The order was posted on the platoon bulletin board and was further reinforced by an announcement from the infernal PA system: All enlisted personnel were to fall in on the parade ground at 1200 hours, uniform to be sneakers only. Huh? Sneakers only? The eight weeks of basic training they’d endured had introduced them to a lot of humiliation and chickenshit but this was a new one. They’d already had a short-arm inspection, where they lined up in the barracks bare-ass naked for a VD check, but this one was outside on the parade ground at high noon when they should be at chow.

The thirty-nine conscripts and recruits of the platoon went to the barracks at a few minutes to noon and removed and carefully folded their clothes. “I wonder what the fuck this is all about,” seemed to be the consensus, but there was lots of room for variation.

“Another short-arm,” I guess.

“Then you’ll win, Stubby.”

“Bite me, Needle Dick.”

“Just another one of their mind-fuck head games,”

“I wouldn’t mind fucking a mind, or anything else, for that matter.”

“Your dick’s so used to your hand it wouldn’t know what to do with the real thing, Hirsch.”

“It’s something to do with Henderson,” Peterson said, referring to a draftee who had disappeared and evidently gone AWOL. “They probably caught him and now they’re going to nut him and make us watch.”

“Bullshit. Fuckin’ Henderson is in fuckin’ Mexico or fuckin’ Canada. He sure as hell aint fuckin’ here!”

“It’s another drug check. They’ll get the dogs in here as soon as we’re outside, and then check our shoes and assholes afterwards.”

“You like that asshole check, don’t you Forbes?”

“All right men, can the chatter and form up outside in front of the flagpole!” The Sergeant was fully clothed and obviously in command of the situation. “Two ranks, squads one and two in front, three and four in back!” He waited until the platoon had assembled in two rows. “Space!” He shouted, and the men each extended their right arms out to establish the proper spacing. “Back rank, left one step! Back rank, forward one step!” The men were now in two staggered rows, affording those in the back a clear view to the front. The other platoons made their way to the mess hall with scarcely more than a look in the direction of the hapless trainees who stood bare-ass naked in front of the flagpole. They’d obviously fucked up somehow and in addition to missing chow it was now their turn to be publicly humiliated.

The platoon remained in formation for ten minutes before two vehicles approached. The first was a standard van like those tradesmen use, except that it was painted olive drab and carried Military Police markings. The second was a staff car, usually only used by Colonels and other brass.

“Ten Hut!” The sergeant shouted as the car door opened. The Platoon snapped to attention as three officers emerged from the car.

The Commanding Officer of the post, a Colonel, paced slowly in front of the troops, as if inspecting the uniforms that they weren’t wearing. A lieutenant and a Captain followed him like dogs on a leash, eagerly awaiting their master’s command to attack. “At ease, Men,” the Colonel said. Calling them men was actually stretching things a bit; they were all teenagers eighteen and nineteen years who had just graduated from high school and who were now consigned to the Colonel’s camp for ten weeks of basic military training. Most had been drafted and would be forwarded to National Guard units for on-the-job training and four years of Weekend Warrior service. The others had enlisted and would receive specialized training before entering active duty in the Army. Some had the beardless cheeks and downy body hair of children who belonged in junior high school, and some had the hairy maturity of adults, and a few looked as if they may have escaped from the zoo, but all were teenagers old enough for their mandatory military service. The Colonel made another pass in front of the platoon, this time lowering his eyes to the stark whiteness of their crotches. Thirty-nine soft cocks of various dimension, and seventy-eight equally diverse testicles sagging low in the noonday heat, a number that would likely be reduced.

“Men,” the Colonel finally said, “service in the Nation’s military is not only a duty but also an honor, an honor held in the highest esteem even at a time like this when we are not at war. Refusing to serve is a heinous betrayal of this honor, but desertion from a post is even worse, and desertion in the face of enemy action constitutes grounds for immediate execution. A month ago Henderson, a man from this platoon, deserted his post and went AWOL. His capture was inevitable, of course, and you have been mustered here to witness his punishment, the extent of which you were made aware of during the first week you were here.”

Most of the youths of the platoon squirmed uncomfortably, and most of the testicles that had been sagging a few minutes ago were now drawing tightly up as if responding to fear. Among their early lectures had been one on desertion: Deserters were castrated and sentenced to ten years hard labor before being dishonorably discharged.

The Colonel nodded to the sergeant, dispatching him to the door of the van. The door opened at the sergeant’s knock and four burly Military Policemen and one white-coated medical orderly emerged shepherding a manacled, naked, prisoner. The MPs frog marched their prisoner to the front of the group, the sergeant called the platoon to attention, and the Colonel read the formal charges to the prisoner. “Prepare the prisoner for punishment,” he calmly told the MPs, as if this were an everyday occurrence. The MPs wrestled their charge to the ground and held him firmly, and the sergeant released his platoon from attention.

A few of the troops closed their eyes, like little kids at a horror movie unwilling to watch what they knew was going to happen, and a few had surreptitiously moved their hands protectively in front of their crotches. “Eyes to the front!” The sergeant admonished. “Remain at ease!”

The Colonel motioned to the orderly, who removed a small knife from his kit, bent over and seized the screaming prisoners scrotum and sliced it from his body with one quick stroke.

Three of the platoon members fainted at the sight and slumped to the ground, but the spectacle had the opposite effect on several others, and they stood proud and erect under the noonday sun.

The Colonel allowed the orderly to tend to the wound he’d just inflicted, and then motioned to the MPs to load the prisoner on a stretcher and place him in the van. The Colonel then nodded to the sergeant.

“Ten Hut!” He called out loudly, and then when the platoon members that were still standing had came to attention he called another order. “Atkins! Front and center!” A youth in the back row hesitated, and finally took a few tentative steps forward, looking around as is seeking a path of escape.

“Take this man into custody,” the Colonel calmly told the MPs. “Atkins, in accordance with the Uniform Code of Military Justice a tribunal has determined that there is sufficient evidence to bind you over for court marshal for the criminal offence of Aiding and Abetting a Deserter. If convicted, your punishment will be the same as that received by the deserter. Sergeant, you may release your men.”

The MPs loaded the protesting Atkins into the van with the youth that had just been castrated, and the rest of the platoon filed back inside to don their clothing and make their way to the mess hall. There was surprisingly little talk, but most of them were aware that they’d probably be back out on the parade ground, naked, in a few weeks.

Author’s note: There is currently no compulsory military service for eighteen year olds, nor are AWOL soldiers summarily castrated. Yet.