We Were Beautiful Once (22 page)

“The man said he was Girardin or Jardin.”

Nick rose from his chair, “Objection, hearsay.”

“Sustained.”

Undaunted, Harris charged ahead, “Was there any other way you confirmed the identification?”

“Yes, sir, dog tags.”

“What did they indicate?”

“Best I can recall, they confirmed what I'd heard.”

“Was it Girardin or Jardin you read?”

“Now, I am not sure, but at the time, I was sure it was the same as what the man told me.”

Nick and Kathy exchanged glances. One of the interrogation reports from Panmunjom actually mentioned a man by the name of “Jardin,” but they had passed it off as just a phonetic spelling of Girardin. And now each knew what the other was thinking: was there really a guy by the name of Jardin?

“You're sure now that the name was either Girardin or Jardin and the guy that saved your life was O'Connel or Conner?”

“Yes, sir, on the two.  But the guy I first came across, no didn't get his name.”

 

Harris turned away from the witness, contemplating his next question. He looked over at the jury box where artists busily knocked out drafts for the evening news. Later, when he walked over to see what they had drawn, he saw cartoon-like sketches of Jaeger with a shock of blondish gray hair and large oversized dark glasses. He seemed like a man on vacation, a musician or maybe a blind man who wanted to keep the rest of mankind from seeing the two white, gelatinous marbles that once saw the splendor of a bright orange Korean sun in the dead of winter.

“Mr. Jaeger, I have no further questions. You certainly are to be commended for your service. Have you anything else you would like to add to your testimony?”

“No, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jaeger. I have no further questions at this time. Counsel, your witness.”

 

The judge leaned forward and was about to tell Nick to proceed with his cross examination, when the clerk handed him a brief note from his dentist: oral surgery, 3 p.m. Lindquist did not know how he would manage until then—the pain was now affecting his concentration. “Mr. Castalano, proceed with your examination,” he snapped.

 

The irony of what he was about to do was not lost upon Nick. Hadn't he switched sides precisely to avoid impeaching veterans? But, one last time, he found himself contemplating what could he possibly do to cast doubt on a soldier's claim that he remembered the names Girardin and O'Conner from an encounter that had lasted less than a few minutes thirty years ago. He was quick to understand that Jaeger did not need to see the audience to make his performance believable. But even blind men of good intentions might dissemble reality. Nick knew that to tell his story, he needed to find the lines, the dialogue. He needed to find the right words, so that regardless of one's blind spot, they would separate reality from fiction, truth from superstition. He tightened his jaw, turned to the podium and opened his three-ring notebook of pleadings, depositions, briefs and bios—in short, the dirt on each witness. On top of every page he had penned in red what he told Mitch was Napoleon's maxim, “
The art of war requires being stronger on a particular point
.” Mitch had looked for the quote in the library but had come up empty. Nick responded, “It doesn't matter, it reminds me to look for the one piece of evidence the judge cannot ignore. That piece of evidence that separates the real from the unreal, the wayward memory from the irrefutable logic that it had to be
the other way
.”

“Sir, on behalf of my client, I want to commend you on your service in Korea. Please do not take my questions as a personal affront; we just have to get to the truth. During the month of November, you testified that you encountered heavy fighting?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me if the regiment at that time was contained in one area, fully?”

“In most cases.”

“At some time during November you encountered the Chinese in large numbers. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“How far from the Yalu were you, say around the 25
th
or 26
th
?”

“We were near Chongju, west coast. About fifty miles. My own estimate. I may be wrong.”

“Now...  you were experiencing battle casualties?”

“Oh, yes, like I said.  Early November, then a lull until the end of the month.  Then all hell broke loose.”

”When, more or less, was that?”

“Had to be after Thanksgiving, on the side of Hill 336.  About daybreak. It had been quiet for about 24 hours, no big guns.”

“If there was a skirmish, say, involving the 19th Regiment at that time, and if somebody were killed, would that have been discovered by fellow soldiers?”

“By the company the man was assigned to.”

“That was the only way?”

“Unless he had a friend in another company or something. Usually only his own company would know of his KIA status, because these reports were fed back through the battalion, the regiment and the division.”

“How spread out were you?”

“A company could cover a front of, oh, four or five hundred yards, even a thousand yards—just one company.”

“So KIAs and MIAs were limited to the basic unit, right?”

“Unless it turns into something major.  If one company has a little firefight your other units might hear about it, but they don't know the number of casualties you suffer, or who, or anything like that.”

“The companies stayed contained within a thousand-yard area?”

“Right. Your company's always the basic unit.”

“In your experience, if you lost someone from the company, was it likely that you would find them dead?” Nick asked.

“Oh, yes, unless you got beat out of your positions. Now, many times the enemy would overrun your positions. Even wounded...  had to leave 'em, and if they didn't die from their wounds, they probably froze.”

Nick cringed. “Were there times you might retrieve the dead and wounded if you were beaten out of position?”

“If you were lucky enough to take back that territory—the hill, or whatever—you might find your dead there. You might evacuate 'em if you had time, which we were runnin' out of.”

“And if you couldn't evacuate?  Would they become MIAs and eventually POWs?”

“The wounded? The enemy would shoot them or take them prisoner or, like I said...   they'd freeze. That's the part that you can't forget, leaving 'em to freeze.”

Again, Nick knew he had asked one question too many.

“Let's turn attention to your earlier testimony that you remember hearing a name sounding like the plaintiff's in this case—Girardin.” Nick's eyes momentarily shifted in the judge's direction. “Sir, over the course of time, there were but a few names that you recalled from your tour of duty in Korea, isn't that true?”

“I remembered lotsa names. When I read that in the veteran's newsletter that there was a case involving a Private Girardin, I remembered immediately where I thought I'd heard that name before,” Jaeger answered indignantly.

“You're familiar with the power of suggestion?”

“I think so.”

“Isn't it true that but for Mr. Harris, or Captains Foster and Townsend mentioning Private O'Conner's name, you would never have remembered that name?”

“Well, true, I hadn't thought about that name, until Mr. Harris and I...  ”

“That was the first time? Strike that. Wasn't it recalled after Mr. Harris's associate mentioned the name?  One of those men sitting over there?” Nick raised his arm and pointed to Foster and Townsend, forgetting that Jaeger could not see.

“Don't recall.”

“Well, what if Mr. Foster tells us that you spoke to him before you spoke to Mr. Harris, would that refresh you recollection?”

“Not sure.”

“Is it not true that but for Mr. Harris or Captain Townsend mentioning Mr. Connel or Conner's name, it would never have been in your memory?”

“I...  can't be sure.”

“You can't be sure if Connel or Conner was the man you encountered, right?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Did Mr. Harris or Captain Townsend mention his rank?”

“... Can't be sure.”

“Mr. Jaeger, you only had these conversations a short time ago with the government's lawyers, and you cannot retain this vital piece of information.  Yet you are telling this court you remembered names from over thirty years ago, names read off a dog tag in a brief encounter?”

Jaeger sat there, virtually staring into space. “Please answer the question, sir.”

“I
know
what happened in '51 because a man saved my life.”

Again, Nick felt he had gone too far. “Sir, isn't it true that you were involved in a court martial and reduced in rank a year before you retired?”

“Yes, sir.”

Nick knew this was a low blow and unpleasant, unworthy even, but expedient.

“The court martial had to do with drinking on the job, did it not?”  

Harris rose from his chair. “Objection, your Honor. I don't see the relevance of this line of questioning.”

“Counsel?” Lindquist gave Nick a weary look of ‘what for?'  

“Your Honor, Mr. Harris went into the ranks held by Mr. Jaeger. I think he testified that he retired as a Master Sergeant, and he was First Sergeant. The record shows otherwise. My line of questioning goes to credibility and memory.”

