Army Blue

by Lucian K. Truscott

  Morriss paused and looked at each member of the court in turn, assuring himself that he had their undivided attention. He had them, all right. Something in his manner had told them this was no ordinary Army lawyer. He continued, speaking slowly and deliberately:

  “First, the defense will prove to you beyond a reasonable doubt— and that is the standard of proof, gentlemen, a reasonable doubt— that the order Lieutenant Blue refused was an illegal order, and that if he had obeyed that order, seven American soldiers would be dead on the ground, the victims of mortar fire from their own platoon.”

  He paused and cleared his throat.

  “Second, the defense will prove a motive for the charges brought against Lieutenant Blue. I know that defense proof of motive is highly unusual—extremely rare, in fact—and totally uncalled for in most cases, but what we have here in this room is a highly unusual case and an extremely rare charge. It is a capital charge, as you know. And motive bears upon the facts of this case in a highly unusual but crucial way. We will prove motive behind the charges against Lieutenant Blue, gentlemen. When you understand motive, you will understand the innocence of the defendant.”

  One or two of the members of the court perked up at the mention of motive. Morriss took note of their interest and continued:

  “Third, the defense will show that the so-called mission that the Second of the 22nd was engaged in was a false one, that the true tactical intent of the so-called sweep called Operation Iron Fist One was something else entirely, and that Lieutenant Blue, in carrying out his mission, had come across the true intent of Iron Fist One. This last fact, not any other fact or set of facts that have been presented to this court, was the reason that the capital charge of desertion in the face of the enemy was brought against him.”

  Morriss paused and looked each member of the court in the eye, then took a step backward and dropped his voice in tone and volume.

  “The prosecution insists that this case is a simple one. Maybe they are right. The wrong man has been charged here, gentlemen, and that is a very simple thing to understand. You will understand the truth of what I say when I am finished. And you will find this man .. .”

  Morriss turned around and walked to the Lieutenant's side and placed his hand on his shoulder.

  “. . . You will find this man innocent of the charge and the specification against him.”

  Morriss walked from behind the defense table. “The defense calls Specialist Fourth Class James Fish.”

  “Call the witness,” said the judge.

  The MP opened the door and Repatch appeared in a set of brand-new khakis that he had bought that morning at the Tan Son Nhut quartermaster store. His hair was slicked back, and brand-new Spec-4 chevrons gleamed on his collar.

  Captain Morriss swore in the witness.

  “Specialist Fish, you are and you were a member of the weapons platoon, Second of the 22nd Infantry, are you not?”

  “Yes, sir. I sure am.”

  “You were a member when Lieutenant Blue was the platoon leader?”

  “Yes, sir. And before that and after that.”

  “What happened to the others who served in the weapons platoon with you under Lieutenant Blue?”

  “They was shipped out the morning after they came and took the Lieutenant away,” Repatch said without emotion.

  “Do you know why they were shipped out?”

  “I figured they didn't want them around no more, because of the Lieutenant and all.”

  “Was the entire platoon reassigned before, when your previous platoon leader left?”

  “No, sir. This is the first time this reassignin’ thing has happened. I been there through three platoon leaders, and they never done this before.”

  “But you were not shipped out with the others?”

  “No, sir.”

  “May I ask why not?”

  “Because I wasn't there, sir. They can't ship you out if they can't find you, know what I mean?”

  “You weren't there?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Where were you, Specialist?”

  “I was ghostin’, sir.”

  “Ghosting?”

  “Makin’ myself scarce, sir.”

  “Why did you make yourself scarce, Specialist Fish?”

  “ ‘Cause I didn't want to leave the platoon, sir. It's my platoon. It's the only platoon I got. I didn't want them to take me away from my platoon. It's kinda like my house . . . my home, the platoon. Sir.”

  “So you hid out, then you reappeared . . .”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “. . . As Specialist Fish.”

  “Yes, sir. But I was Fish before, too, sir, but they didn't call me that.”

  “What did they call you?”

  “Repatch, sir.”

  “That was your name?”

  “Then. Now it's Fish.”

  “So you stayed on.”

  “Yes, sir. To wait for the Eltee. Then I heard they had him down in Long Binh, so I came down here to wait for him.”

  “You were waiting for the Lieutenant for what reason, Specialist?”

  “Because he saved my life, sir. And because he was one hell of a good platoon leader. You don't get good lieutenants all the time, sir. Hardly ever. When you get one, you want to hang on to him, sir. Good Eltees can make your life a little better, and they can keep dudes from gettin’ themselves shot, too.”

  Dupuy was rummaging through his papers, looking bewildered. The members of the court were sitting forward on their chairs, paying very close attention. Each one of them, it seemed, had come in contact with a ghost like Repatch, but none had ever heard him describe his methodology. They were fascinated.

  “Specialist Fish, you are familiar with the events of the night of October 13, are you not?”

  “Yes, sir. I was right in the middle of ‘em.”

  “Where were you?”

  “I was out on the ambush patrol that was ordered up.”

  “And what was your position on the patrol?”

  “I was walkin’ point. That's what I do, sir. I walk point. It's my job.”

