Better Times Than These (57 page)

“All right,” Gore said. “Let’s move to six February. What were you doing that day?”

“We were in a firefight . . . in a valley about fifty kilometers from where the Company laager was. Part of the Company was on patrol—”

“Objection,” Fox said. “Defense counsel continues to pursue irrelevant matters.”

“Colonel,” Gore said, “I am simply trying to establish where the lieutenant was at the time the crimes were committed. We cannot simply open up in a vacuum.”

“Proceed,” Maitland said peevishly.

“So you were in this firefight. When it ended what happened?”

“We were lifted back to The Ti—to Hill Sixty-seven.”

“What time was this?”

“About twenty hundred hours.”

“What was your physical condition then?”

“I was very tired—exhausted.”

“Please the court,” Fox said, on his feet again, “if the lieutenant would like to plead guilty because he was tired, then let him do so and spare us the rest.”

“I withdraw the question,” Gore said. “Lieutenant Kahn, when you returned to your Company laager, did you notice anything unusual?”

Gore led Kahn through his discovery of the bodies and the conversation with Brill and the arrival of Colonel Patch the next day.

“When the colonel came up to you on the hill, what did he say?”

“He said, ‘What are all those bodies down there?’ ”

“And you said?”

“I told him what Brill had told me. That the male prisoner got loose and shot them.”

“What was his reaction to that?”

“He said, ‘Well, how the hell did that happen?’ I believe those were the words he used.”

“What did you reply?”

“I said I wasn’t sure, that it was still sort of confused.”

“Did he tell you to make a written report?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you believe the colonel did not want a written report?”

“Objection!” Fox cried. “Counsel knows perfectly well that would be pure conjecture by the witness.”

“Mister President,” Gore said, “as the court is fully aware, I have attempted in every way possible to have the colonel present at this trial, but my requests have been denied. The prosecution has introduced a deposition from him, but under the circumstance of his absence it is only fair that my witness be allowed to present his views on the colonel’s thinking.”

“Captain Gore,” Maitland said, “as I stated earlier, the colonel is presently engaged in a large field operation from which he cannot be detailed. His sworn deposition is more than enough to suffice. I think you could rephrase the question so that it does not violate the rules of evidence.”

“May I approach the court?” Gore said. Maitland nodded, and Gore and Fox stepped forward. The court members huddled in for a conference.

It was nearly dark outside, and the dust had settled down. Wishing he had a cigarette, Kahn sat forlornly in the witness chair and pondered the answer he would have given to Gore’s question. Did he really believe Patch had wanted no written report? He wanted desperately to think so, but in the last few days the truth had become murky and obscured, and in a way it became whatever he said it was . . .

The bench conference continued, with heated whispering between Gore and Fox.

That morning, Kahn had thought he had it all sorted out. But the testimony of Spudhead and the others pulled him back to the daily rising fear and frustration and loneliness and self-doubt and self-pity too, and the animal-like living and ultimately animal-like thinking . . . As he had listened to it, a nauseating knot rose in his stomach, the same familiar knot that had plagued him every day whenever he was out there and had become so much a part of him that it seemed normal, except at times like this, when just listening to somebody else talk about it brought it back . . .

Without realizing it, Kahn had been gripping the witness chair with both hands, and his legs were tucked tightly into the rungs as though he were holding on to it for dear life, which in a way he was, because despite the awful reason he was sitting here, at least it was safe and secure, and his responsibility was only to himself—not like out there . . . not like out there . . . For a brief moment his mind darted around in a tight panic as he realized he was going back out there, and if anyone had come up to him, just then, and ordered him to leave that chair, or tried to pry him from it, he would have defended his right to sit there very fiercely.

“All right,” said Gore. “Did there come a time when Private Miter spoke with you about what had happened to the prisoners?” Kahn was startled to discover that the conference was over and the questioning had resumed.

“Uh, yes, there did,” he said shakily.

“Tell the court about that encounter.”

“He, ah, came up to me about three days afterward and asked if he could talk to me. He said, ‘Do you know what happened?’ and I told him I did because Lieutenant Brill had told me, and he said that he did not believe Brill had told me the truth and asked if I wanted to hear the real truth, and then he told me the same thing he testified to this afternoon.”

