Monstrous Regiment (Discworld 31)

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.

"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?"