Hart’s War

Chapter Fifteen

Tommy took some little satisfaction in the uproar that erupted in the courtroom behind where he stood. Everyone seemed to have an opinion, and the immediate need to blurt it out loudly. Voices cascaded around him, mingling curiosity, anger, and excitement. It took some determined gaveling by Colonel MacNamara to get the overflow theater crowd of kriegies to quiet down. Behind him, arcing through the jammed throngs of airmen, was a fascination like electricity.

If the trial of Lincoln Scott for the murder of Vincent Bedford was already the best show in town, in one single stroke, Tommy had made it even more compelling, especially to the hundreds of men crippled by the boredom and anxiety of their imprisonment.

By the tenth time MacNamara had shouted "Order!" the men quieted enough for the proceedings to continue. Walker Townsend was already on his feet, gesturing widely with his arms. So was Major Clark, whose usually red face was now nearly crimson, and Tommy thought he looked like a man on the verge of exploding.

"Your Honor!

"Townsend shouted.

"This is highly irregular!"

MacNamara crashed the gavel down again, even though the room had grown silent enough to continue.

"We would most strenuously protest!" the captain from Virginia persisted.

"To call a member of an enemy force to the stand in the midst of an American trial is outrageous!"

Tommy remained quiet for a moment, waiting for MacNamara to bang his gavel once again, which is what the SAO did, finally turning toward the defense. Tommy took a single step forward, this motion alone doing more to quiet the room behind him than all the hammering from the head of the tribunal.

Kriegies hushed each other and craned forward.

"Colonel," Tommy began slowly, "the argument that this request is irregular is silly. This entire proceeding is irregular!

Captain Townsend knows that, and the prosecution has already benefited from the loosening of the ordinary rules governing a military court of justice. He protests simply because he has been caught unprepared. At the beginning of this trial, you promised both defense and prosecution that there would be considerable leeway given both sides in order to find the truth! It was also promised that the defense could call anyone who might assist in establishing innocence. I would merely remind the court of those promises. And remind the court as well, that we are here under unique and special circumstances, and that it is important for all to see the elemental fairness of our democratically applied system of justice. Especially the enemy."

He crossed his arms again, with the thought that his little speech would have been better had a brass band been playing "America the Beautiful" in the background, and would have the dual effect of infuriating MacNamara and instantly cementing him into a position where Tommy could not be turned down. He stared directly at the Senior American Officer, doing little to hide the satisfied smirk that he wore.

"Lieutenant," MacNamara responded coldly, "you do not have to remind the tribunal of their wartime duties and responsibilities."

"I'm glad to hear that. Your Honor. Delighted to hear that."

Tommy knew he was dancing dangerously close to censure.

"Your Honor," Walker Townsend said angrily, "I still do not see how this court can permit an officer of an enemy army to testify! I would argue that you could never be sure anything he might say would be truthful!"

As soon as he spoke, Townsend appeared stricken by the words that had tumbled from his mouth. Too late he saw the mistake in the claim he made. In one sentence, he'd insulted two men.

"The court is more than capable of determining the truthfulness of any witness, captain, regardless of where they come from, and where their allegiances might rest," MacNamara replied dryly, far more caustically than he had before when making the same comment.

Tommy snuck a glance over at Heinrich Visser. The German was standing.

His own face was pale, and his jaw tight. His eyes had narrowed, but he was glaring at Walker Townsend, not at Tommy. He looked like a man who had just been slapped across the cheek by a rival.

This, Tommy had half-expected. Visser was probably infuriated at being called to the stand. But, Tommy suspected, he was undoubtedly far more outraged at having his pristine Nazi integrity challenged. Nothing was more irritating than hearing oneself called a liar before one has a chance to utter a single word.

MacNamara rubbed his chin and nose once, then turned toward the one-armed German.

"Hauptmann," he said slowly, "I am inclined to allow this. Are you willing to take the stand?"

Visser hesitated. Tommy could see him measuring as many factors as possible in those seconds. He began to open his mouth to reply, when there was a sudden, booming voice from the rear of the theater.

"The Hauptmann will certainly testify, colonel!"

Heads pivoted in unison to see Commandant Von Reiter standing in the doorway. He stepped forward, his polished black riding boots striking against the wooden plank flooring like so many pistol reports.

