Court Martial (25 page)

Spencer pushed Arnason’s body off him and struggled to his feet. He saw Woods on the floor and saw that he was breathing.
Arnason had a four-foot-long piece of wood siding sticking out of his back. Spencer turned in time to see James leaping through
the flames.

Red Wolf Moore stood behind the jeep-mounted M-60 machine gun and sprayed the area around the courtroom. The infantry company
had assumed that because there were so many of them and the MPs had secured the whole Camp McCall area, there was no need
even to load their weapons. The error was disastrous. Soldiers were dying by the dozens. There was no place for them to take
cover. Red Wolf was laughing as he raked the ranks of paratroopers with the deadly fire from the machine gun. The first belt
of ammunition was used up in seconds. He reached down to load another 250-round belt, giving the infantry company commander
a chance to fire his .45 caliber pistol. The first round went through Red Wolf’s cheek and lodged against his upper teeth.
He turned and stared at the man who dared shoot him and then growled. His hand slammed down the cover on the machine gun.
The second round hit him in his chest and he slumped over the black-painted weapon, streaking his blood on the hot barrel.
The smell of his own blood baking reached his nostrils first. The captain fired again and Red Wolf dropped down on his knees,
his fingers fighting to reach the trigger of his weapon. The captain ran over to the side of the MP gun jeep and emptied his
pistol into the body of the Death Angel.

“You fucking bastard! You bastard!… You bastard!” The captain dropped to his knees and held his hands up to his face to hide
his tears. “You… fucking bastard!”

James ran through the smoke and found himself up against the perimeter fence that separated Camp McCall from the swamp that
surrounded a portion of the Special Forces training area. He stepped over to one of the steel posts that supported the Cyclone
fence with the row of concertina wire that had been recently strung along the top. He didn’t hesitate and reached up with
his hand to lift the wire off the post. The engineers who had laid the wire had been under a lot of pressure to get the job
done, and in their rush they hadn’t tied the wire down to the support posts. The concertina bounced, fell off the top of the
fence, and hit the ground. James dropped down off the top of the fence and pushed himself away from the pole so that he wouldn’t
land on the wire. He remained crouched on the pine needles and sand while he oriented himself. The infantry guards had not
bothered setting up outposts in the swamp because they didn’t think anyone would risk trying to infiltrate through the snakes,
quicksand and mud.

Spencer saw James climb the fence and started running toward him. When he saw the handle of the .45 sticking out of James’s
belt, he dropped to the ground, then ducked behind a building and watched to see which direction James would take.

James disappeared into the thick stand of pine trees that circled the edge of the marsh area leading into the swamp.

Spencer searched the area around him for a weapon and saw none. He had to move fast or he would lose James. He ran over to
where James had scaled the fence and pulled himself to the top before pausing to look back toward the courtroom. The whole
area was in a state of confusion. Spencer heard the steady fire coming from an M-60 machine gun and thought that the gunner
needed lessons on how to fire the weapon. As he dropped down to the ground and started running toward the woods, he was breathing
heavily and the cool air he inhaled made his teeth cold. Spencer closed his mouth and felt for a second the coolness against
his front teeth before he smiled. He might get his wish and be able to tear James’s throat out with his teeth. They were the
only weapons he had with him as he disappeared into the North Carolina swamp.

Spencer became the ultimate recon man the instant he touched the shadows of the thick stand of trees. He was dressed in a
set of short-sleeved khakis that were already mud covered. He paused next to a shallow stream and checked the banks for the
direction James had taken. The broken branches of a large purple loosestrife plant that overhung the stream gave Spencer the
information he needed. The bees circling the purple flowers gave Spencer additional information: James had only recently passed
the plant. Spencer scooped up handfuls of the black mud that bordered the sandy stream bottom and rubbed the thick paste over
his bare arms and around his neck to keep the hordes of mosquitoes away. Spencer smiled to himself and used three fingers
on each of his hands to mark streaks of mud warpaint on his cheeks before taking off to follow James.

