Starship Troopers Part 6

"Anything more?"

"Huh? No, sir. Isn't that enough?"

"The trial is completed. Recruit Private Theodore C. Hendrick, stand forth!" Lieutenant Spieksma had been standing at attention the whole time; now Captain Frankel stood up. The place suddenly felt chilly.

"Private Hendrick, you are found guilty as charged."

My stomach did a flip-flop. They were going to do it to him . . . they were going to do the "Danny Deever" to Ted Hendrick. And I had eaten breakfast beside him just this morning.

"The Court sentences you," he went on, while I felt sick, "to ten lashes and Bad Conduct Discharge."

Hendrick gulped. "I want to resign!"

"The Court will not permit you to resign. The Court wishes to add that your punishment is light simply because this Court possesses no jurisdiction to a.s.sign greater punishment. The authority which remanded you specified a field court-martial - why it so chose, this Court will not speculate. But had you been remanded for general court-martial, it seems certain that the evidence before this Court would have caused a general court to sentence you to hang by the neck until dead. You are very lucky - and the remanding authority has been most merciful." Lieutenant Spieksma paused, then went on, "The sentence will be carried out at the earliest hour after the convening authority has reviewed and approved the record, if it does so approve. Court is adjourned. Remove and confine him."

The last was addressed to me, but I didn't actually have to do anything about it, other than phone the guard tent and then get a receipt for him when they took him away.

At afternoon sick call Captain Frankel took me off orderly and sent me to see the doctor, who sent me back to duty. I got back to my company just in time to dress and fall in for parade - and to get gigged by Zim for "spots on uniform." Well, he had a bigger spot over one eye but I didn't mention it.

Somebody had set up a big post in the parade ground just back of where the adjutant stood. When it came time to publish the orders, instead of "routine order of the day" or other trivia, they published Hendrick's court-martial.

Then they marched him out, between two armed guards, with his hands cuffed together in front of him.

I had never seen a flogging. Back home, while they do it in public of course, they do it back of the Federal Building - and Father had given me strict orders to stay away from there. I tried disobeying him on it once. . . but it was postponed and I never tried to see one again.

Once is too many.

The guards lifted his arms and hooked the manacles over a big hook high up on the post. Then they took his s.h.i.+rt off and it turned out that it was fixed so that it could come off and he didn't have an unders.h.i.+rt. The adjutant said crisply, "Carry out the sentence of the Court."

A corporal-instructor from some other battalion stepped forward with the whip. The Sergeant of the Guard made the count.

It's a slow count, five seconds between each one and it seems much longer. Ted didn't let out a peep until the third, then he sobbed.

The next thing I knew I was staring up at Corporal Bronski. He was slapping me and looking intently at me. He stopped and asked, "Okay now? All right, back in ranks. On the bounce; we're about to pa.s.s in review." We did so and marched back to our company areas. I didn't eat much dinner but neither did a lot of them.

n.o.body said a word to me about fainting. I found out later that I wasn't the only one - a couple of dozen of us had pa.s.sed out.

Chapter 6.

What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly . . . it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as FREEDOM should not be highly rated.

Thomas Paine

It was the night after Hendrick was kicked out that I reached my lowest slump at Camp Currie. I couldn't sleep - and you have to have been through boot camp to understand just how far down a recruit has to sink before that can happen. But I hadn't had any real exercise all day so I wasn't physically tired, and my shoulder still hurt even though I had been marked "duty," and I had that letter from my mother preying on my mind, and every time I closed my eyes I would hear that crack! and see Ted slump against the whipping post.

I wasn't fretted about losing my boot chevrons. That no longer mattered at all because I was ready to resign, determined to. If it hadn't been the middle of the night and no pen and paper handy, I would have done so right then.

Ted had made a bad mistake, one that lasted all of half a second. And it really had been just a mistake, too, because, while he hated the outfit (who liked it?), he had been trying to sweat it out and win his franchise; he meant to go into politics - he talked a lot about how, when he got his citizens.h.i.+p, "There will be some changes made - you wait and see."

Well, he would never be in public office now; he had taken his finger off his number for a single instant and he was through.

If it could happen to him, it could happen to me. Suppose I slipped? Next day or next week? Not even allowed to resign . . . but drummed out with my back striped.

