Phule’s Paradise by Robert Asprin

“Captain need help. This will help!” Tusk-anini growled, not releasing his grip on the weapon.

“Give it to him,” C.H. said, turning back to the supply clerk.

“But Sarge …”

“Give it to him. I’ll check him out on it myself.”

With a shrug, the clerk released the weapon and watched as Tusk-anini walked away, cradling the bit of nastiness protectively in his arms.

“You tell me, hoss,” the sergeant said softly. “Can you think of anyone in this outfit who could hold down that weapon better’n Tusk? It’s got a kick like a sonofabitch.”

“Well, no. But …”

“‘Sides, didn’t your mama ever tell you it ain’t healthy to argue with somethin’ that outweighs you by maybe a ton?” Harry finished. “I’ll tell you, Jase, you still got a lot to learn about survivin’.”

With that he turned to go, only to find his path blocked by Colonel Battleax.

“Tell me, Sergeant,” she said, “now that we have a moment relatively alone. That little episode we had earlier … would you have really shot me?”

Harry had the grace to look a bit abashed.

“I’d of had to, Colonel,” he admitted. “Truth is, I’d rather of just tried to knock you out, but the cap’n says there’s a rule against noncoms hitting officers.”

“Excuse me … Lieutenant Rembrandt?”

“Yes, Beeker?”

“If I might have a moment of your time?”

The lieutenant glanced around the room to be sure everything was going smoothly-or as smoothly as could be expected-then nodded.

“Sure, Beek. What’s up?”

“Am I understanding correctly that you’re nearly ready to commence your rescue attempt?”