Later that morning, I sit at the desk in my office pouring over a pile of paperwork.
"Evaluations, Unit Status Reports, Soldier Fitness Stats, my entire life is paperwork now… Maybe I shouldn't have accepted the promotion," I think to myself bemusedly. Suddenly, there's a knock at the door.
"Who is it and what do you want?" I say without looking up from my papers.
"Excuse me, Sergeant Major," First Sergeant Galbiaz says nervously as if he doesn't want to disturb me.
"What is it, First Sergeant?" I ask.
"I have Private Sparx here. You said you wanted to see everyone who fell out of the run this morning."
"Right, right," I say absentmindedly. "Send him in." First Sergeant Galbiaz nods and steps back outside. I hear him coaching someone in the hall.
"Whatever you do, don't stare at her. She hates it when people stare at her, understand?"
"Yes, First Sergeant," a nervous voice replies. I smile a little bit but wipe it from my face as soon as I hear Sparx knocking.
"Come in, Sparx," I say in my firmest tone. A nervous boy with red hair and freckles quickly steps inside, stands in front of my desk, and snaps his hands behind his back. He looks to be about eighteen and fresh out of basic training. I lean back in my chair and throw my pen down on the desk.
"Private Sparx reporting as ordered, Sergeant Major," he says trying to keep his anxious voice from cracking. I just stare at him for a few silent moments trying to size him up.
Slowly, his eyes start to drift downward to something on my desk; the same thing that everyone sees the first time they come in my office. I had my nameplate specially made because the Defense Forces frown on nicknames, but I just didn't want to give mine up. Behind a simple plaque that reads "CSM Olivia S. Hightower" there is a glass case, lined with blood-red velvet. Inside, is a hickory-handled hatchet, the same one I carried on my belt loop for years, and the same one that ended the reign of a dictator.
I let him gawk at it for a few seconds before I jolt him back to reality with a harsh rebuke.
"You staring at me, Sparx?" His eyes immediately jump up to meet mine as he violently shakes his head.
"No, No, Sergeant Major!"
"Good…so you fell out of my little run this morning. What's the matter? The pace a little too fast for you? I'm surprised. You don't seem like a fat body." In reality, I feel sorry for the kid; I really do. I know in my head that it was not an easy run. I took the battalion through seven and half miles of some of the toughest hills on Fort Sturm, but I can't let it seem like I'm going too easy on him. I have to keep the pressure on this private so he'll keep working to improve himself.
"No excuses, Sergeant Major, I tried to keep up as best as I could, but after five miles, my body just couldn't take it anymore."
"Couldn't take it anymore?" I say trying to sound skeptical. "Your body can take a lot more than you think it can. Sounds like you just quit on me: another case of teenie-tiny heart syndrome. I see it all the time. I think you just don't want to be here with the best," I say shaking my head and crossing my arms in front of my chest.
"No, Sergeant Major. That's not it at all…" he says almost in a panic.
"Really?" I say cutting him off. "Are you new here, Sparx? I don't recognize you."
"I just got here last week, Sergeant Major."
"Where are you from?"
"District 5, Sergeant Major." I relax a little bit with him. I know it's time to ease up if I want to get my point across.
"They don't have a lot of mountains like these in District 5, do they?" I ask pointing out the window and cracking a small grin.
"No, Sergeant Major."
"Well, the altitude here takes a little getting used to, but that's not a reason to just sit on your backside. You got to run on your own and force your body to adjust, understand? I don't want to be having this conversation with you again."
"Yes, Sergeant Major!" he shouts out loud enough for the entire floor to hear him.
"Good, now get out of my office."
"Yes, Sergeant Major," he dashes for my door so fast that he doesn't see the Battalion Commander standing in the threshold and runs smack into him. "Excuse me, Sir!" Private Sparx chirps out as Lieutenant Colonel Bixby silently steps aside to let him pass.
When Sparx and First Sergeant Galbiaz disappear down the hall, Bixby, leans against my door and callously starts examining the nails on his right hand.
"You sure about that, kid?" he says picking a piece of dirt from under his thumbnail. "I don't want any dead weight in my battalion."
