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.
“Uhwell, 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 stand — ten feet tall, though he’s hardly taller than I am. He stared at Hendrick.
“Youstruckyourcompany 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 landedwhen 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?”