“Naw.”
“Very well.” he sez, pushin’ the form across the table at me. “Just sign or make your mark here, please.”
“Is that all?” I ask, scribbling’ my name in the indicated spot.
“Is that all, sergeant,” the joker smiles, pickin’ up the paper and blowin’ on the signature.
Another reason for not joinin’ the army occurs to me.
“Is that all, sergeant?” I sez, bein’ careful not to let my annoyance show.
“No. Go to the next tent now and you’ll be issued a uniform. Then report back here and you’ll be assigned to a group for your training.”
‘Training?”
This is indeed somethin’ what had never occurred to me or Nunzio, and could put a serious crimp in our projected timetable. I mean, how much trainin’ does it take to kill people?
“That’s right . . . training,” the sergeant sez with a tight-lipped smile.
“There’s more to being a soldier than wearing a uniform, you know.”
Bein’ a survival oriented individual, I refrain from speculatin’ out loud as to what this might entail. Fortunately, the sergeant does not seem to expect an answer or additional comment. Rather, he waves me out the door as he turns his attention to the next unfortunate.
“Name?”
“Nunzio.”
Now, those of youse what have been followin’ dese books all along may be wonderin’ just why it is that Nunzio and me is signin’ onto Possiltum’s army instead of performin’ our normal duties of bodyguardin’ the Boss . . . who you probably think of as the Great Skeeve, as you is not employed by him and therefore have no reason to think of him as the Boss.