“Captain?” Tommy said.
“Morning, boys,” Townsend answered cheerily. “Sure as hell will be glad to get home to Virginia. Hell, here it is, nearly time for summer to show up, and it still feels like a damn winter morning. Why’s anybody want to live in this country, anyways? So, Tommy, y’all set for the opening act of our little show?”
“I could use more time,” Tommy replied.
“Well, seems to me you’ve been right busy, nonetheless,” Townsend replied. “And I don’t believe anyone is inclined to postpone matters none. Anyways, I wonder if you might just join me for a moment over yonder near Hut 122, where Colonel MacNamara would like a word or two prior to the start of this morning’s activities.”
Tommy raised his head, staring down the row of huts. Hut 122 was one of the most isolated barracks.
“Mr. Renaday, you may join us, as well.”
“Scott, too, if this is something about the case,” Tommy said.
Walker Townsend let a small look of annoyance slip across his face, before restoring the same easygoing grin. “Sure. That makes some sense. Gentlemen, I do believe we’re keeping the commanding officer waiting. . . .”
Tommy nodded, and they followed Townsend through the early morning light and cold. After a few yards, Tommy slightly slowed his pace. He made a small head gesture to Hugh Renaday, who read his motion perfectly, accelerated, and stepped up beside the prosecutor, instantly breaking out into a loud, “I’ve never been to Virginia, captain. You ever been up to Canada? We like to think that when God made the other countries, He was just practicing, but when He made Canada, He’d got it right, finally. . . .” At the same time, Tommy dropped a step or two back, and Lincoln Scott, seeing the shift in positions, hovered closely.
“This little meeting isn’t supposed to be happening, Hart,” the black airman said. “Right?”
“Precisely. Keep your eyes and ears open . . .”
“And my mouth shut?”
Tommy shrugged as he nodded. “It rarely hurts to play one’s cards close to the vest.”
“That’s a white man’s attitude, Hart. In my situation, or circumstances, you might say, well, it rarely helps. But that’s a complicated distinction that you and I can discuss sometime under better conditions. Assuming I live through all this.”
“Assuming we all live through it.”
Scott coughed a laugh. “True enough. No shortage of people getting killed in this war.”
They could all see the Senior American Officer pacing near the entrance to the hut, smoking rapidly. Major Clark was standing nearby, also wreathed in cigarette smoke, which blended with the gray, vaporous breaths that came every time any of the men exhaled into the cold air. Clark dashed his butt to the ground as the men approached. MacNamara took a long, final pull at the cigarette, then sharply ground it beneath his boot. There was a quick round of salutes, and the SAO glared briefly at Walker Townsend.
“I thought you were only going to summon Lieutenant Hart,” MacNamara said sharply. “That was my order.”
Townsend started to reply, then simply remained at attention as MacNamara cut off any words with a quick wave of the hand. He turned to Lincoln Scott and Tommy Hart.
“I have been troubled about your accusations,” he said briskly. “The implications of the theft of evidence are substantial and could threaten the entirety of this morning’s planned sessions.”
“Yes sir,” Tommy started. “That is why a delay would be—”
“I haven’t finished, lieutenant.”
“Sorry, sir.”
MacNamara cleared his throat. “The more I thought about this matter, the more I came to believe that bringing it up in open court in front of the entire camp population as well as the representatives from the Germans would only serve to confuse the situation considerably. The tension in the camp surrounding the murder and now with the arrival of the trial, as evidenced by the confrontation following the discovery of the carvings on Scott’s door . . . well, gentlemen, I am concerned. Mightily concerned.”
Tommy could sense Scott, standing at his side, about to speak, but the black flier instead swallowed his retort and MacNamara continued to talk.
“Consequently, Lieutenant Hart, Lieutenant Scott, I took it upon myself to summon Captain Townsend, and confront him with the charges you have made, and he assures me that no member of the prosecution nor any witness he is planning on calling to the witness stand were in any way whatsoever involved in this alleged theft.”
“Why, Tommy, I thought y’all were just collecting some firewood for the cooking stove, that’s all. . . .” Townsend said brightly, interrupting the colonel, but not receiving a rebuke. “I had no idea it had something to do with our case.”
Tommy pivoted toward Townsend. “The hell you did!” he said. “You followed me over there and observed me prying that board from the wall. You knew exactly what I was doing. And you were equally concerned that Visser saw the same . . .”
“Keep your voice down, lieutenant!” Clark interjected.
Townsend continued to shake his head. “Nothing of the sort,” he said.
Tommy turned to Colonel MacNamara. “Sir, I object—”
Again the colonel cut him off. “Your objection is noted, lieutenant. But . . .” he paused, eyeing Scott for a moment, before turning his gaze on Tommy, and then speaking with a solidity that seemed to even stop the cold wind, “it is my decision that the matter of this bloodstained board is now closed. If it did exist, then it was probably understandably mistaken for firewood and innocently burned by some third party genuinely unaware of its significance. That is, if it actually did exist, of which there remains absolutely no concrete proof in the slightest. Mr. Hart, you may still argue what you wish at trial. But there will be no mention of this alleged evidence without some independent corroboration. And we will hear any claims you might make about it and what it might show in private, out of the sight of the Germans! Do I make myself clear?”
