The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters), Sheehan-Miles, Charles [reading an ebook .txt] 📗

I ran my old squad through my head and couldn’t think of anyone who was completely out of the military. So I said, “Who?”

“Guy named Dylan Paris. According to the investigation, you know him pretty well.”

I nodded. “How was he a suspect? He got blown up more than a month before all this stuff went down.”

“General Buelles didn’t know that when the investigation started. Paris is clear, though if he’s a good friend, having him come down and testify on your behalf may not be out of line.”

“Gotcha,” I said.

“All right ... so CID conducted their investigation, which was limited to one question. Was there enough evidence to indicate a crime may have occurred? Their answer was yes, so now things get turned over to what we call an Article 32 investigating officer. Think of it as the equivalent of a civilian grand jury.”

“That’s where we are now.”

“Right. It’s not an exact parallel. With a grand jury, it all happens behind closed doors. Not so with an Article 32 investigation. The hearing will be open to the press. And you’ll be there, and you and I will have a chance to see every piece of evidence, and question every witness. You’ve actually got stronger protections as a defendant than you would if you were in the civilian courts.”

I tilted my head, surprised. “Okay. So the Article 32 officer ... Colonel Schwartz ... he decides if I’m actually going to be court-martialed.”

Elmore shook his head. “No. He’ll investigate, and write a report, making a recommendation. General Buelles decides.”

“So ... what happens if Buelles calls up Schwartz and says, ‘I want this guy convicted?’”

“Not going to happen. First of all, Schwartz doesn’t work for Buelles. Second, if Buelles did that, Schwartz would almost certainly report it and then there’d be a heap of shit. They call that unlawful command influence, and we’re pretty serious about it. Understand, the JAG is an entirely independent chain of command. We take that seriously. ”

What he said reminded me of something which had only barely passed across my consciousness from the news a couple years ago: how some JAG attorneys had bucked everyone up to the President defending their accused terrorist clients at Guantanamo. Given how pissed everyone in the entire United States was at those guys, it had to take some balls to call out the administration. It wasn’t hard to buy what Elmore was telling me.

“All right. I’m convinced. How long will all this take? Years?”

“More likely months. I wouldn’t be surprised if Schwartz starts questioning witnesses within the next two weeks.”

“And I’ll be present for that?” I tried to imagine sitting in the same room as Colton, looking him in the eye, while he lied and blamed me for his own actions. Even after hearing it from Elmore, I couldn’t imagine that happening. Just the thought made me want to find something solid and smash it.

“Okay,” I said, surprised that my voice broke a little. “Give it to me straight. What are my odds? Is this going to court-martial? Am I going to jail?”

Elmore leaned back a little and raised an eyebrow.

“All I know right now is what’s in the investigation report. And that’s not enough to give you an honest answer. I’d like to tell you no. But a lot will depend on what I learn in the next few days. Take tomorrow off. That’s an order. Then, on Wednesday morning, I want you in my office at 7 a.m. I want to know every detail about your deployment. Every detail about everyone there. What happened, from the day your platoon got to Afghanistan to the day you left. And especially I want to know all the details of what happened at Dega Payan. Clear?”

I winced. I’d been through this with Smalls already, though her questioning had centered on only the day of the incident. There was so much more. Context, and relationships, and questions and more questions.

“All right,” I said. “Wednesday morning.”

As I said the words, Carrie reached over and intertwined her fingers with mine. I held on like my life depended on it.

My life is falling apart (Carrie)

We made it through Tuesday relatively unscathed. I got a call from my Dad. He was still working on getting some answers for me. I told him about Dick Elmore and he seemed relieved. Despite my original doubts about representation appointed by the Army, Dick had reassured me. I didn’t know anything yet about his competence as a lawyer, but I knew he cared. And that mattered.

I took the day off, and instead of going out, we holed up in our bedroom, watching a marathon of science fiction movies. The Empire Strikes Back. Star Trek. We watched half a dozen Doctor Who episodes, and then got into some really campy stuff. We watched the 1980s Buck Rogers (with the Queen soundtrack) followed by Starship Troopers, which ignited a half hour argument over whether or not Robert Heinlein was a feminist or a misogynist. I made popcorn, and we ordered pizza, and laughed at the stupid movies and made love and held on to each other and sometimes just lay there, looking in each other’s eyes.

On Wednesday morning I was back at work. I had an awkward, silence-filled conversation with Doctor Moore, and apologized for having to leave in such a hurry on Monday. This was difficult for me. As a teaching assistant at Rice, no one paid the slightest attention to my hours, as long as I showed up for the classes I was supposed to be teaching. NIH, though, was a government organization and everything had to be filled out properly. I filled out the leave form, Doctor Moore signed it, and hopefully that was going to be the end of that discussion. I couldn’t even imagine how Moore was going to respond when I took time off for Ray’s hearing ... or the possible court-martial.

I’d cross that bridge when and if I came