"Yeah. But it should be show in the opposite direction.
That is to say, a railroad that doesn't look like a railroad."
"Well, even if it is, what good does that do me?"
Tommy paused.
"That's the twenty-five-cent question, isn't it?"
Scott nodded. For a moment he seemed deep in thought.
"I think we learned something else, too. But of course, there's not enough time to do anything about it," the black flier added.
"What's that?" Renaday asked.
Scott looked up into the sky.
"You know what I hate about this damn weather?" he asked rhetorically.
He answered his own question immediately.
"It's that one minute the sun comes out, you can take off your shirt and feel the warmth and you think that maybe there's some hope, and then you wake up the next day and it seems like winter's back and there's nothing but storms and cold winds on the horizon." He sighed, took out the candy bar, and once again broke off a piece for each of them.
"I might not be needing this much longer," he said. Then he twisted toward Hugh.
"What I learned from this little get-together," he said slowly, "is what we should have assumed from the start. That the chief prosecutor is willing to lie about what he saw right in front of the commanding officer. What we should be wondering about is what other lie he's got planned."
This observation caught Tommy by surprise, though upon an instant's reflection, he believed that it was absolutely accurate.
He warned himself: There's a lie somewhere. He just didn't know where it was. But that didn't mean he shouldn't be ready for it.
Tommy glanced down at his watch.
"We'd better get a move on," he said.
"Wouldn't want to be late," Scott said.
"Though I'm not sure that showing up is such a really great idea, either."
Hugh smiled and waved at the nearest guard tower. Two cold goons were huddled in the center, trapped by the wind.
"You know what we should do, Tommy? Wait until everybody's gathered at the trial and then just walk out the front gate like those Brits tried.
Maybe nobody'd notice."
Scott laughed.
"We probably wouldn't get too far. I have my doubts that there are a whole lot of Negroes walking around Germany right at this moment. I don't think we're to be included in the great Nazi master plan. Which might make it a little tricky for me to be out and about in the countryside, escaping."
Scott continued to snort with amusement.
"Isn't that the damnedest thing, when you think about it? I'm probably the only guy in all of Stalag Luft Thirteen the Krauts don't have to guard. I mean, where could I go? How could I hide? A little hard for me to blend in with the local populace and go unnoticed, wouldn't you say? No matter how I was dressed, or what sort of forged documents I had, I still think I just might stand out a little."
He pushed himself off the wall, straightening up, still grinning.
"Time to go, counselor," Scott said.
Tommy nodded. He glanced over at the black flier and thought that Scott would be a fine sort to have at one's side in any fair fight. For an instant he wondered how his old captain from West Texas would 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.