The recitation of events was brutally swift, the Brigadier’s reaction to mitigation equally concise.
“It matters not that you were unhurt, Lieutenant Bookham, or that you have a leader’s natural inclination to protect your man,” said the Brigadier. “He was seen to strike you, and to ignore the striking of an officer would be disastrous to discipline and possibly lose us the war.”
“I submit he is underage and should not have been allowed to serve,” said Daniel.
“Again, not an excuse,” said the Brigadier. “You must agree with me, Colonel?”
“The boy volunteered with the full permission of his family,” said Colonel Wheaton. “Else I would not have taken him. Were there a petition from them for his return, I would consider it, but…”
“But there is not, so we have no grounds to consider him protected from usual military regulations,” said the Brigadier.
“Sir, as a medical officer, I find the boy to be unfit to stand this tribunal,” said Hugh. “I believe he is suffering from neurasthenia due to a blast from shelling.”
“If we excused the behavior of every soldier who has had his ears rung by an exploding shell, we should have no army left at all,” said the Brigadier. “I believe this anxiety has caused the boy to wander off several times?”
“It has, sir,” said Harry Wheaton. “But he is a good lad and would not have gone if he had been in his right mind. We can all attest to his good character.”
“A deserter as well as a mutineer,” said the Brigadier. “I’m sorry, but I find the evidence to be crystal clear in this case and the boy to be a malingerer and to be guilty of striking his superior officer in front of the ranks. He must be made an example of. Colonel Wheaton?”
“I very much regret that the boy’s actions were so public as to be impossible to ignore,” said the Colonel. “I agree he is guilty, but I do recommend clemency.”
“As do I,” said Harry Wheaton. “The Brigadier’s actions last night brought great honor to the regiment and boosted morale for all ranks. I trust the Brigadier will continue his wise and just course this grim morning.”
“So we are unanimous,” said the Brigadier. “Unfortunately, the clemency last night must not be extended lest it become known as weakness. I must be responsible for the discipline of my command, and as such, I sentence this boy to be executed.”
“No,” said Hugh. “It is monstrous.”
“Sentence to be carried out immediately, due to exigent circumstances.” The Brigadier looked to his aide, who was writing down the proceedings in an official log. The aide paused as if unsure how to document the sentence. “Immediate,” confirmed the Brigadier. “Get the boy some rum and let the chaplain speak to him.”
Snout had remained quiet through the proceedings, looking about him in a dazed manner. Now the aide brought him a flask and helped him to drink from it. He screwed up his face at the taste but drank with the greedy experience of a soldier who knows how the daily rum ration wards off the cold for a little while. The chaplain pulled up a chair next to him and began to speak a psalm in a quiet voice.
“You were very effective yesterday, Captain,” said the Brigadier quietly to Harry Wheaton. “Would you volunteer? I will call together a firing squad if necessary, but to risk twelve men under this bombardment seems inefficient.”
“He put down a dog yesterday,” said Daniel fiercely. He did not address the Brigadier as “sir,” and he stepped towards him with a look of determination.
Hugh stopped Daniel with an outstretched arm.
“I beg you to reconsider,” said Hugh. “The medical evidence is clear, and his age alone demands mitigation.”
“Not much difference between a dog and a traitor,” said the Brigadier calmly. “Deserters, malingerers—they are rabid curs and must be put down before they infect the rest of the pack.”
“Have you no compassion?” asked Daniel in the strangled voice of a man swallowing a violent emotion. “Must you strike at the boy to hurt me?”
Hugh stepped in front of Daniel and pushed him back by both shoulders. “Shut up!” he whispered, his voice fierce. “You will not give him the pleasure.”
“I’ll ignore your lieutenant’s insults because I don’t have all day; I have a war to run,” said the Brigadier sharply to Colonel Wheaton. “Can the Captain carry out the sentence, or must we risk the lives of twelve men in a firing squad?”
“The boy asks for Mr. Hugh,” said the chaplain. “Is one of you Mr. Hugh?”
Hugh gave Daniel a warning shake and went to Snout. The boy was weeping now, tears running silently down his neck. Hugh knelt and wiped his face with a handkerchief.
“I want my mama,” said Snout. “I want to see my mama and my sister, Abigail, Mr. Hugh.”
“I know, Snout, I know,” said Hugh.
“I just want to go home, Mr. Hugh.”
“You will be going home, Dickie,” said Hugh, taking the boy’s bound hands in his own. “I think it will be just a moment and then you’ll be walking down the hill to Rye and your mother and father will be waiting at the door for you.”
“Will Wolfie be there, do you think?” asked Snout.
“I know that dog will find you if he can,” said Hugh. “I will be here with you, Dickie. Lieutenant Daniel is here. Captain Wheaton is here too.” Hugh looked up to see Daniel wiping his eyes and Harry looking away to hide his distress.
“That’s enough,” said the Brigadier. Even he looked pale, as if either his conscience or his bilious stomach were bothering him. “Perhaps the squad is the more appropriate way. I can see the Captain is overcome.”
“I’ll do it,” said Hugh. Death was inevitable and to wait for a firing squad would be an agony. His heart threatened to break in his chest, but he had seen patients die every day. He knew what it was to prolong suffering, and he had learned when to just hold a hand and let a man go. “I’m a medical doctor. It will be painless and quick.”
“For the love of God, no, Hugh,” said Daniel. He stepped between Hugh and Snout and pushed Hugh away with a roughness that sent him sprawling into some bags of potatoes.
“Oh, God, I hate these pals’ battalions. Everyone knows each other and no one wants to shoot his neighbor’s gardener,” said the Brigadier. “Stand aside, gentlemen. I’ll finish this myself.”
As he took his pistol from its holster, Daniel threw himself in front of Snout, and the Brigadier’s aide ran to pull him away. They pulled at each other in the fierce, awkward way of real fighting in an enclosed space. Snout was toppled to the ground, still roped to his chair. The Brigadier stood waving his pistol, more in the direction of Daniel than of Snout, and Hugh cried out lest he shoot Daniel, by accident or design. The Wheatons, father and son, seemed mesmerized and unable to move, as if seeing the entirety of the impact this day would have on their future careers. At last Hugh was grateful to see Colonel Wheaton stepping in front of the Brigadier.
When the shell made a direct hit on the roof, Hugh was aware only of a blinding white concussion and a huge sound cut short by unconsciousness.
—
He didn’t want to wake up. It was pleasant under the weight of the covers, and when he moved it hurt; so how much better to drop back into a deeper sleep. He moved again, and the covers seemed to smother him. He had dirt in his mouth and his nose. He coughed and spluttered and gasped for air. The air smelled of grass and wet earth and bonfires. It was harder now to stay asleep and yet so hard to wake up into pain and a buzzing in his ears.
Distant voices called him. Hands scrabbled at his chest. He surfaced, and all he could see were dark skies. Fat raindrops began to splash on his face. He remembered now that a shell had fallen on the cellar, and he tried to call out, but he had no voice. He could only open his mouth and feel the rain on his tongue. There was a lot of pain as someone lifted his shoulders, and then he could only slip away as many hands pulled him from the sucking earth.