A/N: Sorry for such a long wait, but things have been very hectic what with starting my first term at uni and trying not to fail it (always a good plan!). Its been so busy in fact that I can't quite believe it's almost Easter already, and though I should really be working instead of writing this, I couldn't let anymore time pass without doing something vaguely creative! Thanks for the interest I got in this random story, it really encouraged me…all the reviews were MOST welcome. One extra thing to say is well done to the person who picked up about the 95th regiment…it is my own little tribute to the Sharpe series of which I am the most rabid fan.

One extra point…I'll now be trying to incorporate some war-slang into my writing, to add some extra realism (goodness knows this needs it!). Any terms I use will be explained in a glossary at the end of each chapter, as will any terms that might not be known to those who haven't studied this period in history.

Warning: Most definitely an AU universe, the Ankh-Morpork Guild of Merchants will not be happy. Also, these bluff soldiering folk can get a bit rough in their language…so try to humour them!

Disclaimer: Although I would love to have half of PTerry's writing talent and success, I'm quite happy being an 18 year old girl rather than a middle-aged man…even if that means I own none of these characters.


Chapter Two

"Sir, why Sergeant Nobbs…does he handle supply requests?" Carrot asked Vimes' back as he followed him down the trench.

"In a more informal capacity that what you're thinking, but yes." Vimes replied wryly. "There's always somewhere to find what is needed, and Nobbs is an expert in liberating the necessary supplies…especially if the person concerned isn't going to be needing the item anymore."

"You don't mean the Sergeant is a looter sir!"

Private Carrot put the same emphasis on the word looter that Vimes put on the words 'High Command', though the older man doubted he could match the sheer astonishment in the boy's tone that was to earnest to be feigned. Carrot pulled a well-thumbed book out of his pocket. With surprise Vimes realised it was the British Manual of Military Law, something seldom seen on the front lines and only then in the hands of such officers needing to refer to it for field punishments.

"According to Part 1, Section 40 of the manual: 'Every person subject to military law who commits the following offences ; that is to say, is guilty of any act, conduct, disorder, or neglect, to the prejudice of good order and military discipline, shall on conviction by court-martial be liable, if a soldier, to suffer imprisonment, or such less punishment as is in this Act mentioned', sir."

Vimes, still astounded by the way Carrot had seemed only to need one breath for his verbatim quoting of the rules, realised the boy was looking up at him with the eager expression of all young recruits who still thought officers could solve all problems. Vimes sighed, thinking of how to frame his response. On the one hand, the boy badly needed to be told how things worked in this place, so far from the civilised world in which the rules had been written. On the other hand, Vimes still dimly remembered what it felt like to live in world without so many damning shades of grey, before life at the front lines had dirtied more than just his body. He tried to explain this to Carrot but, despite the ready 'yes sir's' from the private, the slightly glazed eyes let him know his point wasn't getting across.

"As commanding officer, I will decide whether Sergeant Nobbs' actions ever warrant punishment. And before you pass judgment Private, you should remember there's many a widow who would be without a final keepsake to remember her husband by, if not for the Sergeant."

Vimes could tell Carrot was still doubtful, but the boy only turned and returned the book to his pocket. Vimes hoped the private would keep his mouth shut. It would be hard enough for him to accustom himself to life on the front lines, without the hostility he would get from the other soldiers if they kept having rules quoted at them.

Rounding a turn in the trench, Vimes came across his missing Sergeants organising his motley rank into some semblance of order. Wanting to stay, but remembering the treacherous pile of paperwork on his desk already being turned illegible by dripping water, Vimes turned Carrot over to Sergeant Colon.

"Introduce him to the squad Fred," he said, indicating the boy behind him. "Hopefully this time the Hun will hold off long enough for it this time."

Turning to leave, Vimes shouted over his shoulder, "I'll be in the glory-hole if you need me…try not to need me."


Carrot turned from his salute (directed at the departing Captain's back) to look down at Sergeant Colon, who was trying to appear benevolent.

"I better introduce you to the rest of the lads…"

"Them that are left, you mean," interjected Sergeant Nobbs.

Colon ignored this in that special way that meant it was going to be remembered and slowly fermented into a nice grudge. He looked reassuringly at Carrot's upper arm…that being the only bit of the private he could see without craning his head back to an angle he was sure didn't become a senior officer.

