“Sergeant Escrima!”
The voice cracked like a whip, and Escrima turned toward the bleacher of Legionnaires.
The company commander, who had been sitting, suited and ready for his own bout, stood pointedly in a position of attention. With careful deliberation, he raised his weapon to Escrima and held it in a salute. In a slow wave behind him, the entire company of Legionnaires rose and joined their commander, saluting their sergeant in his defeat.
The Eagles’ commander was puzzled for a moment. It had been his understanding that the Legion didn’t go in much for saluting. Of course, proper military form would have been for the salute to be given only by whoever was in charge of the formation, which was to say Jester, rather than by every’ individual simultaneously. Still, it was a nice touch.
Escrima stared at the company for a moment, then acknowledged their salute with a curt nod of his head. Holding himself stiffly erect, he turned and marched off the floor, ignoring the new burst of spontaneous applause that rippled down from the spectators.
“Our next event will be foil. This is a point weapon only, and the target area is the main torso, including the groin and back, but excluding the head and arms. Representing the Space Legion will be Private …Super Gnat, and for the Red Eagles, Corporal Roy Davidson.”
Without being conscious that he was ignoring the announcement and the beginning of the next bout, O’Donnel found his attention arrested by a small drama being played out outside the spectators’ line of vision.