"You know, you look a bit too young to be that sort of customer," said Gracie.
"What sort?" said Polly.
"Oh, a holy joe," said Gracie. "'What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?' and all that stuff. Feel sorry for us, do you? At least if someone cuts up rough we've got Garry outside and after he's finished with the bloke the colonel gets told and the bastard gets bunged in clink."
"Yeah," said Prudence. "From what we hear we're the safest ladies within twenty-five miles. Old Smother's not too bad. We get money to keep and we get fed and she don't beat us, which is more than can be said for husbands, and you can't wander around loose, now, can you?"
Jackrum put up with Blouse because you've got to have an officer, Polly thought. If you don't have an officer, some other officer'll take you over. And a woman by herself is missing a man, while a man by himself is his own master. Trousers. That's the secret. Trousers and a pair of socks. I never dreamed it was like this. Put on trousers and the world changes. We walk different. We act different. I see these girls and I think: idiots! Get yourself some trousers!
"Can you please get your clothes off?" she said. "I think we'd better hurry."
"One of the Ins-and-Outs, this one," said Gracie, slipping her dress off her shoulders. "Keep an eye on your cheeses, Pru!"
"Er... why does that mean we're in the Ins-and-Outs?" said Polly. She made a show of unbuttoning her jacket, wishing that she believed in anyone there to pray to so that she could pray for the whistle.
"That's 'cos you lads always have your eye on business," said Gracie.
And maybe there was someone listening, at that. The whistle blew.
Polly grabbed the dresses and ran out, oblivious of the yells behind her. She collided with Shufti outside, tripped over the groaning form of Garry, saw Sergeant Jackrum holding the tent flap open, and bulleted into the night.
"This way!" the sergeant hissed, grabbing her by the collar before she'd gone a few feet and swinging her round. "You too, Shufti! Move!"
He ran up the side of the wash like a child's balloon being blown by the wind, leaving them to scramble after him. His arms were full of clothing, which snagged and danced behind him. Up above was knee-deep scrub, treacherous in the gloom. They tripped and staggered across it until they reached heavier growth, whereupon the sergeant got hold of both of them and pushed them into the bushes. The shouts and screams were fainter now.
"Now we'll just keep quiet, like," he whispered. "There's patrols about."
"They'll be bound to find us," Polly hissed, while Shufti wheezed.
"No, they won't," said Jackrum. "First, they'll all be running towards the shoutin', because that's natur¨C there they go..." Polly heard more shouts in the distance. "And bloody fools they are, too. They're supposed to be guarding the perimeter, and they're running towards trouble in the camp. And they're running straight towards lamplight, so there goes their night eyes! If I was their sergeant they'd be due a fizzer! C'mon." He stood up, and hauled Shufti to her feet. "Feeling all right, lad?"
"It w-was horrible, sarge! One of them put her hand... on... on my socks!"
"Something that doesn't often happen, I'll bet any man," said Jackrum. "But you did a good job. Now, we'll walk nice and quiet, and no more talking 'til I say, okay?"
They plodded on for ten minutes, skirting the camp. They heard several patrols, and saw a couple of others on the hilltops as the moon rose, but it dawned on Polly that, loud though the shouting had been, it was only part of the huge patchwork of sound that rose from the camp. The patrols this far away probably hadn't heard it, or at least were commanded by the kinds of soldiers who didn't want to get put on a fizzer.
In the dark, she heard Jackrum take a deep breath. "Okay, that's far enough. Not a bad job of work, lads. You're real Ins-and-Outs now!"
"That guard was out cold," said Polly. "Did you hit him?"
"Y'see, I'm fat," said Jackrum. "People don't think fat men can fight. They think fat men are funny. They think wrong. Gave 'im a chop to the windpipe."
"Sarge!" said Shufti, horrified.
"What? What? He was coming at me with his club!" said Jackrum.
"Why was he doing that, sarge?" said Polly.
"Ooh, you cunning soldier, you," said Jackrum. "All right, I grant you that I'd just given madarm the ol' quietus, but to be fair I know when someone's just handed me a bleedin' drink full o' sleepy drops."
"You hit a woman, sarge?" said Polly.
"Yeah, and maybe when she wakes up in her corsets she'll decide that next time a poor ol' drunk fat man wanders in it mightn't be such a good idea to try to roll him for his wad," growled Jackrum. "I'd be in a ditch wi'out my drawers on and a damned great headache if she'd had her way, and if you two was daft enough to complain to an officer she'd swear black was blue that I didn't have a penny on me when I came in and was drunk and disorderly. And the colonel wouldn't care a fig, 'cos he'd reckon a sergeant daft enough to get caught like that had it coming to him. I know, you see. I look after my lads." There was a clink in the dark. "Plus a few extra dollars won't go amiss."
"Sarge, you didn't steal the cashbox, did you?" said Polly.
"Yeah. Got a good armful of her wardrobe, too."