Soul Music - Terry Pratchett [100]
“This is the Klatchian Foreign Legion, offendi. People don’t talk about their past. They join up to…to…”
It dawned on Albert as the pause lengthened that it was up to him to get the conversation going again.
“Forget?”
“Right. Forget. Yes.”
“So have you have had any recent recruits who were a little, shall we say, odd?”
“Might have done,” said the voice slowly. “Can’t remember.”
The hatchway slammed shut.
Albert hammered on it again. The hatchway opened.
“Yes, what is it?”
“Are you sure you can’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
Albert took a deep breath.
“I demand to see your commanding officer!”
The hatch shut. The hatch opened.
“Sorry. It appears that I am my commanding officer. You’re not a D’reg or a Hershebian, are you?”
“Don’t you know?”
“I’m…pretty sure I must have done. Once. You know how it is…head like…thing, you know…With holes in…You drain lettuce in it…er…”
There was the sound of bolts being pulled back, and a wicket door opened in the gateway.
The possible officer was a sergeant, insofar as Albert was at all familiar with Klatchian ranks. He had the look about him of someone who, among the things he couldn’t remember, would include a good night’s sleep. If he could remember to.
There were a few other Klatchian soldiers inside the fort, sitting or, just barely, standing. Many were bandaged. And there was a rather greater number of soldiers slumped or lying on the packed sand who’d never need a night’s sleep ever again.
“What’s been happening here?” said Albert. His tone was so authoritative that the sergeant found himself saluting.
“We were attacked by D’regs, sir,” he said, swaying slightly. “Hundreds of them! They outnumbered us…er…what’s the number after nine? Got a one in it.”
“Ten.”
“Ten to one, sir.”
“I see you survived, though,” said Albert.
“Ah,” said the sergeant. “Yes. Er. Yes. That’s where it all gets a bit complicated, in fact. Er. Corporal? That’s you. No, you just next to him. The one with the two stripes?”
“Me?” said a small fat soldier.
“Yes. Tell him what happened.”
“Oh. Right. Er. Well, the bastards had shot us full of arrows, right? An’ it looked like it was all up with us. Then someone suggested sticking bodies up on the battlements with their spears and crossbows and everything so’s the bastards’d think we was still up to strength—”
“It’s not an original idea, mind you,” said the sergeant. “Been done dozens of times.”
“Yeah,” said the corporal awkwardly. “That’s what they must’ve thought. And then…and then…when they was galloping down the sand dunes…when they was almost on us, laughing and everything, saying stuff like ‘that old trick again’…someone shouted fire and they did.”
“The dead men—?”
“I joined the Legion to…er…you know, with your mind…” the corporal began.
“Forget?” said Albert.
“That’s right. Forget. And I’ve been getting good at it. But I’m not going to forget my old mate Nudger Malik stuck full of arrows and still giving the enemy what for,” said the corporal.
“Not for a long time. I’m going to give it a try, mind you.”
Albert looked up at the battlements. They were empty.
“Someone formed ’em up in formation and they all marched out, afterwards,” said the corporal. “And I went out to look later just now and there was just graves. They must have dug them for one another…”
“Tell me,” said Albert, “who is this ‘someone’ to whom you keep referring?”
The soldiers looked at one another.
“We’ve just been talking about that,” said the sergeant. “We’ve been trying to remember. He was in…the Pit…when it started…”
“Tall, was he?” said Albert.
“Could have been tall, could have been tall,” nodded the corporal. “He had a tall voice, certainly.” He looked puzzled at the words coming out of his own mouth.
“What did he look like?”
“Well, he had a…with…and he was about…more or less a…”
“Did he look…loud and deep?” said Albert.
The corporal grinned with relief. “That’s him,” he said. “Private…Private…Beau…Beau…can’t quite remember his name…”
“I know that when he walked out of the…” the sergeant began, and began to snap his fingers