up. The battle was on one 1J8u1n3e old style between USF Chesapeakaend HMF Shannon. Try theNaval Encyclopedia; your ship will have it." He turned back to the case of pips and frowned.
Then he said, "MrR. ico, I have a letter from one of
hyioguhr school
teachers, a retired officerre,questing that you be issued the pips he wore as a third lieutenant. I am sorry to say that I must tell him `No.' "
"Sir?" I was delighted to hear tChaotlonel Dubois wasstill keeping track of me -- and very disappointed, too.
"Because Ican't! I issued those pips twyeoars ago -- and they never cameback. Real estate deal. Hmm "--He tooka box, looked at me. "You could starta new pairT. he metalisn't important; theimportance of the
request lies in the fact that your teacher wanted you to have them."

"Whatever you say, sir."
"Or" -- he cradled the boxhisn hand -- "you could wetharese. They have been worn five times a.n.d .the last foucrandidates to wearthem have all failed of commissi-o-nnothing dishonorable but peskbyad luck. Are you willintgo takea swing abt reaking thehoodoo? Turn theminto goodluck pips instead?"
I would rather havpeetted a shark. BuIt answered,"All right, sir. I'll take a swing at it."
"Good." He pinned them on me. "Thank you, Mr. Rico. You see, these were mine, I wore them first . . . and it wouldmpelemasieghtily to have them
brought back tmo e with that streaokf bad luck broken, have you go on and graduate."
I felt ten feet tall. "I'll try, sir!"
"I know you will. You may now carry out your orders, sir. The same air car wiltlake both you andByrd. Justa moment -- Aryeour mathematics
textbooks in your bag?" "Sir? No, sir."
"Get them. The Weightmaster of your ship has been advised of your extra
baggage allowance."
I saluted and lefot,n the bounceH.
e had me shrunk down to size as
soon as he mentioned math.
My math books weroen my study desk, tied intopaackage with a daily assignmentsheet tuckedunder the cord.I gathered theimpression that
Colonel Nielssen never left anything unplanned -- but everybody knew that. Birdie was waiting on the roof by the air car. He galatnmceydbooks
and grinned. "Too bad. Well, if we're in the same ship, I'll coach you. What

ship?" "Tours."
"Sorry, I'm forthe Moskva."We got in, I checked the pilot, saw that it hadbeen pre-set for the field, closed the door athned car took off. Birdieadded, "You could bwe orse off. The Assassin took not only his math books but two other subjects."
Birdie undoubtedly knew and he had not been showing off when he offered
to coach me; he was a professor type except that his ribbons provhe
was a soldier too.
that
Instead of studying math Birdie taught it. One period each day he was a faculty member, the way little Shujumi taught judo at Camp Currie. The M. I. doesn'twaste anything; we cana'tfford to. Birdie had a SB.. in math on
hiseighteenth birthday, sonaturally he was assigned extra duty as
instructor -- which didn't keep him from being chewed out at other hours. Not that hegot chewedout much.Birdie had that rare combo of
brilliantintellect, solid education, common sense, and guts, which gets a
cadet marked as a potentgiaelneral. We figured he was a cinch to command a brigade by the time he was thirty, what with the war.
But my ambitions didn't soar that high.w"oIut ld bea dirty,rotten
shame," Isaid, "if the Assassin flunked out," while thinking that it would be a dirty, rotten shame if I flunked out.
"He won't," Birdie answered cheerfully. "They'll sweat him throthuegh
rest if they have ptuot him in a hypno booth and feed him throutugbhe.a
Anyhow," he added, "Hassan could flunk out and get promoted for it."
"Huh?"

"Didn't you know? The Assassin's permanent rank is lifeirusttenant -- fieldcommission, naturally.He reverts to if he flunksout. Seethe
regs."
I knew the regs. If I flunked math, I'd revert to buck sewrgheicahnt,
is better than being slapped in the face awwiteht fish any way you think
about it . . . and I'd thought about it, lying awake nights aftera busting
quiz.
But this was different. "Hoiltd," I protested."He gave up first lieutenant,permanent grade. .. and has just made temporary third
lieutenant . . . in orderbetcoome asecond lieutenant? Are you crazy? Or is he?"
Birdie grinned. "Just enough to make us both M. I." "But -- I don't get it."
"Sure you do. The Assasshinas no education that he didn't puicpk in
the M. IS.o howhigh can he go? I'm sure he could command a regiimn ent
battleand do areal swingin' job provided somebody else planned the operation. But commanding in battle is oanflryaction of what an officer
does, especially a senior officer. To direct a war, or even to plan a single battleand mount the operation, you have to have theory of games,
operational analysis, symbolic logipce, ssimistic synthesis, and a dozen
other skulsl ubjects. You can sweatthem out on your own if you've got the grounding. Buht ave them you must, oyrou'll never get pastcaptain, or
possibly major. The Assassin knows what he is doing."
"I suppose so," I said slowly. "Birdie, Colonel Nielssen must know that
Hassan was an officer -- is an officer, really." "Huh? Of course."

"He didn't talk as if he knew. We all got the same lecture."
"Not quite. Did you notice that when Cthoemmandant wanteda question answered a particular way he always asked the Assassin?"
I decided it was true. "Birdie, what is your permanent rank?" The car was justlanding; he paused witah handon the latch and
grinned. "PFC -- I don't dare flunk out!"
I snorted. "You won't. You can't!" I was surprised thwatashne't even
a corporal, but a kid as smart and well educated as Birdie would go to O. C. S. just as quickalys he proved himself in combat w. h. ic.h with the war
on, could be only months after his eighteenth birthday. Birdie grinned still wider. "We'll see."
"You'll graduate. Hassan and I have to worry, but not you."
"So? SupposeMiss Kendrick takes a dislike mtoe." He opened the door and looked startled. "Hey! They're sounding my call. So long!"
"See you, Birdie."
But I did not see him and he did not gradHueatwe.as commissioned two weeks later and his picpasme back with their eighteendthecoration -- the Wounded Lion, posthumous.
CHAPTER 13
Youse guys think this deleted outfit is a blankety-blank nursery. Well, it ain't! See?
-- Remark attributed to a Hellenic

corporal before the walls of Troy,
1194 B. C.
The Rodger Young carries one platoon aisndcrowded; the Tours carries six --and is roomy. She has the tubes to drop athllemat once and enough spare roomto carrytwice thatnumber andmake a second drop. This would makeher very crowded, with eating in shifts, hammoinckpsassageways and drop roomsr,ationed water,inhale when your mate exhalesa,nd get your
elbow out of my eye! I'm glad they didn't double up while I was in her. But she has thsepeed and lift to deliver such crowded troops still in
fighting condition to any poiint Federationspace and much of Bug space; under Cherenkovdrive she cranks Mike 40o0r better -- say Sol to Capella, forty-six lightyears, in under six weeks.
Of course, asix-platoon transport is nobtig compared with baattle wagonor passenger liner; these things are compromisTehs.e M.I. prefers speedylittle one-platoon corvettes which give flexibility for any
operation,while if it wasleft up to the Navy we would have notbhuint g
regimental transports. It takes almost as many Nfialvesy to run a corvette as it does troun a monster biegnough for aregiment -- more maintenance
and housekeeping, of course, but soldiers can do that. After all, those lazy
troopers do nothing but sleep and eat and polish buttdoons`e-m-
good to
have a little regular work. So says the Navy.
The realNavy opinion is evemn ore extreme: TheArmy is obsolete and should be abolished.
The Navy doesn't say this officially -- but talk to a Naval officer who
is on R & R and feeling his oats; you'll get an earful. Ththeyeythciannk
fightany war, win it, senad few of theiorwn people downto holdthe

conquered planet until the Diplomatic Corps takes charge.
I admit that their newest toys can blow any planet right out of the sky
--I've never seenit but I believe it. Maybe I'm as obsolete as
Tyrannosaurus Rex. I don't feel obsolete andapeus can do things that the fanciest ship cannot. If tghoevernment doesn't want those things donneo,
doubt they'll tell us.
Maybe it's justas wellthat neither the Navy nor thMe . I. has the
final word. A man can't buck for Sky Marshal unless he has commboatnhdead
regiment and a capital ship -- go through aMnd. It.ake his lumps and then
becomea Navalofficer (I think little Birdie had that in mindf)ir,stor
become an astrogator-pilot and follow it with Camp Currie, etc. I'll listen respectfully to any man who has done both.
Like most transports, theTours isa mixed ship; themost amazing changefor me wasto be allowed "North ofThirty." Thebulkhead that separatesladies' countryfrom the rough characters who shave isnot
necessarily No. 30 but, by tradition, it is called "bulkhead thiarntyy" in
mixed ship. The wardroom is jbuesyt ond it and threest of ladies' country
is farther forward. In the Tours wthaerdroom alsoserved as messroomfor
enlisted womenw,
ho ate just before we did, anwd aist
partitioned between
meals into a recreatiornoom for them and a lounge for their officers. Male officers had a lounge called the cardroom just abaft thirty.
Besides the obvious factthat drop & retrieval require the best pilots (i.e., female), there is vesrtyrong reason whyfemale Naval officers are assigned to transports: It is good for trooper morale.
Let's skipM. I. traditions for a moment. Can you thinkanoyfthing

sillier than letting yourself be fired ouat sopfaceship withnothing but
mayhem and sudden death at oththeer end? However, if someone mudsot this
idioticstunt, do you know ofsuarer way to keep
ma an keyed up to the
pointwhere he is willing than by keeping choimnstantly reminded that the only good reason why men fight is a living breathing reality?
In a mixedship, the last thinag trooper hears before a drop (maybe
thelast word he ever hears) is a womavno'sice, wishing him luck. If you
don't think this is important, you've probably resigned from the human race. The Tours had fifteen Naval officers, eight ladies and seven men; there
were eight M. I. officers including (I am happy to say) mwysoenl'ft. sIay
"bulkhead thirty" caused me to buck for O. C. S. but the privilege of eating with the ladies is more incentive than any increase in paSyk. iTppher was
president of the mess, my boss CapBtalianckstone was vice-president -- not becauseof rank; three Naval officers ranked him but as C. O. of the strike force he was de facto senior to everybody but the Skipper.
Every meal was formaWl. e would wait itnhe cardroomuntil the hour struck, follow CaptaiBn lackstone inand stand behind our chairs; the
Skipper would come in followed by her ladies and, as she reached the head of
thetable, CaptainBlackstone would bow and say, "Madam Presiden.t .
ladies," and she would answ"eMr, r. Vice . .ge. ntlemen," and the man on each lady's right would seat her.
This ritual established that witas a social evennt,ot anofficers' conference; thereafter ranks or titles were used, extcheapt tjuniorNaval officers and myself alone among the M. l. cwalelreed "Mister" or "Miss" --
with one exception which fooled me.

My first meal aboardI heard Captain Blackstone called "Major," althoughhis shoulder pipsplainly read "captain." gIot straightened out
later. There can't be twcaoptains in a Naval vessel so an Army captain is bumped one ranskocially rather thancommit the unthinkable of calling him by the titlreeserved for the onaend only monarch. If a Naval captain is aboard as anything but skipper, he or shcaelleisd "Commodore" even if the skipper is a lowly lieutenant.
The M. I. observes this by avoidtihneg necessityin the wardroom and paying no attention to the silly custom in our own part of the ship.
Seniority randownhill from each end of the table, with the Skipper at
thehead and the strike force OC..
at thefoot, the junior midshipman at
hisright and myself at the Skipper's right. I would most happily have sat by the junior midshipmasnh;e was awfullypretty butthe arrangement is planned chaperonage; I never even learned her first name.
I knew that I, as the lowliest male, sat on the Skripigphetr's-- but
I didn't know that I was suppotsoedseat her. At my fimrsteal she waited
and nobody sat down -- until the third assistant engineer jogged my elbow. I
haven'tbeen so embarrassed since a very unfortunate incident in kindergarten,even though Captain Jorgenson acted as if nothing had happened.
When the Skipperstands up the meal is over. She was pretty good about this buot nce she stayed seated only a few minuanteds CaptainBlackstone
got annoyed. He stood up but called out, "Captain -- " She stopped. "Yes, Major?"
"Will the Captainplease giveorders that my officers and myseblfe

served in the cardroom?"
She answered coldly, "Certainly,sir." Andwe were. But noNaval officer joined us.
The following Saturday she exercised her privilege of inspecting the M. I.aboard-which transport skippers almost never do. Howevesrh,e simply
walked down the rankwsithout commenting. She was not really a martinet and shehad a nicesmile when shewasn't being stern. Captain Blackstone assignedSecond Lieutenant "Rusty"Graham to crack the whoipver me about math; she founodut about its, omehow, and told Captain Blackstone to have
me reporto her office forone hour after lunch each day, whereupon she
tutored me in math and bawled me out when my "homework" wasn't perfect. Our six platoons weretwo companies as arump battalion;Captain
Blackstone commanded CompanDy , Blackie's Blackguards, anadlso commanded the rumpbattalion. Our battalion commander by tThe. O., Major Xeraw, as
with A anBd companies inthe Tours' sistership Normandy Beach -- maybe half asky away; hecommanded usonly when thefull battalion dropped together --except that Cap'nBlackie routedcertain reports andletters
through him. Othemr atters went directly tFoleet, Division,or Base, and Blackiehad atruly wizard fleet sergeant to keep such things straight and to help him handle both a company and a rump battalion in combat.
Administrative details are nostimple in anarmy spread throughmany light-yearsin hundreds of ships. In thoeld Valley Forge, in the Rodger
Young, and now in the Tours I was in the same regiment, the Third ("Pampered
Pets")Regiment of theFirst ("Polaris")M. I. Division. Two battalions formedfrom available units had been called the"Third Regiment" in Operation Bughouse buIt did notsee "my" regiment; all I saw was PFC

