Word of Honor

by Nelson DeMille

  Tyson shrugged. “We’ll see when the sentence is announced. And I’m not through with Dr. Brandt yet. When I take the stand in extenuation and mitigation, I have a few things to say—”

  “Like hell you will. When you get up there, you’ll talk about you, not Brandt. We had our chance to impeach Brandt’s testimony.” Corva studied Tyson’s face. “When you take the stand, Ben, you tell the truth. You’ll tell the court who murdered the people and who did not. You’ll tell them you killed Larry Cane. You’ll tell them your troops mutinied, went on a rampage, and you were almost shot trying to stop it—who pointed the rifle at you by the way?”

  “Farley, Simcox, and Beltran.”

  Corva shook his head. “Anyway, you’ll tell the court you were scared shitless and that’s why you failed to make a report and swear to criminal charges. And you’ll tell them you felt some loyalty toward your troops, misguided though it was. You will not tell them about Brandt fucking the little girl. Capice?”

  Tyson nodded. “Do I . . . I mean, about Cane . . . is that necessary?”

  “Absolutely.” Corva looked at him closely. “The board understands that what they heard from Brandt and Farley was the story of a mutiny. They don’t like to hear about troops mutinying. It scares officers. But they like it even less when they hear that the officer in charge stood there with his fingers up his ass, whistling ‘The Stars and Stripes Forever.’”

  Tyson nodded. “I understand.”

  Corva went on, “The annals of military history are filled with stories of officers quelling mutinies though they were outnumbered by their troops a zillion to one and full of stories of officers dying in an attempt to prevent mutinies, massacres, rapes, pillaging, and what have you. A good part of the officer’s code is based on this mental image of chivalry and is a direct product of the knight’s code. They teach you that?”

  “I missed that class.”

  “Anyway, you will get up there and tell them that indeed you did put your life on the line, shot an American soldier as was your duty, and were assaulted and knocked unconscious and so forth. You will tell them you did your duty. Right up to the point when you reached the safety of a base camp and did not initiate charges of mutiny, mass murder, arson, striking an officer, and so on. That is where you fucked up. That is what you will tell them.”

  “Will they believe any of it?”

  Corva leaned across his attaché case. “If you tell it to them, Ben, they will believe it. It is the story that fills in the missing pieces for them. It also happens to be the truth. And just as that board knew Brandt and Farley were lying, so they will know you are not.”

  Tyson sat quietly for a long time, then said, “I feel bad for the rest of them. The ones who signed sworn statements and for the dead, whose families thought they were heroes. For Larry Cane’s family, who thought he died in action. . . .” Tyson looked at Corva. “But it’s time to set the record straight, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it’s time. Especially if there are men who didn’t shoot anyone. Are there?”

  Tyson nodded. “Some of them are dead now. Only Kelly, me, and Brandt never pulled a trigger.”

  “How do you know that Kelly and Brandt didn’t? You weren’t there the whole time.”

  “It came up afterward. But I assumed from the beginning they didn’t. Brandt was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a . . .”

  “A what? A killer?”

  “Right,” Tyson said. “If we’re setting the record straight, why can’t we set it straight regarding Brandt?”

  “That is one story I don’t think they will believe, if you tell it.” Corva added, “That’s why I’m going to have Kelly tell it.”

  Tyson stood.

  Corva remained seated.

  He explained, “I heard from Colonel Farnley Gilmer, who was good enough to keep the Article 32 investigation open as is sometimes done even during trial. He informed me that Daniel Kelly has shown some signs of life. Specifically, a law firm claiming to represent Kelly has contacted Gilmer. The firm, incidentally, is Conners, Newhouse, and Irving, who coincidentally are secretly famous for representing CIA people. So, apparently somebody somewhere decided it was okay to surface Kelly for a one-shot public appearance.”

  “Kelly decided. He would have insisted.”

