Free Opening Moves by James Traynor

be delivered, just like it had for Private Lee. For a second he considered following her example and attacking the machine, but then reminded himself to lead by example. With a huff went to find someone from maintenance.
     
    * * * * *
     
    “Hey Sammy, we thought you'd got lost!” a shout greeted her as she entered her platoon's barracks.
    “ Come on, she only had to go to the mess hall! Sammy could find a mess hall on any alien planet blindfolded!” A barrage of laughter and whooping calls followed.
    “ Come here, sweetie! Let me give you a hug 'n a kiss, show you what a man I am!” a tall, broad-shouldered soldier called out.
    Samantha slapped the back of his head and the two shared a broad grin. “Even if I was into men you'd still be too much of a knucklehead to have a chance.”
    “Oi, now you've hurt my feelings,” he chuckled.
    “ Quit it, Grunt,” Sammy smiled and tossed him the bar. “Next time fetch your own damn calories. Your laziness almost got me thrown in the stockade.”
    Private Harold 'Grunt' Kayser caught the flying snack and immediately tore into it, the two lines of tattooed dots and dashes under his left eye vanishing in pockets of skin as he chewed through the treat. Everybody in this barracks shared that combination of dots and dashes. It was an ancient communications' code almost a thousand years old, symbolizing two numbers: 10-20, the number of their regiment. “So, what happened, sweetie?”
    Kayser had wooed Samantha rather provocatively when he had first joined the unit until the point where she had – literally – slapped a good portion of sense into him. Strangely enough a close friendship rather than lasting hostility had been the result of that more than sub-optimal opening. Life sometimes followed strange paths.
    She settled down on her bunk bed and took off her uniform jacket, revealing an army green tank top with a stylized eagle and the letters M A F emblazoned on it. “Damn machine's broken so I had to fix it.”
    “ You mean you gave it a good kicking, eh?!” Private Tucker claimed with a laugh, his thick Alabama accent easily recognizable.
    “ That's what I said: fix it.” Lee smiled, flexing her muscles. The tattoo of a black skull framed by a triangle standing on its tip grinned from her upper arm. Around the triangle's edges ran the phrase Per aspera ad astra , the regiment's old motto. “Anyway, I did get it fixed, got you that damn macadamia crap, then got caught by an officer who saw it all!”
    There was another burst of laughter from the platoon. There was nothing malicious about it, but they did tend to find misfortune that wasn't their own amusing.
    “But it was cool. The guy gave me extra guard duty but nothing formal. So, I guess it turned out okay.”
    “ Say, this officer,” Private Rourke began with his Long Island accent. “Didn't happen to be a bulldog looking fellow with a bald head?”
    “ Well yeah, he did kind of. Why?”
    There were a few more whistles and chortles.
    “Well, Sammy, that was Captain Madison, the new Alpha Company CO.”
    “ Our new boss ,” Tucker said unnecessarily. “What is it they say about first impressions?” he grinned widely.
    “ Crap.” Lee dropped on her bunk. “I hate it when that happens.”
    “ Well, look at it from this angle: at least the Colonel never found out it was you who left the hand brake off that truck which totaled his car,” Grunt pointed out. “And I shouldn't have said that out loud, should I?”
    “ Talking about it jinxes it.” Tucker pointed out. “Now you gotta lift the jinx before someone finds out.”
    “ And the only way to lift it is to buy the first round of drinks at the Purgatory tonight,” Lee chuckled. “Drinks are on the Kayser!”
    The twenty strong platoon gave a mocking cheer, prompting 'Grunt' Kayser to stand up and take a bow. Over the years the company had acquired a handful of traditions and superstitions which had to be religiously observed so as not to