Starship Troopers by Robert A. Heinlein

to
    you and again ask you that question. ‘Article 9080: Any person in the Military Forces who strikes or assaults, or attempts to strike or assault—“
    “Oh, I suppose they did. They read a lot of that stuff, every Sunday morning—a whole long list of things you couldn’t do.”
    “Was or was not that particular article read to you?”
    “Uh . . . yes, sir. It was.”
    “Very well. Having declined to testify, do you have any statement to make in mitigation or extenuation?”
    “Sir?”
    “Do you want to tell the Court anything about it? Any circumstance which you think might possibly affect the evidence already given? Or anything which might lessen the alleged offense? Such things as being ill, or under drugs or medication. You are not under oath at this point; you may say anything at all which you think may help you. What the Court is trying to find out is this: Does anything about this matter strike you as being unfair? If so, why?”
    “Huh? Of course it is! Everything about it is unfair! He hit me first! You heard ‘em! -- he hit me first!”
    “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 assign 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 shirt off and it turned out that it was fixed so that it could come off and he didn’t have an undershirt. The adjutant said crisply, “Carry out the sentence of the Court.”
    A corporal-instructor from some other battalion