Phule’s Company by Robert Asprin

The lieutenant drew himself erect and attempted a salute that came close to missing before lurching off toward the street door, steadying himself occasionally with a hand on the wall.

The group watched him go in silence.

“An officer and a gentleman … God help us,” someone said, raising his drink in a mock toast.

“Umm … I hate to say it,” Super Gnat drawled, “but it’s awful late for him to be walking the streets in that condition.”

“So what? He’s a jerk!”

“Yeah, but he’s our jerk. I’d just as soon not see anything happen to him while he’s wearing the same uniform I am. C’mon, Gnat. Let’s give the man a fighter escort until he crashes.”

Leaning against the wall, unnoticed behind a potted plant, Phule smiled to himself at the exchange. More and more, the Legionnaires were starting to watch out for each other. Some of it was camaraderie, some a general defense of the company’s reputation, but it all added up to esprit de corps. If this kept up, then eventually …

The beep of his wrist communicator interrupted his thoughts.

“Mother?” he said, keying the unit on. “What are you doing upstairs? Come on down and-“

“I think we got a problem, Big Daddy,” the communications specialist announced, cutting him short. “The chief of police is on the line for you. Says it’s urgent.”

Phule experienced a sinking feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with drinking.

“Patch him through.”

“Here he is. You’re on, Chief.”

“Willard? You’d better get down here, pronto. A couple of your boys are in a jam, and there’s no way I can cover for them. “