“Did you believe him then?”

Kahn looked past Gore to the table where the earnest-faced Virginian, Captain Fox, was chewing on his pencil and watching him with a barely disguised look of contempt, as though he thoroughly anticipated that Kahn was going to wriggle off the hook by giving the answer he and Gore had discussed earlier—that Miter was an unstable soldier who frequently needed to visit the Chaplain and was against the war and could not be depended upon. Kahn imagined that as he said this, the expression on Fox’s face would dissolve into a look of full-fledged disgust.

“Could you answer the question, please?” Gore said in a slightly bewildered voice.

“Did I believe him?” Kahn said calmly. “I’ll have to answer it this way—yes and no. I guess I did believe him . . . but . . . I didn’t want to, and I suppose I made up excuses in my own mind why I shouldn’t, and I—”

A pained look shot across Gore’s face. “Ah, when was the next time you spoke to anyone about the incident of February sixth?” he interrupted hurriedly.

“Please the court,” Fox said, rising quickly to his feet, “I believe the witness has not finished answering the first question.”

“He answered it,” Gore said nervously. “I don’t want to get into it too deeply. I have my line of questions all drawn out.”

“I’m sure you do,” Maitland said condescendingly. “However,” he said, turning to Kahn, “Lieutenant, did you have something more to say on the question you were just asked?”

Kahn swallowed hard. Gore was staring at him sternly.

“Yessir, I do,” he said.

“Please go on.”

“Well, what I was trying to say is that . . . uh . . . I knew deep down the first time I talked to Brill that something wasn’t right about it. I’m trying to be as honest as I can. I was going to look into it the next morning. But after the colonel came, and he didn’t seem very interested, I just sort of let it drop. I pretty much knew what happened after I talked to Miter, but all I wanted then was not to have to deal with it . . . I guess that’s how low I had gotten.”

Kahn paused for a moment. All the while he had been talking he had stared straight ahead, and now he looked at the court. They were leaning forward attentively, all of them.

And it
was
low, he thought. Raping little girls. Killing little girls. War! War! War! Rape, pillage, burn—the words came back to him now the way they had that day on The Tit. A few months ago, this time of day, he might have been playing bridge at the fraternity house, or guzzling beer, or studying for a test in Intermediate Light . . . instead of sitting here stark bareass alone before a court-martial. At the age of twenty-four, he’d come a long way. Yet in the instant he had begun to tell the truth—and he knew this time it was the truth, not his truth, or anyone else’s, but the real, honest truth—he had felt a quick flashing revelation, much like the glimmer he had felt once out in Happy Valley looking up at the stars and mountain peaks. A few seconds ago, when he’d answered Gore’s question truthfully, the ring of self-preservation around Billy Kahn began to collapse like a house of cards, and a shiver ran up his spine like steam in a riser pipe until he felt his face flush and tingle. He also knew instinctively that he had set a trap for himself, into which he would now proceed, wittingly, the best way he could.

“I’m not trying to make excuses, but dead people . . . get to where they don’t mean much after a while; they’re just like hunks of meat. Mostly, the best thing you can do is to go on with whatever you’re doing and forget about it.”

Captain Gore had returned to his seat and was slumped motionless in the chair looking over his glasses at Kahn with a wan expression. Colonel Maitland, his eyebrows raised, cleared his throat.

“Does the defense wish to make a statement at this time?” he asked.

Gore replied, half-rising, “I believe he’s making it, sir.”

Maitland turned to Kahn.

“What about what you told the investigating officer when he came out to question you?”

“It was a lie, sir,” Kahn said. “He asked me if I had heard the girls were raped and murdered and I told him that all I knew was what Brill had told me. That wasn’t the truth. I don’t know why I said it, except that I knew we were all in for a hell of a lot of trouble if I said the truth—just like I knew I’d be opening a big can of worms if I had gone down there and started asking questions. Once you start to lie, it goes on and on. I guess this is where it ends, though.”

Kahn noticed that Fox had been looking across at Gore almost sympathetically.

