by Bill Mesce
“No need to play good soldier, my son. I’m sure a few days holiday’ll see you right. Do something new with the time; try to enjoy yourself.” Then he grunted out of his seat and began to walk past, back to his sanctum. I felt him stop behind me, saw his hand out of the corner of my eye hover over my shoulder, unsure, then it came down in a fleeting, awkward pat. “Maybe see some old friends,” he mumbled and left.
He meant one old acquaintance, really. I headed home. But the thought of another evening of kippers and whiskey stopped me and turned me round toward Mayfair. I reached the Annex gate not long after the rain had lifted. I sent word through the sentries to Harry, and soon he was carefully stepping across the rain-glistened cobbles. As soon as he was close enough to recognize me, his jowled face broke into a welcoming smile.
“I thought since it’s turning into an absolutely wizard evening you might care to dine alfresco tonight.”
“Al-who?”
“Out-of-doors.”
He seemed enthused at the prospect and left me for a moment while he ran back inside for his hat and jacket. As I watched him skirt the puddles in the Annex yard and try not to slip on the court’s stones, Mr. Dodgson’s verse came discomfortingly to me:
“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things...
We took the Underground to Baker Street and, returning to the street, found the evening brightening and fresh after the rain. I treated us to newspaper funnels of fish and chips and two bottles of ale from the shops. We strolled along Marylebone Road, munching on the greasy bits of fish, enjoying the buskers. Here was a young flautist, and a bit beyond him some ancient duffer with a banjo affecting a bad American Southern accent. One of us would toss a few pence into the upturned hat at their feet and on we’d go. I navigated us into Regent’s Park, past the marshy patches left by the rains, across York Bridge and into Queen Mary’s Gardens. We found a bench and sat, finishing our food, sipping our ale, enjoying the scents of the garden’s blooms. From the other side of the Inner Circle, beyond the hedges, we could hear a recitation of some sort at the open-air theater. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the sky’s rich mauve began to slip into the blue of early night. We wiped the grease from our hands with our handkerchiefs, disposed of the wrappings in a nearby bin, then reclined on our bench to savor the remains of our ale and an occasionally well-delivered phrase of the Bard from the theater. I lit us cigarettes.
“That was a nice change of pace,” Harry said through a satisfied sigh, sucking at a bit of food caught between his teeth.
“Aye, I’m for that as well,” I said. “Rarely have the time, I’m afraid. I’m sure you know the feeling.”
He shrugged.
“I mean,” I continued, “you have been a busy sort of late, eh?”
It began to register with him that this was not just a point of idle conversation. “What makes you say that?”
It was my turn to shrug.
He frowned. “Are you some kind of spy?”
“Not quite.” And then I told him what I was. I knew it would sting but the honesty leavened, for the first time, the mood I’d felt all day.
His face had gone oddly blank. I’m not sure he knew how to take it. After a bit, he slowly set his ale down on the bench, then looked upward to the first stars poking through the darkening canopy. “You’ve been following me all along,” he said softly. “Even before the other day in the park.”
“I’m caught then.”
He lowered his head and cleared his throat, and assumed a rather diffident cordiality. “And your interest in me would be...?”
“What would you think?” It was the old familiar journalistic game, and I was sorry to see us become players. I wished I’d found another way to broach the subject, but the habits of the profession were hard to break. He said nothing and so it was my move again: “Perhaps the Greshams. Perhaps that dead flier of yours who’s on the postmortem table at the Yard. Or perhaps something else. Something that would cause a frightful lot of running between Rosewood Court and General DiGarre’s HQ and the Provost Marshal and G-2...”
It may not have been much — just bits and pieces, really — but he was clearly surprised at how much someone knew outside the Annex cloister. For a moment I thought he’d tell all. It was in his eyes: He wanted it out, cleansingly exposed, as I had with my own nasty secret. But the moment passed and he stood, straightening his uniform jacket. He snuffed his cigarette out. “Any questions about possible Judge Advocate General investigations should be addressed to the Press Office — ”
“Sit down, Harry. Please.”
Instead, he took a few slow, backward steps, as if afraid to turn his back on me, the way one would back away from a growling dog.
