'Here you go miss.' the officer said in English.
'Thank you. Thank you so much.' Solomon replied in her best English.
She turned to go, to lead Natasha away from danger. However, the officer continued.
'Your identification miss. I need it for the arrest paper.'
'Our papers were stolen with my handbag in Erzurum.'
'I understand,' the officer replied, 'this is serious. You need new papers. What country are you?'
'I'm Georgian.' Solomon lied.
'I'll escort you to Georgian embassy so you can apply for new papers.'
'That's OK,' Solomon was thinking quickly, 'we were going there anyway, thanks.'
'I have to escort you.' The officer stated.
Solomon resigned herself to this, realising that arguing would only cause more problems for them both. I'll have to think my way out of this.
It was only a short walk from the marketplace to the embassy in Abdullah Cevdet Sok. The embassy, housed in a small, two-storey building was guarded by a Georgian soldier. The police officer introduced himself explaining why he was there and who Solomon and Natasha were. The soldier radioed reception and ushered them inside. A large but pleasant looking man descended the staircase.
'I am Torgva Kvaratskhelia, I am the Deputy Chief of Mission, how may I help?'
The officer recounted the events from the marketplace and the situation in which Solomon and Natasha were currently in. 'Obviously I need to see official papers to confirm their identities.’ The officer finished.
'Of course, of course.' the Deputy agreed. 'However it will take some time to confirm their identities, get approval for new papers and to produce them. May I suggest that I bring them by the station tomorrow?'
The officer looked at the Deputy, made a note in his book, 'Tomorrow it is then.' He left his details with the Deputy and bid them farewell.
The officer gone, the Deputy questioned Solomon as to where she was from and what she did. Solomon gave him the name of a street she remembered from Tbilisi and the number of a building, adding that she was recently widowed, and her late husband's father had been from Antalya on the southern Mediterranean coast of Turkey. However she had very little else to go on and was hoping to make inquiries in the town to see if any family remained. The Deputy excused himself saying that he would confirm her details and start the process of issuing new passports. The Deputy gone, Solomon thought fast, we can't just walk out, as his secretary is right outside. However..., she had an idea. Solomon opened the office door and led her daughter into the Secretary's office. 'Please, my daughter needs the toilet?' She asked.
The secretary stared at them both blankly; she didn't speak any Russian.
'Please the toilet?' she asked again, this time in broken English. She held Natasha's shoulders showing the secretary that her daughter needed the toilet.
The secretary smiled, then nodded and stood up from her desk, leading them out into the corridor. She pointed to a door halfway down the corridor on the right. Solomon smiled back at the woman and nodded. She led Natasha by her hand and walked towards the toilet. The secretary walked back into her office.
Inside the toilet Solomon was pleased to see that it had windows, she opened one and looked out, it overlooked an alley. Perfect, she thought. They had had to leave their rucksacks in the Deputy's office, taking them to the toilet would have looked suspicious. The essentials Solomon had squirrelled away in her clothing. Again, they would have to buy more, depleting their finances still further. The windows were about waist high; Solomon pushed one as wide as it would go, and then helped Natasha up to it. There was a knock at the toilet door. Her heart stopped. Natasha was halfway out the window.
'Just a minute.' Solomon called out, trying to decide whether to make a run for it.
'It's OK, take your time. The computer is down so I cannot process your application until tomorrow, come to my office when you are ready. I will arrange accommodation for you both for tonight.'
'Thanks.' Solomon managed to say. Her arms were screaming now holding Natasha out of the window, muscles taut. She eased her back in. When they returned to the Deputy's office, he had already secured them the accommodation he had promised. He gave them a street map of Ankara, with the hostel marked upon it and the embassy as well.
'You will need to be here at ten in the morning.' He went to put this in his diary. 'Blast. I am booked up until lunch. Look be here tomorrow afternoon, two o'clock, I'm sure the officer will be OK with that.'
Solomon thanked him profusely for all his help and took the street map with her as they left. She had no intention of staying the night in Ankara.
9 Courts Martial
10:07 05 November [09:07 05 November GMT]
Board of Inquiry, French Army Barracks, Châlons-en-Champagne, NE France.
Second Lieutenant Severine Pascal sat there, her face impassive. Normally a picture of beauty, a combination of her French and Haitian parentage, it now lacked something. It was impassive, almost cold. Three men sat opposite her, three men who held her future in their hands. They were all senior military officers. They were here today to hear the charges against her, and to sit in judgement. None of them knew her personally. They only had her military record, which was not impressive as a lot of it was sealed. That and the evidence against her. This was not their first courts martial; they had presided over too many in their long careers. The allegations and counter-allegations were of a serious disciplinary nature. Had this been a civilian matter, a criminal court would be presiding. However, the army does things differently. An officer of the court read out the charges.
'Second-Lieutenant Pascal. You are charged with conduct contrary to the code of the French army. Specifically that you stole from the French Army. You assaulted an officer of the French army and that you committed serious damage to the property of that same French officer. How do you reply?'
