Court Martial (23 page)

The door in front of Colorado opened slightly and a thick voice whispered, “Yeah?”

“Sergeant Colorado… we were supposed to meet here today.”

“Can you come back later?”

“It’s fucking raining outside!”

“Just a minute… ” The door closed.

Colorado pulled up his collar and tried getting as close to the closed door as possible to keep the rain from soaking through
his light summer pants. He could hear a chain sliding in a door lock and then the door opened slowly to the dark room. A small
nightlight was burning above the bed, but Moore had pulled a pillowcase over it to make the light very dim. Colorado could
smell the acid-sweet odor of marijuana in the room.

“I’ve a
friend…”
Moore smiled, “in the bathroom.” He nodded toward the closed door. “I’d appreciate it if you could make it short.”

“I plan on it.” Sergeant Colorado was a trained recon man. His Indian eyes scanned the room as he talked. He knew that he
was taking a great risk by meeting with Moore, but the telephone call he had received from Detroit the day before had given
him no options. He didn’t like the way the events had turned, and the easy money for his ranch was rapidly turning into very
difficult blood money. The only thing that had kept him from telling the Black Muslim minister to go to hell was the bonus
he was offered, large enough to stock the ranch with top-quality cattle.

“Do you have the uniform?” Moore lit a joint and inhaled deeply as he waited for Colorado’s answer.

“Do you have to smoke that shit while I’m in here?” Colorado set the small suitcase down on the bed. A price tag was still
attached to the handle. “I’ve got to return to the base tonight and I don’t need for anyone to smell that shit on me!”

Moore glared at Colorado and set the joint down in an ashtray. “Let’s see what you’ve got”

Colorado opened the case and pulled out a folded fatigue shirt that had been starched and pressed by a laundry. “Everything
in there is according to the sizes they gave me over the telephone. Don’t wear that helmet liner until you leave in the jeep.
The MPs in the Eighty-second are a cliquey bunch and one of them might challenge you.”

Red Wolf Moore nodded.

“I’ll stop by to pick you up at five…. ”

“In the fucking morning?”

“Yes, in the morning. We have to be out at Camp McCall by seven. I want to make sure we’re not late.”

“Did you bring photographs?”

“Yes.” Sergeant Colorado pointed at the manila envelope tucked under the fatigue pants.

Red Wolf Moore nodded.

“The trial is just about over with.… ” Colorado was glad. It had been going on for over a week, and ever since the testimony
of PFC Barker from the First Cavalry Division, James’s chances of having the charges against him dropped were almost nonexistent.
“Tomorrow or the day after, they plan on sentencing him, and the board is leaning toward a
death
sentence.”

“The black communities would riot across the country if they did that!” Moore was enraged.

“Right now I don’t think they give a damn. If what they’ve proved James has done is true… he deserves death.” Colorado watched
Moore’s eyes.

“Whose side are you on?”

“Your Elijah fella is paying the bills… right now.”

“Master
Elijah to you!”

“No. He’s
your master.
He’s my employer.” Colorado started turning to leave when the bathroom door opened and a young white male in his early twenties
stepped out.

“Is it all right to come out now? Has he gone?” The voice was extremely effeminate. “I just can’t wait any longer!”

Colorado could see that the homosexual was supporting a partial erection under the silk lace panties he was wearing.

“Get back in there!”
Moore’s voice was filled with embarrassment.

“Remember… five in the morning.” Sergeant Colorado turned to leave. He reached for the door handle.

“If you tell anyone what you saw, I’ll kill you.” Moore hissed the words out between his teeth.

Colorado used his free hand to reach under his jacket and remove his pistol from his waistband. He turned around slowly and
held the weapon at gut level. “When do you plan on doing that?”

Moore’s eyes opened wide.

“You’re letting your mouth overload your black ass.” Colorado pulled back the hammer, using his thumb.

“I was kidding, man… just kidding around.”

“Watch out that you don’t get the clap… from him… her? Whatever it is.” Colorado left the room. He could hear a slap and a
high-pitched scream through the thin wooden door. A large man wearing a long beard stepped out of the shadows and started
walking rapidly toward Colorado, who was getting into his GMC truck. “He’s in there.”

