“One lousy cub reporter. Snork couldn’t back out then so he had to go ahead and blast the planet down to bedrock. This morning he got a three-line notice in Space and a citation as Third Rate Protector of the People’s Space Ways, Eighth Grade.”
“That’s better than the nothing we’ve got so far!” said the commander gloomily.
“Not when the press notice is buried on the next to last page right below the column on ‘Our Feathered Comrades’,” said Schninkle, “and when the citation is posthumous. They even misspelled his name; it came out Snark!”
V
As Kurt turned to go, there was a sharp knock on Colonel Harris’ door.
“Come in!” called the colonel.
Lieutenant Colonel Blick, the battalion executive officer, entered with an arrogant stride and threw his commander a slovenly salute. For a moment he didn’t notice Kurt standing at attention beside the door.
“Listen, Harris!” he snarled. “What’s the idea of pulling that cleanup detail out of my quarters?”
“There are no servants in this battalion, Blick,” the older man said quietly. “When the men come in from work detail at night they’re tired. They’ve earned a rest and as long as I’m CO. they’re going to get it. If you have dirty work that has to be done, do it yourself. You’re better able to do it than some poor devil who’s been dragging a plow all day. I suggest you check pertinent regulations!”
“Regulations!” growled Blick. “What do you expect me to do, scrub my own floors?”