The Last Hour (42 page)

I couldn’t hear any more. I covered my face in my hands.

Martin said, “Can I get a glass of water?”

Schwartz said, “Do you need a recess?”

“No sir, I want to get this over with. My throat’s dry.”

Schwartz gave a look at one of the Lieutenants on the prosecution team, and the lieutenant slid a pitcher of ice water and a glass over to Martin.

“Please go ahead, Sergeant, if you can,” Elmore said.

I stared at the table, trying desperately not to visibly shake, trying desperately to not let that day overcome my present. It was as if you could scratch my skin and the dust and mud of Afghanistan would well and bubble up like thick, clotted blood from an old wound. I averted my eyes from Martin as he went on and on, talking about Colton and Speedy and everything that happened, every damn thing that I couldn’t take back.
 

I stared out the window, my eyes fixed on a tree just outside. A pair of squirrels jumped from branch to branch, chasing each other around the trunk, no worries, no pressure, no regrets. I wanted to be out there. Instead, here I was, dealing with the aftermath of a chain of choices that had destroyed the lives of too many people already.

My attention went back to the room when I heard my name.
 

Elmore said, “What was Sergeant Sherman doing at this point?”

“I think he was in shock,” Martin said. “When we finally stopped, he started yelling, freaking out. And then we took his weapons away.”

Jesus.
I remembered that. It had started raining, unexpectedly, and we were crouched among the trees. Colton had been raving irrationally, and Martin, who had sustained a not very severe wound, crouched against a tree and said, “Shut the fuck up, Colton. Just shut up.”

That started another round of recriminations and shouting, and I’d looked up at one point and said, “This makes us all fucking war criminals,” and then Colton screamed at me, and pointed his rifle, and said, “If you fucking say anything, to anyone, I’ll kill you, Sherman!”

And I just ... sat there. Finally, Colton rehearsed everyone. One by one. Including Martin. Including me. What happened, even though it wasn’t what had happened. We’d never seen a boy that day, and Martin was injured in an accidental discharge. He had a long, red furrow down his forearm, not serious, he wouldn’t even miss a day of duty.
 

One by one, they all swore.

Including me.

Ray’s eyes were glazed over, staring into the distance as Martin finished testifying. I reached past him and tapped Dick on the shoulder. He looked at me, then at Ray, and nodded his understanding. Slowly, I wrapped my hand around Ray’s. His eyes softened, out of focus, and then he looked at me. And he was here, now, in the present.

I’d been attending the hearing every day with Ray. In the end, I hadn’t had to worry about the impact on my job, because I didn’t have a job. Doctor Moore’s investigation … whatever that consisted of ... had been dragging on for weeks, with no resolution. I don’t know who he was talking to, or whatever evidence he was examining, because I’d heard hardly a word except from Lori Beckley, who called me every couple of days to check in. Lori and I had been out for drinks three times, but that was my only connection with NIH. Otherwise, all of my time had been spent with Ray. Who seemed to be slowly falling apart.

Colonel Schwartz let Martin go, and then said, “I’ve reached the end of the evidence I intend to examine for this investigation. Does the prosecution have any further evidence to submit? Or any further witnesses to examine?”

The officer leading the prosecution said, “No, sir.” He had declined to cross-examine Martin. Anything further Martin said was likely to be that much more damning for the prosecution, though I was deeply worried about Martin’s account of how all of them ... including Ray ... had promised to say nothing. I didn’t know enough about military law, but it seemed likely to me, based on what Dick had said, that merely participating in that cover-up ... even if he’d reported it eventually ... would be enough to send Ray to a court-martial.

Not to mention, Martin’s testimony conflicted with Colton’s and another sergeant’s.
 

Schwartz turned to Elmore and said, “Does the accused have any further evidence or witnesses to offer?”

“No, sir,” Elmore said.

“Sergeant Sherman, earlier in this investigation, I advised you of your rights to make a statement, or to remain silent. Do you want me to repeat this advice at this time?”

Ray shifted in his seat, then said, “No, sir.”

“Do you desire to make a statement in any form?”

