by McKay, KC
The best day of my life had just become my worst.
***
I sat on the single cot suspended by chains from the wall. Beige concrete surrounded me, ten feet in each direction, with iron bars serving as my front door. At least a stainless steel toilet was installed in the corner as my 'nervous bowel syndrome' had moved past mere twitching into a more tangible state.
They fast-tracked my court-martial and my trial was set for the following week. I held out some hope of getting let off. After all, the PMA was a high-ranking officer, and I managed to beat the charges he brought against me. And in this case I assaulted an officer, just like they accused me of doing to Darcy. The star witness was a high-ranking officer, just like the PMA was in my last case. All I needed was a good lawyer and my dazzling smile.
Just in case Darcy hadn't heard, I needed to write her and get her up to speed of my latest predicament. I didn't want her to worry, but she would wonder why I wasn't on the next plane back to Scotland. As far as she knew, I was a free man.
At my request, the guard gave me a pen and some paper. I asked him if mail would be screened going in or out of the jail. He assured me that interfering with United States mail was a felony; and for twenty bucks he would make sure that my mail wasn't felonized.
Dear Darcy,
I had a slight problem with my lawyer, that jarhead guy. He didn't know you were my wife and said some things he shouldn't have. Don't worry, I shut him up, but my return will be a little delayed. I just need to clear up a few loose ends before I'm back in Scotland. Don't worry, babe, I won't be long.
Our love is solid as a rock, and I'll prove it to you when I get back.
Love,
Your husband,
Zac
After a few more days in my cell, an Ensign arrived and introduced himself as my defense counsel, Ensign Ludlow. He looked young. Really young. Blond hair, wire-rimmed glasses and acne.
The guard brought in a chair for him. He sat down and opened a briefcase, balancing it on his lap, and rifled through some papers as I sat on my bunk in my prison overalls. He retrieved some documents and closed the case, resting the papers on top of it.
Ludlow pushed his falling glasses up. "This doesn't look good."
I rolled my eyes at his opening statement. It hardly inspired confidence. "But we can beat it, right?"
"Not likely. We'll plead guilty and ask for mercy."
"Look, Ensign Ludlow, this is a court-martial, not church. That Major dickhead said some horrid things about my wif— division officer. I was justified." The more I looked at him, the younger he got. "If you don't mind me asking, how long have you been in?" I almost forgot to tack on the proper military etiquette for addressing an officer. "Sir."
He snorted back some snot. "Look…" He paused to look at the paperwork before him. "…Petty Officer Chambers. I'm an educated man with a job to do. The fact that this is my first case is irrelevant."
Oh shit. My mind drifted as he waffled on about how serious he was and how good he thought he was and advised me that pleading guilty was the most sensible move. But he was a 'boot camp,' a reference applied to personnel who were inexperienced and fresh out of basic training.
He thought they would show more leniency if I admitted my sins. And given the witnesses' credibility, it would be better not to fight it. If I fought it and lost, the punishment would be more severe than if I just fessed up, he advised. I had to admit, the odds looked pretty stacked against me, but I couldn't just roll over and let Darcy down. I needed to get acquitted for her. She needed me.
As nervous as it made me, I had to fight it. I'd spent my whole life beating the odds and had lived a charmed life. Just one more piece of good luck and I promised myself I'd be a good and respectable sailor and husband. Forevermore. So help me God.
Chapter 40
As part of the free service of being locked up, Uncle Sam delivered my dress uniform, cleaned and pressed. The morning of the trial, I primped myself and slipped on my uniform with pride and false confidence.
Shore Patrol led me in and showed me to the same table I sat at just over a week before. Except this time, instead of Major Samuels sitting next to me, he was on the prosecution's side, and some wet-behind-the-ears boot camp Ensign sat next to me.
