Foreign Enemies and Traitors (86 page)

****

Sergeant Amory led Zack into the adjoining tent,
which was furnished inside like a rough office, with folding tables and chairs and no cots.  He addressed an officer seated behind a portable desk.  “Captain Harris, I’ve got something you need to see ASAP.  Is your computer working?”  The officer had two vertical black bars on his chest and two matching bars on his camouflage patrol cap.  He looked at the pictures on the back of the camera and then rapidly pulled a black laptop from a padded zipper case.  Zack’s camera had a swing-out USB jack, and in a few moments the pictures appeared on the computer’s screen.

 The captain was visibly shocked by what he saw, and he asked Zack, “Where and when were these pictures taken?”

“Near Mannville in Radford County, on Sunday morning.  But the massacre happened on Saturday afternoon.”

“Did you take these pictures?”

“No sir, a Green Beret did.”

“A Green Beret?”  The captain appeared skeptical.  “And what was this Green Beret’s name?”

“Master Sergeant Boone Vikersun.  I’m not making this up.  He was from the 1st Battalion of the 5th Special Forces Group, at Fort Campbell.” 

Zack’s prompt recitation of this information seemed to allay some of the captain’s doubt.  “So, how do you know this Green Beret?  Is he a relative of yours?”

“No, we’re not related.  He came to my house.  My house is in Mississippi near the state line, north of Walnut.  He came because of my guest.  It’s a long story, but I had another old Green Beret already staying with me.  I accidentally shot him with an arrow on Christmas morning, when I was out hunting.  Really, it was more like I grazed him.  I took care of him at my house.  He’s okay now.”

Sergeant Amory cocked his head and stared at Zack with increased interest as these somewhat disjointed details spilled out.  “Christmas morning?” he asked.

“Yes sir.  It was Christmas morning around dawn.  I was bow-hunting in a tree stand.  I took care of him after that.  I sewed him up after I wounded him by accident.”

Sergeant Amory took a notepad and pen from his coat pocket.  “What was this old Green Beret’s name?  The one you wounded, the one who was staying with you?”

“Well, at first I thought his name was Colonel Brice.  But that name turned out to be fake.”

“Colonel Brice?  You’re sure of that?”  Sergeant Amory stared at the boy in amazement, and then told the captain, “Sir, we need to take this young man and his camera to the senior officer in charge in Corinth, whoever that is.  And we need to do it right now.”

Captain Harris said, “Well, Sergeant, as luck would have it, General Mirabeau himself is here today, somewhere.  He came up to Corinth when the refugees started coming over.” The captain turned to another soldier.  “Private Berry, get the duty truck and bring it here as quick as you can.”

****

The private and Sergeant Amory
sat in the front of the green GMC quad-cab pickup.  Captain Harris, Jenny and Zack sat in the back seat.  Their packs went in the bed of the truck.  The baby was cradled on Jenny’s lap, her tiny hands clamped on a new bottle of formula as she drank eagerly.  They drove down Highway 45 to where it intersected another four lane route.  In a long field, a tent city was being erected.  Buses and trucks were unloading civilian refugees.  They continued past the tents and came to a parking area outside a closed shopping center, where a small military camp bustled with activity.  There were green cargo containers on trucks, troop trucks, fuel trucks and what looked like several large green recreational vehicles.  Nearby, a pair of Blackhawk helicopters were parked on their own section of pavement.  The parking area containing this encampment was patrolled by soldiers carrying M-16s.  They were waved to a stop when they left the service road to turn into this secured area.  Captain Harris rolled down his window.  “We’re here to see Lieutenant General Mirabeau.”

The soldier saluted.  “Yes sir.  Do you have an appointment, Captain?  Are you scheduled?”

“No, but it’s an emergency.  We have urgent information for him.”

“I’m sorry, Captain, but nobody goes past here unless I’ve been told otherwise.”

“Then call somebody now.  We have to see the general; it’s extremely urgent.”

A lieutenant walking from a commo trailer toward a green RV saw the minor commotion and walked over.  “What’s the problem, Captain?”

“These civilians have information about a massacre that happened in Tennessee.”

Sergeant Amory added, “We have pictures, and an eyewitness.”

“A massacre?”

“That’s right.  Hundreds of civilians were murdered by the Kazaks.” 

