Monstrous Regiment

“Oh, come on, Perks—” Jackrum began.

“No, sergeant. Wait,” said Blouse. “Astonishingly enough, Perks, in your boyish enthusiasm you have, although you haven’t realized it, given me a very interesting idea…”

“Have I, sir?” said Polly, who in her boyish enthusiasm had considered trying to tattoo the idea on Blouse’s head. For someone so clever, he really was slow.

“Indeed you have, Perks,” said Blouse. “Because, of course, we only need one ‘washerwoman’ to get us inside, do we not?”

The inverted commas sounded promising. “Well, yes, sir,” said Polly.

“And, if one as it were thinks ‘outside the box’, the ‘woman’ does not in fact need to be a woman!”

Blouse beamed. Polly allowed her brow to wrinkle in honest puzzlement.

“Doesn’t she, sir?” she said. “I don’t think I quite understand, sir. I am perplexed, sir.”

“‘She’ could be a man, Perks!” said Blouse, almost exploding with delight. “One of us! In disguise!”

Polly breathed a sigh of relief. Sergeant Jackrum laughed.

“Lord bless you, sir, dressing up as washerwomen is for gettin’ out of places! Milit’ry rules!”

“If a man gets inside, he could disable any guards near the door, spy out the situation from a military perspective, and let the rest of the troops in!” said Blouse. “If this was done at night, men, we could be holding key positions by the morning!”

“But these aren’t men, sir,” said Jackrum. Polly turned. The sergeant was looking right at her, right through her. Oh darn, I mean damn… he knows…

“I beg your pardon?”

“They are… my little lads, sir,” Jackrum went on, winking at Polly. “Keen lads, full of mustard, but they ain’t ones for cuttin’ throats and stabbin’ hearts. They signed up to be pikemen in the press, sir, in a proper army. You are my little lads, I says to ’em when I signed ’em up, and I will look after you. I can’t stand by and let you take ’em to certain death!”

“It’s my decision to make, sergeant,” said Blouse. “We are at ‘the hinge of destiny’. Who, in the pinch, is not ready to lay down his life for his country?”

“In a proper stand-up fight, sir, not getting beaten over the head by a bunch of nasty men for creeping around their fort. You know I’ve never been one for spies an’ hidin’ your colours, sir, never.”

“Sergeant, we have no choice. We must take advantage of the ‘tide of fortune’.”

“I know about tides, sir. They leave little fish gaspin’.” The sergeant stood up, fists clenching.

“Your concern for your men does you credit, sergeant, but it falls to us—”

“A famous last stand, sir?” said Jackrum. He spat expertly into the fire in the tumbledown hearth. “To hell with them, sir. That’s just a way of dyin’ famous!”

“Sergeant, your insubordination is getting—”

“I’ll go,” said Polly quietly.

Both men stopped, turned and stared.

“I’ll go,” Polly repeated, louder. “Someone ought to.”

“Don’t be daft, Perks!” snapped Jackrum. “You don’t know what’s in there, you don’t know what guards are waitin’ just inside the door, you don’t know—”

“I’ll find out, then, sarge, won’t I,” said Polly, smiling desperately. “Maybe I can get to somewhere where you can see and send signals, or…”

“On this issue, at least, the sergeant and I are of one mind, Perks,” said Blouse. “Really, private, it would simply not work. Oh, you’re brave, certainly, but what makes you think you stand a chance of passing yourself off as a woman?”

“Well, sir… what?”

“Your kee

“I’m sure I could pull it off, sir,” said Polly weakly. She could sense Jackrum’s eyes on her. You bloomi—you bloody well know, don’t you. How long have you known?

Blouse shook his head. “No, they would see through you in a flash. You are a fine bunch of lads, but there is only one man here who’d stand a chance of getting away with it. Manickle?”

“Yessir?” said Shufti, rigid with instant panic.

“Can you find me a dress, do you think?”

Maladict was the first to break the silence. “Sir, are you telling us… you’re going to try to get in dressed as a woman?”

“Well, I’m clearly the only one who’s had any practice,” said Blouse, rubbing his hands together. “At my old school, we were in and out of skirts all the time.” He looked around at the circle of absolutely expressionless faces. “Theatricals, you see?” he said brightly. “No gels at our boarding school, of course. But we didn’t let that stop us. Why, my Lady Spritely in A Comedy of Cuckolds is still talked about, I understand, and as for my Yumyum– Is Sergeant Jackrum all right?”

The sergeant had folded up, but with his face level with his knees he managed to croak: “Old war wound, sir. Come upon me sudden, like.”

“Please help him, Private Igor. Where was I… I can see you all look puzzled, but there’s nothing strange about this. Fine old tradition, men dressing up as gels. In the sixth form, the chaps used to do it for a jape all the time.” He paused for a moment, and added thoughtfully, “Especially Wrigglesworth, for some reason…” He shook his head as if dislodging a thought and went on: “Anyway, I have some experience in this field, d’ye see?”

“And… what would you do if—I mean when you got in, sir?” said Polly. “You won’t just have to fool the guards. There’ll be other women in there.”

“That will not present a problem, Perks,” said Blouse. “I shall act in a feminine way and I have this stage trick, d’ye see, where I make my voice sound quite high-pitched, like this.” The falsetto could have scratched glass. “See?” he said. “No, if we need a woman, I’m your man.”

“Amazing, sir,” said Maladict. “For a moment I could have sworn there was a woman in the room.”

“And I could certainly find out if there are any other badly guarded entrances,” Blouse went on. “Who knows, I might even be able to procure a key off one of the guards by means of feminine wiles! In any case, if things are all clear I shall send a signal. A towel hanging from a window, perhaps. Something clearly unusual, anyway.”

There was some more silence. Several of the squad were staring at the ceiling.

“Ye-es,” said Polly. “I can see you’ve thought this out carefully, sir.”

Blouse sighed. “If only Wriggles worth were here,” he said.

“Why, sir?”

“Amazingly clever chap at layin’ his hands on a dress, young Wrigglesworth,” said the lieutenant.

Polly caught Maladict’s eye. The vampire made face and shrugged.

“Um…” said Shufti.

“Yes, Manickle?”

“I do have a petticoat in my pack, sir.”

“Good heavens! Why?”

Shufti went red. She hadn’t worked out an answer.

“Bandageth, thur,” Igorina cut in smoothly.

“Yes! Yes! That’s right!” said Shufti. “I… found it in the i

“I athked the lads to acquire any thuitable linen they might find, thur. Jutht in cathe.”

“Very sound thinking, that man!” said Blouse. “Anyone else got anything?”

“I wouldn’t be at all thurprithed, thur,” said Igorina, staring round the room.

Glances were exchanged. Packs were unslung. Everyone except Polly and Maladict had something, produced with downcast eyes. A shift, a petticoat and, in most cases, a dimity scarf, carried out of some sort of residual, unexplainable need.

“You obviously must’ve thought we’d take serious damage,” said Blouse.