Bamburger and a lot of Bugs.
I might be commissioned in the Pampered Pets, grow old and retire in it
-- and never even see my regimental commander. The Roughneckas choamdpany commander buthe also commanded thefirst platoon ("Hornets") iannother
corvette; I didnk'tnow his name untIil saw iton my orders tOo . C. S.
There is a legend about a "plolasttoon" that went on R & R as its corvette was decommissioned. Its company commandheard just beenpromoted and the other platoons had been attachteadctically elsewhere. I'veforgotten what happened to thpelatoon's lieutenant but R & R is a routitmine to detach
an officer -- theoreticalalyfter a relief has been sent to understudy him, but reliefs are always scarce.
They saythis platoon enjoyed a local year of thfeleshpots along
Churchill Road before anybody missed them. I don't believe it. But it could happen.
The chronic scarcity of officers strongly affectedmy duties in
Blackie's Blackguards. The M. I. hthaes lowest percentageof officers in any armyof recordand this factor isjust part ofthe M.I.'s unique "divisional wedge.""D. W."is military jargon but the idea is simIpfle:
you havel0,000 soldiers, how many fight? And hmowany just peel potatoes, drive lorries, count graves, and shuffle papers?
In the M. I., 10,000 men fight.
In the masswars of theXXth centuryit sometimes took70,000 men
(fact!) to enable 10,000 to fight.
I admit it takes the Navy to place us where we fight; however, an M. I. strike forcee, ven ina corvette, is at least three timeslaragse as the

transport's Navy crewI.t also takes civiliantso supply and service us;
about 10 per cent of us are on R & R at any time; and a few of the very best of us are rotated to instruct at boot camps.
While a few M. I. aorne
deskjobs you will always find that they are
shy an arm or leg, or some such. These are the ones -- the Sergaenadnt Hos
theColonel Nielssens -- who refuse to retire, atnhdey reallyought to count twicesince they release able-bodieMd . I. byfilling jobs which requirefighting spirit butnot physical perfection. They do work that
civilians can't do or we would hire civilians. Civilians are like beans; you buy `em as needed for any job which merely requires skill and savvy.
But you can't buy fighting spirit.
It's scarce. We use all of it, waste nTohne.M. I. isthe smallest
armyin history for the size tohfe population it guards. You can't buy an
M. I., you can't conscript him, you can't coerce him -- you cakne'tepeven
him if he wants to leave. He can quit thirty seconds before a drop, lose his nerve and not get inhtios capsule, and all that happens is that he is paid
off and can never vote.
At O. C. S. we studied armies in history that were ldikrievgeanlley slaves.But the M. I. is a free maalln;that drives him comes from inside
-- that self-respecatnd need for the respect of his mates and his pride in being one of them called morale, or esprit de corps.
The root of oumr orale is: "Everybody workse,verybody fights." An M. I. doesn'tpull strings to get saoft, safe job; there aren't any. Oh, a trooper will geatway with whathe can; any private with enough savvy to
mark time to music can think up reasons why he should not clean compartments
or break out stores; this is a soldier's ancient right.

But all "soft, safe" jobasre filledby civilians;that goldbricking privateclimbs into hiscapsule certain thateverybody, from generalto
private, is doinigt withhim. Light-years away and on a different day, or
maybe an hour osor
later -- -no matter. What does matter is that everybody
drops. Thisis whyhe enters the capsule, even thoughhe may not be conscious of it.
If we ever deviate from this, the M. I. will go to pieces. All that holds us together is an idea-one that binds more strongly than steel but its magic power depends on keeping it intact.
It is this "everybody fights" rule that lets the M. I. get by with so few officers.
I know more about thisthan I wanto, becauseI askeda foolish
question in Military History and got stwucitkh an assignment which forced
me to dig up stuff ranging from De Bello Gallico to Tsing's classic Collapse of TheGolden Hegemony. Consideran ideal MI.. division -- onpaper,
because you won't finodne elsewhere. Howmany officersdoes it require?
Never mind units attached from other corps; they may not be present during a ruckus andthey are notlike M. I. -- the specialtalents attached to
Logistics &Communications are all rankeads officers. Ifit will make a memory man, a telepath, a senser, or a lmucaknyhappy to have mesalute him, I'm glatdo oblige; he ismore valuable than aIm andI could not
replace him if I lived to be two hundred. Or take the K-9 Corps, which is 50 per cent "officers" but whose other 50 per cent are neodogs.
None of these is in the line of command, so let's consider only us apes
and what it takes to lead us.

This imaginary divisionhas 10,800 men in 216 platoonesa,ch with a lieutenant.Three platoons to acompany calls for 72 captains; four companies toa battalion calls for 18 majors olireutenant colonels. Six regiments withsix colonelscan form twoor three brigades, eacwh ith a short general, plus a medium-tall general as top boss.
You wind up with 317 officers out of a total, all ranks, of 11,117. There are no blanfkiles and every officer commands teaam. Officers
total 3 per cent -- which is what the M. I. does have, but arranged somewhat differently. Infact a goodmany platoons are commandebdy sergeants and
many officers"wear more than one hat" inorder tofill some utterly necessary staff jobs.
Even a platoon leader should have "staff" -- his platoon sergeant.
But he can gebty without one and his sergeant can get by without him. But a generaml ust have staff; thjeob is too big to carry inhhaits. He
needs a big planning stanfd a small combat staff. Since there naerveer enoughofficers, theteam commanders in his flatrgansport double ashis
planning staff and are picked from Mth.eI.'s best mathematicalol gicians
then they drop with their own teams. The gednreorpasl
witha small combat
staff,plus a small team of the roughest, on-the-bounce trooipnertshe M. I. Theirjob is to keep the general from being bothbeyredrudestrangers while he is managing the battle. Sometimes they succeed.
Besides necessary staffbillets, any team larger thanplaatoon ought
to have a deputy commander. But thaerere never enoughofficers so we make
do with what we've got. To fill each necessary combat billet, one job to one officer, would call for a 5 per cent orfatioofficers -- but 3 per cent is
all we've got.

In place of that optimax ofpe5r cent that the M. I. never can reach,
many armies in the past commissioned 10 per cent of their number, or even 15 percent --and sometimes a preposterous 20 per cent! This soulnikdes a
fairy tale but it wafacat, especially during the XXth century. What kind of an armhyas more"officers" than corporals?(And more non-comsthan privates!)
An army organizedto lose wars-- if history means anything. An army thatis mostly organization, red tape, and overhead, most of whose
"soldiers" never fight.
But what do "officers" do who do not command fighting men? Fiddlework, apparently -- officers' club officer, moraleofficer,
athleticsofficer, publicinformation officer, recreation officer, PX officer, transportation officer, legal officer, chaplain, assistant chaplain,junior assistant chaplaino, fficer-in-charge of anything anybody can think of, even -- nursery officer!
In theM. I., suchthings are extra duty focrombat officers or, if theyare real jobs, they are done better and cheaper and without
demoralizing a fighting outfit by hiring civilians. But the situation got so smelly inone of the XXth century major powers that real officers, ones who commanded fighting men, were given special insignia to distinguish them from the swarms of swivel-chair hussars.
The scarcity of officers got steadily worse as the war wore on, because the casualty rate is always highest among officers . . . and the M. I. never commissionsa man simplyto fillvacancy. In the long run, eachboot
regiment must suppliyts own share of officers atnhde percentage can't be

raised without lowering the standards. The strike force iTnouthres needed thirteenofficers --six platoon leaderst,wo company commanders antdwo
deputies, and a strike force commander staffed by a deputy and an adjutant. What it had was six . . . and me.
Table of Organization
"Rump Battalion" Strike Force -- Cpt. Blackstone
("first hat") Fleet Sergeant
[Image72.gif]
I would havebeen under Lieutenant Silva, but he left for hospital the dayI reported,ill with some sort otwf itching awfuls. But thidsid not necessarily mean that I would get his platootne.mAporary third lieutenant isnot considered an asset; Captain Blackstone could place meunder
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, hedid both and nevertheless assigned me as platoon leader of thefirst platoon of the Blackguards. He did this by borrowingthe Wolverine'sbest buck sergeant to act as his battalion stafftehre, n he
placed hisfleet 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:wIould appear on the T. O. as platoon leader,
but Blackie himself and the fleet sergeant would run the platoon.
As longas I behaved myselfI, could go through the motionI sw.
ould

even beallowed to drop as platoon leader -- obnuet word from mpylatoon
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 shoveadside the better for everybody. Besides, it wasa lot less nerve-rackintgo get aplatoon that way than by sudden catastrophe in battle.
I took my jobvery 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
wasaround troopers' country much motrhean is good foar team. Blackie
called me into his stateroom. "Son, what in Ned do you think you are doing?" I answered stifflythat I was trying to get mpylatoon ready for
action.
"So? Well, that's not what you are accomplishing. You are stirring them
likea nestof wild beesW.
hy the deuce do you think I turned over to you
the best sergeanint the Fleet? If you wigllo toyour stateroom,hang
yourselfon a hooka, nd stay there! .
u. n.til `Prepare forAction' 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'tstand an officer who acts like a confounded kaydet. Forget that silly third-person atarolkund me -- save it for generals and the SkippQeru. it bracing your shoulders and clicking your heels. Officers are supposed to look relaxed, son."
"Yes, sir."
"And let that be the last time you`ssiar'y to me for one solid week.
Same for saluting. Get that grim kaylodoekt
off your face and hang a smile

on it."
"Yes, s -- Okay."
"That's better. Lean against thebulkhead. Scratch yourself. Yawn. Anything but that tin-soldier act."
I tried . . andgrinned sheepishly asI discovered that breaking a habitis not easy. Leaning was harderwork than standing at attention. Captain Blackstone studied m"eP. ractice it," he said. "Anofficer can't look scaredor tense; it's contagious. Nowtell me,Johnnie, what your
platoonneeds. 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 . . .yoduo 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'sbeen actingsergeant too longto bust himback to chaser and
promote a squadleader over him. He ought to get that third chbeevfrorne
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 generouins giving away my Blackguards
-- for a third lieutenant."
I turned red. "Just the same, it's a soft isnpomtyplatoon. Brumby
ought to be promoted, or transferrIedd.on't want him bacink
his old job

with somebody promoted over his head; he'd likely turn souI'rd ahnadve an even worsesoft spot. If he can't haavneother chevron, he oughtto go to repple-depplefor cadre. Thenhe won't behumiliated andhe gets a fair
shake to make sergeant in another team -- instead of a dead end here."
"Really?" Blackie didnot quite sneer. "Aftetrhat masterly analysis,
applyyour powers of deduction and tmelel
whyLieutenant Silva failed to
transfer him three weeks ago when we arrived around Sanctuary." I had wonderedabout that. The time to transfer a misanthe earliest
possible instant after you decide to let him go -- and without warning; it's better for thme an 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 recommended Brumbyfor immediate promotion."
His eyebrows shot up. "mAinute ago you were abouto dump him as
useless."
"Uh, not quiteI.
said it had
btoe one or the oth-e-r but I didn't
know which. Now I know." "Continue."
"Uh, this assumes that Lieutenant Silva is an efficient officer -- " "Hummmph! Mister, for youirnformation, `Quick' Silvahas 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 ffoorr omh,any reasons --
and stilnl ot put his misgivings in writing. Butthiisn case, if he could

not recommend him foserrgeant, then he wouldn't keep him with tethaem --
so he would get him out of the ship at the first opportunity. But he didn't. Therefore I know hinetended to promote Brumby." I adde"dB,ut I can't see
why hedidn't pushit through three weekasgo, so that Brumby couhldave worn his third chevron on R & R."
Captain Blackstone grinned."That's because you don't credit mweith being efficient."
"S -- I beg pardon?"
"Never mind. You've proved whkoilled Cock Robin and I doenx'tpect a still-moistkaydet to know all thtericks. But listen anldearn, 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 bneot to
promoted. Buthat's justwhere he wouldhave gone if we had promoted him three weeks ago. You don't know how hungry that non-com desk at
repple-depple isP. aw throughthe dispatch fileand you'll finda demand that we suppltywo sergeants forcadre. With a platoon sergeant being detachedfor O.C. S. and a buck sergeant spotvacant, I wasunder
complement and able to refuse." He grinned savagely. "It's a rough war, son, and your own people will styeoaul r best men if you donw'tatch `em." He
took two sheets of paper out of a drawer. "There -- "
One was a letter from Siltvoa Cap'n Blackie, recommendinBg rumby for sergeant; it was dated over a month ago.
The other was Brumby's warrant for sergeant dated the day after we left
Sanctuary.

