Wrath of the Savage by Charles G. West Page A

before informing him that his trial would be held this morning. It had been two days of anguish and disbelief that the army he had sworn to honor and serve could so drastically turn its back on him. Racking his brain, he could not recall when he had been so harsh on McCoy or Weaver to warrant such a hateful vengeance. Their only motive had to be to cover up their own cowardice. There was no doubt in Bret’s mind that Weaver had fallen asleep at his post. Then when he could have joined in the fight to repel the warriors, he chose to run instead. Had he been awake and alert, he could have saved the lives of his fellow soldiers. That was certainly motive enough for lying.
    His thoughts were interrupted then when he heard the guards coming to open the cell door. “Time to go, Lieutenant,” one of them announced. They stood outside the cell and waited while he walked out to be marched over to the post headquarters.
    â€œGood luck, Lieutenant,” one of the other prisoners called after him, sarcastically, causing a titter of chuckles from the other three prisoners. Bret ignored them, much as he had ignored them during the two days he shared the common lockup with the enlisted men, all privates. He had not been allowed the courtesy normally shown an officer, even under arrest, and he had to assume that was because he had already been stripped of his rank in the absentia trial. He only hoped that in this reenactment common sense and the word of an officer would prevail, and this nightmare would be over.
    He would never forget the walk across the parade ground when every soldier on work details he passed stopped to gawk at him as if he were a traitor. When he was escorted into the post commander’s office, he was confronted with a panel of three officers, headed by Colonel Grice. Lieutenant Oakes was on one side of him, while Bret’s company commander, Captain Greer, was on the other. They sat at a table that had been placed beside the colonel’s desk, and he was directed to a chair facing them. On the other side of the desk were two empty chairs. Before sitting down, he snapped to attention and saluted. None of the three returned his salute.
    â€œAll right,” Grice began. “Let’s get this thing under way. Just so there is no misunderstanding, this hearing has been called merely as a courtesy to the defendant. A proper verdict on Lieutenant Hollister’s conduct on the night of July nineteenth has already been decided. But since we now have the opportunity to hear the defendant’s testimony, we will grant him that privilege.” Looking at the guards then, he said, “Bring in the witnesses.”
    Bret almost came out of his chair when Privates Brice McCoy and Thomas Weaver entered the room and sat down in the two chairs. The sight of the two malcontents made his blood boil, especially when Weaver favored him with a sneer.
    Addressing Bret again, Colonel Grice laid down the rules. “Be advised that, since this is an inquiry, your testimony will be confined to the answering of questions from any of the three of us. Is that understood?”
    â€œWell, sir,” Bret replied, not sure he was going to be allowed to give his complete side of the story. “I had hoped I’d get a chance to tell exactly what happened on the night we were attacked.”
    â€œYou’ll get that chance as long as you answer the questions,” Grice said. “We’ll start with the eyewitness report—Private Weaver.”
    â€œI object,” Bret immediately exclaimed. “Private Weaver wasn’t even among the survivors when the fighting was over.” He was immediately reprimanded by the colonel.
    Weaver made a convincing attempt to appear sincere as he related a fallacious account of the events on the night in question, during which he and McCoy performed heroically in their effort to repel the hostile attack. “And where was Lieutenant Hollister while this was