‘Ahmed! These are on our side!’ Vimes yelled.
‘Oh, really? Pardon me.’
Ahmed lowered his sword and removed the cigarette holder from his mouth. He nodded at one of the soldiers who had been trying to attack him and said, ‘Good morning to you.’
‘’ere, are you one of ours, too?’
‘No, I’m one of—’
‘He’s with me,’ Vimes snapped. ‘How come you’re here, Willikins? Sergeant Willikins, I see.’
‘We were on patrol, sir, and were attacked by some Klatchian gentlemen. After the ensuing unpleasantness—’
‘—you should’ve seen ’im, sir. ’e bit one bastard’s nose right orf!’ a soldier supplied.
‘It is true that I endeavoured to uphold the good name of Ankh-Morpork, sir. Anyway, after we—’
‘—and one bloke, sarge, stabbed ’im right in the—’
‘Please, Private Bourke, I am apprising Sir Samuel of events,’ said Willikins.
‘Sarge ort to get a medal, sir!’
‘Those few of us who survived tried to get back, sir, but we had to conceal ourselves from other patrols and were just considering lying up until dawn in this edifice when we espied you and this gentleman here.’
Ahmed was watching him with his mouth open.
‘How many were in this Klatchian patrol, sergeant?’ he said.
‘Nineteen men, sir.’
‘That’s a very precise count, in this light.’
‘I was able to enumerate them subsequently, sir.’
‘You mean they were all killed?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Willikins calmly. ‘However, we ourselves lost five men, sir. Not including Privates Hobbley and Webb, sir, who regrettably seem to have passed away as a result of this unfortunate misunderstanding. With your permission, sir, I will remove them.’
‘Poor devils,’ said Vimes, aware that it was not enough but that nothing else would be, either.
‘The fortunes of war, sir. Private Hobbley, Ginger to his friends, was nineteen and lived in Ettercap Street, where until recently he made bootlaces.’ Willikins took the dead man’s arms and pulled. ‘He was courting a young lady called Grace, a picture of whom he was kind enough to show me last night. A maid at Lady Venturi’s, I was given to understand. If you would be good enough to pass me his head, sir, I will get on with things SMUDGER WHO TOLD YOU TO SIT DOWN GET ON YORE FEET RIGHT NOW GET OUT YORE SHOVEL TAKE OFF YORE HELMET SHOW SOME RESPECT GET DIGGINGHA!’
A cloud of smoke rolled past Vimes’s ear.
‘I know what you are thinking,’ said Ahmed. ‘But this is war, Sir Samuel. Wake up and smell the blood.’
‘But… one minute they’re alive—’
‘Your friend here knows how it works. You don’t.’
‘He’s a butler!’
‘So? It’s kill or be killed, even for butlers. You’re not a natural warrior, Sir Samuel.’
Vimes thrust the baton in his face.
‘I’m not a natural killer! See this? See what it says? I’m supposed to keep the peace, I am! If I kill people to do it, I’m reading the wrong manual!’
Willikins appeared silently, hefting the other corpse. ‘I was not privileged to know much about this young man,’ he said, as he carried him behind a rock. ‘We called him Spider, sir,’ he went on, straightening up. ‘He played the harmonica rather badly and spoke longingly of home. Will you be taking tea, sir? Private Smith is having a brew-up. Er…’ The butler coughed politely.
‘Yes, Willikins?’
‘I hardly like to broach the subject, sir…’
‘Broach it, man!’
‘Do you have such a thing as a biscuit about you, sir? I hesitate to provide tea without biscuits, but we have not eaten for two days.’
‘But you were on patrol!’
‘Forage party, sir.’ Willikins looked embarrassed.
Vimes was bewildered. ‘You mean Rust didn’t even wait to take on food?’
‘Oh, yes, sir. But as it transpired—’
‘We knew there was somethin’ wrong when the mutton barrels started to explode,’ muttered Private Bourke. ‘The biscuits was pretty lively too. Turned out bloody Rust’d bought a lot of stuff even a rag’ead wouldn’t eat—’
‘And we eat anything,’ said 71-hour Ahmed solemnly.
‘PRIVATE BOURKE YOU ORRIBLE MAN SPEAKIN OF YORE COMMANDIN OFFICER LIKE THAT YOU WILL BE ON A CHARGE I apologize, sir, but we are feeling a little faint.’