Time to admit that I was wrong and Father was right, time to put in that little piece of paper and slink home and tell Father that I was ready to go to Harvard and then go to work in the business - if he would still let me. Time to see Sergeant Zim, first thing in the morning, and tell him that I had had it. But not until morning, because you don't wake Sergeant Zim except for something you're certain that he he will cla.s.s as an emergency - believe me, you don't! Not Sergeant Zim. will cla.s.s as an emergency - believe me, you don't! Not Sergeant Zim.

Sergeant Zim - He worried me as much as Ted's case did. After the court-martial was over and Ted had been taken away, he stayed behind and said to Captain Frankel, "May I speak with the Battalion Commander, sir?"

"Certainly. I was intending to ask you to stay behind for a word. Sit down."

Zim flicked his eyes my way and the Captain looked at me and I didn't have to be told to get out; I faded. There was n.o.body in the outer office, just a couple of civilian clerks. I didn't dare go outside because the Captain might want me; I found a chair back of a row of files and sat down.

I could hear them talking, through the part.i.tion I had my head against. BHQ was a building rather than a tent, since it housed permanent communication and recording equipment, but it was a "minimum field building," a shack; the inner part.i.tions weren't much. I doubt if the civilians could hear as they each were wearing transcriber phones and were bent over typers - besides, they didn't matter. I didn't mean to eavesdrop. Uh, well, maybe I did.

Zim said: "Sir, I request transfer to a combat team."

Frankel answered: "I can't hear you, Charlie. My tin ear is bothering me again."

Zim: "I'm quite serious, sir. This isn't my sort of duty."

Frankel said testily, "Quit bellyaching your troubles to me, Sergeant. At least wait until we've disposed of duty matters. What in the world happened?"

Zim said stiffly, "Captain, that boy doesn't rate ten lashes."

Frankel answered, "Of course he doesn't. You know who goofed - and so do I."

"Yes, sir. I know."

"Well? You know even better than I do that these kids are wild animals at this stage. You know when it's safe to turn your back on them and when it isn't. You know the doctrine and the standing orders about article nine-oh-eight-oh - you must never never give them a chance to violate it. Of course some of them are going to try it - if they weren't aggressive they wouldn't be material for the M. I. They're docile in ranks; it's safe enough to turn your back when they're eating, or sleeping, or sitting on their tails and being lectured. But get them out in the field in a combat exercise, or anything that gets them keyed up and full of adrenaline, and they're as explosive as a hatful of mercury fulminate. You know that, all you instructors know that; you're trained - trained to watch for it, trained to snuff it out before it happens. Explain to me how it was possible for an untrained recruit to hang a mouse on your eye? He should never have laid a hand on you; you should have knocked him cold when you saw what he was up to. So why weren't you on the bounce? Are you slowing down?" give them a chance to violate it. Of course some of them are going to try it - if they weren't aggressive they wouldn't be material for the M. I. They're docile in ranks; it's safe enough to turn your back when they're eating, or sleeping, or sitting on their tails and being lectured. But get them out in the field in a combat exercise, or anything that gets them keyed up and full of adrenaline, and they're as explosive as a hatful of mercury fulminate. You know that, all you instructors know that; you're trained - trained to watch for it, trained to snuff it out before it happens. Explain to me how it was possible for an untrained recruit to hang a mouse on your eye? He should never have laid a hand on you; you should have knocked him cold when you saw what he was up to. So why weren't you on the bounce? Are you slowing down?"

"I don't know," Zim answered slowly. "I guess I must be."

"Hmm! If true, a combat team is the last place for you. But it's not true. Or wasn't true the last time you and I worked out together, three days ago. So what slipped?"

Zim was slow in answering. "I think I had him tagged in my mind as one of the safe ones."

"There are no such."

"Yes, sir. But he was so earnest, so doggedly determined to sweat it out - he didn't have any apt.i.tude but he kept on trying - that I must have done that, subconsciously." Zim was silent, then added, "I guess it was because I liked him."

Frankel snorted. "An instructor can't afford to like a man."

"I know it, sir. But I do. They're a nice bunch of kids. We've dumped all the real twerps by now - Hendrick's only shortcoming, aside from being clumsy, was that he thought he knew all the answers. I didn't mind that; I knew it all at that age myself. The twerps have gone home and those that are left are eager, anxious to please, and on the bounce - as cute as a litter of collie pups. A lot of them will make soldiers."

