Free Starfist: Hangfire by David Sherman & Dan Cragg

removing his hat as he passed under the lintel. Almost immediately he saw the ID verifier. He stepped close to it and stripped off his black leather gloves while the MP, who hadn't removed his hat, went to the comm unit and called the sergeant of the guard to report the visitor.
    "Been stationed here long?" Sturgeon asked when the lance corporal completed his call.
    "Six months, sir." The lance corporal faced him, again standing at attention, with a small table between them.
    "At ease. This is your post. You don't know me."
    "Thank you, sir." He slipped easily into parade rest but didn't lock his hands behind his back. Though unlikely, there was always the possibility that the brigadier was a spy or saboteur and that the guard would have to go for his weapon. Strange brigadiers simply didn't show up at 1630 hours very often.
    "Good duty?"
    "You know it, sir."
    Sturgeon chuckled. "Actually I don't. I've spent my entire career in FISTs or on Fleet staffs. This is only my second visit to Fargo."
    "Yessir, I can see the Brigadier's been around." He nodded toward the ribbons on Sturgeon's chest.
    The small talk was necessary. Sturgeon knew it would take a few minutes for the sergeant of the guard to get the officer of the guard, and for the OG to reach the gatehouse to check his ID. Talking passed the time and prevented the buildup of tension. Military protocol required that an officer, not a junior enlisted man, verify the identity of a high-ranking officer whenever practical.
    In minutes the officer of the guard, a lieutenant, arrived. Like the MP, he did not remove his hat as he stepped inside. He came to attention and saluted. Sturgeon nodded and the lieutenant cut his salute.
    "Sir, I'm Lieutenant Ehrhardt. Welcome to HQMC." He stepped to the ID verifier. "If you please, sir."
    Sturgeon put his wrist inside the sleeve on top of the apparatus. "Brigadier Theodosius Sturgeon, Commander, 34th FIST." He pulled up his left sleeve to expose his ID bracelet then slid his forearm into the verifier sleeve. The OG studied the data that appeared on the verifier's small display.
    "How can I help you, sir?" Ehrhardt asked, satisfied that the visitor was indeed who he said.
    "As I told your very efficient lance corporal"—he hadn't missed how the MP positioned himself with a table between them and maintained alertness—"I'm on leave and have been eating civilian and navy food for a couple of months. I'm hungry for some good Marine Corps chow."
    Lieutenant Ehrhardt wasn't as good at controlling his face as the lance corporal. His mouth twitched; he also considered the phrase an oxymoron. But then, he'd heard that the Henderson Flag Club had excellent chefs for its dining room. Maybe the chow there was better than what he ate in the junior officers' mess, or what he used to eat in enlisted mess halls.
    "Certainly, sir." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "I don't believe the dining room at the Flag Club will be open for dinner for a short while yet, but the bar that adjoins it should be open by now. If that's acceptable, sir."
    Sturgeon nodded. "That's quite acceptable."
    "If you will come with me, Brigadier, I'll escort you."
    Sturgeon looked at the lance corporal. "Stay sharp, Lance Corporal. You're doing a good job."
    "Thank you, sir." This time the lance corporal couldn't prevent the flicker of a smile; it had been his experience with officers above the rank of captain that they generally ignored junior enlisted men. He wasn't accustomed to such politeness.
    Ehrhardt opened a door in the back of the gatehouse and Sturgeon stepped through and waited for the OG to take position to his left.
    "This way, sir." Ehrhardt pointed. Sturgeon stepped off and the lieutenant adjusted his pace to walk in step with him. They passed a few structures built in generally uniform military architecture. Ehrhardt stopped in front of one that was different; it was constructed of rough-cut stone and had window frames and doors that looked like real wood. A