“Just a minute, Colonel!”
Lieutenant Rembrandt, her face flushed and her limbs rigid, broke the tableau. Like the Red Sea, the crowd parted to open a corridor with the two women at either end.
Standing against the back wall with Trooper, Lex watched the confrontation with professional curiosity and interest. Though neither Battleax nor Rembrandt was shouting, both were using what could only be called a “command voice,” which involved a controlled projection from the diaphragm that any stage actor would envy.
“In Captain Jester’s absence,” Rembrandt declaimed, “I’m the acting company commander of this outfit. What gives you the right to try to give orders to my troops?”
“Are you mad?” Battleax sputtered. “I’m a colonel and the ranking officer present-“
“-who is on vacation and not in the current chain of command!” Rembrandt snarled. “Our original orders came directly from General Blitzkrieg. You have no authority over us on this assignment! In fact, as far as I’m concerned, you’re just another civilian.”
“WHAT?”
“My general orders state that I am to hold my command until properly relieved, and I do not accept you as proper relief.”
The colonel gaped at her for a moment, then shut her mouth with a snap.
“Interpreting the Legion’s general orders is not within your authority, Lieutenant!”
“So court-martial me!” Rembrandt shot back. “But until I’m found guilty and formally removed, these troops are under my command, not yours!”
Battleax recoiled, then glanced around the room. The Legionnaires displayed a variety of expressions ranging from sullen to bemused. It was clear, however, that they stood with Rembrandt, and there was no visible support for her own position.