Court Martial

by Donald E. Zlotnik

  “We do not!” Trung spoke the words like a mother.

  “Hah! You try making me play house!”

  “You’re always the father!”

  “All right, kids… easy now… Spencer is sick, don’t forget,” Reggie said to calm the kids down.

  “So what’s your father up to here in Washington?” Spencer dropped his head back against the stacked pillows and the kids settled down again, one on each side of him.

  “I don’t know exactly, but I think he’s being assigned to a general court-martial review board.” Reggie looked out the window. “You’ve heard about James?”

  “A little.”

  “A couple of black hit men tried busting him out of Leavenworth.”

  “No shit!”

  “Yeah, one of them was zapped and the other one got away. The FBI is looking for him.”

  “Where’s James now?” The question was loaded.

  Reggie glanced at Spencer. “I was told that I couldn’t tell you that.”

  “Why?” Spencer was becoming very angry.

  “You got me, buddy. A lot of weird shit is going on.” Reggie looked out the window again so that he didn’t have to look in Spencer’s eyes.

  Spencer looked at Mary. “Go tell the shrink that I want to talk to him as soon as my visitors leave.”

  Mary hesitated and then left the room.

  “It’s really good seeing you again, Reg.” Spencer’s tone of voice changed completely when the nurse had left the room. All the facade was gone and his pain showed through.

  “Are you okay?” Reggie felt the anguish in his old recon buddy.

  “Yeah… I just need to get out of this damn place for a while.” He hugged the kids tightly. “Thanks for bringing the kids with you. I need this.” The children responded to the pain they saw in Spencer’s eyes by snuggling even closer to him.

  “Do you want me to talk to Dad?”

  “Yeah, have him talk to Colonel Garibaldi too… maybe they can pull something off.”

  “You mean Major General Garibaldi?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Thanks.”

  The psychiatrist entered the room and the conversation stopped. The first thing the doctor noticed was the two children curled up on each side of Spencer and the relaxed expression on his patient’s face.

  “Well look, we have to be going....” Reggie sensed that it was time to leave.

  “So soon?” Trung’s soft voice pleaded with her brother.

  “Yep, the doctor wants to give Spence a shot!”

  Dr. Martin grinned. “What do I have here, three patients in one bed?”

  Jean-Paul had had his share of shots when he was in the hospital in Vietnam from the wounds he had received from a 122mm rocket. He slipped off the bed and stood next to Reggie. Trung gave Spencer a rushed kiss and joined her brother. Jean-Paul glanced over at the doctor, decided that he would risk it, and quickly hopped back up on the bed and kissed Spencer.

  “I think these kids like you.” The psychiatrist started his mind games.

  “Believe it or not, a few people actually do.” Reggie had caught the tone in the doctor’s voice and now leaned over and kissed Spencer’s cheek. The kids giggled. “Later… Spence.”

  Spencer laced his hands behind his head and smiled at the doctor. Let him figure that one out on his own.

  The doctor waited until they had left before commenting, “You have some close friends there.”

  “War buddies.” Spencer winked at the doctor.

  “You’re a hard one to figure out.” The psychiatrist sighed. He wasn’t kidding. “What do you want?”

  “Out of here.” Spencer kept the smile on his face. “Something is going on and I’ve got a strong feeling that I’m a major player. My price for cooperation is getting out of here.”

  The doctor smiled. “That could be arranged with a little cooperation.”

  Spencer smiled back. He was getting very good at playing mind games.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Secrets

  The rain added to the gloom surrounding the meeting. Stars flashed in the room from the shoulders and collars of the officers who were assembled around the oak conference table. The sergeant major of the Army looked at each of the faces and recognized most of them from prior assignments and his long Pentagon tours. He recognized newly promoted Brigadier General Jack Seacourt from one of his tours with the 82nd Airborne Division stationed at Fort Bragg, and nodded. The general nodded back but didn’t smile. The assembly was too serious for friendly smiles.

