Major Richard Ewart stepped into the crew bay of the V-22, abandoning the cockpit and addressing the Americans. "I see the Yanks have finally shifted their lazy a**es. Good. More meat shields. Men, I'm Major Ewart of the Canadian Forces. Because I know the terrain best and am a native, I will be acting tactician and liasion. If anyone wants to get thier heads blown off, tell me. I'll do it right here. There will be no stupid bravado, no mentions in dispatches, and no medals awaded unless I say so. So, for any Marine who thnks hiself worthy of a Medal of Honour for saving a Canadian a**, think again. Because the Canadian troops here are not going to tolerate bigshots, and I won't put up with a bunch of kids who're trying to pull a Forrest Gump. So, follow my orders, and give me a roll call. Understood?" He bellowed the last word like a Sergeant, waiting for a reply.
"As fo you Poles, keep you heads down, and make sure some bastard Rusky doesn't amke it home to his Motherland and vodka." He added as an afterthought.