It was seven feet tall, bright orange, and aesthetically unpleasant. Whoever did it put it halfway between the entrances to the A & B concourses. Whoever did it had never bothered to burden his or her talents with anything as inconvenient as an art class.
Slater looked at Asher. “When I find out who did it, I’ll have them flogged.”
Asher asked, “Do you think you ever will?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
They turned away from the spray-painted Z and headed toward the office in the base of the control tower. By a week later, they were saluting it every time they entered the terminal. It just seemed like the right thing to do.
“Bill, we need to see the captain.”
Sergeant Bill Asher wondered why it was that all the civilians treated him like a secretary. He was Captain Slater’s adjutant, and as such, he outranked even the battalion commanders. It didn’t matter much. Let the civvies think whatever they needed to.
“No, you don’t. You’d like to see the captain. Sorry, guys. He’s busy right now.”
“Bill, we insist.”
Okay, if civilians were bad, civilians that had been to college for three years and had two weeks of Corpse Corps action were worse. “Oh! Why didn’t you say so earlier? That makes all the difference. Who should I tell him is calling?” He wondered if the kid would be able to pick up on his sarcasm. “Come on. You know procedure. All requests for meetings with the captain go through your squad leader and battalion lieutenant. Nothing is so urgent that–”
“This is.” The taller man in the back had spoken for the first time.
Bill stared at him in a cold, stony silence. “No, it isn’t. Back to your unit, soldier.”
The door opened and the captain stepped into the room. He looked over the three men standing there.
The one who had not yet spoken said, “Leo, sir. 74th Squad. This is J. J. and he’s Razor.”
The captain nodded. “Yes. I thought you’d be by. You’re here sooner than I expected. You’d better come in.”
Continue reading ‘Court Martial’