Phule’s Company by Robert Asprin

He stabbed a finger into the air between the two lieutenants and made a little stirring motion.

“I don’t want to see any more little games between the two of you as to who’s the better soldier. As of now, you two are partners … and your first order of business is to start building a tolerance for your differences. It’s my belief those differences will work in your favor if each of you can learn to rely on the other’s strengths rather than envying them. I won’t ask for respect, though I’m hoping that will come with time. Just realize that you’re holding opposite sides of the same bucket, and you’re going to have to learn to move together to keep it from falling or splashing.”

The commander leaned back in his chair and made a little shooing gesture.

“Now, I suggest you get out of here and hole up over coffee or a drink and start figuring out what you have in common …”

He allowed a ghost of a smile to flit across his face … aside from the belief that your new commander is an unreasonable and unjustly demanding sonofabitch, that is.”

Escrima, the mess sergeant, was a wiry, swarthy little man with wavy black hair, dark wide-spaced eyes, and a nearly perpetual grin that beamed from his wrinkled walnut face. It was the “nearly” part that made him someone worth watching.

Phule returned his somewhat exaggerated salute and studied him for a few moments before speaking.

“Without meaning to break the rule against prying into backgrounds, Sergeant, am I correct in assuming from your name that you’re of Philippine descent?”