MA09 Myth Inc in Action Read Free Page B

SERGEANT!!”
    “THEN HIT IT!!”
    The two brothers drop down and start pumpin’ out pushups as the sergeant turns his attention back to his list.
    “Shu Flie and Hy Flie! My aching back! My God! Here’s another one! Spyder!”
    “Here... Sarge.”
    Smiley’s head comes up with a snap like he has been poked in the ribs... which, of course he has. The use of the improper address so soon after it was forbidden might have either been by mistake or from stupidity were it not for the deliberateness with which it was uttered. As it was, however, there was no mistaking it for what it was: A challenge to the sergeant’s authority... which is to say, stupidity.
    The challenger is a sight to behold. She probably would have stood out in the line in any case, bein’ the only female-type in our group, though one might have had to look a couple times to notice, as she stood in a habitual slouch. Her hair, however, made her a real showstopper. Cropped to a medium, mane-type length, it was dyed... somethin’ I do not normally speculate on regardin’ a skirt until we is on very close acquaintances, after which time I am too much of a gentleman to share such information with anyone who is not. In this circumstantial, however, I feel free to make said assumption, as hair, whether attached to a male or female-type bod, does not naturally come in that color... or, to be entirely accurate, colors. Stripes of pink, white, blue, and green run across this broad’s head from front to back... and not in subtle tones. These colors glow with electric-type vibrancy like they are bein’ fueled by her glower, which would be truly intimidatin’ if it were, perhaps, pasted on a homelier mug... like, say my own. It has been some time since Nunzio and I hung out on the streets, but it is clear the type of punks they are currently breedin’ is a strain mutated noticeably from our early days when ‘colorful’ referred to our language, not our hair!
    “Well, well,” the sergeant sez, lickin’ his chops a bit, “what have we here? It seems we are to be a part of the army’s experimental program, which is specifically testing the truth in the saying that the only thing meaner than a fighting man of Possiltum is a woman! Now I want all you men to watch your language during training. We have a laaaa-dyyyy in our midst.”
    From the way the skirt bristles, it is clear she is not used to bein’ referred to as a lady... and doesn’t care much for the idea. Smiley isn’t through with her, however.
    “Tell me, little lady, what is that you’ve got on your head? If it’s something that crawled up there and died, I hope you’ve had your shots ‘cause it doesn’t look like it was any too healthy!”
    “It’s called ‘hair,’ Sarge! What do you have on your head?”
    “It isn’t what I’ve got on my head that’s important, ‘cruit,” the sergeant smiles, “it’s what’s on my sleeve!”
    He taps the stripes that mark his rank. “Three up, three down. You know what that means?”
    “That you’re a Master Sergeant, Sarge.”
    “Close, but no cigar. It means you owe me fifteen pushups, ‘cruit. Five for each time you’ve called me ‘Sarge.’ Hit it!”
    I expect the skirt to give him an argument at this, but instead she just drops down and starts pumpin’ out pushups like it’s what she has been after all along... and maybe it was. I don’t know what kind of breakfast-type cereal this broad patronizes, but she is doin’ a notably better job of rackin’ up her pushups than the Flie brothers.
    “One... Two... Three...”
    Smiley watches her for a few moments, then turns his attention to the other figures on the ground.
    “YOU TWO! I said give me twenty-five!” This last was, of course, directed to the Flie brothers.
    “We’re... trying... sergeant!”
    “WELL I CAN’T HEAR YOU! COUNT ‘EM OFF!!”
    “Seventeen... eighteen...”
    “YOU DON’T START COUNTING AT SEVENTEEN!! YOU START COUNTING AT ONE!!! DO YOU THINK