Von Reiter arrived in the front of the courtroom, clicked his heels together and made a small salute and bow, simultaneously.

"Of course, colonel," he said briskly, "the Hauptmann will be restricted from dispensing any critical military information, you understand? And he will not be able to answer questions that might compromise war secrets. But, as to his understanding of this crime, why, I would think his expertise would be most helpful for the court in determining the truth of this most unfortunate event!"

Von Reiter half-turned, nodding toward Visser, before he added: "And, colonel, I can personally attest to his integrity!

Hauptmann Visser is a highly decorated officer! He is a man of complete honor and commands utter respect from his subordinates!

Please, be so kind as to swear him in promptly."

Visser kept a flat, poker face, and stepped forward slowly and clearly reluctantly, even more so. Tommy imagined, because he now had Von

Reiter's blessing and he was undoubtedly assessing how the commandant might seize some political advantage from his testifying. He sharply saluted his commanding officer, turned to Colonel MacNamara, and said,

"I am prepared, colonel." The Senior American Officer shoved the Bible toward him, and motioned toward the witness chair.

"Sir," Captain Townsend tried one last time, "again, I protest…"

MacNamara scowled and shook his head.

"Here is your witness. Lieutenant Hart. Let's see what you make of him."

Tommy nodded in response to that particular challenge.

He noticed a small malevolent grin on Von Reiter's face as the camp commandant took up a position in a seat by a window, sitting on the edge of the chair and leaning forward, just like the prisoners in the camp, eager to hear every word. Then Tommy turned, and faced Visser.

For a moment, he tried to reconnoiter the German's unspoken language, trying to read the man in the tilt of his head, the lingering narrowing of his eyes, the set of his jaw, and the way he crossed his legs.

Visser was a man of deep hatreds and angers. Tommy thought. The problem Tommy faced was sorting through them all and finding the right ones to help Lincoln Scott-although he understood, simply from the way Visser tossed a single furious glance over at Townsend, that the prosecution, by questioning his integrity, had already helped Tommy on the path to Visser's core.

Tommy cleared his throat.

"Just for the official record, Hauptmann, would you give us your full name and rank."

"Hauptmann Heinrich Albert Visser. I am currently a captain in the

Luftwaffe, recently assigned to Allied prisoner-of-war airman's camp thirteen."

"Your duties here would include administration?"

"Yes."

"And security?"

Visser hesitated, then he nodded.

"Of course. We are all charged with that duty, lieutenant."

Yes, Tommy thought, but you more than the others. He did not follow this thought out loud.

Visser kept his voice even, steady, and loud enough to carry through the now-hushed crowd.

"And where did you acquire your command of English?"

Visser paused again, shrugged slightly, and replied, "From the age of six until the age of fifteen I lived in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, in the home of my uncle. He was a shopkeeper.

When his business failed during the Depression, the entire family returned to Germany, where I completed my studies, continuing to polish my English."

"So you left America when?"

"In 1932. There was nothing there for my family and myself.

And great events were taking place in our own nation, of which we were eager to become part."

Tommy nodded. He could easily imagine what those events were brownshirts, book burnings, and thuggery. For a moment, he eyed Visser carefully. He knew from Fritz Number One that Visser's father was already a Nazi party member when the teenager returned to Germany.

School and the Hitler Youth had probably been his immediate legacy.

Tommy warned himself to tread lightly until he'd managed to extract from Visser what he needed. But his next question was neither light nor careful.

"How did you lose your arm, Hauptmann Visser's face seemed immobile, frozen, as if the ice he wore in his eyes was the best way to conceal the fury that smoked beneath the surface.

"Near the coast of France in 1939," he said stiffly "A Spitfire?"

Visser cracked a small, cruel smile.

"The British Spitfire is a single-engine fighter powered by a

Rolls-Royce Merlin engine capable of speeds in excess of three hundred miles per hour. It is armed with eight sequentially firing fifty-caliber machine guns, four mounted in each wing. One of these formidable planes managed to surprise me while I was flying routine escort duty. A most unfortunate encounter, although I did manage to parachute to safety. My arm, however, was shredded by a bullet and removed at a nearby hospital."

