by Alex Ryan
"Sarge, come on, ease up on him." The young, black MP, also with a shaved head said.
"I don't like assholes like that. Killing our own. I'm gonna head back to admin. You clean him up and take him back to his cell then."
"Yeah. Yeah sarge, I'll do that." The tall MP left the room. The young, black MP turned the water off, and tossed a brown issue towel to Dahl. Dahl didn't attempt to catch it, and it fell into the pool of water. "Man, I'll give you one more towel. One more towel. You let that get soaked, you're going back wet.” Dahl looked up at the young, black MP. He extended his arm and took the second towel. "Yeah, I know what you did." the MP spoke. "But I also believe you deserve a fair shake until your trial."
Dahl looked up at him and spoke. "I don't even know what I did. All I know, is you guys came for me in the night, cuffed me and stuffed me, and I've been getting the crap beaten out of me every goddamn day, and night."
"You don't know? You're being honest? You really don't know?"
"I really don't. Nobody will tell me."
"They say you killed a captain. Your own company commander. Captain Lewis."
"What?"
"You heard me."
"Where? How?"
"During deployment in Grenada. You shot him."
"They say I shot Captain Tyrell Lewis? Why?"
"I have no idea. Are you saying you didn't?"
"No. No! I mean, no, I didn't! Why would I shoot the man? I respected him!"
"That's not what the scuttlebutt is. Look, you're facing a court martial and a possible death sentence. I'd stay quiet for now until you can talk to your lawyer. Your JAG attorney is scheduled to visit you tomorrow."
It was a rather healthy assignment to lob to a first lieutenant, but the major felt that it would be good experience. It was a pretty cut and dry case. There was a preponderance of evidence. First Lieutenant Shatz really only had to ensure that due process via UCMJ was delivered. Dahl was pretty much beyond hope for any kind of defense. At least that's how JAG command viewed it.
He had been in the interrogation room before, sitting on the sidelines, taking notes. Then he started interviewing. He did a good job. He was careful. Meticulous. And the thing about it, was that there was absolutely no advantage career wise, or evaluation wise to do some sort of grandstand move to proclaim Dahl's innocence. He just, purely and simply, had to go through the motions.
The room was only slightly less stark and sanitized than the holding cell in which Dahl had resided for the past five days. Dahl was handcuffed, and the mere mention of a code word would have a storm of MP's descend upon the room. No, there was no expectation of privacy. This was UCMJ, not Perry Mason. The wooden table had a long history of etchings implanted from the thumbnails and metal cuff edges of inmates for a series of years. Some of the images were heartbreaking. Some disturbing. All were desperate.
Lieutenant Shatz paced the room, pretending to study the contents of the manila file folder containing the case paperwork. He did it as a reason to stall. He already studied the material. He knew it in his sleep, but he wanted some quality time. He wanted to get a read on Dahl.
Alex Dahl himself was actually somewhat in a state of acceptance and denial at the same time. He was almost beginning to doubt his own mind. He watched the lieutenant pace the room, dressed in his Class B uniform consisting of his dress green slacks, black shoes, short sleeved shirt, epaulets, and no tie.
Shatz plunked the manila folder on the table and took a seat facing Dahl. "Do you know why you're here?" Shatz asked. Dahl damn well better know.
"They say I killed Captain Lewis." Dahl replied.
"Hmm. Yes. Didn't they tell you that when they arrested you?"
"No, they didn't."
"They probably should have. They weren't required to."
"So, does that mean anything legally?"
"No, not really."
"Sir, are you on my side?"
"Sergeant Dahl, I am assigned to represent you as your defense attorney for your upcoming courts martial for the murder of Captain Tyrell Lewis, your former company commander."
In other words, no. Dahl could read between the lines. "Sir, no offense intended, but do I have a right to a civilian attorney?"
"No offense taken, sergeant. Sure. You do. They cost money though. And I can assure you that you don't have the money it will take to hire one for your case."
"I didn't do it."
