have treated the Tuskegee airman. He had no idea what the captain's prejudices were or were not.
But one thing he knew for certain, the captain had a way of assessing one's reliability and coolness under tough circumstances, and on that score, he believed, Lincoln Scott would have gained his admiration.
Tommy doubted he could appear as calm with all that was happening to Scott were the situations reversed. But then, he thought, Scott was absolutely right about one thing: Their situations could never really be reversed.
Kriegies were shoe homed into every available square inch of the theater building, taking every seat, jamming the aisles. As before, crowds of men encircled each window outside the hut, craning to see and hear the action expected within. There was a slightly increased German presence, as well, with ferrets lingering on the edges of the crowds, and an armed squad of helmeted goons collected by the front door. The Germans seemed as intrigued as their prisoners, though their understanding of what was taking place was surely limited by language and custom. Still, the promise of a break in the dreary camp routine was attractive to all, and none of the guards seemed particularly put off at having received the duty.
Colonel MacNamara, flanked by the two other officer members of the tribunal, sat at the center of the head table.
Visser and his accompanying stenographer were shunted to the same side as before. A single stiff-backed wooden chair had been arranged in the center of the bar area where witnesses could sit. As before, there were tables and chairs for the defense and the prosecution, only this time Walker Townsend had taken the more prominent chair, while Major Clark sat at his side.
At precisely zero eight hundred. Tommy Hart, Lincoln Scott, and Hugh
Renaday, once again mimicking a flight of fighters, quick-marched through the open doors, down the center aisle, their flight boots striking at the wooden floorboards with machine-gun-like urgency.
Airmen seated in their path scrambled to move out of their way, then slid back into position as they swept past.
The accused and his two defenders took their seats at the designated table wordlessly. There was a momentary lull, while Colonel MacNamara waited for the buzzing voices and shuffling bodies to calm down. After a few seconds, there was silence in the makeshift courtroom. Tommy stole a quick glance over at Visser, and saw that the German's stenographer was leaning forward, pen poised above a notepad, while the officer once again balanced on the back two legs of his own chair, appearing almost nonchalant, despite the atmosphere of excited tension in the room.
MacNamara's loud voice caused him to refocus on the SAO.
'We are gathered here, today, under the provisions of the United States
Military Code of Justice, to hear the matter of the United States Army versus Lincoln Scott, first lieutenant, who is accused of the premeditated murder of United States Army Air Corps Captain Vincent Bedford while both men were prisoners of war, under the jurisdiction of the German Luftwaffe authorities here at Stalag Luft Thirteen…'
MacNamara paused, letting his eyes sweep over the assembled crowd.
'We will now proceed…' he started, only to stop in mid-sentence as Tommy pushed himself sharply to his feet.
'I would object,' Tommy said briskly.
MacNamara stared at Tommy, narrowing his gaze.
'I would at this time renew my objections to proceeding. I would renew my request for additional time to prepare the defense. I am at a loss, Your Honor, as to why we are in such a rush to hold these proceedings.
Even a small delay will allow for a far more thorough review of the facts and the evidence-' MacNamara coldly interrupted.
'No delays,' he said.
'That has been discussed. Sit down, Mr. Hart.'
'Very good, sir,' Tommy said, taking his seat.
MacNamara coughed and let silence fill the room before continuing.
'We will now get under way with opening arguments…'
Once again. Tommy pushed to his feet, scraping the chair backward and then clicking his heels together. MacNamara eyed him coldly.
'Objection?' he asked.
'Indeed, yes. Your Honor,' Tommy replied.
'I would renew my objections to these proceedings taking place at this time because under United States military law. Lieutenant Scott is entitled to representation by a fully accredited them her of the bar.
As Your Honor is acutely aware, I have not yet reached that position, whereas my worthy opponent'-he gestured toward Walker Townsend-'has indeed. This creates an unfortunately prejudiced environment, where the prosecution has an unfair advantage in expertise. I would request that these proceedings be delayed until such time as Lieutenant Scott has made available to him a fully qualified counselor, who can more fully advise him of his rights and potential tactics in confronting these baseless charges.'
Again, MacNamara continued to stare at Tommy, as the young navigator sat back down.
Lincoln Scott whispered to him, then, in a voice that contained a grin that was hidden from his lips and the men who were eyeing them.
'I like that one. Hart. I definitely like it.
Won't work, of course, but I truly like it. And anyways, what would I want with another lawyer?'
To their right. Walker Townsend arose. MacNamara nodded toward him and the easygoing, slightly accented words of the prosecutor filled the air.
'What my colleague suggests is not unreasonable. Your Honor, although I would argue that Lieutenant Hart has already amply demonstrated his abilities in the courtroom. But I do believe that throughout much of the defense's preparation they were assisted quite ably by a senior British officer, who is also a well- known barrister in that nation, sir, fully versed in all the diverse elements of criminal proceedings-' Tommy immediately leapt up, slicing off the southerner's words.
'And who was summarily removed from the camp by the German authorities!'
He angled forward, staring at Visser.
'And probably murdered!'
This word pitched the gathering of kriegies into hubbub and turmoil. A tangle of voices cascaded through the room.
Visser didn't budge. He did, however, slowly reach for one of his long, brown cigarettes, which he took his time to remove and ignite, carefully manipulating the package and then the lighter with his only arm and hand.
'There is no evidence of that.' Townsend replied, his voice raised slightly.
'Indeed,' Colonel MacNamara added.
'And the Germans have given their assurances-' 'Assurances, sir?
'Tommy interrupted.
'What assurances?'
'The German authorities have assured us that Wing Commander Pryce was to be safely repatriated,' MacNamara said sternly.
Tommy felt an ice-cold anger within his stomach. For a moment, he was almost blinded by outrage. There was, he realized, absolutely no reason whatsoever for the Senior American Officer at Stalag Luft Thirteen to have any knowledge at all about Phillip Pryce's removal from the camp.
Pryce was under British jurisdiction and their own chain of command.
That MacNamara had received an assurance, no matter what sort, meant only that they were somehow involved in his removal. This recognition battered him, and for a moment he staggered inwardly, trying to assess what it truly meant. But he had no time for reflection, so instead, he blurted out:
