We Were Beautiful Once (20 page)

“We have to lay it out step by step, to show how it could've happened, how outrageous it was to leave a red-blooded American hanging out to dry.”

“How can you keep the judge from lowering the bar?” Mitch asked, as he chewed on toast covered in globs of jam.

“We need good witnesses, that's how. We need men like Sheer, like our next guy Bradshaw, who can testify about what they saw over there. Bradshaw's experience is Roger's. And he's got to come across as credible, the eyewitness who'll testify for those who didn't come back.”

“What's he look like? Will he make a good witness?” Mitch asked.

“No worse than you would, with a good hair cut.”

“Ha, ha. Come on, you know what I mean.”

Nick smiled. “Never laid eyes on him, just talked on the phone.”

“Nick, how confident are you that these guys will remember?” asked Kathy.

“They were there.”

“Yeah, but most eyewitnesses are not
that
reliable,” Mitch interjected.

“I suppose, but that's all we have. Their recollections, as faulty as they may be.  But I'm afraid you're not going to get to see him.”

Mitch groaned and dropped his fork with a clatter.

“I've got an errand for you.”

“Aw, Nick.”

 

When Nick and Kathy arrived at the courthouse the clerk indicated that the judge was running a few minutes late. That's when Harris approached him.

“Nick, I need to call my witness Jaeger out of turn.  He has to get back to Pennsy for an operation later this week.”

“Isn't it something he can postpone?”

“No, it's heart surgery.”

“Christ, that means... ?”

“Nick, I don't have much choice. Lindquist will understand. The guy drove up from Pennsylvania last night.”

“Do what you gotta do,” Nick conceded. To Kathy, he explained tersely, “Change of plan.  Let's hope it's not Harris using Jaeger in a cheap move at primacy.”

“What's heard first is believed most?” Kathy asked.

Nick nodded. He knew, as did Harris, that getting one side of the story out first placed a burden on every story that followed.  

 

Lindquist had been suffering from a pus-oozing abscess on his gum, making it impossible to bite through the hard roll he had for breakfast. And while the lawyers would take the witness through hours of testimony, he would half-listen, distracted by his pain and hunger. He brought his gavel down and declared the court back in session. “We will go until four, today.  Mr. Castalano, please proceed.”

Harris interjected, “Your Honor, may Counsel and I approach?”

Lindquist nodded, brought his lips together and twisted his mouth from side to side. Lindquist leaned forward, looking at Harris and asking in an irritated tone, “Well, Counsel, what is it?”

Harris began to speak rapid-fire. “Your Honor, the government needs to call Mr. Jaeger out of turn and regrettably break up Mr. Castalano's presentation. Mr. Jaeger is scheduled to return home tonight, because...  ”

The judge interrupted. “Slow down, Counsel...  ”

“He...  Mr. Jaeger, the defense witness, needs open heart surgery later this week. There might be times when his testimony will seem disjointed or lack foundation, but I'll connect up before I rest.”

“Any objection, Mr. Castalano?”

“No, your Honor, we've discussed it.”

“Very well, but let's keep surprises to a minimum.”

Harris assumed the podium. “Your Honor, I wish to call Mr. Thomas Jaeger to the stand.”

A woman in her mid-fifties stood up in the front oak pew.  Next to her sat a man wearing dark glasses. He rose when the woman placed her hand on his shoulder. He clutched the woman's arm. She wore a plain, blue rayon dress, buttoned close to her thin, long neck. She opened the chrome-over-wood gate leading into the well, and together they walked toward the witness chair. Although the courtroom had a hundred occupants, the only sounds heard were the click, click, click that the woman's matronly high heels made on the mottled, gray granite floor. Even with the woman at his elbow, the man walked toward the stand straight up. He appeared older than she by many years, though not as weary. Perhaps the shock of thinning, gray-blond hair falling over his forehead or his ruddy complexion made him appear so. One artist in the jury box imagined that he had labored hard, but only the elderly stenographer saw a workingman's rough hands.