  “Gentlemen, please grab some coffee and take your seats.” The white-haired lieutenant general spoke from the end of the table as he dropped a thick manila folder down on the polished wood.

  The sergeant major set his mug on a folded piece of paper so he wouldn’t mark the wood tabletop and crossed his legs to one side. He was the only enlisted man in the room and he knew that the only reason he had been invited was that Specialist Fourth Class Mohammed James had requested in writing that enlisted men be appointed to sit as members of his court-martial. This was one meeting the sergeant major really did not want to attend.

  “I want to thank all of you for taking the time out of your very busy schedules to fly here on such short notice, especially Jack Seacourt, who left Vietnam early yesterday morning and has been traveling since then.”

  As the one-star general nodded at the lieutenant general heading the review board, everyone else in the room was staring at him. The prisoner snatch his special unit had conducted had made him famous and there was a little more than the normal jealousy from his peers.

  The three-star general shifted in his seat and continued talking in a husky voice. “Gentlemen… I’ve been in the Army for thirty-four years and this is the worst thing that I’ve ever had to deal with.” The opening remark was profound. “I know that the secrecy of this meeting has a couple of you a little baffled, but very soon you’ll understand why we’ve taken so many elaborate precautionary measures. First I want to go around the table and introduce each of you.” The senior general started with the man in civilian clothes to his right. “Mr. Manning is representing the Federal Bureau of Investigation; Mr. Templar is from the Counter Intelligence Agency; Colonel Chan is a law officer out of the JAG office.” He switched to the other side of the table. “You all know the Sergeant Major of the Army....” The senior NCO nodded. “Major General Koch is from the Special Forces Center at Bragg; Colonel Sinclair is a special assistant to the secretary of the Army; you’ve just met Jack Seacourt; and Lieutenant Colonel Tom Kemp is from the First Cavalry Division in Vietnam.” The lieutenant general looked over at the JAG officer. “Have you gotten an opinion yet on Kemp?”

  “Yes sir. Under the Manual for Courts-Martial, Lieutenant Colonel Kemp is considered far enough removed from the accused’s unit to be eligible to serve on the board.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Brigadier General Heller is an instructor at the Senior Staff College and an expert on military affairs.” He glanced over at the officer sitting next to the wall away from the conference table. “Dr. Martin joins us from Walter Reed Army Hospital. He’s the psychiatrist who is treating our star witness, Corporal Spencer Barnett.”

  Colonel Sinclair and General Seacourt caught each other’s eyes; both men were surprised.

  “Gentlemen, you have all been called here for a briefing on the charges against a Specialist Fourth Class Mohammed James.... This is a very unique court-martial for a number of reasons: first, he’s black… second, he’s being charged with killing white soldiers in combat… third, he’s aided the enemy and spied for the North Vietnamese.... All of these charges are alleged.” The general looked over at the two men in civilian clothes. “And our civilian counterparts have a few charges of their own and will have the opportunity to brief us. First let’s have Colonel Chan read the charges.”

  The Army colonel wearing Judge Advo
cate General Corps brass on his collars stood up and an overhead projector came on. The charges were flashed on the screen:

  ARTICLE 118. MURDER.

  (a) Twenty-three counts.

  ARTICLE 104. AIDING THE ENEMY.

  (a) Two counts.

  ARTICLE 105. MISCONDUCT AS A PRISONER.

  (a)Forty-seven counts for the purpose of securing favors from the enemy.

  (b)Nine counts of maltreatment of fellow prisoners.

  ARTICLE 106. SPIES.

  (a) One count of espionage against the United States and her allies.

  The colonel gave the assembled military men and civilians a chance to read the charges before he spoke. “As you can see, gentlemen, we have a major problem. Black soldiers are already complaining that they are being treated unfairly in Vietnam, and now this. We have to court-martial him, but the greatest care must be taken that the soldier’s rights are not violated in any way.”

