Corva asked, “What happened in the bunker?”
“We sat around. A few candles were lit. Everyone was soaked. We changed into dry socks and we heated C rations. We had to keep the two bodies in the bunker so the animals wouldn’t get them. Normally, we would have called for a chopper to get rid of the dead and wounded, but we were supposed to still be in An Ninh Ha exchanging fire with snipers, so we couldn’t give our grid coordinates. Browder kept calling asking if we needed artillery support and all that. Lieutenant Tyson said no, there were civilians in the area. Finally Browder said to do something about the snipers. So Lieutenant Tyson reported that we were going to move on this building where the sniper fire was coming from. Actually, it had been two hours since we left the village of An Ninh Ha. Finally, Lieutenant Tyson reported that we were now in heavy contact with an NVA force in a large building. Then he reported an assault on the building, then reported a room-to-room fight, then victory. It was bizarre. Browder said fine job. Browder reported that he was near Hue already. So were we, but he didn’t know that. He gave us his grid coordinates. He wasn’t more than a kilometer from us. But we said we couldn’t reach him before nightfall and we’d stay in An Ninh Ha and link up in the morning. We were making all this up, of course, and feeding it to Lieutenant Tyson as he was talking with Browder on the radio. After Lieutenant Tyson reported that we were going to stay in An Ninh Ha, we started to talk about the battle as though it had really happened. I think the men reasoned that everything about the war was so unreal anyway that this battle and the body count we came up with was as real as the stuff MAC-V put out. So we smoked some grass, and Lieutenant Tyson passed around a bottle of Scotch. We played some cards. We slept. We woke up in the middle of the night. A few guys threw up outside. Brandt gave Moody another shot of morphine. The radio crackled all night, and every hour or so I made scheduled night reports. By dawn, we had our story down pretty well. In fact, by dawn, it was not a story, it was the truth. What really happened became that night’s collective nightmare. We had done a neat switch with reality. I even wrote up a Silver Star for Lieutenant Tyson that night. The next morning we linked up with the rest of the company, got Moody medevaced, and got rid of the corpses. We swapped war stories with the other two platoons. Captain Browder said he was very proud of us. We reported, I think, twelve enemy KIA. We didn’t want to overdo it. Actually Browder didn’t believe a word of it. The time sequences and all the little details were wrong. We’d never asked for artillery to support us, for instance. Browder was a pro, and Lieutenant Tyson wasn’t exactly convincing on the radio or in person. But we had two killed and one wounded, though we had no captured weapons. One of the other platoon sergeants asked us sarcastically if the twelve NVA we killed were unarmed. But the after-action reports were written, and no one higher up asked any questions or even did an after-action survey of the battle scene to the best of my knowledge. But it was a very tumultuous time. We moved on to other problems. Within a week, nobody cared what happened in An Ninh Ha in the hospital that now has a name. But I told you what happened, though I swore in the bunker I never would. So even though I swore to you here I would tell you the truth, you understand that my story could be as phony as the rest of them.”
After a full minute, Corva said, “The defense has nothing further.”
Sproule asked, “Does the prosecution wish to cross-examine?”
Pierce replied in an almost weary tone, “The prosecution does not.”
Colonel Sproule looked at Colonel Moore. “Are there any questions by the court?”
Colonel Moore replied, “The court has no questions.”
Colonel Sproule said to Kelly, “The witness is excused.”
Kelly stood, but instead of turning to his left and leaving, he turned right and walked toward Tyson with the self-assurance of a man who knows no one is going to challenge his movements.
Tyson stood, and they grasped each other’s hands. Tyson said in a quiet voice, “Hello, Kelly.”
“Hello, Lieutenant.”
“Thanks for coming.”
“No problem. You should have come to Angola with me. You wouldn’t be here now.”
“No, I’d be dead now.”
Colonel Sproule looked at Kelly and Tyson, then looked at his watch and said, “The court is adjourned until ten hundred hours tomorrow.”
