'What does that say?', Boris Alinsky pointed to the writing daubed on the armour plate that protected the locomotive.
'"Proletarian Hammer" comrade.' the locomotive engineer's voice was barely a whisper...
'At least he can read', thought Alinsky.
'Yes comrade, "Proletarian Hammer", and tomorrow that's exactly what you're going to be you miserable little shit, you're going to drive this fucking train right into the middle of that bunch of cocksucking bourgeois born to rule pricks and blow them into the next world, not that any of us believe in a next world comrade, because this is the age of materialism...understand?'
'Er...yes comrade,' said the hapless the locomotive engineer, although clearly he didn't. 'Mother of God, this one is madder than any of them...', he thought, but then when when you're staring down the barrel of a Mauser 9 mm it doesn't pay to think too much does it?
Alinsky turned to the commander of his CheKa detachment, 'we're not fucking around tomorrow, speed and aggression will win this war, and I'm relying on you to ensure our comrades have plenty of socialist zeal.'
The CheKa officer nodded...