THE CHEMICALLY PURE WARRIORS
BY ALLEN KIM LANG
They conquered the planet and they
owned it outright. The trouble
was—they didn't dare set foot on it!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1962.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
From the head of the platoon Lieutenant Lee Hartford signaled Sergeant Felix, busy policing up stragglers at the rear, that he was taking over. Hartford tongued the volume-setting of his bitcher to "Low" and softly sing-songed to his three dozen troopers: "Your girlfriend's just an hour away; there's a time to soldier and a time to play. Pick it HUP, HUP, HUP! 'Toon, tain-HUT.' HUP, twop, threep, furp; HUP, HUP; HUP, twop, threep, furp. Mondrian, pick up the cadence; you're marching like a man with a paper pelvis. Swing 'em six to the front and three to the rear; When you sing to your Daddy, sing it loud and clear." Hartford turned up the volume. "Three weeks in the woods, eating squeeze-tube beans; We'd be better off in the Fleet Marines. Sound off!"
"ONE, TWO," boomed the voice of the Terrible Third, sounding from the bitchers at the chests of thirty-six safety-suits. Dust slapped up from marching-boots. A flock of scarlet blabrigars settled on the road ahead, chattering and watching like small boys.
"Sound hoff!"
"THREE, FOUR!" The road led uphill toward Stinkerville; they were some three miles from First Regiment Barracks. Three miles from now these troopers could shed their safety-suits and helmets, shower off three weeks of sweat, drink a beer and leer at the short-skirted, taut-haltered girls of the Service Companies.