ART’S EYES WELLED UP WHEN NICK SAID, that after talking to Preston, he would continue with the case. Even Diane had surprised Nick with a show of support, “They hadn’t come this far to turn back without more answers,” she said. And Nick was still fuming over the blackmail attempt. He had Mitch call Jack to remind him that the subpoena was still in force. In the back row, Julie, Anna, Jack and Father Ryan sat quietly.
Lindquist turned to Nick. “Counselor, do you have another witness?”
“Your Honor, two more. The first is Mr. Kenny Preston, a man mentioned in the Broadbent report as having remembered Private Girardin. Until now we’d been unable to locate him. He’s been laid up in a veteran’s home in upper New York State for the past year. His daughter was kind enough to bring him here today. Although we did not schedule his testimony, I think that our examination of this man will be brief.”
“Mr. Harris, any objection?”
“Your Honor, hearing an unscheduled witness this late in the trial may be prejudicial.”
“I understand your concern, but under the circumstances I’m willing to hold open the taking of testimony for an additional week for rebuttal following this witness’s examination. Mr. Castalano, call your witness.”
Nick pushed Preston, a man lost in a wheelchair, to the front of the witness box and turned him so he faced the crowd. When he took the oath everyone bent forward to hear a weak voiced, gray faced man with eyes like hollowed out caves. He looked like he had recently undergone chemo. Nick quickly established that Preston had been a POW in Camp 13, and was familiar with Girardin, having been in the same hut.
“Mr. Preston, you told Mitch LeBeau yesterday, the man sitting over there at Counsel’s table, that there came a time when you and other POWs were detailed to clear mines—anti-personnel mines?”
Preston looked up and to the left. “Yeah, late winter of ’53,” he said in an voice louder than that with which he had given previous answers.
“Do you have a month or... ?”
“No, can only tell you... the last winter spent.”
“And what exactly did the detail involve?”
“We were told that routes south of the camp were mined with claymores.”
“Would you explain what a claymore is, sir?”
“A landmine. Set off when you push a little plunger, like if you step on it.”
“How were you selected for this detail?”
“Don’t know, orders came from the commandant.”
“Do you know who that was?” Nick asked.
“Yeah, name was Jo or Cho.”
“Did you not tell me on the phone on Saturday, that the man’s name was Cho Tat Wah?”
“I may have, but the meds sometimes make me forget what I say,” he smiled.
“Were there guys from around the camp?”
“About fifty or sixty. Only remember guys from my hut.”
Nick studied Preston’s face for an instant. “Okay, sir, if you can, please recall how many men were on each crew to clear these mines.”
“About a dozen, more or less, in my crew. We had about fifteen guys.”
“Remember who stayed behind?”
“Only remember a few.”
“Did Girardin go?”
“Think so, can’t be sure.”
“Do you recall how you were told of the detail?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “When they came an’ got us, we didn’t know what they were up to. But it wasn’t unusual that they’d line us up, bring us to the dayroom where they’d try an’ brainwash us.”
“Any other details you went on?”
“When they wanted us to move dead bodies across the river to the burial place or dig latrines... when it got warm. We had things to keep us busy. Didn’t give it much thought.”
Nick continued. “Were there any rumors what they’d planned?”
“Nope, they come got me, rounded us up.”
“Where’d the rest of the men come from?”
“Around the camp, fifty, seventy-five guys.”
“When we fell out in the yard, there were lines of men. I fell in the back of one of them. It was cold, dark, nobody shootin’ the bull.”
“What happened then?”
“Waited. Waited, freezing, must’ve been five below, wind blowing... eyes almost froze. Most of us had light jackets. Then they gave us these heavy coats, like U.S. issue.”
“And, did you know who the enemy guards were? Did you recognize them?”
“They were Chinese, if that’s what you mean.”
“Yes. Tell us what happened next.”
“They marched us out of camp.”
“Can you describe what a clearing operation was?”
“We were put into units of two to four men, and at some point, the guards put us in a long line.”
“What happened next?”
“Marched to where we were put on hands and knees, crawled around with these pointy rods.” Preston demonstrated by bending his fingers on both hands, walking them in the air in front of him. “We poked the ground, about four feet, maybe five, in front of us to see if we hit somethin’ hard. It was a crazy idea,” he said, pointing to his head and twirling his finger.
“Aside from it being potentially deadly, why was it crazy if someone wanted to blow up a claymore?”
