Monstrous Regiment

Strappi. “Ain’t that right, lads?” There was a general murmuring and shrugging from the squad, who recognized a right little bullying bastard when they saw one but, treacherously, were glad he hadn’t picked on them.
    Strappi drew his own sword.
    “Lend him one of yours, Sarge,” he said. “Go on. Just a little bit of fun, eh?”
    Jackrum hesitated, and glanced at Polly.
    “How about it, lad? You don’t have to,” he said.
    I’ll have to sooner or later, Polly thought. The world was full of Strappis. If you backed away from them, they only kept on coming. You had to stop them at the start.
    She sighed. “Okay, Sarge.”
    Jackrum pulled one of his cutlasses out of his sash and handed it to Polly. It looked amazingly sharp.
    “He won’t hurt you, Perks,” he said, while looking at the smirking Strappi.
    “I’ll try not to hurt him either, Sarge,” said Polly, and then cursed herself for the idiot bravado. It must have been the socks talking.
    “Oh, good ,” said Strappi, stepping back. “We’ll just see what you’re made of, Parts.”
    Flesh, thought Polly. Blood. Easily cut things. Oh, well…
    Strappi waved his saber like the old boys had done, down low, in case she was one of those people who thought the whole idea was to hit the other man’s sword. She ignored it, and watched his eyes, which was no great treat.
    He wouldn’t stick her, not mortally, not with Jackrum watching. He’d try for something that’d hurt and make everyone laugh at her. That was the Strappi type through and through. Every inn counted one or two among its regulars.
    The corporal tested her more aggressively a couple of times, and twice, by luck, she managed to knock the blade out of the way. Luck would run out, though, and if she looked like putting up a decent show, Strappi would sort her out good and proper.
    Then she remembered the cackled advice of old Gummy Abbens, a retired sergeant who’d lost his left arm to a broadsword and all his teeth to cider: “A good swordsman ’ates comin’ up against a newbie, gel! The reason bein’, he don’t know what the bugger’s gonna do!”
    She swung the saber wildly. Strappi had to block it, and for a moment the swords locked.
    “That the best you can do, Parts?” the corporal jeered.
    Polly reached out and grabbed his shirt.
    “No, Corporal,” she said, “but this is.”
    She pulled hard and lowered her head.
    The collision hurt more than she’d hoped, but she heard something crunch and it didn’t belong to her. She stepped back quickly, slightly dizzy, with the saber at the ready.
    Strappi had sunk to his knees, blood gushing from his nose. When he got up, someone was going to die…
    Panting, Polly appealed wordlessly to Sergeant Jackrum, who had folded his arms and was looking innocently at the ceiling.
    “I bet you didn’t learn that from your brother, Perks,” he said.
    “No, Sarge. Got that from Gummy Abbens, Sarge.”
    Jackrum suddenly looked down at her, grinning. “What, old Sergeant Abbens?”
    “Yes, Sarge!”
    “There’s a name from the past! He’s still alive? How is the evil old sot?”
    “Er…well preserved, Sarge,” Polly said, still trying to get her breath.
    Jackrum laughed. “Yeah, I’ll bet. Did his best fighting in bars, he did. And I’ll bet that’s not the only trick he told you about, eh?”
    “No, sir.” And the other men had scolded the old boy for telling her, and Gummy had chuckled into his cider mug, and anyway it had taken Polly a long time to find out what “family jewels” meant.
    “Hear that, Strappi?” said the sergeant to the cursing man dribbling blood onto the floor. “Looks like you was lucky. But there’s no prizes for fighting fair in a melee, lads, as you shall learn. All right, fun over. Go and put some cold water on that, Corporal, it always looks worse than it is. And that’s the end of it , the pair of you. That is an order . A word to the wise. Understood?”
    “Yes, Sarge,” said Polly meekly. Strappi grunted.
    Jackrum looked at the rest of the recruits. “Okay. Any of the rest of you boys ever held a stick? Right. I can see we’re going to have to start slow and work up—”
    There was another grunt from Strappi. You had to admire the man. On his knees, with blood bubbling through the hand cupping his injured nose, he could find time to make life difficult for someone in some small way.
    “Private Bloodfnucker hnas a fnord, Fnargeant,” he said accusingly.
    “Any good with