At least I looked fresh when the court was called to order. Bile rose in the back of my throat as a Marine Colonel strode into the courtroom, flanked by two Navy officers. The high-ranking Marine took a seat at the head judge's chair. A Marine judge, that's all I needed. Basically, I was fucked.
Major Samuels was first up on the witness stand and made a convincing argument that I had actually punched him, twice, and kicked him in his beloved testies. He claimed the attack was unprovoked.
Bastard.
Then the Shore Patrol guy and Commander Lewis testified to the same version of events.
Bastards.
After my name was called, I stood and quickly hand-ironed my uniform for good luck on the way to the witness stand. I swore the oath, then sat on the vinyl-covered seat. Not very comfortable, but I didn't plan on being there long anyway.
After the prosecutor made me look like an insubordinate, ungrateful, gutter sucking scumbag, it was Ensign Ludlow's turn to restore my credibility. He announced my rise to the dizzy heights of pipe shop supervisor, the fact that I had been named Sailor of the Year of the USS Anticipation, had attended college while working full time, and had a hearty recommendation to enroll in an officer training program. I did sound pretty impressive.
Ludlow stood at the edge of the witness box and pushed his glasses up. "Petty Officer Chambers, can you please tell the court, what events led to your attack on Major Samuels?"
What a dumb-shit! With one stupid question he undid my respectability. It looked like I'd have to create my own defense. "It wasn't actually an attack, it was a defense."
"So, he attacked you, did he?"
Since Darcy and I were now joined as one, an attack on her was as good as an attack on me. That’s how I saw it, anyway. "Verbally, yes, sir."
"Please… elaborate."
Is that all they taught this guy in law school? 'Please elaborate.' I stared at the floor of the witness box for a moment. Since his brilliant line of defense questioning was failing miserably, I briefly considered punching him as well. I didn't have much to lose, but restrained myself. Ignoring Ludlow, I looked at the panel of judges. "Yes, the good Major made derogatory comments about women in the military, my female division officer in particular."
Ludlow cleared his throat. "Would you please tell the court what Major Samuels said to enrage you to such a degree that you would engage him in violence?"
The Colonel banged his gavel. "That's it. I've heard enough. It's irrelevant if Major Samuels said something about Chambers' cousin, dog or his dying mama. Sticks and stones and all that. This court will recess for one hour." He spoke to me directly. "And, Chambers, try not to attack your defense attorney during the break." He banged his gavel and we were temporarily adjourned.
Ludlow adjusted his tie. "That went well."
"Yeah. Peachy," I replied.
***
Ensign Ludlow left me in a room on my own, chain smoking. I couldn't see how I was going to get out of this one. The Colonel didn't even give me a chance to get my elaborate story of untruths going before he started banging that damn gavel. And jarheads always stuck together, so of course he'd side with Samuels.
I figured he might fine me a few hundred bucks, bust me down a rank, and I wouldn't be surprised if he gave me a month or two in the brig, just to teach me a lesson. I hoped it wouldn't scupper my chances of getting my commission to become an officer, but it probably would. Maybe I shouldn't have kicked Samuels in the nuts.
Eight cigarettes later, Shore Patrol showed up and escorted me back to the courtroom.
After a few minutes, everyone stood as the judges reconvened at the bench at the front of the room. Ludlow and I stood side-by-side behind our table.
The Colonel cleared his throat. "Petty Officer Chambers." He started, letting his gaze penetrate me. "I'm nearly at a loss for words, but I'm sure I'll find them."
He leaned back, folding his arms and looking relaxed, like he was going to enjoy it. "You are no stranger to trouble. It's a shame you didn't dedicate yourself to the Marine Corps. We could have made something of you, but that aside, let's get to it, shall we? On the charges of disrespect toward a superior commissioned officer, we find you guilty. Insubordination. Guilty. Assaulting a superior commissioned officer. Guilty."
Each time he said 'guilty' it felt as if a stake was being driven through my heart. Okay, so maybe a several hundred dollar fine and some definite brig time. I wiped my sweaty palms against my pressed pants.