“Colonel MacNamara, this is wrong and unfair. I protest—”
“Your protest is also noted, lieutenant.”
Scott was seething, instantly brought to a boilover by the summary dismissal of their claims. He stepped forward, his fists clenched at his side, jaw stuck outward, about to vent his fury, only to be met with a withering stare from the commanding officer. “Lieutenant Scott,” MacNamara whispered coldly, “keep your mouth shut. That’s a direct order. Your counselor has spoken on your behalf, and further debate will only worsen your situation.”
One of Scott’s eyebrows shot upward in angry inquisition.
“Worsen?” he asked softly, controlling his rage with internal ropes and hawsers, padlocks and chains.
The single-word question fell into a silence surrounding the men. No one took up a response.
MacNamara continued to freeze the three members of the defense with his steady glare. He allowed the quiet to continue for a few seconds, then he slowly lifted his hand to the edge of his cap, deliberately, the pace displaying his own knotted angers. “You are all dismissed until zero eight hundred”—he looked down at his watch—“which is fifty-nine minutes from now.”
Then MacNamara and Clark turned and headed inside the hut. Townsend, too, started to leave, but Tommy shot out his right arm and seized the captain by the sleeve.
Walker Townsend pivoted like a sailboat coming about under a stiff breeze, and faced Tommy, who had but one word for him, before releasing him: “Liar!” Tommy whispered into the Virginian’s face.
The captain half-opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. He spun about and marched off swiftly, leaving the three members of the defense alone at the side of the hut.
Scott watched the captain walk away, then he took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall of Hut 122. He reached inside his flight jacket slowly, removing a half-eaten bar of chocolate. He broke off three small chunks, handing one each to Tommy and Hugh, before popping the smallest of the three into his own mout
h. For a moment, the trio stepped out of the wind, against the building, letting the richness of the Hershey’s bar melt in their mouths, awakening their taste buds.
Tommy allowed the chocolate to turn to mush on his tongue before swallowing. “Thanks,” he said.
Scott grinned. “Well, that was such a bitter little meeting, I figured we all needed something to sweeten up our existences, and the chocolate was all I currently had available.”
The three men all laughed at the joke.
“I would hazard a guess, lads,” Renaday said, “that perhaps we should not be expecting too many rulings heading our direction during the upcoming proceedings.”
Scott shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “But he’ll still throw us some bones, won’t he, Hart? Not the important bones. The ones with meat on them. But some of the smaller ones will still come our way. He wants it to look fair. What did I say before? A lynching. But a fair one.”
Scott sighed. “Hell,” he said, “that was funny. Well, maybe not outright funny, but amusing. Except that it’s happening to me.” He shook his head.
Tommy nodded. “Learned something, though. Something I hadn’t really thought of. You didn’t see it, Scott?”
The black airman swallowed and looked quizzically at Tommy for a moment. “Keep talking, counselor,” he said. “What was there to see?”
“MacNamara was real concerned about how things play out in front of the Germans, wasn’t he? I mean, here we are, stuck over here out of sight of everybody in the camp just about, and he’s talking about not letting the Krauts see anything. Especially something that might suggest that Trader Vic was killed someplace other than that Abort. Now I find that sort of interesting, because, if you think about it, what they really want to show the damn Nazis is how damn bend-over-backwards fair we are in our trials. Not the exact opposite.”
“In other words,” Scott said slowly, “you think this railroad is part show?”
“Yeah. But it should be show in the opposite direction. That is to say, a railroad that doesn’t look like a railroad.”
“Well, even if it is, what good does that do me?”
Tommy paused. “That’s the twenty-five-cent question, isn’t it?”
Scott nodded. For a moment he seemed deep in thought.
“I think we learned something else, too. But of course, there’s not enough time to do anything about it,” the black flier added.
“What’s that?” Renaday asked.
Scott looked up into the sky. “You know what I hate about this damn weather?” he asked rhetorically. He answered his own question immediately. “It’s that one minute the sun comes out, you can take off your shirt and feel the warmth and you think that maybe there’s some hope, and then you wake up the next day and it seems like winter’s back and there’s nothing but storms and cold winds on the horizon.” He sighed, took out the candy bar, and once again broke off a piece for each of them. “I might not be needing this much longer,” he said. Then he twisted toward Hugh. “What I learned from this little get-together,” he said slowly, “is what we should have assumed from the start. That the chief prosecutor is willing to lie about what he saw right in front of the commanding officer. What we should be wondering about is what other lie he’s got planned.”
This observation caught Tommy by surprise, though upon an instant’s reflection, he believed that it was absolutely accurate. He warned himself: There’s a lie somewhere. He just didn’t know where it was. But that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be ready for it.
Tommy glanced down at his watch. “We’d better get a move on,” he said.
“Wouldn’t want to be late,” Scott said. “Though I’m not sure that showing up is such a really great idea, either.”
Hugh smiled and waved at the nearest guard tower. Two cold goons were huddled in the center, trapped by the wind. “You know what we should do, Tommy? Wait until everybody’s gathered at the trial and then just walk out the front gate like those Brits tried. Maybe nobody’d notice.”
