Army Blue

by Lucian K. Truscott

  Dupuy sat down. Nothing he said could penetrate the armor of pride on the face of Mr. Ba Tam.

  “Do you have any further questions, Mr. Dupuy?” the judge asked.

  “No, sir,” Dupuy said.

  “You are excused,” said the judge to Mr. Tam.

  Ba Tam strode to the first row and took the seat next to the Sergeant Major.

  The judge shuffled papers for a moment, then said, “Captain Dupuy, does the prosecution have any closing statement?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Captain Dupuy. He carried a sheaf of papers to the lectern and addressed the court.

  “The issue before you today, gentlemen, is a simple one. Did this man, Lieutenant Blue, desert his post in the face of the enemy when he refused the order for a fire mission? You have heard succinct testimony that he did. You have heard from his company commander on this question. Captain Gardner testified that he gave the order and Lieutenant Blue refused it. You have heard from his battalion commander. Lieutenant Colonel Halleck testified that he, too, ordered the fire mission, and Lieutenant Blue refused his order. The defense has tried and failed to muddy these waters, gentlemen. The testimony of these witnesses has gone unrefuted. This man was given two direct orders for fire missions, and he refused both orders. He removed himself and his mortars from the field of battle in the face of an attack on his Battalion. When he refused two orders to place fire on the enemy, he deserted his post in the face of that enemy. That is the allegation, that is the truth. The fantastic story the defense has propagated about opium and heroin in Laos has nothing to do with this case, gentlemen. The incredible testimony given by the last defense witness, this self-described Vietcong General Tam, has nothing to do with this case. This so-called evidence"—Dupuy pointed to the burlap bale of heroin—"has nothing to do with this case. There is only one question you have to answer in order to bring a guilty verdict in this case. Did Lieutenant Blue refuse two direct orders to fire a mission with his four-point-two-inch mortars? The answer is yes. He refused that order. He is guilty of desertion in the face of the enemy, gentlemen. The prosecution asks you to ignore the smokescreen the defense has thrown up and return a verdict of guilty against the defendant.”

  Dupuy gathered his papers and sat down.

  “Does the defense have a closing statement?” the judge asked.

  “Yes, sir,” said Morriss. He walked to the front of the court and leaned against the defense table.

  “This is not a simple case, gentlemen, as the prosecution said in its closing statement. This case is very complicated. It is complicated in its facts, and it is complicated further by the motive behind the case.”

  Morriss took a breath and paced the floor in front of the jury.

