My Troubles With Time (20 page)

In response to Fletcher’s questions, Stevens testified that upon hearing battle stations sounded early on the morning of December 7
^th
, he had raced to the bridge of the
Nevada
. There, he had encountered me for the first time. When I identified myself as the senior officer on the vessel and told him that Japanese aircraft were in the process of attacking Pearl Harbor, he had accepted this as true and had obeyed my orders.

In response to my orders, Stevens continued, he had assisted me to get the
Nevada
under way. Subsequently, he had followed out my orders during the
Nevada’s
attack on the Japanese carrier task force early in the morning of December 8
^th
.

When Fletcher finished his questioning, the defense was given the opportunity to cross-examine Ensign Stevens. In response to my insistence that we do nothing that might further injure Steven’s career, Parsons waived the opportunity to question him.

The prosecution called only three more witnesses. One was Hugh MacDonald, who had been the senior petty officer in the
Nevada’s
fire control department during our attack on the Japanese carriers. He testified that under my orders he had directed the battleship’s fire against the Japanese carriers. When MacDonald finished, Parsons declined the chance to cross-examine him in a tone suggesting that nothing the petty officer had said was of any importance.

Up to this point, there had been no surprises in the course of the court martial. I was flabbergasted, however, at what happened next. Fletcher called as his next witness one Commander Shaiku Namura. The door of the court room swung open and a navy corpsman entered, pushing a wheelchair to the front of the room.

Seated in the wheelchair was a man wearing the uniform of a Japanese naval officer. His hands, arms and most of his face were covered with bandages. I could hear gasps from the members of the court martial panel at the appearance of the badly injured officer.

Commander Namura was sworn in as a witness, with special accommodation made for the fact that he could not raise his right hand or touch the bible. I could not help but stare at the prosecuting officer as the oath was administered to Namura. It was obvious that Commander Fletcher relished the influence this witness was having on his case.

Fletcher began by asking the Namura to state his name and position. “Commander Shaiku Namura, sir,” the Japanese officer stated in excellent English. “Until she was sunk on the morning of December 8
^th
, I was navigation officer of the
Hiryu
, an aircraft carrier of the Imperial Japanese Navy.”

“Please recount to us the events that occurred on the morning of December 8
^th
,” Fletcher continued.

“I was on the
Hiryu’s
bridge. About 2 a.m., I heard the sounds of gunfire behind us. I turned and saw a large naval vessel sailing parallel to the
Akagi
the carrier to our stern. It fired salvo after salvo into the
Akagi
, which burst into flames and began sinking. Sailing at a speed greatly superior to ours, well over twenty knots, the vessel overtook us and began targeting the
Hiryu
with its salvos. Using my binoculars I was able to read the name of the attacking ship. It was the American battleship
Nevada
. I also saw the ship’s battle flag flying. It was a United States flag.”

The effort of speaking and the unpalatable nature of the events he was describing clearly depressed Namura. He paused, in his testimony and tried to massage his forehead. The bandages on his hands and head prevented him from completing the gesture.

“I understand how difficult this is for you, Commander,” Fletcher said in a sympathetic voice. “We are almost through.”

Namura rallied his strength and continued. “

The
Nevada’s
fire badly damaged the
Hiryu
and we began to sink. We were gone in a matter of minutes. I was thrown into the water by an explosion and suffered bad burns from the burning oil on the surface. More than a thousand of the
Hiryu’s
crew perished.”

“You are the senior surviving officer from the
Hiryu’s
crew?” Fletcher asked in a low voice.

“I am the senior surviving officer from all three of the Japanese carriers that the
Nevada
sank in its attack,” Namura stated. While I was in the water, I saw the
Nevada
sink the carrier on our bow, the
Soryu
.”

Fletcher nodded sympathetically, “Thank you, Commander,” he said. He then turned to Parsons. “Your witness, sir.” His tone suggested that only an ogre would subject Namura to further questioning. Looking at the expressions on the faces of the members of the court martial, I could see they shared Fletcher’s opinion.

