Monstrous Regiment

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 damn 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. In tore in his— her —hands, 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.
    They moved on. When the squad was more or less in rhythm, and staring at nothing more than its boots or the mist ahead of it, Polly raised her right hand to chest height and carefully turned it palm up so that she could see the fragment of paper that had soggily stayed behind when the rest had been pulled away.

“NO SURRENDER”
TO ALLIANCE SAYS
DUCHESS (97)

From William de Worde
Valley of the Kneck, Sektober 7.
Borogravian troops assisted by Lord V
Light Infantry took Kneck Keep this mo
after fierce hand-to-hand fig
I write its armaments which
are being turned on the remn
Borogravian forces acr
His Grace Commander Sir S
told the Times that
surrender had been rej
view the enemy commande
load of stiff-neck fools, don’
in the paper.”
It is understoo
desperate situ
-spread fami
across t
No altern
invas
    They were winning, weren’t they? So where did the word “surrender” come from? And what was the Alliance?
    And then there was the problem of Strappi, which had been growing on her. She could see he got on Jackrum’s nerves as well, and he had a struttiness about him, a certain—er…sockiness, as if he was really the one in charge. Perhaps it was just general unpleasantness, but…
    “Corporal?” she said.
    “Yes, Parts?” said Strappi. His nose was still very red.
    “We are winning this war, aren’t we?” said Polly. She’d given up correcting him.
    Suddenly, every ear in the squad was listening.
    “Don’t you bother yourself about that, Parts!” snapped the corporal. “Your job is to fight!”
    “Right, Corp. So…I’ll be fighting on the winning side, will I?”
    “Oho, we’ve got someone who asks too many questions here, Sarge!” said Strappi.
    “Yeah, don’t ask questions, Perks,” said Jackrum, absentmindedly.
    “So we’re losing, then?” said Tonker. Strappi turned on him.
    “That’s spreading Alarm and Despondency again, that is!” he shrieked. “That’s aiding the enemy!”
    “Year, knock it off, Private Halter,” said Jackrum. “Okay? Now, get a—”
    “Halter, I’m placing you under arrest for—” Strappi began.
    “Corporal Strappi, a word in your shell-like ear, please? You men, you stop here!” growled the sergeant, clambering down from the cart.
    Jackrum walked back down the road about fifty feet. Glaring around at the squad, the corporal strutted after him.
    “Are we in trouble?” said Tonker.
    “You guess,” said Maladict.
    “Bound to be,” said Shufti. “Strappi can always get you for something .”
    “They’re having an argument,” said Maladict. “Which is odd, don’t you think? A sergeant is supposed to give orders to a