"I'm coming too, sergeant," Blouse insisted.
Jackrum hesitated. "Yessir," he said. "But with respect, sir, I know about skirmishing - "
"Let's go, sergeant," said Blouse, dropping flat and beginning to drag himself forward.
"Yessir," muttered Jackrum darkly.
Polly eased her way forward, too. The grass here was shorter, rabbit-nibbled, with small bushes here and there. She concentrated on keeping the noise down, and aimed for the clicking. The smell of chemical smoke grew stronger. It hung in the air around her. And, as she moved forward, she saw light, little specks of it. She raised her head.
There were three men a few feet away, silhouetted against the night. One of them was holding a large pipe, about five feet long, balanced on his shoulder at one end and on a tripod at the other. That end was aimed at the distant hill. On the other end, a foot or so behind the man's head, was a big square box. Light was leaking from joints in this; from a little stovepipe chimney on the top of it, heavy smoke poured out.
"Perks, on the count of three," said Jackrum, on Polly's right. "One - "
"As you were, sergeant," said Blouse quietly, on her left.
Polly saw Jackrum's big florid face turn with an expression of astonishment. "Sir?"
"Hold position," said Blouse. Above them, the clicking continued.
Milit'ry secrets, thought Polly. Spies! Enemies! And we're just watching! It was like seeing blood drain from an artery.
"Sir!" hissed Jackrum, rage smoking off him.
"Hold position, sergeant. That is an order," said Blouse calmly.
Jackrum subsided, but only into the deceptive calm of a volcano waiting to explode.
The relentless chatter of the clacks went on. It seemed to go on for ever. Beside Polly, Sergeant Jackrum seethed and fretted like a dog on a leash.
The clicking stopped. Polly heard a distant murmur of conversation.
"Sergeant Jackrum," whispered Blouse, "you may 'get them' with all speed!"
Jackrum exploded out of the grass like a partridge.
"All right, my lads! Up boys and at 'em!"
Polly's first thought, as she leapt up and ran, was that the distance was suddenly a lot wider than it had appeared.
All three men had turned at the sound of Jackrum's cry. The one with the clacks tube was already dropping it and reaching for a sword, but Jackrum was bearing down on him like a landslide. The man made the mistake of standing his ground. There was a brief clash of swords and then a melee, and Sergeant Jackrum was a sufficiently deadly melee all by himself.
The second man flew past Polly but she was running for the third one. He backed away from her, reaching up to his mouth, then turned to run and found himself face to face with Maladict.
"Don't let him swallow!" Polly yelled.
Maladict's arm shot up, and lifted the struggling man aloft by his throat.
It would have been a perfect operation had not the rest of the squad arrived, having put all their effort into running and leaving none to spare for slowing down. There were collisions.
Maladict went down as his captive kicked him in the chest, and the man tried to scramble away, cannoning into Tonker. Polly leaped over Igorina, was almost tripped by a fallen Wazzer, and threw herself desperately towards the quarry, now on his knees.
He had a dagger out and waved it wildly in front of her while he grasped his throat with his other hand and made choking noises.
She knocked the knife away, ran behind him and slapped him on the back as hard as she could. He fell forward.
Before she could grab him a hand lifted him bodily and Jackrum's voice roared: "Can't have the poor man chokin' to death, Perks!"
His other hand punched the man in the stomach with a noise like meat hitting a slab.