"Offended? Nah, I'd never be offended for being told my ancestors might have been some potateo eating sons of bitches."  Church said with an off handed smile, having already shook Pat's and returning his gaze to Sarah.  So that is how it was going to be eh Irish.  Both of us, along with likely the rest of the goddamn platoon fighting over the attention of this gal.  Just fucking great.  "Now if you insisted that I may be French, well then we might have to words."  He paused then let something over an over unthused laugh before smacking Irish on the shoulder.  Ya, this was going to be just fucking great.<br/><br/>"Oh and sorry Sarah, to answer your question I am the point man.  I'm the guy who goes in first, clears as many fuckers as I can, and takes fire while waiting for everyone else to show up.  Not nearly as complicated as yours, what with the performing surgery in the middle of a war zone, but it seems to be a job people appriciate."  Smiling non-chalantly, Church went from Sarah to Pat.  Then politely asked, with a definate tone however, "What about you Pat?  What skills will you be bringing to the unit?"  Few things beat point man as far glory and respect went.  In fact, Church couldn't think of anything that did.  So he was fairly confident that in terms of who had the ballsier job, he'd win.  And yes, this is plain as day male posturing, but that is how these people lived.  Intensely and with a lot of emotions behind everything.  Because the true was, this could very well be the last day you had alive.