Court Martial (24 page)

“Do you want a cup, Spence?” Arnasao started walking over to the serving line.

“Yeah… with a little cream.” Spencer turned his attention to David. “At least you have somewhere to be homesick about.”

“After the trial is over, would you like to come back to Lincoln with me for A couple of days?” Woods wasn’t sure that Spencer
would find it exciting enough. “We could do a little bird hunting and some decent fishing with my dad.”

“I’d love it! That is, if they’ll ever release me from that damn hospital and let me get away from the shrinks!”

“Good! Then it’s a date. I’ll call back home tonight and tell them the good news!”

“Are you sure my coming along will be good news?” Spencer was worried that he might not really be wanted.

“I’ve written letters back to them from Vietnam about you guys. Believe me, they feel that they already know you.” Woods frowned.
“Besides, I’d feel better if you were there.”

“Why?” Spencer was puzzled.

Arnason set the brown plastic cup down in front of Spencer and took a seat. He had heard the last few sentences and already
understood what was bothering Woods.

“I feel funny… about being back here. It’s like I don’t… don’t
belong
here, especially without a weapon nearby.” Woods glanced over at Arnason. He knew they had the silenced pistols, but he was
referring to his CAR-15.

“I felt like that the first couple of weeks I was in the hospital. They thought that I was crazier than shit and wanted me
to take therapy, so I stopped mentioning it to the shrinks.” Spencer huffed. “I stopped mentioning
everything
to them!”

“I know how you’re feeling.” Arnason’s voice was comforting. “We all go through it. Like we’ve entered a
nonreal
world when we get off the airplane in California…”

“Yeah—exactly!” Woods pulled his chair closer to the table. “Man, I feel naked without my CAR-15!”

“You’re not alone.... A lot of guys come back here directly from the field in Vietnam and their wives and kids think the guy
is nuts!” Arnason lifted his coffee cup to his lips. “The Army personnel system has really let the Vietnam
vets
down during this war.”

Spencer sipped his coffee and made a face. “This tastes like it’s been in the pot all night!”

“Yeah, isn’t it good?” Arnason drained his coffee and started getting up to get another cup.

“Spence is coming back to Nebraska with me after the trial.” Woods was feeling better by the minute. He saw theleft-out look
in Arnason’s eyes and quickly added, “You’re more than welcome to join us. We have a huge house and I know my parents would
enjoy meeting you.”

Arnasao shook his head. “I think I’d better look up my ex-wife and visit my kids… it’s been four years.” He went back to the
kitchen and returned with a funny look in his eyes. “I wonder what they look like.”

Spencer and Woods were smart enough not to say anything.

Arnasao concentrated on his coffee cup for a couple of minutes and then looked up at Woods. “I might meet you guys in Nebraska
on my way back to ’Nam.”

“Sounds good.” Woods set his cup back down on the table. “We’d better eat.” The sound of eggs being fried on the grill made
him hungry.

“Let’s do that and then get over to the courtroom. Today is going to be a very big day!” Spencer was the first one to leave
the table and grab a tray. He was starved.

Sergeant Colorado had left the officers’ BOQ where all the general court-martial board members were staying and walked over
to the XVIII Corps motor pool before the first rays of sunlight broke over the buildings. The jeep was waiting for him just
as the minister from Detroit had said it would be. Colorado was beginning to really wonder just how large this black organization
was. It seemed they had their fingers into everything in the military.

Red Wolf Moore was waiting for him in front of the motel lobby when he pulled up, wearing a complete 82nd Airborne Division’s
military policeman’s uniform. Colorado was surprised. He was expecting to have to wait for the black civilian from Detroit.

Red Wolf seemed nervous and rushed over to the jeep. “Follow me.” He didn’t wait for Colorado to answer and left the jeep.
He ran over to a canary-yellow Cadillac and put it in gear, burning rubber as he left the parking lot.

Sergeant Colorado followed the luxury car down Bragg Boulevard until they came to shopping mall and Moore pulled off the road.
He drove behind the mall and parked his car in an empty slot in front of an apartment building.

“Remember the name of these apartments.” Red Wolf Moore took over driving the jeep.

“The King George Apartments… ” Colorado shook his head, “not a hard name to remember.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got to come back here to get my car.”

