"You're at the base hospital at Guantanamo Bay, in Cuba.", he replied calmly.
I wasn't so calm. My most recent memories of Gitmo were from after 9/11, when it became a military prison for terrorists and anybody else the government could convince itself was a national security threat. Ultimately it would house more American citizens than Arab terrorists. "GITMO! You sent me to Gitmo!? Jesus, the Army wasn't bad enough, you had to give me to the Navy!?" Featherstone laughed loudly at this. At least one of us was enjoying himself.
"What the hell am I doing in Gitmo?", I asked. "Doesn't Leavenworth have a prison ward in the hospital?"
"Oh, this isn't the prison ward. Actually it's the NP ward, neuropsychiatric. That's why it's all locked up."
Sweet Jesus! This just kept getting better and better! "The psych ward? You put me in the psych ward?! It's not enough to put me in prison, you have to label me as a Section 8, too!? Why don't you just shoot me with a silver bullet and drive a stake through my heart while you're at it!" I looked away from him for a moment and contemplated my surroundings. I turned back and said, "You know, screw you! I want a lawyer. Get me a lawyer and get the fuck out of here. I don't care who you are. I want a lawyer and I want one now."
Surprisingly, Featherstone just stood there and smiled, and didn't complain about my cursing a superior officer. "Captain, relax, you're not under arrest, and you're not in the NP ward."
"Yeah? You just told me I was in the nut shack. If I'm not in jail, then get me a goddamned phone! I'm calling my wife!" Marilyn wouldn't understand this, but she could call a lawyer for me.
He held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Relax, Captain Buckman. I simply had you stashed here while I sorted out this clusterfuck. As soon as we're done talking, I'll get you a telephone. Just relax and let's talk first."
I nodded warily, and he relaxed some. "Good. Now, just hold on a second, this is going to take some time." He went back to the door and opened it, making me figure that he was leaving me and locking me back in jail. Instead he simply opened it and yelled out to a nurse for a stool. She brought it back and he thanked her, and then he carried it over by my bed. I was still sitting upright from breakfast, and now he could look me in the eye.
Featherstone reached into a pocket and pulled out a pack of Camels and a lighter. He searched around and scrounged up a plastic cup, which he poured some water into. Then he lit up a cigarette, right there in the hospital! I mean, yeah, it wasn't like later years, when the health Nazis would have arrested him, but still! "You mind?", he asked, seeing the look on my face. "That was a rhetorical question. I'm a colonel, you're a captain. I don't care if you mind. Want one?"
"No thanks."
"Okay, let's talk. Lieutenant Dorne got in touch with somebody in JAG HQ. He's pretty green, but he called somebody who called somebody else, and it landed way up at the top of the food chain. I've been assigned to sort it all out. That's why it took a couple of days for us to find you, captain."
"You were sent down by the Pentagon?", I asked.
"Not precisely. The Army JAG office is in Arlington, but not in the Pentagon itself. Nearby, though. That doesn't matter, though. Just be glad Dorne was able to call home. He was under orders not to, but he knew enough to know those were illegal orders. I flew down on a C-11. That's what I had you flown out on, too."
What the fuck was a C-11? "What's a C-11?", I asked.
"Military version of a Gulfstream II. Sweet little bird! They have a newer and bigger version called the Gulfstream III now, a C-20. Sort of like a Learjet. That's not important. I had them load you and a doctor on it and had it fly you here, to Gitmo. That got you out of Hawkins' reach and under the care of the Navy and the Marines.", Featherstone said. He dropped his cigarette butt in the cup of water and pulled another from the pack. He was a chain smoker.
"Huh." That explained the funny looks when I called the doctor 'Colonel'. He was actually a Navy Captain. I looked at the colonel. "So this was all Hawkins' idea? He's the one on my ass?"
Colonel Featherstone gave me a pained look. "Captain, how can you say such a thing! Brigadier General Hawkins knew nothing about your problems! Why he was shocked, shocked that there was gambling going on there!"
I rolled my eyes at the reference to Casablanca. Outstanding movie, although Marilyn never appreciated it all that much. Featherstone had just told me that Hawkins was in it up to his eyeballs.
Featherstone went on to explain, "The general was very disappointed in your improper radio procedures, but certainly didn't consider that much of an offense. Instead, he ordered the Provost Marshal, Major Carmichael, to investigate. It was Carmichael who decided you had violated every precept of good military order and needed to be punished, not the general."
"Uh, huh.", I muttered.
"Yes. Major Carmichael explained, however, that he never knew what was happening in the basement. He had told Staff Sergeant Walsley that he wanted you to confess, but not that you were to be harmed. He just wanted him to talk to you, and convince you of the error of your ways."
"Shit flows downhill, huh, Colonel?"
"You seem to have a succinct grasp of the situation, Captain Buckman.", agreed Colonel Featherstone.
"Crap!"
"Needless to say, once I began investigating, General Hawkins allowed me to clear up all the confusion. I was able to interview all the men who dropped with you, your commanding officer, your regular troops, even the helo crew that pulled you out. That's where I've been for the last few days, after I put you on the plane here. Chasing down everything. That's why I couldn't let you talk to anybody until I got things settled down."
"Is that your job? Pentagon fixer?"
Featherstone gave me a ghostly smile. "Why? You need any tickets taken care of, Captain?"
I snorted at that. Featherstone was the Army JAG Corps hammer, sent out to fix problems. Every outfit has one. He'd never make general, but nobody, not even generals, wanted to piss him off. "So what happened to my men?", I asked.
"Which ones? Battery B or Company C?"
That made me start for a second. I had almost forgotten about Battery B, my regular outfit! "Both."
"Lieutenant Fletcher took the battery back to Bragg a few days ago. They left their 105s behind as a gift to the Honduran Army. They'll be getting new ones back at home."
I nodded at that. I had heard that was under consideration. Now they would have new toys to play with, even if they were the same model as before. "And Company C?"
"They've gone home, too. Private Smith is probably medicalled out, but you saved his leg and his life. The doctors said another day and he'd have lost the leg for sure. The other guys just got some sprains and strains mostly."
"Good. They're damn fine troops, all of them.", I replied.
"They thought quite highly of you, too. By the time I talked to them, Company C was considering an assault on the headquarters building, and Battery B was going to provide artillery support. That idiot second john they had wasn't very popular, that's for sure. What's your take on him?", asked Featherstone.
"I'm guessing that he's the one who filed the complaint with the Provost Marshal."