“Don’t you think it’s polite to be on hand to welcome our opposite number on their arrival, Lieutenant?” he said with mock severity.
“I suppose so, sir,” Rembrandt returned, taking his statement seriously. “To be honest with you, though, I’ve never seen any politeness on the part of the Regular Army toward the Legion. “
“Neither have I,” Phule admitted grimly. “For your information, Lieutenant, the real reason we’re out here has nothing to do with courtesy.”
“Sir?”
“Think about it. Everyone’s nervous because they’re afraid the Army’s going to kick our butts in the upcoming competition. That’s not surprising, considering how they’ve been conditioned into believing the Regular Army is manned by supermen, while the Space Legion scrapes the bottom of the barrel for their manpower. Well, if we’re going to give a decent accounting of ourselves, we’re going to have to shake that belief, and our presence here is the first step. I want everyone to see the competition as soon as possible, so they can realize that Army troops are human and put their pants on one leg at a time like everyone else. See my point?”
“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.