Court Martial (5 page)

“Spencer, dammit!” The doctor lost his temper. “You’ve got to let some of these things out. You can’t live your whole life
building walls around yourself!”

“I answered your questions.” Spencer’s voice was soft. The doctor failed to realize that when the young soldier’s voice grew
soft, Spencer was becoming very dangerous.

“I already knew the answers to those questions!”

“Then why did you ask them?”

“Spencer...” The doctor was taking a long shot, “where did the scars on your legs and penis come from?”

Spencer slowly lifted his head off his knee and looked at the doctor. His eyes were narrow slits. His voice was a soft whisper.
“I’ve already told you that’s none of your business.”

“Do you realize that in less than a week, the President of the United States of America is going to present the Medal of Honor
to you in the White House Rose Garden? There will be hundreds of press people watching and the whole Joint Chiefs of Staff!”

The expression on Spencer’s face said
so what?

“I’ll tell you
so what!”
The doctor pointed his freshly lit cigarette at Spencer. “The President wants to be assured that you’re not going to have
a breakdown when that happens.”

“There’s one way to be
assured.”

“How’s that?”

“Don’t give me the medal.”

“You are crazy! You would turn down the Medal of Honor? Our nation’s highest valor award?”

“Yep I just did.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. If that’s what it takes for you and all the rest of these fucking people to leave me alone… it’s fine with me.”
Spencer smiled. “You keep your medal and release me from this hospital.”

“What is your problem!”

“I already told you…
you
for one.” Spencer clenched his teeth. “Do you really think I would sit here and spill my guts out to you? Come on, Doc! How
dumb do you think I am? You come on like you’re my best friend… I can tell you anything—right? Sure… I
could
tell you anything and within a matter of hours it would be the talk of the whole damn hospital
and
appear in the
Enquirer
before the week is out!”

“My professional ethics won’t allow that.”

“Bullshit! You have to write a report, right?”

“That report is confidential.”

“You, Doctor, are dumber than I thought. If the President is interested in
this
white trash from South Carolina, so is the press, and your ‘confidential’ report
will be
common knowledge.”

Spencer had made a good point and the psychiatrist knew it. He also knew that Spencer didn’t have the slightest idea how much
pressure was on the military because of the upcoming trial of Mohammed James. Civil rights groups were beginning to hear rumors
of the court-martial and letters were being written by the thousands from blacks around the country to congressmen and the
President, claiming scapegoating of the black soldier. There were even claims that Spencer Barnett was the traitor along with
General Garibaldi. Those claims came from a prominent black minister in Detroit who had a very large following.

“Will you talk to me if I promise not to write a report?” The psychiatrist was making a last-ditch attempt to find out what
was going on inside Spencer’s mind.

“I’m
talking
to you right now.”

“About the scars…”

”
No
.”

“Spencer, I’ve reviewed all the reports on you since you first entered the foster-care program back in South Carolina. I have
the staff reports on you for every day that you spent in the juvenile home. I
know
about your assault on the social workers and your constant fighting with the black kids in the home. You have a very
well-established
hatred for blacks!”

“So, I hate black? So what?”

“Specialist James’s defense attorneys also have access to that information and they’ll use it in court.” The doctor was playing
his aces. “And James has two of the best law firms in the country representing him.... God only knows where he got the money
to pay them.”

Spencer’s eyes opened again and he smiled. “So that’s what this is all about?”

“Yes.” It was the doctor’s turn to be honest.

“You’re worried that I might screw up the trial.”

“Yes.”

“Well, have no fear. You can
report
back to your leaders that Corporal Spencer Barnett will not fail them! You have a pro here! I’ve been fucked with by the
very best… I mean the very best motherfuckers in the
world!
And none of them have
broken
Spencer Barnett!”

“Spence… we all admire you....”

