A/N: Well here I am once more with a slightly shorter gap that before…not that that would be difficult considering how long the last chapter took me! I already had some firm ideas about this one though, mainly scraps of dialogue I had to find a way to fit in to some semblance of a plot. This task was hampered by the need to sit and pass my 1st Year university exams, but I managed it somehow! Thank you to all those who reviewed, if you were logged in I should have replied to you personally…if I didn't please accept my humble apologies and blame my absolute sieve of a memory. I hope this chapter will pass muster…it strays further from TP that the others do (now that I actually have to tell my own story as well as rehashing his), so we will see if my writing skills are up to the task.

Warning: Characters may experience some dizziness and blurred vision due to being abruptly plucked from their homes and thrown into another universe. Please allow time for eyes to adjust before proceeding.

Disclaimer: If I did own Discworld I would have been completely stiffed by this older guy stealing my stories. As the dark hordes of lawyers are not assembling you can assume this is not the case.


Chapter Three

Vimes read the telegram he had just be handed, unaware that the young Private who had delivered it was now slowly backing out of the dug-out at the look crossing Vimes' face. Vimes scowled down at the flimsy bit of paper, as if he wished the heat of his gaze could erase the orders he was confronted with.

'The bloody idiots…'

Glancing back up, Vimes caught sight of the Private, who was now trying reverently to look like a pile of sandbags rather than run the risk of catching Vimes' eye.

"Dismissed," he ground out, only just managing to moderate his voice from a snarl. The boy saluted and stumbled out of the dug-out, no doubt off to tell his friends how he had survived bringing Stoneface the man's most hated orders.

Vimes scrubbed his eyes wearily, wishing the words on the paper were different. Another push…another attempt to move the British lines forward which would result only in more grieving families back in England. Vimes took a silver cigarette case out of his breast pocket and withdrew a cigarette, looking lingeringly inside the lid before replacing it. As he drew the smoke into his lungs, he again made himself the promise that his regiment would not be unprepared.

'What's left of it anyway,' he thought morosely, trying to hold back the black depression threatening to swamp him.

A splashing noise drew his attention, and he saw ripples spread through the puddle crossing in front of the dug-out that was his office. A familiar silhouette was reflected in said puddle.

"Come in Fred," he shouted without waiting for the man to come into view.

Sergeant Colon squelched into the doorway, the usual look of surprise on his round face.

"I will never work out how you know it's me coming," Colon began, but his smile faded when he caught sight of the telegram in Vimes' hand.

"Is that what I think it is sir?"

"I'm afraid so," Vimes replied with a sigh. "You better gather the men together."

Colon saluted and left, leaving Vimes alone with his thoughts. He screwed the telegram into a ball and tossed it on his desk, narrowly avoiding causing a paper avalanche on the western face. He had no concerns about the majority of his men…those still left in the 95th were there because they made a habit of not dying gloriously in battle. He was worried about his fresh-faced new recruit, who had obviously never been in a battle as he could still use the words 'honour and glory' with a straight face. Vimes had hoped that the two weeks Carrot had spent in the company of veterans like Nobby would have opened his eyes to the reality of their situation, but the boy seemed immune any mental tarnish…even one as pervasive as Nobby's.

Vimes took another deep drag on his cigarette, hoping that come tomorrow the boy would still have his life, if not his illusions. Then maybe he could allow himself to get to know this new recruit. He dimly remembered when he had made sure to know the names of all new recruits, and helped them settle in in person. That was a long time ago though…time marked out by young faces gasping out their lives in the mud over and over until he couldn't take the thought of another. Now he waited. If they could survive the first disorganised execution known as a battle…then he would find the man behind the uniform. Shaking himself from his dark thoughts, Vimes threw his cigarette down into the mud and stepped out to do his job. He was going to rally his men.


As he stepped out into the weak morning light, Vimes gathered his thoughts before turning to meet the rank's expectant faces. Even though he hated the long-winded speeches those in command gave to convince men to die for their cause, Vimes always seemed to end up doing something to try and prepare the rank for what lay ahead. It had become a tradition…and no soldier liked to break with tradition at a time like this. A small, sardonic smile flitted across Vimes' face as he began.