  “The defense has presented this one piece of evidence: Lieutenant Blue indeed refused the order to fire his mortars, because had he done so, he would have been calling in fire on his own position. We presented evidence that there was confusion involving the maps used to plot the position of Lieutenant Blue's patrol, and the position against which the fire mission was to be fired. Lieutenant Blue was using map 24-Lima. Lieutenant Colonel Halleck was using map 22-Lima. This confusion was not Lieutenant Blue's fault. The fire mission he was called for from the weapons platoon would have wiped out Lieutenant Blue's patrol. Seven men would have died. The evidence that this was true is clear. When Colonel Testor, the brigade commander, called for one-five-five fire on the same position, the shells landed right where Lieutenant Blue's patrol had been. You heard testimony to this effect from a member of Lieutenant Blue's patrol. Now, gentleman. One of two things is true. Either that fire mission was ordered on Lieutenant Blue's position by mistake, or it was ordered on purpose. Either way, the evidence we have presented shows Lieutenant Blue was within his rights in refusing the order. He knew that firing the mission that Lieutenant Colonel Halleck called for would have killed himself and his men. And he knew something else, something truly shocking. Colonel James Franklin Testor had a motive for ordering that fire mission. He had a motive for wanting this lieutenant dead. Lieutenant Blue had written an after-action report that very day describing the death of one of his men, Corporal Strosher, by friendly fire. Lieutenant Blue had stumbled on an aircraft being loaded in the jungle. We have produced one of the bales that was loaded on the aircraft. It contains heroin. We have produced testimony from Specialist Fish, a member of the patrol, describing the aircraft and the heroin. We have produced a CID report proving that the bale contains heroin. We have produced Lieutenant Blue's after-action report exposing in detail the shipment by night of these bales from the Laotian jungle. We took the extraordinary step of producing a witness, Ba Tam, an enemy general, who described the real reason behind Operation Iron Fist One. Taken together, gentlemen, this evidence and testimony say one thing only: the wrong man is on trial here. Lieutenant Blue refused an order, yes. An illegal order. He did not desert the field of battle in the face of the enemy, gentlemen, unless you consider that his real enemy that night was his own brigade commander, Colonel James Franklin Testor, the man who ordered Operation Iron Fist One. No other commander in Vietnam ordered Iron Fist One. You heard each of their testimonies. Thus, under these circumstances, Lieutenant Blue is guilty of only one thing, gentlemen, and that is protecting his own men from the fire mission ordered by Colonel Testor. When Colonel Testor first ordered the fire mission on Lieutenant Blue's position, Lieutenant Blue refused both orders to fire the mission. When Lieutenant Blue refused to place fire on his own position, Colonel Testor called for one-five-five fire on Lieutenant Blue's position. Only the warning of Captain Gardner saved those men's lives. Lieutenant Blue is innocent, gentlemen. The prosecution must prove its case beyond a reasonable doubt, and there are so many reasonable doubts in this case . . . in fact, gentlemen, that is all we've heard in this courtroom. One reasonable doubt after another regarding the facts of the prosecution's case, one reasonable doubt after another. Lieutenant Blue filed his after-action report about Corporal Strosher and they tried to silence Lieutenant Blue forever with his own mortars, and when that didn't work, they tried to silence him forever with one-five-five rounds, and when that didn't work, they tried to silence him forever by bringing these charges against him, by discrediting him as an officer and as a man, and by charging him with an offense punishable by death. Well, gentlemen, it didn't work. He survived rifle fire from American heroin traders. He survived artillery fire from his own brigade commander. You have listened to the evidence, gentlemen. Now listen to your conscience and reject these bogus charges and return to this man his dignity and find him innocent. Thank you.”

  Morriss returned to the defense table and sat down.

  The Lieutenant whispered, “Thanks, Terry. Jesus. Thanks.”

  “I will now instruct the jury,” the judge said. He turned to the members of the court.

  “Gentlemen, you are instructed to consider the evidence and only the evidence as you make your decision as to the guilt or innocence of the accused. You may not allow prejudice of any kind to invade the jury room. You will be reminded at all times that the accused is innocent until proven guilty by the prosecution beyond a shadow of a doubt. The accused is not required to prove anything. The burden of proof has been on the shoulders of the prosecution, and there it shall remain as you make your deliberations. Matters of law will be the province of this court, and if you have questions regarding the legalities of the actions of the accused or of anyone involved in the testimony in this case, you will direct your questions to me, to the military judge, and you will follow my rulings. Have I made myself clear?”

  Seven heads nodded their assent.

  “You may retire to reach your verdict.”

  “All rise!” squeaked the MP.

  The members of the court filed out the back door. The Lieutenant and Captain Morriss and the Colonel and the General and the Sergeant Major and Mr. Tam remained seated. No one spoke.

  The jury came in at 6 P.M.

  “All rise,” said th
e MP in a tired, high-pitched voice.

  The members of the court filed in, followed by Colonel Kelly.

  “Be seated, please,” he said.

  “Sir, have you reached a verdict?” the judge asked the jury foreman.

  “We have, sir.”

  “Captain Morriss, will you and the defendant please stand?” the judge instructed.

  The Lieutenant and the Captain stood, and behind him the Lieutenant could hear the scrape of chairs. He turned around. The Colonel and the General and the Sergeant Major and Ba Tam were standing, and behind them, Repatch stood stiffly at attention in his new khakis, eyes straight to the front. The judge considered this minor departure from normal courtroom procedure and decided against gaveling it down.

  “Read your verdict.”

  “Sir, the verdict of this court, by secret ballot, all seven members voting, to both charge and specification, is not guilty.”

  The Lieutenant turned to Captain Morriss and shook his hand violently. Captain Morriss's face reddened and he collapsed on his chair.

