"Gentle" is a word that's applied to Maine so rarely that he initially just stares at Brigitte. Not in anger or in disbelief, but like he doesn't understand the word. She may as well have said he's been "pretty polka dots" with her, for all the sense it makes to him.

Gentle doesn't win wars. Gentle is something Maine's only been called as a joke, and only when tied to the word "Giant." Gentle is something reserved for times of peace — or, in the past, for rare moments stolen on shore leave.

Has he started growing soft or something? Could the lack of conflict here have done that to him already?

Mentally shaking aside his confusion, Maine focuses on Brigitte's question. But, still distracted, he gives her a more complete answer than he otherwise might.

"Twenty-two," he answers. Then, pointing to himself, "Ten."

That's how long he, personally, has been fighting.