La Couronne bar - Battleship Castres

[Rodent]

Percival 'Bushmaster' Lawson walks into the room, scowling. He'd been called back for a brief time, to...'educate' various bomber wings in the matter of taking down Dunkirks. That was a field he had plenty of experience in...Bretonia had been nothing but a shithole. A shithole he was unfortunately born in...

Lousy pay, no jobs, drunken rages on Planet Leeds. A terrible five years of his adult life, until he'd decided to <censored> it all and leave, taking up mercenary jobs against his own damn house. He'd even become passably good at it.

Until he'd joined the Foreign Legion. Then Xavier, that little smug douchebag had decided to put him on training these pansies for a while. He was fresh off a session...

***
"Listen you pig-humping cauliflowers...I don't have much time for this shit, so I'll just demonstrate this to you real quick. See? This is a Dunkirk. What does it remind you of?"

A reply came. It resembled a fish.

"Well done. How do you kill a fish?"

No answer.

"God damn it...you hit it's gills. From the side. Hit a Dunkirk from the sides, never from the front. See if can swerve around it's <censored> and hit it from the bottom...bugger it like the damn <censored> you are. Understood?"

A tentative answer in the affirmative.

"What, did Satan bugger you upside the bottom with a hot iron? SPEAK UP!"

A roar.

"Good, now train on this shit. Run this in the simulators until your balls drop off. Understood? Get the fuck lost now!"

***

He definitely had a good reason to scowl. He slammed the bar with a fist and asked for Sidewinder fang, and lots of it. At least bar service was good, and he was knocking himself out a short while later.