Despite knowing that I would have to face him at some point, I was not expecting Gunny Malcolm to be the first person I encountered once I stepped off the dropship. Like me, he was in his dress greens, standing in the unrelenting Kanarisian rain, getting soaked to his bones while flanked by a pair of military police officers.
I was surprised to see that Malcolm had decided against getting his eye fixed. He greeted me with a black patch covering his empty socket, a pair of shackles in his grip, and a grin on his face that radiated genuine warmth. The man greeted me like an old friend. I found that odd considering what he was about to do to me.
“Welcome back to Kanaris, Cadet Tauk,” the old Marine told me as he extended his right hand.
Smiling back at my former platoon sergeant, I clasped his paw and shook it. “Thank you, Gunny,” I said, my eyes locked onto the restraints he was holding. “I presume those are for me?”
Malcolm nodded. “I’m afraid so. How are you feeling? Your orders say you’re fully recovered. Is that right?”
The last time Gunny Malcolm saw me, I was dying. I had been shot twice and was surrounded by an army of medics trying to plug my leaks. That was six months before. I had come a long way since then. “I think I’m as good as I’m ever going to be.”
“You positive?” Gunny asked, showing me the chains he was holding. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”
I let out a long sigh. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think I was. I have to admit, though, I didn’t think this would happen the instant I stepped off the transport.”
Malcolm shrugged. “It’s best to get it over with. The quicker we put all this shit behind us, the faster we can move forward. It’s better for the Corps, it’s better for me, and though it may not seem like it right now, it’s best for you, too.”
I nodded in resignation. “I understand. You don’t need the cuffs, though.”
“I know I don’t,” Gunny agreed. “But it’s part of the process. Let me see your hands.”
After I stuck my arms out in front of me, Gunny Malcolm clasped the shackles around my wrists. The military police also stepped forward and chained my legs together. When they finished, the gunnery sergeant turned to me and asked, “You ready?”
“I guess I’m as ready as I can possibly be.”
“Then let’s do this. For-warrrrd…March!”
One of the MPs called cadence as we trudged off the landing pad, but the leg irons made it impossible for me to march in step. The best I could manage was an awkward shuffle as I tried to keep up.
Had I been a typical prisoner, I would have been transported to my hearing in a command vehicle. Because I was credited with taking the life of the Butcher of Deraghun, I was paraded through the streets for three blocks to the ceremonial grounds of the Corps’ headquarters. My arrival had been announced beforehand, so the curbsides were lined by those who had not been invited to the official proceedings. Along the entire way, people pointed at me and asked, “Is that the guy who killed Gori Dravidas?”
Trying my best to ignore the gawkers, I turned to Gunny and mused, “The colonel really wanted to make a spectacle out of this thing, didn’t he?”
Malcolm nodded. “Yeah, he wants to send a message to the troops that nobody’s above the reach of military justice. Not even our heroes.”
I chuckled. “If he wanted them to actually believe that, maybe he should be doing this to one of the Samaari highborn under his command.”
Gunny spat on the road. “Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth.”
***
Narman’s Pyke was no longer considered a combat zone, so the three hundred officers and NCOs gathered to watch the brigade commander pass judgment on me wore their dress greens, not armor. It was going to be a lot of work for those troops to get their uniforms back into inspection condition once the rain was finished with them, but I had little sympathy for those in attendance. I figured it served them right for seeking entertainment in my suffering.
As Gunny Malcolm and our MP escorts led me to the stage, Colonel Dalton Palkrait took his place behind the podium in front of us. Rank had its privileges, so instead of getting soaked like the rest of us, the colonel stood beneath an awning that kept him dry and comfortable. His uniform was going to be just fine.
Once I was in position before Palkrait, Malcolm marched off to the right to take his place at the far end of the stage. The two MPs stood fast at my shoulders.