‘Long time between noses, eh?’ said 71-hour Ahmed.
‘Ahahaha, sir,’ said Willikins.
Vimes sighed. ‘Willikins… when you’ve finished, I want you and your men to come with me.’
‘Very good, sir.’
Vimes nodded at Ahmed.
‘And you too,’ he said. ‘Push has come to shove.’
The hot wind flapped the banners. The sunlight sparkled off the spears. Lord Rust surveyed his army and found that it was good. But small.
He leaned towards his adjutant.
‘Let us not forget, though, that even General Tacticus was outnumbered ten to one when he took the Pass of Al-Ibi,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir. Although I believe his men were all mounted on elephants, sir,’ said Lieutenant Hornett. ‘And had been well provisioned,’ he added meaningfully.
‘Possibly, possibly. But then Lord Pinwoe’s cavalry once charged the full might of the Pseudopolitan army and are renowned in song and story.’
‘But they were all killed, sir!’
‘Yes, yes, but it was a famous charge, nevertheless. And every child knows, do they not, the story of the mere one hundred Ephebians who defeated the entire Tsortean army? A total victory, hey? Hey?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the adjutant glumly.
‘Oh, you admit it?’
‘Yes, sir. Of course, some commentators believe the earthquake helped.’
‘At least you will admit that the Seven Heroes of Hergen beat the Big-Footed People although outnumbered by a hundred to one?’
‘Yes, sir. That was a nursery story, sir. It never really happened.’
‘Are you calling my nurse a liar, boy?’
‘No, sir,’ said Lieutenant Hornett hurriedly.
‘Then you’ll concede that Baron Mimbledrone single-handedly beat the armies of the Plum Pudding Country and ate their Sultana?’
‘I envy him, sir.’ The lieutenant looked at the lines again. The men were very hungry, although Rust would probably have called them sleek. Things would have been even worse if it hadn’t been for the fortuitous shower of boiled lobsters on the way over. ‘Er… you don’t think, sir, since we have a little time in hand, we should look to the disposition of the men, sir?’
‘They look well disposed to me. Plucky men, eager to be at the fray!’
‘Yes, sir. I meant… more… well… positioned, sir.’
‘Nothing wrong with ’em, man. Beautifully lined up! Hey? A wall of steel poised to thrust at the black heart of the Klatchian aggressor!’
‘Yes, sir. But — and I realize this is a remote chance, sir — it might be that while we’re thrusting at the heart of the Klatchian aggressor—’
‘—black heart—’ Rust corrected him.
‘—black heart of the Klatchian aggressor, sir, the arms of the Klatchian aggressor, those companies there and there, sir, will sweep around in the classic pincer movement.’
‘The thrusting wall of steel served us magnificently in the second war with Quirm!’
‘We lost that one, sir.’
‘But it was a damn close-run thing!’
‘We still lost, sir.’
‘What did you do as a civilian, lieutenant?’
‘I was a surveyor, sir, and I can read Klatchian. That’s why you made me an officer.’
‘So you don’t know how to fight?’
‘Only how to count, sir.’
‘Pah! Show a little courage, man. Although I’ll wager you won’t need to. No stomach for a battle, Johnny Klatchian. Once he tastes our steel, he’ll be off!’
‘I certainly hear what you say, sir,’ said the adjutant, who had been surveying the Klatchian lines and had formed his own opinion about the matter.
His opinion was this: the main force of the Klatchian army had, in recent years, been fighting everyone. That suggested, to his uncomplicated mind, that by now the surviving soldiers were the ones who were in the habit of being alive at the end of battles. And were also very experienced at facing all kinds of enemies. The stupid ones were dead.
The current Ankh-Morpork army, on the other hand, had never faced an enemy at all, although day-to-day experience of living in the city might count for something there, at least in the rougher areas. He believed, along with General Tacticus, that courage, bravery and the indomitable human spirit were fine things which nevertheless tended to take second place to the combination of courage, bravery, the indomitable human spirit and a six-to-one superiority of numbers.
It had all sounded straightforward in Ankh-Morpork, he thought. We were going to sail into Klatch and be in Al-Khali by teatime, drinking sherbet with pliant young women in the Rhoxi.{87} The Klatchians would take one look at our weapons and run away.
Well, the Klatchians had taken a good look this morning. So far they hadn’t run. They appeared to be sniggering a lot.