It was a simple affair. Someone rigged up a PA system using a CB loudspeaker so Morgan could bring things to order. Detective Holzman presented his findings, starting with the incident in the trailer park and culminating with Farrell’s death at my hands. For my part, all I had to do was repeat the same story I had told several times earlier. Captain Morgan declared that I had acted in self-defense and would not be charged with any crimes. He then explained to his troops that my actions were justified, and if anyone so much as looked at me crossways, he would put his boot up so far up their ass they would taste shoe polish. That seemed to get the message across.

Finally, a couple of armed sergeants brought Private Stanhouse forward. Morgan told the assembled crowd that the young man had confessed to aiding and abetting a deserter, and if not for his actions, none of the tragic events that happened afterward would have occurred. Finished, he asked the kid what he had to say for himself.

Most of it was unintelligible. He was weeping and shivering with fear, but I got the impression he was trying to apologize. If the previous night’s events had happened to someone else, I might have felt sorry for the kid. I might have wanted Morgan to show him mercy and find some form of punishment that would teach him his lesson, but let him continue on in life.

But it didn’t happen to someone else. It happened to Lauren and me.

Lastly, Morgan asked my father and me to come forth and say what we wanted to the soldier. I declined; I had nothing to say to him. My father, however, did.

“I don’t give a damn if you’re sorry,” he told the weeping soldier. “That bastard Farrell raped my wife and tried to kill my son. You abandoned your duties and deliberately let that happen. And for what? A box of whiskey?” He spit in the soldier’s face. “Rot in hell.”

To Morgan, he said, “You want my advice? Shoot the fucker. Hell, I’ll even do it for you.”

The captain thought it over for most of a full minute. His expression was stoic, but I could see the turmoil behind his eyes. The crowd stayed silent, waiting. Finally, he picked up the microphone.

“Desertion has become a rampant problem in the Army. Our responsibilities are now too grave to allow an offense like this to be punished lightly. For those of you thinking about striking out on your own, I would remind you of the oath you swore to defend the people of this country. To abandon your duties now, in a time of such profound turmoil, is the height of selfishness and irresponsibility. And I, for one, will not abide it.”

He turned to the trembling soldier and stared at him flatly. “You knowingly aided and abetted a deserter. Worse, you allowed a criminal to harm one of the very people he was charged with protecting. Now that soldier is dead, and an innocent woman will have to live with the aftermath of a sexual assault for the rest of her life. There is a reason why desertion is a crime, soldier. And you have crossed the line.”

Raising his voice, he said, “Private Lawrence Stanhouse, I hereby sentence you to death. Your execution will be carried out immediately.”

A stir of whispers flowed through the crowd, the soldiers looking back and forth at each other in disbelief. Private Stanhouse went ghost white, his mouth hanging open in raw shock. Morgan turned to my father and offered him his sidearm. Dad took it, glaring coldly at the doomed man.

The two armed sergeants half-dragged, half-carried the private outside the gate kicking and screaming and begging the whole way. Dad followed a few paces behind, his face a mask of hate.

Morgan ordered the soldiers in the crowd to remain where they were and stand at attention. To one of his aides, he quietly gave orders to arrange a burial detail once he had dismissed everyone. We all stood in silence, military and civilian alike, until a few minutes later, a single report thundered across the field. Morgan stood with his hands clasped behind his back as the echo faded, then turned smartly and picked up the microphone.

“Let me make myself abundantly clear,” he said. “I. Am. Done. Fucking. Around. Discipline has been getting worse and worse since we left San Antonio, and I will tolerate it no further. Senior NCOs and squad leaders, you had better straighten your people the up, or so help me, I will come down on you like the hammer of God. The rest of you, I strongly suggest you get the fuck in line. There will be no more incidents like this one. There will be no more incidents PERIOD. Do I make myself clear?”

Stridently, in unison, the troops shouted, “YES SIR!”

“Very well. Dismissed.”

Behind me, I heard Lola say, “I can’t believe that just happened.”

Soft hands wrapped around my arm, and I looked down to see Sophia staring up at me with tears in her eyes. “Caleb, I am so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

I pulled her close, kissed the top of her head, and said, “There’s nothing to say, Sophia. Now we just have to try to move on.”

“What about Lauren. Is she going to be all right?”

I didn’t have an answer for that, so I held her and said nothing.

*****

Lauren was doing remarkably well.

Night had fallen, and the medics finally allowed me to visit her in the medical tent. She was sitting up on her cot eating a bowl of soup when I walked in.

“Hi there, sweetheart.” She put her bowl down on a small table and let me kneel and pull her into a hug.

“How are you holding up?” I asked.

“I’ve been better, Caleb. I’ve been better.”

“Are you in pain?” I whispered. “I have some pain meds stashed in my pack. You can have them if you want.”

The look of relief in her eyes made me want to weep. “Oh God, that would be so great. They don’t have much to give me here. My … um … you know, they had to stitch things up.”

This time, there was no stopping the tears. I felt them flow down my cheeks and pulled the woman who had raised me like her own into my arms and rocked her back and forth, bitterness and rage and despair warring for dominance. “I’m so sorry Lauren. I wish I had gotten there sooner.”

She hugged me back, and I felt warm wetness spread on my shirt where she pressed her face against it. “Don’t, Caleb. You did the best you could. You saved me. Again.”

We stayed that way, holding each other. Finally, I let go and sat down on the cot beside her. We talked for a while, mostly about how Dad was doing. I asked if she wanted to see him yet, and she said she wasn’t sure she was ready. I used the conversation as a pretext to surreptitiously fish the bottle of pills from my pack and stash them under her pillow. She watched me do it, and mouthed, Thank you.

I leaned in and whispered, “It’s oxycodone, so don’t take more than one every eight hours, okay?”

She hugged me again, her face turned away, and said, “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

A few minutes later, Lauren said she was happy to see me, but she was very tired. “And I’m not going to lie,” she added. “I’m really looking forward to taking one of those pills.”

“I understand.” I kissed her on her cheek and asked, “Anything else you need from me?”

“Just one thing. If you could send Lola by, I would appreciate it. I need her to get something for me.”

“What is it? Maybe I can get it for you.”

She flushed and said, “No, honey. I’d prefer if it was her. Girl stuff, you know.”

“Oh. Say no more. See you in the morning, Lauren.”

“Goodnight, sweetie.”

I hugged her one last time and left.

*****

The next morning, I woke up to the smell of food cooking and Sophia’s warm body next to mine.

While I was visiting Lauren the night before, Mike had hauled the camper outside the gate and left it by the side of the road, so we were all sleeping in tents. Not that I begrudged Mike for getting rid of the camper; blowing Farrell’s brains out had made a hell of a mess. Furthermore, I could only imagine how traumatic it would be for Lauren to see the camper again and be reminded of what happened to her there. I would sleep on a bed of nails if it spared my stepmother that pain.