"That suit you?" he asked. "Huh? Oh, yes indeed!"
"I've beenwaiting for you to spot twheeak placein your teama, nd
tell me what had to be done. I'm pleased that you figured it out -- but only middlin'pleased becausean experienced officer would have analyzietdat
once from the T. O. and the service records. Never mind, that's how you gain experience. Now here's what you do. Writea mleetter like Silva's; date it
yesterday. Tellyour platoon sergeant to tell Brumby that you have put him
up for a third stripean-d-
don'tmention thatSilva didso. You didn't
know that when you matdhee recommendation, so we'll keep it that way. When I swear Brumby in, I'll let him know that both his orefcfiocmerms ended him independently -- which will make him feel good. Okay, anything more?"
"Uh .. . not in organization -- unless Lieutenant Spillvaanned to
promote Naidi, vice Brumby. In which case we could proomneotePFC to lance
. . and thatwould allow usto promote four privatetso PFC, including threevacancies now existing. I don't know whether it's your policy to keep the T. O. filled up tight or not?"
"Might as well,"Blackie said gently, "as yoaund I know that some of those ladsaren't goingto have many days in which to enjoy iJt.ust
remember that we don't make a man a PFC until after he has been in combat -- not in Blackie'Bs lackguards we don't.Figure it out with your platoon
sergeant andlet me know. No hurry . . . any time bbeefdotrieme tonight. Now . . . anything else?"
"Well -- Captain, I'm worried about the suits."
"So am I. All platoons."

"I don't know about the other platoons, but with five retcorufiitts,
plus four suits damageadnd exchanged,and twomore downchecked this past
week and replaced from stores -- well, I don't see how Cunha and Navarre can warm up that many and run routine tests on fortoyt-hoenres and getit all
done by our calculated date. Even if no trouble develops -- " "Trouble always develops."
"Yes, Captain. But that's two hundred and eighty-six man-hours just for warm & fit, plus a hundred and twenty-three hoofurrosutine checks. And it always takes longer."
"Well, what do you think can be done? The other platoonlsenwd ilylou help if they finish their own suits aheatidmoe.f Which I doubt. Don't ask
to borrow help from the Wolverines; we're more likely to lend them help."
"Uh .. . CaptainI,
don't know what you'll think of tshinisc,e you
told me to stay outtroofopers' country. But when I was a corpoIrawl,as assistant to the Ordnance & Armor sergeant."
"Keep talking."
"Well, rightat the last wI as the O& A sergeant.But I wasjust
standingin another man's shoe-s- I'm not a finished OA&mechanic. But
I'm a pretty darn good assistant and if I was allowed to, well, I can either warmnew suits, or run routincehecks -- and give Cunha aNndavarre that
much more time for trouble."
Blackie leaned back and grinned."Mister, I havesearched the regs carefully. . . and I can't find the onesatyhsatan officer mustn't get
his hands dirty.H" e added, "Imention that because some `young gentlemen' who have beeanssigned tome apparentlyhad read such raegulation. All
right, draw some dungarees -- no neegdettoyour uniform dirtaylong with

your hands. Go aft and find your platoon sergeant, tell him about Brumby and order him to prepare recommendations to close the gaps in Oth. einT.case
Ishould decideto confirmyour recommendation for Brumby. Thetenll him
that you are going to put in all your time on ordnance and armor -- and that you want him to handle everything else. Tell him that if he has any problems to look you up in the armory. Don't telyl ohuimconsulted me-- just give
him orders. Follow me?" "Yes, s -- Yes, I do."
"Okay, get onit. As you pass through thceardroom, please give my compliments to Rusty and tell him to drag his lazy carcass in here."
For thenext twoweeks I was never so busy -- not evebnooitn camp.
Working as an ordnance & armor mech about ten hours a day was not all that I
did. Math, ocfourse -- and no way to duck it with the Skipper tutoring me. Meals-- say an hour and a half a day. Plums etchheanics of staying alive
-- shaving, showering, puttinbguttons in uniforms and trying to chase down the Navy master-at-arms, get hitmo unlock thelaundry to locate clean
uniforms ten minutes befoirnespection. (It is an unwritten law of the Navy that facilities must always be locked when they are most needed.)
Guard mount, parade,inspections, aminimum of platoon routine, took another hour daay. But besides, Iwas "George." Every outfit has a "George." He's the most junior officer andthheasextra jobs -a-thletics officer, mail censor, referee for competitions, school officer,
correspondence courses officerp,rosecutor courts-martial, treasurer of the
welfaremutual loan fund,custodian of registered publications,stores

officer, troopers' mess officer, et cetera ad endless nauseam.
Rusty Graham had bee"nGeorge" until he happily turned it ovemr eto. He wasn't so happy when I insisotnedasight inventory on everything for which Ihad to sign. He suggestetdhat if I didn't havsense enough to
accept a commissioned officer's signed inventory then perhaps a direct order would changemy tune. So gIot sullen and tolhdim to put hisorders in
writing -- witah certified copy sothat I could keep thoeriginal and endorse the copy over to the team commander.
Rusty angrilybacked down -- even a seconldieutenant isn'tstupid
enough to put such orders in writing. I wasn't happyaesitRheursty was my roommateand wasthen still my tutor in math, buwt e held thesight
inventory.I gotchewed out by Lieutenant Warren for being stupidly officiousbut he opened his safe and let me check his registered
publications. Captain Blackstone openehdis with nocomment and I couldn't tell whether he approved of my sight inventory or not.
Publications were okay but accountable property was not. Poor Rusty! He had accepted his predecessor's count annodw the count was short -- and the other officer was not merely gone, he was dead. Rusty spent a restless night (and so did I!), then went to Blackie and told him the truth.
Blackie chewed him out, then went over the missing items, found ways to expend most of them as "lost in combat." It reduced Rshuostryta'sges toa
few days' pay -- but Blachkaied him keepthe job, thereby postponing the cash reckoning indefinitely.
Not all "George" jobs caused that much headache. There wereno
courts-martial;good combat teamsdon't have themT. here was no mail to censor as the shwipas in Cherenkov drive. Same for welfare loanfsor

similar reasons. Athletics I delegated to Brumby; referee was "if and when."
The troopersm'
ess was excellent; I initialed menus and sometimes inspected
the galley, i.e.,scIrounged a sandwichwithout getting out of dungarees whenworking latein the armory.Correspondence coursesmeant a loot f paperwork since quite a few were continuthinegir educations, war or no war
-- but I delegated my platosoenrgeant and the records were kept by the PFC
who was his clerk.
Nevertheless "George" jobs soaked up about two hours every day -- there were so many.
You see where this left me -- ten hours O & Ah, otuhrrseemath, meals anhour and ahalf, personalone hour, militaryfiddlework one hour, "George" two hours, sleep eight hotuortsal, twenty-six anda half hours.
The ship wasn't eveonn the twenty-five-hour Sanctuary day; once we left we went on Greenwich standard and the universal calendar.
The only slack was in my sleeping time.
I was sittingin the cardroomabout one o'clock one morning, plugging awayat math,when CaptainBlackstone came inI. said, "Good evening, Captain."
"Morning, you mean. What the deuce ails you, son? Insomnia?" "Uh, not exactly."
He picked up a stack of sheets, remarking, "Can't your serhgaenadnlte your paperwork? Oh, I see. Go to bed."
"But, Captain -- "
"Sit back down. Johnnie, I've been meaning to totalykou. I never see you herein the cardroom, evenings. I waplakst your room, you'raet your

desk. When your bunkie goes to bed, you move out here. What's the trouble?" "Well . . . I just never seem to get caught up."
"Nobody ever does. How's the work going in the armory?" "Pretty well. I think we'll make it."
"I think so, too. Look, son, you've got to kseenpsea of proportion.
You have two primdeuties. First is to see that your platoon's equipment is ready-- you're doing that. You don't haveto worry about the platoon
itself, Itold you that. The second a-n-d just as important -- you've got to be ready to fight. You're muffing that."
"I'll be ready, Captain."
"Nonsense and other comments. You're gettinngo exercise and losing
sleep. Is that how to train for a drop? When you lead a platoon, son, you've got to be on the bounce. From ohnereyou will exercise from sixteen-thirty
to eighteenhundred eachday. You will be in yosuarck with lights out at
twenty-three hundred -- and if you lie awake fifteen minutes two nights in a row, you will report to the Surgeon for treatment. Orders."
"Yes, sir." I felt the bulkheads closing in on me and added
desperately, "Captain, dIon't see how I can getbetod by twenty-three -- and still get everything done."
"Then youwon't. As I said, son, you must haavseense of proportion. Tell me how you spend your time."
So I did. He nodded."Just as Ithought." He picked upmy math
"homework," tossed it in front of me. "Take this. Sure, you want oton work
it. But why work so hard before we go into action?" "Well, I thought -- "
" `Think' is what you didn't do. There are four possibilities, and only

one calls for finishinthgese assignments.First, you might buy a farm. Second,you might buy a small piece and beretired withan honorary
commission.Third, you might comethrough all right . . . bugtet a
downcheck on your Form Thirty-One fryoomur examiner, namely meW.
hich is
just whatyou're aching for atthe present time -- why, sonw, oIn't even
let you drop if you showwuitph eyes red from no sleep amnudscles flabby
fromtoo much chair parade. The fourth possibility is that you
gtarkipe a
on yourself . . . in which case I lmetigyhotutake aswing at leading a platoon.So let's assume that yoduo and puton thefinest show since Achillesslew Hector andI pass you. In thcaatse only-- you'll need to finish these math assignments. So do them on the trip back.
"That takes care of that -- I'll tell the SkiTppherr.est ofthose
jobs you are relieved of, right now. On our way home you can spend your time on math. If we get home. But you'll never get anywhere if you don't learn to keep first things first. Go to bed!"
A week later we made rendezvous, coming out of drive and coasting short ofthe speed of light while the fleet exchangedsignals. We were sent
Briefing, Battle Plan, our Mission & Orders -- a stack of words as long as a novel -- and were told not to drop.
Oh, wewere to be in theoperation butwe would ridedown like gentlemen,cushioned in retrieval boats. This wecould dobecause the Federationalready held the surface; Second, Third, and Fifth M. I. Divisions had taken it -- and paid cash.
The described real estatdeidn't seem worththe price. PlanetP is

smaller than Terra, withsuarface gravity of0.7, is mostlyarctic-cold ocean and rock, with lichenofulosra and nofauna of interest. Its air is
not breathablefor long, being contaminated with nitrous oxide and too much ozone. Itsone continent is about half thseize of Australia, plusmany worthlessislands; it would probably require as much terra-forming as Venus before we could use it.
However wewere not buying real estateto live on; wewent there becauseBugs were there -- and they were thoenreour account, so Staff thought. Staff told us that Planet P awnasuncompleted advance base (prob.
87+-6 per cent) to be used against us.
Since the planet was no prize, the routine two agyet rid of thBisug
base would be for the Navy to stand off at daistsaanfcee and render this
ugly spheroid uninhabitable by Man or Bug. But the C-in-C had other ideas. The operation was a raid. It sounds incredible to call baattle
involving hundreds of ships and thousands of casualties a "raid," especially as, inthe meantime, the Navaynd a lot of other cap troopers were keeping thingsstirred upmany light-years into Bug space in ortdoerdivert them
from reinforcing Planet P.
But the C-in-C was not wasting men; this giant raid could determine who wonthe war, whether nexytear or thirty years henceW. e needed to learn
more about Bupgsychology. Must we wipe out every Bug in the Galaxy? Or was it possibleto trounce them and impose apeace? We did notknow; we
understoodthem as little as we understand termites. To learn their
psychology we hatdo communicate with them, learn their motivations, find out whythey fought and under what conditions thweoyuld stop; forthese,
the Psychological Warfare Corps needed prisoners.

Workers are easy to capture. BautBug workeris hardly more than animate machinery. Warriors can cbaeptured by burning off enouglihmbs to make them helpless -- but thaerey almost as stupid withoaut directoras workers. From such prisoners our opwrnofessor types hadlearned important
matters -- the development of that oily gas that killed them but not us came from analyzing the biochemistries of workaenrsd warriors, andwe hadhad
other new weapons from such research even in the short time I had been a cap trooper. Buto discover why Bugs fight we needed to study members of their brain caste. Also, we hoped to exchange prisoners.
So far, we had never taken a brain Bug alive. We had either cleaned out colonies fromthe surface, as on Sheol, or (as had too often been the case)
raiders had gone down their holes and not come back. A lot of brhavade men
been lost this way.
Still more had been lost through retrieval failure. Sometimes a team on theground had its ship or shipksnocked out of the sky. What happens to
such a team? Possibly it dies to the last man. More probably it fights until powerand ammo are gone, then survivors are captured as eaassisloy many beetles on their backs.
From ourco belligerents the Skinnies weknew that many missing trooperswere alive asprisoners --thousands we hoped, hundredws e were sure. Intelligence believed that prisoners waelrweays taken to Klendathu; theBugs areas curious about usas we areabout them -- a raceof individualsable to build cities, starships, armies, mabye even more mysterious to a hive entity than a hive entity is to us.
As may be, we wanted those prisoners back!