“Harry, I’m not your enemy. I’m not here to hurt you. We’ve been talking as mates. I’d like that to stay the case. Please, sit.”
After a hesitation he did. I handed him his bottle of ale.
“Drink your drink,” I said, raising my own bottle.
“How much do you really know?” he asked, not taking his.
“You know the stories about the monster at Loch Ness? I don’t know that there is any such beastie but I know there’s something big afoot round the loch because something’s been leaving bloody great tracks. That’s what I see in your neighborhood, my friend. I don’t know what you’re all on about over there, not entirely, but there is definitely something big afoot. I don’t know how well acquainted you are with big things afoot, Harry, so I wanted to tell you, to advise you; walk carefully round them. It’s times like this when you discover too many of your colleagues — people like your friend Colonel Ryan — have a bit of the Vicar of Bray about them.”
He cocked his head in question.
I smiled. “There’s an old English verse about Symon Symonds who managed to keep his church office under Henry VIII, Edward VI, Bloody Mary, and Elizabeth. Symonds was Catholic when he needed to be Catholic, and Protestant when he needed to be Protestant. ‘If I changed my religion’ — this is how the verse goes — ‘I am sure I kept true to my principle, which is to live and die the Vicar of Bray.’ Understand?”
He nodded glumly.
“If you need me, Harry...even just to talk,” and I told him how to reach me. We finished our ales and I walked with him, back to the Underground and then to the Annex gate. After he showed his identification, the sentries opened the gate for him but he didn’t pass through immediately. “Can I trust you?” he asked.
“You can trust me to tell you when you can’t.”
He nodded a good night and was off, the heavy iron gate clanging shut behind him.
*
Harry slept fitfully, no doubt a result of’ our conversation that evening. Consequently, he was so fagged out the following morning that he slept through reveille, the orderlies’ morning wake-up rounds, and his own alarm clock. He would’ve slept through the ringing of his telephone except that the ringing went on so insistently long. Groggy and irritable, he fumbled the receiver out of its cradle and then fell back on his pillow with it nestled near his ear.
“Are you coming to work today?” came a churlishly abrupt voice.
“Nagel?”
“I shouldn’t have to keep calling you to ask you this every — ”
“What time is it?”
“Oh nine hundred. Nine A.M.”
“I know what time 0900 is,” Harry growled. “Yeah, I’ll be in.”
“There’s a messenger on his way to you. He was over here with a sealed YEO envelope. He wouldn’t let me — ”
“YEO?”
“Your Eyes Only. He wouldn’t let me sign for it so he’s on his way over to you now. He thought you’d be in your office since it’s already — ”
“If you tell me the time again, Nagel, I’ll hurt you. I’ll be there as soon as — ”
There was a knock at his door. “Bye, Nagel.”
Nagel began to say something more but Harry had already dropped
the receiver into its cradle.
The knock was, indeed, the messenger Nagel had mentioned. Harry signed a chit for a thin manila envelope sealed with red security tape and marked TO: MAJOR HAROLD J. VOSS, JAG, EYES ONLY.
Far later, Harry was charging across the Annex toward “Judge Advocate General — Building A” in clothes hastily drawn on, the sheaf of flimsies from the envelope clutched in an angry fist. He pushed through the door stenciled “Col. J. P. Ryan, Judge Advocate.” In the outer office, a razor-creased corporal sat outside Ryan’s door. The corporal rose, waving halting hands at Harry, but Harry brushed him aside and stormed into Ryan’s sanctum. Sitting with Ryan in his spacious, airy office were a captain and a lieutenant Harry recognized from the JAG staff Harry held up his fistful of flimsies. “What the hell is this?”
Ryan raised himself slowly from behind his desk, his face hard with anger and annoyance. “This — ” and he waved his hand at the captain and the lieutenant, “ — is a conference, Major.”
“Now you’re in conference with me!” Harry declared.
Harry’s uncharacteristic assertiveness took Ryan aback and it was a moment before he recovered. He weighed his options, then nodded the other two officers outside.
