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Harlow and I conversed back and forth as I tried to make sense of the entire thing. He told me that Mexican forces had raided in order to get back a piece of equipment that a special operations squad had retrieved the night before.
Finally, Morgansson stood up and turned around. All eyes instantly shifted to him as his ice blue daggers pierced through me. "All right, fresh meat. Get over to the armoury, replace that piece of shit with something that'll actually kill a Mexican. Well, what's the holdup? Move, move!" He grabbed my arm and tossed me out of the truck onto the concrete. My face hit the hard ground and I tasted blood. I dabbed my lip with my vest and noticed my lip had been cut open. Not wanting to anger him anymore, I walked to the armoury and traded in my Winchester for a Carcano Rifle. I grabbed a handful of bullets off a shelf and attached them to my bandolier, then slung the rifle to my back. I retrieved a LeMat revolver from the ground and put it in my holster. I then fetched 8 sticks of dynamite out of a box and equipped them onto my vest and belt.
When I arrived at the supply wagon, I noticed Morgansson on the platform of the wagon puffing on a cigar. I climbed back into the truck just in time to hear Harlow mention something about a blue eyed nurse he saw being loaded into a Mexican wagon. "Hey, it's the fresh meat!" he said as he patted me on the back. I grabbed his arm and moved it away from me. "Cut the bullshit. Who's this nurse you were talking about?" He looked shocked at the fact that I had just stood up to him. "Boy, you want to feel how hard I can punch?" I backed up a few feet. "Didn't think so. Look, freshie. I don't know who she is. All I know is that I saw her gettin' loaded into a wagon 'bout an hour ago." Just then, Morgansson appeared at the end of the wagon. "Get some rest, ladies. We're suiting up at 6 AM tomorrow morn'. Makin' a raid on a Mexican village." He began to walk away, then stopped. Without turning around, he adressed me in the usual fashion. "Oh, and meat? Try not to get your pansy ass killed. 'Right?" Before I could reply, Ty covered my mouth and replied for me. "Roger that, sir. 6 AM." He looked back at me. "You trying to get yourself killed? Never, and I mean never, talk back to him." With mixed feelings of embarrasment, anger and sadness, I drifted off to sleep in the back of the supply wagon.
"...Since when do snipers have wings?!" ♠ Gamer.Matt 15:07, March 30, 2012 (UTC)