Monstrous Regiment

  ‘I’ll do it, sarge,’ said Tonker, stepping beside Wazzer.

  ‘What are you, married?’ said Jackrum. ‘You are on guard, Halter. I doubt whoever did it’ll come back, but if they do, you sing out, right? You and Igor come with me, and I’ll show you your stations.’

  ‘No coffee,’ moaned Maladict.

  ‘Foul muck, anyway,’ said Jackrum, walking away. ‘A cup of hot sweet tea is the soldier’s friend.’

  Polly grabbed the kettle for Blouse’s shaving water, and hurried away. That was another thing you learned in the milit’ry: look busy. Look busy and no one worried too much about what you were busy at.

  Bloody, bloody Strappi! He’d got her hair! He’d try to use it against her if he could, that was certain. That’d be his style. What would he do now? Well, he’d want to keep away from Jackrum, that’d be another certainty. He’d wait, somewhere. She’d have to, too.

  The squad had made camp upwind of the smoke. It was supposed to be a rest stop, since no one had got much sleep last night, but as Jackrum handed out tasks he reminded them: ‘There is an old milit’ry saying, which is: Hard Luck For You.’

  There was no question of using the woven hut, but there were a few tarpaulin-covered frames built to keep the coppiced wood dry. Those not given jobs to do lay down on the stacked piles of twigs, which were yielding and didn’t smell and were in any case better than the inhabited palliasses back at the barracks.

  Blouse, as an officer, had a shelter to himself. Polly had stacked bundles of twigs to make a chair that was at least springy. Now she laid out his shaving things and turned to go—

  ‘Could you shave me, Perks?’ said the lieutenant.

  Fortunately, Polly’s back was turned and he didn’t see her expression.

  ‘This damn hand is quite swollen, I’m afraid,’ Blouse went on. ‘I would not normally ask, but—’

  ‘Yes, of course, sir,’ said Polly, because there was no alternative. Well now, let’s see . . . she’d got quite good at scraping a blunt razor across a face bare of hair, yes. Oh, and she’d shaved a few dead pigs in the kitchens at The Duchess, but that was only because nobody likes hairy bacon. They didn’t really count, did they? Panic rose, and rose faster at the sight of Jackrum approaching. She was going to cut an officer’s throat in the presence of a sergeant.

  Well, when in doubt, bustle. Milit’ry rule. Bustle, and hope there’s a surprise attack.

  ‘Are you not being a little strict with the men, sergeant?’ said Blouse, as Polly flapped a towel round his neck.

  ‘No, sir. Keep ’em occupied, that’s the bunny. Otherwise they’ll mope,’ said Jackrum confidently.

  ‘Yes, but they have just seen a couple of badly mutilated bodies,’ said Blouse, and shuddered.

  ‘Good practice for ’em, sir. They’ll see plenty more.’

  Polly turned to the shaving gear she’d laid out on another towel. Let’s see . . . cut-throat razor, oh dear, the grey stone for coarse sharpening, the red stone for fine sharpening, the soap, the brush, the bowl . . . well, at least she knew how to make foam . . .

  ‘Deserters, sergeant. Bad business,’ Blouse went on.

  ‘You always get ’em, sir. That’s why the pay is always late. Walking away from three months’ back pay makes a man think twice.’

  ‘Mr de Worde the newspaper man said there had been a great many desertions, sergeant. It is very strange that so many men would desert from a winning side.’

  Polly whirled the brush vigorously. Jackrum, for the first time since Maladict had joined, looked uncomfortable.

  ‘But whose side is he on, sir?’ he said.

  ‘Sergeant, I am sure you are not a stupid man,’ said Blouse, as, behind him, foam poured over the edge of the bowl and flopped on to the floor. ‘There are desperate deserters abroad. Our borders appear to be sufficiently unguarded to enable enemy cavalry to operate forty miles inside “our fair country”. And High Command appears to be so desperate, yes, desperate, sergeant, that even half a dozen untrained and, frankly, very young men must go to the front.’

  The foam had a life of its own now. Polly hesitated.

  ‘Hot towel first, please, Perks,’ said Blouse.

  ‘Yessir. Sorry, sir. Forgot, sir,’ said Polly, panic rising. She had a vague recollection of walking past the barber shop in Munz. Hot towel on face. Right. She grabbed a small towel, tipped boiling water on to it, wrung it out and placed it on the lieutenant’s face. He did not actually scream, as such.

  ‘Aaaaagh something else worries me, sergeant.’

