Casualties of War: The Advocate Trilgy

by Bill Mesce

  Ryan held up a hand to momentarily halt the proceedings. “Captain Courie, you have ‘objection’ in your eyes.”

  “I do, Sir.” Courie considered a moment, weighing the direction the overrulings had been taking I warrant, then, “No, Sir, I’ll let it go.”

  “All I can tell you,” continued Schup, “is that everybody who was still left up there saw it. At least the ones who made it down and could tell me. And the men in the trenches who saw them fighting it out up there, they knew it, too.”

  “Because of your long, working relationship with the battalion CO, I want to turn to Colonel Porter for a bit. In those eleven months, you must have formulated an opinion of the major?”

  With the conscientious Schup, his hesitancy was not a question of respect for a brother officer. But there was the matter of simple decency: an unwillingness to speak ill of the dead. “He was ok.”

  “Hardly a glowing endorsement, Lieutenant.”

  “Objection.”

  “Sustained,” ruled Ryan. “Save the sarcasm, Colonel, please.”

  “Sorry, Sir. Lieutenant, let’s see if we can come up with something more…enlightening than ‘ok.’ How was his relationship with the other officers? With the men?”

  Schup shifted uneasily in his seat. “I’d have to say he didn’t have the best rapport with either the officers or the men. Not bad. He simply didn’t have that talent. The enlisted men? You could see he wasn’t always comfortable around them.”

  “It’s been testified that he preferred to command from his headquarters.”

  “He was not one to make first–person tours of the line positions. That was usually detailed to someone like me, or the battalion S–2, or somebody else from the CP staff. He just seemed to be more comfortable there.”

  “We’ve heard his conduct of offensive operations described as ‘tentative,’ ‘conservative.’ Did you find that to be the case? Could the major be indecisive?”

  Again, Schup shifted in his seat. “Indecisive, Sir? That’s a strong word. He could be cautious – ”

  This time it was the blunt Lieutenant Colonel Pietrowski from General Cota’s headquarters that raised his hand. “Colonel Ryan, you said we could ask for somebody to clear up a point and I guess that’s what I want. I know people get in that witness chair and get asked about Colonel Porter and they all want to be polite…” He turned toward Schup. “…Son, I’d love it if just once somebody’d give a straight answer about him. He’s dead, Lieutenant. Being polite isn’t going to do him much good now. Let’s worry about the living, ok?”

  Schup saw the painfully plain sense of it and nodded. “I’d say the colonel’d be in a sweat whenever we were on the advance. He was always worried about being far out enough in front to get nailed without being supported on his flanks or behind.”

  “The colonel never refused an order to advance, did he?”

  “No, Sir, but sometimes he could get to be a sore spot with regiment and even division HQ about how slow he did advance. What they thought back at regiment was a crawl, he thought was a galloping charge. That’s just the way he was, Sir.”

  “You’ve also worked closely with Major Joyce. Do you have an opinion of him?”

  “He and the colonel were night and day, at least in how they looked at operations. He was a lot more eager, a very aggressive officer.” Something nagged at Schup.

  “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “It was the way they were different…”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Well, with Hill 399, from the start the colonel was all worries. He didn’t like the set–up from the time he came out of the briefing with General Cota in Rott. That wasn’t just him; none of us liked the set–up. Major Joyce, on the other hand, well, he kept trying to buck up the colonel. ‘Remember,’ he’d say, ‘this is the 3rd Battalion of the One–Oh–Three!’ like this was…I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t think Major Joyce ever understood that the 3rd Battalion we took into the Huertgen wasn’t the 3rd Battalion he remembered from Italy.”

  “Lieutenant, I know you’re having trouble explaining this, but I’m having just as hard a time understanding it.”

  “The major was thinking we were this battle–tough outfit. We made it through Italy; we could take whatever the krauts could dish out. But a lot of those rifle companies, 30–40 percent of those riflemen were replacements we picked up in England; they’d never seen combat. You open that up to replacements we picked up in Italy and maybe only had a few weeks on the line, you’re pushing closing to 50 percent.”