  The members of the court shifted nervously in their chairs. This guy was one for the books.

  “What was your location on patrol that night?”

  “We was the same place we was at the night before, ‘tween a creek and a little knoll maybe two kliks from the platoon. The Eltee, he told me to take us out to the same place as the night before, so I done like he said. My experience with the Eltee is like, if you do pretty much what he says, you gonna keep your shit together, sir.” Repatch glanced at the judge. “Sorry, sir.”

  “Do you recall the grid coordinates of your position, Specialist Fish?”

  “No, sir. Not them numbers.”

  “Would you be able to find your position on a map?”

  “I could find that spot in my sleep, sir.”

  Morriss turned to the defense table and pulled two maps from an envelope.

  “Your Honor, I would like to introduce these maps as defense exhibits A and B.”

  “Without objection, it is so ordered.”

  Morriss reached behind the defense table and pulled out a bulletin board and an easel and set them up on the left side of the room, directly in front of the seven members of the court. He unfolded the maps and pinned them to the bulletin board.

  “Specialist, could you point to your ambush position on either of these maps?”

  “Yes, sir. On both of ‘em.”

  “Do so.” Morriss handed Repatch a pointer. Repatch whipped the pointer back and forth in the air once or twice, making a sharp whoooooosh. He grinned widely and walked to the easel and pointed to the ambush position near the edges of both maps.

  “Right there is where we was at, sir. ‘Tween the creek and the knoll, like I said. See, this little blue line is the creek"—he jabbed the map with the pointer—"and this here little brown thing looks like a buncha coffee rings inside a’ one another, that's the knoll, sir.”


  “Would you mark the patrol's position with these red pushpins, please?”

  “Glad to.”

  Repatch pinned both maps and sat down. He was still holding the pointer, twirling it between his fingers and smiling.

  “Do you know why the ambush position is on both maps, Specialist?”

  “Yes, sir. Because they overlap, those two maps do. The ambush was on the south edge of the one map and the north edge of the other map, right where they overlapped, right where I pinned it, sir.”

  “Can you read for me the grid coordinates of the ambush position from each map?”

  “Glad to, sir.” Repatch walked to the board and read the numbers.

  “This here one, map 24-Lima, is the map we was usin’, me and the Eltee.”

  “The Eltee?”

  “The Lieutenant, sir. He was leadin’ the patrol and I was walkin’ point, so we was in close contact about where the hell we was at that night. Anyways, we was usin’ 24-Lima, and our ambush was set up at grid 72548869. I remember them numbers now. Right there where I pinned it, that's what the numbers would be.”

  “Do the members of the court want to inspect the map?” Morriss asked when he noticed the entire court leaning forward to see the map. They shook their heads. They could see well enough.

  “This here map is 22-Lima, and we was on this one, too, but we didn't know it. Lemme see ... on 22-Lima we was at ...” Repatch dropped on one knee and poked the map with his finger and counted. “... seven . . . two . . . five . . . four . . . Hey, them numbers is the same! . . . one . . . one . . . one . . . eight. Yeah, there we was. You can see we was on the same vertical line from one map to the other, the seven line. But on the one map, we was on the eight line crossways . . .”

  “Horizontally.”

  “That's what I said, sir, crossways. And on the other one here, we was on the one line crossways.”

  “You seem to know a great deal about map reading, Specialist. Did you go to an Army school to learn how to read a map?”

  “No, sir.”

  “How did you learn then?”

  “Sir, if you was gonna walk point through these weird boonies over here in the ‘Nam, you'd get real familiar with maps real fast, or you wouldn't be walkin’ point for very long.”

  “How long have you been walking point, Specialist Fish?”

  “I'm on my third year walkin’ point, sir.”

  Morriss stared at Repatch in amazement, then turned to the defense table and shuffled some papers. He returned to his spot next to the lectern.

  “Are you familiar with the charges Lieutenant Blue is facing?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you familiar with the circumstances surrounding the facts of this case?”

  “Sir, like I said, I was there.”

  “Tell us what happened, Specialist Fish. Tell us in your own words, and take your time.”

  “Battalion, somebody up there, called in a fire mission and they called it in on our position, see. The Eltee, he refused the order because if he'd obeyed the order, them mortars woulda killed all of us on the patrol, sir, because the weapons platoon, we place some accurate fire when we get a fire mission, and if the Eltee woulda shot them mortars, he woulda hit what he was shootin’ at, and what he was ordered to shoot at was us. That's what I mean. He saved my life and he saved the lives of the rest of the patrol, too, sir.”

  “What is your understanding of how this mixup came about, Specialist?”

  “It's real simple, sir.” Repatch stood up and walked over to the board with the pointer.

  “The Eltee, he called in these coordinates offa this here map"—he pointed to map 24-Lima—"and Battalion, they plotted ‘em on this here map"—he pointed to map 22-Lima—"and they thought we was here"—he pointed to the top of map 22-Lima—"when we was really down here.” He pointed to the bottom of the same map.