The lieutenant jotted notes in his own memo pad.  “Wait right here.  I’ll be back with an answer either way.” 

Two minutes later the lieutenant returned.  “These are the witnesses?  Okay, park over there and follow me.  The general will see you right now.”

****

The green RV wasn’t like a camper inside.
  Instead, the thirty-five-foot recreational vehicle had been gutted and converted into an open-plan office and staff meeting room.  General Mirabeau saw Sergeant Amory, glanced at his nametape, and did a double take.  “You!  Well, Sergeant Amory, we meet again.  You’re keeping out of trouble?”

               
“Yes sir, General, I’ve been trying to.  But somehow, trouble just keeps finding me.”

               
General Mirabeau chortled and said, “You and me both, Sergeant.  It’s the story of my life.”  Mirabeau had three black stars on the front of his uniform and on his black beret.

               
The other officers in the converted RV, ranging from captain to brigadier general, seemed taken aback by the familiarity between their commanding general and the unknown medic.  Both of them were African-Americans, while most of the other officers were white.

               
“Now, what’s all this about a massacre up in Tennessee?  You have pictures?”

                Captain Harris said, “I have them, sir, on my laptop.  They came from his camera.”

               
Zack said, “It’s not really
my
camera.  I was just supposed to bring it to Mississippi.  That was my mission.”

“Your
mission
, huh?” said the general.  “What’s your name, son?”

“Zachary Tutweiler.”

“And you witnessed this massacre?”

“No sir, she did.”  He nodded to Jenny.

The general looked mildly frustrated.  “So, who
actually
took the pictures?”

Zack said, “A Green Beret named Boone Vikersun.  Master Sergeant Boone Vikersun.  He sent me here with the camera, because of these pictures.  He wrote down the grid coordinates and the latitude and longitude, so the place where it happened could be found later.  And I have a letter that he wrote, like a report.”

“A Green Beret sent you?  Really?”  General Mirabeau studied the skinny seventeen-year-old carefully.  “Well, I want to see these pictures.  Captain, put your laptop on my desk there, and let’s take a look.  And somebody get a chair for this young lady; she’s got a baby, for crying out loud!”

General Mirabeau pulled a chair up close to the computer and put on reading glasses.  Captain Harris opened his laptop and turned it on, and in a few moments they were looking at Boone’s photographs.  The other staff officers stood around and behind the general, peering over his shoulders.  First the general appeared surprised, and then his face grew stormy as he clicked from picture to picture.  He said, “We’ve been hearing stories from the refugees about the Kazaks going berserk and burning homes and shooting people, but this—I just can’t
believe
this!”  When he saw a dead Kazak soldier lying on his back in the snow, he stopped the slide show and turned to Jenny.  Zack was standing beside her chair.  “Who killed him?  Who killed this Kazak soldier?  Your Green Beret?” 

Jenny answered him.  “Yes sir, Boone Vikersun.  The Kazaks in these pictures were looters, who came back Sunday morning to steal from the dead.  Boone was there to take pictures, and he killed them.”

“What’s your name, honey?”

“Jenny McClure.”

“Did you see him shoot these Kazaks?”

She said, “No, I didn’t see Boone shoot them.  He told us about it later.  I was there the night before.  That’s when I found this baby, under her mother.  Her mother was shot dead, like everybody else there.” 

General Mirabeau clicked through the photos, growing more and more agitated, especially when he saw the photo of the blue helicopter flying low over the ravine.  “Jenny, you need to tell me everything you know about this.  And you too, son.  Start at the beginning, and tell me everything.  Who were you with?  How did you happen to be with a Special Forces soldier?  And where are your families? 

Zack looked at Jenny, and she answered for both of them.  “They’re dead.  Both of our families are dead.  Zack met Boone before I did.”

“I’m sorry to hear that about your families.  This has truly been a year like no other.  So how did you meet this Green Beret, son?” 

“He came to my house last Saturday night.  It was because of my visitor, Mr. Carson.  Mr. Carson was a Green Beret too, but a long time ago.  So I guess it really all started on Christmas morning, when you might say I had a visitor.  I was out bow-hunting, and I accidentally shot him.  I sort of mistook him for a deer.  I was in a tree stand, and I grazed him with an arrow.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Phil Carson.  Only then, I thought his name was Colonel Brice.  That’s what it said on his ID card, and on his uniform.  When I met him, he was wearing a uniform like yours.”