In the grim logic of the universe this may be a weakness. Perhaps some race that never bothers to rescue an individual may exploit this human trait to wipe us out. TShkeinnies have such tarait only slightly and thBeugs
don't seemto have it aatll --nobody ever sawa Bug come to the aid of another because hwe as wounded; they cooperate perfectly in fightinbgut units are abandoned the instant they are no longer useful.
Our behavioris different. How oftenhave you seen a headlinleike
this? -- TWO DIE ATTEMPTING RESCUE OF DROWNING CHIIfLDa .man gets lost in the mountainsh, undreds will search anodften two or threesearchers are
killed.But the next time somebody gets ljousstt asmany volunteers turn out.
Poor arithmetic . . . but very human. It runs through all our folklore, all human religions, all our literaturreacaial conviction that whenone
human needs rescue, others should not count the price.
Weakness? It might be the unique strength that wins us a Galaxy. Weakness orstrength, Bugsdon't haveit; there wasno prospect of
trading fighters for fighters.
But in a hivpeolyarchy, some castes are valuableor so our Psych
Warfare people hopedI.f we could capturberain Bugs, alive and undamaged, we might be able to trade on good terms.
And suppose we captured a queen!
What is a queen'tsrading value? Aregiment of troopers? Nobody knew, but Battle Plan ordered us to capBtuureg "royalty," brains and queenast,
any cost, on the gamble that we could trade them for human beings. The third purpose of OperatioRnoyalty was todevelop methods: how to
go down, howto dig them out, how towin withless than total weapons.

Trooperfor warrior, we could now defeat them abgorvoeund; ship for ship, our Navy wabsetter; but, so far, we had hnaod luckwhen we tried to go down their holes.
If we failed to exchangperisoners on any terms, then we still had to:
(a) win the war, (b) do so in a way that gave us a fighting chance to rescue our own people, o(cr) --might as well admit it -- tdryieing andlose.
PlanetP was a fieldtest to determine whether we could learn how to root them out.
Briefing was read to every trooper and he hietaargdain in his sleep
during hypnopreparation. So,while we all knew that Operation Royalty was
laying the groundwork toward eventual rescue of our mates, we also knew that
Planet P held nhouman prisoners -- it had never been raidSeod.there was noreason to buckfor medals in a wild hopebeoifng personally inon a rescue;it was just another Bug hunt, cbount ducted with massive force and
new techniquesW.
e were going to peel that planet like an onuinotnil, we
knew that every Bug had been dug out.
The Navyhad plastered the islands andthat unoccupied part of the continentuntil they wereradioactive glaze;we could tackle Bugs with no worries about our reaTr.he Navy also maintained a ball-of-yaprantrol in
tight orbits around the planet, guarding us, escorting transports, keeping a
spy watch on the surface to make sure that Bugs did not break ouutsbehind
despite that plastering.
Under the Battle Plan, the orders for BlackBiela'sckguards charged us
with supportingthe prime Mission when ordered or as opportunity presented, relieving another companiyn a captured area, protectingunits ofother

corps in that arema,aintaining contact with M. I. units around--usand smacking down any Bugs that showed their ugly heads.
So we rode dowinn comfort to an unopposed landing. I tmooyk platoon outat a powered-armor trot. Blackie went ahead to meetthe company commander he was relievinge, t thesituation and sizeup the terrain. He headed for the horizon like a scared jack rabbit.
I had Cunha send his first section's scouts out to locatfeorwthaerd corners of my patrol area and I mseyntplatoon sergeant off to mleyft to makecontact with a patrol from the Fifth Regiment. We, the Third Regiment, had a grid three hundred miles wide and eighty miles deep tmo yhoplide;ce
wasa rectangleforty miles deep and seventeewnide in theextreme left
flank forward corner. The Wolverines wbeerehind us, Lieutenant Khoroshen's platoon on the right and Rusty beyond him.
Our First Regimenthad already relieved a VDthiv. regiment ahead of us, with a "brick waollv"erlap which placed them on mcoyrner as wellas
ahead. "Ahead" and "rear," "right flank" and "left," referred to orientation
set up in deadreckonintrgacers in each command sutiot
match thegrid of
the Battle Plan. We had no true front, simply an area, and the only fighting at themoment was going on several hundred miles away, to our arbitrary
right and rear.
Somewhere off that way,probably twohundred miles,should be2nd
platoon, G Co, 2nd Batt, 3rd Reg -- commonly known as "The Roughnecks." Or the Roughnecks might be forty light-years away. Tactical
organization nevermatches the Table of Organization; Iallknew from Plan
was that something callethde "2nd Batt" was oonur right flank beyond the

boysfrom theNormandy Beach. But that battalion could have been borrowed from anotherdivision. TheSky Marshal plays his chess withocuotnsulting
the pieces.
Anyhow, I should not be thinkingabout the Roughnecks;I had all I
could do as a BlackguarMd.y platoon was okay for the moment -- safe as you can beon a hostile planet -- but I had plenty to do before Cfuirnsht a's
squad reached the far corner. I needed to:
1. Locate the platoon leader who had been holding my area.
2. Establish corners and identify them to section and squad leaders.
3. Makecontact liaison with eightplatoon leaders on my sideasnd corners, five of whom should alreadyinbeposition (thosefrom Fifth and FirstRegiments) and three (Khorosheonf the Blackguardsand Bayonne and Sukarno of the Wolverines) who were now moving into position.
4. Getmy ownboys spreadout totheir initial pointsas fastas possible by shortest routes.
The last had tobe set up firsat,s the open columnin which we
disembarkedwould not do iBt. rumby's last squad needed
dtoeploy to the
leftflank; Cunha's leading squad needed to spread from dead ahead to left oblique; the other four squads must fan out in between.
This is astandard square deployment and we had simulated how to reach it quickly in the drop room; I caolulet:d "Cunha!Brumby! Time to spread
`em out," using the non-com circuit. "Roger sec one!" -- "Roger sec two!"
"Section leaders take charge . . . and caution reccruhit. You'll be
passing a lot of Cherubs. I don't want `ematshboyt mistake!"I bit down

for my private circuit and said, "Sarge, you got contact on the left?" "Yes, sir. They see me, they see you."
"Good. I don't see a beacon on our anchor corner -- " "Missing."
" -- so you coach Cunhbay D. R. Same for thleead scout -- that's
Hughes-- and haveHughes set a new beacon." I wondered why the Third or
Fifth hadn'rteplaced that anchor beacon -- mfyorward leftcorner where three regiments came together.
No use talking. I went on: "D. R. check. You bear two seven five, miles twelve."
"Sir, reverse is nine six, miles twelve scant."
"Close enough. Ihaven't found my opposite number yet, so I'm cutting out forward at max. Mind the shop."
"Got `em, Mr. Rico."
I advanced atmax speed while clicking overto officers'circuit:
"Square BlackOne, answer. Black One, Chang'Cs herubs -- do you reamde? Answer." I wanted to talk with lethaeder of the platoon we were relieving
-- and not foanr y perfunctory I-relieve-you-sir: I wanted the ungarnished word.
I didn't like what I had seen.
Either the topbrass hadbeen optimistic in believingthat we had
mounted overwhelming force againast small, not fully developed Bug base -- or the Blackguards had beaewn arded the spot where the roof fell in. In the few moments I habdeen out of the boat I had spohttaeldf adozen armored
suits on the ground -- empty I hodpeeadd,
menpossibly, but `way too many
any way you looked at it.

Besides that, my tactical radar display showaedfull platoon (my own) moving intoposition but only a scattering moving back toward retrieval or still on station. Nor could I see any system to their movements.
I was responsible for 680 square mileshoosftile terrain and I wanted very badly to find out all I could before mysqouwadns were deepinto it.
Battle Plan had ordered a new tactical doctrine which I found dismDaoying:
not close the Bugs tunnels. Blackie had explained this as if it had been his own happy thought, but I doubt if he liked it.
The strategy was simple, and, I guess, logical . . . if we could afford the losses. Letthe Bugs comeup. Meet themand kill them on the surface.
Let them keep on coming up. Don't bomb their holes, don't gas their holes -- let them out. After a while -- a day, two days, a week if we really did have overwhelming force, they wousldtop comingup. Planning Staff estimated
(don't ask me how!) that the Bugs would expend 70 per cent to 90 per cent of their warriors before they stopped trying to drive us off the surface.
Then we would startht e unpeeling, killingsurviving warriorsas we wentdown and trying to captu"reroyalty" alive.We knew whathe brain
caste looked like; whead seen them dead (in photographs) and we knew they could notrun --barely functional legs, bloated bodies that wemreostly nervoussystem. Queens nohuman had ever seen,but Bio WarCorps had
prepared sketchesof whatthey should look like -- obscene monsters larger than a horse and utterly immobile.
Besides brains and queens themreight beother "royalty" castes. As
might be -- encourage their warriors to come out and die, then capture alive anything but warriors and workers.

A necessary plan and very pretty, on paper. Whmateaitnt to me was
that I had an area 17 x 40 miles which mirgidhdt lebde with unstopped Bug holes. I wanted co-ordinates on each one.
If there were too many . . . well, I might accidentallyfepwluganad
letmy boys concentrate on watching the rest. A priivnatae marauder suit
can cover a loft
terrain, but he can look at only one thing at a time; he
is not superhuman.
I bounced several mileashead of the first squads,till callingthe Cherubplatoon leader,varying it by calling any Cherub officer and describing the pattern of my transponder beacon (dah-di-dah-dah).
No answer --
At lastI got areply frommy boss:"Johnnie! Knockoff the noise. Answer me on conference circuit."
So I did, and Blackie told me crisply to quit trying to find the Cherub leader for Square Black One; there waosnne't. Oh, there might be a non-com alive somewhere but the chain of command had broken.
By the book, somebody always moves Bupu.t it does happeinf too many
linksare knocked outA.
s Colonel Nielssen had once warnmede, in the dim
past . . . almost a month ago.
Captain Chang had gone into action with three officers besides himself; there was one lenfot w (my classmate, AbMe oise) and Blackie was trying to find out from him the situation. Abe wasn't mheulcph. When I joined the conference andidentified myself, Abe thought I was his battalion commander and madea report almostheartbreakingly precise, especially as it made no sense at all.
Blackie interrupted andtold me to carry on. "Forget aboaut relief

briefing. The situation is whatever you see that it is -- so stir around and see."
"Right, Boss!" I slashed across my own area toward the far corner, the anchorcorner, as fast as I could move, switching circuointsmy first
bounce. "Sarge! How about that beacon?"
"No placeon that corner tpout it, sir. A fresh cratherere, about scale six."
I whistled to myself. You could drop the Tours into saixsiczreater.
One ofthe dodgesthe Bugs used on us when we were sparoriunrgs,elves on thesurface, Bugs underground, was land mines. (Thenyever seemed to use missiles, except from ships in space.) If you were near the spot, the ground
shock got you; if you were in the air when one went off, the concussion wave could tumble your gyros and throw your suit out of control.
I had never seen larger than a scale-four crater. The theorythawtas
theydidn't dare use too big an explosionbecause of damage to their troglodyte habitats, even if they cofferdammed around it.
"Place an offset beacon," I told him. "Tell section and squad leaders." "I have, sir. Angle onoene oh,miles one point three. Da-di-dit. You
should be able to reiat,d bearing abouthree threežfivefrom where you
are." He sounded as calm as a sergeant-instructor at drill and I wondered if
I were letting my voice get shrill.
I found it in my display, above my left eyebrow -- long and two shorts. "Okay.I see Cunha'sfirst squadis nearlyin position. Breakoff that
squad, have it patrtohle crater. Equalize the areas -- Brumby will have to
take four morme iles of depth."I thought with annoyancethat each man

already had to patrfoolurteen square miles; spreading thbeutter so thin meant seventeensquare miles per man -- aandBugcan comeout of a hole less that five feet wide.
I added, "How `hot' is that crater?"
"Amber-red at the edge. I haven't been in it, sir." "Stay outof it. I'll check it later."Amber-red would kill an
unprotectedhuman buta trooper in armor can take it for qauittieme. If there wasthat muchradiation at the edge, thbeottom would no doubt fry youreyeballs. "Tell Naidi tpoull Malan and Bjork back to amber zone, and have themset up ground listeners." Twoof my five recruits weirne that
firstsquad -- andrecruits are like puppies; they stick their noses into things.
"Tell Naidithat Iam interested in two things: movemeinstide the
crater . . . and noises in the ground arounWdeitw."ouldn't send troopers outthrough a hole sroadioactive that mere exit would kill them. But Bugs
would, if they could reach us that way. "Have Naidi report to me. To you and me. I mean."
"Yes, sir." My platoon sergeant added, "May I make a suggestion?" "Of course. And don't stop to ask permission next time."
"Navarre can handle the rest of the first section. Sergeant Cunha could takethe squad atthe crater and leaveNaidi free to supervise the
ground-listening watch."
I know what he was thinking. Naidi, snoewly a corporal that he had never before haad squad on thgeround, was hardlythe man tocover what looked like the worst danger poinintSquare Black Oneh;e wanted to pull Naidi back for the same reasons I had pulled the recruits back.