  “What the colonel is saying is that this case could be the spark that could shatter this country and for sure cause a major rift within the military. Gentlemen, we are talking about a soldier who is being accused of murdering his fellow soldiers in combat just because they happen to be white.”

  The FBI agent lifted his hand, trying to draw the general’s attention.

  “Yes, Mr. Manning.”

  “We should note here that five of those alleged murders took place in Detroit as an initiation into a Black Muslim sect called the Death Angels.”

  “Thank you.” The general nodded at the special agent. “Sergeant Major?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “James’s attorneys requested that there be enlisted men on the general court-martial board. According to our friends in the legal office, three of the seven-man board will have to be enlisted. Can you give us a list of recommended names from preferably minority groups?”

  “Yes sir. I’ll have a list by close of business today.” The senior NCO sipped from his coffee cup to cover his embarrassment. His eyes kept going back to the screen and the list of charges. How could any soldier betray his country and his fellow soldiers like that?

  “Thank you, Sergeant Major. Also, the court-martial will be held at Fort Bragg in a secure area called Camp McCall.” The general thought that now was a good time to qualify why they had chosen the isolated training camp. “Two men tried breaking James out of prison at Leavenworth last week. One of them was killed and the other escaped. We think that there will be other attempts to break him, free and also possible attempts on the lives of the prime witnesses and possibly even those members serving on the court-martial board.” The general looked quickly at each of the officers.

  “Who are the prime witnesses?” General Heller asked.

  “The main witnesses are Corporal Barnett and Major General Garibaldi from the Air Force, who served in the POW camp with James. There’s also a Master Sergeant McDonald from the Recondo School in Nha Trang, and a Sergeant Woods who supposedly saw James dressed as an Army captain in the Twenty-fourth Corps Headquarters, and a Marine lieutenant colonel who swears that James came into the operations room and traced major battle plans.” The general caught the sick expression on the face of the major general. He smiled to himself. Koch had always taken the safe way out of everything all during his Army career, ever since they had been classmates at West Point. The lieutenant general had personally selected the major general to be president of the general court-martial. Politics was a way of life for a Pentagon officer and major events such as this were a way to get rid of one’s enemies and at the same time keep other enemies too busy to strike back.

  “General,” Colonel Sinclair spoke up from his chair, “I don’t know if I’m eligible to sit on this board.”

  “Why is that, Reggie?”

  “I know a couple of witnesses for the prosecution. Barnett and Woods. They served with my son on a recon team in Vietnam.”

  Lieutenant Colonel Martin became very interested in the sharp-looking Colonel Sinclair.

  “I don’t think just knowing a witness will disqualify you, but thanks for bringing it up. We must ensure nothing screws this case up! Colonel Chan… would you check this out for us please?”

  “Yes sir, but I’m sure he will still be qualified as long as he’s not going to appear as a witness himself.”

  “Let’s go around the table....” The lieutenant general pointed with the stem of his unlit pipe at the FBI special agent. “Mr. Manning?”

  “Good morning, gentlemen. I have only a little information at the present time but I feel it’s significant nonetheless. Specialist James has bragged on a number of occasions that he would never stand trial. The incident at Fort Leavenworth proves that he means what he says. The two men who made the attempt at breaking him out of the prison came very close to succeeding and I’m glad to say that a number of the prison’s policies have been changed because of the attempt.” The special agent looked around the room and then rested his eyes on the white-haired lieutenant general. “I have to be very careful in what I say next because we don’t want to prejudice the case against James.” He took a long sip from his tepid coffee before continuing. “We think that James is associated with a radical movement called the Death Angels. They are the military arm of a religious sect called the Nation of Islam. Buford Heneri is the leader of the sect and goes by the name of Muhammed Elijah. We have never been able to penetrate any of their secret meetings, but we’ve heard rumors that human sacrifices are made.”

