There seemed a very good chance that Captain Rubio was about to have a stroke. Certainly the way his face was turning red and the visible throb of his pulse said nothing good about his vascular health. Sergeant (for the moment) Lorica Seldon known as 'Sel' to her friends and enemies, two classes that were both alike in both number and dignity, stood at attention her eyes focused on a patch in the tent canvas behind Rubio's desk. She was very familiar with that patch, having counted its stiches many times since coming to the Can as the informal troop slang had dubbed Kaurava III.

"You expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with this?" Rubio bit out, leaning forward to rest his knuckles on the pile of crime scene picts on his temporary desk. He picked up a data slate and activated a grainy pict feed that showed several sand grox, one of the few feed animals that could survive on this desolate ball, grazing on a rocky hillside. There was a sudden white flash and the grox scattered, save for one which lay on the hill its head missing. Several blazing tumble weeds skittered away before the pict feed went still.

"Nothing to do with what sir?" Sel asked blandly, her eyes not leaving their fixe point behind Rubio's head.

"This animal, an animal of considerable value to a local land owner, was killed with a las cannon Seregant. The very weapon mounted on you sentinel, and the only such weapon in the company. Do you have any comment on that?" the Captain raged, his laboriously groomed mustache fluffing with his fury.

"I have no recolletion of firing on any local grox sir," Sel continued with studdied neutrality. 

"Your famous memory issues are known to me seargent, so do you know what I did? Rubio demanded dangerously. Sel remained silent until it be came clear the question was not rhetorical.

"I uhhh... don't know sir," Sel responded for lack of something witty to contribute. Rubio's furry increased and Sel became concerned that the officer might actually begin frothing at the mouth.

"I went to check with your squad, and do you know what they were doing?" he demanded.

"Serving the God Emperor to the best of their abillity sir?" Sel quiped unable to keep herself in check as wisdom doubtlessly demanded.

"They were having a frakking barbeque!" Rubio screamed slamming the dataslate down so hard that several items of stationary jumped off his desk and papers flew up into the air.

"If I could prove this poaching was your doing I swear by Him-on-Earth as my witness, that I would have you packed off to a penal legion and count myself lucky!" Spittle was actually flying from Rubio's mouth now. Command must have gotten a hell of an earful from whatever local land baron had owned that ranch. He stalked round the table and thrust his finger into Sel's chest but she held her gaze fixedly and kept her balance.

"The very fact that I can't prove it means you have engaged your unit in a conspiracy, falsifed your after action report, and the god emperor alone knows how you modified the navigation logs of your vehicles!"

"Well if there is no evidence against me sir perhaps it..."

"SILENCE!" Rubio roared. His eyes were entirely rimmed with white and his face so suffed with rage he looked like he had been splashed with scarlet paint.

"Consider yourself busted back to corpral, two month stopage of liquor and lho, and six months fatigues to be served in the motor pool!" Rubio snarled, grabbing the rank tab on her shoulder and ripping it off with a sound of tearing cloth. He tossed the insignia at the waste paper bin but they fluttered aside to land on the dirt floor of the tent.

"The motor pool sir? I'm a..." Sel began her anger overmastering her discipline.

"If you aren't out of my sight in the next five seconds the remainder of your service to the Emperor will consist of digging latrine pits. Do I make myself clear!"

_________________________________

Sel stepped out into the blistering heat of the Can. Firebase Yalta was a huge square atop a hill that, while extremely low, dominated a large basin for several miles in every direction. The six massive earth shakers which formed J-Battery dominated the center of the square surrounded by sandbag ravetments and lazily deployed concertina wire. Around that nucleus stood dozens of canvas tents, flack board prefabs, sensor antennae, and the other minutiae of a guard base. A shallow burm of rubble and dirt surrounded the whole area with dug in positions for 3rd company's chimeras to act as heavy weapons emplacements. Six months in the damned motor pool. Sel reached into her rolled up arm sleeve and withrew a pack of lho sticks. She lit one and put it between her teeth, then pulled her keppi from her pocket and covered her head before sunburn could set in. Five years in the guard had left her permenantly suntanned despite the fact she spent most of her time in the cockpit of a sentinel walker, but even so the sun here would put you in the infirmiry if you werent careful.

"What is the damage sarge," Boffin asked, emerging from the shade beside a neighbouring tent. Boffin was a slight man who wore a pair of wire spectacles that didn't stop him from running rings around you with his chicken, as slang termed the sentinels.

"Copral again," she told him, tapping the bare patch on her shoulder where her rank had been.

"What is this, the third time they busted you?" Boffin asked as they ambled away towards the motorpool.

"Fourth," Sel confessed running her hands through her short brown hair. She wondered if the motorpool would make her cut it back to the crew cut that was standard for the Guard. Sentinel pilots typically got some slack, but she couldn't count on that.

"Well worse things happen..." Boffin began.

"They stuck me driving trucks for six months," Sel cut in with a sigh.

"Things like that... listen Rubio will cool off, he always does, just keep your head down and you will be back where you belong in no time," Boffin reassured her.

"Seldon!" A seargent from the logistic section came striding up from the motor pool where a dozen vehicles ranging from big cargo tens to four man gun jeeps sat in neat rows.

"Need a driver for some big wig and  you're it," he told her, thrusting a movement order into her free hand. Sel opened her mouth to object but the seargent was alread striding off shouting something about making way for a delivery of shells. Sel pinched the lho stick between thumb and forefinger and then flicked into a nearby firing trench.

"Duty calls," she told Boffin glumly. 
[@POOHEAD189]