“Why didn’t you just leave your car at the Heart of Fayetteville?”

“Don’t ask so fucking many questions!” Moore ground the gears, trying to shift out of second without using the clutch. “You’re
being paid to supply me with the things that I need… after fucking up your part of the deal.”

“We’ll see how fucking cocky you are once we get out to Camp McCall and you have the opportunity to see for yourself how tight
the security is out there.”

“You’re a fucking
novice.”
Red Wolf spit out the words.

Sergeant Colorado leaned back against the jeep seat and pulled up the collar of his lightweight jacket to keep the cool morning
breeze off his neck.

The guards at the gate recognized Sergeant Colorado and didn’t question his MP escort driving him. The XVIII Corps markings
on the bumper of the jeep didn’t raise any curiosity either, because it was a common practice to draw vehicles out of the
Corps motor pool when the division was overcommitted. Moore dropped Colorado off in front of the courtroom building and disappeared
without even nodding at the sergeant.

Colorado walked up the steps and opened the entrance door. His eyes locked with Sergeant Arnasao’s.

“Hello… Red Sleeves… it’s been quite a while since we’ve had a chance to talk… with you being on the board and all.”

Sergeant Colorado smiled; not too many people knew that the word
Colorado
was an Indian word meaning “red sleeves.” “I wanted to talk to you earlier, but I didn’t want to risk compromising my position
on the board. We still have to be careful.”

“I understand.” Arnasao had seen the look on the jeep driver’s face when he had stopped to let Colorado out in front of the
building. “That MP who dropped you off looked mighty pissed at you.”

“Really?” Colorado hadn’t caught the look Moore had flashed at him.

“Are you still running recon in ’Nam?” Colorado changed the subject.

“Yeah… I’ve got the best recon team in the country.”

“You always were good at training them.”

“A lot has to do with the spirit of the men you get.” Colorado nodded. “Like that kid Barnett.”

“He’s one of the best!”

“Good man?” Colorado’s voice lowered just a bit, but Arnason caught the difference.

“The
best.”

Spencer and Woods stepped through the doors leading from the courtroom just as Colorado had asked the question and Arnasao
had answered. Spencer asked, “What’s
the
best?”

Arnasao smiled. “Oriental pussy.”

“Wrong!”
Spencer hooded his eyes. “I’m partial to round-eye pussy myself.”

“What do you know about pussy, Spencer? You’ve been laid only twice in your life!” Woods cuffed the back of Spencer’s head.

Spencer pointed his finger at Woods. “I’ve just about had enough of your shit… boy!”

“Ignore them, Colorado… they should be going into puberty pretty soon!” Arnasao grabbed the sergeant’s elbow and led him away
from the two grab-assing soldiers.

“They really are close, aren’t they?” Colorado looked back over his shoulder.

“War buddies… closer than brothers.” Arnasao leaned his rear end against the low ledge of the bank of French windows. “Are
you going back to ’Nam soon?”

Colorado shook his head slowly from side to side. He spoke to Arnasao, but his eyes were locked on the two highly decorated
soldiers. “No, I’ve put in my retirement papers.”

“You’ve got twenty in already?” Arnasao was surprised because Colorado looked too young to be retiring from the Army.

“Got me a small ranch that I’m looking forward to working.” Colorado’s eyes switched from the soldiers to the black MP standing
outside holding a dark blue gym bag.

One of the trial lawyers was standing at the far end of the open waiting area drinking a cup of machine coffee. He had a small
portable radio with him that he had set on the narrow window ledge so that he could listen to the morning news while he drank
his coffee and ate a honey bun. The announcer’s voice filled the long covered porch:

“This morning the Fayetteville police were called to the Heart of Fayetteville motel… the scene of a brutal double murder.
A well-known Fayetteville pimp and one of his homosexual hookers were found mutilated in one of the rooms this morning. The
police are looking for a black male suspect in his midtwenties, six foot tall and weighing one hundred and sixty pounds....
The suspect used the name of Spencer Barnett when he signed into the motel yesterday.... ”

Spencer’s head snapped toward the radio when he heard his name over the air.

“Weird shit.” Woods frowned and looked at Arnasao.

