The Last Hour

by Charles Sheehan-Miles

  Ray sat up, and his limbs moving as if he had lead in them, slumped into the witness chair. I watched him, my heart aching.

  Colonel Schwartz said, “Sergeant Sherman, as the accused, you have the right to make a sworn or unsworn statement. If you make a sworn statement, the trial counsel will have the opportunity to cross-examine you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you prefer to make a sworn statement, or unsworn?”

  “I’ll make a sworn statement.”

  Elmore audibly groaned. What the hell was Ray doing? Was he trying to throw his trial? Did he feel so guilty about what happened that he was going to throw himself to the wolves? Oh, God, Ray, don’t do this, I thought.

  “Please raise your right hand.”

  Ray did.

  “Do you swear, or affirm, to tell the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth.”

  “I do.”

  “You may proceed with your statement.”

  Ray swallowed, then reached out and poured himself a glass of water and took a sip. Then he said, “My name is Sergeant Raymond Sherman. I know we’ve been through all the details of what happened. I just have a couple things to say. First, even though I reported this thing, I guess I half expected it to come to this.”

  Oh, Jesus, I thought. I swallowed, staring at him.

  “Anyway. I just want to say; I don’t think Colton was in his right mind. None of us were. We all saw it ... he was falling apart.”

  Ray stopped speaking. And I was just in shock, flabbergasted. What kind of insane loyalty inspired him to defend Colton after all that? After Colton threatened to kill him and swore them all to secrecy about a murder? After Colton turned on him, accusing Ray of committing the crime in the first place. I didn’t understand it. At all.

  And then Schwartz said, “For the record, Sergeant, who killed the Afghan boy?”

  “Sergeant Colton.”

  “And who shot Sergeant Martin?”

  “Sergeant Colton.”

  Dick leaned forward, itching to ask questions. But the investigating officer, and then the prosecutors, got to go first.

  “Final question: did you make any attempt to stop Sergeant Colton?”

  Ray closed his eyes and then said, “Not enough of an attempt. I yelled. I told him to stop. But I didn’t intervene.” He swallowed.

  Schwartz turned to the prosecutors and said, “Trial counsel? Your witness.”

  The captain running the prosecution started to stand up, but Schwartz gave him a harsh look. He sat back down. He was young, late twenties maybe, and had longer hair than anyone I’d seen in the Army thus far. He looked at Ray, a frown on his face, and said, “Sergeant. The murder took place on March 24 of 2012. You reported it, by mail, in November 2012. Why did you wait that long?”

  Ray ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t have a good reason.”

  “Tell us what you can, Sergeant.”

  “I don’t know why. We were out there in the field for three more weeks before we rotated back to the battalion base camp. And I was dealing with a near mutiny from the new guys. They’d literally just come into the theater, and the first time out in the field we’ve got sergeants shooting each other, and ... the other fire team, when they took my weapons, they basically sent a signal to my team that I was as good as dead. It was three days before I got my rifle back.”

  “When we got back to the base camp, it was like ... unreal. I couldn’t get my mind around the fact that it had even happened. One of the new guys got blown away a couple weeks later, and then Sergeant Martin got hit and rotated out. So basically I was on my own. I ... I snuck into Colton’s office one day, and dumped all his email and pictures to a flash drive. And when I went through it ... fuck there were pictures of the kid in there.”

  “So you collected this information. And then what?”

  “I waited. And we rotated back to the United States. And I got my discharge, and as I was clearing the post, I put a report and the thumb drive in an envelope and dropped them in the mail. Then I got my discharge and walked away.”

  I wanted to walk over to Ray and pull him out of that chair and hug him. I couldn’t. He’d committed to this, and they weren’t finished with him yet.

  “Did you know the name of the boy?”

  “Kowalski called him Speedy. He played soccer. He was fast. A good kid.”

  The prosecutor leaned forward and said, “Sergeant Sherman. Do you feel at least partially responsible for the death of that boy?”