"And so, flying was no longer an option."

Visser laughed although there was no joke.

"It would seem that way, lieutenant."

"But then, in 1939, you were unwilling to give up your career in the military. Certainly not at that point, when Germany's successes were substantial."

"Our successes, as you call them, were the envy of the world."

"And you did not want to retire, despite your wound, true?

You were young, you were ambitious, and you wanted to continue to be a part of this greatness."

The German took a moment to reply, considering his words first.

"This is true," he said after a second or two passed.

"I did not want to be passed over. I was young, and despite my wound, still strong. Strong both physically and in my heart, lieutenant.

There was much I believed I could contribute."

"And so, you were retrained, were you not?"

Again, Visser hesitated.

"I suppose there is no harm in saying yes. I was given new training and new duties."

"This new training, it didn't have anything to do with flying a fighter, did it?"

Visser smiled. He shook his head.

"No. It did not, lieutenant."

"You were trained in counterintelligence operations, true?"

"No, this I will not answer."

"Well," Tommy said care frilly "did you have the opportunity to study modern police techniques and tactics?"

Again Visser paused, thinking before replying.

"I had this opportunity."

"And you gained this expertise?"

"I have been well-educated, lieutenant. I have always finished any schooling whether it was flight school, studying languages, or forensic techniques at the top of my class. I now take on whatever new responsibilities are defined by my superior officers, to the best of my abilities."

"And one of those responsibilities was the investigation of this matter that brings us here. The murder of Captain Bedford."

"That is obvious, lieutenant."

"Why was the murder of an Allied officer in a prisoner-of-war camp of any importance to the German authorities whatsoever? Why did your superiors care in the slightest?"

Visser hesitated a moment.

"I will not answer this question," he replied.

A murmur of voices raced through the courtroom.

"Why won't you answer?" Tommy demanded.

"This would be a matter of security, lieutenant. I will say no more."

Tommy crossed his arms, trying to think of another route to the answer, but was unable to think of one rapidly. Inwardly he took note of a single, pulsating concept: If the murder of Trader Vic weren't somehow important to the Germans, they would never have sent a man such as Visser to the camp.

"Lieutenant," Colonel MacNamara said harshly, "please get on with your questioning of this witness!"

Tommy nodded, wondering also what the big hurry was, and asked: "So, of all the men you've heard from the witness stand, and all the men involved in this case to this point, isn't it fair to say that you are the only one who has actually been trained in criminal investigations and procedures? The only one so trained who actually examined Trader Vic's body and the crime scene surrounding it? You are the only true expert to investigate this crime?"

"Objection!" Walker Townsend cried out.

"Overruled!" MacNamara answered, just as swiftly.

"You may answer, Hauptmann "Well, lieutenant," Visser replied slowly,

"your compatriot, Flying Officer Renaday, has some limited understanding and skills based on his primitive experiences in a rural police force. Wing Commander Pryce, who is no longer with us, had considerable knowledge on these subjects. It would appear that Captain Townsend, as well, is well educated on these procedures." The German could not hide his grin, as he sent a singular thrust toward the prosecution: "Which only makes me very suspicious as to why he would try to devise such a ludicrous and ridiculous scenario for this murder, as he has…"

Townsend slammed both hands down on the prosecution table as he threw himself to his feet, shouting, "Objection!

Objection! Objection!" as he rose. Visser stopped speaking, wearing a mocking smile of false politeness on his face, as Townsend furiously responded. Behind Tommy, the kriegies once again burst into babbling discussions, dozens of voices competing at once.

Banging away, Colonel MacNamara managed to regain order in the courtroom. He turned to Hauptmann Visser and coldly said, "Hauptmann, it would help matters considerably were you to merely answer the questions you are asked without any further characterizations."

"Of course, Herr Colonel," the German responded.

"Let me rephrase my statement: My examination of the crime scene and the evidence collected to this point suggest a different series of events from those claimed here. Is that preferable, Your Honor? I should, perhaps, eliminate the words ludicrous and ridiculous?" Visser managed to infect his words with distaste.

"Yes," MacNamara answered.

"Precisely." It seemed to Tommy that the hatred in the courtroom was almost palpable.