Colorado swallowed, reached over, and laid his hand on Arnasao’s shoulder. “We’ve got to talk, my friend.”

The members of the general court-martial board entered the room in single file for the reading of the charges and the sentencing
of Specialist Mohammed James. Sergeant Colorado was still a member of the board. The FBI and the CIA both thought that to
remove him now would alert everyone that something was wrong, and they wanted the assassin to expose himself. No one was sure
that Moore and Colorado were the only two people assigned to kill Spencer Barnett and, now, Mohammed James.

Major General Koch was visibly nervous when he look his seat. The building had been surrounded by infantrymen from the paratrooper
company that had been held in reserve, and dogs had been called in to search the whole building for bombs.

Spencer and Woods sat in the same seats that they had occupied for the whole trial; both of them had insisted on staying and
listening to the reading of the charges and the sentencing of James. The general understood how much it meant to Barnett and
to General Garibaldi to see justice performed and had agreed to their staying in the courtroom

Colonel Chan reviewed the official papers, making sure that everything was legal, and handed the package back to the court
clerk for the reading.

The courtroom was absolutely quiet as the charges and the findings were read. The reporters wrote rapidly on their pads as
the charges were covered. James had been found guilty on all counts under Articles 104, aiding the enemy; 105, misconduct
as a prisoner; and 106, spying. The clerk looked up and took a deep breath before continuing, “Specialist Mohammed James has
been found guilty of murder in three of the twenty-three charges against him under Article 118.”

A soft buzz spread across the courtroom and stopped just as suddenly as it had started when General Koch hit his gavel on
the table. “Quiet!”

James glared at the general sitting behind the long conference table. He would like just one minute in private with the pompous
honkie, just one minute alone! He turned his head and looked over to where Barnett was sitting and saw that Spencer had a
look of
pity in
his eyes. Anger boiled into every cell in James’s body. He could handle hate, but not
pity,
coming from a white man.

Major General Koch’s voice penetrated the red-hate veil that was forming around James’s body. “Specialist James… do you have
anything to say to the general court-martial board before we read your sentence?”

James heard his own voice speaking from somewhere outside his body. He struggled to his feet and tried shifting the ankle
and wrist chains so that he could stand more comfortably. “Yes… I did everything you have accused me of, and…I have done even
more! You devilbeasts can’t stop the black race this time!”

The black lawyer tried grabbing James’s arm to pull him back down in his seat.
“Shut up!”
he hissed.

James glared down at his Muslim-hired lawyer and then spit in his face. “White-trained monkey!”

The lawyer started to reach for James’s throat and was restrained by a pair of MPs. “You
are dead!… Wherever they put you, James.… You are dead!”
He was dragged out of the Courtroom.

James continued, “I am a Death Angel!” He turned to look in the direction of Spencer Barnett but his eyes didn’t focus. “I’ve
killed twenty-three devilbeasts and I will kill more! Go ahead and put me in your fucking prison… I’ll kill devil-beasts in
there!”

The media was having a field day. Reporters were holding up their microphones to get James’s words recorded and the two television
stations present were taping the whole event.

“I am a
Death Angel!”

One of the other black lawyers from Detroit pulled a long-bladed knife out of his briefcase and thrust it toward James but
was prevented from reaching him by an MP’s nightstick crashing down against his forearm.

General Koch hit the table with his gavel and yelled above the noise, “Clear this courtroom of everyone except James and his
defense attorney… and the trial counsels”—he looked over at Colonel Chan—“and the law officer.”

The MPs had started escorting the press and the spectators out of the building when the whole back of the courtroom turned
into a ball of flame. The blast pushed the massed people back against one another and the chairs in the room. The whole back
wall of the building disappeared in a ball of flame. Arnason reacted instinctively and covered Spencer with his own body.
Woods had been knocked backward out of his chair and lay semiconscious on the floor.

James’s reaction was automatic. He dove toward the MP sergeant who had the keys to his chains. James had watched the NCO put
the small keys in the right front pocket of his fatigue pants. It took James only a few seconds to remove his restraints and
grab the Army-issue .45 out of the sergeant’s holster. James didn’t hesitate: he jumped through the burning hole that used
to be the back wall of the courtroom.