“Cadet Eamon Tauk,” Palkrait said once I was presented to him. “The Disciplinary Review Board has concluded that you are guilty of willful insubordination for actions taken on the seventh day of the tenth month, four hundred and forty-two years aetate explorationis. According to the account of Gunnery Sergeant Konor Malcolm, you returned to the wreckage of Wasp-Three against the direct orders of your immediate superior. The DRB also concluded that you abandoned your assignment, which was to guard the battalion’s guide, and were derelict in your assigned duties.”
The colonel paused and stared at me for dramatic effect. “Cadet Tauk, there’s also the matter of Vernor Blyte’s death. Yes, as a squad leader, you had the authority to execute a Class Zero convict for being unable or unwilling to perform his duties, but that doesn’t mean the Space Corps is encouraging its junior NCOs to casually commit acts of random cruelty. Blyte may have been a Class Zero convict, but by all accounts, he was a useful and productive military asset. Your actions in regards to Blyte deprived the Corps of a valuable resource. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered. “I do.”
Palkrait sighed. “Cadet Tauk, would you care to explain your actions on the day Wasp-Three crashed on the beach just off the Buvalla Sea?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, surprised to learn the body of water we had wrecked beside actually had a name. “After escaping the disabled dropship with Jella Duverii and Corporal Harlund Merik, we nearly drowned crawling over a massive mud flat, which we later discovered to be a type of trap laid by a sizeable carnivore. This sludge was claiming our troops by the dozens because they were trying to cross it with their battle packs still on. Their rucks, averaging about forty kilos apiece, were the difference between making it to the tree line and dying in quicksand.
“Knowing that many more Marines would perish if they were not warned to drop their gear, I ensured Dr. Duverii was in capable hands, then returned to Wasp-Three to warn the others.”
“Did anyone try to stop you?” Colonel Palkrait asked, even though he knew the answer to that question.
“Yes, sir. Gunny Malcolm ordered me to return to the tree line.”
“And you disobeyed him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because of my mission, sir,” I told the colonel. “I did not think I could get Jella Duverii to Narman’s Pyke alive by myself. I needed Marines, sir. We were already down to less than a third of our allotted troops after our other two dropships were destroyed. If we lost half of what remained, we would be even more vulnerable than we already were.”
“Did you realize you were disobeying a direct order from Gunny Malcolm?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And did you know the consequences of disobeying that order?”
With a single nod, I said, “I did, sir.”
“And you did it anyway?”
“Sir,” I started. “I had to weigh the rewards versus the consequences. If I had to sacrifice some skin off my back to save Marine lives and complete my mission, so be it. Gunny Malcolm gave me a lawful order, and I disobeyed it. The order was sound, but from my point of view, I did not think he was considering the big picture when he issued it.”
“So you disobeyed his order because you disagreed with it? You, a recent Citadel graduate on your first combat mission, thought you knew better than a veteran gunnery sergeant with more than two decades of experience? You didn’t think you’d come to regret that?”
“Oh, I was certain I’d regret it,” I admitted to Colonel Palkrait. “I also knew that I could save hundreds of Marines and that I’d regret letting them all drown even more.”
The look on Colonel Palkrait’s face suggested he did not really know how to respond to that. The fact that he decided to go on to another topic all but confirmed it. “Let’s move on to the matter of Vernor Blyte. Why did you think it necessary to execute a man being medically evacuated from a wrecked dropship?”
“Again,” I told the colonel. “It came down to priorities. Chief Warrant Officer Je’Sikka Albarn was an incredible pilot who saved not only our lives, but our mission. Her spine was broken and we needed a self-propelled stretcher to get her to safety. The only stretcher I had access to was one occupied by a convict laborer. I did not know Vernor Blyte. All I was aware of at the time was that he was a Class Zero convict, a true irredeemable, who’d been crippled by the eels in the seawater that was flooding our dropship’s wreckage. The Corps does not typically fix Zeros who’ve had the flesh gnawed off their legs from their ankles to their knees, so I figured they’d just euthanize him anyway. Having him on that stretcher was a wasted resource. I put him out of his misery so his SPS could be used to evacuate Albarn.”
