Monstrous Regiment

wondered what happened to you in that hellish pressure cooker. If you were tough, like Tonker, it boiled you hard and gave you a shell. Lofty…it was hard to know. She was quiet and shy until you saw firelight reflected in her eyes, and sometimes the flames were there in the absence of any fire to reflect. But if you were Wazzer, dealt a poor hand to start with, and locked up, and starved, and beaten, and mistreated Nuggan-knew-how (and yes, Polly thought, Nuggan probably did know how), and pushed deeper and deeper into yourself, what would you find down there? And then you’d look up from those depths into the only smile you ever saw.

    The last man on guard duty was Jackrum, because Shufti was busy cooking. He was sitting on a mossy rock, crossbow in one hand, staring at something in his hand. He spun around as she approached, and Polly caught the gleam of gold as something was shoved back in his jacket.
    The sergeant lowered the bow.
    “You make enough noise for an elephant, Perks,” he said.
    “Sorry, Sarge,” said Polly, who knew she hadn’t. He took the tea mug, and turned to point downhill.
    “See that bush down there, Perks?” he said. “Just to the right of that fallen log?”
    Polly squinted.
    “Yes, Sarge,” she said.
    “Notice anything about it?”
    Polly stared again. There must be something wrong about it, she decided, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked her. She concentrated.
    “The shadow’s wrong,” she decided at last.
    “Good lad. The reason bein’, our chum is behind the bush. He’s been a-watching of me, and I’ve been a-watching of him. Nothing else for it. He’ll have it away on his toes as soon as he sees anyone move, and he’s too far away to drop an arrow on him.”
    “An enemy?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “A friend? ”
    “Cocky devil, at any rate. He doesn’t care that I know he’s there. You go on back up the hill, lad, and bring down that big bow we got off of the—there he goes!”
    The shadow had vanished. Polly stared into the woods, but the long light was getting crimson, and dusk was unfolding between the trees.
    “It’s a wolf,” said Jackrum.
    “A werewolf?” said Polly.
    “Now what makes you think that?”
    “Because Sergeant Towering said we’d got a werewolf in the squad. I’m sure we haven’t. I mean, we’d have found out by now, wouldn’t we? But I wondered if they’d seen one.”
    “Can’t do anything about it, anyway,” said Jackrum. “A silver arrow would do the job, but we’ve got none.”
    “What about our shilling, Sarge?”
    “Oh, you think you can kill a werewolf with an IOU?”
    “Oh, yeah.” Then Polly added: “ You’ve got a real shilling, Sarge. Around your neck, with that gold medallion.”
    If you could have bent steel around Wazzer’s certainty, you could have heated it with Jackrum’s glare.
    “What’s round my neck is no business of yours, Perks, and the only thing worse than a werewolf is me if anyone tries to take my shilling off me, understand?”
    He softened as he saw Polly’s terrified expression.
    “We’ll move on after we’ve eaten,” he said. “Find a better place for a rest. Somewhere easier to defend.”
    “We’re all pretty tired, Sarge.”
    “So I want us all to be upright and armed if our friend comes back with his chums,” said Jackrum.
    He followed her gaze. The gold locket had slipped out of his jacket and dangled guiltily on its chain. He deftly tucked it away.
    “She was just a…girl I knew,” said Jackrum. “That’s all, right? It was a long time ago.”
    “I didn’t ask you, Sarge,” said Polly, backing away.
    Jackrum’s shoulders settled. “That’s right, lad, you didn’t. And I ain’t asking you about anything, neither. But I reckon we’d better find the corporal some coffee, eh?”
    “Amen to that, Sarge!”
    “And our rupert’s dreaming of laurel wreaths all around his head, Perks. We’ve got ourselves a goddam hero here. Can’t think, can’t fight, no bloody use at all except for a famous last stand and a medal sent to his ol’ mum. And I’ve been in a few famous last stands, lad, and they’re butcher shops. That’s what Blouse’s leading you into, mark my words. What’ll you lot do then, eh? We’ve had a few scuffles, but that’s not war. Think you’ll be man enough to stand, when the metal meets the meat?”
    “You did, Sarge,” said Polly. “You said you were in a few last stands!”
    “Yeah, lad. But I was holding the