"You'll soon feel right at home, we'll all try to make you feel welcome for as long as you're here."

At this, Colon stopped and looked guilty, as if he had let slip something he shouldn't have.

"Sergeant Nobbs you've already met," he continued hurriedly. "We all just call him Nobby, as long as no officer from another regiment is in earshot."

Carrot regarded the short man doubtfully. The recruiting officer in his village, Sergeant Varnashi, had told him that soldiers should try always to look their best whilst wearing the uniform which represented King and Country. Sergeant Nobbs looked like he was trying to represent the country, in as detailed way as possible. Carrot knew there were several regulations in the book Sergeant Varnashi had given him relating to the proper care of uniform that he thought Sergeant Nobbs would find most useful, but after his talk with Captain Vimes, he decided not to mention them for the time being.

"Sergeant Nobbs," Carrot began formally, "Captain Vimes said I should speak to you about obtaining a box respirator."

Nobby sidled over.

"Yeah, I think I can lay my hands on one of them for you. Call it a gift to welcome you to the squad, especially as you wouldn't be with us long without one. If you need anything another time, you'll find my prices quite reasonable."

Carrot assumed Nobby was smirking at him…at any rate, some of the dirt around his mouth changed position a little. Colon reinserted himself into the conversation.

"Here is the rest of the rank." He said, with a gesture.

It had to be a large gesture, even though it only had to encompass the two remaining members of the 95th. This was because, while one of the men was shorter that Nobby, the other managed to be both taller and broader than Carrot. The giant, who was definitely solid muscle rather than fat, slowly lifted one arm in a ponderous salute.

"Private Detritus," he said with an easy smile. "Call me Troll."

"And I'm Cuddy," chimed in the shorter man. "I keep this big fella pointed the right way when we charge, and in return he makes a better target than I do."

Troll shook Carrot's outstretched hand in the careful manner of a man who knows he can forget his own strength.

"Did you enlist together?" Carrot asked, heartened by the easy camaraderie the two men displayed.

Troll laughed.

"Not exactly. Our families don't get on. When the two meet, it's like little pebbles bouncing before a ton of rock crashes on your head."

"And then some!" added Cuddy. "We gave the Captain a share of headaches when we first arrived."

"Then how…?" Carrot began, looking puzzled. A serious expression settled momentarily over Cuddy's face.

"Well, this war has a way of making you forget about things like that."

Cuddy, seeing Carrot still looked curious, glanced round the trench to make sure all looked quiet.

"This looks as good a time for a story as any. You got any objections to me telling it Troll?"

"Nah, you're the talker. I'll say my part if I need to." Troll dropped into a sitting position, leaning back against the trench wall.

"Better sit. When he gets going…" he said, glancing amiably at Cuddy and Carrot. The two other men sat down, Cuddy pointedly ignoring the comment as he cleared his throat to begin.


o0o

As nightmare flashes rent the night sky, cuddy tripped over something half-buried in the slurry and fell sprawling. He hit the edge of a shell crater, which collapsed under his weight and tipped him down into its depths until he landed in the morass of mud and water collected in the bottom. Wiping the sludge from his eyes, cuddy dragged his way partly up the side, as far out of the water as he could get. His breath misted in the frigid night air, and the cutting wind infiltrated his now wet clothing. The misfortune simply reinforced his deep hatred of night attacks. They were always bloody shambles, and never achieved their main objective, that of catching the German troops off guard. As Cuddy clasped his arms around him, in a futile effort to hold in some warmth and stop his shivers, another bursting shell cast its fitful light over No Man's Land. In its brief illumination, Cuddy caught sight of a battered shape in an army uniform lying near him. He crawled nearer and, as the next burst cast light on the man's face, Cuddy realised who his companion was.

"Troll," he cursed bitterly.

