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Spoils of War C Allen A public flogging From the novel Spoils of War Copyright (c) 2003  Available as an Ebook Spoils of War

Sunday October 19

Sunday, and I have yet to find the time to visit Mme Duprés and her charges. I cannot even seem to find time to update my diary. Thus I wish to record some of yesterday’s events now, as they bear on events today.

Saturday night my sector had its first case of sabotage. The tires on our two supply trucks were slashed and sand was poured into their petrol tanks. This despite the fact that the trucks were parked inside a fenced motor pool that is guarded by a sentry. Somehow the perpetrators cut through the fence and took the guard by surprise. I suppose that the whole operation took little more than five minutes. Fortunately, the guard was not badly hurt. Had they killed him, I would have had no choice but to retaliate in kind against the locals. As it is, I have had to make a show of force that would capture the locals’ imagination. To that end I sent several of my soldiers into town to find four of the prettiest young wives in the area. My plan was to call the locals to the town square at noon and thence to cane each of the women severely on their naked bottoms.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I had to postpone the floggings until four o’clock. But what a spectacle it made. There were three or four hundred townspeople gathered by the appointed time. Solemn-faced men, weeping women and silent children crowded in an eager circle around the whipping block that I had ordered hurriedly constructed.

I stepped forward and made a short speech. I detailed the damage done and stressed how benevolent I was in merely retaliating with four floggings. I continued by announcing that the next such incident would be dealt with much more harshly. Sabotage, after all, was a capital crime against the Third Reich.

The speech brought a few murmurs from the crowd, but a hush fell over them when I called for the first woman to be brought into the circle.

Two of my men hauled the young woman through the ring of locals and to the whipping block. She resisted so strenuously that they had to drag her the entire way. Once she was firmly over the block, they secured her at the waist, wrists and ankles with leather straps. She was helpless.

I stepped forward, cane in hand, and pulled up her skirt and underskirt. Without hesitation I dragged down her knickers, leaving her bare from her waist to her ankles. The woman groaned at the indignity and strained futilely to break free. Many in the crowd looked away out of modesty. Seeing this, I ordered everyone to watch or face a similar fate. There were no heroes there as all seemed to obey, if reluctantly.

Without a word I stepped up and drew back the cane, a beast of a rod if ever there was one. I brought it down with good force and slashed it across the woman’s captive rump. I expected a scream, but she held it in. I heard only a sharp intake of breath as she ground her teeth together.

Before I could deliver a second blow, she uttered, “Bastard,” through her clenched jaws.

I leaned over and whispered in her ear. “You should have better manners, Madame. Only I can grant you mercy.”

“Pig,” she hissed. And then she had the stupidity to spit in my face.

This was twice too much to ignore. I pulled out my handkerchief and wiped away the spittle, growing angrier second by second.

”Very well,” I said trying to control myself. “You will live to regret that—barely.”

I stepped back and started to deliver unhurried but vicious cuts more or less at random on her bottom and thighs. I was relentless. Almost at once she began to scream at the top of her lungs, still calling me names. Some people are slow learners.

Soon a pattern of ugly red welts crisscrossed her once creamy skin, and still I lashed her again and again.

After a while her screams became incoherent, her voice raw. There were no more insults. I wasn’t moved. The bitch had brought it on herself. Finally, with blood oozing from her wounds and her bottom little more than pulp, I stopped.

“And now the pièce de résistance, Mon Cherie,” I said as much to myself as to the woman. “Brine,” I called out.”

One of my men rushed forward with a bucket. He poured the contents with great deliberation over the woman’s bleeding flesh. Her screams redoubled as the salty water stung her unbearably.

“Take her away and bring out the next one,” I called out.

The two soldiers who had dragged the victim in now brought the hapless woman out. The crowd made not a sound as it parted to allow her removal and the entrance of the second subject. I had obviously made an impression. I hope it was the impression I had intended.

By the lack of color in her face, it was obvious that the second woman had been terrified to the point of utter helplessness by the screams of the first. One would have thought that she was to be executed rather than merely caned.

If anything she was prettier than the first; certainly she had a more rounded figure. Over the block she went, but she was beyond defiance of any sort. She simply moaned pathetically. I actually felt a twinge of pity for her. She probably was totally innocent of the act for which she was being sacrificed. As a result I gave her a mere thirty strokes, and then not all that hard. The caning did draw blood, but I spared her the agony of the brine. I felt a glow of benevolence at my restraint.

Apparently, the last two had also learned a lesson from their predecessors, for they also behaved themselves and avoided my worst ire. Not that they would be able to sit for several days.

After the final flogging I again spoke briefly to the crowd, reminding them that the punishments would get harsher if the sabotage continued.

Afterward I visited the four women that I had caned and personally noted the extent of their wounds. If nothing else was clear, it was evident that none of them would be free of pain for several days to come. And my first victim? She might not sit for a week or more.

“There is a message I want you to take back to your husbands and the rest of your community,” I said to them. “Abiding by the rules and showing respect is easier for all of us than the alternative. I did not derive pleasure from inflicting your punishments. On the other hand, as you can see I will do what has to be done to protect the personnel and assets which the Third Reich has entrusted to me.”

Strangely, as I think about it, I really didn’t derive any pleasure from flogging the four of them. That strikes me as strange, given my predilection for punishing Mme Duprés’ students and the carnality it raises. I must think more about that if I am to understand this dichotomy.

I note in closing today that I have made arrangements to visit Mme Duprés and L’École Dernière tomorrow afternoon barring anything but the most pressing problem. I’m sure that the headmistress and I are more than ready for some good old-fashioned corporal punishment followed by some good old-fashioned rutting.