The result was, predictably, chaos. While most of the company could manage at least a few of the obstacles, none could negotiate all of them with any semblance of poise or skill, the vast majority floundering even when they cast dignity to the winds. In no time at all, the course was littered with knots and clumps of Legionnaires bunched together at the more difficult obstacles or simply muttering together darkly while glaring at the knoll where the observers stood.
Even though Armstrong and Rembrandt had anticipated all this and gone to some lengths to point it out to their new commander, they were still haunted by a vague uneasiness. Phule had read them the riot act upon taking command, pointing out that the company was their personal responsibility. While he shared that responsibility, it was doubtful he would acknowledge any hand in the development of the Legionnaires prior to his arrival. In short, despite the apparent camaraderie they had experienced during the skull sessions regarding the individual Legionnaires, the lieutenants saw themselves as holding the bag for the company's current condition. Though more than a little resentful of this burden, they were still plagued by small voices of guilt as they watched the fiasco on the course.
Should they have run the company through this course more often themselves under normal conditions? Perhaps if they had insisted on daily calisthenics in an effort to improve the physical conditioning of the Legionnaires, today's showing might not be so grim. Of course, they were aware that if they had tried to implement such a program, they would have probably been shot in the back accidentally at the first opportunity (a possibility that still existed, and made them more than a little uneasy when Phule issued weapons and ammo to the Legionnaires for today's effort). The fact remained, however, that they hadn't even tried.
Well, the past was past and there was nothing they could do now except watch glumly as the situation on the course deteriorated. Trying to shut out the overall horror, they began focusing on individual activities.
Super Gnat, the little tomboy Legionnaire, was just approaching the three-meter board wall. This was a particularly challenging obstacle, one that daunted all but the most athletic Legionnaires. Because of this, there was a small path around it to enable the downhearted to bypass this test after a few tries before they became terminally depressed. Needless to say, the bulk of the company chose this route after a token run at the board, and many didn't even bother pretending to try. Not so with Super Gnat.
Putting on a quick burst of speed, she threw herself at the wall, only to hit barely halfway to the top with an impact that could be heard by, and drew winces from, the watchers at the nearby knoll. It was a sincere, if futile, effort. One which easily should have earned her the walk-around so flagrantly taken by so many of the others. It seemed, however, that Super Gnat was of a different mind.
Picking herself up from the dust, she paused only long enough to resettle her gear, then hurled herself at the obstacle again with a savagery that, if anything, surpassed that of her first effort... with the same unfortunate results. Again she charged the barricade, and again the sound of her body hitting the wall floated up the knoll to the observers. And again...
Other Legionnaires streamed past her, but still she continued her dogged assault on the wall. The lieutenants grimaced and winced sympathetically with each impact, and even the hardhearted Brandy shook her head in wonder over the little Legionnaire's tenacity. Phule's reaction, however, was as different as it was unexpected.
With a smooth stride that had him off the knoll before the others knew he had started moving, the CO approached the obstacle himself. Timing his silent approach to match Super Gnat's rush, he stooped and put an impersonal hand under her rump, boosting her up and over the wall with her next jump. Though doubtlessly surprised at the assist, the Legionnaire did not so much as pause for a backward glance, but scurried off toward the next obstacle, blissfully unaware of whose hand it was that had propelled her to success.
The remaining trio on the knoll watched her go, then turned their gaze to their commander, only to be met with an angry, challenging glare as he rejoined them.
"If that's a loser," Phule snarled, "then I'm a bad credit risk!"
This time the first sergeant joined the exchange of startled glances as they all groped for something to say. Fortunately they were spared the effort as the CO continued, with a more level voice now.
"All right, Top," he said. "I think we've seen enough. Call 'em in. It's lecture time."
Brandy needed no more encouragement than that. Though still skeptical of the changes Phule was introducing, she secretly liked the wrist communicators and was glad of the opportunity to use hers. Depressing the General Broadcast button with her fingertip, she addressed the company through the speaker.
"Abort exercise! Repeat. Abort! All personnel assemble at the reviewing knoll! I mean now, Legionnaires! Gets move it!"
A few weak cheers drifted up from the course as she ended her announcement. Most of the company, however, broke off their efforts and trudged toward the knoll with downcast eyes. They had looked bad, and they all knew it. While clinging to their righteous indignation over what had been expected of them, no one relished the inevitable tongue-lashing that was to come.
Though Brandy made sure her face was set in an expression of grim annoyance as the company gathered, inwardly she was more than a little elated. It was clear to her that today's performance more than justified her low opinion that Phule had tried to dismiss as cynicism. If anything, she was looking forward to hearing him enumerate the shortcomings of the rabble he had been defending so staunchly.
"I don't have to tell you that was a pretty miserable showing," the CO announced as the last few stragglers joined the group. "I'm just wondering if anyone has the smarts or the courage to tell me what's wrong."
"We stink on ice!"
It was the now obligatory voice from the back of the crowd that was raised, though everyone seemed to be in agreement with it. Phule, it seemed, was not about to let it go at that, however.
"Who said that?" he demanded, peering in the direction the voice had come from.
Before his gaze, the mass of Legionnaires melted away, leaving one dark-haired, rat-faced individual to meet the challenge alone.
"I guess I did... sir," he admitted uncomfortably.
"It's Do-Wop, isn't it?" the commander said, recognizing the Legionnaire who had done communications a few days before.
"Yes, sir!"
"Actually it's De Wop," someone whispered loudly, and a snicker rippled through the assemblage as the singled-out party flushed with annoyance and embarrassment.
Phule ignored it all.
"Well, Do-Wop, I admire someone who speaks their mind... but you're wrong. Dead wrong."
The company frowned in bewilderment, except the first sergeant, who scowled openly as he continued.
"What's wrong is that you're down there, and we're"-his gesture encompassed all four observers on the knoll-"up here! I told you before that it's our job to work with you, to find ways to make you effective, not to stand up here and shake our heads while you flounder around getting discouraged by trial-and-error learning. If anything, I owe you an apology for putting you through that first round, but I felt it was necessary to prove a point. You have my promise it's the last time you'll face an exercise alone."
The company responded with thunderstruck silence as Phule came down off the knoll to join them on their own level, the rest of the observers trailing uneasily in his wake. Their expressions ranged from confused to disgusted, but there was little they could do but follow Phule's lead.