"Yes, sir. Actually it seems she was already doing that without instruction. There are several messages of congratulation, and it seems that young reporter has been trying to reach you."

"Again?" Phule closed his eyes and sank a few inches deeper into the tub. "How many interviews does she need in one day?"

"I don't believe she's calling about an interview... sir."

"Oh?"

"That's the impression I got from Mother, though she didn't relay the messages word for word."

"Oh!"

"Will there be anything else?"

"No. Go ahead and call it a night, Beek. It's been quite a day... for all of us."

"Indeed it has, sir.

"Good night, Beeker."

There was no response.

Strange. Usually his butler was quite fastidious about such social pleasantries.

Mildly puzzled, Phule opened his eyes to discover Beeker still in attendance, but looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

"Something bothering you, Beek?"

"Well, sir... you know I rarely pry or question your actions, but..."

The butler hesitated, as if at a loss for words.

"Yes, what is it?"

"In your bout this evening... I mean, I've watched you fence in competitions before, sir, and flatter myself to think I know something of your abilities and style...

Beeker's voice trailed off again.

"And?" Phule urged.

"And... for my own curiosity, you understand, and in strictest confidence... I was wondering... Well, sir... did you throw your bout? Deliberately fence for the tie, I mean?"

Phule exhaled a long breath, closing his eyes and sinking deeper into the tub before answering.

"No, I didn't, Beek. I thought about it... that's why I let him pull up even instead of finishing him off when I got the lead... but I chickened out at the end. If I could have been sure of the tie, I would have gone for it, but it would have been chancy at best. In the final analysis, I decided I didn't have the right to risk the company's success on a gamble, so on the final touch I was genuinely going for the win. The way it turned out-getting the tie I really wanted-was pure luck, nothing else."

"I... I'm afraid I don't understand, sir. Why would you prefer a tie to a win?"

Phule opened his eyes and raised his head again, his face splitting in a wolfish grin.

"You weren't watching close enough, Beeker. We did win."

"Sir?"

"Think about it. Our little Space Legion Omega Company, the dregs of the dregs, just held its own with the Red Eagles-the best the Regular Army has to offer. What's more, as far as the spectators were concerned, Escrima won his bout. The points favored Corbin because he knew the technicalities of the rules better, but it was obvious that in a real fight with no rules, Escrima would have made mincemeat out of him. On that basis alone, we were the winners before I even stepped onto the strip. In fact, the only event the Eagles won clearly was the drill competition-parade-ground flash that doesn't impress anyone with their fighting ability."

"I see."

"Do you?" Phule's voice was suddenly very earnest. "We had them beat, so there was no point in kicking them, too. The Red Eagles are a top outfit that deserve the reputation they've built. If preserving that reputation, helping them save face, means sharing the idiotic honor guard contract, then it's a price I'm willing to pay. There's no point in making enemies when you don't have to."

"Of course, your own force is disappointed. I may be doing them a disservice, but I doubt they would understand the subtleties of your logic."

"Yes. Isn't it incredible?" The Legionnaire was grinning again. "Do you realize how much they've changed their mind-set in just one day? This morning they didn't believe we had a chance against the Red Eagles; but tonight they're disappointed that we only tied them! They're really starting to believe that we can do anything!"

"That is how you've trained them, sir. Of course, it would have been nice if they could have celebrated a victory tonight."

"True, but instead, they're in town drinking with the Red Eagles, as equals. Unless I miss my guess, there's more than one argument going as to whose commanding officer would have won if we had gone to a fence-off... as if that were any indication of the caliber of men we are or the forces we lead."

"Quite so, sir. As long as you're aware of it."

This was, of course, my true concern. It was one thing for the Legionnaires to draw confidence from their success in a controlled contest with set rules, as long as my employer maintained his awareness that it was no indication of how they would fair in real combat. Unfortunately, despite his assurances to the contrary, I continued to be plagued by the nagging fear that he, too, was sliding into the belief that his force could do and accomplish anything.

History has shown that, while soldiers can draw confidence and esprit de corps from such conviction, the same attitude in a commander can breed disaster.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Journal #152

[Note: The more numerically aware readers will have observed there are more entries than normal missing between this portion of my chronical and the last. While there were numerous interesting incidents and observations made during this period, they are not particularly pertinent to this account, and I have therefore withheld them to focus on the more crucial occurrences which followed. Perhaps, if time allows, I will publish some of those episodes at a later date, probably thinly disguised as fiction. For now, however, I will simply insert a brief summary of the two or three weeks following the competition.]

The Regular Army was apparently less than pleased with the Red Eagles' inability to achieve better than a tie against the Space Legion force under my employer's command. Then again, there is also the possibility that their new orders simply got lost in the shuffle of paper that is the bane of any organization of a size worthy of mention. For whatever reason, whether punishment or bureaucratic incompetence, the Red Eagles were not reassigned after the contracts were signed, but left to cool their heels for a while with us on Haskin's Planet. It is my hope that this was due to an oversight, for if punishment was the Army's intent, they failed dismally.

Despite the stormy nature of their initial introduction, the Eagles and the Legionnaires got on like a house afire. Between intro-unit dating and the inevitable bar crawling, the two groups drew even closer together and friendships grew and blossomed. (No reference need be made here of the methods of frequency of cross-pollination.)

The Red Eagles were particularly enamored of The Club which the Legionnaires called home, and soon were spending as much or more time there as they were at their own quarters. Of course, there is no doubt in my mind that the Legionnaires benefited greatly from this association, as the Eagles were more than happy to show off by sharing tips and pointers on the firing range and confidence course. There was also, as might be expected, a notable increase in interest among both groups in the fencing lessons which had been available all along.

Perhaps the most notable development during this period was that my employer finally felt satisfied that he had at least a passing knowledge of those under his command, and turned his attention to the job he should have been doing all along, which is to say administration. More and more he was willing to rely on his lieutenants to oversee the company's field operations while he filled his time managing things on a grander, more long-term basis.

Unfortunately this meant that he was not standing swamp duty with the company when, as they say, it hit the fan.