  Elmore jumped to his feet. “No. I object. Don’t answer that, Ray.”

  “Yes, I do,” Ray said. His face was grey as he spoke.

  Elmore turned to Schwartz. “Sir, I insist that statement be struck from the record, on the grounds of the Fifth Amendment. I don’t think my client understands what he’s doing here.”

  Schwartz shook his head. “First, I’m sure you’re aware I don’t have to make any rulings of any kind on objections, Major, and second, your client is well aware of his rights. I’ve explained them to him more than once, and I know you have too. However, if you wish to question the accused, please feel free. And Major?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Have a seat. Now.”

  Elmore sighed, frustration clear on his face, and Schwartz turned to the prosecutor. “Do you have any further questions for the witness, Captain Cox?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Major Elmore, your witness.”

  Elmore leaned forward and said, “Sergeant Sherman. How many minutes passed between the time Colton shot Sergeant Martin and the time he shot the boy?”

  Ray looked confused.

  “How many minutes?” Elmore repeated in a fierce, angry voice. “If you feel responsible, you must have had plenty of time to step in and intervene, right? How long was it, Sergeant?”

  “Not minutes. It wasn’t even seconds. He ... fired the one shot ... Martin went down, and then he swiveled and shot the kid. I never had a chance to do anything.”

  “All right then. What should you have done right afterwards? Did you shoot Colton?”

  Ray shook his head. “No. That’d be a fucking laugh for the Taliban, don’t you think, if we had a shootout between U.S. Army fire teams out there?”

  “So ... are you saying you couldn’t take Colton out at that time?”

  “Not without causing a complete meltdown of the platoon. I don’t know. Maybe I could have. I don’t know.”

  Elmore rolled his eyes. “No more questions.”

  Schwartz turned to the prosecutor. “Any more questions?”

  There were none, so Schwartz turned to Ray. “All right then. As you know, my role is to investigate and try to come to some conclusions about the events which took place, and then I’ll forward my recommendations to the Convening Authority, who will determine if a court-martial is necessary. As you know we have several accused in this case, and I expect to be at least four to six more weeks before I’ll be ready to submit my report. In the meantime, Sergeant Sherman, you may return to regular duties effective Monday. If we have any further questions, I’ll be in touch.”

  Well, did you? (Ray)

  Ten minutes later we were in Dick Elmore’s office, and I stepped back in shock when Carrie said, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Ray? Why did you do that?”

  I looked at her and shook my head. “I had to.”

  “I don’t get it. I don’t understand why you would risk yourself to defend Colton, after all that’s happened.”

  I swallowed. “It’s not about Colton. It’s ... it’s about me, all right? I didn’t see any choice. I can’t go into this without speaking for me, all right?”

  “You’re trying to get yourself convicted!”

  Elmore said, “You could have fooled me, Sherman. Don’t think they won’t use that against you at the court-martial. I can do my best to defend you against the prosecutor, but there’s nothing I can do to defend you from yourself, Ray. No more fucking stunts like that.�
�

  I took a deep breath and ran my hands through my hair. “All right, all right! Sorry. I won’t do it again.”

  Both of them looked at me skeptically, and I turned to Carrie and said, “Can we just get out of here?”

  Carrie and I barely spoke on the drive home. She was tense, even driving with her hands jerking at the wheel, overcompensating on the brakes. Finally, we got upstairs to the condo, thank God. I was afraid she was going to punch me on the elevator.

  She unlocked the door, her hands shaking, and stalked in, walking straight to the kitchen, where she started rummaging for something to drink.

  “Carrie? Are you all right?”

  “No!” she shouted. “My career is in limbo and you’re on trial and none of this was the life I wanted or expected or—shit!” Her voice broke in frustration.

  I leaned against the wall as she came stalking back into the living room, a beer in hand. “I have had it up to here with all of it, and then you had to go and do that today. And I’m just like, why? Don’t you care about us? Don’t you want to stay free?”

