Interesting. The force was better organized and disciplined than he would have expected. Sending scouts on ahead, since that was the obvious role of the lead runners, was an innovative idea. Almost as if-well, yes-like real combat conditions. Who would have thought to find such conscientious roleplaying in the Space Legion?

Spengler was amused to note that the two weird-looking nonhumans-what were they again? Sinthians?-were literally being carried by some of their teammates. The sergeant had both performed and supervised similar exercises as a drill for carrying wounded comrades, but had never seen anyone attempt the practice through an entire confidence course. And wasn't that... Yes! The unit's commanding officer he had seen earlier was running the course along with his troops! For that matter, so were the other officers and what looked like the entire cadre!

The master sergeant's normal disdain for the Space Legion was slipping away and being replaced by a growing, though grudging, admiration for this scrappy crew. They weren't the Red Eagles, to be sure... not even close. Still, if one couldn't make the grade in a real outfit, this wouldn't be a bad outfit to belong to.

A flicker of motion on the course ahead of the main force caught the sergeant's eye.

What the... ? One of the "scouts" had apparently climbed up the wooden framework of the first obstacle and was cutting down the "swinging ropes," tossing them to his teammates on the ground who, in turn, scampered off down the course bearing their prizes.

They couldn't do that! What were they trying to pull, anyway? More to the point, how were the rest of the Legionnaires supposed to cross the ditch with the ropes gone?

As if in answer to his mental question, the first runners of the main body reached the edge of the ditch. Ignoring the remaining ropes, they simply stepped off the bank into the chest-deep slime... and just stood there! The Legionnaires behind them stepped on their shoulders, then dropped into the ditch taking similar positions farther on, until...

Stepping-stones! Even as Spengler realized what they were doing, the chains were completed, and the main body was moving across the ditch with next to no loss of speed, stepping from shoulder to shoulder of their teammates standing in the slime. The maneuver had obviously been painstakingly practiced from the smoothness of its execution. There were even a couple chains where the "stones" were standing closer together to accommodate the smaller members of the company.

A short story he had read in high school, one of the few he remembered, flashed through Spengler's mind. "Lennington vs. the Ants," it was called, and told the tale of a plantation owner's fight against the advance of a force of army ants. Watching the Legionnaires advance steadily on his position, the sergeant experienced a chilling moment as his mind's eye superimposed the image of that merciless, unstoppable swarm over the black-uniformed figures jogging toward him. This Space Legion troop no longer seemed quite as comical as they had this morning. If they were...

The dull whump of a nearby explosion made the master sergeant duck reflexively. At first he thought there had been some sort of catastrophic accident on the course, but then the truth dawned on him.

They were blowing up the obstacles!

Horror and outrage warred within the sergeant as he witnessed another barrier, the three-meter wall this time, disappear in a flash-boom, followed by a shower of splinters and debris. Before the echoes of the explosions had fully died away, the advancing black company appeared, maintaining their dogged advance through the clouds of dust, unnervingly close now.

With the iron discipline of a combat veteran, the master sergeant turned his back on the spectacle and began loading the first belt of ammunition into the machine gun.

Let the major fight it out over whether or not the Legionnaires' tactics were acceptable. His job was to see to it that they kept their heads down while they went under the wire. Nobody passed this position rapidly. Not with tracers whining around their...

The world suddenly went topsy-turvy around him, as the sergeant was violently upended and slammed down on the platform. Shaken and confused, he tried to struggle upright, only to be pushed flat again, this time with teeth-rattling force.

"Mmmm... You... stay down. Okay?"

A berry brown face with obsidian-dark eyes swam into focus. One of the black-uniformed Legionnaires was squatting over the sergeant's fallen form, and Spengler could feel the light prick of a knife point under his chin.

"W-what do you think you're doing?" he gasped, trying hard to speak without moving his chin. "You can't..."

He broke off speaking as the pressure under his chin increased sharply.

"The captain tell me, he say 'Escrima, I want you to help remove the obstacles.' Here, you are the obstacle... yes? I remove you by capturing. You want, I kill you instead."

Reviewing his options quickly, for the sergeant was unwilling to bet his life that the Legionnaire was joking-or bluffing-Spengler opted to lie quietly where he was. This did not, of course, keep him from seething inwardly as he watched wire cutters clear the barbed wire from his position, and, scant seconds later, the entire company sweep by this supposedly challenging obstacle without breaking stride.

"You can't mean you're going to let them get away with it... sir. "

Sprawled in one of the "guest rooms" of the Space Legion's incredible facilities which had been assigned to them for use during the competition, Major O'Donnel favored his master sergeant with a scowl.

"I didn't say we were going to let them get away with it," he said tightly. "I said I wasn't going to lodge a protest."

"But they didn't run the confidence course... they totaled it!"

"And we could have, too... if we thought of it," the major snapped back. "We had the equipment in our packs, and it was declared as combat conditions. It's what we would have done in combat. We just got trapped into conventional thinking, is all."

"Well, what they did sure wasn't regulation," the sergeant growled.

"Neither is the Exhibition Manual of Arms we used this morning. All right, we had our chance to show off without them whimpering about it, and now they've had theirs. At the moment, we're even."

"So we're going to let it stand as a win for the Space Legion?" Spengler said, trying to sting the officer's pride.

"Face it, Sergeant. We lost. They beat our time without passing up any obstacles... and they did it with ten times as many troops. Of course, we helped them. That was a pretty lackluster performance our boys put on today. Frankly I don't think we deserved to win this event. We goofed off while they busted ass. That's no way to come out on top."

The master sergeant had the grace to look embarrassed.

"We didn't think they could come on that strong, sir," he muttered, avoiding the officer's gaze.

"Uh-huh. We got cocky and overconfident to a point where we badly underestimated an opponent," O'Donnel clarified. "If anything, Sergeant, we owe these Legionnaires a vote of thanks for teaching us a valuable lesson. I think we were damn lucky not to have learned it in real combat. At least this way, we're still alive... and we get another chance."

"You know, sir," Spengler said carefully, as if surprised by his own words, "I never thought I'd say it, but I don't think I'd relish taking that crew on in a real brawl."

The major grimaced. "Don't feel bad. I've been thinking much the same thing. Wouldn't mind having them covering my flank, though... as long as we were sure they wouldn't confuse us with the enemy."

He grinned mirthlessly at his own joke, then shook his head.

"Enough of that, though. I've got to start concentrating on the fencing match tonight. It's going to be our last chance to pull the Army's chestnuts, not to mention our own reputation, out of the fire."