The Colonel liked the sound of his own voice so much, he continued. "As far as this panel is concerned, you're out."
A tornado of dizziness hit me. My hand reached for the table to steady myself. I didn't feel well.
The Colonel's eyes narrowed. "You, Petty Officer Chambers, have lost touch with reality. Perhaps some time in the brig will allow you to reflect on your inappropriate behavior. We award the following: We hereby reduce you in rank to E-one. Of your new pay grade of E-one, we order a forfeiture of two-thirds pay until the end of your enlistment. Fear not, Petty Officer Chambers, as you ask yourself how you will survive on one third of your pay. We sentence you to one year at the military prison in Leavenworth, Kansas. There, your food and clothing shall be supplied for you, free of charge."
He was in full military mode; nonetheless, I saw a smirk cross his face.
The Colonel took a sip of water and continued. "The end of your prison sentence will also mark the end of your enlistment. You are to receive a bad conduct discharge and be released back into the civilian community once your time has been served."
The tornado touched down and I involuntarily fell into the chair beneath me. My head had a terrible echo and I couldn't believe the words I had just heard. I looked at the floor under me. Ludlow reached down and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.
I threw up on his shoes.
***
I paced my cell wondering what I would tell Darcy. She'd probably want to divorce me under the circumstances and I wouldn't blame her if she did. Surely she wouldn't want a jobless, homeless, penniless husband.
I was allowed to make a call at five PM and the guard gave me total privacy for ten bucks. It was eleven PM in Scotland and I prayed Darcy was at home and not working. She answered on the third ring.
"Hello?"
"Darcy, it's me."
"Zac, where the heck are you?"
I went on to explain how I defended her honor with a right hook that landed me in jail and out of the service. She tried to conceal her grief, but I heard her crying on the other end of the phone and the pit of my stomach deepened. I didn't have a plan for how to make things better.
"You know when I said I thought it was amusing how you managed to get into fights, I didn't mean for you to keep doing it for my entertainment."
I appreciated that she wanted to lighten the mood. She really probably wanted to throttle me, but put on a brave face for me.
Sadly I couldn't do the same for her. "Darcy, they're sending me to Leavenworth. I don't know how I'll make it."
"Zac, calm down. I'll be here for you… but twelve months… that's a long time. For assault?"
"Well, this Major guy… besides punching him, I might have kicked him in the nuts while I was at it."
Her sigh came through the phone. "You need to be strong, Zac. I'll write you as often as I can. Maybe I'll get out of the Navy myself when my enlistment is up. I'll get out about the same time you— Sorry. That sounds callous. We can start a new life."
"Darcy, I can't ask you to give up your career. Don't make me feel any worse than I already do." It was one thing ruining my life, but I hated the thought of wrecking hers too. "You'd be better off without me. You can divorce me if you want. I understand and won't hold it against you. You have my permission to have… I don't know… liaisons… if it'll help until the divorce comes through."
"Zac. Shut up. I don't want to hear talk like that. I'm your wife and that's the end of it. We're not getting divorced and I won't be spreading my goodwill around Scotland. Now, button it!"
I managed to upset her. I offered her a free out, but she didn't want it. That made me happy. I'd need her love and support if I was ever going to make it through my spell in the big house. "Darcy, I love you," I whispered passionately into the phone.
"I love you too." We paused a moment, letting our words sink in. "Look, we'll write and figure things out. Don't worry, Zac. We'll get through this together."
***
Despite her reassurance, I was actually scared — not an emotion I had to deal with very often. I'd had many moments of nervousness and butt twitching, but I hadn't really been scared before. I was on my way to the big house. I was still cute and could wind up as a Sally to some guy named Bubba.
After spending two weeks in my holding cell while they finished my paperwork, the day I was due to be transferred to the military prison at Leavenworth arrived. I was summoned to the Navy Captain's office in charge of the detention center. He was like the warden, but under military command.
