Fic: Sparkling Stars XIII: Court-Martial (1/7)
Title: Sparkling Stars XIII: Court-Martial (1/7)
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters: Mildred Hanover, Helen Sheffield, Christy/Virgil, Joseph 'Happy' Haines, Lester Gruber, Mike Bartowski, Billy Jurgens, Quinton McHale, Harrison 'Tinker' Bell, Arlen G. Spencer, Anne Belson, Willy Moss
,
Fandom: McHale's Navy
Genres: Angst, AU, Drama, Historical, Hurt/Comfort
Rating (this chapter): G
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
General Summary: The Garcia court-martial begins. Will Virgil and his fellow slaves finally get justice?
Chapter Summary: Preparation for the court-martial begins.
Date Of Completion: March 2, 2023
Date Of Posting: March 7, 2023
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Universal does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 2137
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
The entire series can be found here.
I
PREPARATION
"Slave witnesses? You could put a golden retriever on the stand and he would be worth as much, if not more.'
Boca Baton
Editor
"The Slave-Haters' Journal"
May 4, 1940
Mildred Hanover sat on her bunk bed, thinking about recent events. Dr. Edward Garcia, one of the best doctors on staff, was facing court-martial with the charge of slave torture.
He was only giving the slaves what they deserved.
Mildred knew that Garcia was a slave-hater, and he simply could not pass up the opportunity when it presented itself. She and the other slave-haters would just have to figure something out to help him. She would have to consult with her fellow slave-haters.
She was on her way to the showers when Helen Sheffield called, "Phone, Mildred!"
"Thanks," Mildred said. She took the hall phone and Helen headed to the communal bathroom. "Lieutenant Hanover here. Oh, hello. Yes, the court-martial is scheduled to start next week." She looked around to see if anyone was waiting to use the phone. No one was around. They were all too busy getting ready for the start of shift.
"They must have evidence. Yes, yes, I know." She shook her head. "We might have the contact you need. Not everyone thinks slaves are the bee's knees." She laughed. "Should be quite the show." She listened intently. "I hear you. Keep up the good work. 'Bye."
Mildred hung up and hurried to the showers, her mind racing with ideas.
& & & & & &
"How ya doin', Virg?" Happy asked as they trudged down from the showers.
"Okay, Hap."
Happy was all too aware of Virgil's wounds as they walked naked from the showers in sandals and nothing else, carrying towels and bars of soap. Molly had cautioned Virgil to keep an eye out for infection, and his crewmates intended to keep watch as well.
"Fuji's cooking fresh eggs today. You up for that?" Sometimes Virgil's digestive system could not tolerate eggs.
"I can."
"Good." Happy smiled though he was concerned.
They reached the crew quarters and Virgil sat on his bunk while Gruber took out the healing cream, rubbing it in his hands. Christy smiled at Virgil. Since he had been Virgil's caretaker in the hospital, his other Masters were doing their share
"Ready?" Gruber held out his hands.
"Ready." Virgil hissed quietly as Gruber spread the cream over his stomach wounds.
"Sorry, kid." Gruber's touch was gentle. "Better wear just your shorts again. The air is healing your injuries pretty well."
"That's good."
Gruber lightly touched Virgil's stomach. "You're going to be fine, Virg."
Virgil certainly hoped so.
& & & & & &
Later that morning, Mike Bartowski arrived at the Island dock. The gig was piloted by Billy Jurgens. As Bartowski shook hands with McHale, Billy walked over to Virgil, who was cleaning his machine gun on the 73.
"Hi, Billy."
"Hi, Virg." Billy hopped aboard the boat. "You're lookin' good."
"I feel a lot better."
"I'm glad." Billy folded his arms as he leaned against the turret. "You've got the court-martial coming up."
"Yeah." Virgil concentrated on his task.
"You have to testify, huh?"
"Yes, I do."
Billy grimaced. "I don't envy you."
"I don't envy me."
Billy crossed his arms. "They won't believe you."
"I don't know about that."
"You know."
Virgil cleaned his gun harder. "We've got to try." He shrugged. "Though I suppose you're right."
"I know I'm right." Suddenly Billy felt guilty about his pessimism. "Who are the panel officers?"