"So that that was the soft spot. You liked him . . . so you failed to clip him in time. So he winds up with a court and the whip and a B. C. D. Sweet." was the soft spot. You liked him . . . so you failed to clip him in time. So he winds up with a court and the whip and a B. C. D. Sweet."

Zim said earnestly, "I wish to heaven there were some way for me to take that flogging myself, sir."

"You'd have to take your turn, I outrank you. What do you think I've been wis.h.i.+ng the past hour? What do you think I was afraid of from the moment I saw you come in here sporting a s.h.i.+ner? I did my best to brush it off with administrative punishment and the young fool wouldn't let well enough alone. But I never thought he would be crazy enough to blurt out that he had hung one on you - he's stupid stupid; you should have eased him out of the outfit weeks ago . . . instead of nursing him along until he got into trouble. But blurt it out he did, to me, in front of witnesses, forcing me to take of official notice of it - and that licked us. No way to get it off the record, no way to avoid a court . . . just go through the whole dreary mess and take our medicine, and wind up with one more civilian who'll be against us the rest of his days. Because he has to be flogged; neither you nor I can take it for him, even though the fault was ours. Because the regiment has to see what happens when nine-oh-eight-oh is violated. Our fault . . . but his lumps."

"My fault, Captain. That's why I want to be transferred. Uh, sir, I think it's best for the outfit."

"You do, eh? But I decide what's best for my battalion, not you, Sergeant. Charlie, who do you think pulled your name out of the hat? And why? Think back twelve years. You were a corporal, remember? Where were you?"

"Here, as you know quite well, Captain. Right here on this same G.o.dforsaken prairie - and I wish I had never come back to it!"

"Don't we all. But it happens to be the most important and the most delicate work in the Army - turning unspanked young cubs into soldiers. Who was the worst unspanked young cub in your section?"

"Mmm . . ." Zim answered slowly. "I wouldn't go so far as to say you were the worst, Captain."

"You wouldn't, eh? But you'd have to think hard to name another candidate. I hated your guts, 'Corporal' Zim."

Zim sounded surprised, and a little hurt. "You did, Captain? I didn't hate you - I rather liked you."

"So? Well, 'hate' is the other luxury an instructor can never afford. We must not hate them, we must not like them; we must teach them. But if you liked me then - mmm, it seemed to me that you had very strange ways of showing it. Do you still like me? Don't answer that; I don't care whether you do or not - or, rather, I don't want to know, whichever it is. Never mind; I despised you then and I used to dream about ways to get you. But you were always on the bounce and never gave me a chance to buy a nine-oh-eight-oh court of my own. So here I am, thanks to you. Now to handle your request: You used to have one order that you gave to me over and over again when I was a boot. I got so that I loathed it almost more than anything else you did or said. Do you remember it? I do and now I'll give it back to you: 'Soldier, shut up and soldier!' "

"Yes, sir."

"Don't go yet. This weary mess isn't all loss; any regiment of boots needs a stern lesson in the meaning of nine-oh-eight-oh, as we both know. They haven't yet learned to think, they won't read, and they rarely listen - but they can see . . . and young Hendrick's misfortune may save one of his mates, some day, from swinging by the neck until he's dead, dead, dead. But I'm sorry the object lesson had to come from my battalion and I certainly don't intend to let this battalion supply another one. You get your instructors together and warn them. For about twenty-four hours those kids will be in a state of shock. Then they'll turn sullen and the tension will build. Along about Thursday or Friday some boy who is about to flunk out anyhow will start thinking over the fact that Hendrick didn't get so very much, not even the number of lashes for drunken driving . . . and he's going to start brooding that it might be worth it, to take a swing at the instructor he hates worst. Sergeant - that blow must never land! that blow must never land! Understand me?" Understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"I want them to be eight times as cautious as they have been. I want them to keep their distance, I want them to have eyes in the backs of their heads. I want them to be as alert as a mouse at a cat show. Bronski - you have a special word with Bronski; he has a tendency to fraternize."

"I'll straighten Bronski out, sir."

"See that you do. Because when the next kid starts swinging, it's got to be stop-punched - not m.u.f.fed, like today. The boy has got to be knocked cold and the instructor must do so without ever being touched himself or I'll d.a.m.ned well break him for incompetence. Let them know that. They've got to teach those kids that it's not merely expensive but impossible impossible to violate nine-oh-eight-oh . . . that even trying it wins a short nap, a bucket of water in the face, and a very sore jaw - and nothing else." to violate nine-oh-eight-oh . . . that even trying it wins a short nap, a bucket of water in the face, and a very sore jaw - and nothing else."

