Hang stands at almost the position of attention; eyes locked and focused on the usual flyspeck on the grubby wall behind the BPO's head. He waits while the BPO finishes reading the contact report from his first sortie of tour 3.
"Sez here, mister, that yah got a knit spit."
Hang replies; teeth locked together.. "Yessir"
"...also sez here yah got him with a snapshot. And took his wing off with only 50 rounds expended."
"yessir" (hang shifts his gaze to the BPO's eyes) "..that I did sir"
The BPO grabs another, far far thicker pile of documents, leafs thru them, tosses em back on the desk. "Seems you've been makin a pest of yerself... suckin down .50 cal ammo; gripin like hell about the lack of effectiveness of said ammo; casting aspersions and the like on our ammo loadouts and conditions. Is that right??"
"yessir"
"So.. tell me. How does that pile of noise wash with this latest contact report?"
"The spit was lucky, sir."
"Lucky??"
"Yessir. I coulda missed; and squeaked fer another 12 hours. Easy."
"Dismissed!"