Best deal with that right away, he thought to himself.

He cleared his throat harshly.

"Let me get something straight, let's everybody get something straight, before we go on about this case, Hauptmann. You hate us, correct?"

Visser smiled.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Us," Tommy said, sweeping his arm to indicate the assembled kriegies.

"You hate us, without knowing us. Merely because we're American. Or English. Or any Allied airman.

You hate me. You hate Captain Townsend and Flying Officer Renaday and Colonel MacNamara and every last one of us sitting in the audience. Is this not true, Hauptmann?"

Visser hesitated, shrugged, then nodded.

"You are the enemy. One should always hate the enemies of the fatherland."

Tommy took a deep breath.

"That's too easy an answer, Hauptmann. That sounds like a schoolboy's memorized response. Your hatred seems somewhat greater."

Again Visser paused, measuring his words carefully, doling them out in an even, hard-edged, and cold voice.

"No one who has been wounded, as I have, who has seen his family-mother, father, sisters-killed by terror-bombing, as I have, who has seen his friends die, as I have, and who can remember all the hypocrisy and lies spoken by your nation, can avoid feelings of anger and hatred, lieutenant. Does that answer your question perhaps better?"

Visser's response was as frozen as winter rain. Each word pelted the men in the audience, because there were aspects of everything he said that they, too, felt. In that second, Visser managed to remind everyone that outside the wire the world was gathered in homicidal rage, and they all felt stricken that they were no longer taking part in it.

"It must be hard for you," Tommy asked slowly, "to be stuck here in charge of keeping men alive whom you would rather see killed."

Visser's lip curled in a small, nasty smile.

"This is an oversimplification. Lieutenant Hart. But true."

"So if I were to die tomorrow, or Captain Townsend or Colonel MacNamara or any of the men here at Stalag Luft Thirteen, this would please you?"

Visser's smile did not so much as budge a millimeter, as he replied, "That is almost entirely true, Mr. Hart."

Tommy stopped, paused, then asked, "Almost entirely?"

Visser nodded.

"The sole exception, Mr. Hart, of course, would be your client. The Schwarze airman, Scott. Of him, I do not care one way or the other."

This comment took Tommy slightly off-guard. He asked his next question rather foolishly, before first considering it.

"Why is that?"

Visser lifted his shoulders slightly, almost as if with that gesture he was taking the time to install the mocking tone into his voice: "We do not consider the Negro to be human," he said calmly, staring directly at Lincoln Scott as he spoke.

"The rest of you, yes, you are the enemy. He, on the other hand, is merely a mercenary beast employed by your air corps, lieutenant. No different from a Hundfuhrer’s dog patrolling the camp wire. One may fear that dog, lieutenant, perhaps even respect it for its teeth and claws and devotion to its master. But it remains little more than a trained beast."

Tommy did not have to turn around to see Lincoln Scott stiffen his back and clench his fists. He hoped the black airman would manage to keep his own fury in check. From the crowded kriegie audience, Tommy heard a ripple of conversation, like a wind racing through treetops, and he knew Visser had just helped him to take the trial of Lincoln Scott across an important line.

For a moment, he rubbed his chin.

"What makes a man a man, Hauptmann?" Visser did not reply immediately, letting a smile curl across his face. The scars he wore on his cheeks from his encounter with the Spitfire seemed to glisten, and finally, he shrugged.

"A complex question, lieutenant. One that has bedeviled philosophers, clerics, and scientists for centuries. Surely you do not expect me to be able to answer it here, today, in this military court?"

"No, Hauptmann. But I would expect you to be able to give all of us your own definition. Personal definition."

Visser paused, thinking, then replied, "There are many factors,

Lieutenant Hart. Sense of honor. Bravery. Dedication.

These would be combined with intelligence. The ability to reason."

"Qualities Lieutenant Scott does not possess?"

"Not to the degree sufficient."

"You consider yourself to be an intelligent, educated man, Hauptman?

A sophisticated man?"

"Of course."

Tommy decided to take a chance. He could feel his own fury at the fanatic German's smug responses fighting to take over his emotions, and he had to struggle to keep a certain coldness in his voice and in his questions. At the same moment, he hoped that all his prep school training from a decade earlier had stuck with him. The faculty back at his old school had always said there was a reason for memorizing certain great works, and that someday a recitation might prove important.