Scott laughed. “We probably wouldn’t get too far. I have my doubts that there are a whole lot of Negroes walking around Germany right at this moment. I don’t think we’re to be included in the great Nazi master plan. Which might make it a little tricky for me to be out and about in the countryside, escaping.”
Scott continued to snort with amusement. “Isn’t that the damnedest thing, when you think about it? I’m probably the only guy in all of Stalag Luft Thirteen the Krauts don’t have to guard. I mean, where could I go? How could I hide? A little hard for me to blend in with the local populace and go unnoticed, wouldn’t you say? No matter how I was dressed, or what sort of forged documents I had, I still think I just might stand out a little.”
He pushed himself off the wall, straightening up, still grinning.
“Time to go, counselor,” Scott said.
Tommy nodded. He glanced over at the black flier and thought that Scott would be a fine sort to have at one’s side in any fair fight. For an instant he wondered how his old captain from West Texas would have treated the Tuskegee airman. He had no idea what the captain’s prejudices were or were not. But one thing he knew for certain, the captain had a way of assessing one’s reliability and coolness under tough circumstances, and on that score, he believed, Lincoln Scott would have gained his admiration. Tommy doubted he could appear as calm with all that was happening to Scott were the situations reversed. But then, he thought, Scott was absolutely right about one thing: Their situations could never really be reversed.
Kriegies were shoehorned into every available square inch of the theater building, taking every seat, jamming the aisles. As before, crowds of men encircled each window outside the hut, craning to see and hear the action expected within. There was a slightly increased German presence, as well, with ferrets lingering on the edges of the crowds, and an armed squad of helmeted goons collected by the front door. The Germans seemed as intrigued as their prisoners, though their understanding of what was taking place was surely limited by language and custom. Still, the promise of a break in the dreary camp routine was attractive to all, and none of the guards seemed particularly put off at having received the duty.
Colonel MacNamara, flanked by the two other officer members of the tribunal, sat at the center of the head table. Visser and his accompanying stenographer were shunted to the same side as before. A single stiff-backed wooden chair had been arranged in the center of the bar area where witnesses could sit. As before, there were tables and chairs for the defense and the prosecution, only this time Walker Townsend had taken the more prominent chair, while Major Clark sat at his side.
At precisely zero eight hundred, Tommy Hart, Lincoln Scott, and Hugh Renaday, once again mimicking a flight of fighters, quick-marched through the open doors, down the center aisle, their flight boots striking at the wooden floorboards with machine-gun–like urgency. Airmen seated in their path scrambled to move out of their way, then slid back into position as they swept past.
The accused and his two defenders took their seats at the designated table wordlessly. There was a momentary lull, while Colonel MacNamara waited for the buzzing voices and shuffling bodies to calm down. After a few seconds, there was silence in the makeshift courtroom. Tommy stole a quick glance over at Visser, and saw that the German’s stenographer was leaning forward, pen poised above a notepad, while the officer once again balanced on the back two legs of his own chair, appearing almost nonchalant, despite the atmosphere of excited tension in the room.
MacNamara’s loud voice caused him to refocus on the SAO.
“We are gathered here, today, under the provisions of the United States Military Code of Justice, to hear the matter of the United States Army versus Lincoln Scott, first lieutenant, who is accused of the premeditated murder of United States Army Air Corps Captain Vincent Bedford while both men were prisoners of war, under the jurisdiction of the German Luftwaffe authorities here at Stalag Luft Thirteen. . . .”
MacNamara paused,
letting his eyes sweep over the assembled crowd.
“We will now proceed . . .” he started, only to stop in mid-sentence as Tommy pushed himself sharply to his feet.
“I would object,” Tommy said briskly.
MacNamara stared at Tommy, narrowing his gaze.
“I would at this time renew my objections to proceeding. I would renew my request for additional time to prepare the defense. I am at a loss, Your Honor, as to why we are in such a rush to hold these proceedings. Even a small delay will allow for a far more thorough review of the facts and the evidence—”
MacNamara coldly interrupted.
“No delays,” he said. “That has been discussed. Sit down, Mr. Hart.”
“Very good, sir,” Tommy said, taking his seat.
MacNamara coughed and let silence fill the room before continuing. “We will now get under way with opening arguments . . .”
Once again, Tommy pushed to his feet, scraping the chair backward and then clicking his heels together. MacNamara eyed him coldly.
“Objection?” he asked.
“Indeed, yes, Your Honor,” Tommy replied. “I would renew my objections to these proceedings taking place at this time because under United States military law, Lieutenant Scott is entitled to representation by a fully accredited member of the bar. As Your Honor is acutely aware, I have not yet reached that position, whereas my worthy opponent”—he gestured toward Walker Townsend—“has indeed. This creates an unfortunately prejudiced environment, where the prosecution has an unfair advantage in expertise. I would request that these proceedings be delayed until such time as Lieutenant Scott has made available to him a fully qualified counselor, who can more fully advise him of his rights and potential tactics in confronting these baseless charges.”
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