  ‘Yessir?’

  ‘The cavalry must have apprehended Corporal Strappi. I cannot see how else they found out about our men.’

  ‘Good thinking, sir,’ said the sergeant, watching Polly apply the lather across mouth and nose.

  ‘I do hope they didn’t pff torture the poor man,’ said the lieutenant. Jackrum was silent on that issue, but meaningfully so. Polly wished he wouldn’t keep glancing at her.

  ‘But why would a deserter pff head straight for the pff front?’ said Blouse.

  ‘Makes sense, sir, for an old soldier. Especially a political.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Trust me on that, sir,’ said Jackrum. Behind Blouse, Polly brushed the razor up and down the red stone. It was already as slick as ice.

  ‘But our boys, sergeant, are not “old soldiers”. It takes pff two weeks to turn a recruit into a “fighting man”,’ said the lieutenant.

  ‘They’re promising material, sir. I could do it in a couple of days, sir,’ said Jackrum. ‘Perks?’

  Polly nearly sliced her thumb off. ‘Yes, sarge,’ she quavered.

  ‘Do you think you could kill a man today?’

  Polly glanced at the razor. The edge glowed. ‘I’m sorry to say I think I could, sir!’

  ‘There you have it, sir,’ said Jackrum, with a lopsided grin. ‘There’s something about these lads, sir. They’re quick.’ He walked behind Blouse, took the razor from Polly’s grateful hand without a word, and said: ‘There’s a few matters we ought to discuss, sir, private like. I think Perks here ought to get some rest.’

  ‘Of course, sergeant. Pas devant les soldats jeunes, eh?’

  ‘And them too, sir,’ said Jackrum. ‘You’re dismissed, Perks.’

  Polly walked away, her right hand still trembling. Behind her, she heard Blouse sigh and say: ‘These are tricky times, sergeant. Command has never been so burdensome. The great General Tacticus says that in dangerous times the commander must be like the eagle and see the whole, and yet still be like the hawk and see every detail.’

  ‘Yessir,’ said Jackrum, gliding the razor down a cheek. ‘And if he acts like a common tit, sir, he can hang upside down all day and eat fat bacon.’

  ‘Er . . . well said, sergeant.’

  The charcoal-burner and his wife were buried to the accompaniment of, to Polly’s lack of surprise, a small prayer from Wazzer. It asked the Duchess to intercede with the god Nuggan to give eternal rest and similar items to the departed. Polly had heard it many times before; she’d wondered how the process worked.

  She’d never prayed since the day the bird burned, not even when her mother was dying. A god that burned painted birds would not save a mother. A god like that was not worth a prayer.

  But Wazzer prayed for everyone. Wazzer prayed like a child, eyes screwed up and hands clenched until they were white. The reedy little voice trembled with such belief that Polly felt embarrassed, and then ashamed and, finally, after the ringing ‘amen’, amazed that the world appeared no different from before. For a minute or two, it had been a better place . . .

  There was a cat in the hut. It cowered under the crude bed and spat at anyone who came close.

  ‘All the food’s been taken but there’s carrots and parsnips in a little garden down the hill a bit,’ Shufti said, as they walked away.

  ‘It’d be s-stealing from the dead,’ said Wazzer.

  ‘Well, if they object they can hold on, can’t the
y?’ said Shufti. ‘They’re underground already!’

  For some reason that was, at this time, funny. They’d have laughed at anything.

  Now there was Jade, Lofty, Shufti and Polly. Everyone else was on guard duty. They sat by the fire, on which a small pot seethed. Lofty tended the fire. She always seemed more animated near a fire, Polly noticed.

  ‘I’m doing horse scubbo for the rupert,’ said Shufti, easily dropping into a slang learned all of twenty hours ago. ‘He specifically asked for it. Got lots of dry horse jerky from Threeparts, but Tonker says she can knock over some pheasants while she’s on duty.’

  ‘I hope she spends some time watching for enemies too,’ said Polly.

  ‘She’ll be careful,’ said Lofty, prodding the fire with a stick.

  ‘You know, if we’re found out, we’ll be beaten and sent back,’ said Shufti.

  ‘Who by?’ said Polly, so suddenly she surprised herself. ‘By whom? Who’s going to try, out here? Who cares out here?’

  ‘Well, er, wearing men’s clothes is an Abomination unto Nuggan—’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It just is,’ said Shufti firmly. ‘But—’

  ‘—you’re wearing them,’ said Polly.

