When the Devil Dances

The MP could not have known he was being watched by the battalion commander; the suit did not move and the helmet remained facing forward. But he was punctiliously correct anyway, checking the driver’s orders and receiving a confirmation download from Mike’s AID. When he was sure everything was correct he stepped back and saluted, undoubtedly waiting for the vehicle to move on before dropping it.

Mike touched the driver on the arm to keep him from pulling out and inspected the MP’s turnout minutely. Most of his gear was clearly designed to look good and stay that way. The holster for his service pistol was patent leather as was his brassard and his battle dress uniform, a pattern still called Mar-Cam, was tailored and pressed.

But he was also well shaven with a fresh haircut and in good physical condition. The fact that they were coming was well known, but up until today Mike had not been sure of their ETA. So the soldier had either cleaned up quickly or maintained good grooming even when “the cat was away.” On reflection Mike decided that it was probably the latter. After a moment, during which it must have been like looking at a statue, he returned the salute and waved for his Humvee to move on.

The MP must have called ahead because by the time the convoy reached the battalion area there was a small group of officers and NCOs gathered on the front lawn.

Mike clambered carefully out of the seat and walked over to the group, casually returning the salute of the slightly overweight captain who appeared to be in charge.

“Major O’Neal,” the captain said with a nod. “I’m Captain Gray, your adjutant; we’ve never met, but we have exchanged e-mails.”

“Captain,” O’Neal said, taking off his helmet and looking around. Besides the captain there was a single second lieutenant. Other than that there were no officers. And the few senior NCOs did not seem to have been rejuved. However, the personnel were in good looking uniforms, Mar-Cam again rather than silks since they were only seconded to Fleet, and the junior personnel were in good physical condition. All in all, it was a decent looking body of REMFs. “Do I have a part in this little ceremony?”

“Not a ceremony, sir,” the captain said. “But I thought you might want to get familiar with a few of the faces.” He gestured at a sergeant first class in the first rank. “Sergeant McConnell is the battalion S-4 NCOIC. He’s actually the regimental S-4 NCOIC…”

“But since there’s not a regiment to be NCOIC of…” Mike continued. “Good afternoon, Sergeant. And do you have a boss?”

“I think you’re it, sir,” the sergeant said. He was short and also overweight, but he gave the impression of being an india rubber leprechaun: hard, mischievous and very elastic. He had bright eyes that regarded O’Neal warily.

“We don’t have an S-4 at the moment, sir,” Captain Gray said. “We’ve been promised one a time or two but…”

“But there are places that they’d rather be,” O’Neal filled in. He looked at the group and cleared his throat. “I’m sure we’ll get to know each other very well over the next couple of weeks. For the time being, continue as you have been. I’d like you to get with the battalion command sergeant major and the company first sergeants as to billeting. The troops will need to do an issue draw,” he continued, looking at the S-4 sergeant. “We’re basically here in the suits we stand in and not much else.”

“I took the liberty of looking up everyone’s sizes, sir,” Sergeant McConnell answered. “And everyone is assigned a room and a wall-locker. The wall-lockers all have a complete issue in them. They’ll have to sign for them of course…”

“We have a team on standby to examine deficiencies,” Captain Gray said, anticipating O’Neal’s question. “I hope that your commanders find the barracks to be acceptable; I had a full unit GI of the Bravo and Charlie barracks last week and the inspection showed that they were in pretty good shape. They’re brand new so there’s some indications of that that we haven’t been able to work out; paint around the edge of the windows and stuff like that. But otherwise I think you’ll be pleased.”

“Hmm,” Mike said, not knowing quite how to respond. “Very well, get with the sergeant major, as I said.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Do officers have an issue?”

“Officers have to buy their uniforms, of course,” Sergeant McConnell said. “But there is a temporary issue in their quarters and they can choose what they want and buy it with a comment to their AID. We also have uniforms standing by in your lockers in the Morgue.”

Mike looked around again and shook his head with a frown. “Tell me that this isn’t as rikky-tik as it seems. I mean…”

“You mean ‘what the hell are REMFs doing getting something right,’ sir?” Sergeant McConnell asked with a puckish grin.

“I probably would have put it more politely,” O’Neal noted as Pappas walked up behind him.