Army Blue

by Lucian K. Truscott

  “Where do you stay, Miss Cathy?”

  “At the Continental, Ba Tam. I am in the same room as before.”

  “Thanks, Ba Tam,” said the Sergeant Major.

  The little man waved his hand before his face and smiled a yellow smile and his eyes twinkled within their narrow slits.

  “You hear from Ba Tam tonight, then.”

  “Yes,” said Cathy. “I will wait for your call.”

  The door opened behind them and the waiter appeared and escorted them from the deep reaches of the restaurant to the street entrance.

  “That was really something,” said the Colonel.

  “He is an interesting man,” said the Sergeant Major.

  “My father would say that was an understatement,” said Cathy.

  The Sergeant Major extracted a fresh cigar from his shirt pocket and started to light it.

  “You know something, sir? You come over here with a unit like our Battalion and you get out in those boonies and you start fighting the enemy and you chase him this way and you chase him that way and you get into your night loggers and you chase him again and it's easy to lose track of the idea that we're fighting this war over here for people like Ba Tam. You know what I mean? That man is Vietnam, the way he looks at you, the way he talks to you. You know, sir?”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” said the Colonel.

  They started walking back to the hotel. Around them, the city of Saigon bustled its way through another hot day. Auto taxis barked at bike-taxis. Old women hung out laundry. Shopkeepers stood in their doorways, beckoning to passersby with wide smiles. Within the wet darkness of the bars, girls could be seen in tight ao dais, also beckoning. Diesel exhaust hung thickly in the air, Saigon perfume. The sun glowed dimly through the diesel fumes and the heat came from the pavement and from the sun and from the walls of the buildings and from the passing taxis and from the yelping and nattering of the taxi drivers and the washerwomen and the B-girls.

  Saigon was the reason they were fighting the war, and it was the reason Cathy Joice was reporting the war, and still it was forever foreign to them, more foreign than ever right now on this street on this morning.

  “You know something?” the Colonel asked as they pushed their way through the street fog, through the human detritus of Saigon, of the war.

  “What's that, sir?” Cathy asked.

  “That little man back there, Ba Tam? He was really something.”

  “Yes. You're right about that.”

  “And you know what else? That little Vietnamese man reminded me very, very much of my father.”

  Cathy Joice said nothing and the Sergeant Major said nothing and the Colonel said nothing and they shouldered their way through the smoky battlefield that was the morning streets of Saigon.

  20

  * * *

  * * *

  When the court convened the next morning, the Lieutenant was even more frightened than he was the day before. He had spent the morning mulling over what his father and grandfather had said, and they were right. Morriss could make all the legal points he wanted to make and those seven officers could sit up there and happily find him guilty and send him to Leavenworth for the rest of his life or, worse, send him there and have him hanged for a crime that was the moral equivalent of treason. He hoped Morriss had a few tricks up his sleeve. He hoped he would eat Lieutenant Colonel Halleck alive, but, more important, he hoped Morriss would make the members of the court want to see Halleck chewed up and spat out like so much gristle.

  The MP opened the rear door to the court and called:

  “All rise!”

  The judge and the members of the court filed in.

  “The court is now in session. All persons previously sworn remain sworn and are present. Proceed, Captain Dupuy.” The judge didn't waste a moment. He pulled his half-glasses out of his shirt pocket, propped them on the end of his nose, and gazed over the room.

  The Lieutenant turned around and stole a glance.

  The court's spectator section was just as empty as it had been yesterday. He was being court-martialed in a vacuum.

  “The prosecution calls Colonel James Franklin Testor.”

  The back door opened and the commander of the Third Brigade of the 25th Infantry Division walked in and took the oath. Dupuy got him identified and approached the lectern.

  “What in hell is he doing here?” the Lieutenant asked in a whisper.

  “I don't know. Dupuy is either very stupid or he's got something. We'll see.”

  “Colonel Testor, how long have you commanded the Third Brigade of the 25th Infantry Division?”

