Well, the Summer Holidays are almost over, but since most of my friends are scattered across the country, I have had nothing to do. So, I have read too many books (including Sharpe and Discworld), watched too much TV (including Spooks, or MI5 as Americans may know it), and read too many University reading list books (including far too much on International Diplomacy), and the resulting whirlwind in my head took the form of this fic. It is all Discworld, with influences from all of the above, and... well, I guess you should judge for yourself if it is a normal whirlwind, or a freak whirlwind that does good (such as redecorating the Watch House)...

And many apologise to the memory of Karl Von Clausewitz for the butchering of his famous line for the title

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, or at least nothing anyone else would want. All the good stuff belongs to Pratchett, all praise to him.

The snow was thick on the ground as Sergeant Angua and Constable von Humpeding crossed the Brass Bridge. The normal reaction of the city to a fresh fall of snow was to run a few dozen carts over it, maybe a couple of traps and several score pedestrians, to create an odd mix of slush and slurry that passed for snow in Ankh-Morpork. Today, however, the snow had frozen before it had finished falling, giving the streets a layer of ice with a sprinkling of snow on top to hide it. The two undead officers weren't even on duty yet, but had already broken up three ugly fights resulting from road accidents.

"So just to get this straight," Sally von Humpeding was saying, "Commander Vimes has banned any talking about formal events other than the day before them?"

"Unofficially," Angua confirmed. "There was a time when the only thing people could talk about were the Ducal tights. Although Lance Constable Hasenfield's little episode did wonders for stopping that for a while."

"What did he do?"

Angua grinned.

"He put a pair of red tights on Vimes' desk. Well, he tried to. Commander Vimes has certain views on people getting into his office without his knowing, and most of these involve the person being immobilised until he comes in for work. Ever been suspended upside down above a floor covered in steel caltrops by a string originally used to tie up a scroll?"

"You know, that is one experience missing from my portfolio," Sally replied.

"Well, Lance Constable Hasenfield has."

"Ouch."

"No, that came when the string snapped."

Sally actually flinched, and Angua smiled slightly at catching the vampire out. They walked under the archway into the coach yard of the Watch House (and at the peak of the arch was pinned a piece of Holly, alongside a sign saying 'Strictly no Fraternisation'), and then through a back door into what was, technically, the Woman's locker room. In fact, there were only 3 women in the watch, but since there were 8 openly female dwarves, a vampire and a werewolf both of the female persuasion, and 5 female trolls, Commander Vimes had ensured that the locker room was on a similar scale to the male version.

Angua hit the row of lockers at exactly the right place and all of the doors sprang open. She walked along them, closing all of them until she reached the last two. She reached into her own and pulled out her breastplate, helmet, and chainmail. She put the more armoured part of her uniform on over the drab brown clothes, and then buckled on her sword belt.

Sally, who was just buckling the last strap on her armour, asked,

"Why do you even bother with a sword? You can tear a man's throat out if the fancy takes you, why carry some dead weight?"

Angua shrugged.

"A sword is for having. Someone sees a sword and is less keen to raise the stakes. Anyway," she added, "Commander Vimes likes to have people who know how to use a weapon on hand to teach the recruits. What fun that is."

"It must take a lot of effort to remain so cynical of everything." Sally said.

"It takes practise," Angua replied.

The two women walked into the corridor behind the main office, and heard the noise. The modern watch produced almost as much noise as it did paperwork; people shouting about some crime (as often as not a perceived crime rather than a genuine one), people shouting about knowing their rights, people shouting to be heard over the shouting… the sensitive hearing of the werewolf and vampire had to shut down to stop going insane.

"No, no, owning a Paint Horse in Park Drive is not a crime, I'm sorry…"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask your to leave… oh, for the Gods sakes… someone get Sergeant Detritus!"

"No, sir, The Bloody Stupidity Act doesn't cover crossing the road…"

"Ma'am, we can't release your gardener, he killed someone… yes, yes, dwarves are indeed protected by the law… then write to your damn MP…"

"MP?" Sally asked Angua as they climbed the stairs away from the noise.

"Member of Parliament." Angua replied shortly.

"But the last Parliament was hundreds of years ago…"

"Yeah, telling someone to write to their MP is the same as telling them to go to Hell, or that you don't give a damn… basically telling them what it feels like to be a Watchman."

The two women paused outside the Commander's office, straightening shirts and rubbing patches of dirt off breastplates. Before a Hogswatch Ball, Vimes was always in a foul mood and looked for any reason to spread it around.

Angua raised her fist, and knocked on the door.

"Yes?" Vimes shouted. Angua raised her eyebrows at Sally and took the single syllable as permission to enter.

Commander Vimes was sitting behind his desk. His breastplate was polished, a rare occurrence, and on his desk was a helmet. With a plume. His expression said very clearly that any mention of either item would lead to a quick spell patrolling Quarry Lane.

This balancing act was always difficult for Sally. On the one hand, biting her lip was a great way to keep silent and not burst out laughing. On the other hand, with teeth as sharp as a vampire's and her taste for blood, she couldn't risk breaking the skin.

Sally found it as no surprise that Angua had mastered keeping a totally straight face in these circumstances. She had marched into the room and come to a halt with military precision, and thrown a perfect salute, helmet held under one arm, eyes on a point above Vimes' head. Exactly the kind of manoeuvre designed to piss Vimes off without giving him a reason for anger.

"Sergeant," Vimes said, slowly and carefully, "do that again, and I promise you, you will see corporal before the end of the day."

Of course, Vimes didn't need a reason.

Angua lowered her gaze and relaxed her posture until she was looking at her Commander and in the Watchman's slouch rather than soldier's attentive stand. Sally followed suit, standing perhaps slightly more attentively, showing the difference in their experience of Vimes.

The Commander watched them both for a long moment. Then he leant forward and looked at a paper on his desk.

"Right," he said after a moment. "Angua, you need to get down to the Lisle Brothers warehouse in the North Docks, Carrot is already there. There was a break in; a shipment bound for the Palace was stolen. Probably diplomatic papers or some other rubbish," he added derisively.

"Carrot's already there? When did he come on duty?" Angua asked. Vimes looked at her with an expression that said 'more to the point, when did he last go off duty?'. Angua shrugged slightly in acknowledgement, saluted casually, and left. Vimes turned to Sally.

"And you, Constable... do you know an Albrecht Drakule?"

Sally blinked.

"Sir?"

"Albrecht Drakule. Have you heard of him?"

"Um... yes, sir. Black Ribboner, twelve years under the Ribbon, lodges at Mrs Cake's boarding house, can't seem to stay in a job."

"Very good. You'll probably be meeting him today. He always complains about workplace hazards; you're on Front Desk Duty."