Court-Martial (Horatio Logan Chronicles Book 2)

by Chris Hechtl

  After a quick shower, they were allowed breakfast. He was grateful that he'd been segregated from the others for the five-minute shower, and was even more grateful that due to his initial status, he was allowed breakfast in his cell. He was initially amused to see the guards count his silverware and then realized it was smart. There was no telling what sort of thing someone could do with a fork, knife, or spoon, even if they were plastic.

  @^@

  Sergeant Cooper went into her lieutenant's office after logging in for the morning shift and sipped her coffee as she listened to the morning briefing. Right off she checked in on the new prisoner's status. She couldn't help but be impressed that he was adapting and holding his own. He hadn't been thrown in the deep end yet, and his psych eval was still pending. But she'd had enough experience with prisoners to see a quiet professional, someone who could adapt and handle the situation. The powers that be might be hoping he'd break, but it seemed the admiral was made of much sterner stuff.

  She'd also expected protests after he'd been given another forced march in the afternoon, but the admiral had quietly gone with the flow. He had been kept segregated from the rest of the platoon, but that hadn't stopped a few of the other prisoners from checking the new meat out.

  “This one is no pushover,” she murmured. “Hopefully, he's not a hard ass. We don't want him getting shived or killed on our watch. That's the last thing we need.”

  “We need to break him. Those are our orders,” the lieutenant said sourly. “And by the way, you didn't hear this from me, but some wouldn't mind him having an 'accident,'“ he said.

  The sergeant scowled. She seriously didn't like that news. “Maybe he'll break over time.” She clearly had her doubts in her tone of voice. “The powers that be might like that, certainly, but I don't know.”

  “So, do we do the direct approach or …,” the lieutenant asked impatiently.

  “Give him time. He's not going anywhere.”

  @^@

  As Horatio settled in to the brig's routine, he did his best to adapt. It had the overtones of the military, but it was so far from his normal duty that it took time for it to sink in. He realized that was one reason why they kept him in isolation for the initial period, to give him some time to adapt mentally. He was grateful to it.

  Even though he'd been on ship and stations, he wasn't used to having to hear the constant din of conversations around him. He was fortunate for the moment to not have to share a cell. That could change at any time however.

  The grueling PT he was getting used to. The forced marches got him out of his own head, which was probably a good thing. It kept him busy, and he had to admit he was in the best shape he'd been in anyway. His implants easily let him keep up with the young whippersnappers in the prison unit.

  One thing he didn't like was the head count. The guards did it to make certain there was nothing going on like a prison break. Such checks came at night as well. A guard would come to the door and flashed a light in a person's face to wake them up and count off every two hours. That sucked; many times he was irritable from being woken after just having fallen back asleep from the last check. Getting past the irritation to get to sleep was sometimes difficult.

  He had found that the guards were professional most of the time and tended to give respect if you respected them in return. A few could get rough; he had been warned to stay on their good side at all times.

  Many of the prisoners wanted out of their cells as much as possible. The guards took them out in small units to train or do KP. Training usually was mind-numbing exercise or marching. One could tell who was a marine just from their haircut, behavior, and from how they handled the exercise easily while looking down on the squids who had trouble keeping up.

  In their little off time, they liked to congregate in the yard, either to talk, play games, or exercise. Just being out of the cell was a relief for many. He had no interest in group activities, however, but he forced himself out when he felt the walls closing in or a headache coming on from reading legal briefs and the UCMJ.

  Sometimes he didn't have a choice though. Every day they were locked in their cells while the head count was done. It was a good time to get caught up on his mail and read. As he was checking his backlog of email internally as well as the printouts he'd been given, he overheard two Neo husky guards talking outside his cell. He tried to ignore the distraction, but his errant mind apparently desired it enough to keep going back to it. Eventually he gave up on his reading to listen in. “Why do they always threaten us with going to where it is cold? We're huskies!”

  “Yeah, well, you might like it, but I don't,” the other said in disgust. “I want to go someplace warm. Damn warm.”

  “Yeah, right. Remember the last time we went to the beach? You were panting so bad you almost passed out!”

  “Yeah, well, that's because there was this hot chica there who was in heat. And damn was she a looker! The way she flitted her tail … yum! Pity she was with that Great Dane …”

  “Yeah, right,” his partner drawled, rolling his eyes. “He would have chewed you up and spat you out if that cop hadn't been nearby. You nearly got busted for being a pervert. In fact, most of the females were steering clear of you for that reason.” He grimaced. “I didn't get any that trip either thanks to you,” he said sourly.

  “Okay, okay, so, getting laid on the beach didn't go as planned …”

  “No, you think?”

  Horatio snorted softly. The husky's ears twitched. He glanced at the prisoner and then to his partner. His voice lowered slightly. “You screwup again that bad and I'm not going to play your wingman. It’s bad enough I've got to put up with you when we're on duty. I mean, the occasional bar …”

  “Bar fight? You? Yeah, I know. You are so lucky we can flash our credentials and get out of any charges.”