  ‘Well, it was the only way,’ said Shufti. ‘And I tried them on and they didn’t seem all that abominable to me.’

  ‘Have you noticed men talk to you differently?’ said Lofty shyly.

  ‘Talk?’ said Polly. ‘They listen to you differently, too.’

  ‘They don’t keep looking at you all the time,’ said Shufti. ‘You know what I mean. You’re just a . . . another person. If a girl walked down the street wearing a sword a man would try to take it off her.’

  ‘Wi’ trolls, we ain’t allowed to carry clubs,’ said Jade. ‘Only large rocks. An’ it ain’t right for a girl to wear lichen, ’cos der boys say bald is modest. Had to rub bird doin’s inna my head to grow this lot.’

  That was quite a long speech for a troll.

  ‘We didn’t know that,’ said Polly. ‘Er . . . trolls all look the same to us, more or less.’

  ‘I’m nat’rally craggy,’ said Jade. ‘I don’t see why I should polish.’

  ‘There is a difference,’ said Shufti. ‘I think it’s the socks. It’s like they pull you forward all the time. It’s like the whole world spins around your socks.’ She sighed and looked at the horsemeat, which had been boiled almost white. ‘It’s done,’ she said. ‘You’d better go and give it to the rupert, Polly . . . I mean, Ozzer. I told the sarge I could do something better but he said the lieutenant said how good it was last night—’

  A small wild turkey, a brace of pheasants and a couple of rabbits, all tied together, landed in front of Shufti.

  ‘Good job we were guarding you, eh?’ said Tonker, grinning and whirring an empty sling around in one hand. ‘One rock, one lunch. Maladict’s staying on guard. He said he’ll smell anyone before they see him and he’s too edgy to eat. What can you do with that lot?’

  ‘Casserole of game,’ said Shufti firmly. ‘We’ve got the veg and I’ve still got half an onion.3 I’m sure I can make an oven out of one of those—’

  ‘On your feet! Attention!’ snapped the silently moving Jackrum, behind them. He stood back with a faint smile on his face as they scrambled to their feet. ‘Private Halter, I must have bleedin’ amazin’ eyesight,’ he said, when they were approximately upright.

  ‘Yes, sarge,’ said Tonker, staring straight ahead.

  ‘Can you guess why, Private Halter?’

  ‘No, sarge.’

  ‘It’s because I knows you are on perimeter guard, Halter, but I can see you as clear as if you was standing right here in front of me, Halter! Can’t I, Halter?’

  ‘Yes, sarge!’

  ‘It’s just as well you are still on perimeter duty, Halter, because the penalty for absenting yourself from your post in time of war is death, Halter!’

  ‘I only—’

  ‘No onlys! I don’t want to hear no onlys! I don’t want you to think that I am a shouty man, Halter! Corporal Strappi was a shouty man, but he was a damn political! Upon my oath I am not a shouty man but if you ain’t back at your post inside of thirty seconds I’ll rip yer tongue out!’

  Tonker fled. Sergeant Jackrum cleared his throat and continued, in a level voice: ‘This, my lads, is what we call a real orientation lectchoor, not one of the fancy political ones like Strappi gave yer.’ He cleared his throat. ‘The purpose of this lectchoor is to let you know where we are. We are in the deep cack. It couldn’t be worse if it was raining arseholes. Any questions?’

  Since there were none from the bemused recruits, he continued, while beginning a slow stroll around the squad, ‘We know enemy forces are in the area. Currently they have no boots. But there will be others with boots aplenty. Also, there may be deserters in the area. They will not be nice people! They will be impolite! Therefore Lieutenant Blouse has decreed that we will travel off the roads and by night. Yes, we have met the enemy, and we have prevailed. That was a fluke. They weren’t expecting you to be rough, tough soldiers. Nor were you, so I don’t want you to feel cocky about it.’ He leaned forward until his face was inches from Polly’s. ‘Are you feeling cocky, Private Perks?’

  ‘No, sarge!’

  ‘Good. Good.’ Jackrum stepped back. ‘We are heading for the front, lads. The war. And in a nasty war, where’s the best place to be? Apart from on the moon, o’ course? No one?’

  Slowly, Jade raised a hand.

  ‘Go on, then,’ said the sergeant.