Barnett jumped off the windowsill and pointed his finger at the psychiatrist. “Don’t
you ever
call me Spence. Only my friends call me by that name! And you’re not a friend! Now get out of here and go fuck with someone
else’s mind.” Spencer was starting to breathe heavily. “You don’t understand, do you? I’ve had a hell of a lot tougher emotional
vampires try to feed off me than you! You’ve read their
reports.
You heard what
they
had to say, so why mess with me?”

“I want to hear
your
side of the stories.”

“Oh? Well that’s a bit too late, isn’t it? I mean,
they won.
Did they tell you that the South Carolina juvenile system was ninety-five-percent
black?
Of course,
none
of those black boys had done a damn thing to be in the system… just us five percent whites. Did they tell you that some of
those fine black specimens of male pride tried holding me down one night to buttfuck me? Hell no! They wrote down in the report
that I attacked
five
seventeen-year-olds when I was fourteen! Right!” Spencer’s voice began to rise. “Did the report you read state that the staff
heard nothing? Nothing, that is, until one of the blacks ran over to his cage and asked for help. Yeah, I was flicking them
up. This white trash has a virgin asshole and it’s going to stay that way!” Spencer tapped his chest hard with his finger.

The psychiatrist was getting the reaction from Spencer that he wanted. The young soldier was finally talking.

“You don’t have to worry about me making an ass out of the brass. We’ve solved two of your problems here today, Colonel: I’ve
turned down your medal and I’ve assured you that I won’t do anything stupid, like call James a nigger in cowl. You’ve had
a very good day and maybe they’ll skip over bird colonel and make you a brigadier general for your service to your country!”

“Don’t be sarcastic.”

“Sarcastic? Me?” Spencer pointed at his chest. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted was to be left alone…
alone.”

“If you cooperate with me, I promise that you’ll be out of here within a month.”

“A
month!”

“Or less.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take a series of psychological tests.”

“No.”

“Then you’ll be in here a lot longer than a month.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I don’t think so.” Spencer went to his bed and laid down with his hands laced behind his head. He looked up at the
ceiling. “I’ll be out of here before the week is over.”

“Really? You know that 1 have an awful lot to say about that.” The psychiatrist ground out his cigarette butt in his coffee
cup.

Spencer closed his eyes, ending the session. “You can turn your tape recorder off now, I’m done talking.”

The shocked expression on the doctor’s face went unnoticed by the patient. The FBI agents had assured him that the tape recorder
under the loose doctor’s smock would not be noticed by Barnett and it hadn’t. Spencer had guessed that the doctor was wearing
a tape recorder by the way the
man sat in the
chair and the uncomfortable way he had twisted when the machine became warm or the tape pulled against his skin.

The doctor hurried out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Spencer waited until he was sure the doctor had left and then sat up on the bed. He reached under his pillow and removed the
letter he had just received from his old recon teammate. He had read the letter at least a dozen times. The familiar handwriting
eased the loneliness he was feeling. If it weren’t for Mary, he really would have gone crazy a long time ago. Spencer opened
the letter and started reading:

Hello, Spence!

I hope you’re getting better. We were beginning to worry there for a while and then we got your letter. Screwing a nurse!
I’m proud of you, boy! You southern boys are really sneaky, I bet she didn’t even know she had been laid until you started
into your short strokes.

The war is still going on. I miss having you watching my rear!

Spencer reread the last sentence. He missed being back in Vietnam with Sergeant Arnason and David Woods.

They busted Shaw and Simpson but the VC killed both of them before the MPs could arrest them. You won’t believe this shit
but Simpson was buying his dope from two VC officers! No shit! Kirkpatrick got wasted. It’s a long story that I’ll save until
we can talk face to face.

They gave us some new guys on RT BAD NEWS. We lucked out and got some good men. Sanchez is a hard ass from down south and
has proved himself already under fire. Warner is a rich and I mean a rich fucker from Michigan. A place called Bloomfield
Hills. He’s cool. I’ve never seen a man so good in the jungle. I mean it’s
impossible
for him to get lost. We got a Polack named Koski too. I think you’d like him the best. The guy is recon all the way!

