A Company Court-Martial

Pye flinched at the last words, spoken by Roper. He still remembered how glad he was for the opportunity he was given. For that small amount of freedom, of choice. How timid and frightened he was of captain Vickery, when he first approached him and how he expected him to say no and send him back to the 33rd. And then it happened. He allowed him, had faith in him and even said he could be a rifleman, had the makings of one.

He dropped his gaze. Shook his head and still kept it low. Did they have the ability, the power to have him transferred back? It was a real fear that would happen. He did not want to return to serve under sergeant Hakeswill. No. Not under all the other mad officer lot.

Roper noticed the flinch, and was pleased by it; maybe Pye could learn to reign himself in. "It's a privilege, bein' a Rifleman," he said. "We don't take just anyone. Men have to think, to be responsible for what they do. You're wearin' a green jacket, so you got summat that means you ain't like the common, run-o'-the-mill sort of redcoat. Captain Vickery saw that, which is why he took you. I can't send you back. Don't want to. I do want you to learn to be a good rifleman - to think things through. Else there's a good chance you'll end up dead, killed by some Frog who ain't worth half what any of us are. You got anythin' more to say, 'fore we make our decision?"

It was slightly uplifting, after the blow that had been delivered a moment ago. He looked thoughtful. Was there anything that he could say? That he was relieved? No, that would not fit and he hadn't been good at words. He shook his head. "..." He opened his mouth. There might've been something. But as hard as he tried, it eluded him in the next instant. He relaxed his hands and said instead: "...I ..wait fer yer decision." There, even if he meant to add something, which wasn't at best in his defense, he could not, now. But that was good. The sooner they got it over, the better.

"All right." There followed a quick, quiet discussion between Roper and the other two Riflemen. Finally they came to a decision and sat up again. Roper looked up at Pye. "Right. Rifleman Pye. For doin' what you did and actin' without thinkin' of the consequences, you're to get a cobbin'. Ten strokes with a tailor's sleeve board, or summat similar. And no, it ain't in front of the whole comp'ny, either." He sighed. "I hope you learn from this, Pye, 'cause next time it'll likely be a full proper regimental court martial, an' they won't be so easy on you."

Pye hadn't known what to expect. When the sentence was announced though, atleast the wait was over. With a slow nod, he aknowledged it, made it clear he understood too. "Yes.." Almost said sir. It was just something about people in command, that reminded him of officers, since it was those that were most commonly in such a possition. "Am I to receive it at present time?" He asked and had more questions up his sleeve, but left those unspoken.

Roper nodded. "Well, in the next half-an-hour, anyway." He said something to Jacklin, who scrambled up and hurried off. "No point in waitin' around, is there? Sooner it's done with, the sooner we can move on, after all. Better all round, that way, I think."

Pye agreed. No use in waiting either. The sentence wouldn't change, and having that hanging over his head would only make for an uncomfortable wait. It would prolong the time that everybody thought and was reminded of it, and as for Pye, he was not injured as Newbury and would need to return to the fighting soon enough. No use in waiting for it to happen, while at the back.

There didn't seem to be anything else to say right then that wouldn't make everyone even more uncomfortable. Roper opened the Punishment Book and dug out a pencil stub, writing in the verdict and the sentence, concentrating on forming his letters properly. He wasn't used to writing. He finished and sat up, scrambling to his feet as he realised Vickery was approaching.

"We... It's goin' to be a cobbin', sir. Jacklin's gone to see Sergeant Fischer now, sir," he said, in response to the officer's raised eyebrow.

Vickery turned to Pye. "I hope you learn from this, Rifleman. I don't want this to happen again."

Yes, sir." Pye had saluted and stood stiff, as if he were under inspection, only it was just captain Vickery there. He dropped his gaze then very quietly he murmured a: "M'.. sorry, sir."

Vickery nodded. "Learn from it. And think before you act in future, Pye."

"Yes, sir. " Although he knew that Vickery meant to say, that he ought not to do something like that before, as it was foolish, he couldn't help but feel that the man was being just a tiny bit unfair. He had thought, before he'd done it. Not about the right things, or else he would not have done it. But he did at least think on how to do it, as best as he could, in not to get caught. He didn't intend to mention that though. Would be stupid if he did. "Will you be here, sir?"