He trusted this to be one of those times.

"Ah, an educated, intelligent man would understand the classics, I suppose. Tell me, Hauptmann, are you familiar with the following: Arma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus aborts Italiam fato profugus…"

Visser stared harshly at Tommy Hart.

"Latin is a dead language, from a corrupt and decadent culture, and not among my skills."

"So you do not recognize…" and Tommy stopped.

"Well, don't let me tell you…" He spun sharply about, taking a gamble.

"Lieutenant Scott?" he demanded in a loud voice.

Scott sprang to his feet. He stared across at the German, a small, cruel smile of his own on his face.

"It would seem to me that any truly educated man would recognize the opening lines to Virgil's Aeneid," Scott said sharply. "

"I sing of arms and the man who first from the shores of Troy came destined an exile in Italy…" Would you like me to continue, Hauptmann'? '… multum ille et terris iactatus at alto Vi supe ram saevae me morem Iunonis ob iram…' That would be:… Much buffeted he on land and on the deep by force of the gods because of fierce Juno's never forgetting anger…"

Lincoln Scott stood stock-still as he recited the poet's words. The courtroom remained silent, a long, electric moment, and then Scott, still wearing a look of barely constrained fury, spoke out loudly, but evenly, not removing his eyes from the German.

"A dead language, for sure. But the verses can speak as loudly today as they did centuries ago." Scott hesitated, then added, "But Mr. Hart, it is perhaps unfair to ask this highly educated man a question about a language he doesn't know. So, Hauptmann, perhaps you could use your knowledge to identify, ‘Es irr der Mensch, so long er strebt…’"

Visser smiled nastily at Lincoln Scott.

"I am pleased that the lieutenant has read the German masters as well.

Goethe's Faust is a standard work in our colleges and universities."

Scott seemed coolly pleased.

"But not so much in ours, in America. Would the Hauptmann be so kind as to translate for the audience?"

Visser's smile faded just a touch. He nodded.

"Man is in error, throughout his strife…" the German said sharply.

"I'm sure you can understand what the poet meant by that, Hauptmann"

Scott said.

Then the black flier sat down, with a small nod in Tommy's direction.

Tommy noticed that even Walker Townsend was hypnotized by the exchange.

Tommy looked over at the German. Visser seemed outwardly unruffled, unaffected by the give-and-take. He doubted that was true deep within the German. Tommy thought Visser was as much a performer as he was a policeman, and he suspected that some of Visser's strength came in his ability to shield his real feelings. Tommy took a deep breath and reminded himself that Visser remained coiled, alert, and extremely poisonous.

"And so, Hauptmann, there came a time when you were summoned to the Abort where Captain Bedford's body was discovered…"

Visser shifted in his chair and nodded.

"Ah," he said, "we have finished with the philosophical inquiries, and returned to the real world?"

"For the moment, Hauptmann, yes. Please explain to all assembled what you were able to deduce from the crime scene in the Abort."

Visser settled back.

"To begin with, lieutenant, the crime scene was not the Abort. Captain Bedford was murdered in a different location and then transported to the Abort where his body was abandoned."

"How can you tell this?"

"There was a bloody footprint of a shoe on the floor of the Abort. It was pointing toward the stall where the body was located.

Had the murder taken place in that location, then the blood would have been on the shoe, exiting the Abort. In addition, the bloodstains on the body, and the adjacent privy area, suggested that most of the victim's bleeding was done elsewhere."

Walker Townsend rose, opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, then returned to his seat.

"Do you know where Trader Vic was actually killed?"

"No. I have not uncovered that location. I suspect steps have been taken to conceal it."

"What else did you learn from examining the body?"

Visser smiled again, continuing to speak in a self-satisfied and self-assured voice.

"As you previously suggested, lieutenant, it appeared that the blow which took the captain's life was delivered from behind, by someone wielding a narrow, double-edged blade. A dagger, I suspect. And this weapon was in the assailant's left hand, as you surmised. This is the only possible explanation for the type of wound on the victim's neck."

"The weapon the prosecution claims was used to commit the murder?"