Major General Garibaldi was the first one to recover from the explosion in the courtroom after James and Spencer had left.
He saw the weathered piece of siding sticking out of Arnasao and knew instantly that the sergeant was dead. Woods was shaking
his head, trying to clear his vision. The whole court-martial board was lying on the floor, and the loud chatter from a light
machine gun outside the building kept the occupants kissing the polished floor. Garibaldi scooted over to Woods and lifted
his chin with his index finger. “You all right, son?”

Woods nodded. “Yeah…. How about—” He saw Arnasao lying on the floor. “Sarge!”

Garibaldi grabbed Woods’s shoulders. “He’s dead, son.”

“No!” Woods tore away from the general and struggled to his sergeant’s side. “Oh
no!
He survived Vietnam to die here?”

Major General Garibaldi understood what Woods was saying and nodded sadly in agreement. It was very ironic.

The sound of the machine gun stopped outside the building and the low-frequency popping sound of a .45 replaced it.

Woods suddenly stopped trying to shake Arnasao awake and looked around the courtroom. His eyes were filled with panic. “Spencer!
Spencer!
”

Garibaldi instantly joined Woods and began searching the rubble for Spencer.

“Spencer!”
Woods ran to the hole in the back of the building and stepped outside.
“Spencer!
”

James slowed his pace. He knew that if someone had seen him leave the camp, they would have opened fire or tried to follow
him. He smiled to himself. He was free. All he had to do was remain calm and work his way out of the swamp and then hitchhike
back to Detroit. He had a lot of debts to pay back. James stopped walking. The stream bottom began to get deeper suddenly
as the
shallow stream joined up with a wider flow of water. He looked for dry land but couldn’t see any except for the dense clumps
of undergrowth that bordered the waterway. He decided on wading across the wide-open, stump-filled expanse of water to what
looked like a decent-sized island that was covered with tall loblolly pines. The water reached his midchest before it began
receding again. He was glad, because he really didn’t want to have to dog paddle in the brackish water.

James was about ten feet from the island when the water roiled about twenty meters away. A five-foot alligator made its escape
into the swamp lagoon.

“Fuck!” James tried running out of the bog and tripped over the submerged roots of long-dead trees. He fell face first into
the brown water and rose almost instantly at a full run. He didn’t stop until he was a dozen feet up on dry land and then
whirled around, holding the .45 out toward the water. “Motherfucker!” He was angry and embarrassed over being afraid of the
alligator. James stood up and screamed,
“Motherfucker!”

Spencer stepped out from the overhanging bushes that bordered the stream entrance to the swamp lagoon just as James screamed
at the alligator. He saw James exactly at the same instant
as
James saw him.

The .45 echoed against the trees. A large hunk of rotting wood tore loose from a dead tree a foot above Spencer’s head as
he stepped back under cover.

James didn’t need to be told who the man was wearing the filthy khakis. He knew almost instinctively that it was Barnett.

“Come on! Come on, motherfucker!” James fired two more rounds at the spot where Spencer had disappeared.

There was no way that he could cross the swamp lagoon now that James had seen him, so Spencer backtrailed for a hundred meters
and broke through the underbrush. Less than fifty meters from the stream, the ground started to rise and dry out. Spencer
turned to his left and started jogging between the trees and low shrubs. He heard a couple of wild pigs grunt and escape into
the bushes to his right. A large oak tree occupied a small clearing where the pigs had been feeding on acorns. Spencer grabbed
a low limb and started climbing as fast as he could up the trunk. The climbing was made easy because of the huge limbs and
sparse leaves on the old tree. He stopped climbing when he was high enough to see above the scrub pines. Spencer could see
the black column of smoke coming from Camp McCall and the power lines cutting through the high ground of the swamp a mile
away. There was a finger of taller pine trees that intersected the power lines from where Spencer sat in the tree. He could
hear the occasional sound of a car passing by in the distance and figured that a highway ran parallel to the power lines.
James would stay on the high ground and head toward the road. Spencer was almost sure he wouldn’t venture back into the swamp.
He had served on recon patrols with James and knew how the man operated. James always took the easy way out if given a choice.

