“Precisely.” Lex beamed. “Of course, we’ll give you some nasty-looking weaponry and maybe an ammo belt … Sergeant Harry?”
“Yo, Lex.”
“Can you fix Dee Dee up with some big, ugly armaments? Something that looks scary, but is light enough for her to handle?”
“Can do,” the supply sergeant said, his eyes darting over the starlet’s form. “I’ll have one of the boys pull the firing pin just to be sure it don’t go off accidental.”
“There. You see?”
“But …”
“Just scamper along, love, and fetch back that outfit. I think we’re going to be moving soon.”
Chocolate Harry, in the meantime, was having problems of his own. A small tug-of-war was escalating between one of his supply clerks and the big Voltron, Tusk-anini.
“Come on, Tusk,” Super Gnat was saying, trying to dissuade her partner. “We can go with something else.”
“Give me weapon now!” the Voltron insisted, ignoring the little Legionnaire as he tugged once more at the armament the supply clerk was clinging to, all but lifting the man’s feet from the ground in the process.
“Hold it, Tusk-anini!” C. H. said, stepping in. “What seems to be the problem here, Jason?”
“He wants to use one of the Rolling Thunder belt-fed shotguns,” the clerk complained, still red-faced from the argument and the exertion, “but he hasn’t ever qualified with it!”
“You really want to use this, Tusk?” the sergeant said, making no effort to hide his surprise. “It don’t really seem to be your style.”
The belt-fed shotguns were some of the deadliest, most vicious weapons in the company’s arsenal. To say the least, it was an unlikely choice for the Voltron, whose pacifistic nature was well known.