Free Starfist: Blood Contact by David Sherman & Dan Cragg

promoted man's new rank: Hyakowa to staff sergeant; Bladon and Ratliff to sergeant; and Goudanis and Stevenson to corporal. The five promoted men were shoved and pushed into the circle.
    "By the authority vested in me and all that bullshit," Bass bellowed, "we will now vest our beloved comrades into the sacrosanct strata of their recent elevations in rank." That was the "wetting down" of the new stripes. In order of rank, each man would be called in turn, and be required to drink the schooner dry. It was not necessary that every drop be consumed, but deliberately pouring the beer on the floor was not permitted; it could only be spilled on the drinker. After each man was done, Bass and Kelly would then pin the dripping chevrons.
    Staff Sergeant Hyakowa stepped boldly to the table and seized the schooner. "Goddamn, I'm dry!" he shouted. "I haven't had a beer since—since—an hour ago!" With that, he began to gulp the beer down.
    With each gulp the assembled Marines shouted "A-ruh-ha!" until the schooner was empty. Hyakowa banged the empty glass loudly on the table and belched with enormous satisfaction. He had not spilled a drop! Bass handed the dripping chevrons to Kelly, who pinned them to the new staff sergeant's sleeve—with a stapler.
    Bladon went next.
    The ceremony over, the brigadier excused himself, and everyone dispersed to the wooden tables set up in the center of the large room. Girls came in carrying steaming platters of reindeer steak and schooners of beer. The laughter and talking echoed off the walls and men had to shout to be heard. The NCOs, less the five recently promoted, were on their honor to remain reasonably sober for the night, to break up any fights that might start, and also to help guide the drunks safely back to Camp Ellis when the party was over the following morning.
    Dean had tried to find himself a place next to Schultz but instead wound up sitting between Corporal Pasquin and Izzy Godenov. After a few minutes Erika came in and squeezed between Godenov and Dean. Corporal Pasquin cast an angry glance at Dean when she sat down, but he said nothing. She draped an arm around Dean's and Godenov's shoulders. "How goes it, my happy Marine?" she whispered in Dean's ear, and kissed him. Her breath smelled of beer and her cheeks were flushed. Dean couldn't resist a smile. She ate bits of steak from his and Godenov's platters, drank half a schooner of beer with them, then excused herself. "I see you later," she whispered in Dean's ear.
    Across the table MacIlargie was beerily describing how he and Dean had fought their way out of the cell Marston St. Cyr had put them into when he'd kidnapped the Confederation's ambassador on Diamunde. During the telling, Pasquin cast sour glances sideways at Dean, who tried to ignore him.
    " ‘A rather close relationship,’ " Pasquin sneered at last, mimicking Brigadier Sturgeon's words.
    "Huh?" Dean said. Beside him Godenov looked at Pasquin with a troubled expression on his face.
    "I know guys like you, Dean. The officers ever stop suddenly, you'll break your nose."
    Dean could only stare at the corporal in disbelief. He'd probably had more to drink that he should have, Dean reasoned. He took a big gulp out of his own glass, because he didn't know what else to do.
    "You don't like what I jus' said? Shove it!" Pasquin said.
    Again Dean did not know how to respond. He could not understand why the new man disliked him so much.
    "We'll have to issue you an extra ration of toilet paper—" Pasquin began, but Dean had had enough.
    "Look, Corporal Pasquin, you won't find any ass kissers in this outfit," he said hotly, "and until you prove you ain't one yourself, better you just shut the fuck up!" Dean instantly regretted the words, but there they were nonetheless.
    Pasquin grabbed Dean's sleeve. "Look here, sonny—"
    Someone laid a big hand on Pasquin's shoulder then, and he looked up. "Hammer...?"
    "It's ‘Lance Corporal Schultz’ to you, Corporal Pasquin. Nobody calls