  I licked my lips. I didn’t know how to answer this. I didn’t know how to explain what it meant, why it was so important.

  “It’s ... not what you think, Carrie. The thing was, Colton really was insane. I mean, just fucking gone. But he was like my dad.”

  She slammed her beer bottle onto the table and said, “No! He was not like your dad. Your father would never turn around and accuse you of a crime that he committed. He betrayed you, Ray.”

  “God damn it!” I shouted. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “So you don’t owe him any fucking loyalty,” she screamed back. “It would be like, it would be like if I were to sit in front of Doctor Moore’s investigation and tell them I’d slept with Ayers!”

  I was so angry; the words that came out of my mouth were pure spite. “Well, did you?”

  Rage came over Carrie’s features, and before I could even react, she picked up the head, the bronzed looking antique head that always sat on the mantelpiece, and with a scream she threw it. I saw it coming and stepped quickly to the right, and tripped and fell on my ass beside the coffee table. The head missed me, and hit the sliding glass door with a huge crash. The door broke in to a million pieces, and Carrie collapsed to her knees.

  “Holy fuck,” I said, gasping.

  The head was on the balcony, and so was most of the door. I was shaking with shock and adrenaline. I looked over at her and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  She looked back at me, shock in her eyes, and said, “I can’t believe I just threw the head at you.”

  All I could say was, “It was kind of an ugly head.”

  She started to laugh, a sort of hysterical laugh.

  I started to get up, and she said, “Wait. Be careful, there’s glass everywhere.”

  Um, yeah, like I hadn’t noticed that.

  “I’ve got combat boots on, I’ll be fine. You stay over there.” I pulled myself into a standing position to assess the damage. Most of the glass had ended up on the balcony, except for one or two long, jagged pieces still hanging in the doorframe.

  “I think we’re going to need to get your door repaired, Carrie,” I said, in as calm a voice as I could muster. And then I turned, and walked over to her and pulled her to her feet.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. And I put my arms around her. Both of us were shaking.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “We’ll get a new door.”

  And then, miraculously, she started to laugh, and I did too, and then we were holding on to each other for dear life, laughing together.

  “Oh, God,” she said. “I can’t believe I did that.”

  “It’s all right, babe. We’re going to get through all this, and take a long vacation somewhere together. We have the rest of our lives ahead of us. Okay? This? Right now? It’s the worst it will ever get.”

  She sniffed and rested her head against my shoulder.

  “I love you, Ray. ”

  “I know.”

  She leaned back and squinted at me. “I can’t believe you did that!”

  I laughed. Whenever I quoted a cheesy line from Star Wars it always got a laugh from her.

  “Okay. Let me clean up the worst of the glass. You’re gonna have to call the building and make up something, I think.”

  I grabbed my heavy-duty gloves out of my duffel bag, and started picking up the worst of the glass and carefully leaning it up against the side of the balcony. And that’s when my phone rang.

  Damn it. I set down the last piece of glass, pulled off my glove, then stepped inside and answered the phone without looking at it.

  “Hello?”

  “Sherman,” the voice at the other end of the phone said. Whoever it was sounded drunk.

  “Yeah, who is this?” I asked.

  “Martin.”

  What the hell? Why was Martin calling me? Then I thought about today, and what he’d said during his testimony. His refusal to ask for a lawyer, his testifying to actions that might see him charged as well.

  “You okay, man?”

  “Fuck no,” he said. He was definitely drunk, and his voice sounded, I don’t know, distant. Sad. He didn’t sound like himself at all. Carrie looked over at me from across the room, concern on her face.

  “Ray, why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone, huh? Yeah, I know Colton was wrong, and I feel awful about that kid. But you know what? I’ve got kids too. And how the fuck are they supposed to grow up knowing that ... knowing…”

  “Martin, where are you?”

  “Doesn’t fucking matter. It’s where I’m going that matters. It’s where we’re all going. To hell.”