  Corva observed, “But not to testify at the early part of the trial. That would have put him in a position of having to lie if he were our witness or having to tell the truth as a prosecution witness. If indeed Pierce called him at all. Now that the smoke has settled, he’s coming in as your witness in extenuation and mitigation only. He can be cross-examined on anything he says, but I think Pierce will have the sense not to do that.”

  Tyson said, as if to himself, “Daniel Kelly . . . God, he could have blown this case wide open. His story would not have agreed with ours or the prosecution’s. He would have told the truth.”

  Corva nodded. “The old infantry vets on that board will understand that Kelly, as your radio operator, was rarely more than an arm’s length from you every minute you were in the field. He was your shadow, your aide, your consigliere.”

  Tyson said, “I don’t know about that last thing. But I do know that he even followed me when I went off in the bush to take a crap. The only two times I can recall when we were separated for any length of time was when he knocked me out in the hospital and then later at the Strawberry Patch when we got separated by refugees.”

  Corva said, “I could reopen the whole case because of his appearance. But I don’t think it would lead to an acquittal. The point remains that your cover-up amounted to condoning mass murder, and the words ‘caused to be shot’ and ‘inherently dangerous acts’ and so forth would be interpreted as your striking of Dr. Monteau which ignited the massacre.” He looked at Tyson. “It did, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “But, anyway, if we reopen the case, Pierce may just switch around some wording on the charge sheet now that he has more of the facts.”

  “I don’t want a retrial, Vince. Everyone’s had enough. I just want to keep out of jail. I can live with the guilty verdict.”

  “I understand. And you can live quite well with Kelly testifying that he saw Brandt raping a young girl.”

  Tyson drew a long breath. “Yes.”

  “What, by the way, happened at the Strawberry Patch? Harper thinks Brandt failed to go out after you under fire. Failed to treat you.”

  Tyson shook his head. “He treated me. He treated me to an overdose of morphine.”

  Corva’s eyes widened. “Jesus Christ. . . .”

  Tyson said, “But, obviously, neither Kelly nor anyone was witness to that. I’m not one hundred percent sure of it myself. The nearly perfect crime.”

  Corva nodded. “And you can’t tell that in court, Ben. He’ll sue the pants off you. The board may believe it, but . . . without corroboration . . . and coming only from you . . . forget it. That’s done with. You’ll never settle that score.” He glanced at Tyson and said, “That was a hell of a crew you had there, Lieutenant . . . rape, murder, conspiracy, revenge, mutiny . . . what else? Steal chickens, too?”

  Tyson snapped, “As a matter of fact, they were not bad. Not in the beginning. But you can only log so many miles on a man and imprint so many obscenities on his brain before he begins to malfunction. You know that. Don’t you judge them!”

  “Sorry.”

  “I don’t judge them too harshly. I don’t even judge Brandt harshly. I mean, about trying to kill me.”

  “Because you’d thought about killing him.”

  “Yes, that’s why.” Tyson smiled. “I related to that. I could see his point. The Nam solution—someone bothering you? Annoyed? Upset? Administer five to ten rounds of 5.56-millimeter M-16 ammunition. Or, if you’re a medic, a good-bye dose of pure morphine.”

  Corva snapped his attaché case closed and stood. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m going to mass at the chapel at ten A.M. Then I’ll be here. And we’ll go over the E and M.�
�

  “Do you want to do it this afternoon? I’m free.”

  Corva smiled. “Today I’m going to spend the day with Daniel Kelly at his lawyers’ midtown office.”

  “Good. You’ll like him.”

  “I might have, eighteen years ago. Men change.”

  “Do they? I don’t think so.”

  Corva walked toward the cell door. He hesitated, then said, “One more thing. . . . This is not certain, but Colonel Gilmer tells me he has heard from Interpol. . . .”

  Tyson moved toward Corva. “They’ve found her.”

  “Maybe. And not in France where everyone was looking. But in Italy. They think it’s the same woman. I’ll know today.”

  “I don’t think I want her called.”

  “Well . . . we may not be able to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll talk to you about it after I speak to Gilmer.”

  “There’s no reason to call her. The case is done. We have Kelly for E and M. And I’ll testify on my own behalf.”

