then, though, I will leave you in the very capable hands
of Sergeant James.’
The boss glanced
to Sergeant James, who stood off to a flank like a ferocious monster held back
on a leash, waiting impatiently to be released, ‘Sergeant.’
Sergeant
James made an attempt to smile sweetly at the platoon commander, but instead it
looked more like a grimace. He wasn’t accustomed to smiling, as I would learn
over the time I knew him, ‘Permission to carry on, Boss.’
The boss
nodded, almost surprised by Sergeant James’s politeness, ‘Of course, Sergeant.’
The stocky
platoon sergeant stared expectantly at the boss, but it took a couple of
awkward seconds for the message to sink in, ‘Oh. Of course, well I’ll be seeing
you all around then.’
We waited as
the platoon commander’s footsteps slowly receded around the corridor and our
new platoon sergeant paced in front of us, looking down to the floor as if he
were examining his shoes.
I had been
the ward of three separate platoon sergeants, one on Earth, one on the
Fantasque, and then one on Uralis, and they had all been quite something in
their own way. Sergeant Cooper on Earth had been a bully who could barely keep
up with us on runs, a fat man who it was safe to say we all despised. Sergeant
Talon on Fantasque was quiet as platoon sergeants go, but had a temper that
could suddenly and without warning explode in our faces. Sergeant Jacob on
Uralis was an amazing man, fit as any of us, and appeared to genuinely care for
us, at least so long as we didn’t wind him up too much. Sergeant James was by
far the meanest looking platoon sergeant that I had ever come across, and that
really was saying something.
The platoon
sergeant was many things. He was first and foremost the platoon second in
command, ready to step up to assume the role of the platoon commander if he was
injured or killed. He managed the sections not being used by the platoon
commander during the battle, using them to protect the platoon’s flanks and
assist in the movement of spare ammunition and casualties. He co-ordinated the
smart launchers - rocket launchers that fired robotic missiles at threats in
the air and on the ground with pinpoint accuracy. He managed the triage and
extraction of casualties and managed the platoon’s supply of ammunition, water
and food, calling for more if required. He also dealt with discipline within
the platoon, enforcing it either by sheer force of character, or sheer force,
whatever came best to him. The platoon sergeant was more than just a high-ranking
NCO, he was the heart and soul of the platoon, the platoon commander was its
brain. You never, absolutely never , got on the wrong side of him,
because if you did - you mark my words - you would regret it.
The sound of
a bulkhead sliding open somewhere around the circumference corridor told us the
platoon commander was gone. Sergeant James finished his pacing and eyeballed
each of us in turn, as if sizing us up for a fight. I doubted any of us could
take him, for he was a monster of a man. His eyes lingered on me and I felt my
cheeks burning under his hateful glare.
‘I ain’t scared,
and if any of you lot are, I seriously suggest you snap out of it,’ he resumed
his pacing, slower now as he continued to watch us. I didn’t move a millimetre.
‘I am Sergeant
James,’ he said, ‘And whoever you thought was the big man in your world, then
you can forget him. I am your daddy now, and your mummy. I am the ruler of your
little world.’
That wasn’t
the first platoon sergeant ‘Don’t mess with me’ brief that I had ever had, but
in our vacuum surrounded prison his words still carried great menace.
‘You will
respect your junior NCOs in my platoon. Lance Corporals are still Corporals
here, and you will address them as such,’ his eyes returned to me, ‘You will
obey their orders as if they came from me. They are my enforcers, and don’t
think for a second they won’t resort to a swift back hand if
of Sergeant James.’
The boss glanced
to Sergeant James, who stood off to a flank like a ferocious monster held back
on a leash, waiting impatiently to be released, ‘Sergeant.’
Sergeant
James made an attempt to smile sweetly at the platoon commander, but instead it
looked more like a grimace. He wasn’t accustomed to smiling, as I would learn
over the time I knew him, ‘Permission to carry on, Boss.’
The boss
nodded, almost surprised by Sergeant James’s politeness, ‘Of course, Sergeant.’
The stocky
platoon sergeant stared expectantly at the boss, but it took a couple of
awkward seconds for the message to sink in, ‘Oh. Of course, well I’ll be seeing
you all around then.’
We waited as
the platoon commander’s footsteps slowly receded around the corridor and our
new platoon sergeant paced in front of us, looking down to the floor as if he
were examining his shoes.
I had been
the ward of three separate platoon sergeants, one on Earth, one on the
Fantasque, and then one on Uralis, and they had all been quite something in
their own way. Sergeant Cooper on Earth had been a bully who could barely keep
up with us on runs, a fat man who it was safe to say we all despised. Sergeant
Talon on Fantasque was quiet as platoon sergeants go, but had a temper that
could suddenly and without warning explode in our faces. Sergeant Jacob on
Uralis was an amazing man, fit as any of us, and appeared to genuinely care for
us, at least so long as we didn’t wind him up too much. Sergeant James was by
far the meanest looking platoon sergeant that I had ever come across, and that
really was saying something.
The platoon
sergeant was many things. He was first and foremost the platoon second in
command, ready to step up to assume the role of the platoon commander if he was
injured or killed. He managed the sections not being used by the platoon
commander during the battle, using them to protect the platoon’s flanks and
assist in the movement of spare ammunition and casualties. He co-ordinated the
smart launchers - rocket launchers that fired robotic missiles at threats in
the air and on the ground with pinpoint accuracy. He managed the triage and
extraction of casualties and managed the platoon’s supply of ammunition, water
and food, calling for more if required. He also dealt with discipline within
the platoon, enforcing it either by sheer force of character, or sheer force,
whatever came best to him. The platoon sergeant was more than just a high-ranking
NCO, he was the heart and soul of the platoon, the platoon commander was its
brain. You never, absolutely never , got on the wrong side of him,
because if you did - you mark my words - you would regret it.
The sound of
a bulkhead sliding open somewhere around the circumference corridor told us the
platoon commander was gone. Sergeant James finished his pacing and eyeballed
each of us in turn, as if sizing us up for a fight. I doubted any of us could
take him, for he was a monster of a man. His eyes lingered on me and I felt my
cheeks burning under his hateful glare.
‘I ain’t scared,
and if any of you lot are, I seriously suggest you snap out of it,’ he resumed
his pacing, slower now as he continued to watch us. I didn’t move a millimetre.
‘I am Sergeant
James,’ he said, ‘And whoever you thought was the big man in your world, then
you can forget him. I am your daddy now, and your mummy. I am the ruler of your
little world.’
That wasn’t
the first platoon sergeant ‘Don’t mess with me’ brief that I had ever had, but
in our vacuum surrounded prison his words still carried great menace.
‘You will
respect your junior NCOs in my platoon. Lance Corporals are still Corporals
here, and you will address them as such,’ his eyes returned to me, ‘You will
obey their orders as if they came from me. They are my enforcers, and don’t
think for a second they won’t resort to a swift back hand if
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