"Well men, yet again we are all being given a wonderful opportunity to show the Hun our talent for the 250 yard barbed-wire hurdles."

This was met by a heartfelt groan from everyone but Carrot, who simply looked mystified.

"I'm meant to remind you all what you are going to be fighting for…despite the fact that a bloody great country like Britain is a bit hard to forget. Unfortunately, the boys in charge don't think that wanting to be able to have a pint in your local again is a good enough goal, but if you can push thoughts of honour and glory to one side for just a bit…remember we're fighting so some other poor buggers don't have to do this again a few years down the line."

Vimes let his eyes fall on Carrot, who standing so rigidly to attention Vimes was surprised Nobby wasn't leaning against him for a smoke. Vimes controlled a wince as he began the part he always repeated when battle loomed. From the smiles breaking out on the men's faces, they were looking forward to hearing the old words.

"The rest of you know this off by heart, but I will repeat for the benefit of our new private. Our esteemed army commanders want you all to proceed slowly towards the enemy in a straight line, as anything else is too complicated for you common soldiers. For this reason, I do not want to see you moving quickly in a zig-zag fashion over No Man's Land avoiding obstacles. I do not want to see you moving in a crouch to reduce your size as a target. I also specifically do not want you to make use of any and all available cover to help you avoid enemy fire. Do I make myself clear?"

Vimes took another glance at Carrot, hoping the subtlety hadn't gone over his head. The private was still standing to attention, but his face looked so acutely innocent Vimes knew the man had to have understood.

"We attack just before sun-down, so you have the day to prepare. I want you all assembled at your stations in plenty of time though…15th Battalion is being kind enough to lend us Chaplain Visit to armour us with righteousness before we start."

Vimes dismissed the men and turned to leave, ignoring the snorts of amused disgust coming from those who had already encountered the Chaplain, affectionately disliked by all the soldiers he managed to corner.


It was a different story when Vimes returned, the low sun painting the trenches with a golden glow. Men huddled in groups as he walked past, muttering quietly to one another over the roar of the barrage. Others sat alone, staring into the middle distance with blank faces, their eyes haunted. His small group were all sat together in a loose slump, listening to Visit's sermon with various degrees of attention on their faces. Nobby was smoking, Colon was sweating and Cuddy was whispering earnestly in Troll's ear, a tense smile on his face. The only one paying attention to the chaplain's sermon was Carrot, but Vimes was mildly surprised at the lack of nerves the Private was displaying. Vimes pulled out his watch and checked the time, before replacing it with a sigh. He stepped up behind Visit and laid a hand on the man's shoulder.

"Time to go…line up by the ladders."

Vimes was dimly aware of Visit's hand clasping him, and a murmured prayer, but he was already beyond that. His world narrowed to the task before him, the battle he had to fight, the men that were his to protect. As he reached the ladder an unnatural hush fell as the barrage finally ceased. Nobby spat out his cigarette with a curse.

"Nice to know they'll be expecting us," he muttered tightly, his eyes fixed on the wall of mud they would soon be beyond.

Vimes placed his foot on the bottom rung, his hand fumbling for the whistle one of his breast pockets. With his other hand he drew his pistol, yearning for the solid weight of a rifle he had know before he became an officer. He could hear the scrape as bayonets were fixed and the click of magazines being checked, together with the nervous shifting of bodies all around him. A thready whistle pierced the silence, soon joined by others. Vimes blew his own, then lunged up the ladder and out into the evening hell.

Then he was running, the rattle of machine guns a counterpoint to his racing heart. The mud sucked at his boots as he ran, as he weaved around craters, as he dodged barbed wire, as bullets whipped past him, as men fell with choked screams, as his breath rasped in his throat. Out of the corner of his eye he caught glimpses of the others, their faces strained as they pushed ever onward.

Vimes flung himself into a narrow ditch and crouched there, panting as he paused to take stock of his position. If he craned his head to peer over his makeshift shelter Vimes could see the dark line of the first German trench some yards away. Unfortunately he could also see the machine-gun emplacement spitting out its deadly hail, ready to be trained on whoever was foolish enough to attempt a suicidal last dash.

