Court Martial

by Donald E. Zlotnik

  “I answered your questions.” Spencer’s voice was soft. The doctor failed to realize that when the young soldier’s voice grew soft, Spencer was becoming very dangerous.

  “I already knew the answers to those questions!”

  “Then why did you ask them?”

  “Spencer...” The doctor was taking a long shot, “where did the scars on your legs and penis come from?”

  Spencer slowly lifted his head off his knee and looked at the doctor. His eyes were narrow slits. His voice was a soft whisper. “I’ve already told you that’s none of your business.”

  “Do you realize that in less than a week, the President of the United States of America is going to present the Medal of Honor to you in the White House Rose Garden? There will be hundreds of press people watching and the whole Joint Chiefs of Staff!”

  The expression on Spencer’s face said so what?

  “I’ll tell you so what!” The doctor pointed his freshly lit cigarette at Spencer. “The President wants to be assured that you’re not going to have a breakdown when that happens.”

  “There’s one way to be assured.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Don’t give me the medal.”

  “You are crazy! You would turn down the Medal of Honor? Our nation’s highest valor award?”

  “YepI just did.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m not. If that’s what it takes for you and all the rest of these fucking people to leave me alone… it’s fine with me.” Spencer smiled. “You keep your medal and release me from this hospital.”

  “What is your problem!”

  “I already told you… you for one.” Spencer clenched his teeth. “Do you really think I would sit here and spill my guts out to you? Come on, Doc! How dumb do you think I am? You come on like you’re my best friend… I can tell you anything—right? Sure… I could tell you anything and within a matter of hours it would be the talk of the whole damn hospital and appear in the Enquirer before the week is out!”

  “My professional ethics won’t allow that.”

  “Bullshit! You have to write a report, right?”

  “That report is confidential.”

  “You, Doctor, are dumber than I thought. If the President is interested in this white trash from South Carolina, so is the press, and your ‘confidential’ report will be common knowledge.”

  Spencer had made a good point and the psychiatrist knew it. He also knew that Spencer didn’t have the slightest idea how much pressure was on the military because of the upcoming trial of Mohammed James. Civil rights groups were beginning to hear rumors of the court-martial and letters were being written by the thousands from blacks around the country to congressmen and the President, claiming scapegoating of the black soldier. There were even claims that Spencer Barnett was the traitor along with General Garibaldi. Those claims came from a prominent black minister in Detroit who had a very large following.

  “Will you talk to me if I promise not to write a report?” The psychiatrist was making a last-ditch attempt to find out what was going on inside Spencer’s mind.

  “I’m talking to you right now.”

  “About the scars…”

  ”No.”

  “Spencer, I’ve reviewed all the reports on you since you first entered the foster-care program back in South Carolina. I have the staff reports on you for every day that you spent in the juvenile home. I know about your assault on the social workers and your constant fighting with the black kids in the home. You have a very well-established hatred for blacks!”

  “So, I hate black? So what?”

  “Specialist James’s defense attorneys also have access to that information and they’ll use it in court.” The doctor was playing his aces. “And James has two of the best law firms in the country representing him.... God only knows where he got the money to pay them.”

  Spencer’s eyes opened again and he smiled. “So that’s what this is all about?”

  “Yes.” It was the doctor’s turn to be honest.

  “You’re worried that I might screw up the trial.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, have no fear. You can report back to your leaders that Corporal Spencer Barnett will not fail them! You have a pro here! I’ve been fucked with by the very best… I mean the very best motherfuckers in the world! And none of them have broken Spencer Barnett!”

  “Spence… we all admire you....”

  Barnett jumped off the windowsill and pointed his finger at the psychiatrist. “Don’t you ever call me Spence. Only my friends call me by that name! And you’re not a friend! Now get out of here and go fuck with someone else’s mind.” Spencer was starting to breathe heavily. “You don’t understand, do you? I’ve had a hell of a lot tougher emotional vampires try to feed off me than you! You’ve read their reports. You heard what they had to say, so why mess with me?”

