Duty(57)

Pillman comes over close and salutes, which I return casually. “Relax, Sarge. I just wanted to know if you've heard anything about your new slot.”

“Actually, the word on the wire is that I might be getting an ROTC slot, University of Oklahoma or something like that,” he replies, shaking his head. “Going from the Regulators to riding herd on a bunch of wet behind the ears cadets. You know they're worse than privates, right?”

The little jab makes me laugh, and I nod. “Hey, you could have been assigned to my alma mater. Then you'd have a bunch of cooped up, socially incapable cadets to deal with instead.”

Pillman groans melodramatically, then laughs. “Well, my wife was happy when she heard that I'm coming off the deployment line for a while. Nothing official yet, of course, but with my daughter getting ready for high school, it'll be nice to be able to actually stay home and see her go through school for a few years.”

“I hope so,” I tell him, thinking of Lance. “You know, Sarge, they may be just a bunch of cadets, but they'll benefit having a damn good NCO teaching them. I know I learned a lot from you.”

“Just take it on to your next slot too, sir. And remember rule number one.”

“That your NCOs are always right?” I ask, and Pillman laughs. “Yeah, I remember you telling me that some time. But first, I have to—”

“Yo, Simpson!” the XO, Robbie Lisker, calls from across the quad. He's new to the company, and I haven't really gotten to know him too much. Just part of the rotation, really. He's going to be the core officer for the company when they rotate overseas next year. “CO wants to see you!”

“Thanks!” I call back, waving. It's nice to be able to talk without the constant rank issues, and Robbie is one of only four people in the company I can do that with, with the other platoon leaders being the other three. You get used to it, but it's nice to not have to deal with rank at least a little bit. “I'll be right there.”

I turn back to Pillman, who shakes his head. “Seems you've got work to do today, sir. I'll make sure everyone's squared away here.”

“Good deal. See you at end of day formation,” I tell him, tossing off a quick salute and walking quickly toward the company offices. Inside, I see Robbie and wave. “CO's free now?”

“Yeah,” Robbie says. “He's smiling, so take that for what it's worth.”

“Really? Thanks for the heads up.”

I knock on the CO's door, and he calls from inside. “Enter!”

“You wanted to see me, Captain?” I ask, coming in. It's perhaps the one and only way that I've publicly changed my behavior toward the CO. Before he chewed my ass and put me on shit details about Lindsey, I almost always called him 'sir.' Now, he's 'Captain,' fully acceptable within military customs and courtesies, but the fact is that I don't respect the man any longer. Not after that bullshit.

“Sit down, Lieutenant. And close the door,” he says, pointing. I close his door and take a seat, crossing my right leg over my left and stretching out my hips a little bit. I've been on my feet for most of the day, and the ability to stretch a little helps. “I've got reassignment orders for you. Congratulations.”

I blink, stunned. “E–excuse me, Captain?”

He hands over the papers, and I read it silently before looking up at him, anger seeping into my voice. This is total bullshit. “You're transferring me.”

Captain Bradley nods, sitting back with a half-grin on his face. “I spoke with the battalion commander last week, and I told him that while it's a challenge, I think it'd be better for the company if you and SFC Pillman are able to transfer out at the same time. It'll give the Regulators a new Platoon Leader and Sergeant that work together flawlessly for the deployment.”

“But that's totally . . .” I start, then shut my mouth. It's not unheard of in the Army, but it's only done to units that have either an unfit platoon sergeant or platoon leader, usually an unfit officer. The theory is that if the platoon is f*cked up, by bringing in two fresh faces, the amount of 'pollution' from the previous leadership is minimized. I've heard of it done, but I've never seen it. “You're f*cking kidding me. Administrative transfer?”

“Not at all,” Captain Bradley says, a smirk on his face. “In fact, here's your evaluation report. I already submitted it to battalion. You're a one-block, top marks across the board. There's nothing in anything being done to in any way make it look like you're being administratively transferred.”

I take a look and see that the Captain's right. The OER says that I'm Top 10%, recommended for promotion in every category. The only remark that stands out to me is in the comments section. “Lieutenant Simpson shows great leadership skills, and he will be an asset to the Army with proper guidance on keeping his personal matters in check.”

I look up, fuming. “You cold-hearted son of a bitch. You shipped me out because I didn't bend over backward to your threat? Wasn't that week and some change of shit detail enough for you?”

“I told you, Lieutenant. I run things by the book. That the book has many ways to do things is something that you West Pointers don't seem to understand very well,” Bradley says, half snarling as he sits forward, totally confident in his being right on this whole thing. “I told you to break it off with her, Simpson. You're lucky I don't have you up on charges of disobeying a direct order as well as fraternization. What, did you think me being in a pickle about Hardy would stop me from getting rid of a bad officer?”