The Heroes

the midst of the regiment’s officers, almost knocking one young lieutenant down. Tunny might have been amused, except there was something about Gorst that drained all the laughs from the world. He swung from the saddle, nimbly for all his bulk, lumbered straight up to Colonel Vallimir and gave a stiff salute.
    Tunny tossed his brush down and took a few steps towards them, watching closely. Long years in the military had given him a razor-keen sense of when he was about to get fucked, and he was having a painful premonition right now. Gorst spoke for a few moments, face a blank slab. Vallimir shook an arm at the hill, then off to the west. Gorst spoke again. Tunny edged closer, trying to catch the details. Vallimir flung up his hands in frustration, then stalked over, shouting.
    ‘First Sergeant Forest!
    ‘Sir.’
    ‘Apparently there’s a path through those bogs to our west.’
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘General Jalenhorm wants us to send the First Battalion through it. Make sure the Northmen can’t use it against us.’
    ‘The bog beyond the Old Bridge?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘We won’t be able to get horses through that—’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘We only just got them back, sir.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘But … what will we do with them in the meantime?’
    ‘You’ll just have to bloody well leave them here!’ snapped Vallimir. ‘Do you think I like sending half my regiment across a bloody bog without their horses? Do you?’
    Forest worked his jaw, scar down his cheek shifting. ‘No, sir.’
    Vallimir strode away, beckoning over some of the officers. Forest stood a moment, rubbing fiercely at the back of his head.
    ‘Corporal?’ whispered Yolk, in a small voice.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Is this another example of everyone shitting on the head of the man below?’
    ‘Very good, Yolk. We may make a soldier of you yet.’
    Forest stopped in front of them, hands on hips, frowning off upriver. ‘Seems the First Battalion have a mission.’
    ‘Marvellous,’ said Tunny.
    ‘We’ll be leaving our horses here and heading west to cross that bog.’ A chorus of groans greeted him. ‘You think I like it? Get packed and get moving!’ And Forest stomped off to break the happy news elsewhere.
    ‘How many men in the battalion?’ muttered Lederlingen.
    Tunny took a long breath. ‘About five hundred when we left Adua. Currently four hundred, give or take a recruit or two.’
    ‘Four hundred men?’ said Klige. ‘Across a bog?’
    ‘What sort of a bog is it?’ muttered Worth.
    ‘A bog!’ Yolk squealed, like a tiny, angry dog yapping at a bigger one. ‘A bloody bog! A massive load of mud! What other sort of bog would it be?’
    ‘But …’ Lederlingen stared after Forest, and then at his horse, onto which he’d just loaded most of his gear and some of Tunny’s. ‘This is stupid.’
    Tunny rubbed at his tired eyes with finger and thumb. How often had he had to explain this to a set of recruits? ‘Look. You think how stupid people are most of the time. Old men drunk. Women at a village fair. Boys throwing stones at birds. Life. The foolishness and the vanity, the selfishness and the waste. The
pettiness,
the
silliness.
You think in a war it must be different. Must be better. With death around the corner, men united against hardship, the cunning of the enemy, people must think harder, faster, be … better. Be
heroic.’
    He started to heave his packages down from his horse’s saddle. ‘Only it’s just the same. In fact, do you know, because of all that pressure, and worry, and fear, it’s worse. There aren’t many men who think clearest when thestakes are highest. So people are even stupider in a war than the rest of the time. Thinking about how they’ll dodge the blame, or grab the glory, or save their skins, rather than about what will actually
work.
There’s no job that forgives stupidity more than soldiering. No job that encourages it more.’
    He looked at his recruits and found they were all staring back, horrified. Except for an oblivious Yolk, straining on tiptoe to get his spear down from his horse, perhaps the largest in the regiment. ‘Never mind,’ he snapped. ‘This bog won’t cross itself.’ He turned his back on them, patted his horse gently on the neck and sighed. ‘Oh well, old girl. Guess you’ll have to manage a little longer without me.’

Cry Havoc and …

    S corry was cutting hair when Craw got back to his dozen, or the seven who were left, leastways. Eight including him. He wondered if