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seemed like an 8-ball once we had started our basic
training. All the other recruits could run for miles and hop over obstacles
like grasshoppers. I couldn’t even get over the first obstacle. I still haven’t
gotten over it. It worried me that I wasn’t making a better showing. I knew I
wasn’t built like most Martians, but I was a Martian, gosh darnit, so I should
be able to do these things.
    My frustration was compounded by the lackadaisical way the
other men in the platoon went about their training. They didn’t seem to be
taking army life seriously at all. They wore their own custom-made outfits,
spurning the “uniform look” preferred by the army. Some were dressed better
than the Generals. And they used their mental powers to get out of a lot of
their training. They’d make the drill sergeant think they were out on the drill
field doing pushups, when actually they were still back in the barracks, doing
pushups in their bunks. This sort of unmilitary behavior drove the officers
crazy, but there were too many goof-offs to deal with. So they basically did
nothing.
    The goofing off offended me even more than it did the officers.
Partly because I was programmed to be very patriotic now, but mostly because I
didn’t have the kind of imagination required to goof off like the others were
doing. I had the sort of standard issue imagination; the kind that allows you
to tie your shoes or eat meat. It was my feeling that if I had to do it, they had
to do it.
    When I realized that the officers weren’t going to do anything
to stop the goofing off, I did something myself. I started cuffing the recruits
around when they slacked off and told them to get going and make me and Mars
proud of them or else. Frightened by my bulk, my bad grammar and my psychotic
attitude, they obeyed. The ones who didn’t, got it good. I kicked one guy in
the ass so hard part of his face fell off. That scared everybody. Me too (the
guy’s face fell off!), but I didn’t show it.
    They started calling me the “Camp Bully”, or “Bully Burly”. I
didn’t mind. Hell, I was a bully. Might as well face facts.
    Finally I was called in to the Captain’s office. He told me
that I had been observed bullying the men on several occasions.
    “ Yes sir. Fifty occasions.”
    He counted the reports and nodded. Yes, it was fifty.
    “ Will that be all, sir?”
    “ No!”
    He told me that the reports indicated that this bullying had
been successful.
    “ Yes sir. One guy’s face fell off, but aside from that…”
    “ Army regulations strictly prohibit this kind of bullying,
Private Burly.”
    I saluted. “Will that be all, sir?”
    “ No!” said the Captain. “Because Privates are not allowed to
discipline the other soldiers, I’m promoting you to Acting Corporal. Then when
you bully the men you will be acting according to the rulebook.”
    I was going to ask if that was all, but I decided not to. I had
been burned twice before. So I kept my mouth shut.
    “ That’s all, Corporal Burly.”
    “ Thank you, sir.”
    I began training the 20 troopers assigned to me with great
enthusiasm. Now we could get something done! I didn’t really know how to train
a platoon, but I figured I could pick it up as I went along. The important
thing was to show leadership at all times. I paraded the men up and down the
drill field, shouting commands never heard before or since: “Different
directions…march!”, “Come back… ho!”, “Both directions… now!”, “Up march!”,
“Down go!”, Platoon… fly!”
    The men hesitated to follow some of my stranger sounding orders
at first, but I taught them to obey without question. Army men aren’t used to
being poisoned or burned at the stake by their own leaders. So that got their
attention. They learned to fear me.
    One rich snooty recruit didn’t like the way I kicked him
around. I said I didn’t care whether he liked it or not. I liked it, and that
was all that was important. He said he would have me