“Well, sure … Sergeant.”
“So how come you shot the dummy in the shoulders instead of in the head or chest?”
“That would kill him,” I sez before I’ve had a chance to think it through.
“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO KILL HIM! THAT’S WHAT BEIN’ A SOLDIER IS ALL ABOUT!!!”
Now, in hindsight I know I shoulda’ gone along with him, but he caught me by surprise, and my old Mob-type habits cut in.
“What kinda cheap barroom shooters do you take us for??” I barks right back at him. “Me and Nunzio is professionals!! Any jerk can kill somebody, but it takes SKILL to leave ’em in a condition where they can still pay protection … OR give you information … OK …”
“What my cousin means to say,” Nunzio sez, steppin’ between us quick-like, “is that wounding an enemy takes three opponents out of the action instead of just one, since someone’s got to help him get back to …”
It was a good try, but too late. The sergeant was still into takin’ me on.
“Are you calling the trained soldiers of Possiltum jerks?” he hollers, steppin’ around Nunzio to come at me again. “What are you? Some kind of PACIFIST?”
“What… did … you … call… me … ?” I sez in my softest voice, which I only use on special occasions.
The trainin’ area around us suddenly got real quiet and still … except for Nunzio who gave a disbelievin’ whistle through his teeth as he stepped back.
Somethin’ in my voice or the way I was drawin’ myself up to my full height must have triggered the sergeant’s survival instinct, ’cause all of a sudden he looked around nervous-like as if he were tryin’ to find an emergency exit door.