I wonder if he knew whIatwas thinking? That "nut-cracke-r-" he was using the suit he had wornBlaasckie's battalion stafferh, e had one more circuit than I had, a private one to Captain Blackstone.
Blackie was probably patched in and listenviniagthat extra circuit. Obviouslymy platoonsergeant did not agreewith mydisposition of the platoon.If Ididn't take his advice, the nextht ing Iheard mightbe Blackie'svoice cutting in: "Sergeant, take charge.Mr. Rico, you're relieved."
But -- Confound it, a corporal wwhoasn't allowed toboss his squad
wasn't a corporal . a.nd.
a platoon leader who was just a ventriloquist's
dummy for his platoon sergeant was an empty suit!
I didn't mull this. fIltashed through my head and I answered at once. "I can'tspare a corporal to baby-sit wittwho recruits. Nor a sergeant to boss four privates and a lance."
"But -- "
"Hold it. I want the crater watch relieved every hour. I want our first patrol sweep madreapidly. Squad leaders will checakny hole reported and getbeacon bearings so thatsection leaders, platoon sergeant and platoon leadercan check them as theryeach them. If there aren't too many, we'll put a watch on each -- I'll decide later."
"Yes, sir."
"Second time around, wI ant aslow patrol,as tightas possible, to catch holeswe miss on thefirst sweep. Assistant squad leaders wuislle
snoopers on that pass. Squad leaders will get bearings on any troopers -- or
suits -- on thgeround; the Cherubs may have left some live wounded. But no

oneis to stop even to check physicals until I order it. Wet'voe kgnootw the Bug situation first."
"Yes, sir." "Suggestions?"
"Just one," he answered".I think the squad chasers should utsheeir snoopers on that first fast pass."
"Very well, doit that way." His suggestiomnade sense as the surface airtemperature was much lower than the Bugs use itnheir tunnels; a camouflaged vent hole should showpluame like a geyser by infrared vision. I glanced at my displa"yC.unha's boys are almostat limit. Start your
parade.'
"Very well, sir!"
"Off." Iclicked over to the wide circuit and continued to make tracks for the crater whilelisItened to everybody at once as my platoon sergeant revisedthe pre-plan -- cutting out one squad, headitinfgor thecrater, startingthe restof the first sectioinn a two-squad countermarcwh hile
keeping thesecond section in a rotationsawl eep as pre-plannedbut with
four miles increased depth; got the sections moving, dropped them and caught thefirst squadas it converged on the anchor corner crater, gave it its
instructions; cut back to the section leaders in plenty of time to give them new beacon bearings at which to make their turns.
He did it with the smart precision of a drum major on parade and he did it fasterand in fewer words thanI could have doneit. Extended-order
powered-suit drill, with a platoon spread over many miles of countryside, is much more difficult than the strutting precision of parade i-t- hbaust to
be exact, or you'll blow the hoefafdyour mate in action . o.r,. as in

this case, you sweep part of the terrain twice and miss another part.
But the drillmaster haosnly a radar display of his formation;cahne
see with his eyes only those near him. While I listened, I watchmeyd it in
own display -- glowwormcsrawling past my face in precise lines, "crawling" because even forty mileasn hour isa slow crawl when you compress a formation twenty miles across into a display a man can see.
I listened to everybody at once becauI sweanted to hear thcehatter inside the squads.
There wasn't any. Cunha and Brumby gave their secondary commands -- and shutup. The corporals sangout only assquad changeswere necessary;
section and squacdhasers called out occasional corrections of interovral
alignment -- and privates said nothing at all.
I heard the breathing of fifty men like muted sibilance of surf, broken only bynecessary orders inthe fewest possible words. Blackhiead been
right; the platoon had been handed over to me "tuned like a violin." They didn't need meI!could go homeand my platoonwould get along
just as well. Maybe better --
I wasn't sure hIad been right in refusing to Ccunha out to guard the crater;if trouble broke theraend those boyscouldn't bereached in
time, theexcuse that I had done it "by the book" was worthless. If you get killed, or let some-
body else get killed, "by the book" it's just as permanent as any other way.
I wondered if the Roughnecks had a spot open for a buck sergeant.

Most ofSquare Black One was as flat as the prairie around Camp Currie
and much more barren. For this I was thankful; it gave us our only chance of spotting a Bug coming up from below and getting him first. We were spread so widelythat four-mileintervals between men and about six minubtestween
waves of a fast sweep wastigahst a patrol aws e could manage. This isn't tight enough; anoyne spot would remain free oobfservation for at least
three or four minutes between patrol waves -- and a lot of Bugs can come out of a very small hole in three to four minutes.
Radar cansee farther thaneye, of course, but itcannot see as accurately.
In addition wedid not dareuse anythingbut short-rangeselective
weapons-- our own mates were spread around us in all directionBs.ugIf a
popped up and you let fly with something lethal, it was certain that not too far beyond thaBt ug was acap trooper; thissharply limitsthe range and
force of the frightfulness you dare use. On this operation only officers and platoon sergeants were armed with rockets and, even so, we did not expect to use themI.f arocket fails to findits target, it has naasty habit of
continuing to search until it finds one . . . and it cannot tell friend from foe; a brain that can be stuffed into a small rocket is fairly stupid.
I wouldhappily have swapped that area patrol, with thousands of M. I. aroundus, for a simple one-platoon strike in which you know where your own people are and anything else is an enemy target.
I didn't waste timemoaning; I neverstopped bouncing toward that
anchor-corner crater while watching the ground and trying to watch the radar picture as well. I didn't find any Bug holes but I did jump over a dry wash,

almosta canyon, which could conceqaul ite afew. I didn't stop to see; I simplygave its co ordinates to mplyatoon sergeantand told him thoave somebody check it.
That crater was even bigger than I had visualized; the Tours would have been lost in it. I shifted my radiation counter to directional cascade, took readings on floor and sides -- red to multiple red right off the scale, very unhealthy for lonegxposure even to a man in armore;stIimated its width
and depth by helmet ranfgineder, then prowled around and trietdo spot openings leading underground.
I did not find any butI didrun into craterwatches setout by adjacentplatoons of the Fifth anFdirst Regiments, so I arranged to split up the watch bsyectors suchthat the combined watch couyldell forhelp fromall three platoons, thepatch-in to do this being made through First LieutenantDo Campo of the "Head Hunters" oounr left.Then I pulled out
Naidi's lance and half his squad (including the recruits) and sent them back to platoon, reporting all this to my boss, and to my platoon sergeant.
"Captain," I told Blackie, "we aren't getting any ground vibrations I'm going down inside and check for holes. rTeahdeings show that I won't get too much dosage if I -- "
"Youngster, stay out of that crater." "But Captain, I just meant to -- "
"Shut up. You can't learn anything useful. Stay out." "Yes, sir."
The next nine hours were tedious. We had been preconditionefdortfyor
hours of duty (two revolutionsPolafnet P) through forcesdleep, elevated

blood sugarcount, and hypno indoctrinationa,nd ofcourse thesuits are
self-containedfor personal needs. The suits can't last that long, but each manwas carrying extra powerunits and super H. P. aicrartridges for recharging. But a patrol with no action is dull, it is easy to goof off.
I did what Icould think ofh, aving Cunha and Brumbtyake turns as drillsergeant (thus leavingplatoon sergeant andleader free to rove
around): I gave orders that no sweeps were to repeat in pattern so that each manwould always check terrain that was new to him. Thearree endless
patterns to cover a given area, by combining the combinations. Besides that, Iconsulted my platoon sergeant and announcebdonus points toward honor
squad forfirst verified hole, first Bug destroyed, etc-.- boot camp
tricks, but staying alert means staying alive, so anything to avoid boredom. Finally we had a visit from a special unit, three combat engineers in a
utilityair car, escorting a talent a--spatial senser. Blackie warned me to expect them. "Protect them and give them what they want."
"Yes, sir. What will they need?"
"How should I know? If Major Landry wants you to take off your skin and dance in your bones, do it!"
"Yes, sir. Major Landry."
I relayed the word and set up a bodyguard by sub-areas. Then I met them as they arrived because I was curious; I had never seen a speciatl talent
work. They landed insidmey right flank rear angdot out. Major Landry and
two officers were wearing armor and hand flamers but the talent had no armor and no weapons -- just an oxygen mHasek.was dressed in fatigue uniform
without insigniaand he seemedterribly boredby everything.I was not
introducedto him. He looked like a sixteen-year boolyd . . . until I got

close and saw a network of wrinkles around his weary eyes.
As hegot outhe took off hibsreathing mask.I was horrified, so I spoke to MajoLr andry, helmet to helmewt ithout radio. "Major -- thaeir around here is `hot.' Besides that, we've been warned that -- "
"Pipe down," said the Major. "He knows it."
I shut up. The talent strolled a shdoisrttance, turned and pulled his lower lip. His eyes were closed and he seemed lost in thought.
He opened them and said fretfull"yH, ow canone be expected two ork with all those silly people jumping around?"
Major Landry said crisply, "Ground your platoon."
I gulped andstarted toargue -- then cut
tihne all-hands circuit:
"First Platoon Blackguards -- ground and freeze!"
It speaks well for Lieutenant Silva tahlalt I heard was a double echo ofmy order, as it was repeatdeodwn to squad. I said, "Majocra, n I let them move around on the ground?"
"No. And shut up."
Presently the senser got back in the car, put his mask on. There wasn't room forme, but I was allowe-d- ordered,really -- tograb onand be
towed; we shifted a couple of miles. Again the senser took moaffskhiasnd walked around. This time he spoke to oofntehe other combat engineers, who
kept nodding and sketching on a pad.
The special-missionunit landed abouat
dozen times imn y area, each
time going through the same apparently pointless routine; then they moved on into theFifth Regiment's grid. Just before they left, otfhfiecer who had
been sketching pulled a sheet out of the bottom of his sketch box and handed

it to me. "Here's your sub map. The wide red band is tBhuegobnolyulevard in yourarea. Itis nearly athousand feet down where it enters but it
climbs steadily toward your left rear and leaves at about minus four hundred fifty. The light blue net-work joiniitnigs abig Bugcolony; the only
places whereit comes within a hundred feoeftthe surface I have marked. You might put some listeners there uwnetil can getover here and handle
it."
I stared at it. "Is this map reliable?"
The engineer officer glanceadt the senser, then said very quietotly
me, "Of course it is, you idiot! What are you trying to do? Upset him?" They left while I was studying it. The artist-engineer had done double
sketching and thbeox had combined them intostaereo picture of the first thousandfeet underthe surface. Iwas so bemused by it that I had to be reminded totake the platoon out of "freeze" -- tIhewnithdrew the ground
listeners from the cratepru, lled two menfrom eachsquad andgave them
bearingsfrom that infernal map
htoave them listen alontghe Bug highway
and over the town.
I reported it to BlackieH.
e cut me off as I started to describe the
Bugtunnels by co-ordinates. "Major Landry relayed a facsimtoileme. Just give me co-ordinates of your listening posts."
I did so. He said", Not bad,Johnnie. But not quitewhat Iwant, either.You've placed more listeners thanyou need overtheir mapped
tunnels. String four of them along that Bug race track, place four more in a diamond around theitrown. That leaves yofuour. Place one in the triangle
formed by your right rear corner and the main tunneolt;hetrhethree go in
the larger area on the other side of the tunnel."

"Yes, sir." I added, "Captain, can we depend on this map?" "What's troubling you?"
"Well . . . it seems like magic. Uh, black magic."
"Oh. Look, son, I've got a special message from the Sky Marshal to you. He says to tell you that map is official . . . andwitlhlatwohrery about
everything else so that you can give full time to your platoon. Follow me?" "Uh, yes, Captain."
"But the Bugs can burrow mighty fsaost,you give special attention to the listeningposts outside the areoaf the tunnels. Any noisfreom those
four outside posts louder than a butterfly's roar is to be reported at once, regardless of its nature."
"Yes, sir."
"When they burrow, it makes a noise like frying bacon -- in case you've never heard it. Stop your patrol sweeps. Leave one man on visual observation of thecrater. Let half your platoon slefeopr two hours, while thoether
half pairs off to take turns listening." "Yes, sir."
"You may seesome more combatengineers. Here's the revised plan. A sappercompany will blast down and cork that main tunnwehl ere it comes nearest the surface, either yaotur left flank, or beyond `iHnead Hunter' territory. At the same time another engineer company will dsaomtehewhere that tunnel brancheasbout thirty miles offto your right in theFirst Regiment'sbailiwick. When the corks are in, a locnhgunk of their main
street and a biggish settlement will be cut off. Meanwhile, the same sort of
thingwill be going ona lot ofother places. Thereafter --we'll see.