Preston sighed, “The ground was covered with snow, Mister. Though, someone may have tried clearing it—small truck, maybe even shoveled by hand.”
“How’d you know where to start poking?”
“The Chinese had a map they were goin’ by. I think it musta showed where the mines were.”
Nick stepped toward to the easel. “Mr. Preston, if you will, would you please bring your chair over here? This is map B-2 for identification. It’s been established as a map of Camp 13. Is this the layout of the camp to the best of your recollection?”
Preston studied the map for maybe thirty seconds. “More or less.”
“Do you see on that map the place you were detailed to clear mines?”
“Yes, sir. See all these little hexagons?” he said, without hesitation.
“Yes, I see,” said Nick, now on the receiving end of the question.
“Where these hexagons are?” Preston said, breathing hard. “This is where we cleared mines.” He moved his hand along the section of road shown on the map.
“What was the road like?” Nick asked.
“Well the road they were trying to clear was pretty narrow, lined both sides with a ditch and woods.”
“What was the procedure—if that’s the right word?”
“Well, the idea of poking the metal rods and digging around places that looked suspicious didn’t really work, so they put us in the woods—to get out of the wind, I guess. Then, we were waiting in the woods when they called the first team and put them into a ravine along the road. Took about six, eight guys at first. We didn’t know what they were up to. We lost sight of them pretty quick.”
“Did you know where they went?” Nick asked.
“Not at first. But later, when our turn came, we found out,” Preston said with a grimace.
“What’d you find out?”
“Give me a second to catch my breath.”
In the back row, Jack sat mesmerized by Preston’s testimony. Every so often, he affirmed Preston’s statement with a shake of the head.
“Yes. You okay? need a break?”
Preston shook his head “no” and continued. “Lashed us, about three or four on a side, to these logs, to drag them down the road.”
“Why were you dragging logs?”
“Plan was to explode the mines.”
“Wouldn’t your weight explode the mine if you stepped on it?”
“Maybe and maybe not. The snow distributes your weight over an area, and anyway we were mostly pulling from the side of the road.”
“What happened next?”
Preston came back quickly. “Whatcha think? Some of the logs exploded. When a mine went off it blew ’em to kingdom come.”
Preston looked at the crowd and saw a man in the back row—Jack Prado O’Conner—nodding his head in agreement.
Preston continued, “Piece of wood hit my shoulder like a fastball... dislocated it.”
“It disabled you, then?”
“Wasn’t life threatening, but I couldn’t go back. Saved me from the detail after that.”
“Do you know anyone who died?”
“Only half of us marched back. The first day, that is. In the end, only three or four of us were left back at the hut. Learned that the guys that’d completed the detail either died or were moved someplace.”
“Remember the names of the guys that were in the hut in the end?”
“Jameston, me, another guy came in much later, Mexican guy.”
Nick looked over at Lindquist—it looked like his eyes were shut. “When’d they let you go?”
“After a full day, it seemed. My shoulder was aching pretty bad. Yeah, I came back from the drag and rested alongside the road in the ravine.”
“Did you return other days?”
“Not me—shoulder you know—but the guys that were okay, yes.”
“You knew Roger Girardin from Camp 13, did you not?”
“Yes, sir, was in my hut for a while.”
“Did you see Roger Girardin on the detail?”
“Don’t know. Later that first day, must’ve been late afternoon when we were marching back from the detail, there was a body alongside the road. We was walking close to the other side. Looked like one of ours was just lying there. On his side.”
Nick wanted to make sure that Lindquist heard Preston say that he’d seen the soldier. “So you did see a GI on the ground?”
“Yeah... ”
Wanting a more definite statement, he pressed, “You seem unsure.”
Preston responded defensively. “Well, was thirty years ago... but yeah, probably forty, yeah, forty feet away, on his side, wasn’t moving.”
“Might you recall if you thought that he was wounded or dead?”
“Wasn’t sure what to make of it. Too far away, but it wasn’t a good sign. Boy was hurt, or worse.” Preston brought his lips back, his chest labored in every breath, and he contorted his face.
“Was there anybody next to him?”
“A dog... few feet away.”
“A dog?” Nick asked surprised.
“Yeah, big, brown mother... big, standing next to him.”
Nick took a drink of water. “Now, why’d you remember that?”
“Don’t know, just popped up,” Preston said apologetically.
Nick inhaled and let his breath out slowly. “Did you see Girardin again, after that day?”
“Never. Not after that. Didn’t see him in the hut that night.”
“Did you imagine he’d died?”
