Monstrous Regiment

“Can’t tell, not if they’re old.”

The hut was only a temporary thing, made of woven hazel and roofed with tarpaulin; the charcoal-burners moved around a lot, from coppice to coppice. It didn’t have windows, but it did have a doorway, with a rag for a door. The rag had been pulled away; the doorway was dark.

I’ve got to be a man about this, Polly thought.

There was a woman on the bed, and a man lying on the floor. There were other details, which the eye saw but the brain did not focus on. There was a great deal of blood. The couple had been old. They would not grow older.

Back outside, Polly took frantic mouthfuls of air. “Do you think those cavalrymen did it?” she said at last, and then realized that Maladict was shaking. “Oh… the blood…” she said.

“I can deal with it! It’s okay! I just have to get my mind right, it’s okay!” He leaned against the hut, breathing heavily. “Okay, I’m fine,” he said. “And I can’t smell horses. Why don’t you use your eyes? Nice soft mud everywhere after the rain, but no hoof-prints. Plenty of footprints, though. We did it.”

“Don’t be silly, we were—”

The vampire had reached down and pulled something out of the fallen leaves. He rubbed the mud off it with a thumb. In thin pressed brass, it was the Flaming Cheese badge of the Ins-and-Outs.

“But… I thought we were the good guys,” said Polly weakly. “If we were guys, I mean.”

“I think I need a coffee,” said the vampire.

“Deserters,” said Sergeant Jackrum, ten minutes later. “It happens.” He tossed the badge into the fire.

“But they were on our side!” said Shufti.

“So? Not everyone’s a nice ge

Maladict was on his knees, going through his pack with a distracted air. “My coffee’s gone, sarge.”

“Can’t have packed it properly, then,” said Jackrum unsympathetically.

“I did, sarge! I washed out the engine and packed it up with the bean bag after supper last night. I know I did. I don’t take coffee lightly!”

“If someone else did, they’re going to wish I’d never been born,” growled Jackrum, looking round at the rest of the squad. “Anyone else lost anything?”

“Er… I wasn’t going to say anything, ’cos I wasn’t sure,” Shufti volunteered, “but my stuff looked as if it had been pulled about when I opened my pack just now…”

“Oh-ho!” said Jackrum. “Well, well, well. I’ll say this once, lads. Pinching from yer mates is a hanging offence, understood? Nothing breaks down morale faster’n some sneaky little sod dipping into people’s packs. And if I find out someone’s been at it, I’ll swing on their heels!” He glared at the squad. “I ain’t go

Polly rummaged desperately in her pack. She’d thrown things in any old how last night, but what she was frantically searching for was—

–not there. Despite the heat from the charcoal mounds, she shivered.

The ringlets had gone. Feverishly, she tried to remember the events of yesterday evening. They’d just dumped their packs as soon as they were in the barracks, right? And Maladict had made himself some coffee at suppertime. He’d washed and dried the little machine–

There was a thin little wail. Wazzer, the meagre contents of her pack spread around her, held up the coffee engine. It had been stamped almost flat.

“B-b-b—” she began.

Polly’s mind worked faster, like a millwheel in a flood. Then everyone took their packs into the back room with all the mattresses, didn’t they? So they’d still be there when the squad fought the troopers—

“Oh, Wazz,” said Shufti. “Oh, dear…”

So who might have sneaked in through the back door? There was no one around except the squad and the cavalrymen. Perhaps someone wanted to watch, and cause a little trouble on the way–

“Strappi!” she said aloud. “It must have been him! The little weasel ran into the cavalry and then snuck back to watch! He was dar—damn well going through our packs out the back! Oh, come on,” she added, as they stared at her, “can you see Wazzer stealing from anyone? Anyway, when did she have the chance?”

“Wouldn’t they have taken him prisoner?” said Tonker, staring at the crushed machine in Wazzer’s shaking hands.

“If he’d whipped off his shako and jacket he’d just be another stupid civilian, wouldn’t he? Or he could just say he was a deserter. He could make up some story,” said Polly. “You know how he was with Wazzer. He went through my pack, too. Stole… something of mine.”

“What was it?” said Shufti.

“Just something, okay? He just wanted to… make trouble.” She watched them thinking.

“Sounds convincing,” said Maladict, nodding abruptly. “Little weasel. Okay, Wazz, just fish out the beans and I’ll do the best I can—”

“T-there’s no b-b-b—”

Maladict put a hand over his eyes. “No beans?” he said. “Please, has anyone got the beans?”

There was a general rummaging, and a general lack of a result.

“No beans.” moaned Maladict. “He threw away the beans…”

“Come on, lads, we’ve got to get sentries posted,” said Jackrum, approaching. “Sorted it all out, have you?”

“Yes, sarge. Ozz thinks—” Shufti began.

“It was all a bit of mis-packing, sarge!” said Polly quickly, anxious to keep away from anything co

Jackrum looked from the startled squad to Polly, and back, and back again. She felt his gaze boring into her, daring her to change her expression of mad, tense honesty.

“Ye-es,” he said slowly. “Right. Sorted out, eh? Well done, Perks. Attention! Officer present!”

“Yes, yes, sergeant, thank you, but I don’t think we need to be too formal,” said Blouse, who looked rather pale. “A word with you when you have finished, if you please? And I think we should bury the, er, bodies.”

Jackrum saluted. “Right you are, sir. Two volunteers to dig a grave for those poor souls! Goom and Tewt—what’s he doing?”

Lofty was over by the blazing charcoal oven. She was holding a burning branch a foot or two from her face and turning it this way and that, watching the flames.

“I’ll do it, sarge,” said Tonker, stepping beside Wazzer.

“What are you, married?” said Jackrum. “You are on guard, Halter. I doubt whoever did it’ll come back, but if they do, you sing out, right? You and Igor come with me, and I’ll show you your stations.”

“No coffee,” moaned Maladict.

“Foul muck, anyway,” said Jackrum, walking away. “A cup of hot sweet tea is the soldier’s friend.”

Polly grabbed the kettle for Blouse’s shaving water, and hurried away. That was another thing you learned in the milit’ry: look busy. Look busy and no one worried too much about what you were busy at.

Bloody, bloody Strappi! He’d got her hair! He’d try to use it against her if he could, that was certain. That’d be his style. What would he do now? Well, he’d want to keep away from Jackrum, that’d be another certainty. He’d wait, somewhere. She’d have to, too.

The squad had made camp upwind of the smoke. It was supposed to be a rest stop, since no one had got much sleep last night, but as Jackrum handed out tasks he reminded them: “There is an old milit’ry saying, which is: Hard Luck For You.”