There, in front of them, stood the one and only Major
"Blast-off" Connel!
Though a few inches shorter than Astro, he was what Astro might become
in thirty years, heavily muscular, with a barrel chest that filled the
gold-and-black uniform tightly. He stood balanced on the balls of his
small feet like a boxer, hands hanging loosely at his sides. A bulldog
chin jutted out of his rough-hewn face as if it were going to snap off
the head of the nearest cadet. He towered over Tom and Roger, and though
shorter than Astro, he made up for this by sheer force of personality.
When he spoke, his voice was like a deep foghorn that had suddenly
learned the use of vowels.
"So this is the great _Polaris_ unit, eh?" he bellowed. "You're two
minutes late!"
Tom suddenly felt that he and his unit-mates were all alone in the
corridor with the major. He glanced to one side, then the other,
cautiously, and saw it was empty. And for good reason! No one wanted to
be around when "Blast-off" Connel was blasting. Cadets, enlisted men,
and even officers were not safe from his sudden outbursts. He drove
himself so hard that he became impatient with others who were not able
to match his drive.
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