Parsons, however, was not intimidated. “Let me express my sympathy, Commander,” he began, his characteristic lachrymose attitude suggesting that he was speaking sincerely. “You have certainly undergone a most horrible ordeal. There is just one minor point I would like you to clear up.”

Fletcher looked contemptuously at the defense counsel. Parsons’ hangdog appearance made it easy to underestimate him. I had made that same mistake, myself, until his cross-examination of Travis had altered my opinion.

The prosecutor clearly believed that Parsons was committing a serious blunder in prolonging Namura’s interrogation. From their expressions, I could see that the members of the court martial were of a similar opinion.

“You said, Commander,” Parsons began in a soft voice, “That an explosion on the
Hiryu
knocked you into the sea. If the three Japanese aircraft carriers were sunk, who rescued you?”

“I and three other survivors of the
Hiryu
were picked up by an accompanying destroyer.”

“Tell me, Commander, why didn’t the
Nevada
sink the destroyer, too?”

“Because it was driven off by the two battleships accompanying us.”

“Were those the only other vessels in your immediate area?”

“No, sir,” Namura answered, “There were three other Japanese carriers, along with cruisers and destroyers.”

I could see Fletcher frowning as Parsons continued the questions.

“Sir,” he said jumping to his feet, “I object to this line of questioning.”

“Sir,” said Parsons, speaking to Admiral Stafford, “I am fighting for Lieutenant Snodgrass’s life. I would beg the court for some leeway in my questioning.”

The presiding officer turned to Commander Leeland and spoke for several minutes with the legal adviser. “All right,” he said reluctantly to my defense counsel, “I will permit you to go on with this line of questioning, but watch your step, Commander!”

“Tell me, Commander,” Parsons said, resuming his questioning of Namura, “Where was the
Hiryu
when she was attacked by the
Nevada
?”

Namura answered giving geographic coordinates.

“Admiral Stafford,” said Parsons, taking something that had been inside his yellow pad, “May I be permitted to use this as an aid to the panel?”

The presiding officer frowned again. He was clearly becoming sick of what he must have regarded as unnecessary legal sparring. “What is that?” he snapped.

“It’s a National Geographic Society map of the Pacific Ocean,” Parsons said. With a red crayon, he drew a circle on the map.

“This circle, sir,” he said, “Represents the location given by Commander Namura as the point at which the
Nevada
attacked and sank the three Japanese carriers.”

Stafford took the map from Parsons and examined it carefully. He passed it to the other members of the court martial. Each of the captains looked at it.

When they had finished, Parsons, turned back to Commander Namura. “The latitude and longitude coordinates you have given me, sir,” identifies a point in the Pacific Ocean less than two hundred and fifty miles from the United States navy base at Pearl Harbor. At the same time, it is about four thousand miles from Japan. Is it customary for a fleet consisting of six Japanese aircraft carriers, two battleships and numerous cruisers and destroyers to operate so close to American territory? What were they doing there?”

Fletcher again rose, objecting to the questioning. Stafford curtly told him to sit. “The panel would like to hear the answer to that question,” he said quietly.

“Well, Commander,” Parsons said, “We would like the answer to that question.”

Namura looked bewildered. Finally, he managed to speak. “I don’t know, Sir.”

“Ah, yes, Commander, Parsons said sarcastically, you were the navigation officer of the
Hiryu
but you don’t know.” He turned back to Admiral Stafford. “The defense has no further questions for this witness,” he said, sitting down.

I looked at Stafford and the other members of the panel. It was obvious from their expressions that Parsons had scored a touchdown in his legal struggle with Fletcher. The latter, moved quickly in an attempt to retrieve the situation.

“As the last witness for the prosecution,” he said, “I call Commander Arthur White.”

I had not the slightest idea who White might be. Turning around, my curiosity was quickly satisfied. The man in civilian clothing who had interrogated me on the night of my imprisonment, strode to the front of the courtroom and took the witness chair. Upon completion of his swearing in, Fletcher began his questions.

“Commander,” he said, Please identify yourself for the record.

“Commander Arthur White, Navy Security Service, attached to the Headquarters of the Pacific Fleet.”