"Well, I have to tell you, there is a hell of a lot of damning evidence and testimony that says you did. Before you speak, let me just tell you what's out there. First of all, your issue M1911 service pistol, the one you were issued by virtue of being an M60 gunner authorized to carry a sidearm, was found on top of Captain Lewis' body. With your and only your fingerprints on it. One shot was fired. The shot that entered the captain's head, which was ballistically determined to have been fired from your weapon."
"Sir, someone had stolen my pistol. I reported that when I turned in my sixty to the arms room."
"But you had a motive." The lieutenant said. "Two days before the mobilization alert came, Captain Lewis had discovered a live grenade placed on his office chair. It was a warning. It had your fingerprints all over it."
"Sir, I was issued three grenades at the range. I threw two. I turned the unused on back in to the arms room."
"Negative, sergeant. The inventory chit indicates that no grenades were returned. You are saying you threw two and did not throw the third?"
"That's right sir."
"Think about it. That doesn't look good."
"But I have no reason in the world to want to kill Captain Lewis."
"Is it not true, that you had an argument with Captain Lewis over a drinking incident in the barracks, and he was going to issue an Article 15 to you, costing you one or two stripes?"
"It's true, but we got through that. The first sergeant tore that Article 15 up. I mean, I have no ill feelings about that. I probably would have deserved it."
"Is it not true that you were heard citing racist comments against Captain Lewis? As well as anti-Semitic comments?"
Shatz’s eyes narrowed when he said 'anti-Semitic.' That hit home. "No, absolutely not. That's a lie." Dahl pleaded.
Shatz took a small voice recorder out of an open briefcase sitting on the table and hit the play button.
'...Lewis and the rest of the fucking niggers, and the goddamn kikes too.' Then the clip abruptly ended.
Dahl turned pale. "Sir, can you replay that voice clip in its entirety?"
"You're saying there is more?"
"Yes sir, a lot more. You're taking what I said out of context."
"So you admit, you said that."
"Sir, I was quoting someone else."
"You were quoting someone else. Who might that be?"
"Sergeant Mueller."
"Sergeant Mueller. He was the one that came forth, and reached out and provided this sound clip. He was horrified. So was the rest of his squad. I have to tell you Dahl, it doesn't look good and you have extreme odds stacked against you."
"What do you suggest I do sir?"
"You'll have your day in court. Personally, I think the best thing you can do is plead guilty, and argue that you were under extreme stress. PTSD. Maybe they will spare your life. But, any way you break it down; you're looking at a retirement condo in Leavenworth. I'm sorry Dahl, but I don't see a way to get you out of this one."
They say everything happens for a reason. Even the bad things. That's what Mom used to say. But it's hard, real damned hard, to find a positive out of this situation. It's like they weren't even listening. It's like nobody really wanted to be there in the first place, and they just wanted this whole thing to end right now so they could get on to the next court martial, get that over with too and then go drink at the O club, claiming a hard day at work and a long extended trial for being late to dinner.
And it's hard for them to be sympathetic to his plight. He was a soldier. He signed up to die if need be, no questions
asked. And there were losses in the conflict. Hanks. Lejune. Personal friends of his. Would they trade their spot in heaven and their posthumous medals to be alive, sitting in the executioner's chair with the possibility of living out a tortured yet viable life? Nobody knows the answer to that. Particularly Hanks or Lejune. That decision has already been made for them. But Dahl figured if he went, he would have gone like Hanks or Lejune. Honorably, not in disdainful shame.
The worst part of it was that he didn't deserve it. He was set up. Who? Why? Mueller? Starr? Those were a couple of bad dudes. Rotten apples. They try to weed guys like them out. They do a very good job of weeding the bad ones out in Delta Force, and a pretty good job in Special Forces. But, fundamentally, Rangers have a different mission than Delta and SF. The Rangers are a quick reaction force. Character is important, but it isn't necessarily mission critical like it is in Delta and SF. That's why the Muellers and the Starrs can exist, like they can in the line units. It's a shame, frankly.
Lieutenant Shatz sat in the seat next to Dahl as the colonel in the middle of the panel cleared his throat. The colonel spoke. "Sergeant Dahl, do you wish to say anything further in your defense?"
