I groaned just slightly and looked up.
Major Smalls was talking. “That appears to be one of the photographs I found on the flash drive. On examination I concluded it was an Afghan boy, somewhere between ten and fourteen years old, who appeared to have been shot.”
“And this one?”
The view switched to another photo, taken from a different angle. In the photo, I could see a pair of boots and the distinct pixelated camouflage pattern of the lower legs of someone wearing an Army Combat Uniform.
Smalls verified the photo. Cox led her through each one, taking nearly fifteen minutes to go through them all. He was going for maximum emotional effect on the board members, most of whom were doctors or staff at Walter Reed. And based on their expressions, which ranged from nausea to horror, it was working.
I knew for sure it was working on me. Because one thing was certain—no matter how off the reservation Colton had gone, no matter how upset he was about Weber getting killed, no matter what the circumstances around the incident, the fact was, that little boy deserved nothing but our protection. And that was the one thing he didn’t get.
Finished with the photos, Cox walked out to the middle of the floor, and said, “Please tell us what you did next, Major Smalls.”
“At that point we didn’t even have verification that the report had come from the accused, so our first goal was, based on the report we’d received, identify who may have been involved. We searched unit records and came up with an initial list of names of people to interview, all of which were still on active duty, with the exception of Sergeant Sherman. At that time, since Sergeant Sherman was in an inactive reserve status, we contacted the Federal Bureau of Investigation and enlisted their assistance with the investigation.”
The questioning went on, in detail, for hours. Who did she talk to next? What evidence did she collect? And the thing was, the whole investigation came down to two things. My report. Colton’s and Hick’s testimony. And that was ... it.
Finally Captain Cox stepped back. “Those are all the questions I have for the witness, your honor.”
Elmore was on his feet in a second. “Major Smalls. Can you please tell me what the coroner’s report said about the cause of death?”
Smalls looked confused, and she shook her head. “There was no coroner’s report.”
Elmore paused. Then he said, “Well ... what about the death certificate?”
“We ... have no death certificate.”
“I see,” Elmore said slowly. “I’m going to ask you another related question then, Major, and I hope you can answer this one. Did we at least send a team to Afghanistan? Did anyone examine any physical evidence at all in this case?”
Captain Cox stood up and said, “Your honor, accused counsel is…”
Martinez interrupted Cox. “Asking appropriate questions.” He waved a hand at Elmore. “Please answer the question, Major Smalls.”
Smalls looked uncomfortable and said, “We attempted to send a team, but the Afghan government denied the request to exhume the body.”
“I see,” Elmore said. “Well ... let me ask you one final question. Is there any physical evidence, of any kind, that a crime actually took place?”
“The photos…”
“Are not physical evidence. Have you employed any experts to determine if the photos were photoshopped?”
“No. We have not.”
“Do you have any reason to believe the photos are real?”
“The accused, in several interviews, described the circumstances of the killing and verified the report was his.”
“Yes,” Elmore said. “Let’s get to that now, shall we? On what date did you first interview the accused?”
“December 10, 2012.”
“I see. And was his attorney present?”
Smalls swallowed.
“Major Smalls, this is not a difficult question. Did the accused have counsel present during that interview?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Sergeant Sherman wasn’t considered a suspect at the time.”
“I’m confused, Major. On January 1, Sergeant Sherman was forcibly uprooted from his civilian life and recalled back into the Army. Is this correct?”
“Yes.”
“Who signed the order for his recall?”
“Major General Buelles.”
Elmore walked away from Smalls. Back to the judge and court-martial board, he took several gulps from a bottle of water at our table and turned around. “Major Smalls, I need you to answer this question very clearly. At what point did my client change from being considered a witness to a suspect?”
Smalls looked down and said, “We questioned Sergeant First Class Benjamin Colton on December 15th. He made the accusation against Sherman at that time.”
Elmore sighed. “Major Smalls, at what time were charges formally referred against Sergeant Sherman?”
“March 13th.”
“And how many times did you question Sergeant Sherman prior to that date?”
“Fourteen times total.”
“The trial counsel has entered into evidence your report of that investigation, correct?”
“Yes.” Smalls was dripping sweat by this point.
“And your recommendation was what?”
“Based on the testimony of Sergeants Sherman, Hicks and Colton, I recommended that an Article 32 investigation be convened.”
“Was my client ever once, during your investigation, advised that he could not be compelled to make any statements which might tend to incriminate him?”
“I told you, he wasn’t a suspect at that time.”
Elmore walked away, then turned around and faced the judge. “Your honor, based on the testimony we’ve just heard, Major Smalls’ investigation largely relied on the testimony of the accused, who was not advised that he was a suspect or of his right to remain silent. I’m requesting that the report be stricken from evidence as inadmissible.”
My heart was thumping. Elmore had ripped Smalls’ testimony to shreds.
Colonel Martinez leaned back in his seat and said, “Trial-counsel?”
Captain Cox stayed at his desk, but said in a loud, clear voice, “Your honor, the record reflects that charges were not referred against Sergeant Sherman until March 13th. At that time he was notified and counsel was appointed for him. I don’t see any problem with the report.”
