Scott's face was contorted with anger. He jabbed a finger into the air above the other airmen.
'You are cowards!' he shouted.
'Every last one of you!
Cowards and cheats!'
Tommy didn't hesitate. He raced forward.
Scott's hand melded into a fist, which he waved in the air.
'I will fight any one of you. Any five of you! Hell, I'll fight you all, you cowards! Come on! Who's gonna be first!'
Scott squared his shoulders, assuming a fighting stance.
Tommy could see his eyes racheting from man to man, ready.
'Cowards!' the black flier cried out again.
'Come on, who wants a piece of me?'
The mass of men seemed to seethe, shifting back and forth, like the water in a pot right before it begins to boil up.
'Fucking nigger!' a voice called out, indistinguishable from the packed mass of men. Scott pivoted to the sound of the words.
'This nigger's ready. Are you? Come on, goddamn it!
Who's gonna be first?'
'Screw you, killer! You're gonna get yours from a Kraut firing squad!'
'Is that so?' Scott replied, his fists still clenched in front of him, his body twisting toward the sound of each catcall.
'What, you aren't man enough to try me on? Gonna let the Krauts do your dirty work for you? Chickens!' He squawked out mockingly, a rooster sound.
'Come on,' he challenged the crowd again.
'Why wait? Why not try and take a piece of me now! Or aren't you men enough?'
The crowd surged forward, and Scott once again bent over slightly, like a boxer preparing for the inevitable jab to come flying his way, but readying the right cross counterpunch as a reply. A deadly reply. A boxing axiom: You must take one to give one, and Scott seemed utterly prepared for that tradeoff.
Tommy reached down and summoned the deepest, most authoritative voice he could manage, and from the back of the mob, suddenly shouted out:
'What the hell is going on!'
Scott stiffened slightly when he recognized Tommy's presence.
He didn't answer, but remained in a fighting stance, facing the crowd.
'What's going on?' Tommy demanded again. Like a swimmer working through a heavy surf, he pushed his way through the center of the crowd of white airmen. There were several faces he recognized; men who were scheduled to testify at the trial, men who had been Trader Vic's roommates and friends, the leader of the jazz band and a few of his companions, who had threatened him in the corridor the previous day.
These were the faces of the angriest men, and he suspected that the men who'd threatened him in his bed were there in that crowd. Only he recognized that he didn't have time to scrutinize every face.
The crowd parted reluctantly to let him pass, and he paused at the first step to Hut 101, turning and facing the men. Lincoln Scott hovered just behind him.
'What is going on?' he asked again.
'Ask the nigger,' a voice from the mob answered.
'He's the one that wants to fight.'
Tommy did not turn to Scott, but instead slid his body between the front row of the crowd and where the black airman was perched. He pointed directly at the man who'd spoken.
'I'm asking you,' he said briskly.
There was a momentary hesitation, then the man answered, 'Well, I guess your boy there doesn't cotton to some of the local artwork…'
Several men started to laugh.
'And because he ain't much of an art critic, well, he comes storming out of the hut there, challenging each and every one out here just minding their own business to a fight. Damn, he looks right ready to have it out, one by one, with just about everyone in this damn camp, excepting maybe you. Hart. But the rest of us, well, he looks like he wants a piece of every flier here.'
Before Tommy could respond, another voice came bellowing from perhaps fifty yards away.
'Attention!'
The kriegies pivoted and saw Colonel Lewis MacNamara and Major Clark rapidly striding toward the gathering. Captain Walker Townsend hovered just behind them, pausing at the periphery to watch. At almost the same moment, a squad of German guards, perhaps a half-dozen men, trotted into view, coming around the same corner from the assembly yard that Tommy had passed seconds earlier. They carried rifles and were marching double-time, their boots slapping the dry camp dirt. They were being led by Hauptmann Visser.
The Germans and the two senior American officers arrived at the front of Hut 101 at almost the same moment. The Germans assumed guarded positions, rifles at the half-ready, while Visser stood forward of the squad. The kriegies all snapped to attention, standing ramrod straight in their positions.
MacNamara moved through the crowd slowly, as quiet grew around him, examining the face of each airman. It was as if the SAO were imprinting the name and identity of each man in the mob on his memory.
Visser remained halted a few feet back, waiting to see what MacNamara would do. The SAO moved with an angry deliberateness, like an officer conducting an inspection of a particularly slovenly unit. His face was red, his temper clearly ready to burst forth, but the angrier he looked, the more calculated his every motion became.
It took him several minutes to reach the steps to Hut 101, where he looked first at Tommy, fixing him with a long, rigid glance, then at
Scott, then finally back to Tommy.
'All right,' he said quietly, in a voice that belied his rage, 'Hart, please explain. What the hell is going on here?'
Tommy saluted sharply, and replied: 'I only just arrived moments ago, sir. I was seeking to ascertain the same answer.'
MacNamara nodded.
'I see,' he said slowly, although he clearly did not see.
'Then perhaps Lieutenant Scott can take this opportunity to enlighten me.'
Scott, too, saluted sharply. He hesitated, as if gathering his words, then replied: 'Sir. I was challenging these men to a fight, sir.'
'A fight?' MacNamara asked.
'All of them?'
'Yes sir. As many as was necessary. Some of them. All of them. It did not make a difference to me. Sir.'
MacNamara shook his head.
'Why would you do this, lieutenant?'
'My door, sir.'
'Your door? What about your door, lieutenant?'
Scott paused. He took a deep breath.
' 'See for yourself, colonel,' he replied.
MacNamara started to respond, then stopped.
'Very well,' he said. He took a step forward, only to hear Heinrich Visser's voice.
'I think, colonel, that I shall accompany you.'
The German was making his way through the crowd of men, which parted swiftly to allow