Harris, rubbing his hands together, persisted. “Your Honor, Counsel has not laid the proper foundation for impeaching this witness based upon a so-called military tribunal decision.”

“You mean conviction, Counsel?” Lindquist asked sternly.

“Well, yes, or rather, maybe.  If there was a reduction in rank it might have been through Article 15, and I do not think that qualifies as a conviction.”

Lindquist turned to Nick. “Do you have a certified copy of the court martial?”

Nick clasped his hands together and turned to Kathy. “Do we?”

“Here it is,” she said.

Nick opened his arm wide, palm pointing in the direction of the table where the document laid in its envelope. “Your Honor, over there.”

“Then let's do this by the book,” Lindquist ordered.

Nick picked up the envelope, removed the paper and handed it to the clerk. “Mr. Clerk, please mark this as Defense Exhibit.” He paused. “What number are we up to?”

Kathy answered, “Exhibit 78.”

The clerk fixed a yellow sticker marked ‘Exhibit 78' to the document and handed it back to Nick. He read it, then addressed the witness. “Sir, are you Mr. Thomas Jaeger having a former army serial number US 13436890.”

“Yes, sir.” Jaeger squirmed in his chair.

Nick turned to Lindquist. “Your Honor, I offer the following certified copy of the court martial of Mr. Thomas Jaeger—having a former army serial number US 13436890 into the record.”

Harris jumped up. “May I see that?”

Nick, suit jacket swung open, sauntered over, dropping the record on the table. Harris picked it up and knew he had screwed up. Sweat flowed down his chest, his face flushed. Walking away, Nick heard Harris mutter, “This shouldn't have come as a surprise. We didn't even have to go into the ranks he'd held.”

Harris studied the document for a minute and handed it to Foster. Foster slid his finger along a line of the document. Harris addressed the court. “Your Honor, this is a summary court martial, Article 15. Not a conviction. I object to the offer, move to strike testimony dealing with any reduction in rank.”

Lindquist stared down at Nick, “Counsel, anything you'd like to say?”

“No, sir, I've made my point. I withdraw my proffer.”

Lindquist pulled his hand down the center of his face, as if applying pressure to his nostril and his upper lip. “Proceed, Counsel.”

The ritual now complete, the impeachment of an ostensible hero foiled, Nick went in another direction.

“So, you were subject to an Article 15, is that not true?” Nick asserted.

“Yes, sir.”

“Conduct unbecoming a noncommissioned officer, correct?”

“That's right,” Jaeger replied, hardly audible.

“And the conduct, sir, was it not harassing a female subordinate?”

Jaeger felt his wife's embarrassment. What Nick was about to reveal was no secret—she had lived through it eight years ago. Jaeger imagined rightly that reporters in the witness box would turn their heads to observe her reaction. He imagined Madeline would publicly ignore the stares, remaining the loyal, military wife. An unassailable sphinx, one who had fought her own battles—not against the Army, but against what the Army did to the wide-eyed boy she had married in a time of mutual innocence. The same boy who, at the end of a career retreated into a cocoon and treated her like an intruder into a space reserved for those who carry the shame of killing men, women, children. No, this petite, weathered military wife—whom no one in the courthouse would have noticed normally—would not give clues to her feelings to those who fashion themselves keepers of the public trust.

“I think that, that...  the Army didn't prove that,” Jaeger came back.

Nick had drawn blood. Reluctantly, he hastened his pace. “Well, sir, in addition to that charge, were you not charged with an assault on your wife?”

Harris jumped up. “Objection! Your Honor, what does this have to do with this case?” he yelled indignantly.

“This is in the weeds, Counsel. Both of you, please approach the bench.”

Lindquist gave Nick the stern schoolmaster's stare before asking, slightly above a whisper, “Why's this necessary, Mr. Castalano?”

“Your Honor, Mr. Harris put this witness forth as having a stellar army career to enhance his credibility. I'm merely trying to show that all is not what it appears to be.”