"Yes, sir. It'll be done."

"It had better be done. I will not only break the instructor who slips, I will personally take him 'way out on the prairie and give him lumps . . . because I will not have another one of my boys strung up to that whipping post I will not have another one of my boys strung up to that whipping post through sloppiness on the part of his teachers. Dismissed." through sloppiness on the part of his teachers. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir. Good afternoon, Captain."

"What's good about it? Charlie - "

"Yes, sir?"

"If you're not too busy this evening, why don't you bring your soft shoes and your pads over to officers' row and we'll go waltzing Matilda? Say about eight o'clock."

"Yes, sir."

"That's not an order, that's an invitation. If you really are slowing down, maybe I'll be able to kick your shoulder blades off."

"Uh, would the Captain care to put a small bet on it?"

"Huh? With me sitting here at this desk getting swivel-chair spread? I will not! Not unless you agree to fight with one foot in a bucket of cement. Seriously, Charlie, we've had a miserable day and it's going to be worse before it gets better. If you and I work up a good sweat and swap a few lumps, maybe we'll be able to sleep tonight despite all of mother's little darlings."

"I'll be there, Captain. Don't eat too much dinner - I need to work off a couple of matters myself."

"I'm not going to dinner; I'm going to sit right here and sweat out this quarterly report . . . which the Regimental Commander is graciously pleased to see right after his dinner . . . and which somebody whose name I won't mention has put me two hours behind on. So I may be a few minutes late for our waltz. Go 'way now, Charlie, and don't bother me. See you later."

Sergeant Zim left so abruptly that I barely had time to lean over and tie my shoe and thereby be out of sight behind the file cases as he pa.s.sed through the outer office. Captain Frankel was already shouting, "Orderly! Orderly! Orderly! ORDERLY! - do I have to call you three times? What's your name? Put yourself down for an hour's extra duty, full kit. Find the company commanders of E, F, and G, my compliments and I'll be pleased to see them before parade. Then bounce over to my tent and fetch me a clean dress uniform, cap, side arms, shoes, ribbons - no medals. Lay it out for me here. Then make afternoon sick call - if you can scratch with that arm, as I've seen you doing, your shoulder can't be too sore. You've got thirteen minutes until sick call on the bounce, soldier!" ORDERLY! - do I have to call you three times? What's your name? Put yourself down for an hour's extra duty, full kit. Find the company commanders of E, F, and G, my compliments and I'll be pleased to see them before parade. Then bounce over to my tent and fetch me a clean dress uniform, cap, side arms, shoes, ribbons - no medals. Lay it out for me here. Then make afternoon sick call - if you can scratch with that arm, as I've seen you doing, your shoulder can't be too sore. You've got thirteen minutes until sick call on the bounce, soldier!"

I made it . . . by catching two of them in the senior instructors - showers (an orderly can go anywhere) and the third at his desk; the orders you get aren't impossible, they merely seem so because they nearly are. I was laying out Captain Frankel's uniform for parade as sick call sounded. Without looking up he growled, "Belay that extra duty. Dismissed." So I got home just in time to catch extra duty for "Uniform, Untidy in, Two Particulars" and see the sickening end of Ted Hendrick's time in the M. I.

So I had plenty to think about as I lay awake that night. I had known that Sergeant Zim worked hard, but it had never occurred to me that he could possibly be other than completely and smugly self-satisfied with what he did. He looked so smug, so self-a.s.sured, so at peace with the world and with himself.

The idea that this invincible robot could feel that he had failed, could feel so deeply and personally disgraced that he wanted to run away, hide his face among strangers, and offer the excuse that his leaving would be "best for the outfit," shook me up as much, and in a way even more, than seeing Ted flogged.

To have Captain Frankel agree with him - as to the seriousness of the failure, I mean - and then rub his nose in it, chew him out. Well! I mean really. Sergeants don't get chewed out; sergeants do the chewing. A law of nature.

But I had to admit that what Sergeant Zim had taken, and swallowed, was so completely humiliating and withering as to make the worst I had ever heard or overhead from a sergeant sound like a love song. And yet the Captain hadn't even raised his voice.