  “They was usin’ the wrong map, Battalion was. You look close, sir, the battalion NDP wasn't even on 22-Lima. It was on 24-Lima, sir. See here, right here in this clearin'?” Repatch poked the map with his pointer. “That's where the battalion NDP was at. You could always find the battalion NDP, sir. All you had to do was look for a clearin’, and there they was, bigger'n—well, that's where they'd be at, sir. The Eltee, he knew where Battalion was at and where we was at and where he was at, but Battalion, they didn't know where none of us was at. Not a soul of us. And if it wasn't for the Eltee refusin’ that order, sir, that's all we'd be—me and Davis and Whoopie Cushion and Mallick and Moonface and Lucky Lemon and Simpleton and Woodley and the Eltee—all of us would be souls, not bodies, sir. ‘Cept the Eltee prevented us takin’ early retirement and becomin’ souls, sir, which is why I been waitin’ for him to come back to the weapons platoon where he belongs. Sir.”

  “With the help of your testimony, Specialist, that is exactly what will happen. Thank you . . .”

  “Objection. He's making a speech, sir.” Dupuy was on his feet, red-faced.

  “Withdraw my last comment, sir. Sorry.” Morriss turned around to the defense table and grinned.

  “Objection. Sir! He's laughing at my objection! He is grandstanding, sir! He is playing to the gallery, sir!”

  “Captain Morriss?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Keep your attention centered on the matters at hand. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you finished with the witness?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You may cross-examine,” the judge told Dupuy.

  Dupuy walked up to the lectern laden with paperwork. Methodically he laid the papers on the lectern. Then he turned to Repatch.

  “Specialist Fish . . . that is your name, isn't it?”

  “Yes, sir. Fish. And Repatch. I like ‘em both, sir. You can call me Spec-4 Fish, or you can call me Repatch. I'll be happy both ways. Sir.”

  “How long have you held your present rank, Fish?”

  “Off and on, sir, I'd say about five years.”

  “And you have been in the Army . . . ?”

  “About seven years.”

  “So you have been busted?”

  “Many times, sir. You're not an enlisted man, but if you was, sir, you'd know that if you stay in this man's Army, you're gonna go up and down in rank a few times. It just seems to happen that way, sir. Happened to me, anyways.”

  One or two of the members of the court stifled a smile.

  “So even though you've been busted up and down a few times, as you said, you consider yourself qualified to testify about these matters regarding map positions and so on.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you have not been to school to learn map reading?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And you still insist you are expert enough to swear that your understanding of these matters is a correct one?”

  Repatch stared at Dupuy for a moment, then he leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath and leaned forward and looked directly in Dupuy's eyes.

  “Sir. I done told you the way it is. You do what you got to do. You learn what you got to learn. You want to walk point, which is what I want to do and which is what I do, then you learn this stuff about grids and verticals and such. Either that or the only thing you're gonna be expert at sure ain't on this earth. And me, I'm still here, and on what you're askin’ me about, sir, just stayin’ alive makes you ‘bout as expert as you can ever be. Sir.”

  Dupuy shuffled his papers on the lectern and said, without looking up, “No further questions at this time, Your Honor.”

  “Call your next witness.”

  “The defense calls Lieutenant Colonel Henson W. Halleck for the purpose of cross-examination.”

  “Call Lieutenant Colonel Halleck.”

  There was a wait of several minutes, during which Morris removed the pins Repatch had stuck in the maps, and removed map 24-Lima from the bulletin board. Finally, Halleck came through the back door, spit-shined and starched and shaved and stern.
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  Dupuy reminded him he was sworn.

  Morriss walked up to Halleck and handed him the pointer and turned around and walked back to the defense table. Then he turned and shot questions at Halleck one after the other, rapid-fire.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Halleck, this is a copy of a map you were using on the night of October 13 is it not?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Can you find for us the grid coordinates 72548869 on this map, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please do so, sir.”

  Halleck stood up and pointed to a spot near the top of the map.

  “Would you please place one red pushpin on that spot, sir?”

  Halleck pinned the spot and sat down.

  “I am going to show you another map, sir.” Morriss pinned 24-Lima to the board.

  “Can you find grid coordinates 72548869 on this map, sir?”

  Halleck looked disgusted as he walked to the map and pointed to the ambush patrol's location near the top of the map.

  “Pin the spot, please, sir.”

  Halleck picked up a pin and stuck it in the map.

  “When you ordered a fire mission on the night of October 13, you did so by specifying a set of grid coordinates. Could you recall those coordinates for us and find them on the left-hand map, map 22-Lima?”

  Halleck approached the map.

  “I ordered fire on grid 72541118 ... here.” He pointed to the bottom of 22-Lima.

  “And Lieutenant Blue's patrol coordinates were ...”

  “Here.” Halleck pointed to the pin at the top of 22-Lima.

  “Colonel, will you find the terrain feature designated by 72541118 on map 24-Lima for us, please?”

  “What?”

  “72541118 denotes a spot between a stream and a knoll, does it not, sir? On map 22-Lima, sir.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Please find those terrain features on map 24-Lima.”

  Halleck studied map 24-Lima. After a moment he pointed to a spot near the top of the map.