Harris rose up, “Objection, calls for speculation.”
“Overruled.”
The courtroom went silent. Preston looked around, but did not answer. Lindquist looked at his watch.
“Did you imagine he had died, sir?” Nick repeated.
Preston grabbed his wheelchair’s arm rests. “Don’t know,” he mumbled.
“So is it your statement that you never saw Roger Girardin again?”
“Nope, never saw him again.”
“Do you remember meeting a Jack O’Conner in Camp 13?”
“Not sure, sir.”
“How about Trent Hamilton?”
“Yes, I think he was a translator.”
“What else can you tell us about him?”
“He owns a helicopter company.”
Nick looked at Harris. “Counselor, your witness.”
Harris rose from his chair, twisting his ring around his finger. He looked down at his two colleagues.
“Mr. Preston, how long have you known about this attempt to locate Roger Girardin?”
“Maybe two or three years, read about it in my VFW magazine.”
“Why did you not come forward before?”
“I don’t know, guess because I took sick.”
“How long did you talk to Mr. Castalano the day you called him?”
“’bout an hour.”
“And how long did you talk to Mr. LeBeau or anyone else from his office?”
“Talked yesterday morning to Mitch over there, maybe ’nother hour.”
“This is an important case, as far as you are concerned, right?”
“I’m not long for this world and need to set things straight.”
“Isn’t it important that we be sure about what we say here?”
“Yes.”
“You want to... do the right thing, true?”
“’Course.”
“This story about blowing up mines... sounds... if you’ll excuse me for saying so... incredible?”
Preston just stared at Harris.
“How can a log blow up a mine? You have to step on it, don’t you—you know, apply direct force?”
“I suppose. I ain’t no mechanic, just saw what I saw,” Preston said sheepishly.
“Well how’d they tie the chains to the logs?”
“Don’t exactly remember.”
“Were there many chains?”
“Think so.”
“How many men pulled?”
“Mighta been four or six.”
“A chain for each man pulling, is that how it worked?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Wouldn’t they get in each other’s way?”
“No, we was strung out.”
“Why was none of this mentioned in your interrogation report when you were released?”
“Was so many years ago, maybe I did tell ’em.”
“Is it possible that under the stress of being a POW, you came to imagine that all of this happened?”
“No, sir. Saw what I saw,” Preston asserted.
“Is it possible that under the stress of being ill, you have come to imagine this?”
“No, sir.”
“Are on a medication?”
“Morphsul.”
“That’s a morphine. Pill form, correct?”
“Think so.”
“Makes you drowsy?”
“Sometimes.”
“Clouds your thinking?”
“Sometimes.”
“Ever hallucinate?”
“What?”
“You know, dream while you aren’t sleeping.”
“No, sir, never did that.”
“And isn’t it true that the first time you heard the name Cho Tat Wah was in this courtroom today?”
“No, sir, aah, well to be honest, like I said, I don’t... ”
“You’re not sure, are you? You’re not sure you ever heard the name before. You’re just trying to follow Mr. Castalano’s lead, aren’t you, trying to do the right thing?”
Nick jumped up. “Your Honor, compound question, and Mr. Harris is testifying—he’s not letting the witness get an answer in edgewise.”
Harris interjected before Lindquist could rule. “Strike the last question. Sir, without prying into your personal life, can you tell us why you’re on medication today?”
“Pain.”
“I assumed so. But from what?”
“Cancer, sir, cancer. Cancer caused by poison metal.”
“Poison metal. I don’t understand—can you elaborate?”
“Metals used in ’copters. I used to machine stuff that caused the cancer.”
“You’re not involved in any lawsuit because of your illness, are you?”
“Worker’s comp, that’s all. But the ’copter companies are the ones that caused my sickness, no doubt.”
“You hold these companies responsible for your cancer?” Harris asked with a hint of sarcasm.
“Yes, sir, all those ’copter ones.”
Harris turned to Lindquist. “Your Honor, may I have a moment to confer with my colleagues?”
Lindquist looked at the clock over the jury box. “Proceed, but make it short, please.”
Harris and his cohorts put their heads together; Nick imagined the conversation had to do with the mention of helicopters. He figured that Harris wanted to ask more, but the first rule of cross examination is not to ask a question that you don’t already know the answer to. Harris walked back to the podium.
“Mr. Preston, may I ask if you have ever met Mr. Trent Hamilton?”
“No, don’t think so.”
Harris breathed a sigh of relief. “Do you know who he is?”