'To the theft, not guilty. To the assault and damage, guilty due to passion.'
'The French Army does not recognise the defence of passion.'
'Then I am not guilty on all three charges.'
Severine knew that she was, technically, guilty on at least the second and third charges. However if she said so she would be denied this day in court.
'The case is prepared and there are charges to be answered.' The officer addressed the three judges. 'Have I the courts permission to proceed?'
'Qui.' the lead judge answered.
The officer of the court called the first of twenty-two witnesses to the assault. The most serious of the three charges.
Severine tuned out the witness. She knew that he would tell the truth. That all of them would recount precisely the events of that day. She cast her mind back to the day in question, and then further back in time to the events that had preceded it.
Severine had not had the easiest of lives before joining the army. An only child she had been raised in Clichy-sous-Bois, a banlieue or modern ghetto to the northeast of Paris. A place where tourists do not venture. Her French father was an intelligent and sensitive man, but one who lacked ambition, he never pushed for advancement. He worked for the city, a diligent and reliable employee, well-liked by his colleagues. Her Haitian mother was an altogether different person. Severine inherited her anger and passion from her mother, a fiery woman who became more exasperated with her husband year upon year.
'Why can't you be more dynamic?' was her often-used taunt.
Severine would see the wounded look upon her father's face, the internal translation of Why can't you be more of a man? The more that Severine tried to please her father, and be like him, the more she turned into her mother. Fights in and out of school, both with other girls and with boys, some much older than her, were commonplace. Her mother chose to ignore the cuts and bruises. Her father would have a quiet word with Severine, when her mother was not around.
Severine's schooling suffered from her constant fighting, but she achieved enough for acceptance into the military, wh
ere she believed her passionate and often violent nature could be of use. This only proved to be half-right. If an army marches on its stomach, it works with discipline. She found the discipline of the army difficult to internalise. Her combat skills were recognised though, and these coupled with her innate beauty and mixed origin meant that she was chosen for special duties. As much as she failed to fit into regular army life, she never failed on a mission. However, their classified nature meant that she could not be recognised for her considerable skills and achievements.
She began to drift through the army. Transfers to other units became more frequent as each of her superiors found her a disruptive influence. The secret missions didn't help. They were invariably classed as training or special leave. She could not recount them after, and so the secrets mounted. So did her frustration. Others, who had officially recognised experience, were promoted above her. Now at the age of thirty-one she had to salute people many years her junior. Like her current commanding officer. Lieutenant Jacques Fleubert was a twenty-seven year old son of a career officer. The spirit of the section that Severine served in changed almost the day that he was appointed to command them. This had been her longest stay in post since joining the army. She had worked hard at both controlling her anger as well as building a solid professional relationship with her former commanding officer, a tough but fair man who, unfortunately for Severine, retired early.
Lieutenant Fleubert was not the man to replace her former commanding officer. Nor was he the sort of officer his father was. He only saw the brash side of his father, heard the stories his father had told. He did not see the years his father had worked, gaining solid experience of soldiering and the respect of both the men and women who served under him. No, the son was much less of a man than his father was. He didn't see the place of women in the army. He felt that he should automatically receive the same respect his father did, as if it went with the name rather than the man. He completely misunderstood Severine. He could see no reason for her being there, expect that she was a woman and they are supposed to have equal opportunity. But, he reasoned, if she were any good she would be of a higher rank. He could see why people might want here around though. Fit, attractive and very feminine, he was instantly attracted to her. She however, was not remotely attracted to him.
It started with unnecessary comments, little more than banter. Then there were tasks that, strictly speaking, fell outside of her duties. She was focused on her career. She ignored the comments and undertook the tasks, trying to establish the same level of professional relationship that she had with her previous commanding officer. However, she found that one couldn’t build a solid house on sand. The little comments, which had been private, were now public. She still said nothing, afraid of confrontation and where, with her temper, it might lead. The tasks became more personal, but still tied into army life. Difficult to object without seeming petty or not a team player. The comments ceased to be little, now he referred to her intimately, even in front of other members of the section. Even so, she stuck with it, determined not to let herself down.
Then started the innuendoes. How pretty she was, how her colouring made her look so exotic, how she must be able to have the pick of any man she wanted. Then, the inquiries, why hasn't he seen her with anyone? Was she lonely? Did she take care of herself and was that satisfying enough for her?
This took its toll on her. Sleep brought some relief; the morning brought the dread of the day. She started to avoid him all she could. This only made the meetings more intense. For her she was anxious beforehand, for him he looked forward to them with anticipation. The final straw had come two weeks before.
One of the section was getting married; off-duty attendance was expected but not officially mandatory. Severine loved parties, but weeks of constant harassment meant that she only went from of a sense of obligation to her unit. To see her section leader in a social setting was not something she wanted, not at all. He was there. Laughing, joking, and buying everyone drinks, the life and soul of the party, even outshining the groom. Severine purchased her own drink and headed for a corner of the room. Some of her unit had occupied a table there and she could be part of the night without being near him.