"It would have produced a large, ragged, bloody slash-like wound. Not the more precise stab that Captain Bedford suffered."

"Now, you have not seen this other weapon, have you?"

"I have searched. Unsuccessfully," Visser said coldly.

"A weapon such as that would be verboten. Prisoners of war are not permitted to have such a weapon in their possession."

"And so, Hauptmann. The murder did not occur where the prosecution says it did, did not happen as the prosecution claims it happened, was not performed by the weapon the prosecution contends is the murder weapon, and left clear-cut evidence suggesting a completely different series of events.

Is that not the sum of your testimony?"

"Yes. An accurate recitation, Mr. Hart."

Tommy left unsaid the obvious. But he left his own words hanging long enough in the air so that every kriegie in the jam-packed room-those hanging from each window, and those gathered outside, having every element of the testimony relayed to them-could find the same conclusion.

"Thank you, Hauptmann. Most instructive. Your witness, captain."

Tommy went and sat down, as Walker Townsend rose from his seat. The captain from Virginia seemed patient, and he, too, wore a small smile.

"Let me get this straight, Hauptmann. You hate Americans, although you lived as one for nearly a decade…"

"I hate the enemy, yes, captain. And you are the enemy of my country."

"But you had two countries…"

"I did, captain. But my heart only belonged to one."

Captain Townsend shook his head.

"That seems most obvious, Hauptmann. Now, you also believe Lieutenant

Scott is an animal?"

Visser nodded.

"He is fast. He is strong. And he has clearly been well-trained to be able to quote such great writers. But he occupies a position somewhat less than human. A cheetah is fast, captain, and a seal can be trained by the zookeeper to perform most wonderful tricks. I would remind you, Herr Kapitan, that less than a century ago, the slave owners of your own state would have been likely to say much the same thing about their property working in their tobacco fields from dawn to dusk."

Townsend seemed abruptly trapped by this last statement.

The Nazi was infuriating. Arrogant and unshaken, absolutely persuaded by his beliefs and undaunted by any evidence to the contrary. Tommy could sense a sort of fury on the prosecutor's part, angered by the obstinate and self-important tones Visser used, but unsure just how greatly they were damaging his case. Tommy hoped Townsend would slide into the mire created by the Nazi's conceit.

But Townsend did not.

Instead, the prosecutor asked, "Why should we believe what you say about anything?"

Visser twitched his shoulders.

"I do not care in the slightest what you do or do not believe, captain.

It makes absolutely no difference to me personally whether we shoot Lieutenant Scott, or not, although I would prefer we do, because he himself is so untrustworthy. This, of course, is not truly his fault.

It is a function of his race."

Townsend gritted his teeth.

"It makes no difference to you, Hauptmann, but still you take the stand, swear to tell the truth, and then say that Scott did not commit this crime " Visser raised his only hand, cutting Townsend off.

"But, captain, that is not what I said," he replied, slight amusement creeping into his voice.

"Nor is that what I even suggested."

Townsend stopped. He lifted a single eyebrow and stared at the unrepentant Nazi.

"You said " "What I said, captain, was that to trained eyes it was clear that the crime did not occur as you claim it did. I said nothing about Scott. In fact, he remains to me the chief suspect, and the man most likely to have committed the crime, however it was actually committed."

Townsend broke into a grin.

"Tell us how you reach that conclusion, Hauptmann " Tommy rose sharply.

"Objection, Your Honor!"

But MacNamara shook his head.

"You opened this can of worms, lieutenant. And now you must live with it. Sit down.

Let the Hauptmann testify. You will have a chance to redirect some questions when Captain Townsend has completed his cross-examination."

"Using your unique expertise, of course, Hauptmann," Townsend added swiftly.

The German shifted in his seat, thinking before he answered.

"The evidence of the bloodstains on Lieutenant Scott's clothing is compelling. Particularly the stains on the jacket, which are located in a fashion suggesting someone carried the body over his shoulder.

This has already been discussed here. And, despite Lieutenant Hart's quite entertaining theatrics with the homemade blade belonging to

Scott, it was clear that the weapon was used in the crime " Townsend cut off Visser.