“Does defense counsel wish to question the witness further?” Maitland asked.

“No, sir,” Gore said.

“Would you, Captain Fox?”

“No, I think not, sir.”

“Very well,” Maitland said. “What we have just heard has saved us all a great deal of time. You may step down, Lieutenant Kahn; thank you.” He looked at the other court members.

“The court will now go into closed session. It’s getting late, but if you gentlemen would like to wait out in the hall I don’t think this will take very long.”

The three of them—Kahn, his defense counsel and the prosecutor—filed out into the hallway. The MP stepped out behind them and assumed a wooden position in front of the door.

Gore marched straight to a windowsill and stared out at the sunset. Fox and Kahn lit up cigarettes at opposite ends of the hall. After a while, Fox went up to Gore and the two began a muffled conversation. At first the prosecutor did most of the talking and Gore occasionally nodded his head. Then the defense counsel began talking and Fox began nodding, and at one point there was a bitter, stifled laugh from Captain Gore.

The door to the courtroom opened suddenly, and one of the new captains on the court said something to the MP, who had snapped to attention. “They’re ready for you, sirs,” he said to the lawyers. As he walked back into the courtroom, Kahn felt weak and sick. He had a flash of how Carruthers must have felt entering his tent for punishment.

The three of them stood before the court: Fox off to the right; Kahn squarely in front, with Gore at his side. Maitland got right to the point.

“Lieutenant William Kahn, it is my duty as President of this court to advise you that the court in closed session and upon secret written ballot has found you guilty or not guilty as follows:

“Of the charge Misprision of a Felony—not guilty.

“Of the charge Dereliction of Duties, failing to enforce adequate safeguards for prisoners—not guilty.

“Of the charge Failure to Obey a Lawful Regulation—not reporting a nonbattle death—guilty.

“Of the charge Making False Statements Under Oath—guilty.

“Do you wish to make a statement before court passes sentence?”

Gore glanced at Kahn. “None, Mister President,” he said.

“Very well, then.” Maitland returned to the sheet of paper before him.

“Lieutenant Kahn, you have been duly convicted on charges of Failure to Obey a Lawful Regulation and Making False Statements Under Oath. It is my duty to advise you that the court has adjudged that you shall receive a reprimand in your officer’s personnel file and pay a fine of fifteen hundred dollars to be deducted from your pay at the rate of two hundred dollars a month until paid, or paid in full before you may be separated from the service. Is there anything else from counsel?”

When no one spoke, Maitland looked directly at Kahn, his eyebrows furrowed down so that he resembled a neolithic primate. “This proceeding is closed,” he said.

A cool breeze was flowing in off the South China Sea and the sky was low and overcast when they stepped out into the dirt street. A stream of raucous servicemen was pouring past the compound, riding in cyclos or jeeps or on foot, headed toward the old center of town, where the action was. At the bottom of the steps, Captain Fox turned and waved at Gore, nodded politely to Kahn and disappeared into the night. The accused, now convicted, and his counsel walked without speaking for a while. Then Gore turned to him, as always peering over his glasses. “You are certainly not my ideal client,” he said, to which Kahn replied, “No, I suppose not,” and Gore said, “You could use a drink? I could,” and Kahn said, “Yeah, a drink would be good.”

The rain that night came out of the west and spread over the Valley of The Tit in a steady, pin-prickling drizzle that would not reach Nha Trang before morning. Huddled in its shelters on the hillside, Bravo Company waited sullenly through the storm, gripped in a state of agitation for which there was no explicable reason.

Far down the valley, the reason moved.

It shuddered in the jungle-covered hills beneath dripping leaves, vexed to savage fury by weeks of cold anticipation, hard-won calculations and somber plans. At last its orders came. A core of scraggly, raggedy-assed brown-skinned men with vague and inarticulate hopes and dreams moved across the valley floor and into the first hamlet, where mothers and fathers and children squatted by candlelight or cooking fires in dirt-floored huts—into which The Reason entered and said that it was Time. Weapons wrapped in oilcloth or cellophane were dutifully removed from secret places, and The Reason moved again—larger, more powerful—into the rain.