Corva shrugged. “I’ll reserve my moral judgments.” Corva drank some beer. “Tell me about the burial mound incident.”
Tyson related the incident as he remembered it and concluded, “Farley was an uncomplicated man, as you may have noticed. He took things literally. One time when he was complaining about something, I told him if he didn’t like being a rifleman, I’d ask the battalion commander to take him on as an intelligence analyst. The next day he actually asked me about it. It was very frustrating having to deal with people who didn’t understand my wit.”
Corva smiled.
Tyson added, “But thinking back on that incident, I think he did understand that I was telling them to put up or shut up. I got tired of these idiotic threats they’d make toward the Vietnamese. I wouldn’t have let them do it, of course.”
“You don’t have to say that. Sorry if I got a little worried back there. Point is, this was not a good story. It shows you in a bad light. Let’s discuss the cross-examination.”
“There won’t be any cross-examination,” said Tyson.
“What?”
“I don’t want you to take him apart.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you pull apart his testimony, by the time you face Brandt, Pierce will have rearranged the parts of Brandt’s story that he sees won’t hold up. Farley is the gook in the mine field, Vince. Pierce wants him to show him where the mines are, the hard way, so he can make a map for Brandt. Capice?”
Corva chewed awhile on his sandwich. “Capisco.” Corva bit and chewed again thoughtfully. He said, “For instance, if I try to get Farley to admit that you shot Larry Cane in order to try to stop the massacre, then Brandt is forewarned that we are going to reveal that, and he can be prepared.”
“Right.”
“And the more I take Farley apart, the more Brandt will be able to come up with versions that hew closer to the truth, even if it contradicts some of Farley’s testimony, and you don’t really want that, because you want to expose Brandt as a total liar. Right?”
Tyson didn’t reply.
Corva said, “Well, your reasoning may be screwed up, but the tactics are sound. I don’t want to tip off Pierce, who will tip off Brandt. And you want payback. So, okay, we will skip the cross on Farley, subject to recalling him if we have to. As for the burial mound incident, I could cross-examine him for a month, and I could not get across to the board what you just told me and what I believe. I’ll let that rest until or if we decide to put him on the stand again. They can have that round. The only thing I am wondering is this: Where, when, and how are we going to expose Steven Brandt as a liar?”
“Sometime after he gets on the stand and lies.”
“I can do it through my cross-examination of Brandt, or I can do it through one of our sterling witnesses. Or I can try to do it through your testimony.”
“We’ll see. Stay fluid.”
Corva snorted. “Yeah, fluid.” He leaned across the table, his hands on a pile of books, and said to Tyson, “I just want to remind you that it is you who are on trial, not Steven Brandt. You are what we call the accused. I often defer to the wishes of my clients, which is why so many of them are in jail. But your wishes are not all coinciding with my needs. You’re the one who has to live with the outcome, Ben. If you perceive this trial as a rite of exorcism and you’ll feel better about yourself while you’re making scratches on the wall of your cell in Leavenworth, then we’ll try to do it your way.”
“Good. I’m glad we see eye-to-eye.”
“Right. You want that sandwich?”
“No.”
“Neither do I.”
* * *
The court reconvened at 2 P.M., and Colonel Sproule said to Corva, “Your witness, Mr. Corva.”
Corva stood and said, “The defense has no questions for the witness, your honor.”
There was a stir in the court, and Colonel Sproule glared out at the spectators. He turned back to Corva and said, “You do not wish to cross-examine?”
“No, your honor. But we reserve the right to recall the witness at a later time.”
Colonel Sproule seemed to resist shrugging, then turned to Colonel Moore. “Are there any questions by the board?”
Colonel Moore replied, “The board has questions, your honor.”
Corva leaned toward Tyson. “There are times when I like the idea of a jury who may ask questions. There are other times when I don’t. Let’s see if I like this bunch or not.”