"But you said…"

"Ah, I said that the killing blow was struck by this other blade. The one that cannot be uncovered. But Captain Bedford also suffered what are called defensive wounds on his hands and chest. These are suggestive of him fighting back, even if briefly, against a man in front of him. A man, in all likelihood, wielding this homemade blade."

Townsend looked confused for an instant.

"But why would someone carry two " Visser interrupted the question.

"One person did not carry both blades, captain. The evidence clearly suggests that two men were involved in this murder. Or should I say: one man accompanied by his murderous lackey, the Negro Scott. One who stood in front, occupying Captain Bedford's attention while this second man, who struck silently, came up from behind."

The courtroom surged with noise, pent-up kriegies again unable to keep from turning to their neighbors and whispering shock, surprise, and wonderment at the testimony. The voices of the Allied airmen burst forth, an excited, confused wave, which carried up and over the men at the front of the theater. Tommy did not turn toward either of the two men sitting beside him, but instead took note of several intriguing reactions.

Townsend seemed to be momentarily nonplussed, his mouth slightly open.

Visser had regained a totality of smugness, leaning back, relaxed and exuding superiority. Off to the side, Von Reiter's eyes had narrowed and he wore a look of deep concentration. And in the center of the tribunal, Colonel MacNamara had paled, a stricken, worried, and anxious frown firmly scoring his face.

In that second. Tommy thought the Nazi's arrogant opinion had meant something different to each man.

The babbling, tangled sounds of vying voices from the audience finally seemed to shake Colonel MacNamara from his shock, and he energetically once again began banging away with the gavel, and crying out for order.

The noise subsided rapidly.

Into the abrupt silence. Walker Townsend stepped. He wore a cobra's smile of his own.

"I see, Hauptmann. I see. One man owned a weapon. One man alone was seen abroad on the night of the murder.

One man wore bloodstained shoes and jacket the following day. One man hated enough to kill. Motive. Opportunity.

Means. But you think two men committed the crime. And you base this fantastic supposition on the most excellent training you have received from the German military…" Townsend slid a long pause into his words, and then spoke in tones colored with the slick southernisms of his home state.

"Well, hell's bells, Hauptmann. It ain't no wonder why y'all Krauts are losin' the damn war so bad!"

Visser instantly stiffened in his seat. His own smile evaporated.

Townsend waved his arm wildly at the German.

"No more questions of this expert," he said sarcastically.

"You can have 'im back. Tommy. For whatever the hell he's worth!"

Townsend took a pair of quick paces back to his seat and threw himself down.

Tommy stood, but did not move out from behind the defense table.

"Briefly, Your Honor," he said, with a quick glance to MacNamara.

"Hauptmann, once again, why are you here?"

Visser said sharply: "I am here because you called me, lieutenant."

"No, Hauptmann. Why are you here? At this camp. Now.

Why?"

Visser kept his mouth shut.

"Why do the Germans regard the murder of Captain Bedford as an event requiring an investigation? And why would they send to this camp someone seemingly as important as yourself?"

Visser again remained silent, but Colonel MacNamara did not. His voice boomed forth: "Lieutenant, you attempted to ask these questions earlier and were refused. And they go far beyond the scope of Captain Townsend's cross-examination!

I will not allow them!"

Colonel MacNamara took a deep breath.

"Hauptmann Visser, you are excused! We thank you for your testimony."

The German rose, and came to attention, saluting the court briskly and glaring toward his own commanding officer.

Visser returned to his seat and immediately resumed his observer's role. He removed one of his thin, brown cigarettes from a silver case, and then bent toward the stenographer at his side, who fumbled for a moment and then produced a match.

Colonel MacNamara waited, then turned to Tommy.

"What else do you have for us, lieutenant?"

"One last witness, colonel. We would call at this point Lieutenant

Lincoln Scott," Tommy said firmly.

MacNamara nodded, but then the nod changed into a shake, and he glanced over at Commandant Von Reiter, before returning his eyes to Tommy.

"The defendant will be your final witness, lieutenant?"

"Yes sir" "In that case we will hear from him in the morning. That way we will have time for the direct, the cross, and final arguments. Then the tribunal will begin deliberations." He smiled, but not humorously.

"This will give both sides a little extra time to prepare."

Then he banged his gavel hard, ending the day's session.