Read Online The Rogue Crew by Brian Jacques - Free Book Online Page A

nodded modestly. “You’ve got the makin’s of h’a good ’eavyweight, bucko. By the time this march is over, with h’a spot o’ my trainin’, there won’t be many who’ll fancy standin’ agin’ ye!”
    When Miggory gave the order to form up and march, the younger hares obeyed with alacrity. Admiration and a new respect for the grizzled veteran shone in all their eyes.
    Buff Redspore joined Captain Rake. “Patrol’s marchin’ well, sah. I don’t think there’ll be any more complaints after the sergeant’s little exhibition, wot?”
    The captain agreed with her. “Aye, a lesson learned is a wee bit o’ knowledge gained, Ah ken!”
    Behind them, Trug Bawdsley and Wilbee started a marching song.
    â€œThese are the days, mates, these are the days, obey the sergeant’s orders, do what the officer says, your paws’ll grow much tougher, march another mile, a stroll with the Long Patrol . . . Salamandastron style!
    Â 
    â€œOne two, left right, tunics buttoned tight,
    O Sergeant, dear, please lend an ear. . . . What’s for supper tonight?
    Â 
    â€œThere’s sand between me paws, mates, an’ blowin’ up me nose, covered in dust’n’sweat, I ain’t smellin’ like a rose, totin’ a blinkin’ backpack that weighs down all the while, true blue, forward the buffs . . . Salamandastron style!
    Â 
    â€œChin up, eyes front, shoulders good’n’square, show us a scurvy vermin, we’ll knock him flat right there!
    Â 
    â€œTake me out o’ barracks, march me out o’ doors, o’er hills an’ mountains, across the dunes an’ shores, forget your mothers’ weepin’, smile, me bucko, smile, don’t look sick, that’s the trick . . . Salamandastron style!”
    The column made good time that day. Late spring weather held fair; larks wheeled and soared on the cool air. Without breaking ranks, some of the haremaids managed to pick scarlet pimpernel and crane’s-bill blossoms on the march. Neither the sergeant nor Lieutenant Scutram objected to seeing them wear the dainty flowers as buttonholes. To the west, the vast sea shimmered in the noonday sun, lapping the flat golden shore sands. Small early grasshoppers chirruped, leaping to either side as the Patrol marched by. Evening fell in a blaze of carmine glory as the sun sank below the western horizon. Buff Redspore chose a sheltered campsite in a hollow between three dunes, where campfires would be hardly visible by night.
    The tracker was an excellent cook, as was Lancejack Sage. Between them, they produced a fine spring vegetable stew. Flatbread was baked on slates fixed over the fire. With a beaker of dandelion cordial, it made a very appetizing supper. At one point, young Ferrul gulped, holding her throat and coughing. Corporal Welkin glanced up from his stew.
    â€œOh, dear, too hot for you, miss?”
    Ferrul pulled a wry face. “No, Corporal. I think I’ve swallowed one of those small grasshopper thingies!”
    Welkin held up a cautionary paw. “Hush, now, or they’ll all want one, you lucky gel!”
    After supper the hares dug out cloaks from their packs and lay down. There was much shoving to see who could get closest to the fire, until Captain Rake was heard to whisper loudly to Miggory, “Sergeant, tell those beasties sleepin’ nearest the fire et’s their duty tae keep it burnin’ through the nicht. They can form a rota tae gather firewood when ’tis needed.”
    There followed a deal of scuffling. Suddenly there was ample room for anybeast to sleep near the flames. Miggory tapped the footpaws of two hares whom he had chosen for the task.
    â€œBawdsley, Wilbee, yore h’on firewood duty t’night. Lie easy, there ain’t much needed for h’a while.”
    It was an hour or two past midnight when Wilbee nudged Trug Bawdsley.
    â€œEr, I