“How long have you known General Ranstead?”
“I don’t know. Twenty years, maybe? We were stationed together at Leavenworth years ago.”
“Is he the one you told me about? The guy who pinned on your stars when you were promoted to brigadier general?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Pretty good guy, huh?”
“The best.”
Randy leaned down and kissed the top of his lover’s head. “Three gay generals sitting together in one room. If you’d told me I’d live to see this day when I was at the Point, I’d have said you’re crazy.”
“It’s funny, isn’t it?”
“What about the other guy? Terry?”
“I’ve known him almost as long. He’s very, very bitter. They were closing in on him when he retired. He was never married. There were always rumors, I guess.”
“That was an incredible story about his lover.”
“Jimmy was a wonderful guy. Everyone loved him.”
“You said General Samuels is on Senator Maldray’s staff? I saw Senator Maldray with General King the other day at Fort Benning. He had media with him, local and national TV, the Washington Post, the Times. It looked to me like Maldray is backing King for chief.”
“No, he’s not. That was just to cover his ass with black voters in Georgia. He’s backing Beckwith all the way. Terry heard it straight from the horse’s mouth.”
“Geez, it’s all political, isn’t it?”
“Everything’s political in the United States Army.”
“So you think I ought to do this? You think I should cooperate with them?”
Ed turned in the chair and looked up at Randy. “I do. I think it’s really important that Beckwith is stopped.”
“I don’t know if I could live with myself. I’d feel like a spy. It goes against everything I was taught by my parents, everything I learned at West Point.”
Ed stood up and walked around the chair and took Randy in his arms and kissed him. “Randy, I learned the same things you learned at the Point, but that doesn’t stop us from loving each other, does it?”
Randy walked over to the window and stood there looking at the lights of the city.
“It’s just so hard, Ed.”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Randy. It is hard, and it’s not going to get any easier if your boss makes chief of staff.”
“I know,” said Randy.
“All we’re asking is that you stand with us against this man’s bigotry and intolerance.”
“You’ve got to promise me one thing. You can use what I tell you against General Beckwith getting a promotion to chief of staff, but I don’t want it used to destroy him and his career. I understand Terry Samuels’ anger, but I’m not going to help him get his revenge. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
Chapter Six
The court-martial of Corporal Vernon Richards had already been called to order when Kara burst through the door of the court. She stopped in front of the military judge.
“I apologize for being late, Your Honor.”
Kara slipped behind the defense table and opened her briefcase.
Colonel Simon Freeman peered disapprovingly over his glasses. He extracted a fat finger from beneath his black robes and wagged it in Kara’s direction. “You have already cost this court a full day of trial, Major Guidry, and I have been tolerant of this delay because of the extraordinary circumstances in which you found yourself yesterday. If you’re late again, I’m going to hand the keys to Major Sanders there, and have him cuff you to your table overnight while the rest of us go home, so you’ll be certain to be here when I walk into this court-martial in the morning. Am I making myself clear, Major?”
Kara looked up from her briefcase. “Perfectly, Your Honor.”
“Proceed, Major Sanders.”
Major Howard Sanders glanced at Kara as he unwrapped his six-foot two-inch frame from his green government-issue chair and approached the battered lectern. As he faced the military judge, to his left, behind a metal railing, sat the members of the court-martial board: a lieutenant colonel, a major, two captains, a chief warrant officer, and two master sergeants. The lieutenant colonel was a black man, the major was a woman, and one of the master sergeants was also black.
The courtroom, a windowless pale green box, was unadorned by decoration save for an American flag hanging from the wall behind the judge, and was as empty as it was forlorn.
Behind Kara a metal chair scraped the worn linoleum floor as the court-martial’s only spectator took her seat. Kara’s eyes met those of Lateesha Richards, who was wearing a flower print dress and black scarf. Kara remembered the first time she had met Lateesha in the stockade parking lot on their way to see her son. A yellow cab had stopped, and a middle-aged black woman got out and paid the driver. “Major Guidry, I’m Vernon’s mother. You’ve got to help my boy, ma’am, ‘cause he’s all I got.”
Corporal Vernon Richards was the youngest of her three sons. The older boys had been bystanders who were cut down in a drive-by shooting when they were just eight and nine. Vernon watched it happen out the front window of their project apartment. When he grew up, Lateesha encouraged him to enlist in the Army because in the Army, at least, he’d be safe.
Now he stood next to Kara in Army prison garb—faded denim fatigues with a huge white P sewn onto the back of the jacket and down the side of his pant legs—charged with desertion. If he was found guilty, he would serve at least ten years in the Fort Leavenworth Disciplinary Barracks. The main portion of the evidence against him was uncontested. He had absented himself without leave for a period of forty-six days. It was right there on the morning reports day after day: Corporal Vernon Richards. AWOL.
Sanders had offered Kara a deal before trial. Plead to AWOL and take a six and six and a DD, and we’ll wave the six in con and he’s gone. Translation: If Vernon pled guilty to the lesser charge of AWOL instead of desertion, he would be awarded six months’ confinement to the stockade, six months’ reduction in pay, and a dishonorable discharge. The Army would drop the six months’ confinement, and he would be discharged forthwith.
Kara had dutifully told Vernon about the Army’s offer, and Vernon did not hesitate even a second before he said, no deal. “I get myself a dishonorable, and what am I gonna do back in New Orleans, ma’am? You know from down there. Only job I’ll ever get is washin’ cars down on Carrollton Avenue. They won’t even hire me to pick up garbage for the Sanitation.”
Kara had explained that he was facing ten years plus in Leavenworth, the evidence was heavily in the Army’s favor, and contesting the charges against him was going to be difficult. Vernon was insistent. And so they stood together in an empty courtroom located in a wood-frame building next to the stockade facing a board of senior officers and noncommissioned officers, hardly a jury of Corporal Richards’ peers. Kara had already tried to challenge the captain and one of the sergeants off the board, but her challenge had been rejected. She was stuck with seven stern-faced military professionals in whom the prohibition against desertion could be assumed to have been inbred.
Major Sanders cleared his throat. “Your Honor, the prosecution calls Captain John Eastlake to the stand.”
Colonel Freeman nodded to a tall MP standing at the back of the room. He opened the door and escorted Captain Eastlake, a slight figure in his green Class A uniform, to the front of the court. The MP held a Bible. Eastlake placed his left hand atop the Bible and faced the prosecutor.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” Sanders asked.
“I do,” said Eastlake.
“Be seated, Captain.” Sanders riffled through the papers on the lectern and looked up.
“You are Corporal Richards’ company commander, Captain?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
Sanders walked over to the witness and handed him a sheaf of papers. “These are
your morning reports for the period of January 15 to March 3 of this year, are they not?”
Eastlake looked through a few of the pages. “Yes, sir.”
“Your Honor, I’d like to submit these morning reports as prosecution exhibits one through forty-six.” He handed the reports to Colonel Freeman, who glanced at them and handed them back.
“Prosecution exhibits one through forty-six are admitted into evidence. Proceed.”
Sanders turned to the witness. “Can you tell this court what distinguishes these reports from others you have filled out for your company, Captain?”
“They reflect the AWOL status of Corporal Richards, sir.”
“After the thirtieth report of AWOL, Richards was carried on your company morning report as a deserter, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The signature on the bottom of each morning report is yours, Captain?”
“I think my XO signed four or five of them while I was on leave over a long weekend, sir.”
“But you are the initiating officer, and you are ultimately responsible for the accuracy of the morning reports in your company?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And these morning reports are accurate as to Corporal Richards’ AWOL status to the best of your knowledge?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He was AWOL for a total of forty-six days, and carried as a deserter for sixteen of those days, until his arrest by the military police in New Orleans on March the third of this year?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sanders sat down. “Your witness, Major.”
Kara stood behind the defense table. “Captain Eastlake, are you aware of Department of the Army policy regarding family accommodation?”
Sanders looked up. “Objection. Not relevant.”
Colonel Freeman looked over at Kara. “Major?”
“Sir, this question goes to the heart of the defense case. Its relevancy will be revealed in due time.”
“Objection sustained. Proceed.”
“How long have you been a company commander, Captain Eastlake?”
“For just under a year, ma’am.”
“That means your first officer efficiency report rating is coming up, is that right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You are rated on the number of AWOL’s you carry in any given year, is that correct?”
Sanders stood. “Objection. Captain Eastlake’s career isn’t at issue here.”
Kara glared at Sanders. “I’m trying to show—”
Colonel Freeman boomed: “Objection sustained. Stick to the testimony at hand, Major.”
“No further questions.” She started to sit down, then stood. “The defense reserves the right to recall this witness at a later time.”
“Granted. Major Sanders, does the prosecution have another witness?”
“Sir, the prosecution rests.”
“Major Guidry, is the defense ready with its case?”
“Sir, the defense requests a brief recess.”
“Very well. This court-martial will reconvene at 1400 hours after lunch.” Freeman banged his gavel, and the members of the court stood and filed from the room.
Corporal Richards stood as two MP’s approached from the back of the court. “Don’t worry, ma’am. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
“You just remember what I told you before, Vernon. Don’t say a word to anyone while you’re in the holding cell over lunch.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The MP’s led him away. Lateesha Richards was standing behind Kara, clutching a Bible to her breast.
“The Lord is watchin’ over us right now, Major Guidry. I can feel him.”
Kara closed her briefcase and picked up her cap. “I certainly hope so, Mrs. Richards.”
She was sitting in the Cherokee with the windows rolled down, playing the radio at full volume. A shadow fell across the dash. She looked out the driver’s window. An MP was tapping his nightstick on the roof. The music was so loud, she couldn’t hear it. She turned off the radio.