  “Rumors?” Major General Koch interrupted.

  “Rumors from a number of different sources.” The special agent smiled. “We don’t react to rumors, but we do listen.”

  “What kind of human sacrifices?” Colonel Chan asked the question now that the major general had opened up the floor.

  “We think that they use the sacrifices as a bonding tool for something more sinister.”

  “What the hell can be more sinister than human sacrifices?” General Koch adjusted his seat farther back from the conference table in an effort to psychologically detach himself from the proceedings. He had maneuvered politically to gain the command of the highly prestigious Special Forces Command at Fort Bragg, but he was neither qualified nor truly interested in the men of that command. He was an Army officer and was using the position as a stepping stone to a shot at the Chief of Staff slot in Washington. The lieutenant general knew that, and that was why he had selected Koch as the president of the general court-martial board. There was a good chance that whoever held that position would lose his ass, politically.

  The FBI agent looked at the major general out of the corner of his eye and then back at the senior officer, who nodded his approval for him to answer the question. “Our office in Detroit is currently investigating the mutilation and murder of a fourteen-year-old boy. Windsurfers on Lake Saint Clair found the body floating near the shoreline. It had been wrapped up in a half-dozen garbage bags and tied with a rope. Air pockets had been formed and the bundle floated just under the surface. The kids thought at first that it was a bundle of garbage, but one of them was keen enough to notice a small streak of blood leaking out of the package and waved over one of the police boats.” The agent swallowed before continuing. “The boy had been hacked to death… his scrotum and testicles had been cut off, and I think the worst part was the look of terror that had been frozen on that kid’s face....”

  “You saw the body?” Colonel Chan; the legal officer, asked.

  “I’m assigned to the Detroit office.” Mr. Manning started tapping the top of the table with the eraser end of his pencil. “There’s been a rash of unsolved kidnappings in Oakland County and all of the victims have been white boys between thirteen and fifteen, all but one of them was blond with blue eyes and all of them were considered very handsome by their peers.” Manning sighed. “We think this Muslim group is involved with the missing kids and we’re hoping that all of them haven’t been… haven’t been murdered like the boy we found in the lake.”

 
“What does this have to do with James?” General Koch flexed his jaws.

  Manning looked over at him. “James was a member of the cult before he joined the Army and we have photographs of him with the dead man who tried breaking him out of Leavenworth. The dead man was one of these Death Angels and we’re almost sure that James is one too.”

  “What the hell is all this talk about Death Angels?” Koch was becoming very nervous.

  “Well, General. simply put,” answered Templar, from the CIA, “we think that Death Angels are a secret organization of black males who kill whites exclusively. Now do you know what that means, General?” Templar’s tone of voice was extremely patronizing. “That means if Specialist James was a member of this group, and they specialized in killing whites, then we don’t just have a psychopathic murderer on our hands but one, I underscore the word, one of many organized murderers on our hands, and it is interesting to note that the Nation of Islam has chapters in every single metropolitan area in the United States and even overseas with the armed forces.”

  “We know that Death Angels have to kill and prove it to get their wings, but we don’t know how many victims are needed.” Manning’s voice had taken on a very deep tone.

  “Damn!” The single word from the psychiatrist was an appropriate ending to the special agent’s briefing. He was the first one in the room to fully realize the extent and the impact.

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Manning nodded at the psychiatrist and ended his briefing with a closing sentence. “I hope all of you gentlemen realize how many missing kids there are every year in the United States, and this hippie movement has put thousands of kids on the highways.”

  Major General Koch’s face turned white. He had seven sons and his fifteen-year-old had just run away. “Does this cult have one of their mosques in North Carolina?”

  “I don’t think so, but they have a very large one in Washington, D.C.,” Manning answered.

  A little color came back into Koch’s face. As soon as this meeting was over he was going to call back to Fort Bragg and have them intensify their search, and then he promised himself that he was going to spend more time with his kids.