The interior of the guardhouse had been fitting out like a courtroom. There was a high chair for me, a set of four chairs for the senior officers, a witness box and a small cage for the prisoner. It had been designed so that the accused had absolutely no doubt at all about why they were there and it was covered in chains so that an uncooperative prisoner could be restrained. I suspected that the prisoner would try to escape; molesting or raping a civilian girl carried the death penalty. I took my chair, accepted salutes from the other officers, and turned to Peter.
“Bring in the prisoner,” I ordered.
Private Sidney Hershey had served with the UN before joining us instead of returning to Earth, but I honestly couldn’t say that he had come to my attention before. His UN record was utterly unreliable, of course; the officers had to exaggerate so much that he sounded like the reincarnation of every great military officer, combined. My record had started off just as well, and then gone downhill with words that sounded great, but raised hackles everywhere. The UN Infantry regarded caring for your men as unusual.
“The prisoner will stand at attention,” Peter intoned, firmly. He removed Hershey’s hat and placed it neatly on the table as the man stood to attention, or as near to it as he could get in handcuffs and leg irons. I nodded to Peter after Hershey held the pose for a long moment. “The prisoner will be seated.”
He pushed Hershey down into the chair and secured him firmly to the floor. “Private Hershey,” I said, “you stand accused of molesting a local girl during the fighting two days ago. The charges against you were filed by Sergeant Thomas and confirmed by eyewitness statements from two other Privates within your unit. Do you have anything you wish to say in your own defence?”
“The bitch came out with her hands in the air,” Hershey said, after a moment. I guessed he’d taken the time while in the guardhouse to plan his defence. We don’t bother with lawyers for our men; they know their rights, and they know what they are definitely not allowed to do. His only defence lay in convincing us that the charges were misplaced. “I patted her down as per regulations, only to discover that she was concealing a knife in her pocket. I whipped it away from her and cut off her clothes…”
His voice faltered for a moment. He was right; if someone had come out carrying a concealed weapon, we did strip him or her naked to remove any possibility that we’d missed something. The UN and Heinlein had invented hundreds of deadly weapons that looked like something innocuous, until it was too late. There were complaints that females should only be searched by females, but if we didn’t have a female on hand… well, too bad. It was expected to be as impersonal as possible. It was possible that Hershey had simply been arrested by mistake.
“And then I searched her cavities,” he added. “I was midway through my examination when the Sergeant jumped me and knocked me to the ground.”
“That might be true,” I agreed, “but why were you exploring up her cunt? Why did you leave marks on her breasts?”
He said nothing. “The eyewitnesses state, specifically, that you hurt her and she was screaming,” I added. “You took advantage of her helplessness to have your fun with her, against regulations and common decency, disgracing the Legion. Sergeant, remove the prisoner.”
Hershey was luckier than he knew. Normally, Muna would have sat on the panel, and she was death on rapists, but she was lost somewhere in Pitea. I’d taken a risk and sent Jock and the Specials after her, assuming that they could make their way into the city unobserved, but we didn’t even have a lead on her location. Her wristcom was off or destroyed; we couldn’t even pick up a PLB signal. God alone knew where she was now. The images from orbit weren’t telling us much that we didn’t already know about the enemy defences. It looked as if they were expelling people who didn’t agree with their policies. It would help them to keep their food stores for longer.
“Right,” I said, pushing my concerns about Muna aside. “You’ve heard his words and reviewed the eyewitness testimony. We don’t have much to go on, but we need to make a decision fast. Your verdicts, please?”
I carefully didn’t mention that we’d probably end up having to explain our decision to the local government. The girl had been released after she’d been checked by the doctor and would probably be filing a complaint now. The contract we’d signed with the local government, in happier times, was vague when it came to complaints against my men, but I doubted they’d be happy. Frida’s constituency would demand heavy punishment. For once, I agreed with them.
“Guilty,” Russell said, without hesitation. “There was no need to hurt her so badly and she wasn’t resisting him. Take the bastard outside and shoot him now. I’ll volunteer for the firing squad…”
“Thank you,” I said, cutting off what promised to be a long tirade. Russell took indiscipline seriously, as I may have mentioned once or twice before. “Jackie?”
“Guilty,” she agreed. Her voice was icy. “We’ve talked about this farce long enough.”
“Not guilty,” Captain Erica Yuppie said. “We don’t know what was going through his head at the time. Soldiers do stupid things under fire sometimes, as you well know, and he might have thought that he was doing the right thing. We don’t always have time to be gentle when lives are at stake.”
“Guilty,” Captain Robert McClellan said, glaring at Erica. “There is no excuse for his actions.”
“Three guilty votes, one not guilty votes,” I said, flatly. My tone cut off another argument. Erica and Robert had never gotten along very well. “The sentence is passed as guilty.”
“I formally request that my dissent be entered in the record,” Erica said, flatly.
“Understood,” I said, nodding to Tim. The clerk nodded back and made an entry on his computer. “Sergeant, bring in the prisoner.”
We didn’t bother with a black cap or other such nonsense, but Hershey knew the verdict from our grim faces. He quivered, but Peter kept one hand firmly on his arm, ready to knock him down if he tried anything stupid. I wouldn’t have blamed him for trying — he had nothing left to lose — but I couldn’t allow him to escape. Frida was going to be annoyed enough without an escaped molester on the run.
“Private Hershey, this court finds you guilty of molesting one civilian girl without good cause,” I said, without preamble. The UN would have dressed up the verdict in flowery terms and phases, but I saw no need to mince my words. “You will be taken from this court, given one hour to put your affairs in order, and then you will be hung from the neck until you are dead. May God have mercy on your soul.”
The next hour passed slowly. I spent it preparing a press release for the local reporters — or what were left of them after the Communists had slaughtered hundreds of them at the stadium — about the hanging and why it had been carried out. They’d probably misunderstand and misinterpret everything I said, but at least we’d get an explanation out there. Some of Private Hershey’s salary would go to the girl to compensate her for her experience, but the remainder would be sent on to his relatives, or wherever he wanted the money to go. I doubted he’d be leaving it to the Legion, as some Legionnaires, including myself, did.
Peter had supervised the construction of the gallows and we called all of the recruits out to watch, again. They looked pale as Private Hershey stepped out in full dress uniform and was stripped of everything apart from the basic uniform, before being marched to the gallows. I spoke quickly to the recruits, explaining what had happened and why he was being hung, before offering him the traditional last words. He said nothing. The hanging took seconds, but it felt like forever. This time, more recruits fainted and had to be helped away. Hershey’s body was cut down and unceremoniously transported to an unmarked grave. No one would go to mourn at his graveside.