Starship Troopers

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 commissions a man simply to fill vacancy. In the long run, each boot regiment must supply its own share of officers and the percentage can't be raised without lowering the standards. The strike force in the Tours needed thirteen officers -- six platoon leaders, two company commanders and two 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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"As the Captain pleases, sir," I agreed glumly.

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

"Yes, sir."

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

"Yes, s—Okay."

"That's better. Lean against the bulkhead. Scratch yourself. Yawn. Anything but that tin-soldier act."

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

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

"I do happen to know. What's your opinion?"

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

"I asked for your recommendation, Mister."

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

Blackie grunted. "You're pretty generous in giving away my Blackguards for a third lieutenant."

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