  “I want to hear your side of the stories.”

  “Oh? Well that’s a bit too late, isn’t it? I mean, they won. Did they tell you that the South Carolina juvenile system was ninety-five-percent black? Of course, none of those black boys had done a damn thing to be in the system… just us five percent whites. Did they tell you that some of those fine black specimens of male pride tried holding me down one night to buttfuck me? Hell no! They wrote down in the report that I attacked five seventeen-year-olds when I was fourteen! Right!” Spencer’s voice began to rise. “Did the report you read state that the staff heard nothing? Nothing, that is, until one of the blacks ran over to his cage and asked for help. Yeah, I was flicking them up. This white trash has a virgin asshole and it’s going to stay that way!” Spencer tapped his chest hard with his finger.

  The psychiatrist was getting the reaction from Spencer that he wanted. The young soldier was finally talking.

  “You don’t have to worry about me making an ass out of the brass. We’ve solved two of your problems here today, Colonel: I’ve turned down your medal and I’ve assured you that I won’t do anything stupid, like call James a nigger in cowl. You’ve had a very good day and maybe they’ll skip over bird colonel and make you a brigadier general for your service to your country!”

  “Don’t be sarcastic.”

  “Sarcastic? Me?” Spencer pointed at his chest. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted was to be left alone… alone.”

  “If you cooperate with me, I promise that you’ll be out of here within a month.”

  “A month!”

  “Or less.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Take a series of psychological tests.”

  “No.”

  “Then you’ll be in here a lot longer than a month.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I don’t think so.” Spencer went to his bed and laid down with his hands laced behind his head. He looked up at the ceiling. “I’ll be out of here before the week is over.”

  “Really? You know that 1 have an awful lot to say about that.” The psychiatrist ground out his cigarette butt in his coffee cup.

  Spencer closed his eyes, ending the session. “You can turn your tape recorder off now, I’m done talking.”

  The shocked expression on the doctor’s face went unnoticed by the patient. The FBI agents had assured him that the tape recorder under the loose doctor’s smock would not be noticed by Barnett and it hadn’t. Spencer had guessed that the doctor was wearing a tape recorder by the way the man sat in the chair and the uncomfortable way he had twisted when the machine became warm or the tape pulled against his skin.

  The doctor hurried out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  Spencer waited until he was sure the doctor had left and then sat up on the bed. He reached under his pillow and removed the letter he had just received from his old recon teammate. He had read the letter at least a dozen times. The familiar handwriting eased the loneliness he was feeling. If it weren’t for Mary, he reall
y would have gone crazy a long time ago. Spencer opened the letter and started reading:

  Hello, Spence!

  I hope you’re getting better. We were beginning to worry there for a while and then we got your letter. Screwing a nurse! I’m proud of you, boy! You southern boys are really sneaky, I bet she didn’t even know she had been laid until you started into your short strokes.

  The war is still going on. I miss having you watching my rear!

  Spencer reread the last sentence. He missed being back in Vietnam with Sergeant Arnason and David Woods.

  They busted Shaw and Simpson but the VC killed both of them before the MPs could arrest them. You won’t believe this shit but Simpson was buying his dope from two VC officers! No shit! Kirkpatrick got wasted. It’s a long story that I’ll save until we can talk face to face.

  They gave us some new guys on RT BAD NEWS. We lucked out and got some good men. Sanchez is a hard ass from down south and has proved himself already under fire. Warner is a rich and I mean a rich fucker from Michigan. A place called Bloomfield Hills. He’s cool. I’ve never seen a man so good in the jungle. I mean it’s impossible for him to get lost. We got a Polack named Koski too. I think you’d like him the best. The guy is recon all the way!

  Arnason made sergeant first class! How about that shit! I made buck sergeant, but it’s no big deal. They were talking about giving me my own team, but between you and me, I want to stay witharnason until my tour is up.

