got his marching orders from Captain Nate Willborn and Chief Warrant Officer Amal Ashad, the former, the MI team leader, and the latter, the MI linguist who served under the captain.
I was about halfway through Private Andrea Myers’s performance in the witness chair when Katherine entered the room and fell into the chair across from me.
She wore a shapely black pantsuit, crossed her legs, and asked, “What are your impressions so far?”
Well, she looked great but I saw no need to mention that. “My bed was lumpy.”
“Anything else?”
“Imelda’s coffee hasn’t improved.”
She smiled and seemed to enjoy my complaints. “Imelda was right. You’ve gone soft, Drummond.”
“Can’t you talk your billionaire buddy into throwing in a decent coffeemaker? A maid would be nice.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” She obviously wanted to avoid this subject, though. “I meant, any relevant observations on the case?”
“Tell me what you think.”
She made no reply for a while, then said, “I think the government jumped the gun.”
“You think the evidence is thin?”
“I think the public exposure and outcry forced the army’s hand. They needed to fry somebody, and I think they did a hasty investigation, quickly settled on the lowest ranking members, and now they’re praying they can get some convictions and that satisfies the public’s lust for a hanging.”
Rather than debate this point, I inquired, “What’s the current status of Captain Willborn and Chief Ashad?”
“I know neither has yet been charged with anything, if that’s what you mean. Willborn’s current status is witness for the prosecution. I don’t know Ashad’s status. Only the prison commander, Lieutenant Colonel Paul Eggers, has been punished.”
“How was he punished?”
“Relieved of his command.” She paused, then continued, “I understand that marks an undistinguished end to his career, but it seems fairly trifling compared to the general court martial these soldiers are facing.”
“Is that what you think?”
“For God’s sake, Sean, he still gets his military pension. He goes home to his wife and kids, and in a year, nobody remembers he was ever involved in this disgrace. The enlisted types face life in prison.”
I pointed out, very reasonably, “He wasn’t accused of murdering anybody.”
“Maybe he should have been.”
“He didn’t directly engage in torture, did not strip, did not pee in anybody’s face, nor was he stupid enough to have his face circulated in a revolting gallery of photos that give a whole new meaning to the word ‘celebrity.’ ”
She stared at me, and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Eventually she said, “I want to be sure you have the right mindset for this, Sean.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a creature of the institution. A military lifer. You buy into the whole rank thing and all that comes with it. I think all of you, after enough time in uniform, come to accept certain institutional norms.”
“Thank you for telling me how I think, Katherine.”
“Well . . . it’s hardly a challenge.” She smiled to indicate this was a joke; the smile looked forced and insincere. “I’m just saying that our best defense at this point might be one that makes you squeamish.”
“You make me squeamish.”
We seemed to be at an impasse here. We had had this discussion many times before, starting as law students at Georgetown and on through all the years I’d known her, and we had never settled it yet. Katherine, to put it mildly, was a power-bashing leftie. I had never been accused of anything close to that.
But I wanted to go on record, and said, “Hard as it might be for you to accept, the army is not a machine and the uniform is not a mental straightjacket. A lobotomy does not come with the oath of service. The concept of free choice is alive and well. Illegal or immoral orders can be refused, and, in fact, the army expects, even
I was about halfway through Private Andrea Myers’s performance in the witness chair when Katherine entered the room and fell into the chair across from me.
She wore a shapely black pantsuit, crossed her legs, and asked, “What are your impressions so far?”
Well, she looked great but I saw no need to mention that. “My bed was lumpy.”
“Anything else?”
“Imelda’s coffee hasn’t improved.”
She smiled and seemed to enjoy my complaints. “Imelda was right. You’ve gone soft, Drummond.”
“Can’t you talk your billionaire buddy into throwing in a decent coffeemaker? A maid would be nice.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” She obviously wanted to avoid this subject, though. “I meant, any relevant observations on the case?”
“Tell me what you think.”
She made no reply for a while, then said, “I think the government jumped the gun.”
“You think the evidence is thin?”
“I think the public exposure and outcry forced the army’s hand. They needed to fry somebody, and I think they did a hasty investigation, quickly settled on the lowest ranking members, and now they’re praying they can get some convictions and that satisfies the public’s lust for a hanging.”
Rather than debate this point, I inquired, “What’s the current status of Captain Willborn and Chief Ashad?”
“I know neither has yet been charged with anything, if that’s what you mean. Willborn’s current status is witness for the prosecution. I don’t know Ashad’s status. Only the prison commander, Lieutenant Colonel Paul Eggers, has been punished.”
“How was he punished?”
“Relieved of his command.” She paused, then continued, “I understand that marks an undistinguished end to his career, but it seems fairly trifling compared to the general court martial these soldiers are facing.”
“Is that what you think?”
“For God’s sake, Sean, he still gets his military pension. He goes home to his wife and kids, and in a year, nobody remembers he was ever involved in this disgrace. The enlisted types face life in prison.”
I pointed out, very reasonably, “He wasn’t accused of murdering anybody.”
“Maybe he should have been.”
“He didn’t directly engage in torture, did not strip, did not pee in anybody’s face, nor was he stupid enough to have his face circulated in a revolting gallery of photos that give a whole new meaning to the word ‘celebrity.’ ”
She stared at me, and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Eventually she said, “I want to be sure you have the right mindset for this, Sean.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a creature of the institution. A military lifer. You buy into the whole rank thing and all that comes with it. I think all of you, after enough time in uniform, come to accept certain institutional norms.”
“Thank you for telling me how I think, Katherine.”
“Well . . . it’s hardly a challenge.” She smiled to indicate this was a joke; the smile looked forced and insincere. “I’m just saying that our best defense at this point might be one that makes you squeamish.”
“You make me squeamish.”
We seemed to be at an impasse here. We had had this discussion many times before, starting as law students at Georgetown and on through all the years I’d known her, and we had never settled it yet. Katherine, to put it mildly, was a power-bashing leftie. I had never been accused of anything close to that.
But I wanted to go on record, and said, “Hard as it might be for you to accept, the army is not a machine and the uniform is not a mental straightjacket. A lobotomy does not come with the oath of service. The concept of free choice is alive and well. Illegal or immoral orders can be refused, and, in fact, the army expects, even
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