The board, the prosecution, and the spectators stood and began drifting off.
Tyson saw the MPs approaching and said to Kelly, “See you later maybe.”
“Don’t think so,” said Kelly. “Flying out in about two hours.”
“Where to?”
“Here and there. Doing a gig in Central America now.”
“Your number is going to come up one of these days, Kelly.”
“Maybe. But it’s been fun playing.”
“You missed a good reunion. Sadowski, Scorello, Kalane, Beltran, and Walker. Only DeTonq is not present or accounted for.”
“DeTonq’s still there, Lieutenant.”
“Maybe. Maybe he made it back.”
“No, he’s there. In place.”
“In what place?”
“Hue. Agent in place. Posing as a Frenchman. We needed intelligence there.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Maybe. But we’ll be back there someday.”
“Without me.”
“With or without you.”
Tyson said, “Thanks again.”
“Anytime, amigo. I’ll look you up next time around.”
“Try Leavenworth.”
“I’ll try Garden City first.” Kelly winked, turned, and walked away as the MPs flanked Tyson.
CHAPTER
53
The MP car pulled up to Tyson’s housing unit at 7:30 A.M., and Sergeant Larson unlocked Tyson’s handcuffs. He said to Tyson, “One half hour, sir. We’ll honk at eight hundred hours.”
“Right.”
Larson added, “There will be an MP stationed at the rear door of your unit, sir.”
“Swell.” Tyson opened the car door and walked quickly up the path of his attached unit. David opened the door before he reached it and stood smiling in the doorway.
“Hello, Dad.”
“Hello, kid.” They shook hands, then embraced. Tyson went into the house, and David closed the door. Marcy came quickly down the stairs, dressed in a gray suit and high heels, suitable for trials or business meetings.
Tyson embraced her, and they kissed, but they both sensed an estrangement between them. She said to him, “Would you like breakfast?”
“No thanks. They serve breakfast early there. I had eggs and grits.”
Marcy, David, and Ben Tyson went into the dining area and sat around the table, half of which was piled with Marcy’s paperwork. They talked about David’s school for most of the next twenty minutes. Tyson had coffee, David had two bowls of cereal, and Marcy sipped on a weak herb tea. “My stomach,” she explained. “Tension. Not really sleeping well.”
Tyson looked at his watch. “I’d better start saying good-bye now.” He stood and said to his wife, “I’ll see you in court, as they say.”
“Do you want David there?”
Tyson looked at his son eating his cereal. Tyson said to him, “Do you want to go to a court-martial, or do you want to go to school?”
David smiled weakly. “Court-martial.”
“Good. Maybe you’ll be a JAG lawyer when you grow up.”
Marcy said to Tyson, “Say hello to Vince for me.”
“Okay.” He found his hat on the couch.
She added, “What is happening today, Ben?”
He replied, “I’m not certain. Except that we’re still presenting extenuation and mitigation. Corva may ask Levin to testify today.”
She asked, “What time do you think it will end?”
“I’m not sure. Depends on how many people Corva has lined up.” He paused and asked, “Do you want to testify?”
“Me?”
“Yes. T
he wife often testifies to her husband’s character during E and M.”
“Really? How bizarre.”
Tyson shrugged. “The Army is all one big family.”
She thought a moment, then smiled. “Do I have to tell the truth?”
“No, no. They expect wives to lie.”
“Well, I will of course. But I don’t think you really want me to testify.”
“No, I don’t. It’s not my style. But Corva thinks it’s a good idea. You know how these Italians are with family. In Italian courts they herd in the whole family—old grandmas and little bambinos, all screeching and crying.”
Marcy frowned. “I hate it when you make ethnic generalizations.”
“Corva seems to enjoy it. He does it to me. Why should it bother you?”
She started to say something, then just shrugged.
Tyson nodded toward the paperwork and her attaché case on a chair. “Do you have an appointment this afternoon?”