Further down, Vimes could see Colon with Cuddy and Troll, grouped with their backs to him. He couldn't see Nobby, but that didn't mean the other Sergeant wasn't around, just that he might be more mud-spattered than usual. Vimes was about to call out to them when there was a slither of mud and suddenly Carrot was at his elbow. The Private seemed not to be at all out of breath, and even found time to snap a quick salute as he squatted down next to Vimes.

"What now sir?" Carrot shouted above the noise, taking his own quick glance towards the enemy.

"We need to reach that first line of trenches," Vimes replied. "But with that machine gun able to pin us down…"

Vimes trailed off as Carrot, with a determined nod, scrambled up and began to run for the trench, shouting and levelling his rifle. For a second Vimes was stunned into immobility at the insanity of the action but found himself following, his own yell not so much a battle cry as a frantic attempt to attract the attention of the others in the ditch. He saw the gunners' shocked faces at the impossible challenge, the men trying to reposition and bring the gun to bear on the new threat, before a bullet from Carrot's rifle caught one man in the throat. As the soldier fell with a gurgle Vimes aimed his own pistol at the one remaining. His shot struck home in the man's chest, then Vimes was leaping down into the German trench where bloody havoc was already being wreaked. Vimes could see Carrot fighting off to his left but, before he could get closer, a German officer loomed in his vision with more behind.

Breathing hard, Vimes let his last opponent fall. When no other appeared to attack he took a chance to glance up, only to find the area empty of enemy soldiers. The rest of the rank had obviously heard his earlier shout and followed, for they all now stood with him, slightly shocked expressions on all their faces. Vimes nodded to Troll and Cuddy, who went to take up stations at either end of the captured section, peering round the tight corners of the zig-zag to warn of the inevitable German counter-attack. Colon took the red flag from his pack, planting it above the parapet to signal to Allied troops. It was now a race to see who would arrive first.

Just then, a new sound penetrated the aural chaos. It was the signal to retreat, something that would normally be welcome, but not with the whole of No Man's Land separating them from the safety of the British lines. Already it was becoming difficult to make out the distant trenches as the dusk deepened. Vimes cursed under his breath, turning back to signal to him men.

"Form up!" he shouted. "Back as quickly as we can, before they can re-man this station."

"But…we've captured an enemy trench sir," Carrot replied, his voice laced with confusion.

"Correct…but only a section of it, and it seems the rest of the army hasn't shared our good fortune. Now the retreat has sounded the rest of the army is doing just that, and in a few minutes lots of heavily armed German soldiers will be boiling round these corners and into this section. Oddly enough, Private Ironfoundersson, I don't want to be here when they arrive."


They had only been back long enough to shed their packs and flop achingly down onto the sodden fire-step when Colonel Vetinari stalked into the trench, flanked by his aide. Everyone dragged themselves to attention, acknowledged by a nod from the Colonel.

"At ease. Captain Vimes, you and I have something to discuss."

Vimes followed Vetinari a way down the trench, Captain Drumknott following at a respectful distance.

"Another attack completed Captain."

"Yes sir."

"Do you know Captain, out of the entire attacking force, your men were the only ones to reach and capture a section of the enemy trench? Quite remarkable, wouldn't you say?"

"Sir."

Vetinari fixed Vimes with a look, but continued without mentioning Vimes' monosyllabic responses.

"Remarkable deeds in this war are useful. They can be used to inspire, to raise the hopes of those ordinary soldiers who sweat out their lives in these muddy trenches. Of course those who do the deeds will not be overlooked…"

"You know what I want sir."

Vetinari sighed.

"Very well, I will try to send you more me Vimes, but in return…"

Vetinari removed something from his pocket, holding it up so Vimes could see it.

"No I bloody won't…sir"

"The army needs heroes Vimes, so you will accept this medal and you will wear it proudly on parade. If not, I swear I will have you assigned to a desk back at HQ."

"…Thank you for the medal sir, it is an honour to receive it."

"See Captain, that was easier than you thought," said Vetinari, ignoring Vimes' scowl with practiced ease. "I trust you will present these other medals to the rest of your squad with my compliments."

"Sir."

Vetinari smiled dryly, motioning to Drumknott as he turned to leave.

"Carry on Captain Vimes."


The next chapter…sorry for keeping you waiting again. Long summer holidays coming up now my exams are over though, so I should have more time to write. Please review and let me know what you think!