Colonel Sproule was instructing the court. “The format that I have decided is proper for these questions has already been explained to you in pretrial instructions. You may ask your questions individually or through the president of the board, Colonel Moore. I remind you, however, that your questions to the witnesses must not be misleading, must not show bias, must relate to the testimony, must serve to clarify a point in your mind, and should be short and succinct. If you have any doubts as to the admissibility of your questions, you may reduce them to writing and show them to me. If you ask a question that I think is improper, I will not allow the witness to respond. Colonel Moore?”
Moore referred to his notes and said, “Major Sindel would like to put the first question to the witness.”
Pierce stood and said to Farley, “Mr. Farley, you are reminded that you are still under oath.”
Farley answered from his wheelchair, “Yes, sir.”
Tyson had the distinct impression that Farley, after nearly two decades, was still intimidated by the trappings of military authority. Tyson had the urge to shake him and remind him that he was a civilian.
Major Virginia Sindel leaned in Farley’s direction and asked, “Mr. Farley, you indicated you fired a couple of shots at people who were trying to get away. Did you hit anyone?”
Farley chewed on his lower lip a moment, then replied, “No, ma’am.”
“Thank you. I have one further question. You stated several times that Lieutenant Tyson did nothing and said nothing in response to a variety of events that occurred. You also stated that he was frightened. What was he frightened of?”
Farley thought for some time, then replied, “He was frightened of us.”
“Thank you.”
Tyson looked at Major Sindel. She was about forty years old, with dark blond hair and blue eyes. The eyes were intelligent, and her voice had a touch of the South. She had beautiful hands that played with a pencil in an almost sensual way. She wasn’t attractive, but Tyson thought she had enough going for her to be desirable.
Lieutenant Colonel McGregor asked, “Mr. Farley, you stated that Lieutenant Tyson gave an order to shoot any enemy sick and wounded that were in the hospital. I realize a great deal of time has elapsed, but could you recall the words he used?”
Farley tapped the fingers of both hands on the armrests of the wheelchair. Finally he replied, “Something like . . . ‘go find the gooks’ . . . no, he said, ‘NVA’ and maybe ‘VC’ . . . ‘Go find them and waste them.’”
“He meant the NVA and VC in the beds?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did he say that?”
“I think so.”
“How do you know he meant the NVA and the VC in the beds?”
“There was no other NVA and VC around.”
“There were no armed enemy troops in or around the hospital?”
“No, sir. They ran off.”
“Thank you.”
Captain Morelli, the Adjutant General’s Corps officer, asked, “Mr. Farley, just a point to clarify language. The word ‘gooks.’ Does this mean the enemy? Or civilians? Or both?”
Farley seemed glad someone posed an easy question. “Gooks could be both. Slants and slopes were civilians. Dinks could be both. It depended a lot on where you were and what you was doing. Charlie was always the enemy.”
“Charlie was always a gook? But a gook wasn’t always Charlie?”
Farley smiled for the first time. “You never knew when a gook was Charlie.”
&nbs
p; “I see. Thank you.”
Colonel Moore asked, “In the hospital, did Lieutenant Tyson ever give you a direct order of any sort?”
Farley shook his head. “No, sir. He only gave the one order. To kill the sick and wounded. He shouted it to everybody.”
“He did not personally supervise the carrying out of this order?”
“No, sir. He stayed in the operating room.”
“Did you personally see his order carried out?”
“No, sir. I was in the operating room.”
“But there were two wounded enemy soldiers in the operating room whom you did see get shot.”
“Right. I saw that.”
“What came first, Mr. Farley, the shooting of the two doctors in the operating room or Lieutenant Tyson’s order to kill sick and wounded enemy soldiers?”
Farley replied, “I think the shooting of the two doctors. I can’t remember. It was too long ago.”
“How could you or the men of the platoon identify who of the patients were enemy soldiers?”
Farley thought about that for some time, then replied, “I don’t know.”