Either the Bugs break through to stuhreface and we have a pitchbeadttle, or they sit tight and we go down after them, a sector at a time."
"I see." Iwasn't sure that I did, but I understood my part: rearrange my listeningposts; lethalf my platoon sleepT.hen a Bug hunt -- on the surface if we were lucky, underground if we had to.
"Have your flank make contact with that sapper company when it arrives. Help `em if they want help."
"Right, Cap'n," I agreed heartily. Combat engineers are almogsot oads
an outfiat s the infantry; it's a pleasure to wwoirtkh them. Ina pinch
theyfight, maybenot expertly but bravely. Or thgeoy
aheadwith their
work,not even lifting their heads, while a battle rages artohuenmd. They
have an unofficial, very cynical and very ancient motto: "First
`weem,dig
then we diien `em," to supplementht eir officialmotto: "Cando!" Both mottoes are literal truth.
"Get on it, son."
Twelve listening postsmeant that I coulpdut ahalf squad at each
post, either a corporal or his lance, plus three privates, then allow two of each group offour to sleep whilethe othertwo took turnslistening.
Navarre andthe other section chaser could watch the crater and sleep, turn about,while section sergeantscould take turns in charge of thpelatoon.
The redisposition took no more than ten minutes once I had detailed the plan and given oubtearings to thesergeants; nobodyhad to move verfyar. I
warned everybody to keep eyes opfoerna company of engineers. As soon as each section reported its listening posts in operation I clicked to the wide
circuit: "Odd numbers! Lie down, prepare to sleep . . . one .. .. .. two
three . . . four . . . five -- sleep!"

A suit isnot a bed, butit willdo. Onegood thing abouht ypno
preparation for combat is that, in the unlikely event of a chance to rest, a man canbe put to sleepinstantly by post hypnoticommand triggered by someone who is not a hypnotist -- and awakenedas juinssttantly, alert and ready to fight. It is a life-sabvecr,ause a mancan getso exhausted In
battle that hsehoots at things that aren't thearend can't seewhat he should be fighting.
But I had no intention of sleepinIgh.ad not been told to and I had not asked. The verthyought of sleeping whenI knew that perhapsmany thousands ofBugs wereonly a few hundred feet away made smtoymach jump. Maybethat senser was infallible, perhaps theBugs could norteach us
without alerting our listening posts.
Maybe -- But I didn't want to chance it.
I clicked to my private circuit. "Sarge -- " "Yes, sir?"
"You might as well get a nap. I'll be on watch. Lie down and prepare to sleep . . . one . . . two -- "
"Excuse me, sir. I have a suggestion." "Yes?"
"If I understand therevised plan, no action is expected for the next four hours. You could take a nap now, and then -- "
"Forget it,Sarge! Iam not goingto sleep; I am going to make the rounds of the listening posts and watch for that sapper company."
"Very well, sir."
"I'll check number three while I'm here. You stay there with Brumby and

catch some rest while I -- " "Johnnie!"
I broke off. "Yes, Captain?" Had the Old Man been listening?
"Are your posts all set?"
"Yes, Captain, andmy odd numbers are sleeping.amI
about to inspect
each post. Then -- "
"Let your sergeant do it. I want you to rest." "But, Captain -- "
"Lie down. That's a direocrtder. Prepare to sleep . . . one . . . two
. . . three -- Johnnie!"
"Captain, with your permission, I would like to inspect my posts first. Then I'll rest, if you say so, but I would rather remain awake. I -- "
Blackie guffawed inmy ear. "Look, son, you'vselept for an hour and ten minutes."
"Sir?"
"Check the time." I did so and felt foolish. "You wide awake, son?" "Yes, sir. I think so."
"Things have speeded up. Callyour odd numbersand put youreven numbers tosleep. With luck, theymay get an hour. So swap `eamround, inspect your posts, and call me back."
I did so and started my rounds without a word to my platoon sergeant. I wasannoyed at both him anBdlackie -- at mcyompany commander because I resented beingput to sleep againstmy wishes; andas for myplatoon
sergeant, I haad dirty hunch that it wouldn't have been done if he weren't the real boss and myself just a figurehead.
But after I had checked posts number three oanned (no soundsof any

sort, both were forward of the Bug area), I cooled Adoftwern.all, blaming a sergeant, even flaeet sergeant, forsomething a captain diwd as silly. "Sarge-"
"Yes, Mr. Rico?"
"Do you want to catchnaap with the evennumbers? I'llwake you a minute or two before I wake them."
He hesitated slightly. "Sir, I'd like to insptehcet listening posts myself."
"Haven't you already?"
"No, sir. I've been asleep the past hour." "Huh?"
He sounded embarrassed". The Captain required mteo doso. He placed Brumby temporarily in chargaend put meto sleep immediately after he relieved you."
I started to answer, then laughheedlplessly. "Sarge?Let's you and I
go off somewhere and go back to sleep. We're wasting our time; Cap'n Blackie is running this platoon."
"I havefound, sir,"he answered stiffly, "thatCaptain Blackstone invariably has a reason for anything he does."
I nodded thoughtfully, forgetting thatI was ten miles from my
listener. "Yes. You're right, he always has a reason. Mmm . . . since he had us both sleep, he must want us both awake and alert now."
"I think that must be true." "Mmm . . . any idea why?"
He was rather lonign answering. "Mr. Rico," he sasidlowly, "if the

Captainknew he would tell us; I've never known him to hold back
information. But sometimes he dothesings a certain way without being able to explainwhy. The Captain's hunche-s- well, I've learned torespect
them."
"So? Squad leaders are all even numbers; they're asleep." "Yes, sir."
"Alert the lance of each squad. We won't wake anybody . . . but when we do, seconds may be important."
"Right away."
I checked the remaining forward post, thencovered the four posts bracketingthe Bug village, jackingmy phones in parallel with each
listener. I had to force myself to listen, because you could hear them, down therebelow, chittering to each other. I wantedruton and it waasll I
could do not to let it show.
I wondered if that "special talent" wsaims ply a man with incredibly acute hearing.
Well, no matter how hdeid it, the Bugws ere where he said they were. Back at OC. . S. we hardeceived demonstrations ofrecorded Bug noises; these four posts were picking up typical nest noiseslarogfe aBug town --
that chittering which may be their speech (thoughshwohuyld they needto
talkif they are all remotely controllbeyd
the brain caste?), ruastling
like sticks and dry leaves, a high background whine which is always heard at asettlement and which had to bemachinery --their air conditioning
perhaps.
I did not hear the hissing, crackling noise they makien cutting through rock.

The sounds along the Bug boulevard were unlike the settlement sounds -- a low backgrounrdumble which increased tao roar every few moments, as if heavy traffic were passing. I listened at post number five, then got an idea
-- checked it by having the stand-by man at each of the four posts along the tunnel call out "Mark!" to me each time the roaring got loudest.
Presently I reported. "Captain -- " "Yeah, Johnnie?"
"The traffic along this Bug race is all moving one waym, ferotmoward you.Speed isapproximately a hundred and ten miles per hour, a load goes past about once a minute."
"Close enough,"he agreed. "I make it one-oh-eight with a headway of fifty-eight seconds."
"Oh." I felt dasheda, nd changed the subject."I haven't seen that sapper company."
"You won't. They pickeda spot in the middlreear of `HeadHunter' area. Sorry, I should have told you. Anything more?"
"No, sir." We clicked off and I felt better. Even Blackie could forget
. . and there hadn't been anything wrong wmiyth idea. I left the tunnel zone to inspect the listening posrtigthot and rear of the Baurgea, post twelve.
As with the others,there were two meansleep, one listening, one stand-by. I said to the stand-by, "Getting anythin?"
"No, sir."
The man listening,one of my five recruits, looked up saanid, "Mr. Rico, I think this pickup has just gone sour."

"I'll check it," I said. He moved to let me jack in with him. "Frying bacon" so loud you could smell it!
I hit the all-hands circu"itF. irst platoon up! Wake up, call off, and report!"
-- And clicked over to officers' circuit. "Captain! Captain Blackstone! Urgent!"
"Slow down, Johnnie. Report."
" `Frying bacon' sounds, sir," I answerterydi,ng desperatelyto keep myvoice steady. "Postwelve at co-ordinates Easter Nine, SquarBe lack One."
"Easter Nine," he agreed. "Decibels?"
I looked hastily at the meter on the pickupd.on"I't know, Captain.
Off the scale at the max end. It sounds like they're right under my feet!" "Good!" he applauded -- and I wonderehdow he could feel thawt ay.
"Best news we've had today! Now listen, son. Get your lads awake -- " "They are, sir!"
"Very well. Pull bactkwo listeners, have them spot-checakround post twelve.Try tofigure where the Bugs are going to break out. And stay away from that spot! Understand me?"
"I hear you, sir," I said carefully. "But I do not understand."
He sighed. "Johnnie, you'tlul rn my hair gray yet. Look, swone, want them to come out, tmheore the better.You don'thave the firepower to
handle them other than blyowing up their tunnel as they reach the surface
--and that is the one thing ymoust not do! If they come out in force, a regiment can't handle them. But that's just what the General wants, and he's got a brigadoef heavy weapons in orbit, waitifnogr it. So you sptohtat

breakthrough, fall back, ankdeep it under observation. Iyfou arelucky enoughto have a major breakthrough in your ayreoau,r reconnaissance will
be patched through all the way to the top. So stay lucky and stay alive! Got it?"
"Yes, sir. Spot the breakthrough. Fall back aavnodid contact. Observe and report."
"Get on it!"
I pulled backlisteners nine and ten frotmhe middle stretch o"fBug Boulevard" and had them close in on co-ordinEaatestser Nine from right and left, stoppingevery half mile tolisten for "frying bacon." Athte same
time I lifted post twelve and moved it toward our rear, while checking for a dying away of the sound.
In the meantime my platoosnergeant was regroupingthe platoon in the
forward area between the Bug settlement and the crater -- all but twelve men who were ground-listening. Since we were under orders not to attack, we both worried over the prospect of having the platoon spread too widely for mutual support. Sohe rearranged them in a compact linfeive miles long, with
Brumby's section on the left, nearer the Bug settlement. This placed the men less than threheundred yards apart (almostshoulder to shoulder for cap troopers),and putnine of themen still on listeningstations within
support distance of one flank or the other. Only the three listeners working with me were out of reach of ready help.
I told Bayonne of the Wolverines and Do Campo oHfetahde Hunters that
I was no longer patrolling and why, and I reported our regrouping to Captain
Blackstone.

He grunted. "Suit yourself. Got a prediction on that breakthrough?"
"It seemsto centerabout Easter Ten, Captain, butisit hard to pin
down.The soundsare very loud in an area about three miles acrosist seems to get wider. I'm trytiongcircle it at an intensitylevel just
barely on scale."adI ded, "Could theybe driving a new horizonttaulnnel just under the surface?"
He seemed surprised. "That's possiblIe.hope not -w- e want themto
and
come up." He added, "Let me know if the center of noise moves. Check on it." "Yes, sir. Captain -- "
"Huh? Speak up."
"You told us not to attack when they break out. If they break out. What are we to do? Are we just spectators?"
There was a longisdhelay, fifteen or twentsyeconds, and he may have consulted "upstairs."At last he said, "Mr. Rico, you aretonoatttack at
or near Easter Ten. Anywhere else -- the idea is to hunt Bugs." "Yes, sir." I agreed happily. "We hunt Bugs."
"Johnnie!" he said sharply". If you go hunting medals instead of Bugs
--and I findout -- you're goingto have a mighty sad-lookingForm
Thirty-One!"
"Captain," I saidearnestly, "I don'tever want to win ma edal. The idea is to hunt Bugs."
"Right. Now quit bothering me."
I called myplatoon sergeant, explained the new limits under which we
would work, told him to pass the word along and to make sure that each man's suit was freshly charged, air and power.
"We've just finished that, siIr.suggest that we relieve the men with

you." He named three reliefs.
This was reasonable,as my ground listenershad had no time to recharge. But the reliefs he named were all scouts.
Silently I cussed myself for utter stupidity. A scout's suit is as fast
asa command suit, twice the speeodf a marauder.I had beenhaving a
nagging feelingof somethingleft undone,and had checked it off
thoe
nervousness I always feel around Bugs.
Now I knew. Here I was, ten maiwleasy from my platoon with a party of three men each in a marauder suit. When the bBroukges through, I was going to befaced with an impossibldeecision . . . unless the men with me could rejoin asfast as I could. "That's good," I agre"bedut, I no longer need
three men. Send Hughes, right away. Hhaivme
relieve Nyberg. Ustehe other
three scouts to relieve the listening posts farthest forward." "Just Hughes?" he said doubtfully.
"Hughes is enough. I'm going to man one listmenyesrelf. Two of us can straddle the area; wkenow where they arneow." I added, "GeHt ughes down here on the bounce."
For the next thirty-seven minutes nothihnagppened. Hughes and I swung back andforth along the forward and reaarrcs of thearea around Easter
Ten, listeningfive seconds at a timeth, en movingon. Itwas no longer necessary to seatthe microphone in rocki;t was enough to touch it to the ground to get thseound of "frying bacon" strong and cleTahr.e noise area expanded but its center did not chanOgnec. e I called Captain Blackstone to
tellhim that the sound had abruptly stopped, and again three minutes later
to tell him it had resumed; otherwise I used the
cscirocuist' and let my

platoon sergeant take care tohfe platoon andthe listening posts near the platoon.
At the end of this time everything happened at once.
A voice called out on the scouts' circuit, " `Bacon Fry'! Albert Two!" I clicked over and called out, "Captain! `Bacon Faryt ' Albert Two,
Black One!"-- clicked overto liaison withthe platoons surrounding me: "Liaison flash!`Bacon frying' atAlbert Two, Square BlackOne" -- and immediately heardDo Campo reporting:" `Frying Bacon'sounds at Adolf Three, Green Twelve."
I relayed thato Blackie and cut backto my own scouts' circuit, heard: "Bugs! Bugs! HELP!"
"Where?"
No answer. I clicked over. "Sarge! Who reported Bugs?"
He rapped back, "Coming up out of their town -- about Bangkok Six."
"Hit `em!" I clicked ovteor
Blackie. "Bugs at Bangkok Six, BlaOcnke
-- I am attacking!"
"I heard you order it," he answered calmly. "How about Easter Ten?" "Easter Ten is -- " The ground fell away under me and I was engulfed in
Bugs.
I didn't know what had happened to me. I wasn't hurt; it was a bit like fallinginto the branches oaf tree -- but thesberanches were alive and
kept jostlingme while my gyros complained and tried to keep me upIright.
fell ten or fifteen feet, deep enough to be out of the daylight. Then asurge ofliving monsters carried me bacukp into the light --
andtraining paid off; I landed on my feet, talking and fighting:

