We Were Beautiful Once (40 page)

Lindquist turned to Nick. “Counselor, do you have another witness?”

“Your Honor, two more. The first is Mr. Kenny Preston, a man mentioned in the Broadbent report as having remembered Private Girardin. Until now we'd been unable to locate him. He's been laid up in a veteran's home in upper New York State for the past year. His daughter was kind enough to bring him here today.  Although we did not schedule his testimony, I think that our examination of this man will be brief.”  

“Mr. Harris, any objection?”

“Your Honor, hearing an unscheduled witness this late in the trial may be prejudicial.”

“I understand your concern, but under the circumstances I'm willing to hold open the taking of testimony for an additional week for rebuttal following this witness's examination. Mr. Castalano, call your witness.”

Nick pushed Preston, a man lost in a wheelchair, to the front of the witness box and turned him so he faced the crowd. When he took the oath everyone bent forward to hear a weak voiced, gray faced man with eyes like hollowed out caves. He looked like he had recently undergone chemo. Nick quickly established that Preston had been a POW in Camp 13, and was familiar with Girardin, having been in the same hut.

“Mr. Preston, you told Mitch LeBeau yesterday, the man sitting over there at Counsel's table, that there came a time when you and other POWs were detailed to clear mines—anti-personnel mines?”

Preston looked up and to the left. “Yeah, late winter of '53,” he said in an voice louder than that with which he had given previous answers.

“Do you have a month or...  ?”

“No, can only tell you...  the last winter spent.”

“And what exactly did the detail involve?”

“We were told that routes south of the camp were mined with claymores.”

“Would you explain what a claymore is, sir?”

“A landmine. Set off when you push a little plunger, like if you step on it.”

“How were you selected for this detail?”

“Don't know, orders came from the commandant.”

“Do you know who that was?” Nick asked.

“Yeah, name was Jo or Cho.”

“Did you not tell me on the phone on Saturday, that the man's name was Cho Tat Wah?”

“I may have, but the meds sometimes make me forget what I say,” he smiled.

“Were there guys from around the camp?”

“About fifty or sixty. Only remember guys from my hut.”

Nick studied Preston's face for an instant. “Okay, sir, if you can, please recall how many men were on each crew to clear these mines.”

“About a dozen, more or less, in my crew. We had about fifteen guys.”

“Remember who stayed behind?”

“Only remember a few.”

“Did Girardin go?”

“Think so, can't be sure.”

“Do you recall how you were told of the detail?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “When they came an' got us, we didn't know what they were up to. But it wasn't unusual that they'd line us up, bring us to the dayroom where they'd try an' brainwash us.”

“Any other details you went on?”

“When they wanted us to move dead bodies across the river to the burial place or dig latrines...  when it got warm. We had things to keep us busy. Didn't give it much thought.”

Nick continued. “Were there any rumors what they'd planned?”

“Nope, they come got me, rounded us up.”

“Where'd the rest of the men come from?”

“Around the camp, fifty, seventy-five guys.”

“When we fell out in the yard, there were lines of men. I fell in the back of one of them. It was cold, dark, nobody shootin' the bull.”

“What happened then?”

“Waited. Waited, freezing, must've been five below, wind blowing...  eyes almost froze. Most of us had light jackets. Then they gave us these heavy coats, like U.S. issue.”

“And, did you know who the enemy guards were? Did you recognize them?”

“They were Chinese, if that's what you mean.”

“Yes.  Tell us what happened next.”

“They marched us out of camp.”

“Can you describe what a clearing operation was?”

“We were put into units of two to four men, and at some point, the guards put us in a long line.”

“What happened next?”

“Marched to where we were put on hands and knees, crawled around with these pointy rods.” Preston demonstrated by bending his fingers on both hands, walking them in the air in front of him. “We poked the ground, about four feet, maybe five, in front of us to see if we hit somethin' hard. It was a crazy idea,” he said, pointing to his head and twirling his finger.

“Aside from it being potentially deadly, why was it crazy if someone wanted to blow up a claymore?”

Preston sighed, “The ground was covered with snow, Mister. Though, someone may have tried clearing it—small truck, maybe even shoveled by hand.”  

“How'd you know where to start poking?”

“The Chinese had a map they were goin' by. I think it musta showed where the mines were.”

Nick stepped toward to the easel. “Mr. Preston, if you will, would you please bring your chair over here?  This is map B-2 for identification. It's been established as a map of Camp 13. Is this the layout of the camp to the best of your recollection?”

Preston studied the map for maybe thirty seconds. “More or less.”

“Do you see on that map the place you were detailed to clear mines?”

“Yes, sir. See all these little hexagons?” he said, without hesitation.

“Yes, I see,” said Nick, now on the receiving end of the question.

“Where these hexagons are?” Preston said, breathing hard.  “This is where we cleared mines.” He moved his hand along the section of road shown on the map.

“What was the road like?” Nick asked.

“Well the road they were trying to clear was pretty narrow, lined both sides with a ditch and woods.”

“What was the procedure—if that's the right word?”

“Well, the idea of poking the metal rods and digging around places that looked suspicious didn't really work, so they put us in the woods—to get out of the wind, I guess. Then, we were waiting in the woods when they called the first team and put them into a ravine along the road. Took about six, eight guys at first. We didn't know what they were up to. We lost sight of them pretty quick.”

“Did you know where they went?” Nick asked.

“Not at first.  But later, when our turn came, we found out,” Preston said with a grimace.

“What'd you find out?”

“Give me a second to catch my breath.”

 

In the back row, Jack sat mesmerized by Preston's testimony.  Every so often, he affirmed Preston's statement with a shake of the head.

 

“Yes.  You okay?  need a break?”

Preston shook his head “no” and continued. “Lashed us, about three or four on a side, to these logs, to drag them down the road.”