“Did Lieutenant Tyson instruct the men on methods of identification?”
“No, sir.” Farley seemed to sense an opportunity. He said, “That’s why the order was crazy. Once he gave it, you could shoot anybody. Women were VC, too. Old men were VC.”
“But the women and babies in the maternity ward were not VC.”
“I guess not.”
“And the hospital staff were not VC or North Vietnamese Army.”
“No, sir. But they were taking care of them.”
“Did you ever observe anyone in your platoon trying to stop the shooting?”
“No, sir. But some guys didn’t shoot. At least I never saw them shoot.”
“Can you name anyone who didn’t shoot?”
“Only one I know for sure was Doc Brandt. He never fired his rifle.”
“Thank you.” Colonel Moore said to Colonel Sproule, “The board has no further questions.”
Colonel Sproule looked down at Richard Farley. “The witness is excused, subject to recall.” Sproule looked at his watch and said to Pierce, “Do you wish to call your next witness?”
Pierce stood. “No, your honor. The next witness’s testimony may be lengthy. I would prefer to begin tomorrow morning.”
Sproule said, “The court will adjourn until ten hundred hours tomorrow.”
Everyone stood as Colonel Sproule left the pulpit and exited the court.
Corva said to Tyson, “Bunch of amateurs.”
“I thought they asked pretty good questions. Could you tell anything by their questions?”
“Yes. They’ve bought the story of a massacre. Nobody as stupid as Farley could make up over an hour of testimony about something that never happened. Tomorrow, Brandt will fine-tune the story. All the board wants to discover is your precise role, if any, in the massacre. They do not want to hear about firefights and room-to-room fighting.” Corva picked up his briefcase. “I had a feeling this would happen. And as soon as Farley got into it, I felt that everyone in this place knew that what he had read in Picard’s book was basically true.”
“Well,” said Tyson, “it was.”
Corva watched the pews emptying and noticed that Marcy hadn’t stayed behind. He turned back to Tyson. “Where do you want to go now?”
“Paris.”
“My BOQ or your quarters?”
“Your place.” Tyson looked around the chapel, empty now except for a few MPs waiting for him, and Colonel Pierce obsessively putting his papers in order. Tyson walked over to him, and Pierce looked up from his chair.
Pierce said, “Yes?”
Tyson said, “Yes, indeed.”
“Can I help you?”
“Yes. You can. You can tell Richard Farley for me that I bear him no ill will. Will you do that?”
“Yes.”
“And tell Dr. Brandt that it’s payback time. Will you do that?”
Pierce, still in his chair, replied, “I think Dr. Brandt knows that.”
Corva put his arm on Tyson’s shoulder and moved him away. Corva said to Pierce, “You’ve improved quite a lot, Graham. I’m very impressed.”
Pierce smiled tightly. “The best is yet to come.”
“I think you should spend the night holding Dr. Brandt’s hand,” Corva said. “Two aspirins, see him in the morning. Good day.” Corva turned and walked with Tyson out the side door into the corridor.
CHAPTER
45
If one were walking from Building 209, also known as Gresham Hall or the bachelor officers’ quarters, and one were going to the officer family housing quarters, one might choose Pence Street, a quiet lane with few buildings, cutting through more of the flat treeless terrain of Fort Hamilton. And if one were coming from the Officers’ Club and walking to the guest house, one might also use Pence Street, heading the other way. So, it was not completely fate, Tyson thought, that put him on the same street with Steven Brandt.
Tyson spotted him long before Brandt spotted Tyson, though they were the only two people walking on the grass that edged the narrow street. And, oddly, he knew it was Brandt long before he could clearly discern his features in the widely spaced street lighting.
It was a few minutes after 10 P.M., and he’d just left Corva’s accommodations at the BOQ where the main topic of conversation had been the man who was less than fifty feet from him now. Tyson was still in his uniform, not having gone home to change. He saw that Brandt was wearing a bulky overcoat against the chill night air and had his hands thrust deeply in his pockets, his chin resting on the front of his coat, which was probably why he didn’t see Tyson approaching him.