“Are you acquainted with Lieutanant Maynard Snodgrass?” Fletcher asked.

“Yes, I am. I first met Lieutenant Snodgrass on the evening of December 8
^th
,” White replied, “When I was ordered to take charge of his interrogation”

“Is he currently in this court room?”

“Yes, he is,” White said. “He is the lieutenant seated in the chair next to the defense counsel.” White stood and pointed me out.

“When you interrogated Lieutenant Snodgrass, did he give you a confession?”

“Yes, he did?”

“Is this it?” Fletcher asked, showing him the confession I had signed.

White read it. “Yes, it is.”

The prosecuting officer had the confession entered as evidence. When this was completed, Fletcher handed it back to White. “Would you please read this to the court, Commander.”

White proceeded to do so. I flinched as I heard it read. How could I have been so stupid as to write and sign that confession, I wondered? Something had to be done to weaken its impact on the court. I shook Parsons’ arm to attract his attention.

“Ask him what else I told him on the evening I signed the confession!” I whispered. “I told him I was a physics professor, not a naval officer. If he’s in the Naval Security Service, he must know I’m not in the navy. If I’m not in the navy, how can I be guilty of mutiny? He’s lying!”

Parsons scribbled an answer to me on his yellow pad. His note read, “No!! I’ll explain later.”

As I read it, I heard a series of loud raps coming from the direction of the court martial panel. Looking up, I saw Admiral Stafford banging a gavel, an angry expression on his face.

“I’ll have order in this court room!” he thundered. Everyone stared at him. “Lieutenant Snodgrass and his defense counsel appear to be having an argument,” he continued sarcastically. “Would you like a brief recess, Commander, to confer with the defendant?”

Parsons jumped to his feet. “I beg the court’s pardon,” he said most contritely. “It was just a minor misunderstanding. There is no need for a recess.”

“All right,” said Stafford, still looking annoyed. “Don’t let it happen again!” “You may continue with the witness,” he added, turning to Fletcher.

Commander White completed his reading of my confession. “Your witness,” he said, to Parsons.

My defense counsel rose slowly to his feet. “No questions,” he said in a low voice and sat down.

It was again Fletcher’s turn. Standing, he directed a smile at the members of the court martial panel. His expression reminded me of a print I had once seen depicting the Cheshire Cat in ‘Alice In Wonderland.’

“The prosecution has no further witnesses,” he said, confidence in the way the trial had gone evident in his voice.

Stafford looked at his watch and a pleasant expression appeared on to his face. “We’ve made good progress this morning,” he declared, “It’s almost time for lunch. Why don’t we adjourn until 1 p.m.”

The people in the room rose as the members of the panel stood and filed from the courtroom, Admiral Stafford in the lead. I was about to protest to Parsons over his failure to question Commander White when two marines approached.

“I’m sorry sir,” one of them said to me. “We have to escort you back to your cell until the court martial reconvenes.”

“Just a minute,” Parsons intervened. He turned to me. “I don’t imagine, Lieutenant, that the food they give you is particularly good.”

“That would be an understatement, sir.”

“Why don’t I stop off at the officers’ club and pick up something for us to eat. I’ll bring it back to your cell and we can eat it there. I have to discuss our strategy for this afternoon, and that would give us more time to do it.”

“I’d appreciate that very much,” I said. Parsons went off and I returned to my cell, escorted by the marines.

I was pacing the cell to get some exercise when the door opened and Parsons entered, carrying a paper bag. Emanating From the bag was a most delicious aroma. With the aplomb of Houdini extracting a rabbit from his hat, Parsons removed to bundles wrapped in napkins.

“Here you are, Lieutenant,” he said, handing me one. It turned out to be a still warm cheeseburger.

“They make good cheeseburgers at the club.”

He removed two more articles from the bag, bottles of beer. The one he gave me was still cold.

The cheeseburger and beer constituted the best meal I had had since setting out in the time machine and I quickly wolfed it down.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this, Commander,” I said, meaning every word. “Many thanks.”