"So now you begin to learn the big secret, the biggest secret, maybe. I won't tell you what it is, you have to learn it on your own. I will tell you that it ain't `money isn't everything' or anything trite like that. But this is a start. So, here's the bottom line: if you want to wear a combat suit, if you want to be what you've trained to be for fourteen weeks, you have to throw those bundles of money in the fire."
The squad had been listening intently to him, pulling it all in. Now they clutched at the bundles, gulping spasmodically as they looked at each other. They each held several thousand dollars and they had worked hard for it. They definitely did not want to give it up.
"Or, you can stand up and walk back to camp and after graduation you'll be cycled to your local guard forces, no pack drill, no court-martial, just a little paper shuffle.
"Statistically, you have a better chance of survival in the Guard. Unless the Posleen land directly on you, Guard is going to be holding fixed positions and won't be moved from battle to battle like Line and Strike. As Strike troops, you are going to be fed into the blender over and over again, and no matter how good you are, a lot of you are going to die. All you have to do to join the Guard, is hold onto the money. That ought to be easy. Right?" Having said his peace, he leaned back against the pine tree behind him and waited for a reaction. He scratched his head with a short stick, automatically brushing the resulting dandruff off his shoulder.
Stewart still had him fixed with the basilisk stare. Now he finally spoke.
"We could cut you in."
The offer did not offend Pappas, it was fully expected and he had hoped for it to drive the point home. Also, he could tell that Stewart was offering it pro forma, without any expectation that it would be accepted.
"No, I don't think so. You see, I already know the big, big secret."
"Yeah," whispered Stewart, for the first time looking down to the wad in his hand. He slowly pulled the rubber bands off and fanned the bills out. Then he stacked them again and riffled them just under his nose, smelling them. He fanned them out one more time and without a word, or change in expression, tossed them into the fire. One of the squad, it was unclear who, gave a small gasp.
"Money can never be important enough, can it?" asked Stewart.
"No, but that's not the whole secret, either," answered Pappas. Then he watched as the squad, one by one, some with a visible struggle, but most, strangely, with hardly a sigh, tossed the money in the fire.
"Okay," said Pappas tiredly, "get some sleep. An' I hope you never learn what the rest is." Then he got up and ghosted into the night.
* * *
Now Pappas wished he had terminated their asses. Somewhere in the immediate area of the McDonalds the squad was loose and, if history served, getting in some sort of trouble. He spotted Ampele being led around a corner by a nice-looking, if slightly plump, young lady and ran him down.
"Where's Stewart?" he asked, pulling Ampele back around the corner.
"Wha . . . ? I don't know, sir. I was just talking to Rikki here. He was over by the bathrooms with his squad just a minute ago." He started to step back inside the restaurant, then seemed to pull back as if connected to a bunjee cord. The young lady's hand was out of sight behind his bulk and Pappas was tempted to shout "Hand Check!" just to see their expressions.
"Miss," Pappas said gently, "if you'd just excuse us for a moment?"
Her hand reluctantly drifted back into sight and the sergeant dragged Ampele firmly away by one thick bicep.
"Focus. Worry about the wahines when we get to Indiantown Gap." He walked into the restaurant and caught a glimpse of a second squad member ducking through the employees' door. He caught the door before it could close then stopped, looked around and turned towards the bathrooms.
"Gunny, Wilson went that way," Ampele pointed out, rather superfluously.
"Yeah, and this is Stewart we're dealing with. The only thing I'm wondering is if it's a double bluff." He yanked open the Men's room door, or tried to at least. Something had it stuck fast.
"Stewart! Open this damn door or face the consequences!" he snarled, dragging at the door with all his might. "Hwone! Htwo!" There was the sound of something being forcibly removed from the door and it opened just in time. Nine members of second squad were crowded into the not terribly large bathroom. One and all they were looking at him as if he had gone insane.
"What's wrong, Gunny?" asked Stewart, stepping back from the urinal so that the next squad member could move up. "That door does stick something awful for a Mickey Dee's, doesn't it?"
"Okay, where is she?" asked Pappas, meeting him stare for stare. The bathroom smelled like most, a little cleaner with a smell of dilute urine and other matters best left unnoticed. But underlying them all was a faint whiff of cheap perfume.
"Where's who, Sergeant?"
"The other half of the pair. The one you didn't sic on Ampele." At the reference the broad platoon leader looked chagrined; again the sergeant had proven he was two jumps ahead.
"I have not a clue what you are talking about Sergeant," said Stewart, an absolute picture of innocence. "There are no women in this bathroom," he continued gesturing around at the braced squad, "and you came in the only door." He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head as if wondering at the sergeant's strange aberrations.
"Ampele, stay here. Stewart," he said, sinking a meaty hand into the slight PFC's shoulder, "we need to have another little chat." Pappas dragged him out of the bathroom and then outside into the autumn mists.
"If I have told you oncet," said Pappas mildly as he slammed the private into the outside wall of the burger joint, "I have told you twicet," he continued, driving the brim of his campaign hat into the bridge of Stewart's nose and his finger into the private's breastbone, "do not fuck with me. I think you may be officer material, but you're more likely to end up in Leavenworth. The stupid bitch is above the third acoustic tile from the left starting from the urinal, undoubtedly scared out of her life. There was a smell of perfume and a scattering of bits from the tile you were trying to hide behind the squad.
"Now, get your squad back out in line to eat, get her down and on her way, without any fucking around, and report to me when you're done, is that clear?"
"As crystal, Gunny." The hint of smugness enraged Pappas and a suddenly realized solution came as a bolt from the blue. He smiled evilly. At that sight a hint of wariness crept into the private's eyes.
"From now on I am off duty," Pappas said and smiled inwardly at the sudden confusion Stewart revealed. "If anything goes wrong," he continued, "it is your responsibility," a rock-hard forefinger drove into a breastbone again. "I am totally hands off, got it? When you fuck up," finger, "I am taking a stripe. You're a PFC, so you've got two to lose. When they fuck up, you," finger, "are losing a stripe. You are in charge of all activities as of when we reach the hotel, I'll announce it on the bus when we leave. That should keep you out of trouble. Is that clear?"
"Clear, Gunny," Stewart agreed, his face turning gray.
"Me and Ampele we're going to relax the rest of the trip 'cause you have all the responsibility. If anything goes wrong, public drunkenness, public lewdness, irate fathers, shopkeepers ripped off, vomiting in public, it is your," finger in the chest, "ass. All night and all day tomorrow. I intend to sleep like a baby. Is that absolutely, perfectly, crystal clear?"