"Sorry, sir."

"... AND DONT CALL ME SIR!!! I ain't no freakin' officer! It didn't take a grant from the crown to make me a gentleman ... I was born one!! DO VOU UNDERSTAND ME???"

"YES, SERGEANT!!"

"Drop down and give me twenty pushups just so you won't forget!"

"Umm ... is that ten from each of us, Sarge, or ..."

"TWENTY EACH!" Smiley roared. "... AND ANOTHER FIVE EACH FOR CALLIN' ME 'SARGE'! MY NAME IS SERGEANT SMILEY OR SERGEANT, NOT SARGE OR SIR! YOU GOT THAT, TROOPER??"

"YES, 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.