Court Martial (15 page)

Spencer Barnett sat on the ground next to a body that was wrapped in a Hudson Bay blanket. He had his back to the cabin and
looked out over the lake. Mary and his teammates watched from the railing surrounding the deck. They could feel his pain but
were absolutely incapable of removing it. Spencer reached over and touched the white portion of the blanket where Sergeant
McDonald’s hand was, then stood up with his back still to the cabin. His lips moved as he silently pledged revenge.

The funeral for Master Sergeant Jeremiah McDonald drew over five hundred active-duty and retired Special Forces men and another
two hundred officers and senior enlisted men from the Pentagon and Fort Meyers to his grave site in Arlington National Cemetery.

Corporal Barnett stood on the right-hand side of the grave and received the triangular folded flag that had been removed from
the top of the casket by the sergeant major who led the Special Forces honor guard. McDonald’s wife and teenage son had been
killed in an automobile accident right before he went to Vietnam; some people said that was the reason he had volunteered
for duty over there and then had volunteered again to serve on Project Cherry, a suicide unit that had been designed for POW
snatches. Spencer had been listed by the sergeant as his next of kin and benefactor for all his insurance policies.

Mary’s hand started quivering as she held tightly to Spencer’s arm when a hidden bugler started playing taps. The extremely
sad notes from the bugle slipped between the mounds of freshly dug soil that dotted the bright green lawns. Vietnam was giving
the caretakers at the huge cemetery a lot of overtime pay. Handkerchiefs came out of the rear pocketsof many AG-44 dress uniforms
during the slow rendition of the hand salute to the fallen warrior by the members of the honor guard.

Woods glanced over at Spencer out of the corner of his eye without moving his head and saw that his war buddy was standing
ramrod straight with his eyes looking down at the dull bronze military-issue casket. Woods noticed that the expression on
Spencer’s face was one of deep concentration and a little wonder mixed in around the corners of his eyes. Spencer’s natural
curls at the corners of his mouth would have been misinterpreted as the beginning of a smile by anyone who didn’t know him.

The bugler finished the rendition of taps and the cemetery became absolutely quiet. Then horns and the hum of traffic on the
nearby highway slowly filled the silence. Spencer handed the folded flag to Mary and leaned over to pull back a corner of
the imitation grass carpet that was used to hide the pile of grave dirt from the mourners.

Spencer turned around so thatarnason and Woods could hear him. “Warriors bury their own dead.” The statement was made in a
very soft voice but it carried to the first couple of rows circling the grave. He reached down and dug up a handful of rich
black soil and dropped it onto the casket. The hollow sound of the dirt clods hitting the metal box filled the hole in the
earth.arnason and Woods were next. Mary handed the flag back to Spencer and dug up a double handful of the pleasant-smelling
soil and dropped it onto the growing mound.

The word spread through the crowd and a line formed to walk past the grave, with each soldier, woman, and child stopping to
drop a handful of dirt on the warrior’s remains. A tradition that was ancient in the old country had been reborn in America,
but with a powerful new twist. The handful of dirt wasn’t symbolic anymore but was an actual burial. When the mourners had
finished filing past the grave, there wasn’t enought dirt left for the grave diggers even to have to clean up. Master Sergeant
Jeremiah McDonald had been buried by other warriors and by people who loved and admired him.

Lieutenant Colonel Martin left his place by the row of gravestones from which he had been observing Spencer and started walking
toward the small clods of dirt that remained, but stopped when he caught the look in Spencer’s eyes. He shrugged, rationalizing
that the grave was already filled and didn’t need any more earth. The Walter Reed Army Hospital psychiatrist noticed that
none of the Special Forces soldiers had wiped or brushed the streaks of dirt off their hands, but then again, it was his job
to notice unique or unusual things about human behavior. The lieutenant colonel had come to the funeral to observe how Spencer
would handle the additional burden of losing a close friend, not because he had cared about the senior NCO. Spencer had sensed
that and tolerated the psychiatrist’s presence only to keep the peace.