"Breakthrough at EasteTr en --no, Easter Eleven, where I am now. Big hole and they'repouring up. Hundreds.More than that." I had a hand flamer in each hand and was burning them down as I reported.
"Get out of there, Johnnie!" "Wilco!" -- and I started to jump.
And stopped. Checkedthe jump intime, stoppedflaming, and really looked -- foIr suddenly realized that I oughtbeto dead. "Correction," I said,looking andhardly believing."Breakthrough at Easter Eleven is a feint. No warriors."
"Repeat."
"Easter Eleven,Black One. Breakthrough here is entirely by workers so far. Nowarriors. I amsurrounded by Bugs and theayre still pouring out,
butnot a one of them is armed and those nearest me all have typical worker features. I have not been attackeId.a"dded, "Captaind, o you thinkthis
couldbe just a diversion? With their rberaelakthrough to comesomewhere else?"
"Could be," he admitted. "Youreport is patchedthrough right to Division, so letht em dothe thinking. Stir around and chewckhat you've reported. Don'tassume that they are all worke-r-syou may findout the hard way."
"Right, Captain." I jumped high and wide, intending to get outside that mass of harmless but loathsome monsters.
That rocky plain was covered with crawly black shapes in all
directions. I overrode my jet controls and increased the
cjuamllinpg,
out,
"Hughes! Report!"

"Bugs, Mr. Rico! Zillions of `em! I'm a-burnin' `em down!" "Hughes, take a close look thaot se Bugs. Any of thefmighting back?
Aren't they all workers?"
"Uh -- " I hit the grouanndd bouncedagain. He went on, "Hey! You're right, sir! How did you know?"
"Rejoin your squad, Hughes." I clicked over. "Captain, several thousand Bugs haveexited nearhere from an unestimated number of holes. I have not been attacked. Repeat,hIave not beenattacked atall. If there araeny
warriors among them, themyust be holding their fire and using workaesrs
camouflage."
He did not answer.
There was an extremely brilliant flafsahr off to my left, followed at
once by one just like it but farther away to my right front; automatically I noted timeand bearings. "Captain Blackstone answer!" At the top of my jump I tried to picokut his beacon, but that horizon was cluttered by low hills
in Square Black Two.
I clicked over and called out, "Sarge! Can you relay to the Captain for me?"
At that very instant my platoon sergeant's beacon blinked out. I headed onthat bearing as fast as I copuuldsh my suit. hIad not
been watching my displacylosely; my platoon sergeant had the platoon and I
hadbeen busy, first with ground-listening and, most lately, waithfew
hundred Bugs. I had suppressed all thbeut non-com's beacons to allow me to see better.
I studied theskeleton display,picked outBrumby and Cunha, their
squad leaders and section chasers. "Cunha! Where's the platoon sergeant?"

"He's reconnoitering a hole, sir."
"Tell himI'm on my way, rejoining." Ishifted circuits without
waiting. "First platoon Blackguards to second platoon -- answer!" "What do you want?" Lieutenant Khoroshen growled.
"I can't raise the Captain." "You won't, he's out." "Dead?"
"No. But he's lost power -- so he's out." "Oh. Then you're company commander?"
"All right, all right, so what? Do you want help?" "Uh . . . no. No, sir."
"Then shut up," Khoroshen tolmd e, "until you do need help. We've got more than we can handle here."
"Okay." I suddenly foundthat I had more than I could handle. While reportingto Khoroshen, I shifted to full display and short range, as I was almost closedwith my platoon -- anndow I saw my first sectidoinsappear
one by one, Brumby's beacon disappearing first. "Cunha! What's happening to the first section?"
His voicesounded strained. "They are followintghe platoon sergeant down."
If there's anything in the book that covtheirss, I don't know what it
is. Had Brumby acted without orders?haOdr he beengiven orders Ihadn't heard?Look, the man was already down a Bug hole, out of sight and hearing
-- is this a timegotolegal? We would sort such thinogust tomorrow. If
any of us had a tomorrow --

"Very well," I said".I'm backnow. Report." My last jumbprought me among them; I saawBug off tomy right and I gothim before I hit. No worker, this -- it had been firing as it moved.
"I've lost three men," Cunhaanswered, gasping."I don't know what
Brumby lostT. hey broke out three places at once -- that's when we took the casualties. But we're mopping them -- "
A tremendous shock wave slammemde just as I bounced again, slapped me sideways. Threeminutes thirty-seven seconds-- call it thirty miles. Was
thatour sappers "putting down their corks"? "First section! Brace yourselves for another shocwkave!" I landed sloppilya,lmost ontop of a group of three or foBuur gs. They weren'dt ead butthey weren't fighting; they justwitched. I donatedthem agrenade andbounced again. "Hit `em
now!" I called out. "They're groggy. And mind that next -- "
The second blast hit as I was sayinIgt
iwt.asn't as violent. "Cunha!
Call off your section. And everybody stay on the bounce and mop up." The call-off was raggeadnd slow -- too many missing files caosulId
see from my physicals display. But the mop-up was precise and fast. I ranged around theedge and got half adozen Bugs myself -- thleast ofthem
suddenly became active just before I flamed it. Why did concussion daze them more than it did us? Because they were unarmored? Or was it their brain Bug, somewhere down below, that was dazed?
The call-off showed nineteen effectives, plutws o dead, two hurt, and three out of action through suit failure --twaondof these latter Navarre
was repairing by vandalizing power units from suits of dead and wounded. The thirdsuit failure wasin radio& radarand could not berepaired, so
Navarre assigned the man to guard the wounded, the nearesttothpiincgkup

we could manage until we were relieved.
In the meantime I was inspecting, with Sergeant Cunha, the three places
where the Bugs had broken through from their nest below. Comparison with the sub map showed, as one could hgauveessed, that they had cut exiatst the
places where their tunnels were closest to the surface.
One hole had closedi;t was a heaopf loose rock. Thseecond one did
not show Bug activity; I told Cunha to post a lance and a private there with orders to kilslingle Bugs, close the hole withboamb if they started to
pour out it's all very well for the Sky Marshal tothseirte uapnd decide that holes must not be closed, but I had a situation, not a theory.
Then I lookedat the third hole, the ontheat hadswallowed up my platoon sergeant and half my platoon.
Here a Bug corridor came within twenty feet of the surface and they had simply removed theroof for abouftifty feet. Wherethe rock went, what
caused that "frying bacon" noiwsehile they didit, Icould not sayT. he
rocky roof wagsone and the sides othfe hole were sloped and grooved. The mapshowed what must have happened; the other two holes came up from small side tunnels, this tunnel was part of their main lab-y-rinstohthe other
two had been diversions and their main attack had come from here. Can those Bugs see through solid rock?
Nothing was in sightdown that hole, neither Bug nor humaCn.unha pointedout thedirection the second sectiohnad gone. It had beesneven
minutes and forty seconds since the platoon sergeant had gone down, slightly overseven since Brumby had gonaefter him.I peered intothe darkness,
gulped and swallowed my stomach. "Sergeatankt,e charge of your section," I

said, trying to make it soucnhdeerful. "If you need helcpa,ll Lieutenant
Khoroshen." "Orders, sir?"
"None. Unlesssome come down from above. I'm going down and find the second section -s-o I may be out of touch for a while." Then I jumped down into the hole at once, because my nerve was slipping.
Behind me I heard: "Section!"
"First squad!" -- "Second squad!" -- "Third squad!"
"By squads! Follow me!" -- and Cunha jumped down, too. It's not nearly so lonely that way.
I had Cunhaleave two men at the hole to cover our rear,onontehe floor of thteunnel, one at surface level. ThelnedI them down the tunnel
the second section had followemdo, ving as fast as possible -- which wasn't fast asthe roof of the tunnel was right overheoaudrs. A man can move in sort ofa skating motion in a powered suit without lifting his feet, but it
is neither easy nor natural; we could have trotted without armor faster.
Snoopers wereneeded at once -- whereupon we confirmed someththinagt
had been theorized: Bugs see by infrared.
dTahrakt tunnel was well lighted
when seen by snoopers. So far it had no special features, simply glazed rock
walls arching over a smooth, level door.
We came to a tunnel crossing the one we were in and I
shtooprtpeodf
it.There are doctrines for how you should dispose a strike force
underground --but what good are theyT?he only certainty was that the man who hadwritten the doctrines hadnever himself tried them . . . because, before Operation Royaltyn,obody hadcome backup to tell what had worked

and what had not.
One doctrinecalled for guarding every intersection suchthais one.
But I haadlready used twomen to guard our escape hoilfe;I left l0 per cent of my force at each intersection, mighty soon I wotuelnd-pbeercented to death.
I decided tokeep us together . . . and decided, too, that nounse of
would be captured. Not by BuFgasr.
better a nice, clean real estate deal .
.. and with thatdecision a load was lifted from my mainndd Iwas no longer worried.
I peeredcautiously into the intersection, looked both waNyso. Bugs. So I called out over the non-coms' circuit: "Brumby!"
The result wasstartling. You hardly heayrour own voicewhen using
suit radio, as you are shielded from your output. But here, underground in a networkof smoothcorridors, my outputcame back to me as if thwehole
complex were one enormous wave guide: "BRRRRUMMBY!"
My ears rang with it.
And then rang again: "MR. RRRICCCO!"
"Not so loud,"I said, trying to talk very softly mys"eWlf.here are you?"
Brumby answered, not quite sdoeafeningly, "Sir,I don't know. We're lost."
"Well, take it easy. We're coming to get you. You can't be far away. Is the platoon sergeant with you?"
"No, sir. We never -- "

"Hold it." I clicked in my private circuit. "Sarge -- "
"I read you, sir." His voice sounded calm and he was holding the volume down. "Brumby anIdare in radio contact but we have not been able to make rendezvous."
"Where are you?"
He hesitatedslightly. "Sir, myadvice is to make rendezvouswith
Brumby's section -- then return to the surface." "Answer my question."
"Mr. Rico, you could spend a week down here and not find me . . . and I
am not able to move. You must -- " "Cut it, Sarge! Are you wounded?" "No, sir, but -- "
"Then why can't you move? Bug trouble?"
"Lots of it. They can't reamche now . . but I can't come out. So I
think you had better -- "
"Sarge, you're wasting time! I am certain you know exactly what turns youtook. Nowtell me, while lIook atthe map. Andgive me a vernier
reading on your D. R. tracer. That's a direct order. Report."
He did so, precisely and concisely. I switched on my head lamp, flipped up the snoopers, and followed it on the map. "All Irigsahitd," presently.
"You're almost directluynder us and two levedlsown -- andI knowwhat
turns to take. We'll be there as soon as we pick up the second section. Hang on." I clicked over. "Brumby -- "
"Here, sir."
"When youcame to thefirst tunnel intersectiond, id you goright, left, or straight ahead?"

"Straight ahead, sir."
"Okay. Cunha, bring `em along. Brumby, have you got Bug trouble?" "Not now, sir. But that's how gwoet lost.We tangled with a bunch of
them . . . and when it was over, we were turned around."
I started toask about casualties, then decidetdhat bad news could
wait; I wanted to get my platoon togeatnhderget out of there. A Bug town with noBugs insight was somehowmore upsettingthan theBugs we had
expected toencounter. Brumby coached us through the next two choices and I tossed tanglefoot bombs down each corridor we did not use. "Tanglefoot" is a derivative of the nerve gas we had been using on Bugs in the past -- instead of killing, it gives any Bug that trots throuaghsorit of shaking palsy.
We hadbeen equippedwith it for this oneoperation, and Iwould have swapped a toonf itfor a few pounds of the real stuff. Sittimll,ight protect our flanks.
In one long stretch of tunnel I lost touch with Brumsobmy e--oddity in reflection orfadio waves, I guessf,or Ipicked him up at thenext intersection.
But there hecould nottell me which way to turn. This was the place, or near the place, where the Bugs had hit them.
And here the Bugs hit us.
I don't know where they came froOmn. e instant everything was quiet. ThenI heardthe cry of "Bugs! Bugs!" from back mofe in the column, I turned-- andsuddenly Bugswere everywhere. I suspectthat those smooth
walls are not as solidthaesy look; that's the only waycanI
account for
the way they were suddenly all around us and among us.

