"I... I guess so, sir."

Though obviously still unconvinced, the lieutenant was spared a further lecture by the cry that went up from the formation.

"Incoming!"

"Here they come!"

"Send my body to my first wife... she could use a decent meal!"

The shuttlecraft had dropped through the cloud cover and was maneuvering toward the end of the runway.

"All right, everybody. Stand ready!"

Though still "at ease," this was the signal to get ready to be called to attention. Those Legionnaires who had been sitting in place rose hurriedly and dusted off the seats of their uniforms, squaring away their position in the formation.

All eyes were on the shuttlecraft as it touched down and taxied slowly up to the terminal, coming to a halt a scant fifty meters from where the company stood waiting. After what seemed like an eternity, the hatch opened and a ramp lowered. Seconds later, the first passengers stepped into view.

There was a heartbeat before recognition sank in, and then a buzz began to ripple through the formation.

"Sir!" came Lieutenant Armstrong's urgent whisper. "Do you know who they are?"

"I know, Lieutenant."

"Those are the Red Eagles!"

"I said I know, Lieutenant!"

"But, sir..."

"Company... atten-hut!"

Phule bellowed out the command as much to stop the conversation as to present a proper military picture. Mostly, however, he wanted time to try to collect his own thoughts.

Resplendent in their dress uniforms and crowned with the red berets that were their trademark, there was no mistaking the identity of the soldiers filing down the ramp. The Red Eagles! For some reason, the Army had decided to send their elite combat unit on this assignment!

Unusual for the Regular Army, the Red Eagles were in some ways more like the Space Legion in that they represented a cross section of planetary cultures rather than being a single-planet unit. There, however, the similarities ended. Highly decorated and publicized, the Eagles were considered the creme de la creme of the Regular Army. Competition was fierce for inclusion in their ranks, as literally hundreds of soldiers vied for the honor each time there was an opening in their roster. More than one effort to "introduce a more equitable mix" in the unit was repelled when it was pointed out, and defended, that the Red Eagles only had one bias: They required the best!

All this and more swirled through Phule's mind as he watched the soldiers mill aimlessly about at the foot of the ramp. The Eagles, in turn, ignored the formation of Legionnaires completely, not even sparing them a curious glance as they chatted back and forth.

Finally an imposing figure strode down the ramp. Looking neither left nor right, it stalked across the runway with the easy, rolling gait of a trained athlete, setting an unswerving course for Phule.

"Captain Jester, I assume? I'm Major Matthew O'Donnel."

Startled at being greeted by name, Phule nonetheless managed a snappy salute.

"Welcome to Haskin's Planet, Major."

O'Donnel neither returned the salute nor offered to shake hands.

"Yeah. I'm sure," he said with a tight humorless smile. "Look, Captain, I imagine you're about as happy to see us as we are to be here. Now, is there somewhere we can talk? Somewhere air-conditioned, if possible. I'd like to get this foolishness settled as fast as possible."

Numbly Phule gestured toward the terminal, and the major brushed past him with his now familiar stride.

"Lieutenant Armstrong, Rembrandt," the commander called, beckoning to his junior officers.

"Sir?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Get the company back to the compound and wait for me there. I'll be along as soon as I find out what the hell is going on."

"But, sir."

"Just do it! But be sure to leave me a driver. I have a hunch I'm not going to feel like walking back once this is over."

Entering the terminal, Phule found that his disturbing surprises were not over yet. The first thing to greet his eyes was the sight of Major O'Donnel stiffly shaking hands with... Governor Wingas!

"Ah! Captain!" the governor beamed. "Come join us, won't you? I understand you've already met Major O'Donnel."

"Yes, I have," the commander said. "I'll admit I'm surprised, though. I didn't expect the Army to send the Red Eagles on a simple honor guard assignment."

"If it will make you feel any better, Captain," O'Donnel growled, "it surprised us, too. It seems the upper brass has been reading the media coverage you've been getting about this hot-shit crew you're putting together and decided they had to put their best foot forward to protect the Army's reputation. Next thing you know, we get pulled out of a firefight and shipped off to here, with orders to take you seriously."

From his tone, it was clear the major didn't think much of those orders.

"Now, if you don't mind, let's get down to it. I want to get the terms of this so-called competition squared away so I can get my troops settled in."

"I... take it you're already aware of the competition?" Phule said carefully.

"That's right. The governor here was good enough to send us word prior to our arrival."

The Legion commander shot a glance at the governor, who smiled and shrugged benignly.

"It seemed the least I could do, since I contracted the Army in the first place."

Phule decided to deny Wingas the pleasure of an explosion, though inwardly he was seething at the betrayal.

"Yes. I can see where that's fair," he managed.

"As I understand it, Captain," O'Donnel continued briskly, "we're supposed to settle who gets the honor guard contract with a series of three contests with independent judges. The Army picks one event, you pick one, and the third we're supposed to mutually agree on. Is that right?"

Phule nodded stiffly, not liking the way the major was taking control of the meeting.

"All right. For our event, we choose close order drill, since that's most of what you do on an honor guard post. What's yours?"

The captain's heart sank slightly. Of all the skills normally associated with the military, close order drill was, perhaps, his company's worst.

"The confidence course."

For the first time, the major showed surprise, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into the sweatband of his beret.

"The confidence course?" he repeated. "All right, Captain. It's your funeral. Now for the third event, assuming we get to it..." He gestured at Wingas. "The governor here tells me you and your crew fancy yourself to be fencers. How does a three-weapon match sound to you... foil, saber, and épée... best two out of three?"

A warning bell went off in Phule's mind. This seemed a little too pat.

"It sounds like the governor has told you quite a bit," he said, stalling for time.

"Is that a yes or a no? Come on, Captain. Let's not take all day on this."

"Tell me, Major. Do you fence yourself?"

"Me? I've played a little bit with épée."

"Then let me add a little rider to your proposal. The same three-weapon match, but we fence épée last... between the unit commanders. That way, if it should come right down to the wire, we can settle this between the two of us."

Major O'Donnel's face split in a wide grin.

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Captain. Agreed... though I doubt things will get that far."

"You might be surprised, Major," Phule returned with a tight smile. "My troops have surprised a lot of people, including me."

"So surprise me," O'Donnel shot back. "Forgive me, though, if I don't hold my breath."

"Well, now that that's settled, gentlemen," the governor said, rising hastily.

"Just one more question... if you don't mind, Major," the Legionnaire commander pressed. "Assuming for the moment that the Red Eagles do win, is the Army really going to tie up their crack fighting unit on honor guard duty?"