  First the Colonel, then the General shook the Lieutenant's hand and threw their arms around him. The Sergeant Major waited his turn, and when it came, he saluted the Lieutenant. Repatch hung back, and when he caught the Lieutenant's eye he flashed the thumbs-up sign, grinning his gap-toothed grin. Ba Tam bowed at the waist and said:

  “Thank you, sir. The people of Vietnam thank you.”

  Captain Dupuy walked over and shook hands with Captain Morriss.

  “Harvard beats Tulane. Is that tomorrow's headline?”

  “Right,” said Morriss. “If only.”

  The Lieutenant led the way out the door of the Quonset hut into the dusty tan wasteland of the Tan Son Nhut MACV complex. A thousand Vietnamese civilians had gathered in front of the Quon-set hut, and with one voice they began shouting his name:

  “Looo-ten-ut Bloo . . . Looo-ten-ut Bloo . . . Looo-ten-ut Bloo . . .”

  “What . . . what's going on?” the Lieutenant asked.

  He looked at the mass of Vietnamese shouting his name. The Quonset huts and warehouses and Butler buildings and motor pools were washed in the soft red glow of the tropical sunset. He didn't know what to think. Just then, he felt someone grab his elbow. He turned to find Captain Morriss.

  They pushed through the crowd of Vietnamese to the edge of the sidewalk. A staff car pulled up, doors open, waiting. A jeep followed behind, driven by a Spec-4. The Sergeant Major stood next to the driver, his hand on the jeep windshield, whispering. Then the Spec-4 stepped out of the jeep and Repatch climbed in behind the wheel.

  The Lieutenant stood at the curb, awash in the sound of his own name, then he turned to his grandfather.

  “Grandpa, what's going to happen to Ba Tam?”

  The General pointed to the slight, stooped figure of Ba Tam. He had elbowed his way past the General, past the staff car, and with head bent forward, he walked into the chanting mass of Vietnamese.

  “I don't think you have to worry about that fine old gentleman, boy,” said the General.

  “Where is he going, Dad?” the Lieutenant asked his father, who had moved to the other side of him.

  “Mr. Tam is going home, son. That's where he's going. Mr. Tam is going home to Vietnam.”

  “Mr. Tam, he'll be all right?”

  His father nodded.

  “Don't you worry about Ba Tam, my boy,” said the General. “I have a strong suspicion he arranged this demonstration . . . for you and for himself. Take a look.”

  The Lieutenant stepped up on the staff car's bumper and looked at the crowd before him, stretching across the road into a field leading to one of the runways. Ba Tam was nowhere to be seen. The crowd had absorbed him. He was gone.

  “What is going to happen now, Dad?”

  “Everybody will go back to the job of trying to win this goddamn war in Vietnam. But you know what is clear to me now, after everything that has come out in your case?” He took a deep breath and looked at his son and a tear crept into the corner of his eye.

  “Nobody is going to win this war, my boy. I think that's just the way God meant it to be. No winners. Not this time. Maybe never again.”

  He wrapped one arm around his son and they pushed their way through the crowd and climbed in the staff car and drove through the dusty warehouses and Quonset huts and Butler buildings of the Tan Son Nhut MACV complex, heading toward Saigon.

  Firebase Zulu-Foxtrot Epilogue

  * * *

  * * *

  Cathy Joice took a deep breath and looked straight into the lens. She was dressed in blue slacks and an old chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She held the mike like a torch, and it seemed to infect her eyes, giving them an eerie, threatening look. The world outside was bright and adoring, but behind her eyes loomed a storm that cast a shadow over every word she spoke.

  “This is where it happened,” she began, speaking softly, slowly, coming on to the camera like a professional, which was what she was.

  “This is the place where Americans fired their weapons purposely at other Americans, leaving one man dead in the tall grass right here.”

  She pointed to a spot in the grass at her feet, and the camera followed her hand.

  “His name was Lester Strosher, and he was a corporal in the United States Army. His enlistment papers say he was eighteen. The last nine months were his first time away from his home in Techute, Alabama. The men in his platoon teased him for his youth. He wasn't eighteen. He was sixteen. He had lied about his age to get into the United States Army, to come to this place so far away from his home and die for his country.”