“Only what I read in the papers last couple of weeks, when he testified here.”
Now Harris had a bonus question he could ask—one that could not hurt, but could potentially help. “But, sir, you claim that helicopter companies like Mr. Hamilton’s are responsible for your cancer, isn’t that true?”
“Yes, sir, that’s true.”
“Isn’t it true that you have come here to testify because somehow you believe your testimony will reflect poorly on Mr. Hamilton?”
“Sir, that’s ridicu—”
“In some way to get back at his helicopter company?”
Nick jumped up. “Objection, argumentative.”
“Withdrawn, no further questions.”
“Do you wish to redirect, Mr. Castalano?”
“No, your Honor.”
“Have you any more witnesses?”
“Yes, your Honor, plaintiff re-calls Mr. Jack Prado.”
Lindquist looked at the marshal, “Let’s take our lunch break first.”
***
Harris opened the door to his second floor war room and was greeted by the secretary. “Mr. Harris, this envelope was on my desk, addressed to you.”
Harris opened it. There were a dozen photos of people in a pit—obviously dead— bulldozers, a U.S. Army vehicle with men inside. One picture contained an arrow someone had penned in, pointing to a man leaning against a car. His next move was to have the secretary put a call through to Undersecretary Russell.
“Russell, I have a dozen photos somebody dropped off—you know, like the ones we talked about... There’s an arrow pointing to a guy, a second louey, looks like. Well not sure... Yes, sir, I’ll get to the bottom, ask what they’re looking for.”
***
Following the break, Jack assumed the witness stand. As he looked out at the crowd he realized that the stiff shot of gin he had for lunch would not control the shakes that coursed through his body all morning or quench the memories that like a fire-breathing dragon had been wakened from a thirty year sleep by Preston’s testimony.
“You already testified in this case, so you’re still under oath. Do you understand?” Lindquist warned.
“Yeah... ah, yes, sir.” Jack responded, nervously.
“Your Honor, plaintiff requests permission to treat Mr. Prado as an adversarial witness at this time.”
Lindquist raised his eyebrows. “Well, Counsel, I suppose you have your reasons. Permission granted, unless Mr. Harris wants to be heard.”
Harris frowned. “No, the government has no objection.”
“Mr. Prado, you previously testified you were in North Korea from late 1950 until after hostilities ended, is that not true, sir?”
Lindquist noticed Jack’s hand tremble when he dabbed his brow with a brown paper towel. “Are you all right, Mr. Prado?”
Jack did not respond.
“Are you all right, Mr. Prado?” Lindquist repeated, louder now.
Jack’s lungs grew tight, his heart pounded. “Can I have a minute?”
Lindquist shook his head slowly. “Is that enough time, Mr. Prado?”
“Yes, thanks.” Jack blew in and out, trying to control his breath. Droplets of sweat had formed on his forehead. His hands were shaking again.
“Can we resume, Mr. Prado?” Hearing Lindquist, Jack opened his eyes. A hundred people were watching, including Father Ryan. And Julie.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”
Nick continued, “I’ll try and be brief. I’m going to show you Plaintiff's Exhibits B-2, which you’ve seen before, correct?”
“Yes, you showed me some maps when we met.”
Nick tacked B-2 to the easel. “Can you identify what this is a map of?”
“As I stated before, I cannot definitely say.”
“But you have seen the marks placed on this map before?”
“What marks?”
Nick pointed to the “hexagons within hexagons” marked along the road. “These hexagons.”
“Never tied to a map, no.”
“Have you ever seen such a mark before, in connection with anything?”
“Sure, I’ve seen that kind a mark before. Plenty of times.”
“Mr. Prado, it is not true that this mark was the trademark for S-84 Hamilton Helicopter in the mid-1950s when you started working there?”
Jack felt his breath shorten, his legs turn gelatinously weak.
“Are you all right, Mr. Prado?”
Jack’s lips tightened.
“Mr. Prado, I asked a question... ” Nick paused and turned to the stenographer. “Madam Stenographer, please read back my last question.”
“Question: ‘Mr. Prado, it is not true that this mark was the trademark for S-84 Hamilton Helicopter in the mid-1950s when you started working there?’”
“Sir, please answer the question.”
“Yes, come to think of it, Hamilton used that mark.”
“Mr. Prado, would you know why these marks were drawn on this map?”
“No, sir.”
“Your Honor, if I may, I need to confer with my colleagues for a minute.”
The judge raised his eyebrows, took a deep breath, let it out slowly, “Yes, go ahead.”
