If I was really going to trial in a court martial, the last thing I wanted was a civilian lawyer. It was my right, but they rarely know what they are doing in a military court, and they are not looked upon kindly by the system. Still, whatever this was, it was political, not military, and that made it different!
The door to the room opened again, this time with a red-faced major, the Provost Marshal, and his staff sergeant sidekick who delighted in sucker punching me. The major glared at the hapless lieutenant and ordered him out. "You! Out!", he barked, and then he turned to me, and said, "And you! No more of your crap!"
Dorne scurried to leave, and I yelled after him, "No deal, Dorne, no deal!"
The major followed after Dorne, demanding to know what I had told him, but I doubted Dorne would tell him. That was privileged information, and Dorne would probably keep his mouth shut. The sergeant stayed behind, and I was released from the table and my hands were cuffed again, and I was hauled back down to the basement. The corporal joined him to assist. The water level had stabilized at about the half inch level; there must have been a few rat holes for the water to drain down through.
There was one difference this time. They had a hook tied to a rope that went to the ceiling, and after I was uncuffed from behind my back, they recuffed me from the front, and then strung me up from the hook. I don't think the corporal was happy about this, but he didn't stop it, and he kept me under control when I started to protest. The sergeant was smiling as he pulled out a pair of black leather gloves. "You haven't been cooperating. The major wants you to cooperate." He waved the corporal out.
I'd like to say that I took the next twenty minutes stoically, never uttering a whimper. That might not be totally true. I didn't cry. I did curse several times. I managed to control my bodily functions. I was given a fairly thorough thumping, but only to my midsection. I think the idea was to soften me up without any damage to my face, so that I would be my usual boyish and charming self in any photos. After enough time lapsed I was just a mass of pain, but I was still quite conscious. Then the sergeant decided to kick my legs, and he connected with my right knee. I remember screaming, and then everything seemed to go black.
I came back to consciousness very slowly, and it was very dark and quiet outside when I did. The bitter taste in my mouth told me that I had thrown up at least once, and there was a wetness and a stench to my jumpsuit that told me I must have pissed and shit myself. I ached all over, even in places that hadn't been hit. Even worse, whatever was living in the water was now living in me. Despite the tropical heat, I was shivering with chills, and I felt myself crap my prisoner's jumpsuit again as I passed out a second time.
When I came to the second time, it was because there was some noise out in the stairwell that led down here to the dungeon, which is what I had taken to calling my home. I was half laying on the foul mattress, and half laying in the water on the floor of my cell, and I was starting to wonder if maybe I had been a mite hasty in my dismissal of a plea bargain. At least it would be drier in Fort Leavenworth.
I heard, "Open this door now, corporal. That's an order!", being barked from the other side of the door. I turned my head in that direction, and that hurt. Still, it was a voice that was new to me, and I would be damned if I would be found laying in my own filth. I crawled over to the bars on my cage and tried to pull myself up.
"JESUS H. CHRIST! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!", screamed the voice. I wasn't focusing all that well, but I had managed to get my left leg under me and by holding onto the bars on the cage, had gotten to a semi-vertical position. My right leg seemed to be nonfunctional, although sheer agony radiated throughout it.
"GET THAT DOOR OPEN! NOW!", yelled the voice.
I focused in on the voice. It was a stocky colonel in a dress uniform, wading through the water towards me. He was accompanied by the MP corporal, but now the corporal looked very nervous. I vaguely heard him say, "Yes, sir.", and he came over and started playing with the padlock.
"Sweet suffering Jesus!", exclaimed the colonel.
I didn't know what was happening, but I knew I was in very bad shape. Left alone, I could possibly die. I had seen dying people before. Still, I had had enough. If I was going out, I was going to go out in style. At least Marilyn and Charlie would be taken care of.
Holding onto the bars with my left hand, I drew myself into as vertical a condition as I could manage, and then brought my right hand up to my forehead. My ribs were screaming, and I knew something had to be cracked in there, maybe even broken. I didn't care. I held the salute, and the colonel stared at me.
"What in the world are you doing, captain?", he asked me.
"My name is Carling Parker Buckman the Second, Captain, Battery B, 1st Battalion, 319th Airborne Field Artillery Regiment, 82nd Airborne Division. I am a serving officer in the United States Army, having neither resigned my commission nor been relieved of it by competent authority. I don't know who you are but you either return my salute or be damned to you!" I just no longer cared. He stared at me slack jawed, and then things went very dark again.
Chapter 59: Colonel Featherstone
When I woke again, everything seemed very bright. Not the bright at the end of the tunnel, just bright, like a bright room. By the time I got around to opening my eyes, I fell asleep again. It seemed like this went on a few more times before I managed to get my eyes open enough to see where I was. I could see a white ceiling of some sort, and I tried to move, but I couldn't move. I could feel things, but I couldn't move. I was able to turn my head, and rise up slightly, and it looked like I was in a hospital room.
I must be alive, I thought to myself. If I had died, I didn't think Heaven was a hospital room, although the odds were very long that I would be anywhere near Heaven. No, the reverse was far more likely, and while Hell might indeed be a hospital room, it didn't seem likely. Maybe Limbo is a hospital room, but I was Lutheran, sort of, and we don't believe in Limbo or Purgatory or any of the other Catholic waiting rooms to eternity.
I tried to move some more, and managed to raise my head a little more. I was strapped to the bed. Well, at least my new prison cell was more comfortable than my last one. That wore me out a little, and I fell back asleep.
The next time I woke up was when a nurse was in the room. She must have been fiddling with something on me, because my eyes came open and she noticed. She smiled brightly at that, and said, "Oh, good! You're coming awake! How are you feeling?"
I opened my mouth, but I couldn't even croak out an answer. She brought over a small cup of water and a straw. "Try this." It was very difficult to drink that way, but I got enough in me to make a response. "Would you like to be up some?"