  We had a big fucking fight up in Khe Sanh. Mark my words, that fucking place is going to blow apart one of these days. The brass used our recon company and a company from the Marine Force Recon Battalion as a screen along the border. The NVA curled our flanks and kicked a lot of ass. It turned into a big fucking fight. I could have used you there.

  The last six words of the paragraph stayed in front of Spencer’s eyes: I could have used you there. He looked out the window and whispered to himself, “I could have used you there. Oh man, how I wished I was with you, Dave!” Spencer started crying. A large tear dropped down on the paper and smudged the ink. Spencer finished the letter.

  Oh! Before I forget! Sergeant McDonald flew in from Nha Trang (he told me to tell you hello). I don’t know what they talked about (Arnason isn’t talking) but it had a lot to do with you and James. I hear he’s some kind of psychopathic killer or something. I didn’t like the motherfucker when he was here and I don’t like him now. You watch out for him—hear! McDonald said that he was flying back to Washington, D.C. as a witness in James’s court-martial (I know he’ll look you up when he does) andarnason might fly back with him. Who knows, they might take me along too!

  I hear that you’ve won the Big One! Congratulations, I know you’ve earned it.

  Well, Spence, the war calls.

  Your war brother,

  Sergeant David

  P.S. Eat your fucking heart out, Corporal!

  “Fucking leg, motherfucker!” Spencer spoke affectionately under his breath to a pigeon that had landed on his windowsill and was pecking at the pieces of toast Spencer had broken up and placed there for the birds. “This corporal will run circles around his sergeant ass!” The bird cocked its head, ready to fly away. Spencer looked at the bird and reached up to wipe the tears off his cheeks. “Well! Are you going to eat or just stand there fucking staring at me?” The bird pecked at a piece of toast in response to the soldier’s question.

  The door opened and Mary stepped in. “Are you busy?”

  “A little.” Spencer kept his back to her.

  “Do you want me to come back?” She saw his shiny cheek and knew that he had been crying.

  “Could you give me a couple of minutes alone?”

  “Sure. I’ve got to check on a cancer case down the hall… a retired lieutenant general. He’s not hard to deal with at all, but his wife is a bitch!” Mary went back to the door pretending that she hadn’t noticed Spencer’s tears. “I’ll be back in about twenty minutes… okay?”

  “That’ll be fine.”

  The door closed behind the nurse.

  The two children walked down the hallway on each side of the medium-height man. Mary looked up from her duty desk and smiled. The children were cute. The boy’s hair was brushed and slicked down for the hospital visit and the girl wore her light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. The children smiled up at the nurse when the man stopped in front of the counter.

  “Excuse me, could you direct me to Spencer Barnett’s room?” The man smiled, showing a set of pearl-white teeth.

  Mary looked closely at the trio. She could see that they were all mixed blood and figured they were Amerasians. She was right in one of the cases, but the children were Eurasians from Vietnam. The man was from Korean stock. “I’m sorry, but Corporal Barnett is not allowed visitors, especially little ones.” She saw the look of disappointment appear on the children’s faces. “I’m really sorry, kids.”

  The man reached up and removed a folded pass from his shirt pocket and handed it to the nurse. She read the special-permission slip for the trio to visit with Spencer and smiled as she handed it back. “Signed by the hospital commander, no less! You have powerful friends.”

  The man shrugged and smiled. “A couple, I guess.”

  “I’m on my way to his room right now, let me guide you.” Mary reached down and took the little girl’s hand and the pair of them led the way down the corridor to room 131.

  Spencer looked up from his bed where he had propped his pillows against the headboard and lay staring out the window at the fluffy white clouds that were riding a stiff breeze. Trung tugged away from Mary’s hand and ran to his bed. She crawled up and hugged the familiar figure. Jean-Paul jumped up on the opposite side and wrapped his arms around Spencer’s other side.

  “What in the hell!” Spencer started laughing and then looked up and saw Reggie standing in the doorway with Mary.