  Corva rubbed his nose and said, “She can tell the court that you saved her life at the hospital.”

  Tyson didn’t respond.

  Corva added, “Ben, if this woman in Italy is the Sister Teresa, I’d like to talk to her. And I think if she is your friend, she’d want the opportunity to help you. You helped her.” Corva looked at Tyson awhile, then said, “If it was more than a friendship . . . and it went bad . . . then maybe it would be best to leave her be. . . .”

  Tyson looked at the floor awhile, then stated, “The woman was a nun, Vince.”

  “Of course.”

  Tyson rubbed his lip for some time. “None of your surprise reunions. Okay?”

  “Okay.” He drew an envelope from his side pocket. “A letter from your wife.”

  Tyson took it.

  Corva said, “She loves you deeply, madly, passionately.”

  “Are you reading my mail?”

  “No, no. My wife told me. My wife is staying with your wife this weekend.”

  “Who are you staying with this weekend?”

  “Kelly and his rather unorthodox lawyers. And this Sister Teresa is a hard call. I have an interpreter lined up just in case.”

  “Really? You’re not as incompetent as you look. What language? Greek?”

  “No, French.”

  “Why not Vietnamese?”

  “For one thing, they’re harder to find. For another, the last thing I want in that courtroom is a Vietnamese. You know?”

  Tyson nodded. “Compris.”

  “Anyway, if I can’t get the whole show on the road by ten hundred hours Monday, I’ll ask for another day or two.” Corva glanced at his watch. “I need my breakfast. You screwed up my whole weekend.”

  “Mine is a little screwed up too. I have theater tickets for tonight. I want out of here, Vince. Monday night I want to be watching football at home. In Garden City.”

  “I’ll do everything I can. You know there’s no bail in the Army. But I may be able to secure what they call deferment. That’s like back to house arrest until the case is finally settled with reviews and appeals and all that.”

  “Do it.”

  Tyson thought of Chet Brown. He said, “Is there any way we can negotiate the sentence? I mean, is that legal?”

  Corva looked at him. “In military law, there is virtually no plea bargaining or sentence negotiations. And by law it must originate with the accused and his lawyer. Why do you ask? Has someone been talking to you?”

  “No. I just wondered.”

  “By the way,” said Corva, “you can have visitors in addition to your attorney.”

  “I don’t want visitors.”

  “Okay. I had to ask.” Corva turned and pushed a call button on the wall near the cell door.

  Tyson commented, “You know your way around these places.”

  “I’ve been in jail before. A piece of advice about that: Follow all their idiotic rules. Military prisons are no place to try to exercise your rights.”

  An MP came with the keys and opened the cell door.

  Tyson said to Corva, “I want you to tell me how you got the Bronze Star in the tunnel.”

  Corva smiled. “One of these days.” He walked from the cell, and the MP shut the door. Corva said through the bars, “The first platoon of Alpha Company has nearly completed its exorcism.” Corva left with the MP.

  Tyson stood in the center of the small cell for a full minute, then stared down at the envelope in his hand. He opened it and read the note inside:

  Dear Ben,

  I understand why you didn’t want to see me while you were awaiting the verdict, and I’ll understand if you don’t want me to visit you now. But I will not understand if you don’t send me a letter today to tell me you still love me.

  David sends his love, as I do.

  Marcy

  P.S. You looked quite brave up there. Your mother says you should punch Colonel Pierce in the eye.

  Tyson read the short note again, then rang the bell. When the MP came, Tyson asked him for writing paper and pen.

  CHAPTER

  51

  The cell door opened at nine-thirty on Monday morning, and Tyson and Corva walked into the provost marshal’s office. Corva said to Captain Gallagher, “No cuffs. Right?”

  Gallagher nodded. “But if he gets away, you will be held accountable.”

  Corva said, “Don’t be an ass, Captain.”

  “Yes, sir. I try not to be.”

  Corva and Tyson left the office and got into the backseat of an olive-drab staff car. Two MPs whom Tyson had never seen sat in the front. The car headed toward the post chapel.