Cuddy's family and the family of Private Detritus had been involved in an ongoing feud for longer than either family could recall. The original event that started the battle could only be dimly remembered, but all knew it was to do with the ownership of land in Koome Valley, ownership being claimed by both sides. Ordinarily, despite signing up at the same recruiting station, Cuddy and Detritus would not necessarily have encountered each other during the duration of the war. Unfortunately for them however, they had both ended up being shunted into the 95th after both their regiments had suffered heavy losses and been broken up rather than reformed. The situation was doubly unlucky due to the much reduced size of the 95th itself, as it prevented the two men from avoiding each other, as they might have been able to in a larger unit. Neither man had been there long, but both had already been disciplined by Captain Vimes when their simmering antagonism had boiled over into physical violence on more than one occasion.

And now they were stuck together. As cuddy crawled closer, the other man groaned and rolled towards him. Cuddy then saw the blood that stained the front of his uniform, glistening black in the sharp shell light. Cuddy cursed again, and the sound caused Detritus to turn his head to see.

"You…" he slurred, voice made thick by pain and cold.

Cuddy could see the blood was still flowing sluggishly from a hole in the cloth covering Troll's left thigh, and that the man's shivers were beginning to slow. For a long moment Cuddy hesitated, frozen by indecision. He knew that there were two choices laid before him, and that one of these would involve simply waiting for the inevitable. Detritus obviously though the choice had already been made, for he closed his eyes in resignation and turned his mud-streaked face away. It was this movement that made up Cuddy's mind. He'd be damned if he would fulfil the expectations of a Detritus. He crawled towards the larger man and hauled him into a sitting position, gratified by the expression of surprise on his face.

"I may hate you Troll, but I won't leave you to die." Cuddy muttered, tearing strips off the bottom of his slightly drier shirt. He wadded one into a pad and used the other to tie this tightly to the wound, ignoring Troll's oath of pain as the makeshift bandage was pulled tight.

"What happened…you too thick to point your gun properly?" Cuddy goaded, despite himself. "Leave it to a Detritus to shoot himself instead of the enemy."

"Shut up dwarf. I may not be smart, but at least I'm not some runt not strong enough to climb out of the hole he falls into."

This smarted. Cuddy knew he would not be able to scramble up the sheer, muddy sides of the crater without some help, but he bristled at the implication that this was due to his size or strength.

"If you're so anxious to leave, go ahead," he spat. "I'm sure a big brute like you would have no trouble getting out. What…you still here? What's the matter, don't you know which direction is out?"

Silence was Cuddy's only answer. He looked curiously at Troll, wondering why the man hadn't risen to his jibe. He took in the big man's pallor and closed eyes and quickly reached over, shaking him roughly. Troll opened his eyes sluggishly to look at his tormentor.

"What's wrong with you? You can't fall asleep, not in this icy muck," Cuddy hissed, panic shading his tone almost imperceptibly. He watched Troll as the man obviously made an effort, then began to drift again as shock and cold began to reassert themselves. Cuddy shifted uncomfortably, then reached out. Pulling Troll more fully out of the mire in the bottom of the crater, he settled the man against his side and wrapped his arms around him in an effort to pool their scant heat.

"We aren't going anywhere until dawn when this attack lets up, and you're not going to bloody die on me until we get back. Old Stoneface would only think I'd killed you otherwise."

Cuddy tried to hide the concern in his voice and hold on to his hatred but, crouched in a dirty shell hole with the sounds of battle with the sounds of war raging above and around them, the family's squabbles had never seemed further away.

"We have to break the family tradition and start talking…maybe then we'll forget it's as cold as a meat locker in here, and you'll be able to stay awake."

There was a long silence, through which Cuddy waited anxiously, before Troll finally spoke.

"Never been good with words," he said haltingly, "Only numbers."

"Numbers?"

"They make sense."

"So tell me," Cuddy ventured. "What can you do with numbers?"

There was another long pause then Troll began again, punctuating his words with symbols drawn in the mud by his side, his voice getting stronger and more sure as he went.

"We must assume the shells fired cover the exact distance of No Man's Land, and that the next shell is fired as the first one bursts. By counting the seconds between the sound of shells firing we would then know the time taken for the shell to cover a known distance. This allows us to calculate the average speed of a shell by working out the distance divided by the time."

Cuddy sat in a stunned silence, and not just because this was the longest sentence he had ever heard the other man say. As dawn began to lighten the horizon, Cuddy heard more mathematical theory than he thought existed, and the mud beside them grew thick with drawn equations. Finally, as the day brightened overhead, the sounds of battle that had been raging above died down. Cuddy shook himself out of his stupor and held up a hand to stop Troll.