Dahl replied with a dry throat. "Sir, with respect to the court martial board, I do not feel I have had a fair trial. I am innocent of the charges made against me."
"Sergeant Dahl, and this is the last time myself, or anyone else for that matter will address you as sergeant, I am truly sorry you feel that way. Everybody feels like they are the victim. But the fact of the matter is, we were in a state of war, fighting an armed enemy in a conflict where the absence of victory could have led a chain of events leading up to the possibility of nuclear war. We needed every man, every resource, to be functional and dedicated towards defeating the enemy. Your selfish personal vendetta against Captain Lewis, is, in my opinion, worse than leaving your unit to fight for the other side. As far as I'm concerned, you aren't just a murderer, you have committed treason."
"But sir, I..."
"Remain silent please. There is nothing further you can say at this point. The evidence has been reviewed and considered, and it is the unanimous opinion of this board that you are guilty of the charges levied against you. Sergeant Alex Dahl, this board finds you guilty of violating 918, article 118 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, for the premeditated murder of Captain Tyrell Lewis. Effective immediately, your rank is reduced to private, pay grade E1, and you will forfeit all pay and benefits. You will be reassigned to the military disciplinary barracks in Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, for the remainder of your term, which will be extended for life. The board will reconvene at a later time to consider the death penalty. Private, you are dismissed."
"Sir?" a voice spoke in the audience, addressing the colonel.
"Yes, first sergeant?"
"I'm the one that put those stripes on his shoulder. If I may sir, I feel it is my responsibility to take them back off."
"Very well, first sergeant, as you wish."
First Sergeant Wilson approached Alex Dahl, standing at attention in his dress greens, flanked by two military police guards also in dress uniform. He got very close to him, right in his face. Dahl whispered to him. "Top, do you really believe I did this?"
"I don't know, Dahl, I thought I knew you better than that. I have a damned hard time believing it, but, damn, they got you, and got you bad."
"I didn't do it, Top."
"Then may God help you at this point, Dahl, but for now, I have to do my duty."
"I understand."
Wilson looked into his eyes. They both had a level of mutual disapproval and anger towards each other, but at the same time, a huge amount of respect. Top would go to bat for him any day of the week, as easily as he would drop him in the front leaning rest position for a half hour then assign him to KP duty for a solid month. But Wilson didn't come to bat for him this time. It wasn't his place. It was out of his league. Or just maybe, Top had another agenda. It was an uncomforting thought, but it seemed like the deck was stacked against him. And somebody is doing this deliberately.
Wilson grabbed the edge of the three stripe cloth rank insignia on the right side of Dahl's dress green jacket and unceremoniously ripped it off, taking a chunk of the uniform with it. He then did the same to the left side. After that, he did the same to his sewn Ranger tabs, and lastly, he reached behind Dahl's lapel, pulled off two snap-clips, and pulled the three-row cluster of service ribbons from his chest.
The beating that night was the worst it had been. Dahl was officially a persona non-gratis at this point. At least the trip to the infirmary got him out of his cell and away from that tall, asshole MP. At one point, he actually thought that son of a bitch was going to try to fuck him in the ass. Then the young, black MP intervened.
His name was Huff. Staff Sergeant Huff. The tall MP. The asshole. The faggot. Frankly, calling that asshole a faggot was demeaning to gay people. Dahl had no issues with gay folks. But Huff could rot in hell.
It was like a perfect storm. They were going to ship him out to Leavenworth in the morning. They say Leavenworth is one of the worst nightmares an interned soldier could possibly have. The mortality rate is high, primarily due to suicide. Dahl was strong, but once in Leavenworth, there was no going back. You aren't getting out. Escapes simply don't happen. It's easier for a gold bar to walk out of Fort Knox on its own accord.
The alert came. It was a base wide alert. Another Grenada? Or was it just a readiness test? It was the first base wide alert since Grenada, so nobody, absolutely nobody, took it lightly.
