Monstrous Regiment (Discworld 31)

"Where are the rest of the men, sergeant?" whispered de Worde, as he slid down off the cart.

"Oh, they're around, sir," said Jackrum. "Watching you. Probably not a good idea to make any sudden move, sir."

No one else was visible... and then Maladict faded into view.

People never really looked at things, Polly knew. They glanced. And what had been a patch of scrub was now Corporal Maladict. Polly stared. He'd cut a hole in the centre of his old blanket, and the mud and grass stains on the mildewed greyness had turned him into part of the landscape until he'd saluted. He'd also stuck leafy twigs all over his hat.

Sergeant Jackrum goggled. Polly had never really seen proper goggling before, but the sergeant had the face to do it at championship level. She could feel him drawing breath while at the same time assembling cusswords for a right royal thundering - and then he remembered he was playing Sergeant Big Jolly Fat Man, and this was not the time to segue into Sergeant Incandescent.

"Lads, eh?" he chuckled to de Worde. "What will they think of next?"

De Worde nodded nervously, pulled a wad of newspapers from under his seat, and advanced on the lieutenant.

"Mr de Worde, isn't it?" said Blouse, standing up. "Perks, can we manage a cup of, er, 'saloop' for Mr de Worde? There's a good chap. Do take a rock, sir."

"Good of you to see me, lieutenant," said de Worde. "It looks as though you've been in the wars!" he added, with an attempt at joviality.

"No, only this one," said Blouse, looking puzzled.

"I meant that you have been wounded, sir," said de Worde.

"These? Oh, they're nothing, sir. I'm afraid the one on my hand was self-inflicted. Sword drill, you know."

"You're left-handed then, sir?"

"Oh, no."

Polly, washing out a mug, heard Jackrum say out of the corner of his mouth: "Should've seen the other two fellows, sir!"

"Are you aware of the progress of the war, lieutenant?" said de Worde.

"You tell me, sir," said Blouse.

"All your army is bottled up in the Kneck valley. Dug in, mostly, just beyond the reach of the Keep's weaponry. Your forts elsewhere along the border have been captured. The garrisons at Drerp and Glitz and Arblatt have been overwhelmed. As far as I can tell, lieutenant, your squad are the only soldiers still at large. At least," he added, "the only ones still fighting."

"And my regiment?" said Blouse quietly.

"The remnant of the Tenth took part in a brave but, frankly, suicidal attempt to retake Kneck Keep a few days ago, sir. Most of the survivors are prisoners of war, and I have to tell you that almost all your high command have been captured. They were in the Keep when it was taken. There are big dungeons in that fort, sir, and they're pretty full."

"Why should I believe you?"

I do, thought Polly. So Paul is either dead, wounded or captured. And it doesn't help much by thinking of it as two chances in three that he is alive.

De Worde threw his newspapers at the lieutenant's feet. "It's all there, sir. I didn't make it up. It's the truth. It will remain true whether you believe it or not. There are more than six countries ranged against you, including Genua and Mouldavia and Ankh-Morpork. There is no one on your side. You are alone. The only reason you're not beaten yet is because you won't admit it. I've seen your generals, sir! Great leaders, and your men fight like demons, but they won't surrender!"

"Borogravia doesn't know the meaning of the word 'surrender', Mr de Worde," said the lieutenant.

"May I loan you a dictionary, sir?" snapped de Worde, going red in the face. "It's very similar to the meaning of 'making some kind of peace while you've got a chance', sir! It's rather like 'quitting while you've still got a head', sir! Good heavens, sir, don't you understand? The reason that there still is an army in the Kneck valley is that the allies haven't decided what to do with it! They're fed up with the slaughter!"

"Ah, so we still fight back!" said Blouse.

De Worde sighed. "You don't understand, sir. They are fed up with slaughtering you. They've got the Keep now. There's some big war engines up there. They... frankly, sir, some of the Alliance would just as soon wipe out the remains of your army. It'd be like shooting rats in a barrel. They have you at their mercy. And yet you keep on attacking. You attack the Keep! It's on sheer rock and it's got walls a hundred feet high. You make salients across the river. You're bottled up and you've got nowhere to go and the allies could simply massacre you any time they want, and you act as though you're just facing some kind of temporary setback. That's what's really happening, lieutenant! You are just a last little detail."

"Have a care, please," Blouse warned.

"Excuse me, sir, but do you know anything about recent history? In the past thirty years you have declared war on every single one of your neighbours at least once. All countries fight, but you brawl. And then last year you invaded Zlobenia again!"

"They invaded us, Mr de Worde."