Elmore spoke again. “My client is on trial for murder, based on the testimony of two accused soldiers, and conspiring to cover up that murder, based on the so-called evidence in this report, which was largely obtained under false pretenses—”
Martinez held a hand up, and Elmore stopped talking immediately.
“Major Elmore, I’ll take your objections under advisement. At this time the report stands. Your client voluntarily reported the crime. Based on that, it was reasonable for him to assume that he would be questioned at some point.”
Elmore sagged a little then nodded. “No further questions,” he said. He returned to his seat next to me.
I leaned close and said, “So ... what does all that mean?”
He shrugged. “It was worth a try. It means that if they get a conviction, you’ve got strong grounds for an appeal. At this point, with no physical evidence, it’s basically your testimony against theirs. So we have to shred their testimony every chance we get.”
I exhaled. Grounds for an appeal. An appeal would take years ... years when I would be in prison. I looked over my shoulder, back at Carrie who sat behind me in the front row. She reached out a hand, and I took it, in silence.
Over lunch, Elmore looked upbeat, so much so that Carrie challenged him.
“Maybe I just don’t know enough about how this stuff works,” she said. “But I’m really worried.”
Elmore looked over the table at her. We were eating in a small office that had been set aside for us. “The bottom line,” he said, “is you have to maintain hope. Smalls basically threw her te
stimony on your behalf, even though she was a prosecution witness.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“She doesn’t believe you did it. That should be clear enough. She got your report, interviewed you, then went and interviewed the other guys, and they weren’t credible. But she can’t say that. You can bet your ass Colton was read his rights.”
“That’s crazy,” Carrie said.
Elmore shrugged. “Crazy it might be. But Smalls is too good an investigator for it to be anything else. So Colton’s up next, then Hicks.”
“Why are they doing Colton first?”
“I’m guessing it’s because he’s got the most to lose. Whatever he says, it’s going to look self-serving. Hicks can play the impartial witness.”
I swallowed. “Hicks and Colton have been friends for a decade almost. Will that matter?”
“We’ll address that on cross-examination.”
A knock on the door signaled it was time to go back. I felt my stomach tense up, and I stood. “I should have grabbed a smoke while I had the chance.”
“Ray,” Elmore said. “I’m gonna do my best to get you clear. All right?”
I nodded.
Ten minutes later we were back in the courtroom.
Colonel Martinez began the preliminaries, and a few moments later, the trial counsel called in Sergeant Colton. I tensed up, forcing myself to not look at the back of the room as Colton entered and made his way to the witness chair. The members of the court-martial board, arrayed at two tables on either side of Colonel Martinez, looked back and forth from Colton to me as he took his seat.
I took a deep breath as he took a seat, and finally looked over at him.
Colton looked different. Older, tired. The left side of his face noticeably sagged, the left eye not as open as the right, and his mouth curved down toward the left in a permanent frown. It was as if his face had been melted almost, the stroke leaving him a caricature of himself.
Captain Cox approached Colton and said, “Please raise your right hand and repeat after me. I swear, or affirm, to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
Colton raised his right hands and repeated the words, his speech slightly slurred. It was hard to watch this man, who had been my platoon sergeant since I finished training, the man who had saved the lives of several members of our platoon, the man who had been disciplinarian and father and friend to all of us. It was hard to watch him now, one side of his face firm and proud and just like I remembered it, the other side sagged, weakened, failing.
I wanted to stop and take it all back, but I couldn’t.
Cox said, “Please state your name, rank and component for the record.”
Colton said, “Benjamin E. Colton. Sergeant First Class, Regular Army.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Colton. I’m going to be asking you a number of questions this afternoon regarding your most recent tour in Afghanistan and events which took place during that tour. First, please tell me, do you know Sergeant Raymond Calhoun Sherman?”
“I do,” Colton said.
“And is Sergeant Sherman in this room today?”
“He is.”
“Please identify him for the court.”
Colton met my eyes. He seemed to wince a little, the damaged side of his face not moving at all, but the left eye expressive, narrowing a bit as he pointed and said, “He’s right there at that table.”
Cox said, a little bit theatrically, “Please note for the record that Sergeant First Class Colton indicated the accused.” Then he turned, walked away from Colton, pausing in front of the prosecutor’s table, and turned around.
“Sergeant Colton. When did you first meet the accused?”
“Sherman was assigned to my platoon at Fort Drum when he graduated infantry training at Fort Benning.”
“And what kind of a soldier was he?”
The right side of his face curled up in a slight smile. “He was one of the best soldiers I’ve had the pleasure to lead in my career. He’d only been with us about six months when I recommended he be fast-tracked to become a non-commissioned officer. When he was up for promotion to specialist, we got him Corporal instead.”
Cox gave a slight smile to Colton and said, “For benefit of the members of the board who aren’t combat arms, can you explain the significance of this?”
Elmore leaned close to me and muttered under his breath, “Cox must have read about the infantry in a book or something.”
