not to excess, a rarity in the Seventh MPs, and he despised those who did, although under Colonel Cogswell he had been powerless to do anything about it. Things had changed. Raggel had gone over Steiner’s sheet first. A professional police officer in civilian life, he had earned several citations for bravery and two or three complaints for excessive use of force. When Raggel asked him about those incidents he had replied, “I only beat the bastards that deserved beating. Ya gotta understand, Colonel, when ya deal with scum sometimes they gits to ya.”
Raggel had decided on that basis, and his sobriety, to keep Steiner as his sergeant major. When they began their review, Steiner had leafed through the printouts and handed Raggel the one for the CO of the First Company, a Lieutenant Keesey. “Git rid of this bastard, Colonel.”
Raggel glanced at the man’s sheet. He could see nothing amiss with his record. “Why, Top?”
“He’s a fuckin’ pervert, sir. He gits his rocks off hurtin’ people.” Keesey’s sheet went into the left-hand pile. Steiner pawed through the stack of sheets again and withdrew two more. “This here’s the sheets on First Sergeant ‘Skinny’
Skinnherd of Fourth Company ’n his company clerk, Corporal Queege. I’d git rid of both of ’em.”
Raggel reviewed the sheets silently. “Well, Top,” he said,
scratching his head, “this Skinnherd appears to be a good first sergeant, and this corporal, hell’s bells, she’s got the Bronze Star for valor! ’N lookit the schools she’s been to and her efficiency ratings! Looks like to me she’s eminently qualified in all phases of company administration, Top. Why the heck would I get rid of a good clerk?”
“Skinnherd is a good top soldier, sir, most of the time. But two strikes against ’im: He’s a big boozer ’n he’s been porkin’
that corporal, at least that’s what every man in the battalion believes, and what they believes is what’s real to ’em. That ain’t good for anybody’s morale, sir, troop leaders formin’ love-bird relationships with the junior enlisted.” And then he told Raggel about the bet Skinnherd had made with Queege, one hundred credits if she could eat baby slimies and drink a liter of ale within a specified time.
“Ohmigawd,” Raggel groaned. He felt sick even thinking about such a thing. He’d grown up on Ravenette and knew very well how disgusting the slimies were. “That’s, uh, inhuman!” he gasped. Furthermore, and he did not have to say this, Skinnherd’s conduct was unbecoming of a senior noncommissioned officer, abusing a lower-ranking soldier like that. “Uh, did she win the bet?”
“Yes, sir, ’n then puked all over Skinnherd. Colonel Cogswell was there ’n he presided over the whole affair.”
“Jesus God, Top, no wonder the Marines rolled you guys up like a rug.” And without another word Skinnherd’s sheet flew into the left-hand pile, but Raggel held on to Queege’s. “I don’t know about this corporal though. Good clerks are hard to come by.”
Steiner shrugged. “Well, ever’body likes the girl; she’s sort of the battalion’s mascot, if you know what I mean, sir. But she is a good clerk. When Skinnherd was recovering from too much booze, she ran the company. The lieutenants who was appointed to command Fourth Company, they ran through there like a dose of salts, one after th’ other, ’n left the orderly room exclusively to them two. Queege held the place together more than once, when she was sober. But she’s a boozer, sir, a big one, ’n she’s got the reputation that she put out for Skinnherd. I’d send her home.”
“Um . . . no, Top, I’m gonna keep her here. In fact I’ll bring her into battalion HQ, make her our chief clerk. Anyone who can choke down, what was it, five or six slimies, has got to be a determined individual. Think you can sober her up?”
Steiner shrugged. “I kin try, Colonel.” He did not look very enthusiastic
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley