by David Archer
“Those echoes made it difficult to know which way to move, because I couldn't tell where the rest of the men were taking cover. Gould was their corporal, and at this point, he was more likely to have their obedience and support than I was. That meant that if I could take him out, there was at least a fair chance the rest would give it up. I moved to the other end of the shelter I was hiding behind, to try to get some idea of which direction he might be in from my position.
“I yelled, ‘We've got four dead already, Gould, do you want to make it worse? Give it up, man, we can come up with a story about what happened here.’ He laughed, and I could tell that it was coming from behind another of the little buildings. He was about thirty meters from my position, but not in my line of sight because of the structure he was using to hide behind. I had to move to another position, or it wasn't likely I was going to be able to take him down, so I rolled again, over behind a different building, because it would put me in a position to get behind Gould. I figured that if I could take him out, there was that small chance that the rest would surrender, and I had to take a shot at it.
“I fired a burst in the opposite direction from where I wanted to go, to focus their attention in that area, and then I sprinted around the end of the building I was hiding behind. Seemed like there were almost a dozen of those little structures, and I had no idea what their purpose might be, only that they were made of a thick, Adobe-like material. That made them ideal as shields, since our little 5.56 ball rounds wouldn't penetrate them. Anyway, I got where I wanted to be, and when I looked around the end of the shelter, I saw Gould with his back against another one, facing loosely in my direction. My motion, leaning around the end of the building to see where he might be, caught his eye, and he opened fire instantly. I ducked back behind the structure, waited until he let up on his trigger, and then jumped out from behind that wall. I made it a good six feet away from the corner he'd seen me look around, which put me in a place he didn't expect me to be, and then I fired once with my M4, a single shot that took him between the eyes.
“I yelled, ‘Gould is dead, and none of you is as good as me at this stuff, and you all know it. We can keep this up if we have to, but it'd be a lot simpler if we just go back and let the officers figure out what to do.’ I waited for almost a minute, and then Private Hansen called out that he wanted to give it up. The other six in our unit followed him just a couple of minutes later, so I told them all to unload their weapons and clear them before I stepped out from behind cover. I watched carefully as they did so, then had them recover the weapons and dog tags from the men we lost. Once those weapons were also cleared, I ordered them into formation and marched them back to our rear area.
“I made my report, detailing what I had discovered when I was called down from my cover-fire position. I left no details out, including the fact that I had killed five of my own men, while the sixth, Private Mason, was killed accidentally as a result of my killing Private Lindemann. I also included details of the five civilian girls who had been raped and killed, complete with photographs I had taken on my phone.”
Mathers sat back and just looked at him for a moment. “You're aware that the rest of your unit all says that you were the one who was raping and killing those girls, and that it was Lieutenant Gibson who tried to stop you. According to their statements, you killed him and Corporal Gould, and then killed the rest as they were trying to escape from you.”
Noah shrugged. “You asked me to tell you what happened, so I did.”
“Sergeant Foster, you are about to face court-martial on multiple charges of murder under UCMJ Article 118, as well as multiple charges of sedition under UCMJ Article 94, Section 894. Ironically, there's no mention of charges regarding the five girls, because by the time another unit was sent out there to try to gather evidence and collect the bodies, all of them had vanished. All they found out there were the bodies of your men, the ones that you killed.”
“I didn't kill Mason,” Noah said. “His death was an accident. I have no idea which way he would've come down on this issue.”
“Yes, well, the Article 32 hearing has already determined that there is sufficient evidence to bring charges against you. What that means for me is that I have to try to find a way to keep you from being hung at Leavenworth. Now, considering that you have just told me this story with about as much emotion as your average donkey might display, would you like to give me some kind of an idea of what I might be able to use to do that?”
Noah studied her face for a moment. “You need to get into my psychological profile,” he said. “It's a long story, but I suffer from something called blunted affect disorder, which means I don't have any emotions. That's why you're not seeing any when I talk to you.” His face broke into a big smile, suddenly. “But I can fake it for you, if you want. I got years and years of practice.”
Mathers stared at him. “With a psych problem like that, how on earth did you get into the Army?”
“Like I said,” Noah replied, “I got years of practice at pretending to be human. It wasn't hard to get past the doctors, and I'm smart enough that the qualification tests were pretty simple. Uncle Sam jumped at the chance to get me, and by the time I finished basic training, there were a whole bunch of officers who decided they had found the perfect soldier.” He shrugged his shoulders and cocked his head to one side. “Maybe they're right. Three tours of duty over here, and credited with more than a hundred and twenty confirmed kills. Not hard to do, when you can't feel fear and don't have a conscience.”
Mather shook her head. “Do you realize that if anyone overheard those words, they would convict you without a moment's hesitation?”
Noah laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “Lieutenant, do you honestly believe there is any possibility that isn't going to happen, anyway? I figure they probably already have my room reserved on death row at the Disciplinary Barracks at Fort Leavenworth. Wouldn't want to make a bet on that, would you?”
Matters got to her feet and picked up the notepad she'd been scribbling on. “Look, Sergeant Foster, as strange as it may seem to you, I really do want to do everything I can to give you a real defense. The problem is that I have nothing to work with. If I put you on the stand, the members of the court are going to listen to you speak and conclude that you are every bit the psychopath your buddies have made you out to be. Other than some pictures of what might be powder burns, I have absolutely nothing in the way of physical evidence to corroborate your story, and I sincerely doubt that any of your former compatriots would be willing to speak up on your behalf, even if you're telling the gospel truth.”
“Of course they won't,” Noah said. “The other guys would kill them if they did. No, no matter how you look at it, I'm headed for conviction, and probably the death penalty.” He leaned forward, his hands clasped calmly on the table. “Lieutenant Mathers, go and put some effort into a case you have a chance to win. Find someone who still has a chance, and put everything you've got into them, because I don't have one.”
Mathers leaned her head to one side, staring at him in what he took to be complete shock. “You're just giving up?”
“Oh, now, I didn't say that. I said I'm fully aware that I'm going to be convicted. What I'm hoping is that you'll do exactly what I mentioned earlier, and get hold of my psychological profile. About the only chance I've got to avoid the hangman's noose is for you to get me declared either insane or incompetent. Let's face it, as crazy as I am, that shouldn't be too difficult. With any luck, you'll be done with me in a couple of weeks. So, go on, find the case you can win and put all your effort into that one. Just do what you can to keep me alive, would you?”
The lieutenant gathered up everything she had to take with her, and nodded once. “Sergeant, I really do wish that I could do more. The trouble is that we've got absolutely zero forensic evidence, no physical evidence, and no one to speak up and confirm your story. Maybe, given your psychological history, we can get a directed verdict of not guilty by reason of menta
l insufficiency. If the members of the court could be convinced that you can't understand the difference between right and wrong, then maybe we can go for commitment to a mental facility, and get you some real help. If that happens, you might even get your life back, someday.”
Noah shrugged. “Possible,” he said. “More likely, we'll get a life sentence, but then I might be able to win transfer to a place like that on appeal. From what I've found in my reading, it's a whole lot easier to get a lenient verdict in an appeal forum than it is in a general court-martial.”
Mathers narrowed her eyes and looked at him. “That's true,” she said. “It might even be possible to get an appellate panel to overturn your conviction, which would take a whole lot less evidence than we have to come up with to walk out of this one unscathed. Do you think there's any possibility that one of your friends might speak up for you in an appeal?”
“I honestly don't know,” he said. “Hansen might, if he were given immunity. He's a real religious kid, and I bet that the only thing keeping his mouth shut now is outright fear of what the others would do to him. Is there any chance an appeal would bring charges back against the rest of them?”
Mathers shrugged. “It's possible, but not likely,” she said. “It would be entirely up to the appellate judge as to whether he would send the original charges back for review. To be honest, I doubt he would do so, simply because, A: judges don't like to overrule each other, and B: the original victims in this case were those girls, and a military court isn't likely to consider them important enough to take any action about. Besides, they never found the bodies. I mean, you're only charged with the murders of your own men; there's no mention of any crime against Iraqi civilian girls.”
Noah shook his head and looked at the tabletop. “And this country talks about human rights all the time, how these Muslim countries mistreat their people so badly. Welcome to American hypocrisy—Ameri-pocrisy. There, I've coined a whole new word, and it means that America gets to tell everybody else how to live, as long as they don't expect us to live up to our own standards.” He raised his head and looked Lieutenant Mathers in the eye once again. “According to this booklet they gave me, you'll probably be my lawyer for this whole thing, right?”
She grimaced and nodded. “Yeah, unless you get mad and fire me, or this gets stalled for years and I discharge out before we go to trial. Why?”
“Just hoping we can pull off this appeal gimmick,” he said. “If we do, and I get out one day, then maybe I can write a book about this, or something. I didn't know those girls at all, but I have to think that they deserve to have the truth told about what happened to them.”
Mathers stood there and looked at him for a long moment. “I'll do my best,” she said, and then she walked out the door of the interview room. Noah sat there for another two minutes, before one of the guards on duty came to take him back to his cell.
TWO
Mathers was frustrated. Over the past week, she had filed all the necessary paperwork that should have allowed her to have access to Foster's psych files, but no matter what she tried, it seemed like she was being blocked at every turn. After the last communication informing her that she would not receive the access she was requesting, she began to feel like there was something going on, something she couldn't see.
Being with the JAG office at Victory Base Complex at Baghdad meant that Mathers was one of dozens of military lawyers who assisted service members with everything from minor issues involving disputes with local landlords all the way up to major criminal charges, such as she was currently handling for Sergeant Foster. She got up and went to knock on the door of her commander's office.
“Enter,” came the voice from inside. She opened the door and walked in. Two steps in front of the desk, she snapped to attention and saluted.
Captain Willis glanced up at her and returned the salute. “At ease, Lieutenant,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
Mathers relaxed rather than actually moving into the at-ease position. “Sir,” she began, “it's the Sergeant Foster case. I've got reason to believe there could be a valid defense in his psychological history, but every attempt I've made to get access to it has been denied.”
Willis put down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “Lieutenant, have you considered the possibility that there are forces at work here that you simply cannot overcome?”
She leaned forward and put her hands on the front of his desk. “Not really,” she said. “Do you know something I don't know?”
Willis gave her a grin that might have signified patience, if it had been bestowed upon an errant child. “I don't know anything that you couldn't find out, if you would simply do a little research. I'll simplify it for you, though. Do you have any idea who the victims were in this case? Particularly the highest-ranking victim?”
Mathers felt her eyebrows lowering and gathering together in the center, as she leaned her head to the right. “Lieutenant Gibson? I got a copy of his service record, just like I did for all of the victims. What's so special about him?”
The captain chuckled. “Didn't read that service record very closely, did you?” Willis asked. “First Lieutenant Daniel Gibson, son of Republican Congressman Charles Oliver Gibson of Virginia. Congressman Gibson has held his seat for more than fourteen years, and there are rumors that he may be preparing to run for president. Your boy popped a cap on his firstborn, and I can flat guarantee you that TJAG is probably getting more pressure to see Foster convicted and executed than in just about any other case in Army history.”
Mathers stood there for a moment, still leaning on the desk. “According to Foster, it was Lieutenant Gibson who actually committed murder in this case, as well as committing rape and condoning both crimes among his men, and frankly, if he's the son of an American politician, then I'm more inclined to believe Sergeant Foster than ever. All that aside, what about the fact that we're supposed to provide the best possible defense? If I'm right, then Foster should not be standing court-martial at all. This is a man who apparently suffered a great mental and emotional trauma when he was a child, and now suffers from PTSD. The little bit I've managed to uncover suggests that he has no functioning emotional framework, which would indicate that he is incapable of understanding the difference between right and wrong on a moral level, and can only perceive it in the context of concrete rules. To him, those rules would indicate that the rapes and murders of innocent girls called for him to take action, which he did.”
“And who was it that appointed him to dispense justice on the lieutenant and his men? Granted, if he's telling the truth, and that's a big if, then Lieutenant Gibson should have been brought to justice, but there are established procedures. Foster should have simply made a report upon his return to the rear, and allowed his superior officers to determine what charges, if any, the lieutenant should face. Nowhere in the Uniform Code of Military Justice does it ever state that a noncommissioned officer should judge, pass sentence and execute the same on an officer. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut until he got back, and make a report to his unit commander. Instead, he blew the brains out of a lieutenant with serious political connections. If you want to destroy your own career by trying to save this idiot's life, then by all means, be my guest, but if you are capable of listening to reason, then you should get it through your head that there is no way you're going to pull it off. The congressman wants blood, and blood he is going to get.”
Mathers continued to stand there for another moment, then suddenly went back to attention. “Yes, Sir,” she said, just before snapping a perfect salute and executing a parade-ground-perfect about-face. She walked out of the office without looking back to see if the captain returned the salute.
Back in her own office, she sat down in her chair and looked at the open file on her desk. Sergeant Foster looked back at her from the photo that was paper clipped to it, and she felt a sense of shame as she stared into his two-dimensional eyes.
“You had to go and kill a congre
ssman's kid,” she said. “How freaking stupid can you get?”
She looked at the latest communiqué telling her the sergeant's psychological profile was not going to be made available to her, and slammed it down on the desk. There was something sinister about this whole case, and she had already come to the conclusion that the captain had been right. If she put any serious effort into trying to save Foster, she'd be driving nails into the coffin of her own career in the Army, and since being a JAG Officer had been her dream ever since she was a teenager and saw Demi Moore in A Few Good Men, it would be destroying everything she had worked for. That movie had defined her interest in a law career, had made her want to be part of the military justice system.
Her father, a corporate attorney who was a senior partner in a major firm, hadn't been thrilled with her decision, but he hadn't fought her on it, either. His attitude was that she should get her idealism out of the way during her military years, so that she could properly pursue a career that would reward her financially. It was cases like this one, she admitted to herself, that made her wonder if he was right.
She wondered what JoAnne Galloway would do, referring to Demi Moore's character in the movie. Would she give up and let her client suffer for a crime he probably didn't commit? Would she fight on, knowing she was throwing away her own career? Pissing off a congressman like Gibson (and even worse, a potential president) would almost certainly be the end of any hope of making a name for herself, either in JAG or in private practice.
Galloway wouldn't care, she was sure, but then, Galloway was a fictional character who didn't have to look into a mirror each day and think, If only I had been smart enough to walk away from Foster.