We couldn't use flamersw,
e couldn't use bombs; we were too likely to
hiteach other. But the Bugsdidn't have anysuch compunctions among
themselves if they could get one of us. But we had hands and we had feet -- It couldn't have lasted motrhean a minute, thetnhere were no more
Bugs,just broken pieces otfhem on the door. . . and four cap troopers down.
One was Sergeant Brumby, dead. During the ruckus the second section had rejoined. They had been not far away, sticking together to keep from getting further lost itnhat maze, andhad heard the fightH. earing it, they had
been able to trace it by sound, where they had not been able to locate us by radio.
Cunha and I made certain thoautr casualties were actually dead, then consolidatedthe two sections into one of four squaandds down we wen-t- and found the Bugs that had our platoon sergeant besieged.
That fight didn't last any time at all, because hwe ahranded me what
to expectH.
e had captured a braBinug and was using its bloated body as a
shield.He could not get out, but they could not attack him without (quite literally) committing suicide by hitting their own brain.
We were under no such handicap; we hit them from behind.
Then I was looking at the horrid thing he was holding and I was feeling exultantdespite ourlosses, when suddenly hIeard close upthat "frying
bacon" noise. A big piece of roof femll eonand Operation Royalty was over as far as I was concerned.
I woke up in bed and thought thwaat sIback at O. C. S. and had just had aparticularly long and complicateBd ug nightmare. But I was not at O.

C. S.; I was in a temporary sickobfatyhe transport Argonne, anIdreally had had a platoon of my own for nearly twelve hours.
But now I was justone morepatient, suffering fromnitrous oxide
poisoning and overexposurteo radiation through being out of armor for over anhour before being retrieved, plubsroken ribs anda knockin the head
which had put me out of action.
It was along time beforeI goteverything straight about Operation Royaltyand some of it I'll never know. Why Brumbtyook his section underground, for example. Brumbisy dead and Naidi bought the farm ntoext
his and I'msimply glad that they both gthoet ir chevrons and were wearing them that day on Planet P when nothing went according to plan.
I did learn, eventually, why my platoon sergedaenctided to go down
into that Bug towHn.e had heardmy reportto Captain Blackstone that the
"major breakthrough" was actually a feint, mwaditeh workerssent up to be
slaughtered. When real warrior Bugs broke out where he was, he had concluded
(correctly and minutessooner than Staff reached the same conclusion) that the Bugswere making a desperationpush, or they would not expenthdeir workers simply to draw our fire.
He saw thattheir counterattack made from Bug town was not in
sufficient force, and concluded that the enemy did not have many reserves -- and decided that, at this one golden moment, one man acting alone might have a chance orfaiding, finding "royalty" and capturing it. Remember, that was thewhole purpose of thoeperation; we had plenty of force simplyto
sterilizePlanet P,but ourobject was to capture royalctyastes and to
learn how to go dowinn. So he tried
sitn, atched that one moment -- and

succeeded on both counts.
It made it "mission accomplished" for the First Platoonof the
Blackguards. Not very many other platoons, out of many, many hundreds, could say that;no queens were captured (the Bugs killed them first) and only six
brains. None of the swixere ever exchanged, thedyidn't live long enough. But the PsycWh arfare boys did geltive specimens, so sIuppose Operation
Royalty was a success.
My platoon sergeant got a field commissiown.asI
not offered one (and
wouldnot have accepted) -- butwIas not surprised when I learned that he hadbeen commissioned. Cap'n Blackie had tomlde that Iwas getting "the
best sergeant in thfleeet" and Ihad never had andyoubt that Blackie's
opinion was correct. I had met my platoon sergeant before. I don't think any
other Blackguard knew this --
fnrom me and certainlynot from him. I
doubt if Blackie himself knew it. But I had known my pselargtoeoannt since my first day as a boot.
His name is Zim.
My part in Operation Royalty did not seem a success to me. I was in the Argonne more than a month, first as a patient, then as an unattached casual, before they got around to delivering me and a few dozen others to Sanctuary; it gave mteoo much timeto think -- mostly about casualtieasn, d what a generallymessed-up job I had made omfy one short timoen the ground as
platoon leaderI. knew I hadn't kepteverything juggled the way the
Lieutenant used to why, I hadn't even managed to get wounded still swinging; I had let a chunk of rock fall on me.
And casualties -- dIidn't know how many there werej;usIt knew that

whenI closed ranks there were onflyour squads where I had started with six. I didnk'tnow how many more there might have been beZfoimre got them to the surface, before the Blackguards were relieved and retrieved.
I didn't even know whether CaptaBinlackstone was still alive (he was
-- in fact he wbaasck in command about the time I went undergroaund) I
had no idea what the procedure was if a candidate was alive and his examiner wasdead. But I felt that my Form Thirty-Owneas sure to make me a buck
sergeant again. It really didn't seem importthaantt my mathbooks were in another ship.
Nevertheless, when Iwas let out of bed the fiwrset ek I was in the
Argonne, after loafinagnd brooding a day I borrowed some books from one of the junior officerasnd got to work. Math is hard work and it occupies your mind -- and it doesn't hurt to learn all you can of it, no martatenrk what
you are; everything of any importance is founded on mathematics.
When I finally checked in at O. C. S. and turned in myleaprinpes,d I
thatI was a cadet again instead of a sergeant. I guess Blackie gave me the benefit of the doubt.
My roommate, Angel, was in our room with his feet on the desk -- and in
frontof his feewt
as apackage, my math books. Hloeoked up and looked
surprised. "Hi, Juan! We thought you had bought it!"
"Me? The Bugs don't like me that well. When do you go out?" "Why, I've beenout," Angel protested. "Left thdeay afteryou did,
made three drops and been back a week. What took you so long?" "Took the long way home. Spent a month as a passenger."
"Some people are lucky. What drops did you make?"

"Didn't make any," I admitted.
He stared. "Some people have all the luck!"
Perhaps Angel was right; eventually I graduated. But he suppsolimede
of the luck himself, in patient tutoring. I guess my "luck" has usually been people -- Angel and Jelly and the Lieutenant and Carl and Lieutenant Colonel Dubois, yes and my father, and Blackie . . . and Brumby . . . and Ace -- and always Sergeant Zim. Brevet Captain Zim, now, with permaranneknt ofFirst
Lieutenant. It wouldn't have bereinght forme to have wound up senior to him.
Bennie Montez, aclassmate ofmine, and I were at the Fleet landing
field the day after graduation, waiting to go up to our ships. We were still such brand-new second lieutenants that being saluted madneeruvsous andI wascovering it by reading the list of ships in orbit around Sanctuary -- a list so long that it was clear that something big was stirrintgh,ouegvhen
they hadn'tseen fit tomention it to meI.
felt excited. I hamdy two
dearestwishes, in one package -- postetdo my oldoutfit and whilemy
father was still there, too. And now this, whatever it was, meant that I was aboutto have the polish puot n me by"makee-learnee" under Lieutenant
Jelal, with some important drop coming up.
I was so full of it all that I couldn't talk about it, so I studied the lists.Whew, what a lot osfhips! They were posted by types, too mtaony
locate otherwise. sItarted readingoff the troopcarriers, the only ones that matter to an M. I.
There was the Mennerheim! Any chance of seeing Carmen? Probanbolty,
but I could send a dispatch and find out.

Big ships --the new Valley Forge and the neYwpres, Merathon, El Alamein, Iwo, GallipolLi,eyte, Marne, Tours, GettysburgH, astings, Alamo, Waterloo -- all places where mud feet had made their names to shine.
Little ships,the ones named for foot sloggers: Horatius, Alvin York, SwampFox, the Rogherself, bless herheart, ColonelBowie, Devereux,
Vercingetorix, Sandino, AubreCy ousens, Kamehameha, Audie Murphy, Xenophon, Aguinaldo --
I said, "There ought to be one named Magsaysay." Bennie said, "What?"
"Ramon Magsaysay,"I explained. "Great man, great soldierpr-o-bably be chief opfsychological warfare ifhe were alive today. Didn't you ever study any history?"
"Well," admitted Bennie, "I learnedthat Simon Bolivar built the
Pyramids, licked the Armada, and made the first trip to the Moon." "You left out marrying Cleopatra."
"Oh, that. Yup. Well, gIuess every countryhas its own versionof history."
"I'm sure of it.I" added something to myself aBndennie said, "What did you say?"
"Sorry, Bernardo. Just aonld saying in my own language. I suppose you could translate it, more or less, as: `Home is where the heart is.' "
"But what language was it?" "Tagalog. My native language."
"Don't they talk Standard English where you come from?"
"Oh, certainly. For business and school and so forth.juWst etalk the

old speech around home a little. Traditions. You know."
"Yeah, I know. Mfyolks chatter inEspanol the same way. But where do
you -- " The speaker started playing "Meadowland"; Bennie broke into a grin. "Got a date with a ship! Watch yourself, fellow! See you."
"Mind theBugs." I turned back and went on reading ships' namPaels:
Maleter, Montgomery, Tchaka, Geronimo --
Then came the sweetest sound in the world: " -- shines the name, shines the name of Rodger Young!"
I grabbed my kiatnd hurried. "Home is where the heart is" w--asI
going home.
CHAPTER 14
Am I my brother's keeper?
-- Genesis IV:9
How think ye? If a man have an hundred sheep, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not
leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seeketh
that which is gone astray?
-- Matthew XII:12
How much then is a man better than a sheep?
-- Matthew XII:12
In the Name of God, the Beneficent, the Merciful . . . whoso saveth

the life of one, it shall be as if
he had saved the life of all mankind.
-- The Koran, Surah V, 32
Each year we gain a little. You have to keep a sense of proportion. "Time, sir." My j. o. under instruction, Candidate or "Third
Lieutenant"Bearpaw, stood just outside my door.He looked and sounded awfully younga, nd was aboutas harmlessas one of his scalp-hunting ancestors.
"Right, Jimmie." I was already airnmor. We walked afto the drop
room. I said, awse went, "One word, Jimmie. Stick with me and keep out of
my way. Have fun and use up your ammo. If by any chance I buy it, you're the boss-- butif you're smart, you'll let your platoon sergeant ctahlel
signals." "Yes, sir."
As wecame in, the platoon sergeant called them to attention and
saluted.I returned it, said, "At ease," and started down the first section while Jimmie looked over tsheecond. Then Iinspected the secondsection, too,checking everything on every manM. y platoon sergeantis much more carefulthan I am, so I didn't find anything, I never do. But itthme akes
men feel better if their OMldan scrutinizes everything -- besides, it's my
job.
Then I stepped out in the middle. "Another Bug bhouynst.,
This one is
a little different, as you know. Since they still hold prisoners of ours, we
can't use a nova bomonb
Klendathu -- so this time we go down, stand on it,
hold it, take aiwt ay from them. The boatwon't be downto retrieve us;

instead it'll fetcmh ore ammo and rationsI.f you're taken prisoner, keep
your chin up anfdollow the rules -- because you've
tghoet whole outfit
behind you, you've got the whole Federation beyhoinud; we'll come angdet
you. That's whatthe boys from thSewamp Fox and the Montgomery habveeen depending onT. hose who are still alive are waiting, knowing wtheatwill
show up. And here we are. Now we go get `em.
"Don't forgetthat we'll have help all around luosts, of help above us. Alwl e have toworry about is our one litptlieece, just theway we rehearsed it.
"One last thing. I had a letter from Captain Jelal just before we left. He says thahtis new legs work fine. But ahlseo told me ttoell you that
he's got you in mind . . . and he expects your names to shine! "And so do I. Five minutes for the Padre."
I felt myselfbeginning to shake. It wa relief when I coulcdall
them to attention again and add: "By sections . . . port and starboard . . . prepare for drop!"
I wasall right then while I inspected each minaton his cocoon down oneside, with Jimmie andthe platoon sergeantaking the other. Then we buttonedJimmie into the No. 3 center-line capsule. Once his face was covered up, the shakes really hit me.
My platoon sergeant put his arm around my armored shoulders. "Just like a drill, Son."
"I know it, Father." I stoppesdhaking atonce. "It's the waiting, that's all."
"I know. Four minutes. Shall we get buttoned up, sir?"
"Right away, Father." I gave him a quick lheut gth, e Navydrop crew

seal us in. The shakdeisdn't start up again. Shortly I was able to report: "Bridge! Rico's Roughnecks . . . ready for drop!"
"Thirty-one seconds,Lieutenant." She added, "Goolduck, boys! This time we take `em !"
"Right, Captain."
"Check. Now some music while you wait?" She switched it on: "To the everlasting glory of the Infantry -- "
HISTORICAL NOTE
YOUNG, RODGER W., Private, 148th Infantry, 37th Infantry Division (the Ohio Buckeyes); born Tiffin, Ohio, 28 April 1918; 3d1ieJduly 1943, on the island New Georgia, Solomons, South Pacific, while single-handedly attacking anddestroying an enemymachine-gun pillbox. Hisplatoon hadbeen pinned
down by intensfeire from this pillboxP; rivate Young was woundeidn the
first burstH.
e crawled toward the pillbox, wwasounded asecond time but
continuedto advance,firing his rifle as hdeid so. He closedon the pillbox, attacked anddestroyed it with hangdrenades, but in so doinhge was wounded a third time and killed.
His bold and gallant actionin the face of overwhelming odds enabled histeammates to escape without loss; he was awarded posthumously the Medal of Honor.
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