by Greg Iles
“What were you doing there at that place and time?” Shad asks the major.
“I had been flying a Lockheed Shooting Star for the air force. The F80 was designed as an air-to-air fighter, but on November twenty-fifth the Chinese troops that had secretly flooded over the border hit the Second Division and overran all the American positions, so we were pressed into service in a ground support role—”
“Penn?” whispers my mother. “They shouldn’t be able to bring Korea into this trial, should they?”
“No.”
“Then why doesn’t Quentin stop Johnson?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why doesn’t Tom tell him to stop this?”
Mom’s right. Quentin should be objecting like crazy. Yet even though Judge Elder knows this testimony should be inadmissible, he wants to hear what Major Powers has to say. The jury does, too. That’s why Quentin isn’t objecting. He doesn’t want to be seen as trying to hide any part of the truth. By refusing to protest, he’s saying, We’re all here to get to the bottom of things, so to hell with the rules. We’re not afraid of what anybody has to say.
“I think Dad and Quentin are on the same page, Mom.”
“Then you’ve got to stop it.”
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“You’re on the legal team, aren’t you?”
“Technically.”
“Then object!”
“Dad doesn’t want me to do that.”
“I want you to. I’m telling you to do it. Your father’s not thinking straight.”
“And how did you come to meet Dr. Cage in Korea?” Shad asks from the podium.
“Mom, I’ll help you get Quentin fired at the next recess, but I’m not going to create a scene that might be damaging to Dad by getting into a fight with Quentin in front of the jury.”
She closes her eyes as though to block out the exchange occurring before her.
“On November twenty-eighth,” answers the major, “my aircraft was hit by ground fire, and I had to crash-land the plane. Chinese troops were trying to get to me when some stragglers from a shattered American infantry unit pulled me out of the cockpit and took me with them.
“I’d sustained serious injuries to my legs, but with the massive attack under way, there was no way to get me to a MASH unit, or even a collecting station. The marines had been hit at Chosin Reservoir by this time, and they were holding up pretty well, but the army was in chaos across the peninsula. There was only one road leading south through the mountains from the Eighth Army’s Ch’ongch’on River positions. After some hours, I was loaded into a box ambulance that was part of a massive convoy trying to retreat down that road. We could only move vehicles in small groups because the Chinese controlled the high ground on both sides of the pass, which had become known as the Gauntlet.”
“Please continue.”
“Dr. Cage was the medic tending the wounded in the back of the ambulance. Conditions in the vehicle were pretty horrific. Men lying above were defecating and urinating on the men below them. Not what you’d expect in the American army. There were seven other wounded, plus myself. They were from two army units that had been virtually wiped out. Anyway, our turn to run the Gauntlet came after midnight on November thirtieth. I guess that makes it December first. About ten minutes into our run, Chinese machine guns opened up from both sides of the road. Our driver was hit, along with some of the wounded, and the ambulance went over the shoulder and rolled two hundred feet into a gorge.”
Major Powers has the jury; nothing rivets civilians like a true war story. But I have a feeling my father isn’t the hero of this tale.
“Were any soldiers killed during this incident?” Shad asks.
“Yes. Two by gunfire, and two more by the subsequent crash. The driver sustained serious injuries and was trapped under the steering wheel.”
“Do you know what the driver’s name was?”
“Yes. Private Walter Garrity.”
Shad glances over his shoulder as though looking for Walt. Major Powers follows his gaze. I do, too, but I see no sign of my old friend.
“What happened after the ambulance came to a stop?” Shad asks.
“When the smoke cleared, five men were left alive in back, including myself and Private Cage. Cage checked the condition of the driver, who was screaming in pain.”
“What was the condition of the other men?”
“Dire. They were moaning more than screaming, I guess. They’d all been gravely wounded before being loaded into the ambulance. The accident only aggravated their injuries.”
“But they were conscious?”
“All but one. He had a head wound, and he was in and out. Everyone was in shock at this time.”
“What happened next?”
“Private Cage freed the driver from the front, which was a painful ordeal. Private Garrity turned out to be a medic as well. At this point, both medics climbed into the back and assessed the wounded. It was obvious that none of the survivors could move under our own power, or bear stretchers. One of the boys’ legs had been shattered by bullets. Another was paralyzed from the waist down. Private Cage then told Private Garrity that he was going to try to climb back up to the road and get help. Private Cage had some minor wounds from an earlier engagement, but he was the only man healthy enough to make the attempt.”
“What happened next?”
“Cage left the ambulance, then returned approximately forty minutes later. He said that the only American vehicles left on the road were wrecks filled with dead, and the Chinese on the heights were still firing at anything that moved.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Frankly, I’ve never been sure he went up that cliff at all. But that’s just my opinion.”
“What happened then?” Shad asks.
“Private Cage asked Garrity to go outside to hear his report, which he did. For privacy, I’m sure, but we all heard it. The two medics decided that help was unlikely to arrive before the wounded in the back expired.”
