PRISONERS OF POWER

Part One: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Guy sat on the edge of the bench by the window and polished the insignia on his beret with his cuff while Corporal Varibobu prepared his travel orders. The corporal's head was tilted to one side, eyes opened wide. With his left hand, he held a red-bordered form while he slowly traced out a fine calligraphic script. "What handwriting," thought Guy somewhat enviously. "Ink-stained old fogey: twenty years in the Legion and still a measly clerk. Just look at those eyes goggle 一 the pride of the brigade. Watch that tongue come out. Yup, there it is. Full of ink, too. So long, Varibobu, you old paper pusher. I won't be seeing you again. I feel sorry to leave 一 good men they've got here, and the officers, too. And the job we do is useful and important." Guy sniffed and looked out the window.

Outside the wind was blowing white dust along the broad sidewalk-less street paved with hexagonal slabs. The long walls of identical buildings housing administrative and engineering personnel gleamed white. Mrs. Idoya, a stout imposing woman, walked past the window, shielding herself from the dust and holding down her skirt. She was a courageous woman, not afraid to gather up her brood and follow her brigadier husband to these dangerous parts. The sentry in front of the CO's headquarters, a recent recruit wearing an unwrinkled trench coat and a beret pulled down over his ears, presented arms. Then two truckloads of trainees passed 一 probably going for their shots. "That's right, sergeant, give it to 'em. Don't stick your head out. There's nothing to see here," Guy thought. "Where do you think you are 一 on some main drag?"

"How do you spell it?" asked Varibobu. "G-a-I?"

"No. My last name is Gaal – G-a-a-I."

"Too bad," said Varibobu, sucking his pen. "Gal would fit on one line."

"Come on, write," thought Guy. "It won't do you any good to save lines. This jerk is a corporal? Can't even polish his buttons. Some corporal. Two stripes, but you can't shoot worth a damn, and everybody knows it."

The door flew open and Captain Tolot, wearing the gold arm-band of duty officer, strode into the room. Guy jumped to his feet and clicked his heels. The corporal rose slightly but continued writing.

"Aha." The captain tore off his dust mask in disgust. "Private Gaal. Yes, I know, you're leaving us. Too bad. But I'm glad for you. I hope you'll serve as conscientiously in the capital." "Yes, sir, captain!" said Guy. He was very fond of Captain Tolot, an educated officer and former high school teacher. The captain had singled him out.

"You may sit down, private." The captain went behind the counter to his desk. Still standing, he scanned some papers and picked up the phone. Guy turned toward the window tactfully. Nothing had changed outside. His buddies were marching information to dinner. Guy watched them sadly. Any minute they'd be entering the mess hall and Corporal Serembesh would order them to remove their berets for "grace." Thirty throats would bellow while the steam was rising from the pots, the bowls were glistening on the counter, and old man Doga was getting ready to release one of his prize jokes about a soldier and a cook. Too bad he had to leave. True, it was dangerous here and the climate was unhealthy and the rations were monotonous 一 canned stuff 一 but. Here, at least, you knew you were needed, that they couldn't manage without you; here you took the ominous pressure of the forest on your own shoulders, and you felt it. Lord, how many of his buddies were buried here. Beyond the settlement stood a whole grove of poles topped with rusted helmets.