'Objection!'Tommy shouted again.
'These histrionics…'
MacNamara nodded.
'Captain Townsend…'
The southerner smiled.
'Of course. Your Honor. Now, Lieutenant Murphy, is this the device you saw Lieutenant Scott manufacture?'
'It is,' Murphy replied.
'Did you ever see him use this knife to prepare his food?'
'No sir. Like a lot of us, he had a small, folding penknife that's much more efficient.'
'So, Scott never used this blade for any legitimate purpose?'
'Objection!' Once again Tommy was on his feet.
'Sit down. This is why we're here. Lieutenant Hart. Answer the question. Lieutenant Murphy.'
'I never saw him use the blade for any legitimate purpose, no sir.'
Townsend hesitated slightly, then asked: 'And when you saw Lieutenant Scott form this blade, did you ask him why he needed it?'
'Yes sir.'
'And his reply. Lieutenant Murphy?'
'Well, sir, I remember his words exactly. They were: 'For protection.'
And so I asked him who he needed to be protected from, and Scott said:
'That bastard Bedford.' Those were his words, sir. Just as I remember. And then he told me, clear out, without my asking any question beforehand, 'I ought to kill the son of a bitch before he kills me!
'That's what he said, sir. I heard him clear as day!'
Tommy thrust himself up, throwing his own chair backward, so that it clattered loudly on the floor. He stood stiffly, shouting, 'Objection!
Objection! Colonel, this is outrageous!'
MacNamara bent forward, his own face red, almost as if he'd been interrupted in the midst of some backbreaking job of work.
'What precisely is outrageous, lieutenant? The words your client spoke? Or something else?' The Senior American Officer's words were marred with contempt.
Tommy took a deep breath, fixing MacNamara with as harsh a look as the SAO had for him.
'Sir, my objection is twofold. First, this testimony comes as a complete surprise to the defense! When asked what he would testify to, this witness replied, 'Threats and animosity…' There was no mention of this alleged conversation! I believe that it is fantasy!
Made-up lies, designed to unfairly influence…'
'You may try to bring that out under cross, lieutenant.'
Walker Townsend, smiling lightly, one eyebrow slightly raised, interrupted, then.
'Why, Your Honor, I fail to see where there has been any deception whatsoever. The man told Lieutenant Hart he would testify about threats. And that is precisely what we have just heard from Lieutenant
Murphy. A threat. It is not the prosecution's province to make sure that Lieutenant Hart adequately prepares by seeking additional information from a witness prior to trial. He asked a question of this witness and he received an answer, and he should have pursued it further, if he considered this testimony to be potentially so harmful '
'Your Honor, this is unfair attack! I object!'
MacNamara shook his head.
'Once again. Lieutenant Hart, I must insist you sit down. You will have an opportunity to cross-examine the witness. Until then, be quiet!'
Tommy did not sit, but remained standing. He surreptitiously gripped the edge of the table for support. He didn't dare look over at Lincoln Scott.
Walker Townsend held up the handmade knife.
'I ought to kill the son of a bitch,' he bellowed out, the thunder in his voice only accentuated by all the soft tones he'd used before.
'And when did he say this?'
'One, maybe two days before Captain Bedford was murdered,' Murphy replied, smugly.
'Murdered with a knife!
'Townsend said.
'Yes sir!' Murphy blurted out.
'A prophecy!' Townsend crowed.
'And now this blade, Lieutenant Lincoln Scott's blade, is stained with the blood of Captain Vincent Bedford!'
He walked over to the prosecution's table and slammed the knife down hard, flat against the table planks. The noise resounded through the silent courtroom.
'Your witness,' he said, after a suitable pause for effect.
Tommy rose, his head jumbled with outrage, doubt, and confusion. He opened his mouth, only to see Colonel MacNamara raise his hand, slicing off his words.
'I believe we shall have to wait to have the cross-examination in me morning, lieutenant. We are closing in on time for the evening Appell, are we not, Hauptmann?'
For the first time in what seemed like an hour. Tommy pivoted toward the one-armed German. Visser was nodding his head. He seemed to take some time, however, before answering.
Instead, for several long seconds, the German stared at Lieutenant Murphy, as the Liberator copilot shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Then Visser slowly searched around the courtroom, examining Lincoln Scott and Tommy Hart, then swinging over to the prosecutors, and finally back to Colonel MacNamara.
'You are correct, colonel,' Visser replied.
'This would, perhaps, be an appropriate and convenient moment for dismissal.'
Visser rose and the stenographer at his side clapped shut his notebook.
MacNamara banged his homemade gavel down.
'Until tomorrow, then. We will reconvene without delay directly after the completion of the morning count! Lieutenant Murphy?'
'Yes sir?'
'You are not to discuss your testimony with anyone. Got that? Not anyone, prosecution, defense, friends, or foes. You can talk about the weather. You can talk about the army.
You can talk about the lousy food, or the lousy war. But what you can't talk about is this case. Do I make myself clear?'
'Yes sir! Absolutely.'
'Fine then,' MacNamara briskly said.
'You are dismissed.'
He looked up at the assembled men.
'You are all dismissed.'
He rose and the kriegies all scrambled to their feet, coming to attention as the members of the tribunal pushed back from their table and stiffly exited the theater. They were followed by Major Clark and Captain Townsend, who had trouble containing his grin as he swept past Tommy, and then, in quick order, Visser and most of the other Germans.
One or two of the ferrets who lingered slightly behind urged the kriegies to depart, their hoarse cries of 'Raus! Raus! You are dismissed!' cutting through the air behind Tommy's head.
Tommy closed his eyes for a moment, searching the black emptiness within. After a second,