They say that the military police holding facility was basically unmanned except for essential personnel. Detainees were on lockdown. MP's and guards were busy preparing for a general mobilization. Well, except for a single MP. That was Huff. He was the NCO in charge. The sound of that baton ringing on the cell bars was familiar. It drew near, and the adjacent cells were empty. Corporal Jackson wasn't there to play interference. Huff was going to beat the shit out of him again, and there would be no witnesses.
"Hey asshole, put your arms out the bars." Huff reached for his handcuffs.
"Fuck you." Dahl replied.
"You want to play it that way, huh?" Huff grabbed his Taser, unlocked the cell, and entered, with the Taser pointed at Dahl. "Turn around. Lean against the bed. And drop your pants."
"Make me, faggot."
Huff turned red. He fired the Taser straight into Dahl's stomach, then stared at Dahl in disbelief as Dahl ripped the Taser talons from his skin. Huff was unsure of whether to charge Dahl, or retreat out of the cell. It was a bit too late to retreat. His hand was occupied by the Taser. He dropped it and reached for his pistol.
That momentary inaction cost Huff his advantage. In a single motion, Dahl leapt upwards from his seated position on the bed, knocked Huff’s shooting hand aside with his right arm, hooked the back of Huff's neck with his elbow, and brought Huff's face downward, smashing his nose with his knee. He then secured Huff's nightstick, and used it to place Huff in a chokehold until he quit moving, and slumped down on the floor.
Surveillance cameras would later reveal that in the confusion, it was actually Dahl dressed in Huff's fatigues, who unlocked and locked the security doors with his keys, and walked out the front door with nobody around, vanishing into the night.
Exactly why it was that the MP staff sergeant was leaving the base in his personal vehicle, a Ford Bronco, was unclear but the junior enlisted Infantry guards weren't one to question an MP, particularly an NCO. Besides, it was people coming in they were concerned with, not people leaving.
Corporal Jackson was the first one to discover Huff, locked in the cell, which formerly held the now private Alex Dahl. He was alive, gagged, and hanging upside down by his ankles by his cuffs, which were locked to a light fixture. And Dahl didn't leave the keys, so Jackson couldn't get him down.
The commanding officer of the MP unit was a captain. He stared in disbelief as the workers used a hacksaw to break the handcuff c
hains apart, so that the naked man, hanging upside down by his ankles, could be freed.
"Sir" Jackson said. "I have no idea how the hell Dahl could have managed to get Huff up there, in a position like that, by himself."
"Well, corporal," the captain replied. "I'm more impressed by how he was able to get that nightstick to stay in his ass without it popping out."
Once free of the black MP armbands, Dahl looked pretty much like any other GI running around in BDU fatigues. His basic problem was that by daybreak, he would be the subject of a massive manhunt. That meant two things – he wouldn't have the luxury of driving Huff's rather piece of crap yet serviceable Bronco much longer, nor could he parade around in a military uniform much longer either, particularly one so ill fitting.
Instinctively he drove south. Fort Lewis is very close to Seattle. Canada was a stone's throw away, however, attempting a border crossing either way would be a grave mistake. Perhaps they might expect him to flee to Canada. He could have made the border before all hell broke loose if he wanted to, but there were several things wrong with that. He had no identification. At the very least, he'd need a driver's license to cross back into the United States. He couldn't use Huff's. Plus he had little money and no Canadian currency. And it gets cold in Canada. The best plan was to go south. They would probably expect him to travel the Interstate on I-5 to get some mileage away from Fort Lewis, and that is exactly what he did.
It was early morning by the time he reached Portland. He couldn't keep driving the Bronco. He knew that. He also needed some clothes. The problem of clothes was fairly easy to solve. He happened to spy a Salvation Army clothes drop in an empty shopping center. He almost went there, but the probability of finding a set of clothes that would render him fairly inconspicuous was improbable. There was, however, a discount clothing store in the lot. It was a fairly run down lot, and while some of the stores had security systems, this one did not. It wasn't a chain, just a mom and pop store. Philosophically, Dahl wasn't a crook. He didn't believe in robbing people and stealing their stuff, particularly mom and pop store, but he was in survival mode. These were extenuating circumstances.
