“Enter,” came the voice from inside. She opened the door and walked in. Two steps in front of the desk, she snapped to attention and saluted.
Captain Willis glanced up at her and returned the salute. “At ease, Lieutenant,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
Mathers relaxed rather than actually moving into the at-ease position. “Sir,” she began, “it’s the Sergeant Foster case. I’ve got reason to believe there could be a valid defense in his psychological history, but every attempt I’ve made to get access to it has been denied.”
Willis put down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “Lieutenant, have you considered the possibility that there are forces at work here that you simply cannot overcome?”
She leaned forward and put her hands on the front of his desk. “Not really,” she said. “Do you know something I don’t know?”
Willis gave her a grin that might have signified patience, if it had been bestowed upon an errant child. “I don’t know anything that you couldn’t find out, if you would simply do a little research. I’ll simplify it for you, though. Do you have any idea who the victims were in this case? Particularly the highest-ranking victim?”
Mathers felt her eyebrows lowering and gathering together in the center, as she leaned her head to the right. “Lieutenant Gibson? I got a copy of his service record, just like I did for all of the victims. What’s so special about him?”
The captain chuckled. “Didn’t read that service record very closely, did you?” Willis asked. “First Lieutenant Daniel Gibson, son of Republican Congressman Charles Oliver Gibson of Virginia. Congressman Gibson has held his seat for more than fourteen years, and there are rumors that he may be preparing to run for president. Your boy popped a cap on his firstborn, and I can flat guarantee you that TJAG is probably getting more pressure to see Foster convicted and executed than in just about any other case in Army history.”
Mathers stood there for a moment, still leaning on the desk. “According to Foster, it was Lieutenant Gibson who actually committed murder in this case, as well as committing rape and condoning both crimes among his men, and frankly, if he’s the son of an American politician, then I’m more inclined to believe Sergeant Foster than ever. All that aside, what about the fact that we’re supposed to provide the best possible defense? If I’m right, then Foster should not be standing court-martial at all. This is a man who apparently suffered a great mental and emotional trauma when he was a child, and now suffers from PTSD. The little bit I’ve managed to uncover suggests that he has no functioning emotional framework, which would indicate that he is incapable of understanding the difference between right and wrong on a moral level, and can only perceive it in the context of concrete rules. To him, those rules would indicate that the rapes and murders of innocent girls called for him to take action, which he did.”
“And who was it that appointed him to dispense justice on the lieutenant and his men? Granted, if he’s telling the truth, and that’s a big if, then Lieutenant Gibson should have been brought to justice, but there are established procedures. Foster should have simply made a report upon his return to the rear, and allowed his superior officers to determine what charges, if any, the lieutenant should face. Nowhere in the Uniform Code of Military Justice does it ever state that a noncommissioned officer should judge, pass sentence and execute the same on an officer. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut until he got back, and make a report to his unit commander. Instead, he blew the brains out of a lieutenant with serious political connections. If you want to destroy your own career by trying to save this idiot’s life, then by all means, be my guest, but if you are capable of listening to reason, then you should get it through your head that there is no way you’re going to pull it off. The congressman wants blood, and blood he is going to get.”
Mathers continued to stand there for another moment, then suddenly went back to attention. “Yes, Sir,” she said, just before snapping a perfect salute and executing a parade-ground-perfect about-face. She walked out of the office without looking back to see if the captain returned the salute.
Back in her own office, she sat down in her chair and looked at the open file on her desk. Sergeant Foster looked back at her from the photo that was paper clipped to it, and she felt a sense of shame as she stared into his two-dimensional eyes.