  “Since the major didn’t understand this, I’m assuming he didn’t have any better a rapport with the men then Colonel Porter.”

  “He seemed to have an attitude that he had the rank and that was sufficient for people to jump to his order. I sometimes felt…”

  “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

  “Well, Sir, the major never made a secret of it that he hoped to have his own command some day. And when the colonel wasn’t around, sometimes he’d let you know he was frustrated with the way Colonel Porter ran things. With the colonel’s battle record, the major figured the colonel’d never be moved up and out to open the CO’s slot for the major.”

  “What about Lieutenant Sisto? Did you know him?”

  “Yes, Sir. Not closely, but yes. I knew he could rub the colonel and Major Joyce the wrong way. The lieutenant – even before he was a lieutenant – he was never shy about speaking his mind. And he could be a bit…” Here, an amused little smile “…emphatic.”

  “So, if he got an order he didn’t think much of, he sounded off.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “But had he ever disobeyed an order prior to that day on Hill 399?”

  “Never. He’d squawk if he didn’t like an order, but I’d never known him not to carry it out.”

  “Lieutenant, there’s been a lot of talk in this room about Lieutenant Sisto’s conviction on a General Article summary court–martial.”

  “Oh, that was the business about the wine cellar. Actually, I think Colonel Porter would have preferred to pretend it never happened. That was more his style. He was not a very confrontational guy. I think he was more worried about having it on his battalion’s record than Lieutenant Sisto was worried about having it on his! But Major Joyce told him that something had to be done. He thought it was a big discipline breakdown and that the major couldn’t let it pass.”

  Finished, Harry retired, but Courie rose to re–direct.

  “Lieutenant, much is being made of the conservative flavor of Colonel Porter’s style of command. Yet the colonel himself went up with the detail that took the top of the hill, correct?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Whose idea was it that he do so?”

  “I don’t know. I assumed it was his decision.”

  Harry raised an objection over the assumption.

  “Sustained,” Ryan declared. “The jury will disregard.”

  “Lieutenant,” Courie continued, “did anything about the colonel leading that assault seem ‘tentative’ to you?”

  “Frankly, Sir, I was surprised he did it. It did seem out of character.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. Nothing further.” After Schup was excused, Courie stood in the well to announce, “Colonel Ryan, prosecution’s next witness is Private First Class Timothy Rice. Private Rice’s testimony would corroborate Lieutenant Schup’s account of the communications received at the battalion CP on the day in question. If the defense agrees to a stipulation of Lieutenant Schup’s account, we can save the court a bit of time – ”

  “We have no problem with the stipulation, Sir,” Harry put in.

  “I love it when you guys get along,” Ryan said with a smile. “Call your next witness, Captain Courie.”

  PFC Spiro Makris’ testimony under Courie’s questioning was, more or less, a repeat of the story he’d delivered up during my interview of him in Wiltz. I say more or less since the array of brass that comprised the jury panel seemed to
induce a more deferential tone in the soldier than I’d experienced, and one less prone to snide editorializing.

  There was also this: when he’d spoken to me in Wiltz, Dominick Sisto had not been sitting across the room. One could see the poor lad’s discomfiture plainly. He didn’t know whether to look at his lieutenant, or look away. Consequently, he seemed to spend much of his time studying his knees and speaking into his chest.

  Then it was Harry’s turn. He neared the witness chair, smiling comfortingly over the tops of his glasses. He leaned close in to Makris, winked and nodded at the jury panel: “You ever see so much brass in one place in your life?”

  The 19–year–old allowed his first small smile. “Sure are a lot of them, Colonel.”

  “I’m surprised the floor doesn’t buckle under all that rank.”

  Makris chuckled.

  “Do you mind if I go back to a couple of things you said to Captain Courie? Just to get a better picture of what went on?” The tone was almost informal; cozying up to a fellow GI at a pub bar. Harry positioned himself between Makris and Sisto, solving the lad’s problem of where to set his gaze. “Just put those peepers on me, Son,” Harry seemed to be saying.

