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"Get down to it," she said.

Thankful that I no longer needed to breathe, I did.

"I heard you had a nice time last night," my sergeant said the next day. His nostrils were flaring with anger. "Think yourself lucky, do you? You need taking down a peg or two, bastard."

"But..." I began, unthinkingly.

It was only because his hand wasn’t too firmly attached to his arm that his blow didn’t knock me down. "Don’t answer me back, asshole. You think training camp is fun, do you?"

Wisely, I said nothing, but he hadn’t finished. Sticking his face so close to mine that I inadvertently took a step backwards, he glared into my eyes. "I’ll run you ragged," he hissed. "I promise you I won’t leave you any energy to screw tonight."

And all that morning he concentrated on me, while one of the other sergeants took over the rest of the batch. By noon I’d long since lost the dangling ear and part of my left forearm, and counted myself lucky to have lost only those. The sergeant seemed determined to make me fall apart at the seams.

"He has the hots for her himself," one of the older trainees told me later, as we ate our lunch of a slice of flesh each, carved from one of our stock of live prisoners. "But she never even looks at him. That’s why he’s got it in for you, but good." He looked quickly around and bent towards me. "Tell me – just how is she in the sack?"

"Like nothing I’ve ever bonked before," I said, quite truthfully, trying not to gag at the memory.

"Ah..." he said. "You lucky, lucky bugger."

And, that night, the guards came for me again.

"There’s an opportunity for promotion," she said one evening.

"What?" I asked, somewhat indistinctly, from my position between her thighs.

"Aren’t you listening?" She prodded me with the toe of one of her leather boots. Lately she had taken to keeping her fake SS uniform on when I was with her, except for the pants. She said it made her feel sexy. "Your training will soon be over, and you’ll be sent out to hunt humans."

"Well," I replied, "of course. That’s why I’m here, aren’t I?" I didn’t add that I’d been counting the days to going away. No point courting trouble, was there?

"Right out there," she said, "is the bad, wide world, and humans armed with guns and petrol bombs and spears and...chainsaws, and flamethrowers, and what d’you call ‘em, arrows, and I heard some of them even got a couple of bulldozers going. The ones with the big caterpillar tracks. Can you imagine what one of those could do to you?"

All too well, I could. I had a mental vision of my undead body, spread and sliced over a ribbon of city street. "But what choice do I have?"

"I just told you. Apply for this position as corporal. With the right recommendations, you’ll get it without trouble. And then you can stay right here in camp where it’s safe." She giggled. "Guess who’s going to make the recommendation?"

"But," I said, desperately, "why me?"

"Why not? You’re the best I’ve ever had in here, and I’ve had a great many. I have my needs, and you fulfil them. Maybe it’s because you don’t have a dick any longer. Whatever, I don’t care. But I’m not letting you go."

"I don’t..."

"You don’t what?" Her voice was black ice. "Remember who you’re talking to here, Dickless Tracy."

"Yes, sergeant," I said, and saluted as best I could, crouched where I was on the floor, awkwardly pushing up my hand through the narrow space between her legs. "I remember."

Two days later, in front of the assembled graduating class, I was given my corporal’s scars, and so I joined the staff of this camp.

And that’s why, you flyblown lump of carrion, you should be very, very afraid that I’m your trainer. Not because I’m intrinsically any meaner than the rest of us NCOs, but because I still have to go over there every night. Try and put yourself in my position for a minute, will you? I still have to spend all night making her come.

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