powerful lines—the shadowed eyes, the emotions within—and she remembered the joy and compassion they had shared. And she remembered how he had kissed her, as if she could smell the warmth of his skin now, and taste him. She had given him more of herself than she had realized.
“What is your war?” she repeated. “What is it you’re fighting for? Or have you given up?”
“Sanity,” he replied, the hurt in his eyes deep. “And yes, I probably have given up. I ought to. Joseph can’t get these men off, and if he isn’t careful they’ll take you down with them as well.”
She felt a sharp grip of fear, like a cramp in the stomach. Would Mason betray her, thinking the truth worth more than individual loss? Exactly what did he believe in? Had she ever known, really? She found herself staring at him, searching, trying to dig deeper than she had any right to, tear off the protecting mask and understand the dreams and the pain underneath.
“Judith!” he said desperately.
What did he want? Trust? She could not give that to him. There was a dark, unknown void inside him that could swallow the things she loved: Joseph, Wil Sloan, Cavan, the men she had known as friends all these years, the men who trusted her. If she let them down there would be nothing left of herself, either.
She turned away from Mason, tears stinging her eyes. There was not anything to say, nothing words could capture or enfold. Either he understood already, or it was too late.
He watched her go with a sense of a door having been closed against him, shutting him out. The blow was not unexpected. He had known she helped the prisoners escape, and he was exasperated with her but not surprised. It was the sort of insane, thoughtless, idealistic thing she would do. She still had the same heroic ideals that the young men had had who went to war three years ago, believing it was glorious. Most of them were dead now, or crippled, shell-shocked, disillusioned. Rupert Brooke, the epitome of them all, the golden poet, had died of blood poisoning before the battle of Gallipoli. The poetry now was of realism, of destruction, of anger and loss. Only dreamers like Judith refused to grow up, clinging to a paper-thin mirage.
And Joseph, of course, trying to defend the morally just and legally indefensible! He would go down with it, like the captain of a sinking ship.
So why did Mason, standing in the sun watching Judith’s gaunt, square shoulders and the light on her hair, feel as if he had been shut out of Paradise? The pain of it caught him by surprise, taking his breath away, taking his hopes, and he was naked without them.
Early in the afternoon Faulkner closed his case for the prosecution. It was legally perfect, and he knew it. There was no doubt that the twelve men accused had mutinied, regardless of their motives, and that as a result of their act Major Howard Northrup had been shot by one of them, and it could not have been accidental. Which one had fired the bullet that killed him was immaterial to the charge. He turned to Joseph, inviting him to attempt a defense.
Joseph stood up, forcing himself to keep calm, to try to look as if he knew what he was doing. This was his last chance.
Hardesty asked him the usual questions. Did the accused wish to testify in their own behalf? Did they wish to call any witnesses?
“Two of the accused will testify on behalf of them all, sir,” Joseph replied. “And we have two witnesses.” Please God this was the right decision.
He had racked his brain, considered every possibility both likely and unlikely. He had prayed about it, but no sense of ease came to still the gnawing doubts in his mind or comfort any of the fear. If that was a sign the decision was wrong, that left him with no answer at all. Every other alternative was worse.
Hardesty nodded grimly. “Very well. Proceed, Captain Reavley.”
“Thank you, sir.” He called Cavan first.
Cavan swore to his name and rank and exactly where he served and for how long. Joseph had considered listing some of Cavan’s achievements, but decided it would give the impression that he was desperate. He was, and probably Faulkner knew it, but bluff was all he had to play.
Carefully, and in sparse, verifiable detail, he drew from Cavan a list of men he had treated and what their injuries had been. Every time he asked if Cavan knew whether the men had survived or not, and if so, if he had lost limbs or eyes.
The court listened in silence. Every man Cavan named was known to them, a friend, possibly even a cousin or brother. If Faulkner could be unaware of the feeling around him then he was truly anesthetized to life. He was at least wise enough not to challenge Cavan.
“Thank you,” Joseph said gravely. He turned to General Hardesty. “Sir, it is a matter of record which I will be happy to have Colonel Hook verify that each of these men was injured while obeying the direct orders of Major Northrup. I shall call other witnesses to confirm that the orders were given against the advice of more experienced but junior men.”
“That will be necessary, if you wish to make this evidence of any value in these proceedings, Captain Reavley,” Hardesty replied. “So far all you have achieved is to illustrate for us the tragedy of war, of which we are all wretchedly aware.”
“All except Colonel Faulkner, sir,” Joseph replied. “I believe he has not seen action.”
“It is irrelevant!” Faulkner snapped, his face pale except for two spots of pink in his cheeks. “This court- martial is to address the crimes of mutiny and murder, not to praise or blame the war record of the officers concerned, or to comment on the tragedy of young men’s deaths.”
“It is to exercise the circumstances, Colonel Faulkner,” Hardesty responded coldly. “You will have your opportunity to contest any of Captain Cavan’s testimony, if you wish.” He turned to Joseph. “Continue, Captain Reavley. You have a long way to go before you have made this relevant to the charge.” There was warning in his face and sadness. Was it for the dead and injured, or because he believed Joseph could not succeed?
Joseph reached the moment of decision. He turned to Cavan again. “When you realized that Major Northrup was not going to take the advice of the men familiar with the conditions and the dangers, Captain Cavan, what did you do?”
“I knew there were many other men who felt as I did,” Cavan answered quietly. “Particularly Captain Morel. We decided to use force to make Major Northrup listen. We decided to frighten him badly enough he would feel he had no choice. Morel devised a plan that we hoped would make him see that it was both wisdom and his duty to act on advice, and I agreed immediately.”
“What was that plan, Captain?”
“To take him by force to a place where we could hold a mock drumhead court-martial and charge him with the mutilation and deaths of the men who suffered because of his arrogance,” Cavan replied. “If we proved to him that it was his fault, we believed he would be willing to change. He was a stupid man, arrogant and out of his depth, but he was also frightened, and I believed he wanted to succeed; he simply didn’t know how. He wasn’t actually cut out to be a soldier, but then most of the men here wouldn’t be if they had a choice.” His voice was quiet and clear, the anger in it almost hidden. “We thought it was a way out for all of us.”
“And why wasn’t it, Captain Cavan?” Joseph asked.
There was complete silence in the room. No one even shifted position.
Cavan’s face was white, but he stood stiffly to attention, his eyes fixed on Joseph’s. “He was terrified. We found him guilty of gross negligence, and followed it through with a mock execution. We thought it was necessary at the time, in case once he was free again he reneged. We all loaded with blanks—”
“Blanks?” Joseph interrupted sharply. “The army doesn’t issue blanks. Where did you get them?”
“We didn’t,” Cavan said. “We made them. It’s easy enough.”
“Is it safe?” Joseph pressed. “How did you know they wouldn’t still fire bullets? It looks as if one did.”
“No sir, it’s not possible. The bullet that fired was a live round.” Cavan again explained carefully exactly how a blank was made.
“Then one of the men replaced his blank after you had seen him load it?” Joseph deduced.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you know that at the time?”
“Of course not!” Cavan clenched his fists, and his voice shook. “Do you think we wanted this?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Joseph replied. “But we need to demonstrate it to the court. Who shot the live round?”
“I have no idea, sir, except I don’t believe it was I.”