"Should be safe to head back to the lines now, come on."

Cuddy stood up, wincing at the protests of his stiffened muscles. He then turned to offer Troll his hand. Hauling with all his strength Cuddy helped Troll to his feet, flinging one of the man's arms over his shoulder as he supported Troll round his waist. Cuddy could see Troll was shaking and could put no weight on his wounded leg.

"I…I can't get us up the side," Cuddy admitted.

Troll looked at Cuddy, seemingly weighing him up, then up at the rim of the shell crater. He then picked Cuddy up bodily, ignoring the man's protests, and flung him hard upwards. The effort caused him to collapse back into the mud with a groan, but he saw Cuddy hit the top of the hole, close enough to scramble over the edge. His head then reappeared over the rim.

"I'll be back soon with help."


Troll watched Cuddy's face disappear once more. He couldn't help wondering whether Cuddy would keep his promise, but realised he felt guilty for doing so. He still couldn't quite believe the other man had stayed with him throughout the night. Troll knew that had kept his alive, as alone he would never have been able to fight off the black tendrils of pain, fatigue and cold that without Cuddy's presence had begun to drag at him yet again. To distract himself, Troll began to draw more equations in the mud, far more complicated than any he had explained during the night. He let the trail of proofs and calculus carry him far away from where his body lay.

He was shocked from his concentration when a slither of mud slid down, followed by two soldiers. They carefully pulled him to his feet, then man-handled him out of the shell hole, leaving the formulae smeared into obscurity behind them.


Cuddy smiled despite himself as Troll's mud-spattered form loomed over the rim of the crater. He smiled wider when he saw the half-hidden look of grateful surprise on the big private's face. Cuddy rushed over to take over supporting him, leaving the two soldiers to seek out others in need of aid.

"Let's get back," Cuddy grunted as he staggered under the weight of Troll's stumbling form. "I can't wait to see what Old Stoneface's expression is when we come in together."

"Thanks Cuddy," Troll rumbled in his ear.

"Don't mention it." Cuddy paused, then continued, placing an entire peace proposal into four words. "What are friends for?"

Cuddy felt Troll chuckle, then begin to laugh.

"Our families will never forgive us," Troll ventured. This made Cuddy laugh just as hard.

When the collapsed back into the home trench Cuddy began shouting for a medic before propping Troll up on the fire step. He happily took in the identical looks of shock on the faces of the two sergeants, then stole a look towards Vimes. Cuddy felt an unexpected sense of pleasure seeing the small smile twitching the corners of his Captain's mouth. As the stretcher bearers appeared to take Troll back to the field hospital, Vimes stepped over to the two soldiers.

"I'm proud of you both," he said simply, then turned and walked away down the line of the trench.

o0o


By the time Cuddy and Troll finished their tale, night was shadowing the sky. Colon had bustled round and now everyone was clasping battered tin mugs of hot, twice-boiled tea. Carrot looked around at the men he would be spending the future years of his life fighting alongside. Cuddy's hand clapped down on his shoulder.

"We'll look after you. Soon you'll be telling us your own stories."

"Right," Nobby echoed. "And Vimes will keep you alive if he can…not like some bloody officers."

He tossed a battered box to Carrot.

"There's your respirator. Take good care of it, they're a bugger to lay hands on."

Carrot nodded his thanks, still thinking Nobby might benefit from knowing what happened to thieves in his village. Despite this, he took his new Captain's advice and kept his thoughts to himself. Taking another swallow of tea, Carrot sat back on the duckboards, trying not to be excited about the war that stretched ahead of him. What he had encountered so far was not quite the daring adventure Sergeant Varnashi had described, but he was sure that was still to come.


Glossary:

The Hun - The Germans

Glory hole - the dug-out (so not the other thing you were probably thinking!)

Fire step - the small step soldiers had to use to see over the top of the trench and fire at
enemy

Duckboards - boards placed at the bottom of the trenches to provide a firm floor

Well, there is the next chapter. I made it extra long to make up for the long wait…so I hope at least someone was actually waiting! Please review and tell me what you think.