[right][h3]Homicide, not Murder[/h3][/right][hr]
"What the fuck did you just say?" was Dan's signal; he had a smooth draw, weaver-stance and blasted out into Fitzsimmons' center mass. He splattered blood and flesh out the back; 9mm, 147gr hollowpoints. Huge mess exiting. Illegal in wartime, but so was being out of uniform and fighting, and the KGB wasn't exactly strong on distinctions anyway. So they used the most brutal methods in defense of their own country and maybe someday a court would sort it out depending on who won.

The man was crumpling already and he was searching for the next target, with a snarl on his face. The place already smelled like blood and cordite and his shot grouping was probably tight enough that the investigator, if they knew what they were looking at, might well comment on it. But you were in the fight and you didn't worry about making it look deliberately sloppy, or the CIA could send some hitters that could engineer it. They were guerrillas and this was the dirty stuff.

At least he knew he didn't have to off Joe, it was an immense relief; later on, he would try to forget about it. 

He was already shuffling his step aside and moving with his pistol in place, looking to line up Stone. The man had to drop the bag and draw the gun and he was already at a huge disadvantage. But Dan was checking his angles, making sure he didn't have Gigger and Joe in the line of fire. So he decided to cover a different angle, keeping a watch on the entrances, keeping it very cool with one of the first essential rules of using a weapon -- make sure of your target. He didn't feel he had a clear shot and wanted to clear it so that Joe or Gigger did get that shot. Three on one was dangerous in that regard, and Danny was able to get out of the way easiest, and take the man down if he decided to do a runner, though it would be Preston that did that guy if he got loose from the warehouse.

Either way, job was getting done and Joe definitely was a Green Mountain Boy now.