systems, but I needn't have worried. Lieberman had guards in each of the towers. They were equipped with light-amplifying binoculars. There were more men to watch the IR screens.
"We're safe enough," Lieberman said. "If the lieutenant would care to turn in, I'll see the guard's changed properly."
He followed me back to my quarters. Hartz had already fixed the place up. There were fresh adobe patches over the bullet holes in the walls. My gear was laid out where I could get it quickly. Hartz had his cloak and pack spread out in the anteroom.
There was even coffee. A pot was kept warm over an alcohol lamp.
"You can leave it to us," Lieberman said.
Hartz grinned. "Sure. Lieutenants come out of the Academy without any calluses, and we make generals out of them."
"That may take some doing," I said. I invited Lieberman into my sitting room. There was a table there, with a scale model of the fort on it. Flawn had made it, but it hadn't done him much good. "Have a seat, Centurion. Coffee?"
"Just a little, sir. I'd best get back to my duties."
"Call me for the next watch, Centurion."
"If the lieutenant orders it."
"I just—what the hell, Lieberman, why don't you want me to take my turn on guard?"
"No need, sir. May I make a suggestion?"
"Sure."
"Leave it to us, sir. We know what we're doing."
I nodded and stared into my coffee cup. I didn't feel I was really in command here. They tell you everything in the Academy: leadership, communications, the precise form of a regimental parade, laser range-finding systems, placement of patches on uniforms, how to compute firing patterns for mortars, wine rations for the troops, how to polish a pair of boots, servicing recoilless rifles, delivery of calling cards to all senior officers within twenty-four hours of reporting to a new post, assembly and maintenance of helicopters, survival on rocks with poisonous atmosphere or no atmosphere at all, shipboard routines, and a million other details. You have to learn them all, and they get mixed up until you don't know what's trivial and what's important. They're just things you have to know to pass examinations. "You know what you're doing, Centurion, but I'm not sure I do."
"Sir, I've noticed something about young officers," Lieberman said. "They all take things too serious."
"Command's a serious business." Damn, I thought. That's pompous. Especially from a young kid to an older soldier.
He didn't take it that way. "Yes, sir. Too damned serious to let details get in the way. Lieutenant, if it was just things like posting the guard and organizing the defense of this place, the service wouldn't need officers. We can take care of that. What we need is somebody to tell us what the hell to do. Once that's done, we know how ."
I didn't say anything. He looked at me closely, probably trying to figure out if I was angry. He didn't seem very worried.
"Take me, for instance," he said. "I don't know why the hell we came to this place, and I don't care. Everybody's got his reasons for joining up. Me, I don't know what else to do. I've found something I'm good at, and I can do it. Officers tell me where to fight, and that's one less damn thing to worry about."
The trumpet sounded outside. Last Post. It was the second time we'd heard it today. The first was when we'd buried our dead.
"Got my rounds to make," Lieberman said. "By your leave, sir."
"Carry on, Centurion." A few minutes later Hartz came in to help me get my boots off. He wouldn't hear of letting me turn in wearing them.
"We'll hold 'em off long enough to get your boots on, zur. Nobody's going to catch a Marine officer in the sack."
He'd sleep with his boots on so that I could take mine off. It didn't make a lot of sense, but I wasn't going to win any arguments with him about it. I rolled into the sack and stared at the ceiling. My first day of command. I was still thinking about that when I went to sleep.
* * *
The attacks started the next day. At first
"We're safe enough," Lieberman said. "If the lieutenant would care to turn in, I'll see the guard's changed properly."
He followed me back to my quarters. Hartz had already fixed the place up. There were fresh adobe patches over the bullet holes in the walls. My gear was laid out where I could get it quickly. Hartz had his cloak and pack spread out in the anteroom.
There was even coffee. A pot was kept warm over an alcohol lamp.
"You can leave it to us," Lieberman said.
Hartz grinned. "Sure. Lieutenants come out of the Academy without any calluses, and we make generals out of them."
"That may take some doing," I said. I invited Lieberman into my sitting room. There was a table there, with a scale model of the fort on it. Flawn had made it, but it hadn't done him much good. "Have a seat, Centurion. Coffee?"
"Just a little, sir. I'd best get back to my duties."
"Call me for the next watch, Centurion."
"If the lieutenant orders it."
"I just—what the hell, Lieberman, why don't you want me to take my turn on guard?"
"No need, sir. May I make a suggestion?"
"Sure."
"Leave it to us, sir. We know what we're doing."
I nodded and stared into my coffee cup. I didn't feel I was really in command here. They tell you everything in the Academy: leadership, communications, the precise form of a regimental parade, laser range-finding systems, placement of patches on uniforms, how to compute firing patterns for mortars, wine rations for the troops, how to polish a pair of boots, servicing recoilless rifles, delivery of calling cards to all senior officers within twenty-four hours of reporting to a new post, assembly and maintenance of helicopters, survival on rocks with poisonous atmosphere or no atmosphere at all, shipboard routines, and a million other details. You have to learn them all, and they get mixed up until you don't know what's trivial and what's important. They're just things you have to know to pass examinations. "You know what you're doing, Centurion, but I'm not sure I do."
"Sir, I've noticed something about young officers," Lieberman said. "They all take things too serious."
"Command's a serious business." Damn, I thought. That's pompous. Especially from a young kid to an older soldier.
He didn't take it that way. "Yes, sir. Too damned serious to let details get in the way. Lieutenant, if it was just things like posting the guard and organizing the defense of this place, the service wouldn't need officers. We can take care of that. What we need is somebody to tell us what the hell to do. Once that's done, we know how ."
I didn't say anything. He looked at me closely, probably trying to figure out if I was angry. He didn't seem very worried.
"Take me, for instance," he said. "I don't know why the hell we came to this place, and I don't care. Everybody's got his reasons for joining up. Me, I don't know what else to do. I've found something I'm good at, and I can do it. Officers tell me where to fight, and that's one less damn thing to worry about."
The trumpet sounded outside. Last Post. It was the second time we'd heard it today. The first was when we'd buried our dead.
"Got my rounds to make," Lieberman said. "By your leave, sir."
"Carry on, Centurion." A few minutes later Hartz came in to help me get my boots off. He wouldn't hear of letting me turn in wearing them.
"We'll hold 'em off long enough to get your boots on, zur. Nobody's going to catch a Marine officer in the sack."
He'd sleep with his boots on so that I could take mine off. It didn't make a lot of sense, but I wasn't going to win any arguments with him about it. I rolled into the sack and stared at the ceiling. My first day of command. I was still thinking about that when I went to sleep.
* * *
The attacks started the next day. At first
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