and ha-zelnuts.
Sergeant Torgoch did a very good imitation of a motherly female. “Come on, sleepyhead, rise an’ shine, the
momin’s fine, the lark’s in the air an’ all is fair, the day’s begun, look there’s the sun!”
Midge Manycoats skipped about like a Dibbun. “Oh, mummy, may I go out an’ play? I’ll pick some daisies for
you!”
Torgoch’s voice dropped back to that of a gruff Patrol Sergeant. “Siddown an’ finish yer brekkfist, you useless
Hddle omadorm, or I’ll ’ave yore paws pickled for a season’s ’ard marehin’!”
Wiping his lips on a spotless white kerchief, Perigord buckled on his saber, and flexed his footpaws. “Listen up,
troop, we’re marehin’ due south. Exercise extreme caution out on the flatlands, an’ keep y’r eyes peeled for vermin.
When the blighters have recovered their nerve I wouldn’t be surprised if they chance another crack at us, wot!”
Equipment was packed away into haversacks, and weapons brought to the ready as the Sergeant harangued them.
“Right, you ’card the h’officer, form up an’ stir yer stumps now!”
Grasshoppers rustled and bees hummed about early flowering saxifrage and heathers, and die sun shone boldly
from a sky of cloudless blue. It was a glorious spring morning on the open moorland. Tammo strode along between
Russa and Pasque; the squirrel had her stick, and both hares carried loaded slings. Up in front, Perigord conversed
easily with Riffle, though his eyes roved restlessly over the landscape. “Pretty clear tracks, eh, wot? Seems they ain’t
bothered about coverin’ their trail, I’d say.”
“Aye, sir, mebbe they’ll try somethin’ when we reach that rocky-lookin’ hill up ahead.”
The Major kept his eyes front as he answered, “Hmm, or that little outcrop to the left—Down troop!”
An arrow zipped by them like an angry hornet as they tiirew themselves to the ground. Lieutenant Morio bounced
up immediately. “Just one of ’em, sah. There he goes!”
The sniper, a rat with bow and quiver, had broken cover and was racing toward the rock-rifted hill. Perigord sat up,
his jaw tight with anger as he saw a rip the shaft had torn on the shoulder of his stylish green velvet tunic.
“Just look at that, the blinkin’ cad! Drop the blighter,
Rockjaw Grang set shaft to a longbow that resembled a young tree. He squinted along the arrow, stretching the
flexible yew bow into a wide arc, tracking his quarry.
The rat halted, relieved he was not being chased. He un-slung his bow and began coolly choosing an arrow.
Rockjaw’s shaft took him out like a thunderbolt.
The giant hare shook his head at the fallen rat’s foolishness.
“Yon vermin should’ve kept a runnin’. ’Ey up, there’s more!”
Four more broke cover to the right from behind a low rise; shooting off a few slingstones at the hares, they began
dashing for the hilltop. Regardless of what orders they had been given, the vermin did not want to be caught out alone
by the hares.
Perigord turned to Twayblade and Riffle. “Cut ’em off, try an’ take one alive! Rockjaw, you an’ Midge cover the
hill. The rest of you—about face!”
Tammo shot Russa a puzzled glance. “About face?”
Sergeant Torgoch grabbed Tammo and spun him around roughly. “Don’t question orders, young ’un, do like the h’
officer sez!”
A band of vermin poured out of the woodland toward them. Tammo and Pasque whirled their slings as Perigord
called out, “On my command, two slings, arrows, or one javelin, then go at ’em with a will. Steady now, let the
blighters get closer ...”
Tammo felt his teeth begin to chatter. He ground them together tightly and caused his head to start shaking. The
vermin faces were plainly visible now, painted red with some kind of mineral dye. Yelling, roaring, and brandishing
fearsome weapons, they rushed forward, paws pounding the earth. Perigord leveled his saber at them, remarking almost
casually, “Let ’em have it, chaps!”
Tammo’ s first slingshot missed altogether; in his excitement he whipped the sling too high. His second shot took
a weasel slap on the paw, causing him to drop his spear with a yelp. Then Tammo found himself charging with the
Long Patrol, the war cry of the perilous hares ripping from his throat along with his comrades. Even Russa was
shouting.
“Eulaliaaaaa! ’S death on the wind! Eulaliaaaaaa!”
They met with a clash, Perigord slaying the leading pair before they could blink an eye. Tammo thrust out at a
stoat and missed; the stoat feinted with his cutlass, and as Tammo backed off his foe skipped forward and tripped him.
The young hare fell. He saw the stoat launch himself in a flying leap, cutlass first. Levering himself swiftly aside,
Tammo kept his paw outstretched with the dirk pointed upward. The stoat landed heavily on the blade.
Pulling his blade free, Tammo scrambled up, only to find the vermin fleeing with Long Patrol hares hard on their
heels.
Major Perigord and Rubbadub came marching up, the former cleaning his saber on a pawful of dried grass. “Well
done, young ’un, got y’self one, I see!”
Tammo could not look at the vermin he had slain, and his bead began shaking again as he tried to face the Major.
Shrugging off his tunic, Perigord inspected the torn shoulder. “I know how y’feel, Tamm, but he’d have got you if
you hadn’t got him. Here, see.”
He retrieved the stoat’s cutlass and pointed to the notches carved into the wooden handle. “Count ’em, tell me how
many you make it.”
Tammo took the weapon and counted the notches. “Eighteen, sir!”
Perigord took the blade and flung it away with a grimace of distaste. “Aye, eighteen, though they weren’t all
fightin’ beasts like you an’ me, laddie buck. Those smaller notches you saw were for the very old or the very young,
creatures too weak to defend themselves. Don’t waste your sympathy on scum like that one. Come on now, stop
shakin’ like tadpole Jelly an’ give us a good ol’ De Fformelo Tussock smile. Rub-badub, beat ’em over to that hill
yonder, we’ll form up there.”
Rubbadub’s pearly teeth flashed in a huge grin as he marched off drumming the Long Patrol to him.
“Drmibadubdub drrrubadubdub dubbity dubbity dub. Ba-boom!”
Perigord and Tammo stared at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter.
The patrol squatted on the hilltop, Pasque Valerian tending one or two minor injuries that had been received.
Tway-swished the air regretfully with her long rapier. “Sorry didn’t take any prisoners, Major, but those vermin
weren’t n’ any prisoners either, the way they were fightin’, so ’n’Riffle had to give as good as we jolly well got.”
Perigord watched from the hilltop as the remaining vermin small in the afternoon distance. “No matter, old gel, we
still track ’em. As long as we cut ’em off before they h Redwall Abbey. What d’you make o’ those villains, ussa,
pretty sharp thinkers, wot?”
The squirrel munched on an apple, nodding. “Aye, ’twas a clever move they made. Clear tracks to this hill, then
they must’ve split up a couple of hours afore dawn an’ circled back. Leavin’ a few to the leftVright to distract us, the
rest of the crafty scum went back to the woodland so they could ambush us from be’ind. Knowin’ we’d be expectin’
them to be waitm’ for us, hidin’ about here on this hilltop.”
Rockjaw Grang was watching the retreating vermin and counting their numbers. “Sithee, there’s still enough o’
yon beasts to make a scrap. They must’ve numbered fifty or more when we first met ’em, sir. By my count they still