She looked at the table for a long moment.
I nodded. "Leigh, look at me."
She raised her head a few inches and her piercing green eyes peered into mine.
"I didn't do what they are accusing me of."
Tears came to her eyes now and she dabbed at them with a balled up tissue in her hand. I could tell now that she had been crying for a while.
"I'm going to prove my innocence. I'll prove it to you, to the court, to the American people, and most of all, to Clementine. I promise you that."
Tears began to run down her face again as I stood up. "I love you." I said softly into her ear as I walked towards the heavy steel door next to the chubby young guard.
Leigh stood up once more and ran over to me before I made it even half way. She threw her arms around me again and held me tightly as she weakly sobbed. The guard shifted his feet uncomfortably and cleared his throat.
"That's enough," he finally said before placing a soft, chubby hand on my shoulder and guiding me through the door.
Tears streamed down my face as I stepped down the hall towards my cell, the chubby young guard in tow. When we reached the heavy metal door of my cell I blinked heavily and forced the tears from my eyes.
I lay in the cell for a while before the loud buzzing noise returned and the guard was back.
It must have been a shift change because the rotund young white kid had been replaced by the burly black guard from the day before.
"Good afternoon, Petty Officer Peters."
He just shrugged and grunted something unintelligible in greeting before he said, "Your attorney is here."
I nodded and he followed me down the hall once more.
The door swung open once more, and my attorney stood, motioning towards the metal chair across from him.
I sat.
"Mr. Pike," he said, "Your Article 32 hearing has been moved up."
I nodded.
Article 32 hearings were the precursor to the legal proceedings where I'd be charged with murder. In essence, within military law, the Article 32 hearing was the opportunity for the Judge Advocate General to determine whether sufficient evidence existed to indict me on the charges.
"When?" I asked.
"Two days. Legally, they cannot hold you longer than two days in pretrial confinement without your Commanding Officer's permission." He paused.
"He's refused to give it."
I smiled. Commander Stone always looked out for his people.
"I'm not surprised."
"The problem is, that doesn't leave us a whole lot of time to prepare. I have your story, and I have it on good credibility that Chief Jones will corroborate."
"Unfortunately," he continued, "the lack of hard evidence from the helmet cams or the surveillance aircraft is a real challenge. It's likely that the prosecution will accuse you of destroying the evidence."
I nodded my understanding.
Two days to prove my innocence in a preliminary hearing.
The lawyer stood up. "I have a great deal of research to do. We'll reconvene tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM. The hearing is the following day at the same time."
Chapter 11:
The process for the evening meal was much the same as the afternoon.
A loud buzzing noise at my door, guards to escort me to the galley, even the passive aggressive stares of the other inmates were familiar from the mid-day meal.
I gravitated towards the one face that didn't radiate malice.
The older, thin inmate was isolated from the rest of the men in the facility, his back to the wall in a recess as far from the center of the galley as possible.
With my heavy plastic tray in hand, I stepped slowly towards his table, through the sea of hateful stares.
I don't know what it was. Perhaps it was the fluorescent light from above glinting off the makeshift blade. It could have been a sixth sense. But, something caused me to turn abruptly and crouch low, dropping my tray to the ground.
The man clutching the blade was about six foot four and close to three hundred pounds. The makeshift knife was a blur in the brightly lit room as he hefted himself towards me. I had been lucky to miss the first swipe of his blade.
In my mind, the assailant was the only man in the room, but as I focused on his hulking form rapidly advancing on me in the center of the galley, I could see the rest of the men stand up and line the walls of the dining area.
He came at me again, and this time I was ready for him. I crouched low and drove my fist squarely into his groin, before sweeping his legs from under his body. He crashed into a heap on the cold concrete floor next to my tray and the spilled remnants of what remained of my dinner.
He didn't stay down long, however. He hefted himself back up and came at me again.
By this time, the guards were piling into the room in full riot gear and the other prisoners had lay prone on the ground.
The man swiped at me once more with the prison shiv and my training took over. He came at me in a rush and I struck him hard beneath the knife wielding arm, just in his armpit. The knife fell and the man went to his knees.
Without even thinking, my closed fist became a flattened palm, and I could feel myself about to issue a killing blow to the man's exposed throat.
But I didn't have the chance.
My back exploded in pain and I followed him to the ground while guards swarmed around the two of us and cold metal handcuffs were clipped around my wrists.
The men roughly carried me down the hall back to my cell.
I guess I was going to bed without dinner tonight.
My back ached as the two guards in riot gear clutched my upper arms and escorted me down the corridor.
"He started it." I said, painfully wheezing out the words.
"We know. That's why we are taking you to your cell, and not solitary confinement." One of the men replied.
I nodded and relaxed a little bit as we reached the door to my cell, where the men unceremoniously dumped me in a heap on the cold concrete floor.
The door slammed shut behind me, and I lay in silence, my head resting on the floor, the cold concrete a comforting roughness against my back.
Why had that man tried to kill me?
Clearly, I wasn't the most popular man at the facility, but it made no sense.
I hoped the guards would get the bottom of it when they interviewed the other inmate.
It had to have been a rubber bullet that brought me down. Legend was that they hurt like hell. I could now confirm the legend.
I pushed up into a sitting position and leaned against the bed, lifting my battle dress top. I could already see the bruise beginning to spread from the impact point of the rubber bullet.
Finally, I crawled onto the bed and closed my eyes. I drifted almost immediately into a fitful sleep.
Chapter 12:
I crept through the darkness, a thick warm liquid covering my hands as I sought my next target.
A shadowy figure sprung from the darkness of the next alley and I crouched low to the concrete, the razor sharp Ka-Bar knife grasped firmly in my right hand.
He didn't notice me, which was all the better.
I quickened my step, careful to put the pressure on the toes of my combat boots. It was quieter that way, when you were crouching low.
The man's form became larger in the darkness, a long bandolier stretched across his dark chest, a long beard casting a shadow against the moonlit alley walls beside us.
He spoke in Urdu through a radio; this close to the Pakistani border that was no surprise.
I turned the knife over in my hands, clutching it in a fist now. I'd have to make it quick.
The form was large in the darkness now, and I could smell his sweat.
I controlled my breathing.
Silent as death, I raised the knife.