“You’re violating the commanding general’s order on noise abatement, ma’am.”
“What?”
“He’s got some kind of big quality-of-life thing going on, ma’am. Supposed to be no loud music playing in cars or in homes or in public spaces.”
Kara looked at the MP’s impossibly young face. He was smiling sheepishly. He didn’t get it any more than she did. “Thank you, Corporal. I’ll remember that.”
“Yes, ma’am. My pleasure, ma’am.” He tucked his nightstick into his belt loop and walked away.
Kara turned the radio on again and reached into the bag tucked between the seats.
Cheetos and a Coke. Lunch.
She glanced in her rearview mirror. An airport taxi pulled up. The trunk popped open. A civilian in a seer-sucker suit grabbed his suitcase and looked around.
Sweet Jesus, he made it!
***
“All rise.”
A door opened, and the members of the board filed in and took their seats. Colonel Freeman looked down at Kara.
“Is the defense ready?”
“We are, Your Honor. The defense calls Mrs. Lateesha Richards.”
Clutching her Bible, Lateesha walked around the defense desk to the front of the court. An MP walked up to Lateesha carrying another Bible, but Freeman gave him a nod and he stepped away. Lateesha raised her right hand.
Major Sanders stood. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“Be seated, Mrs. Richards.”
Lateesha sat down in the witness chair and looked nervously at Kara, who had moved behind the lectern.
“Are you nervous, Mrs. Richards?” asked Kara.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m so scared my hands is shakin’.”
“Well, don’t be. I’m going to ask you some questions, and then Major Sanders is going to ask some, is that all right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Where do you live, Mrs. Richards?”
“New Orleans, ma’am.”
“Where in New Orleans?”
“On Franklin Street, in the St. Thomas Projects, ma’am.”
“Is that a nice place to live, Mrs. Richards?”
“No, ma’am. It’s like a piece of hell on earth, is what it is.”
“It’s an area with a heavy crime rate, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“A lot of drug dealers and guns?”
“Yes, ma’am. More than you can count.”
“Is it true, Mrs. Richards, that your first two sons were killed as bystanders in a drive-by shooting in the St. Thomas Projects?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s true.”
“How old were they?”
“Eight and nine, ma’am. They was just babies.”
“Do you have any neighbors, Mrs. Richards?”
Major Sanders stood. “Objection. I fail to see how the living circumstances of the defendant’s mother bears upon these proceedings.”
Kara turned to Sanders coldly. “It’s my turn, Major. The defense has great latitude in the presentation of its case—”
Freeman banged his gavel. “You will address the court, not each other, is that clear, Major Guidry?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Objection overruled. Proceed.”
“I’ll ask the question again. Do you have any neighbors, Mrs. Richards?”
“No, ma’am. They moved out.”
“Because your neighbors moved out, you live alone in the only occupied apartment in a four-building quad in the St. Thomas Projects?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m all alone there. Been that way for two years now.”
“Your son came home for a visit last Christmas, didn’t he?”
“Yes, ma’am. First time he been home since after he finished his trainin’.”
“But Christmas wasn’t the only reason for his visit, was it, Mrs
. Richards?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Can you tell this court why you wanted Vernon to come home?”
“Gang bangers come by and they told me to get out. They was takin’ over that part of the projects, and I was the onliest one left down there by the river end.”
“Did they threaten you, Mrs. Richards?”
“Yes, ma’am. The big one, the one they call Snooper, he come right into my house and he smashed my windows, and he went in and smashed up the toilet, and when he was done, he come out and he told me I wasn’t out by Christmas, he was gonna kill me.”
“When Vernon came home, what did he do?”
“He helped me fix up the windows, and he put in a new toilet, and he—”
“I understand he helped to fix up the apartment, Mrs. Richards. What else did he do?”
“He carried me down to the police station, and we filed a report, and then he carried me over to the Legal Aid on Magazine Street, and the Legal Aid, they took me into court, and the judge, he gave me a piece of paper—”
“He issued a restraining order, commanding the person known to you as Snooper and his gang members to stay at least one hundred yards away from you and your apartment, is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“And what else did Vernon do?”
“He went over across the projects and he seen this Snooper and he told him to stay away from me.”
“I have one last question for you, Mrs. Richards. Where was your son during the forty-six days he was AWOL from the Army?”
“Why, he was with me at the St. Thomas Projects, ma’am.”
“The whole time?”
“Every minute of every day.”
“No further questions.”
Sanders stood at his desk. “Is it your testimony, Mrs. Richards, that you knew your son was AWOL, that he had broken the law, and you did nothing to notify the proper authorities as to his whereabouts?”
“I told Vernon, I said, Vernon, you know you’re makin’ those Army people plenty mad at you—”
Heart of War Page 8