Jingo

Ahmed. “But this is war, Sir Samuel. Wake up and smell the blood.”
    “But…one minute they’re alive—”
    “Your friend here knows how it works. You don’t.”
    “He’s a butler!”
    “So? It’s kill or be killed, even for butlers. You’re not a natural warrior, Sir Samuel.”
    Vimes thrust the baton in his face.
    “I’m not a natural killer ! See this? See what it says? I’m supposed to keep the peace, I am! If I kill people to do it, I’m reading the wrong manual!”
    Willikins appeared silently, hefting the other corpse. “I was not privileged to know much about this young man,” he said, as he carried him behind a rock. “We called him Spider, sir,” he went on, straightening up. “He played the harmonica rather badly and spoke longingly of home. Will you be taking tea, sir? Private Smith is having a brew-up. Er…” The butler coughed politely.
    “Yes, Willikins?”
    “I hardly like to broach the subject, sir…”
    “Broach it, man!”
    “Do you have such a thing as a biscuit about you, sir? I hesitate to provide tea without biscuits, but we have not eaten for two days.”
    “But you were on patrol!”
    “Forage party, sir.” Willikins looked embarrassed.
    Vimes was bewildered. “You mean Rust didn’t even wait to take on food?”
    “Oh, yes, sir. But as it transpired—”
    “We knew there was somethin’ wrong when the mutton barrels started to explode,” muttered Private Bourke. “The biscuits was pretty lively, too. Turned out bloody Rust’d bought a lot of stuff even a rag’ead wouldn’t eat—”
    “And we eat anything ,” said 71-hour Ahmed solemnly.
    “PRIVATE BOURKE YOU ORRIBLE MAN SPEAKIN OF YORE COMMANDIN OFFICER LIKE THAT YOU WILL BE ON A CHARGE I apologize, sir, but we are feeling a little faint.”
    “Long time between noses, eh?” said 71-hour Ahmed.
    “Ahahaha, sir,” said Willikins.
    Vimes sighed. “Willikins…when you’ve finished, I want you and your men to come with me.”
    “Very good, sir.”
    Vimes nodded at Ahmed.
    “And you, too,” he said. “Push has come to shove.”

    The hot wind flapped the banners. The sunlight sparkled off the spears. Lord Rust surveyed his army and found that it was good. But small.
    He leaned toward his adjutant.
    “Let us not forget, though, that even General Tacticus was outnumbered ten to one when he took the Pass of Al-Ibi,” he said.
    “Yes, sir. Although I believe his men were all mounted on elephants, sir,” said Lieutenant Hornett. “And had been well provisioned,” he added meaningfully.
    “Possibly, possibly. But then Lord Pinwoe’s cavalry once charged the full might of the Pseudopolitan army and are renowned in song and story.”
    “But they were all killed, sir!”
    “Yes, yes, but it was a famous charge, nevertheless. And every child knows, do they not, the story of the mere one hundred Ephebians who defeated the entire Tsortean army? A total victory, hey? Hey?”
    “Yes, sir,” said the adjutant glumly.
    “Oh, you admit it?”
    “Yes, sir. Of course, some commentators believe the earthquake helped.”
    “At least you will admit that the Seven Heroes of Hergen beat the Big-Footed People although outnumbered by a hundred to one?”
    “Yes, sir. That was a nursery story, sir. It never really happened.”
    “Are you calling my nurse a liar, boy?”
    “No, sir,” said Lieutenant Hornett hurriedly.
    “Then you’ll concede that Baron Mimbledrone single-handedly beat the armies of the Plum Pudding Country and ate their Sultana?”
    “I envy him, sir.” The lieutenant looked at the lines again. The men were very hungry, although Rust would probably have called them sleek. Things would have been even worse if it hadn’t been for the fortuitous shower of boiled lobsters on the way over. “Er…you don’t think, sir, since we have a little time in hand, we should look to the disposition of the men, sir?”
    “They look well disposed to me. Plucky men, eager to be at the fray!”
    “Yes, sir. I meant…more…well…positioned, sir.”
    “Nothing wrong with ’em, man. Beautifully lined up! Hey? A wall of steel poised to thrust at the black heart of the Klatchian aggressor!”
    “Yes, sir. But—and I realize this is a remote chance, sir—it might be that while we’re thrusting at the heart of the Klatchian aggressor—”
    “—black heart—” Rust corrected him.
    “—black heart of the Klatchian aggressor, sir, the arms of the Klatchian aggressor, those companies