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"The next step in the process," Ba
"In other words, sir," McCoy said, with a "sir" that bordered on silent insubordination, "I could count on being a busted Marine looking for a new home?''
"For Christ's sake, McCoy, you killed two people! You can't expect to get off scot-free!"
"Sir," PFC McCoy said, "no disrespect intended, but they gave me the court-martial manual to read, and in there it says I can have the defense counsel of my choice."
Ba
"That is your right," he said, stiffly. "Who would you like to have defend you?"
"My company commander, sir."
"You can't have him, because he is your company commander. Neither can you have your platoon leader.''
"Then Lieutenant Kaye, sir, the assistant supply officer."
With a massive effort, Captain Ba
"McCoy," he said. "I'm going to give you twenty-four hours to think this over. I want you to carefully consider your position."
"Yes, sir," PFC McCoy said.
(Three)
On the way to his office from the infirmary, Captain Ba
And PFC McCoy was not doing himself any good. If he went to trial and pleaded not guilty, he was digging his own grave. He was not being tried for stabbing the two Italians, but to make the point to the other Marines that they couldn't go around killing people.
If he went along with that, in three months he would be a free man at San Diego or Quantico, with only the loss of a stripe to show for having killed two men.
If he a
PFC McCoy stood a very good chance of finding himself locked up in the Portsmouth Naval Prison for thirty years to life.
Captain Ba
To prove self-defense he would need witnesses. The only witnesses right now were two Italian marines. They were prepared to testify that they were minding their own business when McCoy drew a knife on them, whereupon one of their number drew a pistol in self-defense.
When he went back to his office after lunch, Ba
Ba
He wound up talking to a Detective Sergeant Chatworth. Chat worth sat at an old wooden desk covered with papers. As Ba
Ba
"Right," Chatworth said, looking at Ba
"Thanks, no," Ba
"I mean, Christ," he went on, lighting up. "Don't you have any loyalty towards your own? For the sake of Italians? Really!" He inhaled deep, savoring it. Then blew out. "And besides, I know the boy. McCoy is a good one. Protect him. You don't find his class all that often."
"That may be." Ba
"And then on top of that," Ba
"So?" Chatworth said, begi
"And so, Sergeant, I'm desperate. Could you people possibly help us and see if you can find some Chinese who (a) saw the fight and (b) would be willing to testify in McCoy's behalf at his court-martial?"
Rather abruptly, Detective Sergeant Chatworth turned his attention back to his papers.
"I'll look into the matter," he said, dropping the now-dead cigarette on the floor and snuffing it out with his heel. "And I'll be in touch with you in due course."
Ba
Ba
And he told Milla about McCoy.
She was sympathetic. To him. She felt sorry for him that he had a problem with McCoy.
Later she consoled him in bed, which was usually enough to make him happy as hell. But not this time.
As he watched her get dressed to go to work, he tormented himself with fantasies of other men watching her naked, as she was now. And touching her naked flesh, as he had just done… which was sure as hell going to happen if he didn't marry her and get himself booted out of the Corps.
After she left, he hit the whiskey again, and ended up with some drunken ideas. He could go to trial and try to play on the sympathy of the court-martial board, paint PFC McCoy as a saint in uniform who was the i
(Four)
At eight- fifteen the next morning, as Captain Ba