"Next!"
Another militiaman who had left camp without permission was tied to the whipping post, and the chilling sound of lashing echoed once again.
Colonel Jeska even didn't show up, having too many people to meet after twelve years of overseas deployment.
While Lieutenant Montaigne was vigorously wielding the whip, the colonel was toasting with classmates and friends.
...
...
The day after the flogging.
The sun shone warmly, and the air was slightly cool.
On the parade ground outside the Shuangqiao Main Camp, the sound of muskets firing in unison could be heard from time to time.
Sparks flew, and smoke filled the air.
Winters bellowed, "Stow the fork rests!"
The musketeers who had just fired hastily pulled the wooden fork rests out of the ground. A fork rest was a sharpened wooden stick with an iron hook at one end to support the gun barrel.
"Gun on the shoulder!"
On hearing the order, the musketeers hurriedly stood the muskets upright and shouldered them.