Palkrait seemed to agree with my point of view. “Okay. I see. Well….”
“Sir,” I said, unwisely interrupting a senior officer. “If I may, I would like to add that I do truly regret taking Blyte’s life. Everything I heard about him since his death suggests that he probably did not deserve to be a Class Zero in the first place, and even if he had, he’d made amends and turned himself around. He became a skilled medic and had a reputation for risking his life to save others. In fact, doing that was exactly what landed him on that stretcher. If there’s one thing I could take back about that day, Colonel, it’s that.”
Our brigade commander stared at me for several moments, taking in what I had said. He then cleared his throat. “Do you have anything else you would like to say about the accusations levied against you?”
Shaking my head, I said, “No, sir.”
“Okay then. I’ve reviewed the charges and the DRB’s recommendations. I’ve listened to your explanation of events and found nothing in your statements that would justify the mitigation of your sentence. You do not appear to be appealing for leniency, nor am I inclined to give it. Are you prepared to receive your punishment?”
I stiffened as close to the position of attention as my shackles would allow. “Yes, sir.”
“For the charge of disobeying a direct order, I sentence you to ten lashes. For blatant insubordination, I sentence you to another ten. For willful dereliction of duty, ten more. Fifteen for abandoning your post.”
I swallowed hard. I knew I had a flogging coming to me, but being whipped forty-five times could prove crippling. It could even be deadly.
The colonel seemed to savor the look of terror on my face. He let me stew for a couple of moments, then said, “For risking your own life and safety to protect your fellow Marines, however, I remove fifteen lashes off your sentence. I also understand that you performed admirably during the mutiny that occurred behind these walls and that you played a major role in keeping your commander from being killed by insurgents. Considering how unworthy that man was of your efforts….”
Palkrait himself had sentenced Captain Briggund to death and had him hung like a common criminal not far from where I was standing. Despite what was in store for me, I smiled thinking about that.
“…and how hard you must have struggled to not just let the rebels have their way with that son-of-a-bitch, I reduce your sentence by another fifteen lashes. Gunny Malcolm!”
“Yes, SIR!” called my former platoon sergeant, marching three steps toward center stage with a bullwhip in hand.
“Fifteen lashes, this prisoner has earned!” the colonel proclaimed.
“Then fifteen lashes that prisoner will receive!” Malcolm called back.
As Gunny marched my way, one of the MPs tied a line to the chain that tethered my wrists together. The other pulled a dagger from his belt, then cut my tunic and striped undershirt off, exposing my bare back. The two of them then led me to the whipping post; a large, heavy horizontal log lifted off the ground high enough to reach the chest of an average Marine. My feet were tied to a pair of rings sticking out of the deck while my arms were pulled over the trunk, stretching me tightly against it.
When he was satisfied I was entirely immobilized, Gunny Malcolm stepped beside me. Pulling a piece of thick leather from a pocket on his tunic, he said, “Open your mouth and bite down on this.”
I shook my head and looked at him as defiantly as I could. “I don’t need that.”
“As a man who’s been in your position several times myself,” Malcolm growled, “I’m telling you to put that thing between your fuckin’ teeth. This’s going to hurt worse than anything you’ve ever experienced before. That strap will keep you from shattering your pearly whites or biting your tongue off when you clench your jaw.”
Not willing to question Gunny Malcolm’s experience, I gave him a nod and opened my mouth. As the one-eyed Marine shoved the leather between my teeth, he said, “Try not to scream until the third or fourth lash. By then, your body will have come to terms with what’s happening, and you won’t have to bite down so much. Fifteen lashes mean about ninety seconds of agony. It’ll be the longest ninety seconds of your life, but it’s still only a minute and a half. There’s no shame in anything you do up here to get through it. Besides, you’re a blooded academy Marine,” Malcolm reminded me as he turned his chin toward my audience. “You think any of those candy asses out there have the balls to call you out for whatever you do up here?”
