The anvil lasts longer than the hammer.
A sideline, an hors d’oeuvres, a carnival bark; but one takes one’s hammers where one can find them:
The public esteem of the profession of arms is at a rather low ebb just now—at least in the United States. The Soviet Union retains the pomp and ceremony of military glory, and the office class is highly regarded, if not by the public (who can know the true feelings of Soviet citizens?) then at least by the rulers of the Kremlin. Nor did the intellectuals always despise soldiers in the United States. Many of the very universities which delight in making mock of uniforms were endowed by land grants and were founded in the expectation that they would train officers for the state militia. It has not been all that many years since US combat troops were routinely expected to take part in parades; when soldiers were proud to wear the uniform off post, and when my uniform was sufficient for free entry into movie houses, the New York Museum of Modern Art, the New York Ballet, and as I recall the Met (as well as to other establishments catering to less cultural needs of the soldier).
Jerry Pournelle, ladies and gentlemen, piping up from 1979 to remind us that even if the ROTC wasn’t really in danger when Alito joined CAP, well, that doesn’t so much matter; we have always already been hating the military more. —That’s from “Mercenaries and Military Virtue,” his introduction to David Drake’s Hammer’s Slammers collection; therein we find the celebrated story “Hangman.” Take up your copies and turn with me now to page 184 of the Baen Books 1987 paperback edition:
“Never been shot in the head myself, Captain, but I can see it might shake a fellow, yeah.” Jenne let the whine of the fans stand for a moment as the only further comment while he decided whether he would go on. Then he said, “Captain, for about a week after I first saw action I meant to get out of the Slammers, even if I had to sweep floors on Curwin for the rest of my life. Finally I decided I’d stick it. I didn’t like the… rules of the game, but I could learn to play by them.
“And I did. And one rule is, that you get to be as good as you can at killing the people Colonel Hammer wants killed. Yeah, I’m proud about that one just now. It was a tough snap shot and I made it. I don’t care why we’re on Kobold or who brought us here. But I know I’m supposed to kill anybody who shoots at us, and I will.”
“Well, I’m glad you did,” Pritchard said evenly as he looked the sergeant in the eyes. “You pretty well saved things from getting out of hand by the way you reacted.”
As if he had not heard his captain, Jenne went on, “I was afraid if I stayed in the Slammers I’d turn into an animal, like the dogs we trained back home to kill rats in the quarries. And I was right. But it’s the way I am now, so I don’t seem to mind.”
Hammer? Anvil? —Context amongst yourselves.
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