“You heard this conversation clearly?”
“Yes.”
“Could the other wounded men?”
“Yes. The iffy one had slipped into a coma while Cage was gone.”
“What was the reaction of the conscious soldiers?”
“Panic, among the two who were alert.”
“And your reaction?”
“I was praying, to be honest. Praying for strength. For myself and the medics.”
“What happened then?”
“One of the wounded called out to Private Cage. He begged not to be left behind.”
“Had Private Cage or Private Garrity made any mention of leaving the ambulance at that time?”
“No. But the situation was clear to everybody. I had a broken femur, and the others were worse off than I was. Climbing a cliff was out of the question. The medics were the only men who had a chance of getting out of that gorge under their own power.”
“All right. Go on.”
“The medics climbed back inside and gave us their version of the situation.”
“Which was?”
“Help was unlikely to arrive before the men died of their wounds or hypothermia. Capture by the enemy was highly likely. That might mean torture, if the rumors we’d been hearing were correct.”
“What happened next?”
“Both medics stated that they intended to leave the ambulance and try to reach an American unit. Their stated goal was to bring back assistance.”
I hear a collective intake of breath from the crowd behind me.
“Both medics?” Shad asks. “Not just one?”
“That’s correct.”
“Wasn’t it their duty to stay with the wounded?”
“I thought so. They obviously didn’t.”
“So they meant to abandon you where you lay?”
Powers sniffs. “They did offer to instruct me on how to inject morphine, which I already knew from survival training. They said they
would place the other wounded within my reach.”
“That was nice of them.”
“Wasn’t it?”
When Quentin doesn’t object to this obvious sarcasm, I almost come out of my chair.
“What happened next?”
“One boy kept begging not to be left behind, but the other one had calmed down. He told the medics he’d rather be killed by his own men than captured by the enemy. I could tell that a lot of stories about torture had circulated among the ground troops.”
“So this soldier asked to be killed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the other?”
“I could see that once the idea was broached, the second boy began considering the same desperate choice.”
“What happened then?”
“I told the medics that I knew what they were thinking, and that they couldn’t do it. It would be murder. Cold-blooded murder.”
“What was their response?”
“Private Garrity said it was up to each soldier to make his own choice.”
“And then?”
Major Powers shakes his head slowly. “The two conscious boys chose to be injected with a fatal dose of morphine.”
Shad nods as though in grave appreciation of Powers having to relive this moment. “And the unconscious one?”
“He was from the same unit as one of the conscious boys. The same hometown. That boy said the one in the coma would choose the same fate if he could. Private Cage didn’t want to inject an unconscious man, but the two others persuaded him to do it. My words counted for nothing. I quoted scripture to them, but it fell on deaf ears.”
A black woman in the jury utters a sound I can only describe as lamentation.
“Were the soldiers in fact given a lethal dose of morphine?”
“They were.”
“Who injected them?”
“Private Cage.”
A muffled groan comes from someone in the jury. This time Judge Elder throws a glare at the jury box.
“All three men?” Shad asks.
“Yes. Garrity had a broken shoulder and felt he couldn’t do a professional job. But he was in full agreement with the decision.”
“Did the medics leave the ambulance immediately after Cage gave the injections?”
“No. They waited until all three men fell unconscious.”
“Did they say anything to you?”
“They said that if they made it out alive, they’d come back with help.”
“Did you say anything to them?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I told them they were both going to burn in hell, but that I would see them in Leavenworth first.”
Shad turns and looks straight at the jury, as though to be sure they have understood the full import of what has been related to them. “All right. What happened to you after Cage and Garrity left?”
“I watched those poor boys die. Then I slowly froze for about ten hours. Cage had piled some blankets on me, but I ended up losing four toes to frostbite anyway.”
“Who got you out?”
“The Chinese finally sent a patrol down to check the wreck. They hauled me up the cliff with a rope rig, then slowly passed me up the line to a Chinese prison camp for interrogation.”
“All right, Major. Were there ever any repercussions for what had happened in the ambulance?”
“Yes. After about a month in captivity, I was traded back to our side for a Chinese MiG pilot who’d been shot down. As soon as I got back to South Korea, I reported what had happened to my commander and filed a formal complaint against both Cage and Garrity.”
“What was the result of your efforts?”
“Nothing.”
Shad looks incredulous. “Nothing?”
“A lot of angry phone calls passed between the air force and army brass, but the long and the short of it was, the whole episode was swept under the rug for political reasons.”
“What political reasons?”
“General MacArthur had made a terrible blunder by pushing his forces so far north and triggering China’s entry into the war. His whole command was in disarray. He wasn’t about to let a scandal like what happened in that ambulance break in the stateside press. So he buried it. Cage and Garrity got off scot-free, and I was told to forget it ever happened.”
“And did you?”
Despite his rigid composure throughout his testimony, the major’s chin quivers now. He has been waiting fifty-five years for this moment. “I’ll see those poor boys on my deathbed, Mr. Johnson.”