"In my experience, Sir," I say trying to hold back my annoyance, "very few Soldiers are ever dead weight. It's all about how well you train them."
"I guess," Bixby says dispassionately as he wipes his hand on his uniform jacket.
I didn't get a good first impression of Lieutenant Colonel Bixby when he took command two months ago, and unfortunately, my feelings for him have only gotten worse. He's extremely different from General Ares Snow, much more like the officers I grew up with…the one's that create the bad stereotypes: short-cropped hair, light skin, large, muscular, and arrogant.
Originally from District 1, he commissioned from the Academy eighteen years ago. By his own admission, it was because, "he couldn't do anything else but be in the military." He knows his craft well enough, but I get the distinct impression that if he was born fifty years ago, he would have been a Career in the Games: killing other innocents for profit and glory.
I decide to change the subject to something more delicate.
"You know, Sir, I didn't see you at PT formation this morning. You missed a good run with the men."
"Yeah," he says casually strutting over and taking a seat in the chair across from my desk. "Decided I wasn't really in the mood for a run this morning so I hit the gym. Still a little sore," he says rubbing his biceps under his shirt.
"Right…" I think to myself. "Well, I hope you're not too sore to put your body armor on. Remember, you said we'd go out together to check out Alpha Company's shooting range this afternoon."
"Actually, Sergeant Major, I'm really backed up on my paperwork right now. Don't want to stay too late tonight so I'm just going stay back here and let you handle that…unless you need me, of course." It is everything in my power to keep from rolling my eyes at him.
"Roger Sir…" I say biting my tongue. "I think I can handle it just fine."
"Too easy…" he says trailing off. It looks like he has something else he's forgetting to tell me.
"Anything else, Sir?" I ask trying to ease him out of my office.
"Oh right, the whole reason I came to talk to you. Tomorrow at 1400, General Hallonger wants every battalion command team and above at the Headquarters building. He's bringing a guest speaker to address everyone."
"What about?" I ask curiously.
"It's an old expert on geo-political situations from the Ministry of Defense. Hallonger heard that he was attending a meeting at the Ministry of Defense and asked him to stop by Sturm on his way home. I guess the General wants to make sure we have all the latest information on happenings around the globe. You never know where we could be called next. We are Panem's Rapid Reaction Force after all." I really hate it when Bixby talks down to me like I'm an idiot.
"So, who is this expert, Sir? Brass from the Central Intelligence in District 13?"
"Retired Brass, actually," Bixby says callously. "I believe he's a good acquaintance of yours…General Snow."
"Ares is coming here, tomorrow!" I think keeping my excitement on the inside. "I haven't seen him or Lizzy since we took leave to District 4 six months ago. Lizzy was still trying to handle moving in to their cottage while balancing a newborn on her hip. God, I don't know how she does it." I try to stay focused. "Yes, Sir, the General and I served together for a long a time."
"Good, good," Bixby says. "Maybe you can introduce us. I think he still has some pull with the Human Resources guys at the Ministry."
"I'll be sure to tell him all about you, Sir," I deviously think to myself. He stands up and starts to walk for my door.
"You know," Bixby says turning back around.
"Great…"
I was a Major on Colonel Tavington's staff during the TEC invasion. Looking at General Snow, we always thought he was a really strange character…kinda like he never really fit the mold of what a good officer should be. You were with him the whole war. Is he really as nuts as we all thought he was?"
I pause to choose my next words carefully. I feel my temper rising and I want to jump to my feet and tell him what I really think of him and his jacked up view of "what a good officer should be." However, I just lean back in my chair once more, look Bixby straight in the face, and say in a deep, calm voice:
"Sir, General Snow is one of the finest individuals that I've ever had the pleasure of serving with."
"Hmmm," Bixby says shrugging his shoulders and looking down at my desk. His eyes catch the shimmer on the sharp edge of the hatchet. No doubt, he knows the story behind it, but has never worked up the nerve to ask me about it before. "You really use that thing in combat?" he says skeptically. I just lean forward and keep my gaze right on his.
"All the time…"