Spencer picked a course through the swamp that would intersect with the path James would most likely take and dropped down
from the oak tree. He started running a mountain man’s pace to cover the extra distance he needed to circle around and get
ahead of James.

The military police and the infantry units took up guard positions around the courtroom building. Red Wolf Moore had killed
twelve infantrymen and wounded another thirty-six before he was killed by the captain. The Supreme Minister would have been
proud of him, except that he had failed to kill both of his assigned targets.

Major General Koch stepped out of the building and surveyed the carnage. “You mean to tell me that
one man
did all of this?” He couldn’t believe what the MP commander had told him.

“Yes sir.” The officer was visibly embarrassed. “We weren’t prepared for someone attacking from
inside the
camp, sir.”

“How did he get in here?”

Mr. Manning, from the FBI, spoke up. “He came in disguised as an MP escort to one of your board members.” “A board member!”
Koch was aghast.

“He was briefing us about his involvement when it happened.” Mr. Templar, from the CIA, nodded toward the building across
the street.

Koch’s eyes opened wide. Only one of the board members had been absent—Sergeant First Class Colorado. “He was helping him?”

Templar nodded. “But he had a change of heart and was trying to prevent the slaughter. We still have a lot of good information
from Sergeant Colorado about the source of these attacks and I think he’s going to be very useful.”

“I’ll have him court-martialed!” Koch was livid.

“We’ve already promised him immunity, General. We have to move very fast if we want to break up this operation.” Manning tightened
his jaws. “The FBI has suspected for a long time what Sergeant Colorado has confirmed for us… and it’s bigger than what you
see here, General—much bigger.”

Spencer felt his lungs tighten and a burning sensation in his throat. He wasn’t used to running and his hospital stay had
not given him the opportunity to develop his stamina, but he wasn’t going to let James escape.

James walked fast through the low shrubs over the thick layer of pine needles. Water oozed out of his shoes, making a sick
gushy sound. He held his .45 tightly in his hand and kept looking back over his shoulder.

James whispered to himself, “Come on, motherfucker… come on and die!” If he had known that Spencer was unarmed, the chase
would have been a short one, but he assumed that Spencer had picked up a weapon before following him.

The ground in front of James dipped but he could see that there was a wide strip of swamp between him and the high ground.
James did not like the idea of crossing the waterway, especially after having seen the alligator. He paused and searched the
area before taking a slow step into the brackish water. The water was tea colored but he could see the bottom, which made
him feel a lot better. James was correct in thinking that the portion of the swamp he was wading through was a large depression
in the ground that had been cut off from the rest of the swamp. If he had tried circling the water hole, he would have been
able to stay on dry land but he would have had to fight very heavy underbrush. He didn’t mind the water as long as he could
see the bottom and the area around him as he waded across.

The water reached a little bit above James’s crotch as he walked slowly through it. He tried walking on his tiptoes to keep
his black pride from getting wet. Psychologically, the idea of his testicles and penis being submerged bothered him.

James looked ahead of him as he walked and saw that the bottom of the water-covered depression was covered with a thick layer
of pine needles and decomposing oak leaves. A long, fat object appeared in the corner of his eye and he sucked in a lungful
of air. He could see that it was at least ten feet long and wide—very wide. James pointed his pistol and fired three rounds
before he caught himself. He was sure that it was a huge alligator swimming along the bottom. He fought the water against
his legs and struggled out onto the bank. A shiver traversed his spine and he turned around and fired two more rounds at the
submerged beast.

“Fuck you!” He shivered again. “You motherfucking bitch!” His voice was almost hysterical. James stood on the side of the
bank and watched as the water calmed down from the impact of the bullets and his passage. The shape of a large, dead tree
trunk appeared on the bottom of the tea-colored water.