"Lieutenant" Baz growls, enunciating his words carefully. "You have the opportunity to save a man's life, by stopping at that place. You also have the chance to re-arm with some MILITARY-grade hardware. I'm talking assault rifles, shotguns, sniper rifles. Not the fuckin' crap you've got now. I'm talking serious HARDWARE."<br/><br/>He turns to the sergeant, his friend. "Under the military rules and regulations of every military force ever raised, you have the opportunity to take command if you believe your senior officer isn't of sound mind. If you ask me, the Lieutenant's gone fuckin' Section 8. His brain's gone AWOL."<br/><br/>He sniffs. "You go back to brigate HQ, Lieutenant. You go make your report. And it'll be on YOUR conscience when these men die. And you'll live a long time to think on it, because I'll make sure you live to a very ripe old age. These men's faces will haunt your dreams for the rest of your life if they die because they had inadequate weapons and medical care. Even if I die in this coming battle, the Slayer Cult will be watching your back, leaving little reminders of these men. You'll wish you'd died with them, I promise you that."<br/><br/>Every trace of his Highland accent has vanished, replaced by the carefully-pronounced words of someone who, really, just wants to leap up and rip the Lieutenant's throat out with his teeth- but thinks that'd be too easy a way for the man to go.<br/><br/>"The price of Cowardice is to live in Hell, Lieutenant. Think you can pay it? Do you?"