Elmore had advised Ray, over and over again, not to make any statement at the Article 32 hearing. “They can only use it against you. Right now the weight of the evidence ... and the fact that you reported it in the first place ... is on your side. But if you get up there, then everything you say becomes part of the court-martial record, and the prosecutors can use it to tear you apart at the court-martial.”

So I don’t know what suicidal impulse ran through Ray’s mind when he looked at Colonel Schwartz and said, “Yes, sir.”

I froze, and Elmore turned urgently to Ray and said, “What are you doing?”

“Sir, I…”

“Don’t you
sir
me. We’ve been over this a hundred times.”

“I know.”

“And you’re going to do it anyway?”

Ray stared at him, then nodded, once.
 

Elmore sagged in his seat. And then he said, “Please let the record reflect that Sergeant Sherman is making this statement, whatever it is, against the advice of counsel.”

“So noted, Major. Sergeant Sherman, if you’ll come around to the witness seat.”

Ray sat up, and his limbs moving as if he had lead in them, slumped into the witness chair. I watched him, my heart aching.
 

Colonel Schwartz said, “Sergeant Sherman, as the accused, you have the right to make a sworn or unsworn statement. If you make a sworn statement, the trial counsel will have the opportunity to cross-examine you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you prefer to make a sworn statement, or unsworn?”

“I’ll make a sworn statement.”

Elmore audibly groaned. What the hell was Ray doing? Was he trying to throw his trial? Did he feel so guilty about what happened that he was going to throw himself to the wolves? Oh, God, Ray, don’t do this, I thought.

“Please raise your right hand.”

Ray did.
 

“Do you swear, or affirm, to tell the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth.”

“I do.”

“You may proceed with your statement.”

Ray swallowed, then reached out and poured himself a glass of water and took a sip. Then he said, “My name is Sergeant Raymond Sherman. I know we’ve been through all the details of what happened. I just have a couple things to say. First ... even though I reported this thing, I guess I half expected it to come to this.”

Oh, Jesus,
I thought. I swallowed, staring at him.
 

“Anyway ... I just want to say ... I don’t think Colton was in his right mind. None of us were. We all saw it ... he was falling apart.”

Ray stopped speaking. And I was just ... flabbergasted. What kind of insane loyalty inspired him to defend Colton after all that? After Colton threatened to kill him and swore them all to secrecy about a murder? After Colton turned on him, accusing Ray of committing the crime in the first place. I didn’t understand it. At all.
 

And then Schwartz said, “For the record, Sergeant, who killed the Afghan boy?”

“Sergeant Colton.”

“And who shot Sergeant Martin?”

“Sergeant Colton.”

Dick leaned forward, itching to ask questions. But the investigating officer, and then the prosecutors, got to go first.

“Final question: did you make any attempt to stop Sergeant Colton?”

Ray closed his eyes and then said, “Not enough. I yelled. I told him to stop. But I didn’t intervene.” He swallowed.

Schwartz turned to the prosecutors and said, “Trial counsel? Your witness.”

The captain running the prosecution started to stand up, but Schwartz gave him a harsh look. He sat back down. He was young, late twenties maybe, and had longer hair than anyone I’d seen in the Army thus far. He looked at Ray, a frown on his face, and said, “Sergeant. The murder took place on March 24 of 2012. You reported it, by mail, in November 2012. Why did you wait that long?”

Ray ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t have a good reason.”

“Tell us what you can, Sergeant.”

“At first ... I don’t know why. We were out there in the field for three more weeks before we rotated back to the battalion base camp. And I was dealing with a near mutiny from the new guys. They’d literally just come into the theater, and the first time out in the field we’ve got sergeants shooting each other, and ... the other fire team, when they took my weapons, they basically sent a signal to my team that I was as good as dead. It was three days before I got my rifle back.”

“When we got back to the base camp, it was like ... unreal. I couldn’t get my mind around the fact that it had even happened. One of the new guys got blown away a couple weeks later, and then Sergeant Martin got hit and rotated out. So basically I was on my own. I ... I snuck into Colton’s office one day, and dumped all his email and pictures to a flash drive. And when I went through it ... fuck there were pictures of the kid in there.”