The homo’s pimp used his shoulder to break the door lock and enter the room.

Colorado smiled as he drove away. Maybe Moore wouldn’t be around at five in the morning to ride with him out to Camp McCall.

Sergeant Colorado thought about Arnasao and Bartlett as he drove down the wet strip back to Fort Bragg. He had served with
Arnasao at Bragg when they were both new privates fresh out of basic training; he had liked the man. But Barnett bothered
him a lot. He had watched the young soldier throughout the whole trial and couldn’t quite figure him out. From the testimony
the general court-martial board had heard, Spencer should hate lames beyond any human ability to reason, yet the soldier sat
calmly throughout the whole process and the only emotion he showed was an occasional smile. Colorado was beginning to like
the corporal and was glad that James’s outburst in the courtroom had tightened security around Barnett so much that he couldn’t
make the hit he had been paid to make. The Supreme Minister in Detroit was furious, but the lawyer had supported what he had
said about the extreme levels of security where even a suicide assassination attempt would have failed.

Colorado passed the World War II paratrooper statue hold ing the Thompson .45 caliber machine gun under his arm and nodded
at the bronze warrior in a silent salute. The road forked off to Smoke Bomb Hill with the main road leading to the center
of the large military base. Colorado stayed on the main road and drove straight over to the senior officers’ BOQ across from
the stucco Officers’ Club.

The military policeman on guard at the main door nodded in recognition of the sergeant when he entered. “Still raining out
there, Sergeant?”

Colorado nodded and started walking toward his room.

“Sarge… the general is over at the Officers’ Club and would like you to join him. He told me to tell you if you came in before
midnight.”

Colorado looked at his watch: it was only eleven o’clock. “Thanks.” He went to his room and dried his hair and face before
changing shirts and going across the street to the waiting general.

The main entrance to the club was packed with people waiting under the green canopy for their cars. Most of the waiting people
were women. Colorado squeezed past them and up the stairs. He didn’t know his way around the Officers’ Club and looked for
a waiter. “Excuse me… could you tell me where Major General Koch is?”

The waiter shrugged. “The only place that’s open is the main bar upstairs.” The waiter pointed toward an arched doorway.

Colorado saw Koch and three other members of the court-martial board sitting around a table in a corner away from the crowd
around the bar. The general saw him enter and waved him over.

“Thanks for stopping by, Sergeant Colorado. Have a seat.” Koch motioned with his hand. “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, please… double shot of tequila without ice.” Colorado needed a stiff drink.

“So how do you like Fayetteville?” Koch smiled and answered the questioning look on Colorado’s face. “The MP at the BOQ desk
told me. He said that he had overheard you mentioning that you were going downtown.”

Colorado nodded. “I just went for a ride. I used to be stationed here years ago.”

“Has it changed much?”

Colorado shook his head. “Not much.”

Colonel Sinclair and Brigadier General Seacourt were both watching Colorado’s face. Sergeant Major Thomas glanced around the
room, checking for anyone who might be paying too much attention to their conversation.

“I really didn’t want to bother you. I know that you’ve got to get up early in the morning, but I just wanted to alert you
that all of the board members have been given a bodyguard by the CID… Criminal Investigations Division.”

“When did this start, sir?” Colorado tried hiding the fear in his voice.

Koch paused before answering. “It hasn’t started yet… but it should be in effect by the time the trial starts in the morning.
I think they’re going to meet us at Camp McCall.” Koch frowned. “Have you been threatened?”

“No… just curious.”

“Good. I thought they were going overboard, but after the two attempts to free James and kill the witnesses, I don’t think
anybody wants to take any chances during the sentencing process.” Koch looked over his shoulder. He knew that he shouldn’t
be talking about the trial in the bar area.

A waitress brought Colorado’s drink and he swallowed it all in one long gulp. “Ah… that’s the
only
way
to drink tequila!”

