To Phule, this was a logical choice. Rembrandt, with her artist’s eye, would be best at selecting stand-ins, while Armstrong, with his stern Regular Army upbringing, was a natural to help organize and oversee the company’s physical relocation to their new assignment.
The Legionnaires, however, heard this news in stricken silence. While they had shown concern over being pitted against the unknown menace of organized crime, the concept of dividing their force seemed to stun them beyond words.
“You will give … our uniforms to people … not in company? Not in Legion?”
It was Tusk-anini who broke the silence … and Phule knew he was in trouble. The big Voltron was one of his most loyal supporters who rarely, if ever, questioned orders. If Tusk was going to get upset over the idea of outsiders standing duty as Legionnaires, then Phule was going to have to talk fast before the rest of the company rose up in open mutiny.
“That’s right, Tusk-anini,” he said. “I’m not wild about it, either, but that’s the way it’s got to be.”
He quickly turned his attention to the group at large before any more questions could be raised.
“Now, before you all jump all over me about the downsides of this operation, let me cut right to the bottom line of the situation. We’ve got a hairy assignment that’s been dumped in our laps. I didn’t ask for it. We didn’t ask for it, but we’ve got it. Actually, realizing the dubious opinion Headquarters has of us, we shouldn’t be surprised at all.”
That got a few smiles and nudges out of the company. Once considered the losers and rejects of the Legion, the troops under Phule’s command now took a perverse pride in their renegade status.