The Sov officer ignored him. "Four, to dispose of the more aggressive potential rebels, by allowing them to kill each other off in the continual combat."
"That, sir, is simply not true," the lieutenant blurted. Joe couldn't remember if he was Andersen or Dickson, even their names were similar.
Joe said, evenly, "And your alternative?"
The Hungarian shrugged. "The Proletarian Paradise maintains two armies, major. One of veterans, for defense against potential foreign foes, and named the Glorious Invincible Red Army—"
"Or, the Red Army, for short," one of the lieutenants murmured dryly.
"... And the other composed of less experienced proletarians and their techno-intellectual, and sometimes even Party, officers. This is our Pink Army."
"Wait a moment," Joe said. "What's a proletarian?"
The lieutenant who had protested the Sov officer's summation of the reasons for the West-world fracases, laughed dryly.
Kossuth stared at Joe. "You are poorly founded in the background of the Sov-world, major."
Joe said, "Deliberately, Colonel Kossuth. When I learned of my assignment, I deliberately avoided cramming unsifted information. I decided it would be more desirable to get my information at the source, uncontaminated by our own West-world propaganda."