The general stared at Zack.  “Did you say
Colonel Brice
?  You’re sure about that name?”

“Yes sir.  I’m positive.  Colonel Jonathan T. Brice.  He had a military ID card.  I took care of him, after I accidentally wounded him with an arrow.”

“And this was Christmas morning?”

“Yes sir.  At dawn on Christmas.”

The general paused, thinking.  “Tell me something, Zachary.  Did this Colonel Brice have any tattoos that you know of?”

“Tattoos?  Um, yes sir, he did.  I mean, he does.  He has a parachute tattoo on his left arm, right here.”  Zack pointed to his own arm, near the shoulder.  “It’s a tattoo of Army jump wings.  Like the ones you’re wearing on your uniform, right there over your pocket.  But his doesn’t have a star on top like yours does.”

The general gazed at Zack and Jenny in wonder.  “Son, you told me that you have a report from the other Green Beret.  The one who took these pictures.”

“Yes sir, right here.”  Zack handed the general a small Ziploc bag with a folded paper inside. 

The general passed it to his chief staff officer, a brigadier general.  “Find the exact location of this massacre, and find out what you can about Master Sergeant Vikersun.”  Then the general turned to Jenny, who was holding the baby on her lap.  “Now, honey, tell me where you come into this.  You were actually at the massacre site?  You were an eyewitness?”

“To it happening?  No.  But I was there after the massacre, Saturday night.  So I guess I’m an eyewitness that it really happened.  That’s where I found this baby.”

“In the ravine?  Among the bodies?”

“That’s right.  She was under her mother.  I heard her crying, that’s how I knew she was alive.  This diaper bag was with her mother.  I don’t know her name, her mother I mean.  I named the baby Hope.  It was after that, that Mr. Vikersun and Mr. Carson found me and took me to a cave, where they had a hideout.  Only—”

“Wait, they had a hideout in a cave?  These Special Forces soldiers had a hideout in a cave?  Excuse me, Jenny, wait just a moment.  Major Townsend, let’s set up a video camera.  Have we got a camera ready to go?  We do?  Good, let’s film her right now, while it’s fresh.  We’ll film her, and then him.  And I want hard copies of all of the pictures on that camera, big ones.  Two sets.  And make sure we save them all on our computers.  Do we enough color ink for the printer?  Excuse me, Jenny, this will just take a few minutes to get ready.  Do you kids want some juice?  Maybe some cornbread or oatmeal?  Have you eaten this morning?  No, I guess not.  Don’t worry; we’ll take care of you, and the baby.  But let’s make these video depositions first.”

“If you’re going to film me, just let me wash my face and brush my hair first.  And brush my teeth.”

Within a few minutes, the camera was set up on a tripod facing Jenny, who sat in a hard-backed office chair.  She’d brushed her hair back and tied it in a ponytail, and was wearing her green sweater and jeans.  Zack held the baby, off-camera.  Hope had finished her bottle, and a fatherly colonel was showing the teenaged boy how to burp her over his shoulder.

The general said, “All right, Jenny, just say who you are, and what day it is.”

“I don’t know what day it is…is it Tuesday?”

“Yes, it’s Tuesday, January 15th, and you’re in Corinth, Mississippi.  Just tell your story, Jenny.”  General Mirabeau, his staff, Sergeant Amory, Captain Harris, and Zack watched in awed silence, listening intently as she went through her entire tale again.  Occasionally she had to pause to wipe away tears, and so did the members of her audience.

****

General Mirabeau watched Jenny
and then Zack give their video-recorded depositions from behind his desk.  When they were finished, and after he had read Boone Vikersun’s report on the massacre, he dismissed everyone from the room except for his CSO and his command sergeant major, who pulled up chairs across from him.  A stack of eight-by-ten color prints had already been produced in another of the general’s mobile headquarters vehicles, and was lying on the desk.

                “So, what have you learned about Master Sergeant Vikersun?”

                The brigadier said, “Well, he was a combat-decorated Special Forces soldier, assigned to the 5th Group out of Fort Campbell—”

                “Was?”

                “That’s affirmative.  He’s listed as a deserter, as of August of last year.  He’s also wanted for theft of government property, and for numerous federal firearms violations.  Apparently, when he went over the hill, he took some expensive Army property with him, including a top-line sniper rifle and night vision goggles.”