Nick walked over to Kathy and whispered, “Prado knows what the little ‘hexes’ mean. Let me have that line we drew up yesterday.” Nick returned to the lectern.
“You know Trent Hamilton, do you not?”
Eyes wide open now, Jack answered, “Yes, I do.”
“And knew him before the war?”
Jack hesitated. “Yes, sir.”
“And while you were in Camp 13?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And knew him after the war?
“Uh, yeah.”
“You went to college with Hamilton?”
Nick saw Jack looking for someone in the crowd. “Yes.”
“You went to ROTC with Hamilton?”
“Right.”
“You joined the Army together?”
“Yes.”
“You were cashiered out of the officer ranks when you were involved in an automobile homicide?”
“No, that’s not... ” Nick saw Jack unnerved. “That’s not true, it didn’t happen that way!” Jack shouted.
Harris did not like the speed with which Nick was buzzing through the cross-examination. “Objection! What does this have to do with this case, your Honor? Mr. Castalano is impugning the character of a man that has nothing to do with this case!”
This slowed Nick down.
“Withdraw the question,” Nick replied.
Lindquist squinted. “Sir, unless you have a good faith basis for calling into question anyone’s reputation in my courtroom, I will sanction you, keep that in mind.”
“Mr. Prado, please tell the court how many times you saw Hamilton when you were in Camp 13?”
“A few times.”
“In what kind of situations did you run across Lieutenant Hamilton?”
“I would often see him on the grounds walking from his barracks to the day room.”
“Isn’t that where the North Koreans and, later on the Chinese, ran operations.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why would any POW go to the day room?”
“Every day there were indoctrinations and just about everyone had to attend at one point or another. The commies were trying to get us to, well, to believe that America was evil... that communism was good.”
“Was this voluntary?”
“No, had to.”
“And isn’t it true, that you were indoctrinated so well that you didn’t return with your fellow soldiers after the war?”
“No, that was not the reason I returned late. I was sick.”
“You mean physically?”
Jack hesitated. “No, a breakdown.”
“Were there other American soldiers that were with you after the POWs were repatriated in August 1953?”
“Yes, there were a half, maybe a dozen, yes, a dozen or so that I knew about.”
“And in this courtroom, Mr. Harris showed you your DD 214 indicating you received a dishonorable discharge!”
“I did, but it was changed.”
Nick took a breath. “Is it not true that Mr. Hamilton was instrumental in pulling strings to get your discharge upgraded?”
“Yes, sir, the company I worked for.”
“You couldn’t work at Hamilton Helicopters with a dishonorable, could you?”
“Couldn’t get by the security clearance, no.”
“Let me go back to your contact with Lieutenant Hamilton in Camp 13. You say you observed him in the day room?”
“Occasionally, I did.”
“And what would he be doing?”
“It’s been so long ago, I don’t recall any particular instance.”
“But is it not true he had been friendly with one or more of the Chinese in charge?”
“Had that feeling, back then.”
“Were there others in the camp that believed Lieutenant Hamilton was friendly with the Chinese?”
“Yes.”
“How did they come to that conclusion?”
Harris jumped up. “Objection. Calls for hearsay.”
Wanting to hear more, Lindquist ruled quickly. “I will allow it. Please answer, Mr. Prado.”
“Hamilton spoke Chinese, and for some that was enough.”
“And what would be the talk among the other POWs?”
Harris quickly rose from behind his table. “Objection—hearsay.”
“Sustained.”
“Mr. Prado, I am going to show you Map B-2, and ask you when was the very first time you saw such a map.”
“I saw it in a dayroom, in Camp 13.”
“The room that the Chinese used to grill the POWs in?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did the map have the little hexagon symbols on it?”
“Can’t be sure after all these years.”
“And you did see Lieutenant Hamilton in the dayroom?”
“Yes, sir, on occasion, as I indicated to you.”
“Did you know if the Chinese or the NK ever used POWs to do anything connected with military operations?”
“No, not really.”
“I don’t mean take up arms, but did they enlist or force POWs to be used as cover for them?”
“Yes, that they did, like when we were force-marched from where we were captured, to our final destination—to the camp. Many times we were put out in front, in case they were fired upon, or when our planes were overhead.”
“Any other times, after you were in the prison camp?”
“Like Mr. Preston said, groups were forced to clear minefields.”
