"Asprin, Robert - Myth 09 - M.Y.T.H Inc. In Action" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asprin Robert)

"Well... I shouldn't be here. I enlisted as a magician, and my recruiter said that..."

The sergeant's smile widens sufficiently to stop the recruit in mid-sentence.

"Son, " he sez, in a voice that's more like a purr, "It's time you learned one of the harsh truths about the army. Recruiters lie! Whatever that sorry soul told you, son, unless you got it in writing signed by the Queen herself, it Don't mean squat! Now I'm telling you that every' emit that signs onto this man's army will learn' basic infantry skills before receivin' his first assignment before active duty. You might get assigned as a magician, or you might not... It all depends on whether they need magicians or cooks when your number comes up for assignment, but you aren't gonna get assigned anywhere until I say your basic training is co MPlete.

Next question!"

"Nunzio, Sergeant! How long does it take to co MPlete basic training?"

"That depends on how long it takes you unfortunates to learn the minimal skills required for you to wear the uniform of Possiltum. Usually it takes a week to ten days... But from the looks of you sorry souls, I figure you'll have the pleasure of my co MPany for at least a month."

"You mean none of us gets assigned until everyone in this group co MPletes their training?"

"That's right. Any other questions?"

My cousin glances down the lines at me, but I keep my eyes straight forward, hopin' his action isn't noticed. Luckily the sergeant misses this little blip in the formation, and as soon as he dismisses us Nunzio and I go in to a huddle.

"What do you think?" he sez, worried-like.

"Same as you, " I shrug. "We sure can't take no month gettin' trained if we're gonna by any help upsettin' the regular troops."

"That's for sure," he nods. "Looks like we're gonna have to push these recruits a little ourselves to be sure they pick up this training in double-quick time."

This realization puts my mood at an all-time low. It was bad enough that I was gonna have to do time as a soldier-type, but now I was gonna have to play nursemaid and coach to a bunch of raw recruits as well!


Chapter Three

"Just a little off the top!"
A. Boleyn

The haircut turned out even more ghastly than I had feared in my worst nightmare-type dreams. I would be te MPted to lay in wait and inflict a little instructional-type revenge upon the individual what laid said haircut on me, but it would probably do no good as he was obviously brain damaged at birth and can't help bein' like he is. Instead, I should be thankful that society has found a place for a person what has only learned one style of haircut where he can serve a useful purpose. Further, I suppose it is only logical that that place is in the army, where his "customers" have no choice but to put up with whatever haircut they are given. My only puzzlement is where they managed to find an entire room full of mental deficients who have all only learned the same haircut. The haircut under discussion is unique in its lack of imagination and style, consistin' of simply removin' as much hair from the victim as possible through the vigorous application of a pair of clippers. If they lowered their aim another qu

Now this in it self was annoyin', but the haircut in conjunction with the uniforms which was foisted off on us bordered on bein' intolerable. For those of youse which are fortunate enough not to have viewed the Possiltum army uniforms first hand, they consist of somethin' like a short-sleeved flannel nightshirt, which is worn under a combination breast plate and skirt made of hardened leather. That's right, a skirt. At least, I can't think of any other way to describe a bunch of leather strips hangin' down to about knee length with nosemblance of legs built in. As a final insult, we was each issued a pair of sandals, which to my opinion did not even come close to replacin' the spiffy wing- tipped black and white shoes I normally favor.

The over all impression of our trainin' group once we had been shorn and uniformed, was that we looked like a pack of half-dressed department store mannequins waitin' to be fitted for wigs.

"Nunzio, " I sez, surveyin' the damage what has been Done to my hither to head-turnin' image, " tell me again about how no thin' is too desperate when it comes to guardin' the boss or carryin' out his orders."

Now, this is a mistake. While my cousin is a first-rate partner when it comes to rough and tumble, lurkin' in the depths of his sordid resume is the fact that he did time as a schoolteacher for a while, and the lingerin' effect of that experience is that he has a tendency to deliver lectures on nearly any subject at the drop of a hat or a straight-type line.

"You just Don't understand the psychology involved in converting civilians to soldiers, Guido," he sez in that squeaky voice of his that can be so irritatin' at times... like now. "Hair styles, like fashions in clothing, are distinctive marks of one's previous social and financial standing. The whole idea of the haircuts and uniforms is to reduce everyone to a common denominator, as well as giving them a traumatic, but harmless, experience to share, thereby encouraging bonding."

Normally, 1 would not dream of arguin' with Nunzio, as I not only am inclined to lose, it only gives him an excuse to prolong and embellish upon whatever half baked theory he is emotin' upon. This time, however, I feels co MPelled to take umbrage with his assertions.

"Cousin, " I sez, "can you look around at our fellow unfortunates and tell me honestly that you can't tell who comes from where without committin' such blatant perjury that even the most bought judge would have to call youse on it?"

I mean, shorn and frocked as we are, it is still pretty easy to spot who the players are and where they're comin' from. The Flie brothers have that well muscled, robust glow of health what only comes from puttin' so many hours a day in to farm work that doin' time in the army has to look like a resort vacation to them. Bee, with or without hair, looks like a fledgling geek, and as for the Spyder broad... Well, givin' a wolf a poodle cut doesn't make it look like a show dog, just like a pissed off wolf! It was clear to me that wherever that junior sociopath went to school, it couldn't have been more than a block or two from the alma mother what gave Nunzio and me our head start on the of her head bashers in the mob.