Spencer remained standing next to the grave while the crowd started moving back to their cars and buses.

“Spence, we’d better leave....” Woods was one of the few men there who dared speak to Spencer. “We’ve got to be at the White
House in less than an hour.”

“He died so… so
simply.”
Spencer kept staring at the mound of earth. “I mean, he should have died like a hero… in Vietnam. You know, with a couple
of dozen NVA piled up around him!” Spencer’s voice started to rise.

“Look around you, Spence” Arnason squeezed his recon teammate’s shoulder. “He
is
a hero, and when he died, he was near someone he loved a lot.” Arnason shook his head once from side to side and added, “You
can’t ask for much more than that when your time comes.” Arnason’s thoughts went back to the long planning meetings he had
attended with McDonald for the POW snatch mission that was going into Laos for Spencer and the Air Force colonel. He knew
how fanatically McDonald had worked and could still recall the look in McDonald’s eyes every time he had glanced at the eight-by-ten
glossy photograph of Barnett that had been placed on the briefing-room wall along with those of the Colonel Garibaldi and
Specialist James.

It was almost imperceptible, but Spencer gave a curt nod of agreement and spoke. “Okay, let’s go or they’ll get even more
pissed at me.”

Woods smiled to himself at Spencer’s statement. Spencer had told the White House aide that he would be a half hour late for
his presentation because he had to attend the funeral of a friend. There had been a mad scramble in the Pentagon and the White
House and finally the President had changed his schedule so that Spencer could be present at the grave site.

Spencer paused in the open door of the military sedan and looked back at the lonely grave. One of the gravediggers was tidying
up the site. He smiled and then gave a quick wink before sliding down along the seat. Mary had caught the gesture and smiled
herself; it was as if Spencer had just talked with McDonald and something funny had been said between them.

The national press corps was already assembled in the Rose Garden when the sedan carrying Spencer and Mary pulled up under
the arched entrance.arnason and Woods had been dropped off in the spectator section where they could observe the presentation
with the other military guests. Spencer was rushed into a side entrance of the White House by a military aide and Mary was
escorted to a chair off to one side of the sunny flowered area where a number of senior dignitaries’ wives were waiting.

“Corporal Barnett, we’d like for you to wait in her until the President is ready.” The Army colonel began briefing Spencer
on the ceremony. “It will be short and simple, with the President making the presentation. All you have to do is come to attention
and tilt your head a little forward so the President can place the medal around your neck. You will be the only recipient
today for the medal.” The colonel paused, trying to allow the significance of the solitary presentation to sink into the young
soldier’s mind. When he saw that it wasn’t fazing Spencer, he continued, “Senator Strom Thurmond from South Carolina will
say a few words in your honor and General Westmoreland will make a couple of comments about your service in Vietnam before
everyone will come into the
small
reception room for coffee and cake… compliments of the President. Do you have any questions?” The colonel was becoming very
angry because Spencer was not responding to the special honors that were being bestowed on him. It was very rare that General
Westmoreland was back in the States and even rarer for him to have time for small ceremonies. The colonel had been privy to
Spencer’s files and saw why they were making a special effort for the boy-soldier from South Carolina. The kid was the kind
of material that
hometown
heroes were made of, and with the growing hippie and antiwar movement, the government needed another Audie Murphy.

The colonel felt jealousy growing inside him and snapped, “Well? Do you have any questions?”

Spencer looked directly in the senior officer’s eyes and slowly shook his head in the negative.

“Fine. Wait here until I come back to get you.” The colonel started to leave, then stopped. “That’s an order.”

Spencer smiled and walked over to a tall window that overlooked the Rose Garden and looked out. He clasped his hands behind
his back and slipped into his own private world of thoughts.

A set of French doors opened and a man in his late fifties stepped into the high-ceilinged, ornate room. He saw the young
soldier standing in the window light and paused on his way out of the side exit, then returned to where the soldier was standing.

“Excuse me, young man, but aren’t you the soldier who’s going to receive the Medal of Honor today?”

