Docker nodded. He got the idea.
First Army’s board of special inquiry convened at ten A.M. on February 14th in the ballroom of the Hotel Empire, whose entrance faced tree-lined boulevards and a brilliant curve of the Meuse River. An MP corporal was posted at double doors that opened from the mezzanine into a ballroom. The corporal wore a class-A uniform and helmet liner and stood at parade rest, rifle canted away from his body, back and shoulders erect against the carved panels of the tall doors.
The MP presented arms when Docker and Captain Walton entered the ballroom. The captain walked to a conference table where two officers were seated, a second lieutenant and a major. Smaller desks flanked this table which was piled with briefcases, manila folders and legal tablets.
On one desk stood an Army field telephone and a tray with coffee makings. A WAC sergeant sat at the other, notebook and jar of pencils in front of her.
Captain Walton joined the major and lieutenant and waved Docker to a chair facing them.
“You’ve met Captain Walton,” the major said. “I’m Major Sydney Karsh. This is Lieutenant Clement Weiffel. We are the presiding officers of this board of inquiry, which has been convened by the Judge Advocate’s staff of First Army. Our recording secretary is Sergeant Elspeth Corey.” The major removed his heavy, horn-rimmed glasses. “We’ll be ready to begin in a few minutes, lieutenant, so meanwhile, make yourself comfortable.”
As the major distributed manila-bound files to his aides, Docker looked around the ballroom. Many of the windows had been splintered by bomb blasts and were now crisscrossed with patchwork designs of heavy tape. Wooden scaffoldings stood braced against the beige walls. In some places the heavily damaged plaster was covered with canvas. Decorative crystals had been removed from the three huge chandeliers and naked bulbs cast a glaring light across the gold-leafed ceiling. Clusters of sofas and chairs were draped with white sheets, and a shiny parquet floor was scattered with faded old carpets.
The WAC sergeant would have been attractive, Docker thought, if it weren’t for the severity in her expression. She was simply doing a job, a slim, blond secretary in Army uniform, but something in her gathered energies suggested a different image to Docker — perhaps a sleek cat with all of its attention concentrated on a mousehole.
When Major Karsh said, “Lieutenant Docker, I’d like to explain—” she began recording with precise pencil strokes, but Karsh glanced at her and said, “Sergeant Corey, this is an informal preliminary statement, so don’t bother taking it down.” A smile flared and faded quickly on his face. “When I need a transcript, I’ll nod to you.” The major’s smile came again, as if to underscore the amiability of his instructions. “There’ll be a good deal of casual discussion,” he said, “and there’s no point in burdening you with all of it.”
“Yes, Major Karsh.” When she shifted her position and lowered the notebook, the overhead light shifted and moved like quicksilver along her slim and neatly muscled legs. Docker wondered how she’d be in the sack, wondered if she’d come to attention and salute and request permission to merge with the infinite or haul her ashes, as Kohler would put it... but he also told himself he was being defensive, that he resented these freshly groomed and well-tailored officers with their legal pads and judgmental frowns and gestures.
Major Karsh glanced at Docker, another smile sharpening his features.
“Lieutenant Docker, let’s start by fixing the time element. The chronology of events. On what date was Jackson Baird killed?”
“December twenty-third, sir.”
“On what date did he join your section?”
“December seventeenth, sir.”
“He was with your unit just one week then?”
“Yes, sir. One week.”
“So it follows that your knowledge of Jackson Baird and his background, and whatever insights you have of his character and personality and so forth, were gained in that seven-day period from December seventeenth to December twenty-third. Correct, lieutenant?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Let’s go forward a bit. After Private Jackson Baird was fatally wounded, your gun section remained on Mont Reynard until you made contact with your battery headquarters. What date was that, lieutenant?”
“December twenty-eighth. Lieutenant Whitter, our platoon commander, arrived then and gave us orders to withdraw toward Namur.”
Karsh said, “And that was when you learned of the deaths of Lieutenant Longworth and Corporal Larkin?”
“Yes, sir.”
Major Karsh checked the notes he’d made on his pad. “I think that gives us the chronological bookends, so to speak... Young Baird was picked up by your section on the seventeenth, killed by enemy fire on the twenty-third, contact with your battery reestablished on the twenty-eighth.”
Karsh glanced at Captain Walton and Lieutenant Weiffel. “Any questions about this so far?”
They both shook their heads.
“Very well.” The major looked through the stack of files in front of him, selected one and pushed it across the table toward Docker. Again his quick smile.
“Would you take a look at this, lieutenant?”
Docker opened the manila folder, which contained two files of typewritten pages.
“You recognize those documents, lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir.”
Major Karsh nodded to Sergeant Corey, who adjusted her note pad and prepared to take down their exchanges.
“Lieutenant, please tell us in your own words their origin and nature.”
“These are two separate reports, one of which I made at the request of our battery commander, Captain Joseph Grant, and the other at the request of an officer from the Judge Advocate’s staff of First Army, Captain Travolta.”
“What’s the date of the first report, lieutenant?”
“December thirtieth, 1944.”
“And the second?”
“January twenty-third, 1945.”
“Then for the record, we’ll call the report written December thirtieth. File A. And the report written the twenty-third of January, File B. Is that clear enough, lieutenant?”
“Yes, it’s clear enough.”
Major Karsh glanced at the sergeant. “We’ll go off the record for a moment. Lieutenant, I want this hearing to proceed as casually and efficiently as possible. But I also expect you to observe the conventions of military courtesy at all times. In answering, you’ll address the members of the board either as ‘sir’ or by their appropriate ranks. Is that clear, lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You may proceed. Would you like the sergeant to refresh your memory?”
“I’d appreciate that, sir.”
She glanced at her notebook. “Question: ‘You recognize these documents, lieutenant?’ Answer: ‘Yes, sir.’ Question: ‘Lieutenant, tell us in your own words their origin and nature.’ ”
She looked at Docker. “Is that sufficient, lieutenant?”
“Yes, that’s fine... sergeant.”
Docker glanced from the files to Major Karsh. “Sir, after our section was ordered to pull back from Mont Reynard, I had a briefing session with Captain Grant at the battery CP outside Namur. He told me then to write a full and detailed report covering the time Section Eight had been cut off from Battery Headquarters.”
“Did Captain Grant suggest to you what to include — or not include — in that report. Lieutenant?”
“No, sir. His instructions were to make it as complete as possible.”
“I see. And you followed those instructions?”
“I did my best, sir. The report includes an account of the German plane we shot down — an ME-262, a jet aircraft, a model and design we’d never seen before. And it also includes the fact that a radio signal Corporal Trankic sent from a Resistance transmitter in Lepont had been picked up by Eighth Air Force station near Brussels. File A also covered the section’s casualties, and the details of a combat action with a German tank, a Tiger Mark II.”