  ‘In the army, sarge,’ said the troll. ‘’cos. . .’ She began to count on her fingers. ‘One, you got weapons an’ armour an’ dat. Two, you are surrounded by other armed men. Er . . . Many, youse gettin’ paid and gettin’ better grub than the people in Civilian Street. Er . . . Lots, if’n you gives up, you getting taken pris’ner and dere’s rules about that like Not Kicking Pris’ners Inna Head and stuff, ’cos if you kick their pris’ners inna head they’ll kick your pris’ners inna head so dat’ s, like, you’re kickin’ your own head, but dere’s no rule say you can’t kick enemy civilians inna head. There’s other stuff too, but I ran outa numbers.’ She gave them a diamond grin. ‘We may be slow but we ain’t stoopid,’ she added.

  ‘I am impressed, private,’ said Jackrum. ‘And you are right. The only wasp in the jam is that you ain’t soldiers! But I can help you there. Bein’ a soldier is not hard. If it was, soldiers would not be able to do it. There is only three things you need to remember, which are, viz: one obey orders two give it to the enemy good and hard three don’t die. Got that? Right! You’re nearly there! Well done! I propose to assist you in the execution of all three! You are my little lads and I will look after you! In the meantime, you got duties! Shufti, get cooking! Private Perks, see to the rupert! And after that, practise your shaving! I will now visit those on guard and deliver unto them the holy word! Dismissed!’

  They remained at something like attention until he was probably out of earshot, and then sagged.

  ‘Why does he always shout?’ said Shufti. ’I mean, he only has to ask . . .’

  Polly upended the horrible scubbo into a tin bowl, and almost ran to the lieutenant’s shelter. He looked up from a map and smiled at her as if she was delivering a feast.

  ‘Ah, scubbo,’ he said.

  ‘We are actually having other stuff, sir,’ Polly volunteered. ‘I’m sure there’s enough to go round—’

  ‘Good heavens, no, it’s been years since I’ve had food like this,’ said Blouse, picking up the spoon. ‘Of course, at school we didn’t appreciate it so much.’

  ‘You had food like this at school, sir?’ said Polly.

  ‘Yes. Most days,’ said Blouse happily.

  Polly couldn’t quite fit this in her head. Blouse was a nob. Nobs ate nobby food, didn’t they? ‘Had you done something bad, sir?’

  ‘I can’t imagine what you mean, Perks,’ said Blouse, slurping at the horrible thin gruel. ‘Are the me
n rested?’

  ‘Yes, sir. The dead people were a bit of a shock—’

  ‘Yes. Bad business,’ sighed the lieutenant. ‘Such is war, alas. I am only sorry you had to learn so fast. Such a terrible waste all the time. I am sure things can be sorted out when we reach Kneck, though. No general can expect young men like yourselves to be instant soldiers. I shall have something to say about that.’ His rabbity features looked unusually determined, as if a hamster had spotted a gap in its treadmill.

  ‘Do you require me for anything else, sir?’ said Polly.

  ‘Er . . . do the men talk about me, Perks?’

  ‘Not really, sir, no.’

  The lieutenant looked disappointed. ‘Oh. Oh, well. Thank you, Perks.’

  * * *

  Polly wondered if Jackrum ever slept. She did a spell of guard duty, and he stepped out from behind her with ‘Guess who, Perks! You’re on lookout. You should see the dreadful enemy before they see you. What’re the four Ss?’

  ‘Shape, shadow, silhouette and shine, sarge!’ said Polly, snapping to attention. She’d been expecting this.

  That caused a moment’s pause from the sergeant before he said: ‘Just knew that, did yer?’

  ‘Nosir! A little bird told me when we changed guard, sir! Said you’d asked him, sir!’

  ‘Oh, so Jackrum’s little lads are gangin’ up on their kindly ol’ sergeant, are they?’ said Jackrum.

  ‘Nosir. Sharing information important to the squad in a vital survival situation, sarge!’

  ‘You’ve got a quick mouth on you, Perks, I’ll grant you that.’

  ‘Thank you, sarge!’

  ‘But I see you’re not standing in a bleedin’ shadow, Perks, nor have you done anything to change your bleedin’ shape, you’re silhouetted against the bleedin’ light and your sabre’s shining like a diamond in a chimney-sweep’s bleedin’ ear’ole! Explain!’

  ‘It’s because of the one C, sarge!’ said Polly, still staring straight ahead.

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘Colour, sarge! I’m wearing bleedin’ red and white in a bleedin’ grey forest, sarge!’

  She risked a sideways glance. In Jackrum’s little piggy eyes there gleamed a gleam. It was the one you got when he was secretly pleased.