My lawyer was a fucking comedian.
Colton said, “Once we go out in the field, all of us depend on each other. But an infantry NCO has special responsibility. You have to be able to lead your men, to make the tough decisions. You have to be ready to put other men’s lives on the line for the mission, and to send people into dangerous situations for the safety of the team. What I felt I saw in Sherman was the potential to be an outstanding leader, and he was one. He cared about his men and took care of them.”
Cox nodded. The members of the board were all paying close attention, interest clear on their faces. Cox said, “I’d like to take you forward in time to your actual deployment. How did Sherman perform once you got in a real combat situation?”
“At first, exactly as I’d expected. He was promoted to Sergeant midway through our deployment, in early January, I think. The men respected him. Honestly in some ways I blame myself ... I looked at Sherman almost like he was my son. And like a lot of fathers, I had high expectations. In retrospect, I may have put too much responsibility on him too early.”
I closed my eyes. I’d looked at Colton as a father. And had often felt doubts about my own leadership ability, and whether or not I was cut out to be an infantry sergeant. Hearing Colton say those words was like being punched in the gut.
“Sergeant Colton,” Cox said. “When did you begin to have these doubts?”
Colton sighed. “It was right after we lost Roberts and Kowalski, and Paris was injured. I think Sherman blamed himself, even though there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. But you could see it ... he seemed lost. That’s why, when we got replacements, I made sure he got them in his fire team. I wanted him back in the saddle as soon as possible, so the doubts wouldn’t set in and shake his confidence. But you could see it. He was really shaken. Sherman was close to his team.”
In a low, even voice Cox said, “Sergeant Colton, please tell us what happened on March 24th.”
Elmore murmured in my ear, “Stay chill through this, Sherman. He’s about to start telling lies. Don’t let it get to you.”
The first few answered were what I expected, and didn’t deviate from what I remembered. Colton testified about Weber’s killing, then the fruitless search for the sniper that followed.
“Sergeant Colton ... did your platoon encounter any civilians during this search?”
“Just one,” Colton said, his voice rough. “A boy, maybe eleven or twelve years old.”
“What happened when you encountered the boy?”
Colton looked away from the court-martial board, away from me. And he answered in a monotone, “The men were ... heated. Extremely so. Weber’s killing was so senseless and came out of nowhere. Two or three of the men stopped the boy and began shouting at him.”
“And what did Sergeant Sherman do?”
I stared, looking directly at Colton as he spoke. He avoided my eyes.
“Sherman lost it. He started shouting at the boy. And before I had a chance to do anything, he shot him.”
My heart sank. Of course, I’d heard similar testimony during the Article 32 investigation. But I guess somehow, I’d held out hope. Hope that Colton would recant his testimony, and tell the truth. Hope that the man I’d respected, loved even, would face up to his responsibilities.
“Could it have been an accidental discharge, Sergeant?”
Colton nodded, slowly. “It might have been. It was a crazy, chaotic situation. To be blunt, I feel responsible. I didn’t maintain control of my platoon
.”
I closed my eyes, leaning back slightly in my chair. I didn’t want to hear any more. I didn’t even want to think any more.
Sherman went nuts (Carrie)
“Please state your name, rank and component.”
“James Hicks. Sergeant. Regular Army.”
I glanced over to the other side of the room. Stephanie Hicks was in the audience, with a sad, near grief-stricken expression on her face. Sergeant Hicks sat straight in the witness chair, his posture erect, his uniform immaculate. His gaze was directed at the trial counsel, and it was clear he was avoiding Ray’s eyes.
As I understood it, Hicks’ testimony was the lynchpin of the prosecution’s case. Colton’s testimony could clearly be seen as self-serving, because the jury knew he’d been accused, by Ray, of the same crime. But Hicks lying on the stand was another thing entirely. The rest of the squad—cowards, every single one of them—had taken the stand and testified, one right after the other, that they weren’t sure who pulled the trigger.
I hoped Elmore had a plan in mind, because Ray was sinking fast. He’d tossed and turned all night after Colton’s testimony, and we rode back to Walter Reed in silence this morning.
Now he sat, straight in his seat, uniform perfect, no outward sign to the rest of the world of the exhaustion I could see was eating him alive. He was staring at Hicks, and Hicks met his eyes, and I momentarily had the feeling of two boxers, glaring at each other across the ring. I was almost afraid one of them was going to get up and hit the other, and I couldn’t help but wonder what could inspire the kind of rage Hicks must have to be doing this.
“Sergeant Hicks. Do you know Sergeant Raymond Sherman?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please identify Sergeant Sherman for the court.”
Hicks pointed directly at Sherman and said, “He’s there. The accused.”
“Can you please tell us when you met the accused?”
“Three, maybe four years ago? He was assigned to my fire team when he first finished basic training.”
“And what was your impression of him?”
Hicks shrugged. “He worked hard. But he thought he was better than everyone else. He came out of basic already an E-3 because he’d been to college. Always had his nose stuck in a book.”
The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters) Page 38