Harry waited for the door to close behind them, then started jabbing the wad of flimsies at Ryan. “Now what is — ”
“Before you even get started, be quiet and listen!” Ryan snapped. He parried Harry’s thrusting fist of paper with his own jabbing index finger. “At General DiGarre’s perfectly legitimate request, I rendered a perfectly legitimate opinion.”
“I should’ve been consulted! This is my case, and I — ”
“I apologize for the lapse in protocol, Major, but maybe you didn’t notice the sign on my door: I’m the Judge Advocate here. Let me put that in plainer terms: I’m the boss!” Ryan dabbed at the spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth. He forced control on his voice. “Nothing’s changed on this case. You’re still free to pursue your investigation and file whatever charges you see fit. But right now, you could tell me those two were planning to assassinate Eisenhower and I wouldn’t have the authority to detain them, not with DiGarre having authorized their release.”
“You could make a case that — ”
“As long as they make their appearances, I’m not going to make word one!”
“You could make a case to continue their detention here.”
“I could. But I’ve got no cause to get into another fight I can’t win.”
“All right,” Harry steamed. “All right! Just so I know what kind of crap I’m dealing with!”
Ryan’s eyes came up now, locking unflinchingly with Harry’s. “Major,” he said icily, “this kind of crap is exactly the same kind of crap that’s been going on since this thing started! Don’t play the bleeding virgin with me just because you’ve got yourself on the wrong side of it now!”
“You interfere with my case, and after 1 nail these guys — and I will — I swear to God, Joe, I’ll come after you — with contempt, abuse of authority, a baseball bat! I will come after you!”
Harry slammed the door so hard behind him he was surprised it didn’t shatter.
He later showed me those flimsies. I render copies herewith:
MEMORANDUM
TO: Colonel Joseph P. Ryan cc: Maj. H.J. Voss, JAG, Judge Advocate
FROM: Lt. Gen. T. Q. DiGarre
DATE: 8/19/43
RE: Markham/Anderson Investigation
Since the combat operations of my division must naturally take precedence over all other administrative matters, the continued effective management of my combat forces requires I get from you ASAP a rendering on this matter. Reply forthwith.
MEMORANDUM
TO: Lt. Gen.T. Q. DiGarre cc: Maj. H.J. Voss, JAG, Divisional HQ
FROM: Col. Joseph P. Ryan, JAG DATE: 8/19/43
RE: Markham/Anderson Investigation
Under separate cover you will be receiving a formal filing by the JAG requesting and granting a motion for dismissal without prejudice concerning charges thus far raised against Markham/Anderson.
So you may better understand the legal ramifications of this filing: This in no way dispenses the case against Markham/Anderson. This motion provides only a temporary dismissal and allows a revival of charges at a later date.
Since the scope of the initial JAG investigation has obviously expanded past the expectations of all concerned, this would permit the IO to more properly revisit evidence thus far uncovered for a more appropriate application of charges. I would estimate this renewed investigation to produce grounds for formal charges in 3-6 weeks.
MEMORANDUM
TO: Colonel Joseph P. Ryan cc: Maj. H.J. Voss, JAG, Judge Advocate
FROM: Lt. Gen.T. Q. DiGarre DATE: 8/20/43
RE: Markham/Anderson Investigation
Have received your formal rendering and concur.
In interim, as no charges are currently outstanding, there remains no justification for continued detention of Markham/Anderson. Consequently, I am authorizing their release. Pressing need for combat pilots mandates returning Markham/Anderson to active duty pending reapplication of charges, but they will remain at JAG disposal as required.
ORDER #16/8/20/43
TO: Lt. Col. JamesT. Eckhardt, cc: Maj. H.J. Voss, JAG; CO 52 Group, Elsworth Airfield
FROM: Lt. Gen.T. Q. DiGarre
DATE: 8/20/43
RE: Personnel Assignment
Be apprised that Maj. A. Q. Markham, Capt. J.J. Anderson herewith assigned your group. Markham/Anderson are subjects in JAG proceeding. Decision not forthcoming before 3 weeks. Recognize your need for qualified combat pilots. Have taken liberty of assigning Markham/Anderson your unit pending decision on their case. Markham/Anderson should not be subject to question re: case by field personnel, yourself included. Suggest you quarter together and assign as unit. Markham/Anderson to have functioning authority of 1st lt. Duty assignments to be made at your discretion, however Markham/Anderson shall make themselves available as required by JAG.