"No. The punishment is between you, as the hearing was. Sergeant Fischer will see that things are carried out fairly." He looked at Roper. "Come and see me afterwards to borrow a pen and ink to write the entry up neatly. You know my standards."

"Yes, sir."

He looked relieved and felt even more so. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." He smiled. He wondered where the sergeant had gone and who would be the person delivering the punishment. Not that it mattered, it would be over and then, if Cotton was to be believed, nobody would speak of it again. Well, except the gossipers, who would, so he believed, probably not be quiet till they had told everyone. Damn.

"Carry on." He returned Roper's and Schroeder's salutes and turned away, nodding to Cotton as he came up, accompanied by Jacklin and Sergeant Fischer, who was carrying a wooden board.

It was awkward seeing the board and knowing what purpose it was going to play at that time. Since he did not know where he was to place himself though, he did not move from his spot, and only did so much as to avert his gaze from Cotton.

Cotton noticed that Pye avoided his eye, and sighed. Well, it couldn't be helped.

"All right, then. Let's get this over with." Roper took the board from Sergeant Fischer. "Ain't got anythin' for you to bend over, I'm 'fraid. Would you take your belt and crossbelt off and bend over? Hold your legs if you need to."

Pye did as he was told, lying his crossbelt and belt both to the left of him. He bent awkardly forward then spread his legs a bit appart because he just happened to nearly tip over. Bending his knees a bit he thought he just looked stupid. It looked like he was going to .. well, he didn't think it was the appropriate time to think on it. "...I'um... ready." And steady. "I think." Perhaps not.

If he felt like he was going to tip over, he might as for some sort of support. Even just holding himself steady against another rifleman, would do.

"Here, you can hold on to me if you need," Cotton said, feeling a little awkward but crossing over to offer his arm in support.

Pye didn't react right away, but as he did, his hand came to rest against Cotton's. "..Jus' keep it steady. Don't know how easy one gets tipped in this." He said, trying to sound as if it was nothing. He still kept his head low. Roper was waiting, probably for him to get settled. He'd said something that the lad did not register, but the following smack made it clear what it was. First strike and he had managed to stay bent over and not sprawled on the floor, head first. Good.

It was a shame it had come to this. But ten strokes ought to be over pretty quickly, and it was in private too - or as private as anything could be in bivouac. Unlike his own flogging.

The next stroke came and Cotton felt Pye's fingers tighten momentarily on his sleeve. Two done.

Pye kept himself steady, though he found himself counting inbtween the strokes. Since he wasn't very good at that and didn't exactly know to count high, he ended up repeating the count from one, each time a strike was given. Already after the second strike he felt the rather warm sensation on his butt. Third smack and he breathed in a bit more quickly. At the fourth he caughed, but only as he had thought to gulp down at the same time as the smack came. Having himself suck in breath while doing the first, brought some of his mouth's contents in the wrong place.

Very warm. Tender certainly. The pain was sudden, and then left a wave of heat follow. He relaxed his hand again. Oops. He hadn't meant to do that to Cotton's arm.

"You hold as tight as you need," Cotton said quietly. He could always rub his arm afterwards if he needed to. The fifth stroke came... half-way through, now. Pye seemed to be bearing up all right, at least.

Pye adjusted his stance just slightly and gave Cotton a half hearted smile. "..enough if one o' us is bruised..ain't it?" Six. Atleast Roper kept a steady hand, and though he did not do it in any manner lighter or laxer, he did not seek to overdo it either. Seven had him grip a bit tighter on Cotton's arm again. It had struck over the already sensitive area, and at a force that sent a somewhat stronger jolt of pain from his butt.

Just... how many more? Well less than before.

"Only three left." The eighth stroke landed and Cotton corrected himself. "Two left." He just hoped Pye would learn his lesson and not do it again.

Pye felt grateful to Cotton for that announcement. He thought he was fortunate to be allowed his trousers on. The fabric did soften the contact, even if not by much. One more. Roper took his time for the last. He looked at Pye, waited more than a few seconds, as he had before.

The last strike had been stronger. Much stronger infact. But again, it was just as it was supposed to be, to seal the punishment up. Ow, but it he did feel his butt right at that moment. Every inch of it, where the board had struck. "Is done."