  “Nine months and six days,” Testor said with a thin smile.

  “And how long have you served your country in Vietnam?”

  “This is my third tour. Two years, nine months, and six days.” He smiled again.

  “Would you consider yourself an expert when it comes to combat operations, Colonel?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  Behind him the Lieutenant heard his grandfather cough, nearly choking. He pulled out a handkerchief and spat in it and put it back in his pocket.

  “As the commander of the Third Brigade of the 25th Infantry Division, you command more than Infantry soldiers, do you not, Colonel?”

  “Yes, I command helicopter crews and various administrative units and medical personnel and even an Air Defense Artillery Platoon.” He sat back in the witness chair and relaxed. He was enjoying himself.

  “Previous to the Third Brigade of the 25th Division, you commanded a Battalion in combat, did you not?”

  “Yes. The First of the 45th. In the Central Highlands.”

  “And you commanded what? A company also?”

  “Yes, but not in combat.”

  “But in Korea you had a command, did you not?”

  “Yes. I was a platoon leader.”

  “What kind of platoon leader were you, sir?”

  “I was in command of a weapons platoon.”

  “Oh-oh,” Morriss whispered. “Oh-oh.”

  “How long during the Korean war were you in command of your weapons platoon, sir?”

  “For two years.”

  “So you had occasion to bring the firepower of the weapons platoon to bear in numerous combat situations over the course of two years, did you not, sir?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “In all of your lifetime of experience as an Army officer, sir, in all your years commanding weapons platoons and battalions and brigades, did you ever come across a situation similar to the one at issue in this court, sir?”

  Morriss was out of his chair and around the front of the table and practically in Colonel Tester's face.

  “I object, Your Honor! I object! Irrelevant! Immaterial! Without basis in law! Irresponsible! The prosecution is trying to sway this court with irrelevancies and innuendo! The prosecution should stick to the facts of the case! Objection! Objection!”

  “Your Honor! Your Honor!” Dupuy was yelling.

  The judge pointed the handle of his gavel first at Morriss and then at Dupuy.

  “Sit down. Both of you. I'll not have this kind of behavior in my court.”

  Morriss immediately took his seat. Dupuy took his time, a hurt look on his face, as though somehow his noble effort to let this great man have his say had been thwarted. In truth, he had gotten what he wanted, and he knew it. All he wanted was the legitimacy that the man would bring to his case. All he wanted was that identification . . .

  Weapons platoon leader.

  From there, his question answered itself in Colonel Testor's smug silence.

  Of course he'd never come across such nonsense, his silence implied. Why, if he had, he'd have tried the man and had him shot! All of it was on the brigade commander's face, and the members of the court could not help but see it.

  “I'm going to uphold the objection, Captain Dupuy,” Colonel Kelly said. “There is no place in this courtroom for the kind of grandstanding you were attempting. I
told you before this trial began that we would be going by the book, and I meant it. And that means no irrelevant, immaterial grandstanding from you or from any of your witnesses. Do I make myself understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Dupuy, still trying to look as wronged as he could look.

  “Now. Continue your questioning of Colonel Testor in a new line.”

  “Colonel Testor, you are familiar with the operation known as Iron Fist One.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “And you are familiar with the territory west of Dak Sut, Vietnam.”

  “Very. I spent both my other tours in II Corps. This makes my third year in that area.”

  “Would you say that Operation Iron Fist One was essential to the Army's mission ... to the war mission, sir?”

  “Absolutely. Without periodic sweeps like Iron Fist One, the NVA have free run of the Ho Chi Minh Trail. It is my job, and that of my brigade, to deny the enemy such freedom. We have accomplished this in the past, and we accomplished our mission with Iron Fist One.”

  “You are familiar with the charges in this case?”

  “Yes, I am. Lieutenant Colonel Halleck reported the refusal of Lieutenant Blue to fire his weapons the night it happened. The next day I processed the charges filed by Lieutenant Colonel Halleck. I am very familiar with the charges.”

