"I'm not fit to march, sir," cried Sergeant Mock.
"Either you'll be ready by the time B company is here, and you'll march in, or I'll detail a man to remain here with you, and send an ambulance for you. If I have to send an ambulance I'll have you examined at the hospital, and if I find you've been faking foot trouble then you shall feel the full weight of military law. I'll give you your own choice. Which do you want?"
Tugging his sock on, Mock merely mumbled.
"Answer me!" Greg insisted sharply.
"I—-I'll do my best to march, sir."
"Then be sure you're ready by the time B company gets here, and be sure you march all the way in," Greg ordered sternly. He hated a shamming imitation of a soldier.
Major Bell and his staff came by at the head of the line, followed by Prescott and A company.
"Don't disappoint me, Sergeant," Greg warned his man.
Though his brow was black with wrath Sergeant Mock stood up by the time that the head of B company arrived.
"Take your place, Sergeant," Greg ordered, and waited to see his order obeyed, next running up to his own post.