“So you collected this information. And then what?”

“I waited. And we rotated back to the United States. And I got my discharge, and as I was clearing the post, I put a report and the thumb drive in an envelope and dropped them in the mail. Then I got my discharge and walked away.”

I wanted to walk over to Ray and pull him out of that chair and hug him. I couldn’t. He’d committed to this, and they weren’t finished with him yet.

“Did you know the name of the boy?”

“Kowalski called him Speedy. He played soccer ... he was fast. A good kid.”

The prosecutor leaned forward and said, “Sergeant Sherman. Do you feel at least partially responsible for the death of that boy?”

Elmore jumped to his feet. “No. I object. Don’t answer that, Ray.”

“Yes, I do,” Ray said. His face was grey as he spoke.

Elmore turned to Schwartz. “Sir, I insist that statement be struck from the record, on the grounds of the fifth amendment. I don’t think my client understands what he’s doing here.”

Schwartz shook his head. “First, I’m sure you’re aware I don’t have to make any rulings of any kind on objections, Major, and second, your client is well aware of his rights, I’ve explained them to him more than once, and I know you have too. However, if you wish to question the accused, please feel free. And Major?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Have a seat. Now.”

Elmore sighed, frustration clear on his face, and Schwartz turned to the prosecutor. “Do you have any further questions for the witness, Captain Cox?”

“No, sir.”

“Major Elmore, your witness.”

Elmore leaned forward and said, “Sergeant Sherman. How many minutes was it between the time Colton shot Sergeant Martin and before he shot the boy?”

Ray looked confused.
 

“How many minutes?” Elmore repeated in a fierce, angry voice. “If you feel responsible, you must have had plenty of time to step in and intervene, right? How long was it, Sergeant?”

“Not minutes. It wasn’t even seconds. He ... fired the one shot ... Martin went down, and then he swiveled and shot the kid. I never had a chance to do anything.”

“All right then. What should you have done right afterwards? Did you shoot Colton?”

Ray shook his head. “No ... that’d be a fucking laugh for the Taliban, don’t you think, if we had a shootout between U.S. Army fire teams out there?”

“So ... are you saying you couldn’t take Colton out at that time?”

“Not without causing a complete meltdown of the platoon. I don’t know. Maybe I could have. I don’t know.”

Elmore rolled his eyes. “No more questions.”

Schwartz turned to the prosecutor. “Any more questions?”

There were none, so Schwartz turned to Ray. “All right then. As you know, my role is to investigate and try to come to some conclusions about the events which took place, and then I’ll forward my recommendations to the Convening Authority, who will determine if a court-martial is necessary. As you know we have several accused in this case, and I expect to be at least four to six more weeks before I’ll be ready to submit my report. In the meantime, Sergeant Sherman, you may return to regular duties effective Monday. If we have any further questions, I’ll be in touch.”

Ten minutes later we were in Dick Elmore’s office, and I stepped back in shock when Carrie said, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Ray? Why did you do that?”

I looked at her and shook my head. “I had to.”

“I don’t get it. I don’t understand why you would risk yourself to defend Colton, after all that’s happened.”

I swallowed. “It’s not about Colton. It’s ... it’s about me, all right? I didn’t see any choice. I can’t go into this without speaking for
me
, all right?”

“You’re trying to get yourself convicted!”

Elmore said, “You could have fooled me, Sherman. Don’t think they won’t use that against you at the court-martial. I can do my best to defend you against the prosecutor, but there’s nothing I can do to defend you from yourself, Ray. No more fucking stunts like that.”

I took a deep breath and ran my hands through my hair. “All right, all right! Sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Both of them looked at me skeptically, and I turned to Carrie and said, “Can we just get out of here?”

Carrie and I barely spoke on the drive home. She was tense, even driving with her hands jerking at the wheel, overcompensating on the brakes. Finally, we got upstairs to the condo, thank God. I was afraid she was going to punch me on the elevator.

She unlocked the door, her hands shaking, and stalked in, walking straight to the kitchen, where she started rummaging for something to drink.