ORDER #17/8/20/43
TO: Maj. A. Q. Markham bcc: Maj. H.J. Voss, JAG, Capt. J.J. Anderson
FROM: Lt. Gen. T. Q. DiGarre
DATE: 8/20/43
RE: Reassignment
JAG has rendered temporary repeat temporary dismissal of charges against you effective as of now. It is expected that formal charges will be refiled within several weeks with anticipated probability of court-martial proceedings soon to follow.
In interim you are hereby ordered to present yourselves ASAP for active duty assignment to CO 52 Group, Elsworth Afld. However, you will at all times hold yourselves at disposal of JAG pursuant to your case.
While your actions with the 52 cannot be admitted in your favor, poor performance and failure to meet JAG requirements cannot help but prejudice your case. Recommend you continue to conduct yourselves in manner that best reflects on yourselves, your unit, and your service.
Chapter Ten – The Children’s Crusade
The Negro mess boys were busy with mops and rags, replenishing the sparkle of the canteen tables, floors, and counters in preparation for noon mess. Alone except for the mess boys, Harry, Ricks, and Grassi sat with their coffee and cigarettes in a corner of the canteen.
“What I got was the back-and-forth between Ryan and DiGarre happened late last night,” said Grassi. Every word out of his mouth, point of information or no, was a snarling accusation. “Get this: They handed the release order to the Provost at 0430 this morning. Talk about sneaking them off in the dead of night! Do you believe these sons of bitches? They were dressed, packed, and on their way in ten minutes.” Grassi glanced at his watch. “They should be nice and settled in by now. Charlie Paddock should move this fast. Goddamn these guys! They make pirates look respectable!”
The frowning Ricks nodded in glum agreement.
Throughout Grassi’s fulminations and Ricks’s brooding concern, Harry had sat blank-faced, staring out the canteen w
indow. It was actually quite a nice day out there, fresh and vibrant from the rain the day before. He wanted to be as angry as Grassi, rant about Ryan and DiGarre and the whole HQ cabal and their sly maneuverings, but he knew — as he’d known the first time he had faced DiGarre — that anger, effrontery righteous indignation, no matter how well warranted, wouldn’t win him his case. Think...
“What do we do now?” Grassi fumed. “Go back to DiGarre and his deal? Do you think that deal is even still on the table?”
“Probably” Harry said, with what Grassi no doubt interpreted as misplaced unconcern but what was really careful thoughtfulness. “It’s in his interest to leave that option to us. It’ll be there at least up to trial.”
Grassi shook his head in disbelief. “What trial? Correct me if I’m wrong, Boss, but didn’t the bogeymen sneak over to the Provost’s in the wee dark hours and spirit off our defendants?”
“I don’t know about you fellows, but I’m not that well acquainted with this ‘dismissal without prejudice’ business,” Ricks said. “So I’ve been doing a little homework. As I understand it, it’s only a temporary — ”
“Temporary shmemporary!” Grassi blurted. “Hey, you know where this Elsworth Field is? I checked. All the way the hell up past Norwich, maybe a hundred and fifty miles north of here! Hold themselves at our disposal my ass! I can see how this is going to run. ‘Excuse me, the JAG would like Major Markham and Captain Anderson to present themselves for a deposition. Could you please have them come down to London for us?’ ‘Oh, sorry, Bud, they’re off beating back the filthy Hun today. I’ll give them the message when they come in.’”
“Then we go up there,” Ricks said. “They have to come back sometime from beating back the filthy Him.”
Grassi had a caustic rejoinder half out of his mouth, but Harry raised a hand for silence. He nodded toward Ricks. “You were saying about ‘dismissal without prejudice.’”
“It’s normally a bid to keep the prosecutor’s hand in a case that hasn’t jelled yet. The prosecutor’s saying, ‘All right, we made charges, we investigated, we haven’t found enough to make the charges stick. But there’s enough here for us to keep looking, and if we find something we’ll be back.’”
