There were not enough seats to go around, even including the perching points on the pool table and radiators, and the pecking order among the company could be readily seen by who yielded their spot to whom as the room slowly filled. Though they tried to maintain an air of bored cynicism, the Legionnaires were nonetheless curious about the new commander, and that subject dominated the conversation, particularly among the younger, more clean-cut segment of the group.
“It’s sure taken him long enough to call this meeting,” one such was grumbling. “He’s been in residence almost a week and hasn’t talked to anyone … just keeps sending that butler of his to the mess hall for food or into town on errands.”
“Anyone ever hear of an officer having his own butler?”
“Who cares? They’re all spoiled rich kids, anyway. Whatdaya expect in an outfit where ya gotta buy a commission?”
“What do you think he’s going to say?”
This last comment proved to be too tempting to pass on for the company’s first sergeant, who had been lounging nearby, eavesdropping on the ‘conversation.’ She was a rough-complexioned woman in her early thirties, and of normal enough proportion that it wasn’t until she stood up that one realized how large she was.
“I’ll tell you what he’s going to say,” she announced with theatric boredom.
“What’s that, Brandy?”
Aside from her rank and size, the first sergeant had an easy smoothness and confidence in her movements that earned her deferential treatment and attention whenever she chose to speak.