The man looked like he had been poured into his suit—a brown wool, two-button that had seen days at fifteen pounds lighter. His neck protruded out of a loose collar with a green tie, the same outfit he would wear when he and Marlene, the lady next to him, and their two teenage daughters attended the Marysville Lutheran Church on Sundays.

Jaeger took his place to the left of Lindquist's maple perch, a perch from which a skilled magistrate detected all manner of prevaricator. The white-faced clerk planted himself to see into the usually anxious eyes—something he had done to a thousand witnesses—but this time, he only met the reflection of his own gaunt image.  Unfazed, the clerk continued to study the dark, reflecting receptacles, while reciting the oath: “Raise your right hand, sir. Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God?”

Jaeger responded in a deeply resonant smoker's voice, “I do.”

“Sir, please state your name and address for the record.”

“My name is Thomas J. Jaeger, and I live at number 15 Mifflin Place, in Marysville, Pennsylvania.”

Rattled by the witness's blindness, Harris unconsciously left the security of his oak chair and moved to the lectern angled toward Jaeger. He became oblivious to the crowd that packed the courtroom, the reporters scribbling notes, the sketch artists scrawling the visage of a man in dark glasses. He threw his papers onto the lectern.

Jaeger had called Townsend just two months before the trial began, indicating he had read about the case in a local veteran's newsletter. Harris had had two phone conversations with him, never imagining that he was speaking to a blind man. Townsend and Foster, his two Army beagles, were supposed to ferret these things out. Nevertheless, he asked the obvious, “Mr. Jaeger, are you able to see?”

“No, sir.”

“Mr. Jaeger, you were a member of the Army, right?”

Jaeger mechanically turned his head toward the voice.  “Yes, I was in the Army for twenty-six years,” he answered, swollen with pride.

“When'd you retire?”

“January of '75.”

“At what rank?”

“Master Sergeant. I was also First Sergeant in my company.”

“So when did you join?  What year?”

“Well, was the day after the eighth anniversary of Pearl Harbor, the exact date, December 8, 1949.”

“Did you enlist or were you inducted?”

“Enlisted.”

“All right. And what did you ...  ?”

“Army infantry.”

“And you remained with the infantry throughout your career, is that—?”

“That's right.”

“Any tours of overseas duty?”

“Yes, one tour in Korea and pulled one in Germany after Korea, two tours in Vietnam.”

Harris caught Lindquist moving his head up and down as he made a note, and supposed the judge must so far be impressed with the witness. He had no way of knowing that Lindquist was only moving his head to relieve the stiffness in his neck.

“Have you ever seen combat?”

“Am credited with five years. Three in Korea, two in Vietnam.”

Lindquist nodded again.

“You mentioned you did one tour in Korea, correct?”

“Uh-huh.”

“When did you first go to Korea?”

“The early part of August '50. I'd been stationed in Kumamoto on Kyushu, Japan, with units of the 19th Infantry Regiment, 24th Division.”

“And you went from Kyushu to Korea?”

“About 200 men ferried out on small transports—called 'em Gooney Birds. When we arrived, we were put on the firing line.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harris saw Lindquist wince when he picked up the pen. He dismissed it as a random tic, but the abscess would cause Lindquist's face to grimace more and more as the day wore on.

Harris looked at the Judge. “Your Honor, at this time I wish to produce a certified partial duplicate set of Roger Girardin's military records and offer them as an exhibit. For the record, among other things it shows that Private Girardin was assigned to the 19th Regiment during this period.”

“Any objection, Mr. Castalano?”

“No, Counsel and I stipulated to its admissibility.”

“Very well, mark it as a full exhibit.”

“Mr. Jaeger, your unit moved north, right?”

Facing dead ahead, Jaeger continued, “Train took us about three hours away. Where we camped. We was fed. Next day, moved us out on a train.”

“Where exactly did the train take you, relative to Pusan?”

“About 50 miles north, a staging area, near the Yongsan.”

“You were still assigned to the 19th?"

“Right.”

“Did you immediately come under fire?”

“Oh, yeah, the regiment had retreated from its position, but we was trying to hold the line at the river, the Naktong. We lost guys. You heard Air Rescue Squadron, you know, M.A.S.H. copters 'round the clock.”