  “Sure, Colonel,” the boy said looking up. “Shoot.”

  “You said that from where you were dug in on top of the hill, you couldn’t see Colonel Porter.”

  “That’s right, Sir, yeah.”

  “Couldn’t hear anything he might’ve said to Lieutenant Sisto.”

  “Colonel, as much noise as there was up there, if he’d been screaming his head off I don’t think I would’ve heard him.”

  “Bet you couldn’t even hear yourself think.”

  “You’d win that bet, Sir.”

  “Now, what about this: Could you see down the hill? I mean, you were up there at the top. What kind of view did you have back down the slope?”

  “Well, yeah, Sir, you could see down pretty good. Where we’d come up, the rock was like a ramp, but we’d all fanned out from where it came out on top. Where we were – where I was – the hill dropped off pretty sharp right behind me.”

  “So you had a nice bird’s eye’s view of your battalion’s position?”

  “Oh, yeah! Well, down to where King and Love Company was, yes, Sir. You could see right down into those trenches. You could see why the krauts never had a problem kicking our arses –, oh, sorry, Sirs. I mean, from up there, you were looking right down our throats. I mean their throats. You know; the guys in the trenches.”

  “You could see all the way down to the bottom of the hill?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And across the firebreak, all the way to the trees where Lieutenant Tully’s men were?”

  “You could even see them moving around down there, Lieutenant Tully’s guys.”

  “So, evidently, if Lieutenant Tully’s men had moved out, you could see that they’d be under fire the second they stepped into the firebreak.”

  “You could see partly into the trees. You would’ve seen them the second they came out of their holes. When I saw how far they were going to have to come, and how much fire the krauts were putting on that hill, I figured us for dead, Sir. I really did.”

  Makris was dismissed.

  “Sir,” Courie addressed Ryan, “I have two more witnesses who were in close proximity to Private Makris. Their purpose is to corroborate what he heard of the radio communication between Lieutenant Sisto and Major Joyce. To spare the Court’s time and patience, would the Defense agree to stipulate the lieutenant’s end of the conversation as Private Makris has testified to it?”

  “I don’t have a problem with that,” Harry responded, “as long as the Judge Advocate agrees that those same witnesses would corroborate Private Makris’ view of the battalion’s situation as seen from the top of the hill, as well as the situation of the detail on the hilltop.”

  “Sounds like you’re getting the better bargain,” Courie said, “two stipulations for one.”

  “How about it, Captain?” Ryan prodded.

  Courie looked over to Alth, the two exchanged a shrug, then he turned back to Ryan. “We agree to the stipulations.”

  Avram Kasabian was the next witness.

  Courie’s examination was brief and directed at the case’s jugular: had Kasabian heard Major Joyce order Lieutenant Sisto and his detail to hold their position on top of Hill 399?

  Yes.

  He then quickly took Kasabian to the finale. “And when Lieutenant Sisto was finally brought to Major Joyce, what happened then?”

  “Well, the major asked where Colonel Porter was, Lieutenant Sisto told him he’d stayed behind on top of the hill; he was either captured or dead. Then the major turned to me, told me to transmit a message to all battalion units that he was assuming command. Then the major asked him – the lieutenant – why he hadn’t held his position, the lieutenant told him the colonel had ordered them down. Major Joyce told him he was full of – , well, he didn’t believe him, and he said for the lieutenant to consider himself under arrest. Then they headed on the trail back to the battalion area.”

  Harry’s examination – as so many of his interrogations did – focused elsewhere.

  “Private Kasabian, you told Captain Courie that Major Joyce threatened to relieve Lieutenant Tully and bring him up on charges?”

  “Yessir, said he’d do it right then and there.”

  “But he didn’t do it right then and there. He didn’t do it at all.”

  “Well, the lieutenant…” Kasabian looked toward the floor. “Like I told the captain, Sir, the lieutenant got killed.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m sorry, Private. But the lieutenant was killed later. You said Major Joyce told Lieutenant Tully he’d bust him at that moment if he didn’t move out, but he didn’t.”

