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Mahoney scratched his chin. He hadn't been seeing things back on Vulcan.
"Do you want us to remove it?"
"Negative." Mahoney grinned. "If the instructors can't handle it and if he's dumb enough to pull it on
any of them that gives a very convenient escape hatch. Doesn't it?"
"You will want his progress monitored, of course?" "Of course. And I'm aware it's not a chief
psychologist's duties, but I'd appreciate it if his file was sealed. And if you, personally, were to handle
him."
Rykor stared at the image. "Ah. I understand." Mahoney half smiled. "Of course. I knew you would."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"MY NAME is Lanzotta," the voice purred. "Training Master Sergeant Lanzotta. For the next Imperial
Year, you may consider me God."
Sten, safely buried in the motley formation of recruits, glanced out of the corner of his eye at the slender
middle-aged man standing in front of him. Lanzotta wore the mottled brown uniform of a Guards Combat
Division and the pinned-up slouch hat of Training Command. The only decoration he wore, besides small
black rank tabs, was the wreathed multiple stars of a Planetary Assault Combat Veteran.
He was flanked by two hulking corporals.
"Bowing and burnt offerings are not necessary," Lanzotta went on. "Simple worship and absolute
obedience will make me more than happy."
Lanzotta smiled gently around at the trainees. One man, who wore the gaily colored civilian silks of a
tourist world, made the mistake of returning the smile.
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"Ah. We have a man with a sense of humor." Lanzotta paced forward until he was standing in front of
the man. "You find me amusing, son?"
The smile had disappeared from the boy's face. He said nothing.
"I thought I asked the man a question," Lanzotta said. "Didn't I speak clearly enough, Corporal
Carruthers?"
One hulk beside him stirred slightly. "I heard you fine, sergeant," she said.
Lanzotta nodded. His hand shot forward and grabbed the recruit by the throat. Seemingly without effort,
he lifted the trainee clear of the ground and held him, feet dangling. "I do like to have my questions
answered," he mused. "I asked if you found me amusing." "N-no," the boy gurgled.
"I much prefer to be addressed by my rank," Lanzotta said. He suddenly hurled the recruit away. The
trainee fell heavily to the ground. "You'll find a sense of humor very useful," Lanzotta added.
"There are one hundred of you today. You've been chosen to enter the ranks of the Guard's First
Assault Regiment. "I welcome you.
"You know, our regimental screening section is very proud. They tell me that less than one out of a
hundred thousand qualify for the Guard.
"Under those conditions, you men and women might consider yourselves elite. Corporal Halstead, do
these whatever they are look like they're elite to you?"
"No, Sergeant Lanzotta," the second behemoth rumbled.
"They look like what's at the bottom of a suit recycler."
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"Umm." Lanzotta considered. "Perhaps not that low."
He walked down the motionless ranks, looking at the trainees closely. He paused by Sten, looked him
up and down, and smiled slightly. Then walked down a few
more ranks. "My apologies, corporal. You were right."
Lanzotta went back to the head of the formation, shaking his head sorrowfully. "The Imperial Guard is
the finest fighting formation in the history of man. And the
Guard's First Assault is the best of the Guard. We have never lost a battle and we never will."
He paused.
"Some general or other said a soldier's job is not to fight, but die. If any of you fungus scrapings live to
graduate, you'll be ready to help the soldier on the other side die for his country. We aren't interested in
cannon fodder in the Guard. We build killers, not losers.
"You'll be in training for one full year here at the regimental depot. Then if I pass you, you'll be shipped
to the field assault regiment.
"Now you beings have three choices for that year. You can quit at any time, and we'll quite happily wash
you out into a scum general duty battalion.
"Or else you can learn to be soldiers."
He waited.
"Are any of you curious as to the third alternative?"
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There was no sound except the wind blowing across the huge parade ground.
"The third option is that you can die." Lanzotta smiled again. "Corporal Halstead, Corporal Carruthers,
or myself will quite cheerfully kill you if we think for one moment that you would endanger your
teammates in combat, and there's no other way to get rid of you.
"I believe, people. I believe in the Empire and I serve the Eternal Emperor. He took me off the garbage
pit of a world that I was born on and made me what I am. I've fought for the Empire on a hundred
different worlds and I'll fight on a hundred more before some skeek burns me down." Lanzotta's eyes
glittered.
"But I'll be the most expensive piece of meat he ever butchered."
Lanzotta, as if unconsciously, touched the assault badge on his breast.
"Now, I will give you the first four rules for staying alive and happy. First, you should think of yourselves
as two stages below latrine waste. I will let you know when I think you are qualified to consider
yourselves sentient beings. Right now, I don't think that will ever happen.
"Second, when a cadreperson addresses you, you will come to attention, you will salute, you will
address him by his rank, and you will do exactly what he tells you to do."
He nodded sideways to Carruthers. The corporal ran forward to one recruit. "YOU!" she shouted.
"Yes."
The corporal's fist sank into the trainee's stomach, and he collapsed to his knees, retching. Carruthers
took one step to the side. "YOU!" she screamed at the trembling woman. "Yes . . . corporal," the trainee
faltered. "JUMP!"
The girl gaped. Carruthers' fist blurred into her chin, and she went down.
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"THEY AREN'T LISTENING, SERGEANT." She sidestepped. "YOU!"
"Yes, corporal," the third trainee managed. "JUMP!" "Yes, corporal!"
The recruit started bounding up and down. "THATS NOT HIGH ENOUGH!" The trainee jumped
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