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

“And was this the first time you’d been near that village?”

“No. We were there about six weeks earlier, after an avalanche buried part of the village in snow.”

Carrie squeezed my hand. She knew the story of Dega Payan, and the avalanche.

“We’ve had a lot of testimony here about what happened after the avalanche, so we’re going to skip past that. But I’m interested in your observations about the state of mind of the rest of the platoon in the weeks afterward.”

Martin shook his head. “We lost three good soldiers in twenty-four hours. Paris was all fucked up ... shit, I can’t say that here, can I? Paris was badly injured. Roberts dead. Kowalski dead. And I think it’s fair to say we were all a little screwed up about that.”

“Please give us an example of what you mean by screwed up.”

“All right. Well ... for one thing, Sherman looked like a little orphan. He’d lost his whole fire team. It was about two weeks before we got replacements, and then it was back out in to the field with guys he didn’t know. And Colton ... I found him drunk one night. I’d known Colton a long time, and he didn’t drink in the field. It’s too damn dangerous.”

Dick leaned forward. “So the platoon sergeant was drinking. Did you see him drunk at any other time?”

“Not that I know of. But he took those deaths hard. I’ve known Colton ten years, and we’d lost soldiers before. But never like that ... so many, so quick.”

“All right. Please go on. Tell us about the morning of the 24th.”

“Like I said, we were outside Dega Payan. We had orders to patrol the area around the village and flush out some Taliban guerrillas who had been operating in the area through most of the spring. It’s a mountainous area, lots of trees, lots of places to hide. We were going out one squad at a time, and that day it was first squad, with Colton and me. And we’re marching along, spread out, and Weber walks over to take a piss, he’s probably thirty yards away from the rest of the squad, and a shot rings out. Sniper caught Weber right between the eyes. He never had a chance.”

I just looked at the table. I’d heard variants of this story over the days of the investigation.

“Anyway ... Colton went a little nuts. He scrambled the platoon to find the sniper, but no luck. We never caught up with the son of a bitch. But then we got to the outskirts of the village, and this kid ... he was like ... twelve maybe ... comes marching across the street with a bunch of sheep or goats or some shit. We knew him; the kid was one Kowalski had played soccer with, when we were in the village before. We all recognized him. Kowalski used to call the kid ‘Speedy’ because he had this fucked up Tajik name none of us could pronounce.”

I couldn’t hear any more. I covered my face in my hands.

Martin said, “Can I get a glass of water?”

Schwartz said, “Do you need a recess?”

“No sir, I want to get this over with. My throat’s dry.”

Schwartz gave a look at one of the Lieutenants on the prosecution team, and the lieutenant slid a pitcher of ice water and a glass over to Martin.

“Please go ahead, Sergeant, if you can,” Elmore said.

I stared at the table, trying desperately not to visibly shake, trying desperately to not let that day overcome my present. It was as if you could scratch my skin and the dust and mud of Afghanistan would well and bubble up like thick, clotted blood from an old wound. I averted my eyes from Martin as he went on and on, talking about Colton and Speedy and everything that happened, every damn thing that I couldn’t take back.

I stared out the window, my eyes fixed on a tree just outside. A pair of squirrels jumped from branch to branch, chasing each other around the trunk, no worries, no pressure, no regrets. I wanted to be out there. Instead, here I was, dealing with the aftermath of a chain of choices that had destroyed the lives of too many people already.

My attention went back to the room when I heard my name.

Elmore said, “What was Sergeant Sherman doing at this point?”

“I think he was in shock,” Martin said. “When we finally stopped, he started yelling, freaking out. And then we took his weapons away.”

Jesus. I remembered that. It had started raining, unexpectedly, and we were crouched among the trees. Colton had been raving irrationally, and Martin, who had sustained a not very severe wound, crouched against a tree and said, “Shut the fuck up, Colton. Just shut up.”

That started another round of recriminations and shouting, and I’d looked up at one point and said, “This makes us all fucking war criminals,” and then Colton screamed at me, and pointed his rifle, and said, “If you fucking say anything, to anyone, I’ll kill you, Sherman!”

And I just ... sat there. Finally, Colton rehearsed everyone. One by one. Including Martin. Including me. What happened, even though it wasn’t what had happened. We’d never seen a boy that day, and Martin was injured in an accidental discharge. He had a long, red furrow down his forearm, not serious, he wouldn’t even miss a day of duty.

One by one, they all swore.

Including me.

No more questions (Carrie)

Ray’s eyes were glazed over, staring into the distance as Martin finished testifying. I reached past him and tapped Dick on the shoulder. He looked at me, then at Ray, and nodded his understanding. Slowly, I wrapped my hand around Ray’s. His eyes softened, out of focus, and then he looked at me. And he was here, now, in the present.

I’d been attending the hearing every day with Ray. In the end, I hadn’t had to worry about the impact on my job, because