Monstrous Regiment (Discworld 31)

Jackrum saluted. "Right you are, sir. Two volunteers to dig a grave for those poor souls! Goom and Tewt - what's he doing?"

Lofty was over by the blazing charcoal oven. She was holding a burning branch a foot or two from her face and turning it this way and that, watching the flames.

"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 onto 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 onto it, wrung it out and dropped it on the lieutenant's face. He did not actually scream, as such.