Monstrous Regiment (Discworld, #31; Industrial Revolution, #3)

by Terry Pratchett

It was said to be a wonder of the world, except that very few people around here ever wondered much about anything and were barely aware of the world.

Most of the vampire families were highly nobby. You never knew who was connected to who…not just to who, in fact, but to whom. “Whoms” were likely to be far more trouble that your common, everyday “who.”

There had been half a dozen men in that party of returning heroes. They must have been trekking with gray-faced patience for days, making their way back to little villages in the mountains. Polly counted nine arms and ten legs between them, and ten eyes. But it was the apparently whole who were worse, in a way. They kept their stinking coats buttoned tight, in lieu of bandages over whatever unspeakable mess lay beneath, and they had the smell of death about them. The inn’s regulars made space for them, and talked quietly, like people in a sacred place. Her father, not usually a man given to sentiment, quietly put a generous tot of brandy into each mug of ale, and refused all payment. Then it turned out that they were carrying letters from soldiers still fighting, and one of them had brought the letter from Paul. He pushed it across the table to Polly as she served them stew, and then, with very little fuss, he died.

“You signed up, Mr. Bloodsucker! You obey orders!” “Right! But I don’t remember anyone ordering me not to think!”

And keep out of the way of officers, ’cos they ain’t healthy. That’s what you learn in the army. The enemy dun’t really want to fight you, ’cos the enemy is mostly blokes like you who want to go home with all their bits still on. But officers’ll get you killed.”

if you couldn’t trust the government, who could you trust? Very nearly everyone, come to think of it…

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

he was teaching Wazzer some of the finer points of using a high-performance pistol crossbow, especially the one about not turning around with it cocked and saying “w-what is this bit for, Sarge?” Wazzer handled weapons like a houseproud woman disposing of a dead mouse—at arm’s length and trying not to look.

He’s a sergeant, and they don’t deserve no respect at all, sir. I should know. They’re cunning and artful, if they’re any good. I wouldn’t mind if he was an officer, sir. But sergeants are clever.”

The change in the man was a whole-body event. He seemed to get smaller, as if every cell had said “oh dear” very quietly to itself.

“You know what most of the milit’ry training is, Perks?” he went on. “All that yelling from little spitbubs like Strappi? It’s to turn you into a man who will, on the word of command, stick his blade into some poor sod just like him who happens to be wearing the wrong uniform. He’s like you, you’re like him. He doesn’t really want to kill you, you don’t really want to kill him. But if you don’t kill him first, he’ll kill you. That’s the start and finish of it.

I know sparrows from starlings. After that, everything’s a duck, as far as I’m concerned.”

Aren’t you Sergeant Jack Ram?” “Jackrum, sir. And I’ll thank you for not writing my name down in your little book, sir.” “Sorry, Sergeant, but that’s my job,” said de Worde breezily. “I have to write things down.” “Well, sir, soldierin’ is my job,” said Jackrum, climbing onto the cart and gathering up the reins. “But you’ll note how at this moment in time I am not killin’ you. Let’s go, eh?”

All that rubbish he gave your man was death-or-glory stuff. And I’ll tell you, Perks, I’ve seen Death more often than I care to remember, but I’ve never clapped eyes on Glory.

The presence of those seeking the truth is infinitely to be preferred to the presence of those who think they’ve found it.

“And yet you have acquired beef?” “Er…yes, sir. Er…when that writer man came up in his cart, well, when you were talking, er, I crept around and took a look inside…” “There’s a name for someone who does that sort of thing, Private,” said Blouse severely. “Yeah, it’s quartermaster, Shufti. Well done,” said Jackrum.

This is completely true. For I am Quatermaster. We acquire what our troops need, otherwise, the troops go without and we can't have that..

it is always upsetting to find that the enemy is as bright as you.

So…whatever it is you are going to do next, do it as you. Good or bad, do it as you. Too many lies and there’s no truth to go back to.”