Casca 18: The Cursed Read Online Free PDF Page A

sergeants felt the same way. The officers were making fools of themselves; so what? It was always open season on officers if you didn't happen to be one.
    Barrett stooped to lift the corpse by the shoulders. Marksby, slightly recovered, stooped to help. Their heads crashed and they fell apart to either side of the corpse.
    The ranks whooped delightedly. Gales of laughter rocked back and forth across the parade ground as the two dazed subalterns staggered back to their feet to stoop again, managing this time to avoid each other, but between them only succeeding in jerking the corpse to a sitting position.
    Two more second lieutenants sprang forward and took the heels.
    "What a fuck up," Colonel Braithwaite fumed. "Well, at least we're out of it now."
    He was about to snap the order to take the corpse away when the panting RSM arrived and came noisily to attention before him.
    The laughter stopped. Forster forced his aching lungs to bellow at their best parade ground blast. "Wish to report sir, I've brought the knife."
    "An' just in time, too, mate," a wag hollered from the ranks, and the parade ground exploded in a new burst of hilarity. Cheers, jeers, hoots, catcalls, and whistles came from everywhere.
    The troops had now reached a situation they relished. Strictly speaking, it was difficult to make laughing an offense. Like sneezing or farting, it often had to be tolerated. Besides, the soldiers had not yet been called on parade. Best of all, any disciplinary action would have to be applied to the entire regiment. And any such punishment would have to be reported in dispatches, and the soldiers knew that this was a situation that the colonel would not want to report.
    The troopers in the ranks had learned what they knew of their duties and privileges and how the army worked through the toughest possible school, and the little they did know they knew very damned well.
    Similar thoughts were running through the colonel's mind. Damn this fool RSM. He should have scrubbed the parade altogether. What the devil to do now?
    Well, the main thing was to ensure that the ranks knew as little as possible of this officer's demise. He opened his mouth again to order the removal of the body, when RSM Forster's routine steeped, discipline dominated mentality snatched the moment from him.
    "On the order, parade will come to attention," Forster bellowed. "Pa-rade, at-ten-shun."
    But there came no answering stomp of heels on the ground. Instead the volume of mirth increased as if his command had been intended as an addition to the entertainment.
    The colonel found his voice at last. "Get this sack of lard out of here," he snapped to the officers holding Marshman's body. "Take it to sick bay and not a word to anybody."
    Boy Barrett turned disgustedly to carry the corpse away. "Past every bloody private soldier in the regiment, like the trash detail," he cursed under his breath at the absurdity of trying to keep the matter quiet. But he squared his shoulders and stepped out as if honored to be carrying a fellow officer who had died in the line of duty.
    The other three junior officers followed his lead, and it was almost enough.
    But the colonel was now determined to revenge himself upon the RSM for pre-empting his authority. "RSM," he barked, "get this parade to order."
    Forster stamped his way through the ridiculous routine it took to bring a regimental sergeant major to attention. Then he saluted, stamped his way through an about turn, and faced the troops.
    Coming right after his hilariously mistimed arrival with the knife, this performance had the effect of continuing the comedy act, the huge butcher knife alongside the swagger stick under his left arm.
    The troops applauded lustily, some of them wondering how they had so long watched this ritual of one man ceremonially parading himself without laughing before.
    All the officers withdrew while Forster repeatedly made a fool of himself, shouting at the now quite uncontrollable