He made a beeline for her as soon as he saw her. He had been drinking quite heavily and insisted on buying the table a round of drinks. It would have been impolite to refuse. Severine had nursed her first drink, so she took the second safe in the knowledge that she was watching what she drank. After ten minutes of telling everyone how wonderful he was, he started to pester Severine for a dance. Others were dancing and it seemed less risky to accept than to persist with a no, especially when he asked everyone sat at the table whether she should dance and of course, they all said yes.
She was less steady on her feet than she felt she ought to be. Grateful when a slow number came on she did not resist when he placed his arms around her waist. He gave a wink at the table over her shoulder; a couple of the men gave him a thumbs up. Two more slow songs and she was feeling quite tired, she didn't notice that she was resting against him, her head on his shoulder, her arms around his neck, his right leg, between hers.
They left together. Her relying heavily upon him for support. Him smiling as they went. The whispering amongst the section rife that night. He guided her back to his. Helping her inside and removing her coat. He put on some music and fetched them both a drink. Severine could hardly focus now, but she felt relaxed sitting on the sofa together, his left hand on her right knee, his right arm around her shoulders. She was in an almost dreamlike state now, not really aware of where she was and with whom. She responded to the caresses, to the kissing. She gave herself to the moment. The dream took over and she surrendered to it.
She awoke with a start, instantly regretting it. Her head a battlefield of explosions, her mind the fog of war. I’m alone…but alone where? She cast her mind back to the night before, painful though it was. She could remember the party. She could remember sitting at the table with the others. Then she remembered him coming over and she could just remember the drink he had bought her but after that it was all hazy. She was in his quarters. She lifted the sheets and the smell of sex was heavy upon her. She rushed for the bathroom and threw up. Grabbing her clothes she dressed quickly and made for her own quarters.
She just made it; sick again, the powerful smell of the toilet disinfectant doing nothing to make her feel any better. She threw off her clothes and climbed into a steaming shower. Thank god I'm off-duty today. The pressure of the water and the action of the soap combined to cleanse her body, her mind was a different matter. How could I have been so stupid? She threw up again, this time against the glass door of the shower. There must have been something in that drink he bought me…There must have been. This was all she could think about, that and how stupid she had been. It all seemed so clear now. All of his words and actions had been leading to last night. Why hadn't I seen it? Why didn't I stop it? Why didn't I stop him?
The tears came, from anger, frustration or shame she could not tell. They mixed with the water, a salty stream of injustice tracing its way down her body. She began to clean herself internally, it hurt, she was definitely sore, bruised. She cleaned deeper, harder, the pain of it urging her on. She stopped, collapsing onto the shower floor, fresh tears accompanied by sobbing, such sobbing that her chest began to ache.
She didn't know how long she had lain on the floor of the shower. She had cried and sobbed until she lost consciousness. Not bothering to dry herself she pulled herself up and walked into her bedroom. She pulled back the duvet, the bed sheet looked cold to her, uninviting. She walked into her kitchen not bothering to robe, kneeling down by the sink her head inside the cupboard she found her “nounours”, her little teddy-bear hot water bottle. Filling it from the tap, she carried it back to her bedroom holding it by an ear, just as she had when the shouting of her parents had been too much. In bed she curled up, hugging her little nounours tight into her stomach. No tears this time, she h
ad none left. She just lay there with her eyes tightly closed, shutting out all the pain of the world.
The next morning she was due back on-duty; her training kicked in and she was up with her alarm, on auto-pilot but dressed and ready for the day. Stepping outside the world confronted and confused her. Was this the same world in which I had been raped? Raped? She thought, I have to accept that was what it was. I was raped. The thought of her allowing it to happen to her bothered her almost as much as the act itself.
It was mid-morning before she was confronted with Lieutenant Fleubert. He was strutting around smiling, looking very happy. He gave her a polite “Good Morning”, she shuddered and didn't respond. He let it pass, seemingly pleased with himself.
It was during afternoon Martial Arts practice that things changed. After several demonstrations the Sensei invited Lieutenant Fleubert to be the defender and Severine the attacker with an imaginary knife. They ran the script with Fleubert side-stepping Severine's attack throwing her to the ground and then pinning her down to finish. Severine felt very uncomfortable. The Sensei congratulated Fleubert for all to hear.
'No problem, it's not the first time we've been in this position.' He gave Severine a wink and a smile.
She was cold, numb, violated again. As they left the dojo, she walked to the army stores to borrow a shovel. His sports car, flashy in an unnecessary and provocative way, was easy to find, parked near his quarters. Whack! The windscreen cracked. The alarm set off screaming. Whack! The windscreen gave way completely. Whack! Whack! The driver and passenger windows lay shattered. Whack! Whack! Whack! Severine meticulously went round the car, damaging every panel. Fleubert appeared, alerted by the sound of his car alarm.
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