Phule’s Company by Robert Asprin

“The company’s still waiting in the dining hall, Captain,” Brandy announced, sticking her head in the door of the commander’s office. “What do you want me to tell them?”

“Tell them I’ll be down to talk to them in about half an hour. Oh, and Brandy … in the meantime start talking it up that we’ve already won.”

“We have?”

“Certainly. We won the minute the Army decided it would take the Red Eagles to compete with us. Even if we get our brains beat out tomorrow, there always will be the question in people’s minds as to whether or not we could have beaten any normal Army unit.”

“If you say so, sir.” The top sergeant’s voice was doubtful. “Oh … almost forgot. Do-Wop said you wanted this.”

“What is it, Captain?” Rembrandt said, craning her neck to try to read the sheet of paper Phule was studying.

“Hmm? Oh. It’s a copy of the personnel roster for the Red Eagles. I guess they left it lying around the terminal somewhere. “

“Shall I ask Beeker to run it through his computer?”

“Never mind, Armstrong. I’ve already found it. Damn! I should have known!”

“What did you find?”

Both lieutenants were crowding in next to Phule now, staring at the paper as if the names listed were some kind of coded message.

“I thought O’Donnel was awfully eager to agree to a fencing match!” the commander muttered, almost to himself. “See this name? Third from the top? Isaac Corbin! He was Tri-Planetary saber champion for five years running! What in the hell is he doing in the Army?”

“Getting ready to cancel our checks, I’d say.” Armstrong grimaced. “At least it’s just one bout out of three.”