"What's this all about, sarge?" said Maladict. "These look like refugees!"
"Talk like that spreads Alarm and Despondency!" shouted Corporal Strappi.
"Oh, you mean they're just people getting away early for the holidays to avoid the rush?" said Maladict. "Sorry, I got confused. It must be that woman carrying a whole haystack we just passed."
"D'you know what can happen to you for cheeking a superior officer?" screamed Strappi.
"No! Tell me, is it worse than whatever it is these people are running away from?"
"You signed up, Mr Bloodsucker! You obey orders!"
"Right! But I don't remember anyone ordering me not to think!"
"Enough of that!" snapped Jackrum. "Less shouting down there! Move on! Carborundum, you give people a push if they don't make way, y'hear?"
They moved on. After a while the press of people abated a little, so that what had been a torrent became a trickle. Occasionally there would be a family group, or just one hurrying woman, burdened with bags. One old man was struggling with a wheelbarrow full of turnips. They're even taking the crops out of the fields, Polly noted. And everyone moved at a kind of half-run, as if things would be a little better when they'd caught up with the mass of people ahead. Or merely passed the squad, perhaps.
They made way for an old woman bent double under the weight of a black and white pig. And then there was just the road, rutted and muddy. An afternoon mist was rising from the fields on either side, quiet and clammy. After the noise of the refugees, the silence of the low countryside was suddenly oppressive. The only sound was the trudge and splash of the recruits' boots.
"Permission to speak, sarge?" said Polly.
"Yes, private?" said Jackrum.
"How far is it to Plotz?"
"You don't have to tell 'em, sarge!" said Strappi.
"About five miles," said Sergeant Jackrum. "You'll get your uniforms and weapons at the depot there."
"That's a milit'ry secret, sarge," Strappi whined.
"We could shut our eyes so's we don't see what we're wearing, how about that?" said Maladict.
"Stop that, Private Maladict," said Jackrum. "Just keep moving, and guard that tongue."
They plodded on. The road grew muddier. A breeze sprang up, but instead of carrying the mist away it merely streamed it across the damp fields in twisty, clammy, unpleasant shapes. The sun became an orange ball.
Polly saw something large and white flutter across the field, blown by the wind. At first she thought it was a migratory lesser egret that had left things a little late, but it was clearly being blown by the wind.
It flopped down once or twice and then, as a gust caught it, blew across the road and wrapped itself across Corporal Strappi's face.
He screamed.
Lofty grabbed at the fluttering thing, which was damp. It tore in his - her¨Chands, and most of it dropped away from the struggling corporal.
"It's just a bit of paper," she said.
Strappi flailed at it. "I knew that," he said. "I never asked you!"
Polly picked up one of the torn scraps. The paper was thin and muddy, although she recognized the words "Ankh-Morpork". The godawful city. And the genius of Strappi was that anything he was against automatically sounded attractive.
"Ankh-Morpork Times..." she read aloud, before the corporal snatched it out of her hand.
"You can't just read anything you see, Parts!" he shouted. "You don't know who wrote it!"
He dropped the damp scrap onto the mud and stamped on it.
"Now let's move on!" he said.