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BAD LADS ARMY – THE ROBERTS INCIDENT (WITH INNER THOUGHTS)
Week Two.
The platoon was two weeks into National Service, 1950s-style. This wasn’t a holiday camp. This was punishment—strict, merciless, cold-blooded Army discipline for young offenders who had chosen boots over bars.
Private James Roberts was trouble from Day One. A brawler. Loud-mouthed. Walked with the kind of swagger that told you he'd spent more time on the streets than in school.
He hadn’t been punished yet. But everyone knew it was coming.
THE FIGHT
It started over something small—someone bumped someone in the mess line. Next thing you know, Roberts throws the first punch.
Roberts (thinking):
He shoved me. What, am I supposed to just take it? I don’t care if they’re watching. No one disrespects me.
The other lads jumped in to break it up. But it was too late—the damage was done. The fight had been seen.
Then he heard the boots.
Sergeant Rae marched straight into the chaos.
"ROBERTS! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!"
Sergeant Rae (thinking):
This is it. I've had enough of this arrogant little sod. He’s been testing the line since he got here. Now he’s crossed it.
And then, Roberts did the unthinkable.
"F* you, Sergeant!"**
A few of the lads audibly gasped. Everyone went still.
One recruit (thinking):
Did he just—? Mate, he's done. No one comes back from that.
Roberts (thinking):
I’m not scared of this clown. He shouts and stomps, but what can he really do?
He was wrong.
THE NIGHT IN JAIL
The Military Police dragged him out. No yelling this time. No fight left. Just the sound of boots on gravel and a heavy cell door slamming shut.
Roberts (thinking):
They’ll cool off. Tomorrow they’ll shout a bit, maybe PT, whatever. I can take it.
He was wrong again.
THE PUNISHMENT
0500 Hours.
The door burst open. Ice-cold water smashed into his face.
"WAKE UP, YOU HUMAN SCUM! COME WITH ME—NOW!"
Roberts (thinking):
What the hell?! It’s freezing—what is this?!
He was marched, soaked and half-asleep, into the parade ground. All the lads were waiting. Silent. Lined up in their kits.
One lad (thinking):
Whatever's about to happen... it's not gonna be normal punishment.
Sergeant Rae’s voice cut through the cold air like a bayonet.
"YOU WILL ALL NOW SEE WHAT HAPPENS TO STUPID PRIVATES WHO SHOUT AT THEIR SUPERIORS!"
He turned to Roberts.
"ROBERTS. TAKE OFF YOUR KILT. YOU’RE NOT WORTHY OF WEARING IT."
Roberts (thinking):
No way. Not in front of everyone...
But he could see Rae’s face—there was no choice.
He dropped the kilt. Now just in his underwear.
"NOW TAKE OFF YOUR UNDIES."
Roberts (thinking):
Is he serious? Full naked? There’s no way…
"ROBERTS. TAKE THEM OFF NOW OR I’LL PUT YOU IN JAIL FOR A WEEK!"
Sergeant Rae (thinking):
Let’s see if the street tough guy still thinks he’s in charge now.
Roberts stood frozen. Then, trembling—not from cold, but from humiliation—he removed his underwear. Exposed. Vulnerable. Silent.
One lad (thinking):
This is mental. He’s actually naked... I wouldn’t have lasted a second.
"PUSH-UP POSITION! FIFTY PUSH-UPS! AND FOR EACH ONE YOU SHOUT: ‘I AM HUMAN SCUM AND I WILL NEVER SHOUT AT MY SERGEANT AGAIN!’"
Roberts dropped. He started counting.
"I AM HUMAN SCUM AND I WILL NEVER SHOUT AT MY SERGEANT AGAIN!"
A bucket of cold water was thrown on him.
Roberts (thinking):
I can't breathe—this is worse than jail. Every push-up's a war. Every lad’s watching. I'm done. I can't do this anymore.
Again.
"I AM HUMAN SCUM AND I WILL NEVER SHOUT AT MY SERGEANT AGAIN!"
Water again.
"I AM HUMAN SCUM—"
Water.
"—AND I WILL NEVER SHOUT AT MY SERGEANT AGAIN!"
By the end, Roberts collapsed to the ground, shivering, covered in mud, soaked in shame.
Sergeant Rae stood over him.
"YOU LEARNED YOUR LESSON, ROBERTS?"
"...Yes, Sergeant."
"GET DRESSED, YOU DUMBASS."
He turned to the platoon.
"THE REST OF YOU—LEARN FROM THIS. ANYONE ELSE THINKING OF GETTING MOUTHY?"
"NO, SERGEANT!"
One lad (thinking):
Never. Not me. That’s never going to be me.
AFTERMATH
That day changed everything.
Roberts didn’t talk much after that. He trained harder. He listened more. Something inside him had broken—but what grew back was something tougher.
Roberts (thinking):
I hate this place. But maybe… maybe I needed it.
Others felt the same. The punishment wasn’t just for Roberts—it was for all of them.
Six months later, when the time came to march out of the gates for the last time, they were no longer outlaws. They were disciplined. Hardened. Changed.
FINAL THOUGHT
Suffering, when used with precision, can be the fire that tempers steel. That was the Army’s lesson. And the lads never forgot it.
Let me know if you'd like this turned into a TV episode script, a first-person monologue from Roberts or Rae, or expanded into a longer military drama.
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