Monstrous Regiment by Terry Pratchett Page A

And he was bewildered by Igor. The little man did whatever stupid chore Strappi found for him, and he did them quickly, competently, and with every impression of someone happy in his work, and that left the corporal completely mystified.
    He’d pick on the others for no reason at all, harangue them until they made some trivial mistake, and then bawl them out. His target of choice was Private Goom, better known as Wazzer, who was stick-thin and round-eyed and nervous and said grace loudly before meals. By the end of the first day, Strappi could make him throw up just by shouting. And then he’d laugh.
    Only he never really laughed , Polly noted. What you got instead was a sort of harsh gargling of spit at the back of the throat, a noise like ghnssssh.
    The presence of the man cast a damper on everything. Jackrum seldom interfered. He often watched Strappi, though, and once, when Polly caught his eye, he winked.
    On the first night, a tent was shouted by Strappi off the cart and shouted up and, after a supper of stale bread and sausage had been shouted, they were shouted in front of a blackboard, to be shouted at.
    Across the top of the board, Strappi had written:

    What We Are Fighting For

    and down the side had written:
1.
2.
3.
    “Right, pay attention!” he said, slapping the board with a stick. “There’s some who think that you boys ought to know why we are fighting this war, okay? Well, here it comes. Point One, remember the town of Lipz? It was viciously attacked by Zlobenian troops a year ago! They—”
    “Sorry, but I thought we attacked Lipz, didn’t we, Corporal? Last year, they said—” Shufti began.
    “Are you trying to be smart, Private Manickle?” Strappi demanded, naming the biggest sin in his personal list.
    “Just want to know, Corporal,” said Shufti. He was stocky, running to plump, and one of those people who bustled about being helpful in a mildly annoying way, taking over small jobs that you wouldn’t have minded doing for yourself. There was something odd about him, although you had to bear in mind he was currently sitting next to Wazzer, who had enough odd for everybody and was probably contagious…
    …and had caught Strappi’s eye. There was no fun in having a go at Shufti, but Wazzer, now, Wazzer was always worth a shout.
    “Are you listening , Private Goom?” he screamed.
    Wazzer, who had been sitting and looking up with his eyes closed, jerked awake.
    “Corporal?” he quavered, as Strappi advanced.
    “I said , are you listening, Goom?”
    “Yes, Corporal!” moaned Wazzer, shaking with fear.
    “ Really? And what did you hear, may I ask?” said Strappi in a voice of treacle and acid.
    “Nothing, Corporal! She’s not speaking!”
    Strappi took a deep, delighted breath of evil air.
    “You are a useless, worthless pile of—”
    There was a sound. It was a small, nondescript sound, one that you heard every day, a noise that did its job but never expected to be, for example, whistled or part of an interesting sonata. It was simply the sound of stone scraping on metal.
    On the other side of the fire, Jackrum lowered his cutlass. He had a sharpening stone in his other hand. He returned their group stare.
    “What? Oh. Just maintaining the edge,” he said innocently. “Sorry if I interrupted your flow there, Corporal. Carry on.”
    A basic animal survival instinct came to the corporal’s aid. He left the trembling Wazzer alone, and turned back to Shufti.
    “Yes, yes, we attacked Lipz, too—” said Strappi.
    “Was that before the Zlobenians did?” said Maladict.
    “Will you listen?” Strappi demanded. “We valiantly attacked Lipz to reclaim what is Borogravian territory! And then the treacherous swede-eaters stole it back—”
    Polly tuned out a little at this point, now that there was no immediate prospect of seeing Strappi decapitated. She knew about Lipz. Half the old men who came and drank with her father had attacked the place. But no one had expected them to