The Joint Chiefs' Final Word

General Puller and I followed the sergeant back into the courtroom and the rest of the MP’s were right behind us. I then stood at rigid attention in front of the Joint Chiefs, the General stood at attention as well, but he seemed more relaxed about it.

“General Puller, Private Hudson, the board has reached a decision,” Admiral Pug announced. “Before we make it known, we have something to say.”

“General, Private, the Colonial Marines are like a machine,” the usually quiet Admiral Rixx spoke up. “There are many parts, but they all come together to make that machine work. That machine is part of another machine which includes the other branches of service. When one part of that larger machine breaks down, the rest of that machine suffers.”

“With all do respect,” General Puller stated. “I do not wish to be lectured on my job. If you think that it’s appropriate to punish me, then go right ahead, but I don’t need to know how to run the Corps. My Corps.”

“At ease, General,” General Westboeington commanded. “You’re going to listen to this, and you’re going to like it.”

“General Puller,” Admiral Rixx spoke again. “The Colonial Marines are a weapon. And like all weapons, all of the parts need to be in working order for that weapon to work. The trigger needs to be functional, the barrel needs to be clean and free of defects, the ammunition needs to live and used properly. There’s no room for a broken safety switch or a cracked refraction lens.”

“I get the alliteration,” Puller stated. “What is my punishment?”

“Let me finish,” Admiral Rixx answered. “What you don’t understand, General, is that the Colonial Marines are like a cake. You have all the ingredients; you have flour, you have eggs, you have sugar, you have vanilla, baking soda, salt, butter. Everything needs to come together in the oven to make this cake work. That cake is going to be bad if there’s a bad egg in it. You can’t let a bad egg get into that cake.”

“Admiral, I understand what you are saying,” General Puller endeavored not to sigh. “Is this my punishment?”

“Very well,” Admiral Pug interceded. “General Puller, this activity has put a black mark on the face of the Queen’s entire military. It is the Joint Chiefs’ decision that…”

General Puller leaned closer. I leaned closer. The stenographer leaned closer.

“You will officially retire from duty in the corps,” Admiral Pug declared. “Furthermore, you will never speak, write, or breathe word of this mission or this hearing to anyone. Ever.”

“Understood,” Puller responded.

“Now get out of my hearing, General!” with that, General (R) Puller snapped a salute, did a crisp about face, and marched out of the room.

Ironically, Puller never got the chance to enjoy his retirement. While in hyperspace aboard his personal shuttle, the magnetic inversion coupler failed and scattered his atoms all across the galaxy. The chances of a cataclysmic failure like that are one in a million, which makes this tragedy even more, uh, tragic.

“Private Hudson,” Admiral Pug looked at me.

“Sir?”

“Private Hudson,” the Admiral stated again. “The Joint Chiefs deliberated long about what to do with you. We are not sure if we should pin a medal on you or shoot you for treason.”

I’d prefer the medal.

“However,” he continued. “We have decided on your fate. You are hereby ordered to—”

(And now a word from our sponsor)

Fritos are good to eat!

Blah!