She nodded. “But I’ve arranged it for five, in midtown. If the court adjourns at four-thirty, I can make it easily.”
“I’ll pass a note to Judge Sproule.”
Marcy drew a deep breath and said nothing.
As Tyson checked his watch, the car horn blew twice. He said, “There’s my limo.”
David stood and again they embraced. Marcy took his arm and walked with him to the front door. She said softly, “I never know when I’m going to see you again.”
“Well, if you come to court at ten, you’ll see me.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Tomorrow,” said Tyson. “I’ll work out something for tomorrow.”
She squeezed his arm. “Can you get forty-five minutes?” She winked suggestively.
He smiled. “I’ll try.”
“I know you would like to be a little nicer to me, but you’re trying to make this easier on me by being . . . cool. It’s not making it easier.” She said, “Ben . . . Kelly’s testimony. . . .”
“Yes?”
She took his hand. “I had no idea . . .”
“I’m no hero. But it’s nice to know you think so.”
The horn blew again.
They kissed, and Tyson left quickly.
He got back into the MP car and sat beside Sergeant Larson, who didn’t produce the handcuffs this time. Larson said, “BOQ. Correct?”
“Correct.”
Tyson looked out the window as the car moved slowly to the BOQ, a short distance away. He remembered the route he used to take between his house and the BOQ. He had not been allowed to vary his route or make any stops or detours. Straight and narrow. He’d hated that, but now it looked like boundless freedom in comparison.
Filmy black clouds raced across the morning sky, blowing from east to west, and there was the smell of rain in the cool air. The few trees on the route looked more bare than they had the day before, and the limbs seemed blacker, giving them a forlorn appearance against the stark institutional buildings.
The car stopped in front of the BOQ, and Sergeant Larson said, “Nineteen-fifteen hours, sir.”
“Right.” Tyson got out, entered the far right door of the building, and went up three flights of stairs. He knocked on Corva’s door. The door opened, and Corva showed him in.
They sat at the dining room table, and Tyson poured a cup of coffee from a mess hall thermos jug.
Corva said, “How is Marcy?”
“Fine. Sends you her regards.”
Corva nodded as he rifled through a folder of yellow paper. “David?”
“Fine. All the Tysons are fine. How are the Corvas?”
“Fine. How’s jail?”
“Jail sucks. I’m in charge of the latrine detail now—my first command since I was CO of Alpha Company.”
Corva chewed absently on a Danish as he jotted notes on his pad. He said, “Today should be the last day.”
Tyson nodded.
Corva continued, “Colonel Levin is prepared to testify on your behalf today.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Give the man a break, Vince. He’s got enough problems being a middle-aged Jewish lieutenant colonel. He wants his full bird before he gets out.”
Corva said impatiently, “How about Marcy, then?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’d like to keep it dignified, if you don’t mind.”
Corva thought about that a moment, then asked, “How about your minister, Reverend Symes? He is most anxious to speak for you.”
“Symes is most anxious to speak, period. He’ll begin at my baptism.”
“Well, how about—?”
“No one. Not my ex-scout leader either. Let Kelly’s statement stand by itself.”
Corva leaned across the table. “Look, Ben, now that you’ve established that jail sucks beyond a reasonable doubt, let’s try to make sure you don’t go back this afternoon.”
Tyson nodded.
Corva continued, “Testimony regarding your character is the last thing that board will hear before they go off to vote on a sentence.”
“My character is irrelevant. The board has the facts.” Tyson stood and went to the window. The sky was darkening, and a few drops of rain splattered against the glass.
Corva said, “You’re not in the best humor this morning.”
Tyson shook his head. “I woke up in jail this morning.”
Corva stood and took a step toward Tyson. “Talk it out.”
Without turning, Tyson said, “It’s all hitting me now. Farley, looking so pathetic. Brandt, being destroyed by Kelly. Sadowski, Scorello, Beltran, Walker, Kalane . . . now they’ve got to live not only with what they’ve done and with everyone knowing about it, but also with the fact that they didn’t take the stand like men . . . because some wimpy lawyers got to them.”