As Spencer turned to face the soft voice, the bright sunlight rested on the four rows of ribbons that covered the chest and
upper left side of his uniform.

“You’ve got more medals there, son, than most of the officers I’ve met.” The man’s smile was genuine.

Spencer smiled back. “I picked up a couple.” He looked down at his chest as if he were just noticing for the first time that
he possessed most of the nation’s valor awards.

“I’m Ronald Reagan, governor of California.”

“California?”

“Yep…” The man’s smile widened. “Have you ever been there?”

Spencer shook his head slowly. “Just long enough to pass through… thank God.”

Governor Reagan’s eyebrows lifted. “Why do you say that? We’ve got a mighty fine state....”

“Too much dope for this kid.” Spencer grinned. “You’ve got to clean that up, Governor, because it’s geting pretty bad over
in Vietnam.”

“Are you blaming California?”

The look in Spencer’s eyes told the governor that the
young
soldier was.

“Well… I’m doing my best to clean up a lot of things in California.”

Spencer nodded in agreement.

“You sure do speak what’s on your mind, don’t you.” Governor Reagan smiled again. He was intrigued with the honesty of the
young man—a trait that was almost extinct in Washington. “What do you think of the draft?”

“It’s good.” Spencer turned his head slightly to the left so that the warm rays of the sun would touch his cheek. The feeling
comforted him. “As long as it’s fair and everyone’s number is put in the hat.”

“Yes… I guess you’ve got a point there.” Governor Reagan saw his aide hurrying toward the doors. “Well, I’ve got a meeting
with the President right after your award ceremony.” A very wide grin spread out on the man’s face. “I was in there earlier
when the call came in that you were going to attend your sergeant’s funeral. I must say that the conversation would have to
have been censored if it had been televised. You’ve got guts, young man, and I admire that… loyalty too, and that’s a rare
trait.” The governor nodded toward his waving aide. “If you’re ever in California, look me up.” He handed Spencer an engraved
business card with a private telephone number on it. “Call that number and one of my aides will know what to do to reach me.”

Spencer kept looking down at the card. “Thanks! I might do that sometime if I ever want to learn how to surf!”

Reagan chuckled. “We’ve enough surfers in California to take care of you. Good luck, young man.”

“Thank you, Governor...” Spencer flashed one of his best smiles, “and I hope you make President someday!”

“Thanks, but California is enough for one man to handle!” Governor Reagan started his brisk business walk the instant he slipped
through the double doors. Spencer watched him disappear down the wide hallway with his aide. Both men were talking with their
hands as they hurried toward the conference room.

Spencer returned his attention to the gathered reporters outside the window. He could see Mary sitting with the wives and
smiled to himself because she looked out-of-place among all the gray-haired ladies.

“Corporal Barnett? Are you ready to join us?” A brigadier general poked his head through the doorway.

“Yes sir.” Spencer checked his reflection in a nearby mirror and adjusted his tie before following the general outside into
the Rose Garden. Everyone there was staring at him and a barrage of flashbulbs erupted in his face. Spencer swallowed and
felt a very unfamiliar nervousness start to form in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t going to like all this attention.

He saw the proud smile first and recognized the rest of the man standing in the crowd afterward. Spencer stopped walking behind
the general and stared over the thick nylon rope that separated the spectators from the invited guests. He took the half-dozen
steps to the place where the man stood with his wife and teenage son.

“What… what are
you
doing here?” Spencer was almost stuttering.

“A Sergeant Woods called us down in South Carolina and told us that you were in the Army and would be getting the Medal of
Honor today.… You know we wouldn’t have missed being here for anything.”

“But you didn’t even try to find me…
five
years!”

The man’s wife cut in,” That’s not true, Spencer! He was thrown in jail for thirty days because he caused the social-services
people so much hell!”

“Believe me, Spence, I tried, but they hid you from us and even snuck you into the Army without us knowing!”

Spencer could see in the man’s eyes that he wasn’t lying. He looked at his foster brother and smiled. “We’ve got to go coon
hunting again… soon!”