  “Have you ever had occasion to doubt the word of Lieutenant Colonel Halleck in the past?”

  “No, I have not.”

  “And do you doubt his word in this instance, the matter of the charges he has brought against Lieutenant Blue?” Dupuy pointed an accusing finger at the defendant.

  “No, I do not. The charges are in accordance with what Lieutenant Colonel Halleck reported to me the night of the incident.”

  “No further questions, Your Honor,” Dupuy said with a self-indulgent little smile. “Your witness, Captain Morriss.”

  Morriss sat there staring at the brigade commander with a look of utter contempt on his face.

  “Captain Morriss. Do you have any questions of this witness?”

  “No, sir. No questions.”

  “Colonel Testor, you are excused. Thank you,” said the judge.

  Colonel Testor stood and made a show of straightening his uniform before he walked off. He was almost to the door when the Lieutenant thought of something.

  The Lieutenant tugged at Morriss's shirt sleeve.

  “Ask him what kind of weapons platoon he had,” he whispered.

  “Are there more than one?”

  “I think there used to be. Ask him. Go ahead. We've got nothing to lose with this guy.”

  “One moment, Your Honor. I have a question for the witness.”

  “Go ahead,” said the judge, looking sternly over his glasses.

  Colonel Testor looked perturbed and slowly returned to the witness chair.

  “How long ago did you command your weapons platoon, sir?”

  “Let me see . . . almost twenty years ago. Yes. That is correct.”

  “And what kind of weapons platoon was it, sir?”

  “Come again?”

  “What kind of weapons platoon did you command, sir?”

  “It was a quad-fifties platoon, as I recall.”

  “A what, sir?”

  “A quad-fifties platoon.”

  “What kind of weapon would that be, sir? Could you describe it for the court?”

  “We had braces of four .50-caliber machine guns mounted on truck beds. Three of them.”

  “So your weapons platoon was not a mortar platoon. Is that right, sir?”

  “Yes. That is correct.”

  “And as a platoon leader, you had no experience whatsoever with mortars.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “That's all I wanted to know, sir. No further questions.”

  Captain Morriss sat down and Colonel Testor looked quizzically at Captain Dupuy and then at the judge.

  Dupuy didn't even look up from his desk. At least part of his gambit with Colonel Testor had been foiled.

  The judge peered at Colonel Testor over his spectacles and said, “You may go now, sir. You are finished.”

  Colonel Testor stood up and stalked out of the room.

  Dupuy rose slowly from his chair.

  “The prosecution rests, Your Honor.”

  The judge looked startled.

  “Is the defense prepared at this time?” The judge glanced at his watch, giving Morriss an opening.

  “If it please the court, Your Honor, the defense would like the balance of the day to prepare, sir.”

  “Granted. Court will convene tomorrow at ten hundred hours.” Colonel Kelly banged the gavel and led the court from the room.

  Captain Morriss, the Lieutenant, and the Colonel worked long into the night, preparing for the next day. Morriss studied his opening statement. He had written it out in longhand two days previously, but after hearing the prosecution's case, he felt it needed extensive revision. He sat alone in a room at the Caravelle, tightening its focus and expanding on the one new theme he would introduce to the case.

  The Colonel and the Sergeant Major met afterwards in their suite and pored over the evidence the Sergeant Major had unearthed during the day. Captain Morriss and the Lieutenant joined them at midnight. It wasn't much, but any evidence at all favorable to the defendant was useful in a capital case.

  It was almost 1:00 A.M. when the Lieutenant knocked on the door of Room 306 at the Continental Hotel. Cathy Joice answered the door fully dressed.

  “I didn't think you were coming,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “Then what are you doing still awake, still dressed?”

  “Your grandfather and I had a visitor.”

  “Who? What about?”

  “A Vietnamese man by the name of Ba Tam. Your father, the Sergeant Major, and I met with him this morning. He's a big landowner in the Song Cai Valley—”

  “That's up in II Corps!”