Arnason made sergeant first class! How about that shit! I made buck sergeant, but it’s no big deal. They were talking about
giving me my own team, but between you and me, I want to stay witharnason until my tour is up.

We had a big fucking fight up in Khe Sanh. Mark my words, that fucking place is going to blow apart one of these days. The
brass used our recon company and a company from the Marine Force Recon Battalion as a screen along the border. The NVA curled
our flanks and kicked a lot of ass. It turned into a big fucking fight. I could have used you there.

The last six words of the paragraph stayed in front of Spencer’s eyes:
I could have used you there.
He looked out the window and whispered to himself, “I could have used you there. Oh man, how I wished I
was
with you, Dave!” Spencer started crying. A large tear dropped down on the paper and smudged the ink. Spencer finished the
letter.

Oh! Before I forget! Sergeant McDonald flew in from Nha Trang (he told me to tell you hello). I don’t know what they talked
about (Arnason isn’t talking) but it had a lot to do with you and James. I hear he’s some kind of psychopathic killer or something.
I didn’t like the motherfucker when he was here and I don’t like him now.
You watch out for him—hear!
McDonald said that he was flying back to Washington, D.C. as a witness in James’s court-martial (I know he’ll look you up
when he does) andarnason might fly back with him. Who knows, they might take me along too!

I hear that you’ve won the Big One! Congratulations, I know you’ve earned it.

Well, Spence, the war calls.

Your war brother,

Sergeant
David

P.S. Eat your fucking heart out,
Corporal!

“Fucking leg, motherfucker!” Spencer spoke affectionately under his breath to a pigeon that had landed on his windowsill and
was pecking at the pieces of toast Spencer had broken up and placed there for the birds. “This corporal will run circles around
his sergeant ass!” The bird cocked its head, ready to fly away. Spencer looked at the bird and reached up to wipe the tears
off his cheeks. “Well! Are you going to eat or just stand there fucking staring at me?” The bird pecked at a piece of toast
in response to the soldier’s question.

The door opened and Mary stepped in. “Are you busy?”

“A little.” Spencer kept his back to her.

“Do you want me to come back?” She saw his shiny cheek and knew that he had been crying.

“Could you give me a couple of minutes alone?”

“Sure. I’ve got to check on a cancer case down the hall… a retired lieutenant general. He’s not hard to deal with at all,
but his wife is a bitch!” Mary went back to the door pretending that she hadn’t noticed Spencer’s tears. “I’ll be back in
about twenty minutes… okay?”

“That’ll be fine.”

The door closed behind the nurse.

The two children walked down the hallway on each side of the medium-height man. Mary looked up from her duty desk and smiled.
The children were cute. The boy’s hair was brushed and slicked down for the hospital visit and the girl wore her light brown
hair pulled back in a ponytail. The children smiled up at the nurse when the man stopped in front of the counter.

“Excuse me, could you direct me to Spencer Barnett’s room?” The man smiled, showing a set of pearl-white teeth.

Mary looked closely at the trio. She could see that they were all mixed blood and figured they were Amerasians. She was right
in one of the cases, but the children were Eurasians from Vietnam. The man was from Korean stock. “I’m sorry, but Corporal
Barnett is not allowed visitors, especially little ones.” She saw the look of disappointment appear on the children’s faces.
“I’m really sorry, kids.”

The man reached up and removed a folded pass from his shirt pocket and handed it to the nurse. She read the special-permission
slip for the trio to visit with Spencer and smiled as she handed it back. “Signed by the hospital commander, no less! You
have powerful friends.”

The man shrugged and smiled. “A couple, I guess.”

“I’m on my way to his room right now, let me guide you.” Mary reached down and took the little girl’s hand and the pair of
them led the way down the corridor to room 131.

Spencer looked up from his bed where he had propped his pillows against the headboard and lay staring out the window at the
fluffy white clouds that were riding a stiff breeze. Trung tugged away from Mary’s hand and ran to his bed. She crawled up
and hugged the familiar figure. Jean-Paul jumped up on the opposite side and wrapped his arms around Spencer’s other side.