Read Online Discworld 30 - Monstrous Regiment by Terry Pratchett - Free Book Online
Authors: Terry Pratchett
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until—’ Polly began.
Strappi waved an angry finger at her. ‘You listen to me, Parts! You can’t get to be a great
country like Borogravia without making enemies! Which leads me on to Point Three, Parts,
who’s sitting there thinking he’s so smart. You all are. I can see it. Well, be smart about this:
you might not like everything about your country, eh? It might not be the perfect place, but
it’s ours. You might think we don’t have the best laws, but they’re ours. The mountains might
not be the prettiest ones or the tallest ones, but they’re ours. We’re fighting for what’s ours,
men!’ Strappi slammed his hand over his heart.
‘Awake, ye sons of the Motherland!
Taste no more the wine of the sour apples . . .’
They joined in, at various levels of drone. You had to. Even if you just opened and shut
your mouth, you had to. Even if you just went ‘ner, ner, ner’, you had to. Polly, who was
exactly the kind of person who looks around surreptitiously at times like these, saw that
Shufti was singing it word-perfectly and Strappi actually did have tears in his eyes. Wazzer
wasn’t singing at all. He was praying. That was a good wheeze, said one of the more
treacherous areas at the back of Polly’s mind.
To the bewilderment of all, Strappi continued - alone - all through the second verse, which
nobody ever remembered, and then gave them a smug, I’m-more-patriotic-than-you smile.
Afterwards, they tried to sleep on as much softness as two blankets could provide. They
lay there in silence for some time. Jackrum and Strappi had tents of their own, but
instinctively they knew that Strappi at least would be a sneaker and a listener at tent flaps.
After about an hour, when rain was drumming on the canvas, Carborundum said: ‘Okay,
den, I fink I’ve worked it out. If people are groophar stupid, then we’ll fight for groophar
stupidity, ‘cos it’s our stupidity. And dat’s good, yeah?’
Several of the squad sat up in the darkness, amazed at this.
‘I realize I ought to know these things, but what does “groophar” mean?’ said the voice of
Maladict in the damp darkness.
‘Ah, well . . . when, right, a daddy troll an’ a mummy troll—’
‘Good, right, yes, I think I’ve got it, thank you,’ said Maladict. ‘And what you’ve got there,
my friend, is patriotism. My country, right or wrong.’
‘You should love your country,’ said Shufti.
‘Okay, what part?’ the voice of Tonker demanded, from the far corner of the tent. ‘The
morning sunlight on the mountains? The horrible food? The damn mad Abominations? All of
my country except whatever bit Strappi is standing on?’
‘But we are at war!’
‘Yes, that’s where they’ve got you,’ sighed Polly.
‘Well, I’m not buying into it. It’s all trickery. They keep you down and when they piss off
some other country, you have to fight for them! It’s only your country when they want you to
get killed!’ said Tonker.
‘All the good bits in this country are in this tent,’ said the voice of Wazzer.
Embarrassed silence descended.
The rain settled in. After a while, the tent began to leak. Eventually someone said, ‘What
happens, um, if you join up but then you decide you don’t want to?’
That was Shufti.
‘I think it’s called deserting and they cut your head off,’ said the voice of Maladict. ‘In my
case that would be a drawback but you, dear Shufti, would find it puts a crimp in your social
life.’
‘I never kissed their damn picture,’ said Tonker. ‘I swivelled it round when Strappi wasn’t
looking and kissed it on the back!’
‘They’ll still say you kissed the Duchess, though,’ said Maladict.
‘You k-kissed the D-Duchess on the b-bottom?’ said Wazzer, horrified.
‘It was the back of the picture, okay?’ said Tonker. ‘It wasn’t her real backside. Huh,
wouldn’t have kissed it if it was!’ There was some unidentified sniggering
Strappi waved an angry finger at her. ‘You listen to me, Parts! You can’t get to be a great
country like Borogravia without making enemies! Which leads me on to Point Three, Parts,
who’s sitting there thinking he’s so smart. You all are. I can see it. Well, be smart about this:
you might not like everything about your country, eh? It might not be the perfect place, but
it’s ours. You might think we don’t have the best laws, but they’re ours. The mountains might
not be the prettiest ones or the tallest ones, but they’re ours. We’re fighting for what’s ours,
men!’ Strappi slammed his hand over his heart.
‘Awake, ye sons of the Motherland!
Taste no more the wine of the sour apples . . .’
They joined in, at various levels of drone. You had to. Even if you just opened and shut
your mouth, you had to. Even if you just went ‘ner, ner, ner’, you had to. Polly, who was
exactly the kind of person who looks around surreptitiously at times like these, saw that
Shufti was singing it word-perfectly and Strappi actually did have tears in his eyes. Wazzer
wasn’t singing at all. He was praying. That was a good wheeze, said one of the more
treacherous areas at the back of Polly’s mind.
To the bewilderment of all, Strappi continued - alone - all through the second verse, which
nobody ever remembered, and then gave them a smug, I’m-more-patriotic-than-you smile.
Afterwards, they tried to sleep on as much softness as two blankets could provide. They
lay there in silence for some time. Jackrum and Strappi had tents of their own, but
instinctively they knew that Strappi at least would be a sneaker and a listener at tent flaps.
After about an hour, when rain was drumming on the canvas, Carborundum said: ‘Okay,
den, I fink I’ve worked it out. If people are groophar stupid, then we’ll fight for groophar
stupidity, ‘cos it’s our stupidity. And dat’s good, yeah?’
Several of the squad sat up in the darkness, amazed at this.
‘I realize I ought to know these things, but what does “groophar” mean?’ said the voice of
Maladict in the damp darkness.
‘Ah, well . . . when, right, a daddy troll an’ a mummy troll—’
‘Good, right, yes, I think I’ve got it, thank you,’ said Maladict. ‘And what you’ve got there,
my friend, is patriotism. My country, right or wrong.’
‘You should love your country,’ said Shufti.
‘Okay, what part?’ the voice of Tonker demanded, from the far corner of the tent. ‘The
morning sunlight on the mountains? The horrible food? The damn mad Abominations? All of
my country except whatever bit Strappi is standing on?’
‘But we are at war!’
‘Yes, that’s where they’ve got you,’ sighed Polly.
‘Well, I’m not buying into it. It’s all trickery. They keep you down and when they piss off
some other country, you have to fight for them! It’s only your country when they want you to
get killed!’ said Tonker.
‘All the good bits in this country are in this tent,’ said the voice of Wazzer.
Embarrassed silence descended.
The rain settled in. After a while, the tent began to leak. Eventually someone said, ‘What
happens, um, if you join up but then you decide you don’t want to?’
That was Shufti.
‘I think it’s called deserting and they cut your head off,’ said the voice of Maladict. ‘In my
case that would be a drawback but you, dear Shufti, would find it puts a crimp in your social
life.’
‘I never kissed their damn picture,’ said Tonker. ‘I swivelled it round when Strappi wasn’t
looking and kissed it on the back!’
‘They’ll still say you kissed the Duchess, though,’ said Maladict.
‘You k-kissed the D-Duchess on the b-bottom?’ said Wazzer, horrified.
‘It was the back of the picture, okay?’ said Tonker. ‘It wasn’t her real backside. Huh,
wouldn’t have kissed it if it was!’ There was some unidentified sniggering
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