A youngster came from an alley and ran along beside him, grinning and pantomiming the action of puffing on a cigarette. He was raggedly dressed, thin to the point of emaciation, his teeth stained with neglect, but a survivor’s hope flashed in his eyes, a last-chance smile strained his young-old face.
“Please, GI,” he said, panting to keep up with Docker. “You got smoke for Benny, hey, GI?”
Docker stopped and took a pack of cigarettes from his overcoat. He had about a dozen left, so he parceled out six for the boy, who clutched them in a hand like a monkey’s paw and ran off into the dark street, laughing and waving the cigarettes in triumph above his head.
And that boy still living and determined to go on living, that was no gray area. It was another fact, by God.
Chapter Thirty
February 14, 1945. Hotel Empire, Liège, Belgium. Wednesday, 1800 Hours.
“We will turn our attention at this time to the matter of Jackson Baird’s alleged desertion,” Major Karsh said when the hearings were resumed at six o’clock that evening.
“I propose to summarize certain events which occurred in your gun section, Lieutenant Docker, on Friday, December twenty-second from” — Karsh consulted his notes — “from approximately twelve noon, when your men first sighted the German tank, until about ten-thirty that night when, according to your testimony, Baird confessed to you that he had deserted his post under fire on December sixteenth, the first day of the Ardennes offensive.”
The major unstrapped his watch and placed it on the table.
“Since we will be at this for some time, I think we might have some coffee. Sergeant, would you mind?”
Elspeth Corey poured coffee into thick china mugs, her movements fluid and economical, but when she glanced at Docker, half-smiling and making a tentative gesture with a cup, he shook his head.
Karsh thanked her and placed his cup on a blotter beside his briefcase. “Lieutenant, we’ll start at the time Baird pointed his rifle at you and other members of your section. First. Did you think he was ready to use it?”
“No, sir, I didn’t.”
“Then you did not feel threatened by his actions?”
Docker hesitated. “No, I didn’t think he’d fire. But that was only a guess.”
“A guess based on what, lieutenant?”
“For one thing, sir, he never took his rifle off safe.”
“Under the circumstances, I’d say that was pretty observant of you. So you obviously thought he was bluffing. Right?”
“Yes, sir.”
Karsh picked up a file from the table and looked through it briefly.
“When you became aware of that German tank, the Tiger Mark II, you decided to pull your cannon and make a run for it. Baird told you that would be unwise. In your own deposition, lieutenant, you’ve explained his reasons very cogently. Since they’re part of the record, I won’t repeat them unless you want me to.”
“There’s no need for it, sir.”
“But you didn’t act on his proposals?”
“Not immediately, sir.”
“And that’s why Baird pointed his rifle at you? To make you listen to him?”
“I believe so, sir.”
“To emphasize that point, I’m going to read a portion of Harlan Farrel’s deposition.” Karsh took another file from his briefcase and ran his finger down a page until he found the paragraph he was looking for, then said, “I’m quoting Private Harlan Farrel now. ‘Baird begged Docker to listen. He said something like — just let me finish, or hear me out—. Whatever it was, he just wanted to explain the problem. And I remember him saying to Docker — then you can have the damn gun.’ ”
Karsh looked at Docker. “Did Baird say that to you, lieutenant?”
“Yes, that’s what he said, sir.”
“Speculation is speculation, but I’d like to ask you a question, lieutenant. You don’t have to answer if you don’t care to. But in your judgment, what would have happened if you had ignored Baird’s advice?”
“I’ve no objection to answering,” Docker said. “If we’d tried to pull our cannon and get down that hill, the German tank would have had us in its sights in about sixty seconds. Some or all of us would have been killed.”
The major nodded and there was something in his expression that puzzled Docker; it was neither complacency nor resignation, but he couldn’t come any closer than that to defining it.
“I’ve no further questions at this time,” Karsh said.
Lieutenant Weiffel and Captain Walton did. Walton wanted to know in detail how Trankic had subdued Baird, how often he had struck him, whether the blows had been to the boy’s face or body, how much damage they had done. Weiffel, between sips of coffee, asked why it had been necessary to tie Baird’s wrists behind him. He opened a folder and read an additional segment of Harlan Farrel’s deposition into the record: “ ‘You can’t blame Trankic for hitting Baird, he was mad as hell. But he’s a powerhouse, he didn’t have to lower the boom that way. Sonny Laurel came right out and said it to him. Sonny told Trankic right on the spot he didn’t have to bust him up like that.’ ”
Captain Walton said, “Tell me this, lieutenant, when that tank fired into the side of the mountain and over your gun position, when shrapnel and rock fragments were exploding around you, was Baird lying helpless on the ground all that time, hands tied behind his back?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What action did you take when the firing stopped?”
Fucking civilian. Docker thought, but he said, “I checked to see who was hurt. Then I told Chet Dormund and Sonny Laurel to untie Baird, put some sulfa on his cuts and get him under blankets.”
“And didn’t you also place him under arrest at that time, lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And detailed a man to stand guard over him?”
“Yes, sir. Private Farrel.”
“Then I’d like to point out a contradiction in your testimony. You told us you couldn’t arrest Corporal Larkin because you were short of men. Now you tell us you arrested Baird and in addition assigned a man to stand guard over him. How do you explain the inconsistency?”
Docker thought a moment, then said, “If you’d been there, captain, you wouldn’t need an explanation.”
“I’ve warned you once about your insolence, lieutenant.”
“It wasn’t my intention to be insolent, sir. But your line of questions forces me to be insultingly specific, just as I thought you were when you reminded me that my gun section’s actions on Utah Beach took place during the Allied landings at Normandy. You may know that from reading about it in the newspapers, sir. We knew about it because we were there—”
“Now I’ve had just about as much as I’m going to take—”
Major Karsh broke in, “Lieutenant, you will answer the questions as briefly and responsively as possible.”
“All right, I’ll try to, sir,” Docker said, but saying it realized that there was no way, no goddamn way to make them really see it, because how could he re-create the winds and the sounds of the cannon and the fear and pain around a damn conference table...?
“There wasn’t anything inconsistent about arresting Private Baird and not arresting Corporal Larkin,” he said. “When I arrested Baird an eighty-ton German tank was sitting a few hundred yards below our gun position. In a firefight against those odds I didn’t have the time or energy to worry about how a green, unstable soldier would handle himself. I’d rather be shorthanded than have to depend on anybody I wasn’t sure of.”