Guards Guards - Bar Fight

Nobby was outside the Drum, hopping from one foot to another. In times of danger he had a way of propelling himself from place to place without apparently moving through the intervening space which could put any ordinary matter transporter to shame.

“'E's fighting in there!” he stuttered, grabbing the captain's arm.

“All by himself?” said the captain.

“No, with everyone!” shouted Nobby, hopping from one foot to the other.

“Oh.”

Conscience said: There's three of you. He's wearing the same uniform. He's one of your men. Remember poor old Gaskin.

Another part of his brain, the hated, despicable part which had nevertheless enabled him to survive in the Guards these past ten years, said: It's rude to butt in. We'll wait until he's finished, and then ask him if he wants any assistance. Besides, it isn't Watch policy to interfere in fights. It's a lot simpler to go in afterwards and arrest anyone recumbent.

There was a crash as a nearby window burst outwards and deposited a stunned fighter on the opposite side of the street.

***

Guards Guards - p77