  Tyson said, “That was not one of my better weekends.”

  The car delivered them to the rear door of the chapel’s office wing. They were met by two more armed MPs and taken directly to the courtroom.

  It was a brilliantly clear day, and the four south-facing windows were alight with the morning sun. Tyson took his place at the defense table and remarked to Corva, “I feel at home here.”

  Corva nodded as if he’d heard this before.

  No one else had arrived yet except the spectators, and Tyson looked out at the pews. The press was in full attendance, but the pews were only about three-fourths full, and most of the spectators were military. His sisters had gone home to husbands and jobs, and only Marcy, David, and his mother remained in the first pew, the remainder of the seats being left vacant. Marcy wasn’t looking at him, but David waved and Tyson waved back.

  He didn’t see anyone else he knew except Colonel Levin, who, he’d been told, had taken leave time to attend each session.

  Tyson began to turn his attention back to the court, but some movement caught his eye, and he saw, walking down the middle aisle, Steven Brandt. Brandt took an empty place in the pew almost directly behind Marcy. Tyson nudged Corva. “Look.”

  Corva looked, and his eyes widened.

  “What,” asked Tyson, “is he doing here?”

  Corva replied, “A witness may be present after the verdict. I guess he’s here to see you sentenced.”

  Tyson stared at Brandt until finally Brandt looked up. Brandt leaned back and folded his arms. He smiled at Tyson.

  Tyson, still staring at Brandt, said to Corva, “I’m going to kill the son of a bitch.”

  “Cool down, people are watching you.”

  Tyson saw that was true. People were looking from Brandt to Tyson and back again. Tyson sat back in his chair. He lit a cigarette. “Bastard.”

  After a few minutes he became aware again of his surroundings. He sensed a somewhat less tense atmosphere in the court, though he didn’t know why there should be. He didn’t consider his sentencing an anticlimax; it was the most important thing in the world for him at the moment. And today or tomorrow, he knew, depending on the testimony, he’d take the stand himself. He looked at Marcy again, but she was still not looking at him. She was staring straight ahead. His note to her had bee
n simple: “I love you. But if I am sent to prison, I don’t want or expect you to wait.”

  He thought that was all right, but apparently, according to Linda Corva, it was not. Women, he thought. When he was younger, he’d never liked female intermediaries involved in his affaires d’amour. But they could be useful as a source of information, if not comprehension. He’d have to write another note.

  The prosecution walked in, and Tyson thought they looked like three pigs heading back to the slop buckets for seconds.

  The board entered very solemnly, together and in order of rank as usual. Tyson suspected that Colonel Moore ran his whole life by the manual for drill and ceremonies. Tyson said to Corva, “In a three-seat crapper, would he take the middle seat or the far right?”

  Corva looked up from his papers and followed Tyson’s gaze. “Oh . . . the place of honor is usually the far right. But at a dais or court-martial, he takes the middle. I’d say it was the same for a three-seat crapper. I’ll check, though.”

  The sergeant at arms strode to the center of the floor and the spectators began to rise before he announced, “All rise!”

  Colonel Sproule entered, and Tyson noticed for the first time that Sproule’s pants were too long.

  Sproule stepped up behind the pulpit, turned on the light, adjusted the microphone, and surveyed the court with his myopic eyes, as though, Tyson thought, he wanted to be sure he was in the right place. Sproule said, “The court will come to order.”

  Pierce stood and said, “All parties to the trial who were present when the court closed are now present.”

  Colonel Sproule glanced at something on the pulpit and said, “The purpose of this session is to hear testimony and to present to the board other evidence and documented facts which may be considered by them as extenuating or mitigating facts or circumstances which may be considered by the board in determining an appropriate sentence. The court will now hear the personal data concerning the accused shown on the charge sheet and any other information from his personal records relevant to sentencing. The court will also receive evidence of previous convictions, if any.”

  It was Captain Longo who stood and said, “The first page of the charge sheet shows the following data concerning the accused.” Longo began reading the personal data sheet.