  “You're right. Ba Tam, it seems, is quite familiar with your brigade commander, Colonel Testor, whose three tours in II Corps were not exactly arranged by chance.”

  “Where are they, the General and this man . . .”

  “Ba Tam.”

  “Yeah. Where'd they go?”

  “They seem to have a few mutual friends, so they have gone back to Ba Tam's restaurant on the waterfront to talk things over. You didn't tell me your grandfather was in the CIA.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I didn't know myself until a couple of years ago.”

  “So was my father.”

  “No kidding?”

  “He and Mom always said he worked for the State Department, but when I grew up, it didn't take me long to draw my own conclusions.”

  “I know what you mean. Where did your father work?”

  “In embassies all over the world. I guess I lived in six—no, seven—different countries when I was growing up.”

  “Me too.”

  Cathy nuzzled against the Lieutenant's shoulder and closed her eyes.

  “When are we going to know what your friend Ba Tam found out?” Lieutenant Blue asked.

  “Tomorrow morning. I'm worried, Matt. Everyone was talking after court today. Nobody would bet that you will win the case. Not a single reporter. They're thinking about starting a pool tomorrow, picking the date you will hang. A pool is the only way they think they can gamble on your case, and you know reporters are inveterate gamblers.”

  “Tell someone you'd like to place a bet on me, because that someone is going to make out like a bandit,” said the Lieutenant, looking straight in her eyes.

  She threw her arms around him and held her breath, then whispered rapidly in his ear before he could pull away, “I hope so, Matt Blue, because I love you very, very much and I couldn't stand it if they took you away from me. I would die. Really I would.”

  The Lieutenant unwrapped her arms and stepped back from her. She was wearing a straight tan skirt and a light silk blouse, very plain, very businesslike
, but her workaday clothes could do little to disguise the fact that she was the sexiest woman he had ever seen in his life. He reached down and scooped her into his arms and walked across the room and lowered her onto the bed. Then he undressed her and undressed himself and yanked back the covers and climbed into bed next to her and pulled the covers all the way over them and said:

  “There. Now we're safe. No one will ever find us in here and we can do whatever we want.”

  “You sound like a kid, Matt,” she giggled as she buried her face in the hairs on his chest.

  “Well, I'm not a kid, Cathy. I'm a full-grown man and a Lieutenant in the United States Army, and I'm head over heels in love with someone I barely even know. What do you think about that?”

  “What do I think about that? I think you should prove it, tough guy.”

  So he did.

  “Gentlemen,” Captain Morriss began, standing in front of the defense desk without notes, not a scrap of paper in front of him, leaning on his right elbow, which was resting on the top edge of the lectern. “Gentlemen, my name is Captain Terrence W. Morriss, and I am the lawyer for the accused in this case. I have been in the Army for just over one year and I am not a combat veteran, but gentlemen, I know baloney when I see it and when I smell it, and that is exactly what I see and what I smell in the case the prosecution has presented to this court: baloney.”

  Morriss shifted his weight to both feet and stood erect, hands on hips. With his pot belly and his ill-fitting khakis, he looked like a tan fireplug.

  “The prosecution described the charges against Lieutenant Blue as profound. They are. And the prosecution described this case as simple. It is not. A capital case that is simple is an oxymoron, gentlemen, a contradiction in terms. The charge against Lieutenant Blue is profound, and this case is profoundly complicated. Pay close attention to what I say, gentlemen, because I am going to outline the defense case for you, then you can sit back and listen to it unfold in the words of the men who were there, the men who were responsible for the mission of the Second of the 22nd Infantry, the men who were responsible for bringing these profound charges against Lieutenant Blue, the men who, gentlemen, and this is key, have a great deal—a very great deal—of explaining to do. Once they have explained themselves, gentlemen, you will be convinced of the innocence of this defendant and of the great injustice that has been done to him.”