A story by Captain J T Britton

THE EXECUTION

A short story by Capt. J.T Britton, R.A.M.C.

For obvious reasons, I cannot give the names of actual places where this incident occurred, but this narrative happens to be true.

   It was during my earlier days of soldiering, as a senior Non-Commissioned Officer of the Royal Army Medical Corps, I received instructions one afternoon to report to the hospital linen store, at 0730 hours, the following morning, to obtain one coffin, other ranks for the use of, and, with the assistance of the linen store N.C.O., to load a waiting W.D., ambulance. The driver of the war ambulance had also received appropriate instructions.

   Exactly at the time and date stated, I carried out my orders and was ready to move off, complete with ambulance and coffin. I was then instructed to report to the number one police post, adjacent, where I would receive further orders. Arriving thereat, I was met by a senior member of the corpse of the military police who instructed me to proceed to a local military place of correction, and to wait outside the main gates at exactly 07.35 hours.

   At 07.35 hrs precisely, I arrived outside the main gates and sat by the driver awaiting further orders.

It was then that I noticed a file of soldiers, together with a sergeant assembled a short distance away. To my mind, they appeared improperly dressed. They were wearing greatcoats over their military services dress (The weather was cold), they were carrying riffles carried at the ‘order’, but they were also wearing white rubber shoes! “That’s odd,” I thought. Being a regular soldier and also of an inquisitive nature, I left the ambulance and strolled over to the waiting Sargent in charge. “Good morning,” I said. He nodded and replied “Likewise.” There was a pause and I then quietly remarked “What’s the idea of white shoes?” He replied very quietly (almost in a whisper) “Didn’t you know? They’re bumping ---- off at eight o’clock.” Another uncomfortable pause occurred and I muttered, “Is that so?”

   Just then the main gate’s small door opened and a voice called out “Is the R.A.M.C., Sergeant there?”

    I moved quickly to the door and said, “Here.” The Provost N.C.O, at the door, told me to get the ambulance inside the yard.

   Both the main gates were swung open and the ambulance was driven inside where it was guided to a selected spot where the driver was told to halt the vehicle. During this time I felt very dismayed and thought; “Oh my God; I’ve got his coffin.”

   The Military Provost Sergeant Major then requested me to proceed down the slope to the revolver range and assist the medical officer. (The ambulance halted beside the steps. (I did as instructed and helped him prepare an injection of morphine. The medical officer then disappeared allowing me some time to take stock of my surroundings. It was a cheerless building with whitewashed stone walls, similar in appearance to an underground railway station like the ones back at home, only square rather than circular. It measured approximately fifty by ten yards and had a concrete floor with targets at the end of the range. There were two entrances – one where I had entered and another at the side of the range. A wooden chair was bolted to the white concrete floor, halfway down the range; a solid structure with wooden arm supports and an upright wooden backrest – similar to a barber’s chair.

   A deathly silence had followed me in, but suddenly, the quietness was disturbed by the sound of marching. A file of troops had appeared, carrying rifles; all were wearing white shoes – the same body of troops I had seen earlier.

   The officer in charge, a young lieutenant, looking very white and drawn, spoke quietly when he ordered the men to wheel round to the foot of the range and stand easy.

   It was icy cold; my breath produced steam.

   “Attention!” The Lieutenant called out, and they made their rifles ready.

   Very slowly, the prisoner appeared from the side entrance, supported on either side by two stalwart provost corps non-commissioned officers. The condemned man was wearing a plain, white shirt, open at the chest. He was led unsteadily to the chair and seated. His middle was pinioned with a large buckled belt; his arms were strapped to the wooden arm supports, and both his legs were pinioned and strapped to the bottom of the chair. A strap was also secured around his forehead.

   A blindfold was offered but the prisoner shook his head. By this time the troops had presented and aimed their rifles, and on the signal from the Lieutenant, shots rang out. The body jolted from the impact of the bullets.

   I was accustomed to death in all its forms, but I must confess that I felt sick and subdued, but I had to contain my feelings and get on with the task.

   Time seemed endless as the seconds ticked by. One of the Provost staff onlookers leaned forward to untie the man but was angrily rebuked by the medical officer.

   “Wait!” he ordered. The medical officer took a stethoscope from his kit and placed the diaphragm on the man’s chest and listened for a while.

   “Ok,” he said.

   While the corpse was being unshackled and removed from the chair, I was assisted with the carriage of the coffin from the ambulance.

   After the corpse had been lowered into the coffin, I nailed closed the lid.

   I followed six bearers from the Provost Corps as they carried the coffin up the steps where the padre was waiting to offer a blessing. Serum and blood oozed from the seals in the wood and ran down the backs of the last two bearers as the coffin went up the steps.

   The coffin was loaded into the back of the ambulance and I realized that my part in the grizzly affair was done; when the doors of the ambulance were shut, the engine fired up and the vehicle took off without me.

   Two of the bearers fainted when they noticed the stains on the jackets of their comrades, the faces of every man had turned a pasty white. The Provost Regimental Sargent came to their aid with a bottle of brandy and allowed each man a generous shot, and one for himself.

   I suppose the Sargent felt that since I was a medical man, I wouldn’t need a tonic, but believe me, just between ourselves; I could have done with a nip after all.