While David approached with the knife, Wilfred stood as if frozen in place, trembling. Then, grabbing a sleeve, David cut the stitches holding the embroidered crown in place, ripped it the rest of the way off and dropped it to the floor. "See how easy it is, Mister Wyndcom? Less than ten seconds. Even you could have done this."

David folded the knife's blade, pulled out its can opener and raised it to the uniform's shoulder seam. "But, for our purposes, there's a faster way than removing the insignia and lace individually." He severed the stitches and ripped the sleeve from the tunic. After he had torn away the other sleeve and cut off the regimental buttons down the uniform's front and from the pocket flaps, he stepped back.

"Now, Mister Wyndcom, remove your Sam Browne and drop it to the floor, then throw your hat on top of it. And no, I will not stomp on it. That symbolic disgrace is only in propaganda cartoons and posters."

While Wilfred shrugged out of the leather harness, David continued, "Traditionally, such things were done in front of the assembled company or battalion, in part to dishonour but more to ensure the disgraced one no longer had a uniform. But these days, with several orders of dress, we must ensure that no uniform remains in his possession. From here, you'll be held in custody, awaiting transport to prison, and we'll have your belongings packed, except for anything Army-related."

"Rummage through my things? I cannot allow that."

"You have no say, Wilfred. The direction of your life now, and for years to come, rests with the War Office. You're prohibited from ever holding another King's commission. Nor are you permitted to take a position under the Crown except when the country is at war. During such times, as a deterrent to conduct leading to dismissal, the Army Act allows those dismissed to be conscripted to serve as soldiers at the battlefront."

Wilfred's face drained of colour, and he collapsed to the floor.

Henry looked down at him. "I'd love to stay and see what happens next, but I have a priority message to send."

A while later, after Wilfred had been revived and the guards escorted him from the room, the Ambassador said, "Brilliant, David. Absolutely brilliant."

"Thank you, sir." He chuckled. "But as Wilfred had said more than once, I need to sit."

"Please. As do I." While the others were leaving, Evelyn turned to the Administration Officer. "Will you join us, Frank?"

"I'd be honoured to, sir."

As the three settled into the deeply cushioned chairs, the Ambassador asked, "Is there an administrative protocol for custodial transport? Or do we need directions from London?"

"I'm not certain, sir. I've never had to repatriate a prisoner. I'll ask the clerks if they know. 'In any case, before anything can begin, I must inform the War Office about Wyndcom's hearing and sentence."

"Probably best if I do it. A wire directly to –" David paused and stroked his beard. "To the upper echelons. Best to avoid the possibility of this being mishandled lower down."

"Yes, you would have contacts further up the line than I do, sir. A sensitive issue in the wrong hands. As soon as the reports of proceedings have been typed, I'll bring them to you. It would be best to send them to the same office."

"Would it be appropriate to add witness signatures to the bottom?" David shrugged. "Names, appointments and places to sign."

"Another brilliant idea, David. No need for all, though; omit the guards. Also, the stenographers – their reports will show that they were present as witnesses."

Frank nodded while the Ambassador spoke; then, he pointed toward the door. "If there's nothing else, sir, I'll go instruct them."

"Please. Oh, and send the Security Officer here; he might know the procedures."

After Frank left, the Ambassador asked, "How is Maria?"

"Fine, sir. I dropped her off at the university on my way here."

"Oh, has her research project begun already?"

"No, she's requesting a week's delay so she can concentrate on training the teams at Sonnenhang."

Evelyn chuckled. "If they can approach the subtlety of your subversive style, we will soon win the war."

"Unfortunately, few of our targets will be quite so simple-minded." David winced. "I still cringe at the thought of him commanding a battalion."

"Not commanding, David. Occupying the position. Without the influence of his family, I doubt he would have made it beyond second lieutenant. Fortunately, the process of weeding out the incompetent privileged is –" A familiar knock on the door interrupted, and Evelyn said, "Come in, Henry."

As he entered, Colonel Picot said, "While I was awaiting confirmation of the message's receipt, a thought occurred to me. The French are arriving on Monday with their third batch of injured German prisoners. The train is due to return through Bern to Reims the following day, empty but for the guards and the medics. It seems to be custom-made for Wyndcom's transport."

"Excellent, Henry." David pumped his fist. "'I'll speak with Pierre Pageot and see what he can arrange."

Henry smiled. "As I would have suggested. Also, onward from there, Wyndcom can be met and escorted by a British contingent – we have many regiments between there and the Channel. Easy for London to arrange."

"We should send two of our guards to ensure he remains in British custody the entire journey." David glanced at his watch and nodded toward the door. "I have much to do."

"I assume you and Maria are staying the night, David." Then, seeing the nod, the Ambassador looked up at Colonel Picot. "Would you and Alicia join us for dinner, Henry?"

"We'd be delighted, sir."

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The header image is a 1908 Soldatenmesser – soldier knife. Since 1891, various versions have been issued to every Swiss soldier, and this 1908 model was the current one when David did his indoctrination training in March and April. The term Swiss Army knife wasn't coined until the mid-1940s.