  “Heh, yeah. That won't work forever though.”

  “Long enough. But yeah, we need to cool it. The last time the boss lady put in a nice word, remember?”

  “Yeah, I prefer a quiet word over her ass-searing ones.”

  “Yup, me too. I prefer my ass rare over well done any day of the week,” his partner said.

  That earned a louder snort from the prisoner.

  “Something on your mind prisoner THHL16533391?”

  “Just reading my mail,” Horatio said mildly as he sat back and pretended to read his correspondence.

  “Sure,” the guard said as he maneuvered away from the area with his partner in tow.

  @^@

  “Let him sweat it out over the weekend. We'll see what Monday brings,” the captain said as he flipped through the brief. “With any luck, he'll fold and save us the trouble of going through all of this,” he said, indicating the stack of files and chips. He wasn't looking forward to dealing with it all. He had to be aware of every minute detail of the case—every shred of evidence, every witness, and the real versus what was being fabricated. It would be his ass if something that got fabricated came back and haunted him.

  Not that he expected the court to land on him. He didn't like the job, but he knew which side his bread was buttered on. His assistant counselor was a different story however. She seemed a bit put out over the situation.

  “With all due respect, sir, I don't think a delay will help. He's not going anywhere,” Lieutenant Delani said, shaking her blond head. “Based on his vital signs, he's unmoved by the situation.”

  “Well then, I'm not going to ruin my weekend trying to figure something else to make him see reason. Sometimes time is all you need for it to sink in that there is no way out and the only thing to do is to save what you can.”

  “Sir, some of these charges carry death sentences. Are we taking it that far?”

  Captain Rising Tide leveled a look on the lieutenant. “A problem, Lieutenant?”

  She bit her lip for a moment before she decided to take the plunge. “It's just … I don't know if that is good or not, sir.”

  The
high elf crossed his arms. He understood natural humans better than some of his people. “Look, you know the drill. Some of the charges are there for show and as leverage. We can deal him down to a life sentence. And they illustrate the severity of his crimes.”

  “Alleged crimes. We haven't even impaneled a jury yet, sir.”

  The high elf's golden eyes glittered momentarily at the reminder. “Do you honestly think it will matter?” he asked her tiredly. The lieutenant stared at him. “Please tell me you aren't that naive, Lieutenant. When the stakes are this high, one plays for keeps all the way around. They don't leave such things to chance.”

  “That is … sick,” Lieutenant Delani said softly as her entire world came crashing down around her. To think that the system was that corrupt, that badly rigged, it appalled her.

  The captain sighed heavily, recognizing the signs. “I think I'm going to need another assistant,” he said with a grimace. That made the woman flinch and look away but not protest. “You also have the weekend to sort yourself out, Lieutenant, while reading all the briefing papers and motions. You need to see if you can handle your duty, Lieutenant,” he said by way of dismissal.

  She nodded once and then gathered her things and left without a backward look.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and then typed out an email to Admiral Shren and to ONI to keep an eye on her. He didn't like doing that, she could come around, but he didn't want her dumping everything she had to the media either. That sort of thing would get his ass in serious trouble.

  @^@

  Admiral Shren became aware of the cyber security ruling and spoke with the captain before he left for the weekend. It was a concern, but from what cyber security had admitted, they hadn't found any sign of the virus. That was the good news. But their handling of the computers had tainted the evidence. That was bad.

  Someone had stopped them from getting too far into it. They'd torn the majority of the ship's electronics out but had stopped short of the repair equipment itself. Not that any of the equipment was going to do the ship any good the elf thought, not without power.

  “We're reassembling the material we gathered from older records, plus they released the NCIS files. Losing the data cores sucks; it puts a hamper on all electronic records since the originals are no longer available. That could be good or bad, sir,” the captain replied to the admiral's inquiry. “It is slowing down processing immensely.”

  “All right, I'll let the rest of the brass know,” Admiral Shren said as he cut the channel. He hesitated for a moment before he opened a channel to Admiral Childress.

  It took a moment on hold before the yeoman put him through. He explained the problem briefly and then waited as Omar considered it from all angles.

  Omar sat back and rocked in his chair as he steepled his fingers. “So, you are saying it calls into question the validity of the electronic records? And it slows the process down? Perfect.”

  The elf blinked his eyes in surprise. “Sir?”

  “We can argue that the orders from Irons are suspect. That they could be virus induced to throw us into chaos.”

  “I … yes,” Admiral Shren said slowly as he considered that angle of attack. It was threadbare but a viable one on the surface. “I suppose one could construe things that way under a certain point of view.” He frowned and then nodded. “Yes, if we twist the truth. We're going to have to do one hell of a two-step to point to some records we insist are legit for our evidence, but to others we don't like, treat as suspect. I don't know if it will fly.”