“Why were you dragging logs?”

“Plan was to explode the mines.”

“Wouldn't your weight explode the mine if you stepped on it?”

“Maybe and maybe not.  The snow distributes your weight over an area, and anyway we were mostly pulling from the side of the road.”

“What happened next?”

Preston came back quickly. “Whatcha think?  Some of the logs exploded. When a mine went off it blew 'em to kingdom come.”

Preston looked at the crowd and saw a man in the back row—Jack Prado O'Conner—nodding his head in agreement.

Preston continued, “Piece of wood hit my shoulder like a fastball...  dislocated it.”

“It disabled you, then?”

“Wasn't life threatening, but I couldn't go back. Saved me from the detail after that.”

“Do you know anyone who died?”

“Only half of us marched back. The first day, that is. In the end, only three or four of us were left back at the hut. Learned that the guys that'd completed the detail either died or were moved someplace.”

“Remember the names of the guys that were in the hut in the end?”

“Jameston, me, another guy came in much later, Mexican guy.”

Nick looked over at Lindquist—it looked like his eyes were shut. “When'd they let you go?”

“After a full day, it seemed. My shoulder was aching pretty bad. Yeah, I came back from the drag and rested alongside the road in the ravine.”

“Did you return other days?”

“Not me—shoulder you know—but the guys that were okay, yes.”

“You knew Roger Girardin from Camp 13, did you not?”

“Yes, sir, was in my hut for a while.”

“Did you see Roger Girardin on the detail?”

“Don't know. Later that first day, must've been late afternoon when we were marching back from the detail, there was a body alongside the road. We was walking close to the other side. Looked like one of ours was just lying there.  On his side.”

Nick wanted to make sure that Lindquist heard Preston say that he'd seen the soldier. “So you did see a GI on the ground?”

“Yeah...  ”

Wanting a more definite statement, he pressed, “You seem unsure.”

Preston responded defensively. “Well, was thirty years ago...  but yeah, probably forty, yeah, forty feet away, on his side, wasn't moving.”

“Might you recall if you thought that he was wounded or dead?”

“Wasn't sure what to make of it. Too far away, but it wasn't a good sign. Boy was hurt, or worse.” Preston brought his lips back, his chest labored in every breath, and he contorted his face.

“Was there anybody next to him?”

“A dog...  few feet away.”

“A dog?” Nick asked surprised.

“Yeah, big, brown mother...  big, standing next to him.”

Nick took a drink of water. “Now, why'd you remember that?”

“Don't know, just popped up,” Preston said apologetically.

Nick inhaled and let his breath out slowly. “Did you see Girardin again, after that day?”

“Never. Not after that. Didn't see him in the hut that night.”

“Did you imagine he'd died?”

Harris rose up, “Objection, calls for speculation.”

“Overruled.”

The courtroom went silent.  Preston looked around, but did not answer. Lindquist looked at his watch.

“Did you imagine he had died, sir?” Nick repeated.

Preston grabbed his wheelchair's arm rests. “Don't know,” he mumbled.

“So is it your statement that you never saw Roger Girardin again?”

 “Nope, never saw him again.”

“Do you remember meeting a Jack O'Conner in Camp 13?”

“Not sure, sir.”

“How about Trent Hamilton?”

“Yes, I think he was a translator.”

“What else can you tell us about him?”

“He owns a helicopter company.”

Nick looked at Harris. “Counselor, your witness.”

 

Harris rose from his chair, twisting his ring around his finger. He looked down at his two colleagues.

“Mr. Preston, how long have you known about this attempt to locate Roger Girardin?”

“Maybe two or three years, read about it in my VFW magazine.”

“Why did you not come forward before?”

“I don't know, guess because I took sick.”

“How long did you talk to Mr. Castalano the day you called him?”

“'bout an hour.”

“And how long did you talk to Mr. LeBeau or anyone else from his office?”

“Talked yesterday morning to Mitch over there, maybe 'nother hour.”

“This is an important case, as far as you are concerned, right?”

“I'm not long for this world and need to set things straight.”

“Isn't it important that we be sure about what we say here?”

“Yes.”

“You want to...  do the right thing, true?”

“'Course.”

“This story about blowing up mines...  sounds...  if you'll excuse me for saying so...  
incredible
?”

Preston just stared at Harris.

“How can a log blow up a mine?  You have to step on it, don't you—you know, apply direct force?”

“I suppose. I ain't no mechanic, just saw what I saw,” Preston said sheepishly.

“Well how'd they tie the chains to the logs?”

“Don't exactly remember.”

“Were there many chains?”

“Think so.”

“How many men pulled?”

“Mighta been four or six.”

“A chain for each man pulling, is that how it worked?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Wouldn't they get in each other's way?”

“No, we was strung out.”

“Why was none of this mentioned in your interrogation report when you were released?”

“Was so many years ago, maybe I did tell 'em.”

“Is it possible that under the stress of being a POW, you came to imagine that all of this happened?”

“No, sir. Saw what I saw,” Preston asserted.

“Is it possible that under the stress of being ill, you have come to imagine this?”

“No, sir.”

“Are on a medication?”

“Morphsul.”

“That's a morphine.  Pill form, correct?”

“Think so.”

“Makes you drowsy?”

“Sometimes.”

“Clouds your thinking?”

“Sometimes.”

“Ever hallucinate?”

“What?”

“You know, dream while you aren't sleeping.”

“No, sir, never did that.”

“And isn't it true that the first time you heard the name Cho Tat Wah was in this courtroom today?”

“No, sir, aah, well to be honest, like I said, I don't... ”

“You're not sure, are you?  You're not sure you ever heard the name before.  You're just trying to follow Mr. Castalano's lead, aren't you, trying to do the right thing?”