Shad looks over at the jury as though asking if they have any questions, but the horror and disgust on their faces is plain. They have heard all they need to, it seems. I have questioned many witnesses in my time, and a few were like Major Powers. They’d lived for decades with a memory that had festered in them like an abscess, and then, unexpectedly, a chance presented itself for them to walk into a witness box and have a prosecutor lance that abscess for them. And in most of those cases, the testimony that came pouring out was devastating.
“Your witness, Mr. Avery,” Shad says, unable to disguise the triumph in his voice.
Quentin is whispering something in my father’s ear.
Judge Elder says, “Mr. Avery?”
Quentin looks up as though surprised. “Your Honor?”
“Do you have any questions for this witness?”
“No. No questions, Judge.”
As the whole crowd murmurs in amazement, Judge Elder looks down at Quentin as though he has truly lost his mind.
Why has Quentin allowed this? I wonder. For the first time I consider standing to cross-examine a witness. Could I possibly make up some ground with Major Powers? How? I’ve had no time to prep, and my father never told me anything about the episode in the ambulance, or anything else about his wartime experience. Besides, once Quentin allowed Powers’s story to be told, the damage was done.
“You’re free to go, Major,” Judge Elder says.
Major Powers gets to his feet and marches toward the center aisle with military precision. As he passes the defense table, he pauses, looks down, then hawks and spits on my father’s chest.
No one makes a sound. No one except my mother, who emits a soft and desolate cry.
Major Powers stands his ground, as though daring Dad to rise and fight him, but my father merely looks back at him and says, “I’m sorry, Major.”
The pilot shakes his head with contempt, then walks down the aisle as though he can’t wait to get out of the state of Mississippi.
As Quentin takes a handkerchief from his coat pocket and begins wiping my father’s coat and shirt with it, pandemonium erupts in the courtroom. In the balcony I see Serenity on her feet, both hands on the rail, her eyes locked on mine as she slowly shakes her head. When Judge Elder orders a ten-minute recess so that my father can clean up, my mother sags against me, but I jump up and pull Jenny into my seat to support her. I have time for only one thing now.
Firing Quentin Avery.
Chapter 40
The crowd of spectators stunned silent by Major Powers spitting on my father are now on their feet and swirling in place like too many cattle forced into a pen. My first instinct is to pass the bar and go straight to Quentin, but a sheriff’s deputy blocks my way. Over his shoulder I see the bailiff leading Quentin and my father out of the courtroom through the judge’s chambers. With the chaos behind me, it’s not hard to see why. As the jury members file into the jury room, George Dobson, the circuit clerk, calls something to the deputy blocking my way, then beckons me into the well of the courtroom.
“What the hell’s going on in this trial, Penn?” he asks in an urgent whisper. “Thurgood Marshall’s just about got your daddy in the penitentiary. Two days ago I didn’t think Shad had a chance in hell of convicting Doc. But if that jury had to vote right now . . . Is Avery all there, or is it time for the nursing home?”
“I’m afraid it’s the latter.” I grab the cler
k’s forearm. “If I can get to him before this break is over, I’m going to fire him. Can you get me out through the judge’s chambers? If I have to fight my way through this crowd, I’ll never catch Quentin in time.”
“I’d call that a critical mission.” Dobson looks over his shoulder at the guarded door. “Give it fifteen more seconds, then I’ll take you through.”
“Thanks, George. I owe you.”
Even after being led to the broad hallway between the circuit court and the chancery court via the judge’s chambers, I find myself in the midst of a milling crowd. Rising onto tiptoe, I catch sight of Quentin’s wheelchair rolling into the tax assessor’s office, a deputy walking escort. Casting aside the good manners I was raised with, I bull through the crowd and cover the distance to the door of the tax assessor’s office. Through the glass in the door I see a secretary I’ve known since I was a teenager. Spying me, she tilts her head toward the door to the assessor’s private office.
As I reach for the knob, the deputy who escorted Quentin starts to challenge me, but after recognizing me and seeing the look in my eye, he backs off.
“Mrs. Evans,” I say, “we might get loud in there.”
The secretary picks up her purse and comes around the desk. “Of course, Mr. Mayor. I have an errand to run anyway. Please just lock the door when you leave.”
“I will.”
Opening the inner door, I see Quentin seated at the window of the private office, looking out at the Eola Hotel four blocks away.
“I told you it was going to get worse before it gets better,” he says. Then he turns to me, and I see fatigue and pain in his eyes. The shock of white hair looks less theatrical from up close, and more the result of old age.
“Go ahead,” he says with resignation. “Speak your piece.”
Only then do I notice Doris standing in the corner of the office, looking as though she’s been crying.
“I gave you half a day,” I say evenly. “Your time’s up.”
“I haven’t even given my opening statement.”
“You’re not going to give it. You’re done, Quentin. I’m sorry.” I look over at Doris, who appears profoundly shaken. “That man should never have been allowed on the stand.”
