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him, even though he had gone to the Academy and Kahn was a product of ROTC. It wasn’t that Sharkey minded it; it was just that he thought they ought to leave the fighting up to professionals and let the others push paper.
    “Nah, seriously, a whole new theory of earthquakes came out of the San Andreas thing,” Kahn said, “ ‘Elastic rebound.’ The outcroppings are exposed right there.”
    “Christ, Kahn, you shoulda been in the damned Engineers with all that geology stuff—they coulda got more outta you than they did at Benning.”
    “I wish to hell I had been in Engineers,” Kahn said. “I was almost in the Finance Corps.”
    The bridge was passing overhead, and for a moment his mind wandered back to the ancient geology amphitheater and musty labs at Florida State University and the countless hours he’d spent trying to comprehend the forces that created and maintain this planet, and it came to him suddenly and with wry satisfaction that this expedition was simply another clot of man-made stupidity that would scarcely be remembered in the far-distant future of the world. If people then thought about it at all—assuming there would be people and assuming also that they would be thinking—they would see it merely as a tiny spot in backtime, far removed from themselves and whatever they were presently doing. And as far as Billy Kahn’s part was concerned, they more than likely would not remember that at all—in the far-distant future of the world.
    “Uh-oh,” said Sharkey, peering down the line of men leaning against the rail. From this angle, Sharkey’s nose reminded Kahn of a banana.
    Captain Kennemer, Four/Seven’s Adjutant, a clipboard in hand, was approaching, searching the faces for the ones he sought. He spotted Kahn and Sharkey before they could turn around.
    “Ah, Kahn, my man, I’ve been looking for you,” Kennemer said in the insipid gung-ho way he said everything these days. Kahn had noticed the change in Kennemer ever since Brigade had gotten its marching orders. Before, he had merely been a pain in the ass. Now he was a royal pain in the ass.
    He loves this, Kahn thought, looking down at Kennemer’s spit-shined combat boots. Damned war lover—out for an oak leaf so he can retire and sit on his can somewhere and draw six hundred a month for the rest of his life.
    In the meantime, Kennemer was a royal pain in the ass.
    “Got a job for you, Kahn,” Kennemer said.
    “Sorry—the doctor advised me to spend my time playing shuffleboard. I’m up in First Class, you know.”
    “Don’t be a wiseass, Kahn. We’re all going to have to pull extra duty because the Old Man’s in charge of troops till we get across, did you know that? You know General Butterworth and Headquarters Company went ahead—they’re all flying over so they can set things up for us when we get there. The Old Man is senior colonel aboard and he wants Four/Seven’s officers to help him out. I’ve already told Sharkey here what he’s got to do.”
    “I know. He’s going to be the navigator,” Kahn said unenthusiastically. Kennemer ignored the comment.
    “Well, let’s see—yeah, Kahn . . . Kahn . . . he’s got you down for”—a toothy grin spread across Kennemer’s pudgy face—“ ‘rumors control.’ ”
    “Say for what?” Kahn asked, squinting at Kennemer.
    “Rumors Control Officer. Gotta have somebody to check out the rumors—you know about that—like we did it back at Bragg. Division thinks it keeps the EMs happier if they have somewhere to go to ask somebody official about the rumors—there’s more rumors going around here than flies in a shithouse. Hell, I heard we been diverted to the South of France just an hour ago,” Kennemer said, winking at Sharkey. “You might check that one out first.”
    “But what in hell do I do—how do I find out the truth myself? Nobody tells me anything.”
    “That’s your problem, Kahn. Just sit tight—there’ll be an officers’ call in an hour; you can