I appeared before him in my gray jumpsuit and nervously stood at attention in front of his desk. I hadn't had any more screw-ups or punched anyone else, so I couldn't see how he could extend my sentence.
He stared at me icily. "Seaman Recruit Chambers… there's been a change of plans."
My heart sank on two counts. Calling me Seaman Recruit reminded me that they had stripped my rank and I was now an E-1, as low as I could go. And a change of plans could only be bad news. The last time someone announced I was in for a 'change of plans,' that dumb-shit Senior Chief in Hawaii sent me to Scotland instead of the Orient. And a presidential pardon wouldn't be classed as 'a change of plans.' That would be 'a fucking miracle.'
He held up an official-looking document. "Your sentence has been reduced, and you will not be going to Leavenworth."
Last I heard, Alcatraz was still closed. Where the hell could they send me? "I don't understand, sir."
"Neither do I." He waved the paper in the air. "All I do know is that I have a directive here, signed by General Kuntz, stating that your sentence has been reduced to six months and you'll be serving your time in a minimum security facility in Oklahoma."
"What?" My mouth dried out and I could barely swallow. "But why?"
He held his hand up to stifle me. "Mine is not to question why, Chambers. My duty is to get your ass on a bus to Tulsa, today, and in six months' time you will become Mister Chambers, complete with a blemished military and prison record that will follow you around for the rest of your life. You, Chambers, are destined to live out your life making the minimum wage. Dismissed."
As I walked through the door from his office, Shore Patrol was there to escort me back to my cell. Dizziness complicated my walking ability. My head spun with confusion as to how this could have happened. While it was a relief that I wouldn't have to be on the lookout for psychopaths lurking in prison corridors, I couldn't understand the logic behind it. Surely there was some kind of mistake.
I'd have to wait to find out what the Navy screwed up this time.
Chapter 41
Shore Patrol sat next to me on the Greyhound bus headed for Tulsa. My escort didn't talk much, so it was a long, dusty ride with my mind as the only source of entertainment.
A black Ford LTD with 'US Navy' written on the side picked us up once we rolled into Tulsa. Two guys sat in the front and we got into the back seat. The guys in the front discussed hunting and fishing for the forty-five minute drive. A building in the middle of nowhere came into view — unless one considers a dust bowl as being somewhere. A sign at the entrance read 'Blackmoor Minimum Security Prison.'
The driver pulled up to the gate and rolled his window down.
A prison guard stood next to the driver's window with a clipboard in hand, peering into the back seat. "What we got here?" he asked in a hick accent.
"Some punk who likes to kick Marines in the nuts," the driver announced.
The guard poked his head in through the window. "You try any of that shit with me, boy, and I'll knock you six ways to Sunday."
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
"I just want to repay my debt to society quietly, boss. You won't get any trouble out of me." I watched Cool Hand Luke enough times to know redneck prison guards liked to be called 'boss.' I wasn't being disrespectful, just wanted to make my life in 'the big house' as low-key as possible.
He mumbled to the driver, they exchanged some signatures, and we were waved through into the confines of the prison grounds.
We entered a sandstone building, and after a stop at the front desk to inquire about directions, Shore Patrol escorted me to a door labeled 'Warden Dean.'
After knocking and being invited in, I stood in front of a large oak desk with miniature flags of the United States and Oklahoma crossed in an 'x' and stuck on a piece of black marble. A man of small stature got out of his chair from behind the desk and extended his hand.
"Welcome to Blackmoor, Chambers." We shook hands. He had a firm handshake for a man who couldn't have been taller than 5'7". He looked to be sixtyish, balding, and had a relaxing, reassuring smile. "We pride ourselves on the rehabilitation aspect you'll experience during your stay at Blackmoor. As you have may have noticed, there is a fence around the prison grounds, but quite honestly, my granny could escape from this prison if she wanted to. However, I suggest you don't try it."