  I winced and said, “I don’t believe that. You did the right thing today.”

  “Sherman, you naive shit. You know what I did? I killed my military career. I branded myself a war criminal. I ended my fucking life. What chance do my kids have to a decent life when they’ve got me for a father.”

  Martin was starting to scare the crap out of me. I waved to Carrie and looked around for something to write on. I gestured, and she grabbed a pen and paper off the refrigerator.

  The pad of paper had a handwritten message she’d written to me this morning. “I love you GEEK,” it said, and had a heart underneath.

  I wrote, in large bold letters. “CALL DICK, AND 911. MARTIN. TALKING SUICIDE.”

  I was shaking. Martin continued, “Seriously. You know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t said anything? Not a goddamn thing. Speedy would still be dead. So would Kowalski and Weber and Roberts. Didn’t mean a goddamn thing. In fact, Speedy would be dead anyway, if not today then next year, the Taliban would have fucking either killed him or recruited him.”

  “Martin…” I said.

  “Shut the fuck up, Sherman. You know why? Because I don’t have shit now. What am I supposed to say? Dad’s going off to war again? And then he finds out I’m in prison?”

  Carrie was frantically dialing her cell phone, and pacing.

  “Listen, why don’t we get together for a drink and talk about it.”

  “We’re not getting together for shit, Sherman. You fucked us all. If we’d said something a year ago it would have been different. But we didn’t. You’re just as guilty of that as I am.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said.

  “Fuck off,” he said. “I’m doing the only thing I can now.” I heard, low in the background, the sound of a round being chambered in a pistol.

  “Martin, you don’t have to do this!”

  “Yeah, whatever. Tell that to my kid. Tell that to fucking Kowalski.”

  The shot when it came was eerie, a clicking sound, and I heard the shell eject from his pistol. The sound was too loud to be picked up by the microphone on his phone. But I heard the pistol fall, and then the phone hit the floor.

  I couldn’t help it. I let out a scream, and collapsed to the floor.

  Come to
Washington (Carrie)

  Major Janice Smalls stood across the living room from Ray, pacing. She turned back toward him and said, “So, did he actually say he was going to commit suicide?”

  Ray shrugged. It had taken me nearly twenty minutes to get him from the floor to the couch.

  In my life, I’ve never seen a grown man break down and cry. But whatever Ray heard on that phone call had broken him. He’d stayed on the floor, slamming his fist into it, his face twisted in rage, with the most horrible choking sounds coming out of his mouth while I held him as tightly as I could. It was an ugly, deathly painful grief, and I’d have done anything in the world to take it away from him.

  Now he sat, looking shell-shocked, his eyes unfocused, unclear, red-rimmed.

  “I told him we should get together for a drink and talk about it. And he said ... we weren’t going anywhere but hell. I tried to keep him talking and on the line.”

  He looked away from her. I passed to Smalls the pad of paper he’d written his note on. She looked at it and said, “So you called Major Elmore first?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I didn’t know where Martin was, so I thought that made the most sense.”

  She nodded. “It did. Martin was staying in the guesthouse at Fort Myers. Major Elmore got a hold of the base Provost Marshal’s office, but it was too late.”

  She sighed then said, “What a waste.” Her voice was grim as she said the words.

  She eyed the broken glass of the doorway, and the head that was sitting in the midst of it. “So, what happened in here?”

  Ray didn’t move, didn’t say anything. So I answered, “We’ve been under a little bit of stress. If anyone else ever asks this I’ll lie. But I threw the head at Ray.”

  Her eyes went to the head, and back to me. “A little bit of stress,” she said with a sigh. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you’re having to go through this.”

  Her sorry feelings weren’t going to do me or Ray any good.

  She sighed again. “There’s really nothing you could have done, Sergeant. But what you did do was the right thing. I’ll get out of your way now. If we have any more questions, I’ll let you know. The Fort Myers Provost Marshall will do the investigation, but they asked me to come see you given the circumstances.”