Colonel Sinclair smiled and didn’t say anything. He had caught the look in Colorado’s eyes when the general had mentioned
the bodyguard. Something was not piecing itself together.

Specialist James sat in his cell. He was in a rage. The Brotherhood was supposed to be helping him and things were getting
worse every day. He had done what the Death Angels’ code required but they weren’t keeping up their side of the bargain. He
had gone beyond killing devilbeasts for the mosque and had even sent large sums of money back to the Supreme Minister from
the drug operations in Vietnam. He knew that it had been his job to kill white soldiers, but the hundreds of thousands of
dollars he had shipped back was a bonus and should mean something to the minister.

The rain pattered against the wood-and-asphalt roof. The soft sound usually was comforting to the human ear, but to James
it was a form of torture. He started pacing his cell, making his two military police guards nervous. James had made a reputation
for himself with the guards as being unpredictable.

The door to the prison building opened and the black lawyer accompanied by only one other lawyer from Detroit entered the
large area outside the single cell. The expression on his face told James that the news the high-paid lawyer had for him was
not good.

The MPs opened James’s cell and allowed the two lawyers to enter after searching both of them thoroughly for weapons. The
senior lawyer had protested the searches but had been overruled by the military.

“Well!” James growled out the word and looked out his window at the rain.

“We’ve lost the case.” The black lawyer didn’t mince his words. “We tried and we’ve lost.”

James spun around. “Not
we…
brother—you! I haven’t lost yet!”

“I’ll rephrase it for you.” The words coming out of the lawyer’s mouth were slightly garbled.
“You
lost, and you know what’s required from you.”

“Fuck you!
”

The lawyer who accompanied the senior lawyer from Detroit spoke up. “I can do it for you.” The glare in the man’s eyes was
beyond a threat: it was the statement of a fact.

The senior lawyer looked over at the guards and saw that they were both watching everything going on inside the cell. He coughed
and reached into his back pocket for a handkerchief. He used his tongue to shift the metal capsule that contained the cyanide
tablet to the front of his mouth and coughed again. He pushed the tablet into the handkerchief with his tongue and casually
rested his closed hand against James’s bunk, where he released the capsule in the folds of the blanket.

Suddenly they heard the sound of keys rattling and the steel cell door opened. Four hugh MPs rushed into the confined area
and pushed the two lawyers up against the wall. A sergeant went over to the bed and brushed his hand over the folds in the
blanket until he revealed the bright stainless-steel capsule. He pulled open the two parts and exposed the deadly cyanide
pill.

“What’s this? A cough tablet, counselor?” The sergeant held out the pill.

The lawyer glared at the military policeman.

Sergeant David Woods sat by himself at the table in the mess hall. All the other tables still had their chairs turned upside
down on them. He sat sideways in his chair with his legs crossed out in front of him. David’s thoughts were on his family.
He was feeling very homesick and lonely. He had been back in the States for over a week and still hadn’t seen his parents.
He had talked to them three times on the telephone, but it wasn’t the same as seeing them. The war had had more of an effect
on him than he had thought it had. In a way he was glad that he had spent a week with Arnasao and Barnett, away from the rest
of his friends. As he sat there sipping his cup of black coffee his thoughts went to those men who were shipped directly from
Vietnam back to the States; almost all of them were automatically on leave when they reached the States. He didn’t know how
they could adjust from the war to peacetime so fast. Within forty-eight hours a soldier could go from a major battle where
he was killing people and fighting for his own life, to the arms of his wife or girlfriend. It didn’t make sense, and those
leaders in the Army who had set up the rotation-and-discharge system definitely had never served in combat, or they would
have established stateside holding areas where soldiers would spend a couple of weeks adjusting to peacetime activities.

“I’ve been looking for you.” Spencer pushed back a chair and sat down, followed closely by Arnasao. “You got up early this
morning.”

Arnasao paused next to the table. “Sick?”

“Naw, I couldn’t sleep.” David adjusted his position on his chair. “I’m a little homesick.”

“Oh… Where did you find the coffee?” Arnasao looked back toward the kitchen.

“The night baker made a pot.”