Even though I was drenched by the rain, Malcolm could see how much I was sweating. “You’re going to be all right, son,” he reassured me. “See you on the other side of this shit.”
***
CRACK!
I was expecting pain, but nothing like that. The whip cut me from the top of my right shoulder, diagonally across my spine, to a spot just above my left hip bone. The sensation was electric, and every muscle of my body tensed up rock hard. It took my breath away.
CRACK!
Just as Gunny said it would, the second lash forced my jaw to clench shut so hard that it popped. I tried to whimper, but there was not enough wind inside of me to get it out. Even though I knew it was futile, I started fighting to get out of my restraints.
CRACK!
My eyes instantly welled up the third time I was struck. I fought against my shackles even harder.
CRACK!
I screamed, spitting out the leather bite guard. Then I got sick.
CRACK!
I tried to shriek once more and plead for someone to help me, but I inhaled some of my vomit and began coughing as I wailed. I could feel the warmth of my blood pouring out of the wounds Gunny was slicing into my hide.
CRACK!
Snot blew violently out of my nose while thick red saliva oozed out from over my lips. My body went limp. I noticed my wrists were bleeding from trying to rip my hands from their cuffs.
CRACK!
I wet myself.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The pain became so intense that I almost grew numb to it. My mind drifted off into some ether realm where it felt like Malcolm was whipping someone else. Then it stopped, and I did not even realize it.
Before I knew it, Gunny was whispering in my ear. “Can you stand?”
“I don’t know,” I sobbed.
Gunny ordered the MPs to remove the shackles from my feet. After he thought I could support my own weight, he had them release my handcuffs. I immediately fell backward into Malcolm’s arms, bleeding profusely all over his uniform.
“Bring him here,” ordered Colonel Palkrait.
Malcolm dragged me back toward the center of the stage. When we stopped, each MP grabbed one of my arms and propped me up in front of our brigade commander.
“Cadet Tauk,” Palkrait told me. “It doesn’t matter what your intentions were; good order and discipline demand that no act of insubordination goes unpunished. If we let you get away with what you did, it would send a very bad message to the rank and file. Orders are not suggestions, Marine. You knew what the consequences of your actions would be, yet you did them anyway. In the process, you likely saved hundreds of Marine lives, not to mention that of a heroic young pilot. You’ve paid for your transgressions; now it’s time to be recognized for your selfless dedication to duty. For risking your life crossing the Buvalla mud flats, an action leading to the safe evacuation of a downed landing craft, your command has seen fit to award you the Nova Cross, Second Degree.”
The audience broke into a round of polite applause as the colonel approached to hand me a box containing the prestigious medal. I was too weak to accept it and was not wearing a tunic to pin it on, so Gunny took it for me, slipping it into his pocket.
Taking my chin in his hand, Palkrait lifted my head so he could look into my eyes. “I’d also like to let you know that General Buuq has approved your graduation from cadet status. Once you’ve recovered enough to return to service, you’ll be coming back as a second lieutenant. Congratulations, son. On a personal level, I’m happy to see that you survived everything that went down on Toranad….”
Colonel Palkrait was with me when I got shot.
“…and I’d like to express my condolences for XXXXXXXXX—-Narman’s Pyke Spoiler—-XXXXXXXXX”
I tried to thank the colonel for his sympathetic words but was afraid I would not be able to speak without losing my composure. It might have been six months since XXXXXXXXX—-Narman’s Pyke Spoiler—-XXXXXXXXX. It took everything I had just to nod my gratitude.
Palkrait understood, quickly dismissing the formation so the medics could get to work on me. As we waited for the corpsmen to arrive with a stretcher, my voice returned just enough to weakly ask Malcolm, “Did I just get flogged, awarded, and promoted for the exact same behavior?”
“It appears that you did, sir,” Malcolm said. I was honored that he was the first Marine ever to address me as a commissioned officer.
“What kind of twisted outfit would do something that stupid?”
The gunnery sergeant grinned. “Who else but the goddamn Marine Corps, sir?”
***