79. Sunday in the British Army is never very remarkable, and the Sunday following my ride was no exception. The high point of the day came in the afternoon when Pete, Bob, Ernie, and Ginger came to the jail to visit. They brought with them good things to eat, a couple of bottles of beer, and (probably the most important) an optimistic attitude. By the time they had to leave, I was feeling confident that nothing really bad would be meted out to me because of my transgressions. This comfortable feeling lasted almost halfway through the evening.
80. Monday morning came, and after breakfast I stood inspection by the Officer of the Day at 0800 hours. Around midmorning, Sgt. Green enetered the squad room and came over to where I was making a pot of tea for the dutry policemen.
81. "You are on Regimental Orders at 1000 hours tomorrow," he said. "If you'll take my advice, lad, you will be the smartest, best-turned-out soldier the Colonel has ever seen." I thanked him for his suggestion and went to my cell to start my preparations.
82. A short time later, Johnson appeared at the door of my small room, carrying an electric iron. "Here, you can use this if you want," he said, offering it to me. I took the iron and thanked him. "Bombardier Farrell says you can use the table in his office if you like, 'cause there's no electric outlets in your flat," he continued. I thanked him again and, picking up a clean shirt, my best uniform, and a blanket from my cot for an ironing pad, I made my way to Farrell's office.
83. The rest of the day I was occupied with preparations for my appearance before Col. Charles. My canvas belt and gaiters were scrubbed in the shower room until they were spotless. My cap badge and other brass parts of my equipment were polished until they sparkled. I worked on my boots with polish and saliva, burnishing them with the handle of an old toothbrush and a soft cloth until the boots reflected the light from an adjacent window, My uniform was pressed to perfection with knife-edge creases. Finally, everything was ready and laid out on the bed in the unoccupied cell next to mine. I did not sleep well Monday night.
84. I awakened early Tuesday morning; I showered, shaved, and carefully dressed. My nervously-churning stomach made breakfast a thing to be avoided, although I did manage a cup of hot, strong tea offered by one of the policemen. By none o'clock I was completely ready, and stood around for the next forty minutes as I didn't want to sit down and spoil the press of my uniform.
85. Sergeant-Major Green came out of his office and looked me over. "You look good, lad, and now it's time to go," he said, as he turned and headed for the door. I followed him outside and we climbed into the Land Rover for the ride back to the scene of my recent crime. The driver parked the Rover. Accompanied by Green, I walked up the steps and through the swinging doors, into the administration building I had entered in a much more flamboyant manner just three days before.
86. I followed Sgt. Green into the outer room of Col. Charles' office suite.
87. "Remove your cap and hang it on one of those hooks," said Green, indicating a row of coat hooks on the far wall. I took off my cap and crossed the room, passing the open door of Charles' private office. Looking through the doorway, I saw the Colonel sitting at his desk with his back to a window, talking seriously to another bareheaded prisoner from another battery, while the escorting bombardier stood to one side.
88. As I returned to Green's side a short, stocky sergeant entered the room and approached us. Sgt. Green turned to me. "Prisoner, this is your escort, Sgt. Mayweather, who has your charge sheet, and will be telling the Colonel what a bad lad you've been," he said. My look at Mayweather was returned with an icy stare.
89. At that moment, the prisoner and his escort appeared from the Colonel's office. The soldier retrieved his cap from its hook near mine, and as he passed he whispered, "We heard about you."
90. "No talking!" yelled Mayweather, and looking directly at me ordered, Prisoner, atten-SHUN! Double-time Quick March." This is it, I thought, as I trotted into the office and took my place immediately before Col. Charles, standing at rigid attention.
91. Charles looked me in the eye for a long moment; then, turning to my escort, inquired, "What are the charges against this man?" Sgt. Mayweather started to read the vast catalog of my sins, glaring at me from the corner of his eye at the end of each sentence. "Misuse of a War Department vehicle," Mayweather intoned. Glare! "Operating a War Department vehicle in an unauthorized area." Glare! "Endangering life and limb." Glare! He failed to say whose life and limb, and I hoped he meant mine. Glare! "Operating a War Department vehicle without permission." Glare!
92. Col. Charles listened, without any sign of emotion, as the charges against me were read. I concentrated my gaze on his huge, bushy eyebrows. They met in the middle, giving the appearance of one large strip of greying hair.
93. At the conclusion of his recitation, Sgt. Mayweather stepped forward and laid a manila folder in front of the Colonel. "From Lieutenant Pym, sir," he said. Charles opened the folder, spreading its contents on his desk. To my dismay I saw several sheets of official-looking documents, each with the impression of a motorcycle tire across it. The Colonel looked at the papers and then at me. His eyes rolled heavenwards, and then back to the evidence before him.
94. Now I became really afraid, and the enormity of what I had done appalled me. OI knew I must face a Court-Martial, but without any prior experience of soldiers driving through buildings, how would the Court arrive at just punishment? Perhaps, in order to deter others from following my example, they would decide to lock me in the worst military prison they could fined, and destroy the key.
95. Col. Charles looked at me and cleared his throat. "Well, Gunner, I expect you realize I have never had to deal with anything like this before, and I also expect you realize this is a court martial offense," he said.
96. "Yes, Sir," I answered, struggling to control my shaking body.
97. "However," he continued, "this whole escapade is an embarrassment to me, and I have no desire to send my problems to military courts if I can deal with them myself."
98. He paused, and for once in my life, I said nothing.
99. "Therefore, I now formally ask you if you will accept my punishment in this matter?" he said.
100. "Yes, Sir!" I answered enthusiastically, elated at my good fortune—no Court-Martial!
101. "Good!" Col. Charles exclaimed. I thought I detected a slight look of relief on his face.
102. The Colonel continued. "Captain McGroaty has told me you are a good mechanic and he would be sorry to lose you." I made a mental note to be sure to thank the Captain. "So I sentence you to 28 days in the Regimental Police Jail. But in order not to place undue hardship on your Captain, you will continue your duties during the day and report for confinement after your regular working hours."
103. He looked me in the eyes. "Any questions?" he asked.
104. "No Sir, thank you Sir," I gratefully replied.
105. "Very well, then, that will be all," Col. Charles concluded.
106. Sgt. Mayweather ordered me to march from the Colonel's office and I was sure my feet didn't touch the floor. No court martial, no extended imprisonment in some terrible military prison, and the Colonel had not stopped my pay for the duration of my incarceration as was usually standard procedure. I tried not to look too happy as Mayweather turned and said, "You are damn lucky, Gunner, damn lucky," and then turned and marched from the room.
107. Sgt. Green came to my side and placed a hand on my shoulder. "He's right, you're a lucky lad. Now get your hat and we'll leave," he said. I nodded my agreement and walked to the far wall to retrieve my cap.
108. As I walked back, past the Colonels' open door, I took a quick glance at him still seated at his desk. Perhaps it was my imagination; perhaps I was mistaken—but I could have sworn Col. Charles was smiling.