“I am going to show you Plaintiff’s Exhibit ABR entitled Summary of Interrogatory Respondent, John Millers. Please read it to yourself, sir.” After a minute, Nick asked Jack, “Mr. Prado, please tell the court what the memo refers to.”
“Corporal Millers, in August 1953, tells a U.N. interrogator that there were rumors of POWs being used to clear minefields in North Korea.”
“What, if anything, can you tell us about those kinds of operations?”
“The U.N. had laid land mines at some point south of the camps. At least, that’s what I recall. Supposed to be escape routes.”
“And, sir, is it not true that the very map you have in front of you shows the minefields designated with the symbol we have been referring to as a hexagon?”
“Don’t know that for sure.”
“Is it not true that the symbol on the map is the same symbol that Hamilton Helicopters used as a trademark?”
“Yes, similar.”
“And, sir, if it is the same symbol, the only individuals who might have made those marks are either you or Lieutenant Hamilton?”
“Objection, calls for speculation!” Harris shouted from his chair.
“Sustained. And Counsel, I expect you to stand when you address this court,” Lindquist admonished Harris.
Jack continued, “I do not understand your reasoning, I did not... ”
Harris interrupted. “You need not answer, Mr. Prado.”
Nick turned to Lindquist. “Your Honor, either this witness or someone at Hamilton Helicopters would have made the marks—otherwise how could they be the same? Especially coming after the war in the form of a trademark?”
Harris abruptly rose to his feet. “Same objection. It’s only speculation on this witness’s part if and whether Hamilton Helicopters or Hamilton himself knew anything about the maps, the symbols or the so-called minefields.”
Lindquist did not address Harris’s objection. He wanted to know what he could on this score. “Please answer the question, sir.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t know the Hamilton trademark at the time. I came back in ’54 after Hamilton bought the company. I thought his family bought it during the Korean War. I don’t know... ”
Nick stopped the witness short. “You do not know what?”
“I, I don’t know if Hamilton knew the POWs were clearing minefields.”
“Was Roger Girardin one of the men assigned to clearing the minefields?”
“He may have been, not sure.”
“Sir, you are evading a responsive answer. Need I remind you that you are under oath? Is it not true that Private Girardin was one of the POWs ordered to clear the minefields?”
“I only knew what was being rumored!”
“And what was that?”
Harris stood up again. “Objection, the answer calls for hearsay!”
“Your Honor, I am asking whether there had been a commonly understood reason for the disappearance of dozens of POWs, Private Girardin among them. And given that no records exist on this point—or at least the government has not produced any—this witness may have a recollection of what was commonly understood among the troops.”
Lindquist’s face was flushed from either the heat or a persistent neck-ache. “I will allow it since I am hearing this case, not a jury. And I can decide whether it is reliable or not. Please answer, Mr. Prado.”
Begrudgingly, Jack answered. “We took it that GIs were being used to clear minefields. Girardin may have been one of them.”
“And can you tell us what else you know about this activity?”
“Don’t know much. We were told that the POWs were used to clear the fields, some of them never came back. At least not to our camp.”
“You testified, ‘We were told.’ Who are the ‘we’? And who told you?”
Harris jumped up. “Ambiguous.”
Nick understood, “Who are the ‘we?’”
“’We’ were the guys.”
“And who told you?”
“Don’t remember exactly.”
Nick continued to press Jack about ‘who’ and ‘what’ he knew concerning the mine clearing operation, but Jack was tighter than a drum.
“Is it not true that Private Girardin was one of the POWs ordered to clear the minefields?”
Jack put his hands to his face.
“Sir, do you need some time to compose yourself?” Nick asked.
Jack nodded his head yes.
“Can we make it five, your Honor?” Nick asked.
While the court recessed Julie remained in her chair, stunned, repeating Jack’s confession: “We took it that GIs were used to clear minefields. Girardin may have been one of them.” It was certain that Jack was with Roger and certain that he had kept it from her throughout the years. It wasn’t rage. Rather, she felt stung by the cruelty of his reticence—his cowardice. How could she face the man, the only man that she trusted to tell the truth? She tried to make sense of it, remembering how he went to Korea a wide-eyed, inquisitive boy ready to fight the red menace and had returned a quiet man, impossible to penetrate.
As people made their way out of the courtroom, Jack stayed in the witness chair to avoid facing Julie. His eyes were shut, and he mumbled, counting backward, remembering something that had long been trapped in a screed of subconscious, the place where his darkest dreams lay dormant. Suddenly, his trembling body felt like it had been transported back in time, back to Camp 13.