Corva laid his hand tentatively on Tyson’s shoulder.
Tyson went on, “And if I go to jail . . . what does a man say to his wife when he comes home after some years in jail? Do women wait? What is your experience?”
“Ben, that’s enough.”
Tyson said, “And David’s life would be ruined—”
“Enough!” Corva grabbed Tyson’s shoulder and with a surprising strength spun him around and shoved him toward the wall. “Enough!”
Tyson clenched his fist and glared down at the smaller man. Corva glared back. Finally Tyson said, “Okay. Had a bad night.”
Corva went to the table and poured more coffee. He said, “Do you still want to take the stand?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what you want to say?”
Tyson nodded.
Still standing, Corva shuffled through some papers on the table. He said, “The last piece in this Oriental mosaic fell into place last night.”
Tyson looked up at his lawyer.
Corva picked up a telex message and glanced at it. He said, “At first I thought it was the government who was somehow keeping her under wraps, the way they kept Kelly under wraps. But I should have known. . . .”
“She’s dead?”
“No, no. She’s very much alive and well. It was the Church who removed her from the world.” Corva added, “I told you Interpol thought she was in Italy, and she is. In a place called Casa Pastor Angelicus. It is a sort of cloister for nuns built on a hill outside of Rome. She is effectively cut off from the outside world.” Corva added with a half smile, “I don’t think a subpoena would ever reach her.”
Tyson stayed silent a few seconds before asking, “How . . . how is it that she is there?”
“Well, apparently when the first public stories of this appeared in May or June, someone, perhaps in the Vatican, got wind of it and had her sequestered. I would doubt that she knows anything about your difficulties.”
Tyson nodded. “Well, I suppose it’s just as well, isn’t it? It’s good that there are places left in this world where people can live in absolute peace. So,” he said, “that is a cl
osed chapter.” He rubbed his brow. “Thank God somebody was spared from all of this.”
“But perhaps someday, when this is over and she returns to her hospital work, you might visit her.”
Tyson shook his head. “No. I think, as Kelly said, this is the end of the incident. Whoever walked away from that hospital should keep walking, in different directions, and never look back and never reach out to one another. Not ever again.”
Corva replied, “Maybe you’re right. No more reunions. Though,” he said musingly, “I would have liked her to tell the court and everyone that you saved her life. That is a story that should be known.”
“Is it? It doesn’t fit, Vince. Vietnam means loss. Lost war, lost honor, lost innocence, lost souls. Don’t confuse everyone with a story of two people who found something in each other.”
“You’re too cynical this morning.”
“Well, then, let’s say it is a private story and it’s just as well that it won’t be used for any public purpose. I would never have let you call her to the stand anyway.”
“I know that. I just wanted to find her for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Time to go.”
CHAPTER
54
Ben Tyson sat at the defense table. Pierce, Weinroth, and Longo were already at their table. Tyson said, “Why do they always beat us here?”
“I once stole Pierce’s water pitcher, and he’s not going to let it happen again.”
At 10 A.M. sharp, the sergeant at arms called out, “All rise!”
Colonel Sproule entered the court and took his place behind the pulpit. “The court will come to order.”
Everyone sat. Tyson saw that the chapel was still filling with people and the MPs didn’t seem to be stopping anyone from cramming in. This was going to be a short session.
He looked up into the dark choir and saw, standing at the railing, Chet Brown. Brown waved a cheery greeting, but Tyson did not acknowledge it.
He looked into the front row and saw Marcy, who blew him a kiss. David was there, as was his mother, as Corva had insisted. Also in the front pew now was Karen Harper, minus her friend. She was sitting a few feet from Marcy, and they occasionally exchanged a word or two.
The chapel smelled of damp clothing and chilly rain. The persistent drizzle ran down the stained-glass windows, giving them a flat lifeless appearance, making the depictions on them look like cartoons.
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