  “With the right audience? Oh, most definitely. They'll do exactly as we tell them to. Now it is up to you and Captain Prescott to sell it to the jury and the public. I want you two to coordinate your attacks.”

  “Yes, sir. Obviously, we can't let the public know our attack too far ahead of the jury and the defense,” Admiral Shren said. “I'll pass this on to Captain Rising Tide,” he said, making a note.

  “Good, good. I like this; it works well in our favor. Make sure you get the right angle. And make sure any missives you use are highlighted for Captain Prescott's use.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Excellent. Get on it,” the admiral said as he cut the channel.

  Admiral Shren frowned and then realized for it to work his people would need to work on strategies to apply it throughout the weekend. “Joy,” he murmured as he started to write some emails.

  @^@

  In the evening on Sunday, just after a meatloaf and mash potato dinner, Horatio was told it was time to move. He was given five minutes to pack his things. He didn't have much, so it took him less than a minute to get everything. Two guards escorted him out, one in front, the other behind.

  He thought they were going to escort him to a section of the prison for the accused or for former officers, but instead he found out he was being put into general population.

  Eventually put in general population.

  “This is cellblock D, for dumb ass. You should feel right at home here,” the Neochimp guard in the lead said contemptuously over his shoulder. “Don't try any funny stuff,” he said as he led Horatio up a flight of stairs and then down an open balcony corridor. Horatio noted the center of the block was open; the bottom floor was a common area, with benches and tables. Guards were in an office with windows on one wall. The cells lined the left side of the block; they had no windows and were utilitarian of course.

  “Today is Sunday, so you've got the day off. Good for you, it'll give you time to settle in,” the lead guard said. “Lights on at 0730. Be up and ready for PT by then or you will be sorry,” the guard warned as he triggered a cell door to open. “Welcome to your new home,” he said.

  Horatio felt a slight bit of relief when he realized the room was his alone. He stepped inside and then flinched when the door slammed behind him.

  “Good night,” the guard cat called as he walked off with his partner laughing.

  “Right,” Horatio said as he heard the other prisoners jeering.

  Chapter 7

  On Monday, he finally met with his defense counsel once more. It was their second meeting; the first had been barely an introduction before the hearing. He wasn't impressed with the commander, not at all. The man seemed overwhelmed or bored. He definitely didn't have his heart in the case, nor any interest in the outcome of the person he was supposed to be defending.

  “I have to admit, I haven't gone over your case as deeply as I should have,” Commander Cord apologized as he came into the room and took his seat. “I'm busy; I've got a full docket,” he said as he unpacked his attaché case.

  “Then perhaps we need to find me other counsel,” Horatio replied mildly.

  “No, I've got it,” Commander Cord said, though he sounded indifferent.

  “Are you certain?”

  “I can handle this,” the counselor insisted, now sounding like his pride had been stung.

  “We'll see,” Horatio replied.

  “How are they treating you?” the counselor asked, changing the subject.

  “Well, for one I'm in a full prison, not the stockade or confinement. It is a penal unit.”

  The counselor frowned thoughtfully.

  Horatio studied the other man's vital signs. Clearly, he had already known that. That called his involvement in Horatio's defense into question.

  “Under the UCMJ, I'm supposed to be held in confinement, not punished until I've been convicted. I'm supposed to be confined to quarters or the stockade and off duty in order to be able to prepare for my own defense. That isn't the situation here.”

  “I'll look into it,” the counselor replied with a nod.

  Horatio's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. The counselor hadn't admitted he was right. That was another bad sign. “Do so. File a motion. I've been in worse situations but putting me in general population and having me run through the penal routine doesn't help me prepare for my own defense. It isn't safe for me. It also gives me grounds for an appeal.”

&
nbsp; “Well, that's my department there,” the counselor replied stuffily. “Besides, a little exercise didn't hurt anyone …”

  “Not my point,” Horatio insisted. The counselor's eyes flared briefly at the interruption as he sat back and eyed the senior officer. If he'd thought the experience would have humbled or broken the other man, he was mistaken he realized. Such things usually triggered anger and rage and the suspect vented with his counselor, but that wasn't what the admiral was doing. His tone was even but cold. He was clearly someone who had a firm grip on his temper and not one for theatrics or idle threats.

  The other way would have been preferable, breaking the man, making him sweat and plead for mercy. He'd get a taste but not much since he'd be in the same system once the paperwork cleared anyway. He shook his head mentally as he came to a conclusion, however regrettable it was. So, it wasn't going to be so simple or easy he thought.

  “If you have problems, I can refer you to the proper files and listings in the UCMJ.”

  “You know them that well?”

  “I've been in the navy for over a century. Yes, I know the UCMJ, though I've never been subjected to it like this,” Horatio stated flatly.

  “What has been your experience?”

  “The minor infraction. Getting into trouble for being late to a post in my youth. Being late to report back from liberty once, but that was a group thing and I wasn't driving.”

  The lawyer wrinkled his nose. “Late from liberty? Hardly a career criminal.”