The Captain tapped on his desk. “Now about those batons — They have two uses. First, they mark the men in authority. Second, we expect them to be used on you, to touch you up and keep you on the bounce. You can’t possibly be hurt with one, not the way they are used; at most they sting a little. But they save thousands of words. Say you don’t turn out on the bounce at reveille. No doubt the duty corporal could wheedle you, say ‘pretty please with sugar on it,’ inquire if you’d like breakfast in bed this morning — if we could spare one career corporal just to nursemaid you. We can’t, so he gives your bedroll a whack and trots on down the line, applying the spur where needed. Of course he could simply kick you, which would be just as legal and nearly as effective. But the general in charge of training and discipline thinks that it is more dignified, both for the duty corporal and for you, to snap a late sleeper out of his fog with the impersonal rod of authority. And so do I. Not that it matters what you or I think about it; this is the way we do it.”
Captain Frankel sighed. “Hendrick, I have explained these matters to you because it is useless to punish a man unless he knows why he is being punished. You’ve been a bad boy — I say ‘boy’ because you quite evidently aren’t a man yet, although we’ll keep trying — a surprisingly bad boy in view of the stage of your training. Nothing you have said is any defense, nor even any mitigation; you don’t seem to know the score nor have any idea of your duty as a soldier. So tell me in your own words why you feel mistreated; I want to get you straightened out. There might even be something in your favor, though I confess that I cannot imagine what it could be.”
I had sneaked a look or two at Hendrick’s face while the Captain was chewing him out — somehow his quiet, mild words were a worse chewing-out than any Zim had ever given us. Hendrick’s expression had gone from indignation to blank astonishment to sullenness.
“Speak up!” Frankel added sharply.
“Uh … well, we were ordered to freeze and I hit the dirt and I found I was on this anthill. So I got to my knees, to move over a couple of feet, and I was hit from behind and knocked flat and he yelled at me — and I bounced up and popped him one and he—”
“STOP!” Captain Frankel was out of his chair and standing ten feet tall, though he’s hardly taller than I am. He stared at Hendrick.
“You … struck … your … company commander?”
“Huh? I said so. But he hit me first. From behind, I didn’t even see him. I don’t take that off of anybody. I popped him and then he hit me again and then—”
“Silence!”
Hendrick stopped. Then he added, “I just want out of this lousy outfit.”
“I think we can accommodate you,” Frankel said icily. “And quickly, too.”
“Just gimme a piece of paper, I’m resigning.”
“One moment. Sergeant Zim.”
“Yes, sir.” Zim hadn’t said a word for a long time. He just stood, eyes front and rigid as a statue, nothing moving but his twitching jaw muscles. I looked at him now and saw that it certainly was a shiner — a beaut. Hendrick must have caught him just right. But he hadn’t said anything about it and Captain Frankel hadn’t asked — maybe he had just assumed Zim had run into a door and would explain it if he felt like it, later.
“Have the pertinent articles been published to your company, as required?”
“Yes, sir. Published and logged, every Sunday morning.”
“I know they have. I asked simply for the record.”
Just before church call every Sunday they lined us up and read aloud the disciplinary articles out of the Laws and Regulations of the Military Forces. They were posted on the bulletin board, too, outside the orderly tent. Nobody paid them much mind — it was just another drill; you could stand still and sleep through it. About the only thing we noticed, if we noticed anything, was what we called “the thirty-one ways to crash land.” After all, the instructors see to it that you soak up all the regulations you need to know, through your skin. The “crash landings” were a worn-out joke, like “reveille oil” and “tent jacks” … they were the thirty-one capital offenses. Now and then somebody boasted, or accused somebody else, of having found a thirty-second way — always something preposterous and usually obscene.
“Striking a superior officer—! ”
It suddenly wasn’t amusing any longer. Popping Zim? Hang a man for that? Why, almost everybody in the company had taken a swing at Sergeant Zim and some of us had even landed … when he was instructing us in hand-to-hand combat. He would take us on after the other instructors had worked us over and we were beginning to feel cocky and pretty good at it — then he would put the polish on. Why, shucks, I once saw Shujumi knock him unconscious. Bronski threw water on him and Zim got up and grinned and shook hands — and threw Shujumi right over the horizon.
Captain Frankel looked around, motioned at me. “You. Flash regimental headquarters.”
I did it, all thumbs, stepped back when an officer’s face came on and let the Captain take the call. “Adjutant,” the face said.
Frankel said crisply, “Second Battalion Commander’s respects to the Regimental Commander. I request and require an officer to sit as a court.”
The face said, “When do you need him, Ian?”
“As quickly as you can get him here.”
“Right away. I’m pretty sure Jake is in his HQ. Article and name?”
Captain Frankel identified Hendrick and quoted an article number. The face in the screen whistled and looked grim. “On the bounce, Ian. If I can’t get Jake, I’ll be over myself — just as soon as I tell the Old Man.”
Captain Frankel turned to Zim. “This escort — are they witnesses?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did his section leader see it?”
Zim barely hesitated. “I think so, sir.”
“Get him. Anybody out that way in a powered suit?”
“Yes, sir.”
Zim used the phone while Frankel said to Hendrick, “What witnesses do you wish to call in your defense?”
“Huh? I don’t need any witnesses, he knows what he did! Just hand me a piece of paper — I’m getting out of here.”
“All in good time.”
In very fast time, it seemed to me. Less than five minutes later Corporal Jones came bouncing up in a command suit, carrying Corporal Mahmud in his arms. He dropped Mahmud and bounced away just as Lieutenant Spieksma came in. He said, “Afternoon, Cap’n. Accused and witnesses here?”
“All set. Take it, Jake.”
“Recorder on?”
“It is now.”
“Very well. Hendrick, step forward.” Hendrick did so, looking puzzled and as if his nerve was beginning to crack. Lieutenant Spieksma said briskly: “Field Court-Martial, convened by order of Major F.X. Malloy, commanding Third Training Regiment, Camp Arthur Currie, under General Order Number Four, issued by the Commanding General, Training and Discipline Command, pursuant to the Laws and Regulations of the Military Forces, Terran Federation. Remanding officer: Captain Ian Frankel, M.I., assigned to and commanding Second Battalion, Third Regiment. The Court: Lieutenant Jacques Spieksma, M.I., assigned to and commanding First Battalion, Third Regiment. Accused: Hendrick, Theodore C., Recruit Private RP7960924. Article 9080. Charge: Striking his superior officer, the Terran Federation then being in a state of emergency.”