  She took a breath and half-turned to her left.

  “Over there was the DC-3, the World War II-vintage plane that was loading the heroin.”

  She half-turned to her right and pointed to the jungle and the camera followed her finger.

  “And over here, in the woodline, were Lieutenant Blue and his men, seven young American soldiers outside the wire of their platoon NDP, their night defensive perimeter, out on a patrol ordered by their battalion and brigade commanders.”

  When the camera panned back to Cathy Joice, she was standing next to a young man in civilian clothes. He wore old Levi's and a plaid shirt, and dark glasses made him look older than he was.

  “This is Lieutenant Matthew Nelson Blue the fourth,” she said. “He is the Lieutenant who commanded that patrol. Corporal Strosher was his man. He died at this Lieutenant's feet. Lieutenant Blue, can you tell us, in your own words, what happened that night? How did Corporal Strosher get killed by another American firing at him from only one hundred feet away?”

  “Strosher got hit standing up, right here,” said the Lieutenant. He took a step to his left and turned to face the grassy landing strip where, only a few weeks before, he and Strosher and the rest of his men had watched the DC-3 full of heroin lift off into the black sky, heading God knows where.

  “He followed me from the treeline, and he stood right there and he died the way so many men have died in this war. He died bravely . . . and . . . and . . . he died for the same reason so many guys like him died before him and after . . .”

  He looked away, running his hands through his short hair, then he looked back at the ground where Strosher had lain.

  “I don't know whether I should be saying this on television. I mean, his folks might see this. I wrote them about Strosher and the way he died, but I didn't tell them everything.”

  “Go ahead. Say it. I'm sure they know he died with courage.”

  “Yeah, they know that much,” said the Lieutenant. He paused to regain his composure.

  “We came up on this plane, and ten, maybe a dozen American guys were loading the plane with something. We didn't know what it was. We didn't know what they were doing here. So I took my binoculars and satisfied myself that they were in fact Americans. Then I stepped from the woodline, and my men followed me, and I called out to them.”

  “Then what happe
ned?”

  “One of the American guys wearing jeans and a camouflage T-shirt shot him through the stomach, and Strosher fell right here.”

  The camera panned from the Lieutenant's face to the grass at his feet.

  The camera panned back to Cathy Joice. She was standing with three men now: the Lieutenant, the Colonel, and the General.

  “We have three generations of Blues here today,” Cathy Joice said, facing the camera. “General Blue is a veteran of World War II, having commanded a division, a corps, and an army in North Africa, Italy, and the Battle of the Bulge. Colonel Blue is a veteran of Korea, having commanded both a platoon and a company in that conflict. He also served in Vietnam, commanding a battalion in the Delta. Lieutenant Blue was weapons platoon leader for the Second of the 22nd Infantry, in the 25th Infantry Division.”

  She turned to the three men.

  “A lot of people back home are going to wonder how this incident in the jungles of Laos—how the court-martial of Lieutenant Blue—has changed things between you. You represent three generations of this nation's military history. Among you, you have fought in three wars. Did you ever think it would come to this?”

  The General nodded to his son, the Colonel.

  The Colonel cleared his throat.

  “In the Army I grew up in, you were expected to do what you were told to do. But things are different now.”

  “What is different, Colonel Blue?”

  “This war has changed things,” said the Colonel. “I never saw anything like this happen in Korea. It used to be, when a man made a mistake, he admitted it and he moved on. But not in this Army. Not today. They ordered my son to destroy his after-action report about the killing of Corporal Strosher. When he refused, they ordered him out on a night patrol, and they ordered him to call in fire on his own position. There was no reason for the mortar fire they ordered. No one in the battalion perimeter was in jeopardy that night. The fire that the Battalion was receiving was harassing fire from small arms and a 60-mm mortar. No one in that Battalion got killed. No one got wounded. Still, when they ordered my son to fire his mortars and he saw that the fire mission would have wiped out his own patrol and he refused the order, they court-martialed him for desertion in the face of the enemy. It is incredible to me. A part of me still doesn't believe that it could happen.”