  “Objection.” Courie was shaking his head, puzzled. “I don’t see the point of this. What does what the captain said to Tully have to do with – ”

  “I’m trying to determine if the defendant’s conduct was singled out for any reason,” Harry said.

  Courie smiled condescendingly. “Amongst the many side dishes you’ve managed to put on the table, Colonel, are you now going to try to allege bias on Major Joyce’s part? That he’s got a personal grudge against Lieutenant Sisto?”

  “I’m not alleging anything,” Harry said. “I’m trying to find out why one man was arrested and another one wasn’t for the same act.”

  Courie now turned to Ryan. “Colonel, even if Major Joyce had sworn a personal vendetta against the lieutenant, that’s not why we’re here. We’re here because an inquiry convened not by Major Joyce but by General Cota determined that there were grounds for an indictment. This is yet another side issue that doesn’t change the basic fact of the case: that Major Joyce gave an order and Lieutenant Sisto refused to follow it!”

  “He’s got you there, Colonel,” Ryan told Harry. “Sustained. Move on to something else.”

  Harry turned back to Kasabian and referred to his note cards. “Check me out on this, Private, I want to be sure I’ve got your testimony to Captain Courie right. You told him Major Joyce gave Lieutenant Tully the order to move out. And then you said…?”

  “I said Lieutenant Tully told him to go scratch. Forget it.”

  “Major Joyce then threatened to relieve him and charge him.”

  “Right.”

  “And you said the lieutenant said…”

  “He told him to take a leap.”

  “Did Lieutenant Tully explain why he wouldn’t move out? Even under the threat of being relieved?”

  “He told the major we’d probably get hammered pretty hard on the way up, so he wasn’t gonna move without the go signal. He didn’t want to be headin’ up there on his own and find out they didn’t get the signal ‘cause the guys on the hill were runnin’ past him the other way. He didn’t think more than half of us’d make it.”

  On that rather grim note, the first day of the trial concluded.

  *r />
  “I think this guy’s got an allergy to optimism,” Dominick Sisto said, amiably clapping his hands on the shoulders of Harry Voss who was standing by the window of the lieutenant’s tower room. “I mean, c’mon! Did you see the ol’ signor in there? Did you know he was such a tiger? It’s always those quiet guys, eh, Mr. O?”

  The disparate miens were striking: Sisto’s grandly celebratory, and Harry’s determined brooding. I looked to where Peter Ricks had positioned himself in recline on Sisto’s bed, a Lucky Strike in his fingers as he attempted – with only fitful success – to blow smoke rings toward the ceiling. Though not as gloomy as Harry, he was hardly sharing in Sisto’s exuberance.

  “Lookit these guys, Mr. O! Were we all in the same room today? I told the signor, I said you keep milking that clown Courie’s witnesses like this, we won’t need any of our own! I told him I even think he oughta find out what far corner of the world Andy Thom has got himself off to and drag his arse back! The way we’re going, that poor kid doesn’t need to be slogging off in the cold God knows where!”

  I propped myself across the window from Harry. He smiled sadly in my direction.

  “The patient has been brought back from the brink of the abyss,” I said to him. “So might I ask why the doctor looks so glum?”

  “Because,” Ricks announced from the bed, “we’ve got a looooong way to go.”

  “Granted, but it did look to me as if you had a good innings today, laddie. Though I must admit to a concern there at the start when the crusading captain’s first volley went unanswered.”

  “Not for lack of trying,” Ricks said with a tired smile. “We were up half of last night trying to draft an opening statement.”

  Harry doodled on the frost of the lead–veined window panes. “Your opening statement is supposed to tell the jury what to look for,” he explained. “It’s like a connect–the–dots picture. Here’s what the picture’s supposed to look like; here’s the dots we’re going to present. All you have to do is connect them and you’ll get the picture.

  “The problem is that having made the claim, you damned well better come through with the dots. If you don’t, or try to change the picture to something other than what you said you were going to make, well, that’s shooting yourself in the foot. You set your own mark; you don’t make it, you lose.”