The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters) by Sheehan-Miles, Charles (reading well .txt) 📕

As I understood it, Hicks’ testimony was the lynchpin of the prosecution’s case. Colton’s testimony could clearly be seen as self-serving, because the jury knew he’d been accused, by Ray, of the same crime. But Hicks lying on the stand was another thing entirely. The rest of the squad—cowards, every single one of them—had taken the stand and testified, one right after the other, that they weren’t sure who pulled the trigger.

I hoped Elmore had a plan in mind, because Ray was sinking fast. He’d tossed and turned all night after Colton’s testimony, and we rode back to Walter Reed in silence this morning.

Now he sat, straight in his seat, uniform perfect, no outward sign to the rest of the world of the exhaustion I could see was eating him alive. He was staring at Hicks, and Hicks met his eyes, and I momentarily had the feeling of two boxers, glaring at each other across the ring. I was almost afraid one of them was going to get up and hit the other, and I couldn’t help but wonder what could inspire the kind of rage Hicks must have to be doing this.

“Sergeant Hicks. Do you know Sergeant Raymond Sherman?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please identify Sergeant Sherman for the court.”

Hicks pointed directly at Sherman and said, “He’s there. The accused.”

“Can you please tell us when you met the accused?”

“Three, maybe four years ago? He was assigned to my fire team when he first finished basic training.”

“And what was your impression of him?”

Hicks shrugged. “He worked hard. But he thought he was better than everyone else. He came out of basic already an E-3 because he’d been to college. Always had his nose stuck in a book.”

Elmore stood up and said, “Your honor ... is the fact that my client went to college somehow meant to imply that he’s more likely to be a killer? How is this relevant?”

“Agreed, Major Elmore. Captain Cox, please restrict your questions to more relevant areas.”

I studied Ray while the questioning continued. I was scared for him. Even if he was cleared in the trial, how was this going to affect him? Ray didn’t like to talk about the war, or what had happened to the little boy. But I could see, every day, that it was tearing him apart.

I missed the next few questions because I was watching Ray. He was calm, but sitting rigidly at attention, the strain in his back visible. Every once in a while I could see it in his hand ... his wedding ring, just slightly vibrating against the table.

And that’s when Captain Cox, the prosecutor, asked the question.

“Can you tell the court what happened after Roberts was killed and Paris injured?”

Hicks looked away from Ray when he said the next sentence. All this time through the testimony, he’d been watching Ray. But for this, he couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Sherman went a little crazy for a while. I couldn’t blame him ... I think we all did. But ... one night I caught him drinking. I was worried, and I went to talk to Sergeant Colton about it. Colton said to leave it alone, that Sherman would get better with time. But then a few weeks later, in March, we were back near Dega Payan. Weber got hit by a sniper. Sherman went nuts. And he shot the kid.”

Ray shook his head and rested his face in his hands.

What about you, college boy? (Ray)

No matter how long I live, I’ll never forget the expression on Speedy’s face when he crossed the trail and Sergeant Colton approached him, suddenly, weapon raised.

He started out with his face open, trusting, a smile on his face. He’d been there when we’d dug the dead villagers out after the avalanche. He’d been there when we tried to make repairs to the village, when Kowalski spent that crazy week goofing off entertaining the kids.

He’d been there when Kowalski died.

So it was that much worse, that much more terrifying, when Colton started screaming, “Are you the one who did it? Did you have the grenade? Did you kill Kowalski?” As Colton shouted the words, his face turned bright red, and spittle flew toward the kid. The sheep began to make mewing, nervous sounds, and milled around.

What the hell? I thought in a panic. I didn’t know what to do. Hicks approached Colton, and his fire team followed, surrounding the kid.

“Colton, chill, he’s just a kid,” Martin said, approaching Colton.

Colton spun on Martin, shouting, “Shut the fuck up, Sergeant!”

“Stay here, guys,” I said to my fire team. They were all new, all right out of infantry training, and all three of them looked utterly freaked out, first by Weber’s death, and now this. I approached slowly as Colton turned back to Speedy and shouted, “Answer me, god damn it! Did you fucking do it? Do you know who did?”

Speedy looked like he was going to bolt, but he was surrounded. His eyes were huge, and he was shaking, and Martin muttered again, “Colton, chill the fuck out.”

“I’ll chill the fuck out when I’m ready, Martin. Look at him! You think just cause he’s a kid, he can’t pick up a fucking rifle? Weber died with his fucking dick in his hand!” He raised his rifle toward the kid. My heart suddenly raced, thumping so hard I could feel my pulse in my temples, and I moved forward shouting, “Sergeant, no!”

Martin said, “Get a fucking grip, Colton,” and grabbed the rifle.

The shot went off instantly, and knocked Martin aside. Martin let out a scream, blood blooming instantly down the length his forearm, and I screamed “Colton!” and then the second shot went off. The panicked sheep scattered in all directions.

Speedy went down in a heap, the back of his head torn out.

“Holy fucking shit,” Hicks said. His face was white, and he stared down at the body at his feet in shock.

I grabbed Colton by the front of his flack vest, shouting, “Colton, what the