  “Surprise!” Trung’s soft voice filled the room.

  “What are you guys doing here?” Spencer looked over at Mary for an answer. She shrugged.

  “We came to visit,” Reggie answered. “Dad’s in a big meeting over at the Pentagon and we decided that it was time to see you.” He took a seat at the foot of the bed and watched Spencer rub his hands through the kids’ hair. “Dad had to really pull some strings. They’ve got you locked up here in the security ward.”

  A shocked expression covered Spencer’s face. “Security?”

  “Yeah… didn’t you know? Man, we’ve been trying to visit you since they put you in here.” Reggie glanced over at the nurse.

  “Spencer, they made me promise not to mention it to you.” She looked down at the scuff marks on the waxed floor. “That’s why we always used the back elevator when we left here. It was so you wouldn’t see the signs posted out front.”

  “Why?” Spencer’s voice revealed the hurt he was feeling over the deception.

  “I don’t know if I’m allowed to tell you.”

  “Why?” The anger in his voice scared the kids and Spencer immediately hugged them to reassure the preteens that he wasn’t angry with them.

  “They don’t know what you’re going to do.” Mary felt very bad about taking part in the deception, but the decision to place him in the high-security ward had been made when he first arrived at the hospital. “Spencer, all POWs are put in here until they recover—”

  “Recover? I haven’t recovered?” Spencer shook his head. “Colonel Garibaldi has been out of here for weeks!”

  “He cooperated with the psychiatrists....” Mary’s voice dropped.

  Spencer laughed. “Then I’m going to rot in here or escape.” He turned his attention back to the children. “You guys want to help me plan my breakout?”

  “Yeah!” The ten-year-old boy sat up on the bed and crossed his legs. “We could sneak you out on one of those hospital carts. I saw that on TV last night.”

  “Good thinking!” Spencer laughed but his eyes flashed his hurt to the nurse.

  “Spencer
?” Seven-year-old Trung’s voice drew everyone’s attention.

  “Yeah, Dove…”

  “Why are you and Reggie always in the hospital?”

  It took a couple of seconds for the question to sink in and then Reggie began laughing. He had been in the hospital in Vietnam to have his lung removed after being shot, and now the very next time they were back together again, Spencer was in a hospital bed. To the seven-year-old, the correlation was that American soldiers were always sick. “Trung, Spencer is better. He had a few bad days back in Vietnam and came here to get some medicine.”

  “Oh.” The girl was satisfied with the answer from her adopted big brother.

  “So, how are you two guys doing back here in the States?” Spencer kissed the girl’s forehead. It felt good being next to the kids again.

  “I like school.” Jean-Paul smiled.

  “He’s getting straight A’s!” Reggie interjected.

  “Really?” Spencer ruffled the boy’s hair and it fell more naturally into place.

  “Yep! And I’m on a Little League baseball team!” Jean-Paul wiggled on the bed in his excitement. “I play shortstop!”

  “I’m taking tap dancing!” Trung tried gaining Spencer’s attention.

  “Now that’s a show at our house. Dad’s about ready to volunteer for duty back in Vietnam! Four girls in tap dancing and one in gymnastics!”

  “I thought there were six girls?” Spencer knew that Reggie had five sisters before his father rescued Jean-Paul and Trung from Vietnam and adopted them.

  “There are!” Jean-Paul’s tone of voice said it all. He was outnumbered.

  “Hey, sport! We hold our own now!” Reggie reached over on the bed and lifted the small ten-year-old up in the air and roughhoused with him for a couple of seconds.

  “Yeah, but when you’re away in college they try bossing me around all the time.” Jean-Paul flashed a glance at his sister.

  Mary stood in the background and watched the warm scene. She noticed how close the two children remained to Spencer and how they constantly reached over and touched him as if they were trying to pass some of their energy over to him through his skin. It was very good medicine. She saw the glow coming back into Spencer’s eyes.