The whole incident was so preposterously unlikely that I was never even tempted to mention it to anyone else.

And Captain Frankel himself - Officers we didn't see very often. They showed up for evening parade, sauntering over at the last moment and doing nothing that would work up a sweat; they inspected once a week, making private comments to sergeants, comments that invariably meant grief for somebody else, not them; and they decided each week what company had won the honor of guarding the regimental colors. Aside from that, they popped up occasionally on surprise inspections, creased, immaculate, remote, and smelling faintly of cologne - and went away again.

Oh, one or more of them did always accompany us on route marches and twice Captain Frankel had demonstrated his virtuosity at la savate la savate. But officers didn't work, not real work, and they had no worries because sergeants were under under them, not them, not over over them. them.

But it appeared that Captain Frankel worked so hard that he skipped meals, was kept so busy with something or other that he complained of lack of exercise and would waste his own free time just to work up a sweat.

As for worries, he had honestly seemed to be even more upset at what had happened to Hendrick than Zim had been. And yet he hadn't even known Hendrick by sight; he had been forced to ask his name.

I had an unsettling feeling that I had been completely mistaken as to the very nature of the world I was in, as if every part of it was something wildly different from what it appeared to be - like discovering that your own mother isn't anyone you've ever seen before, but a stranger in a rubber mask.

But I was sure of one thing: I didn't even want to find out what the M. I. really was. If it was so tough that even the G.o.ds-that-be - sergeants and officers - were made unhappy by it, it was certainly too tough for Johnnie! How could you keep from making mistakes in an outfit you didn't understand? I didn't want to swing by my neck till I was dead, dead, dead! I didn't even want to risk being flogged . . . even though the doctor stands by to make certain that it doesn't do you any permanent injury. n.o.body in our family had ever been flogged (except paddlings in school, of course, which isn't at all the same thing). There were no criminals in our family on either side, none who had even been accused of crime. We were a proud family; the only thing we lacked was citizens.h.i.+p and Father regarded that as no real honor, a vain and useless thing. But if I were flogged - Well, he'd probably have a stroke.

And yet Hendrick hadn't done anything that I hadn't thought about doing a thousand times. Why hadn't I? Timid, I guess. I knew knew that those instructors, any one of them, could beat the tar out of me, so I had b.u.t.toned my lip and hadn't tried it. No guts, Johnnie. At least Ted Hendrick had had guts. I didn't have . . . and a man with no guts has no business in the Army in the first place. that those instructors, any one of them, could beat the tar out of me, so I had b.u.t.toned my lip and hadn't tried it. No guts, Johnnie. At least Ted Hendrick had had guts. I didn't have . . . and a man with no guts has no business in the Army in the first place.

Besides that, Captain Frankel hadn't even considered it to be Ted's fault. Even if I didn't buy a 9080, through lack of guts, what day would I do something other than a 9080 something not my fault - and wind up slumped against the whipping post anyhow? Time to get out, Johnnie, while you're still ahead.

My mother's letter simply confirmed my decision. I had been able to harden my heart to my parents as long as they were refusing me - but when they softened, I couldn't stand it. Or when Mother softened, at least. She had written: .

- but I am afraid I must tell you that your father will still not permit your name to be mentioned. But, dearest, that is his way of grieving, since he cannot cry. You must understand, my darling baby, that he loves you more than life itself - more than he does me - and that you have hurt him very deeply. He tells the world that you are a grown man, capable of making your own decisions, and that he is proud of you. But that is his own pride speaking, the bitter hurt of a proud man who has been wounded deep in his heart by the one he loves best. You must understand, Juanito, that he does not speak of you and has not written to you because he cannot - not yet, not till his grief becomes bearable. When it has, I will know it, and then I will intercede for you - and we will all be together again.

Myself? How could anything her baby boy does anger his mother? You can hurt me, but you cannot make me love you the less. Wherever you are, whatever you choose to do, you are always my little boy who bangs his knee and comes running to my lap for comfort. My lap has shrunk, or perhaps you have grown (though I have never believed it), but nonetheless it will always be waiting, when you need it. Little boys never get over needing their mother's laps - do they, darling? I hope not. I hope that you will write and tell me so.

But I must add that, in view of the terribly long time that you have not written, it is probably best (until I let you know otherwise) for you to write to me care of your Aunt Eleanora. She will pa.s.s it on to me at once - and without causing any more upset. You understand?