himself a second look.
“I’m imagining things,” he said to himself.
But he knew he wasn’t.
Saturday, June 24,1961
Laconbuq
IT wasn’t a cell, but it had the spartan austerity of a confinement facility. Iron bedstead, a hard-backed chair, a wardrobe, a wash basin, a toilet. For light relief, there was a small radio and a poster on the wall listing a PW’s obligations.
It sternly declared that rank, name, and service number was all that a man in enemy hands could honorably tell an enemy about himself; that to aid, cooperate, give comfort, and above all betray information was akin to treason. The posters had first started appearing on military bases after Korea, and Tower hadn’t seen one for a long time.
The worst thing about the room was the heat. It was next to some boilers, which not only made a curious kind of rumbling noise, but turned it into a mini oven.
“I guess it’s not as comfortable as the hospital, but you can thank Captain Verago for that.” Jensen sniffed. “He insisted you get moved out.”
“What’s happened to my quarters?” asked Tower.
“They got assigned to somebody else. I’m sorry about that, John, but you know how crowded we get here. Anxway, this is only temporary.”
71
“Until when?” But Tower already knew the answer, and Jensen only confirmed it.
“Until after the trial.” He left the rest unsaid.
Tower sat on the bed. It had a wafer-thin mattress.
“You want anything from the PX?” offered Jensen. “Cigarettes! Candy? Booze?”
‘1hat’s okay, Lieutenant. I can get it myself.”
Jensen shook his head. “I guess I didn’t explain, John. You’re restricted to your quarters.”
Tower stood up and advanced on him. Jensen retreated a step. He was reassured by the presence of an AP at the door.
“I’m sorry. General Croxford’s orders,” he added hastily. “The general feels that pending disposition of the charges you should stay in your quarters.”
To Jensen’s relief. Tower sank back on the bed.
“Of course,” he said quietly.
“If you want to go for a walk or something, just call the escort.”
Tower nodded silently.
“Here,” said Jensen, handing him a Stars and Stripes. “Maybe you’d like to catch up on the funnies. I find my day isn’t complete without Li’l Abner.”
“I’d like to see Captain Verago,” said Tower.
“Guess that’ll have to wait, John,” replied Jensen care” fully. “He isn’t around right now.”
“Get hold of him. Please.”
“No can do.” Jensen was enjoying it. “He didn’t tell me where he was going.”
But he was curious.
“Anything I can do?”
Tower started unwrapping a cigar. “No,” he said, ‘I think you’ve done quite enough already, Lieutenant.”
They didn’t lock the door, but that was only for appearances’ sake.
Sunday, June 25,1961
Huntingdon
OLIVER CROMWFLL may have stayed at the George and Dragon, but Verago had never known a more depressing hotel room.
72
The ceiling had a big brown stain, where it had been flooded from upstairs. The wallpaper, a faded green, was torn in two places, the bed creaked, and the chintzcovered armchair had a lump in it.
There were two prints to decorate the ghastly walls, both Pickwickian hunting scenes. One showed a redcoated huntsman falling off his horse at a jump, with the inane caption underneath: “Oops what a spill.”
But even more dispiriting was the Article 32 file. Verago read the record of the pretrial investigation twice, and there was no doubt. Captain John Tower had had it. They had got him to rights.
They seemed to know everything. Every time he met the English girl they had known about it. Every time they went out to dinner or a movie. Every time they slept together.
It was almost like reading an itemized itinerary.
20:01 Both arrived at Kettneis restaurant, Romilly Street. Had dinner, left in a cab.
22:51 Both returned to her apartment on Charlotte Street.
23:22 Both seen to embrace.
They must have
“I’m imagining things,” he said to himself.
But he knew he wasn’t.
Saturday, June 24,1961
Laconbuq
IT wasn’t a cell, but it had the spartan austerity of a confinement facility. Iron bedstead, a hard-backed chair, a wardrobe, a wash basin, a toilet. For light relief, there was a small radio and a poster on the wall listing a PW’s obligations.
It sternly declared that rank, name, and service number was all that a man in enemy hands could honorably tell an enemy about himself; that to aid, cooperate, give comfort, and above all betray information was akin to treason. The posters had first started appearing on military bases after Korea, and Tower hadn’t seen one for a long time.
The worst thing about the room was the heat. It was next to some boilers, which not only made a curious kind of rumbling noise, but turned it into a mini oven.
“I guess it’s not as comfortable as the hospital, but you can thank Captain Verago for that.” Jensen sniffed. “He insisted you get moved out.”
“What’s happened to my quarters?” asked Tower.
“They got assigned to somebody else. I’m sorry about that, John, but you know how crowded we get here. Anxway, this is only temporary.”
71
“Until when?” But Tower already knew the answer, and Jensen only confirmed it.
“Until after the trial.” He left the rest unsaid.
Tower sat on the bed. It had a wafer-thin mattress.
“You want anything from the PX?” offered Jensen. “Cigarettes! Candy? Booze?”
‘1hat’s okay, Lieutenant. I can get it myself.”
Jensen shook his head. “I guess I didn’t explain, John. You’re restricted to your quarters.”
Tower stood up and advanced on him. Jensen retreated a step. He was reassured by the presence of an AP at the door.
“I’m sorry. General Croxford’s orders,” he added hastily. “The general feels that pending disposition of the charges you should stay in your quarters.”
To Jensen’s relief. Tower sank back on the bed.
“Of course,” he said quietly.
“If you want to go for a walk or something, just call the escort.”
Tower nodded silently.
“Here,” said Jensen, handing him a Stars and Stripes. “Maybe you’d like to catch up on the funnies. I find my day isn’t complete without Li’l Abner.”
“I’d like to see Captain Verago,” said Tower.
“Guess that’ll have to wait, John,” replied Jensen care” fully. “He isn’t around right now.”
“Get hold of him. Please.”
“No can do.” Jensen was enjoying it. “He didn’t tell me where he was going.”
But he was curious.
“Anything I can do?”
Tower started unwrapping a cigar. “No,” he said, ‘I think you’ve done quite enough already, Lieutenant.”
They didn’t lock the door, but that was only for appearances’ sake.
Sunday, June 25,1961
Huntingdon
OLIVER CROMWFLL may have stayed at the George and Dragon, but Verago had never known a more depressing hotel room.
72
The ceiling had a big brown stain, where it had been flooded from upstairs. The wallpaper, a faded green, was torn in two places, the bed creaked, and the chintzcovered armchair had a lump in it.
There were two prints to decorate the ghastly walls, both Pickwickian hunting scenes. One showed a redcoated huntsman falling off his horse at a jump, with the inane caption underneath: “Oops what a spill.”
But even more dispiriting was the Article 32 file. Verago read the record of the pretrial investigation twice, and there was no doubt. Captain John Tower had had it. They had got him to rights.
They seemed to know everything. Every time he met the English girl they had known about it. Every time they went out to dinner or a movie. Every time they slept together.
It was almost like reading an itemized itinerary.
20:01 Both arrived at Kettneis restaurant, Romilly Street. Had dinner, left in a cab.
22:51 Both returned to her apartment on Charlotte Street.
23:22 Both seen to embrace.
They must have
Similar Books
