THE CHEMICALLY PURE WARRIORS
BY ALLEN KIM LANG
They conquered the planet and they
owned it outright. The trouble
was—they didn't dare set foot on it!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1962.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
From the head of the platoon Lieutenant Lee Hartford signaled SergeantFelix, busy policing up stragglers at the rear, that he was takingover. Hartford tongued the volume-setting of his bitcher to "Low" andsoftly sing-songed to his three dozen troopers: "Your girlfriend'sjust an hour away; there's a time to soldier and a time to play. Pickit HUP, HUP, HUP! 'Toon, tain-HUT.' HUP, twop, threep, furp; HUP, HUP;HUP, twop, threep, furp. Mondrian, pick up the cadence; you're marchinglike a man with a paper pelvis. Swing 'em six to the front and threeto the rear; When you sing to your Daddy, sing it loud and clear."Hartford turned up the volume. "Three weeks in the woods, eatingsqueeze-tube beans; We'd be better off in the Fleet Marines. Soundoff!"
"ONE, TWO," boomed the voice of the Terrible Third, sounding from thebitchers at the chests of thirty-six safety-suits. Dust slapped upfrom marching-boots. A flock of scarlet blabrigars settled on the roadahead, chattering and watching like small boys.
"Sound hoff!"
"THREE, FOUR!" The road led uphill toward Stinkerville; they weresome three miles from First Regiment Barracks. Three miles from nowthese troopers could shed their safety-suits and helmets, shower offthree weeks of sweat, drink a beer and leer at the short-skirted,taut-haltered girls of the Service Companies.
"Who are we?" Hartford chanted.
"COMPANY C," the troopers blatted back.
The blabrigars, fluttering up from the roadway, chanted too: "Whoare we? Company See. Who, we? See, see. Company See Are Wee SeeSee." These wild birds didn't memorize human speech as well as theircaptive cousins; they garbled their mockeries immediately. The flocksettled into the sunflowers beside the road; and were joined by apair of wild camelopards, chewing sunflower-leaf cud as they peeredat the marching Axenites. Hartford looked about, but there were noStinkers—Kansans—in sight. These natives didn't care to watch theoccupying regiment stir up their homeland's dust. "What platoon?"Hartford called, his voice magnified by the bitcher till the wholecolumn could hear him.
"THIRD PLATOON," the men bellowed back, singing against the percussionof their boots. "'Toon, click, click, click; 'toon, click, thirdplatoon, click," mocked the blabrigars in ragged chorus, reflectingboth the words and the marching feet.
"Best platoon?"
"THIRD PLATOON!" the men shouted. They'd turned up their bitchers toa volume the blabrigars couldn't match. Disgusted, the birds flappedtheir scarlet wings and flew off across the sunflower fields. "'Toon,"one rear-flier chanted, "'toon, 'toon, 'toon."
"Worst platoon?" Hartford asked.
"FIRST PLATOON!" That was for the benefit of Lieutenant Piacentelli,commanding the tail-end of the Regiment, the platoon marching on eitherside of the lumbering Decontamination Vehicle, their safety-suitfilters clogging with the dust.
"Sound off!" Hartford shouted.
"ONE, TWO!"
That'll rattle the windows in Stinkerville, Hartford thought. Hepitched his descant louder and higher. "Sound off!"
"THREE,