Jaeger let his head drop down and repeated in a low voice, “Yeah 'round the clock.”

“Sometime in September, you and the 19th moved north past Seoul and beyond the 38
th
Parallel that had separated South Korea from North Korea before the war, is that correct?"

“Yes, that's right.”

“Sir, let me turn your attention to, let's say, mid to late November. You and the 19th were well inside North Korea, not far from the Manchurian border, correct?”

“Yes, I guess we got within 50 to 75 miles.”

“Isn't it true that sometime in mid-November, the North Koreans helped by the Chinese turned the U.N. forces back? And, that the 24th Division generally, and the 19th in particular, were in full retreat from the Northern territory of Korea above the 38
th
Parallel, headed south?”

“Yes, sir, that's right.  After the Chinese entered the war.”

“And you were in full retreat through early December?” asked Harris.

“Yes, sir.”

“Was the 19th Regiment experiencing any reports of men killed-in-action or KIA, during this time?”

“Yeah, casualties went up pretty fast. Because normally when you're withdrawing like that you always try to keep some contact with the enemy.”

“If you're retreating, why'd you maintain contact?”

“You're fightin' a delaying action.”

“And what about your company from, say, late November to early December?  During the retreat, how many were lost?”

“Far as I know, more than a dozen wounded and killed, six or seven disappeared.”

“Did you know for a fact that at that time the enemy was capturing 19th Regiment personnel?”

“Heard that...  big numbers...  a half-dozen guys in my company couldn't be accounted for, from late October to, say, near Christmas, more or less.”

“What do you think happened to them?”

“I assumed, as did everyone, that the men that couldn't be found were captured, got disconnected, and they'd eventually show up.”

 

Townsend rifled noisily through a pile of papers an inch think. Glancing over his shoulder, Harris saw Foster motioning him over to the defense table.  

“Your Honor, I need to speak with my colleague.” Harris walked over to Foster and turned to Lindquist, “Your Honor, defense counsel would appreciate a five-minute recess.”

The judge scowled, “Counsel, we just got started!”

“Your Honor, I need to make an urgent call to my office. I apologize.  It won't take more than a few minutes.”

“Very well, be back in five minutes!” Lindquist rubbed his cheek hard, before amending his order, “No, instead let's take our mid-morning break.”

To Nick, Lindquist's behavior was becoming more atypical by the minute.

 

Rushing into the corridor Harris took the stairs two at a time. He opened the office door to a sparsely appointed suite for government lawyers. A middle aged receptionist looked up.

“Mr. Harris, come this way. There's a line in here. I'll put your party through.”

Harris sat back in a large, black chair and rolled it back and forth, arms crossed, hands thrust under his armpits. The desk had a clear, reflective finish and was empty, with the exception of an unlit lamp. He waited nearly five minutes before he heard a nasally voice coming through the intercom. “Mr. Harris, Mr. Russell on line one.”

Seeing that the receiver had a greasy sheen to it, Harris picked it up by his thumb and forefinger and held it away from his ear.

“Hello, Mr. Secretary.” The caller seemed miles away. “Sir, can you speak a little louder?  The connection is bad...  Oh, yes, things are going well.  Our witness is up—Jaeger, guy I told you about. Nothing remarkable, no.” Harris listened intently. “No, I don't think that they'll concede on this. What're the chances of the status change, if we can take their mind off the money-bit, the damages, you know the back pay since 1950?”

The man on the other end raised his voice and could be heard in the outer office. Harris held the receiver further away from his ear.

“Yes, sir, yes, I understand.  We'd have to do it in confidence, but they've refused that condition, and they've said they want information on where the guy was last seen. So it's not a matter of money.” Harris listened. “Yes, sir, we can't set a precedent, but I was thinking that we could do this without shaking the hornet's nest.” Harris was quiet, listening to the concerns of the man on the other end. “Well, yeah, I know there are at least 400 to 500 of these same situations, and you wouldn't want a flood...  I can understand that. Yes, you're right; we'll put this one to sleep.”