Tyson looked around but didn’t see his usual MP escort. Tyson was within fifteen feet of Brandt now, and Brandt, sensing someone approaching, veered a few more feet onto the grass to allow room for the man coming toward him.
Tyson saw that not only was the overcoat bulky, but so too was the body it covered. Brandt had puffed out like a biscuit, and his face seemed to have the same appearance and complexion of flour and buttermilk. And he was quite bald except for a fringe of ludicrously long hair that fell on the collar of the dark blue overcoat. Tyson wondered how he’d recognized him from that distance; he barely recognized him now.
“Hello, Doc.”
Brandt stopped, though froze might be a better word, Tyson thought. They were less than five feet apart, handshaking distance if anyone had the inclination.
Brandt didn’t seem surprised, nor did he seem uncomfortable. If anything, he looked as if he’d just run into a dimly remembered patient, and he regarded Tyson with a cool clinical detachment, actually looking him up and down. Tyson had the urge to break the man’s neck right then and there. Literally grab him as they’d taught him in hand-to-hand class and snap the neck at the third and fourth cervical vertebrae. “Out for a walk?” inquired Tyson.
Brandt nodded. “Yup.”
“Coming from the club?”
“Yeah.”
“Small post,” observed Tyson.
Brandt remained in the position in which he’d frozen, one foot in front of the other, body slightly turned toward Tyson. “I’m not allowed to talk to you.”
“On the contrary, Doctor, a witness may talk to the accused. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s another matter.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Save your voice for tomorrow.”
Brandt neither moved nor responded. He seemed to sense that this chance meeting had to have a resolution.
“Hey, when’s the last time we saw each other, Doc?” said Tyson as though the response should be, “The party after the Princeton game.” In case Brandt thought the question was rhetorical, Tyson said, “When?”
“The ditch at the Strawberry Patch.”
“Right. Right. What a day that was. What happened later?”
Brandt shrugged. “Don’t remember.”
“You did a nice job on me in the ditch.”
“Thanks,” said Brandt.
“The surgeons on the hospital ship said it was a professional wrap job.”
“There’s not much I could have done right or wrong with a wound like that. I’m glad to see you’re walking well.”
“Gives me a little pain in this damp weather.”
“It’ll always do that.”
“Really? I thought I’d grow out of it.”
Brandt straightened up and looked around.
Tyson said, “You’re married now.”
Brandt nodded.
“Children?”
“Two. Boy and a girl. Sixteen and twelve.”
“Perfect family.”
“Yes.”
Tyson said, “Hey, I saw some of the old crew about a month ago. Beltran, Scorello, Sadowski, Walker, and Kalane. They asked about you.”
For the first time Brandt smiled, but it was more of a grimace. “Did they?”
“Yes. They inquired about your future health.”
Brandt didn’t respond.
“See much of Farley?”
“Now and then.” Brandt yanked his hand from his pocket and looked at his watch. “I have to go.”
Tyson didn’t acknowledge the statement. “What happened to the pictures?”
“What pictures?”
“The pictures, Doc. Your field study in female anatomy.”
Brandt took a step, and Tyson took a step to intercept him. They were closer now, about three feet, swinging distance if anyone wanted to. Tyson said, “It’s not even safe to hide them. You could die or something, and they’ll turn up in your possessions. Maybe one of your children will get Daddy’s war souvenir trunk and open it ten years from now. Bad for your posthumous reputation. Better to burn them, no matter how painful it may be to do so.”
Brandt replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tyson continued, “The ones I saw you take are classics, though. Hard to part with. You remember the one with the net hammock? That was clever of the National Police tying her in the hammock like a sausage. Every time they gave her a jolt of juice to the vagina, that hammock jumped, didn’t it? Hard to capture that with snapshots.”
Word of Honor Page 60