"We don't know yet."
Billy shook his head. "Well, let's hope they don't send hard-asses."
"Or slave-haters?"
"Yeah, or slave-haters." Billy huffed "Damn it, Virgil. Slave-haters are...are..."
"I know." Virgil rested a hand on his gun.
The two men gazed out over the ocean, silent for several minutes. Finally Virgil broke the silence.
"We've got to try, Billy. We won't have better allies."
Billy sighed. "I guess you're right. I just worry we're going to be kicked in the teeth, as usual."
"Slaves aren't natural optimists, are we?" Virgil said with a little smile.
Billy snorted. "Nope."
Tinker approached the boat. "Hey, Billy! You and your skipper are staying for lunch! You and Virgil get down here."
"Okay, Tink," said Virgil. He and Billy jumped down from the boat and Virgil pointed. "The cook shack's over there. I've got to stow this cleaning stuff."
"Okay." Billy headed off as Virgil went to the supply hut. He stowed away the rags and cleaning fluids and washed his hands. He paused as the water sluiced over his hands.
Billy's right, but I still gotta try.
He reached the cook shack/mess hut just as Happy was ladling out vegetable soup. He is was on KP duty this week and pretended the meal was his creation. Fuji had emptied cans of Campbell's vegetable soup into a big pot, adding fresh ingredients from his kitchen garden. Of course Fuji was nowhere to be seen and Happy took the credit for the soup and crusty, homemade bread.
"I thought you were the genius cook around here, Quint," said Bartowski as he broke his hunk of bread in half and reached for the butter.
"Huh?"
"Didn't Binghamton take Tinker as the fabulous cook of chicken Polynesian and sukiyaki but it turned out to be you, and you cooked up a mess of sukiyaki for Admiral Stryker?"
McHale, who had a hard time toasting bread without burning it, heartily said, "Of course, of course! Well, you know how it is, Mike, command takes up a lot of time. I gave my boys lessons so they can take turns cooking when on KP."
"Huh, you should give lessons throughout the flotilla. I could use some new inspiration for my cook, and Jack Kennedy's cook has two specialties: Spam and peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches."
"Why don't they just eat at the base mess hall?" asked Happy, sitting down to enjoy the meal, too.
"It's okay, but you sometimes have to eat on the run and don't have time to drop into the mess hall."
"Especially since Cookie's on leave and his replacement's no great shakes," said Billy.
"Isn't his replacement Salicek?" asked Tinker, adding pepper to his bowl of soup.
"Yeah, and he's murder. Jack's guys decided to stick with the Spam and PB&J sandwiches." Bartowski took a long swig of mango juice and McHale passed him the pitcher for a refill.
"Hoo boy," said Gruber, thinking wistfully of his racket selling Fuji's chicken Polynesian and sukiyaki dinners until it turned into a thing. What a killing he could be making! Maybe he could sneak a few dinners mainside...
He looked at Virgil. The Skipper had threatened flogging their slave, using him as an actual whipping boy if they entered into anymore schemes that could run them afoul of Binghamton.
He sighed. He didn't want to see Virgil down at that whipping post being punished instead of writhing under the kiss of the pleasure whip, a whole different thing.
Besides, Christy would kick my ass.
"You okay, Grube?" asked Tinker as everyone was laughing at a story Bartowski told with ribald panache.
"Sure, sure, I'm fine."
Tinker knew better, and Gruber knew he knew, but neither man said anything more on the subject, except for Tinker shaking his head.
"Well, this soup was way better than the chipped beef on toast at the base mess hall," said Bartowski.
"I should hope so! If not I'll turn in my chef's hat," said Happy. Several of his crewmates coughed.
"Well, thanks for the chow, Quint. Hey, Virgil, we'll be there at the court-martial."
"Thanks, Lieutenant," said Virgil.
"Let's shove off, Billy."
"Right, Skip." Billy threw Virgil a thumbs-up and followed his commander out of the cook shack.
It was going to be a long wait until the court-martial started.
& & & & & &
The next day Lieutenant Commander Arlen G. Spencer and his assistant Lieutenant Anne Belson arrived on McHale's Island. Arlen was a clean-cut young man with bright green eyes, light-brown hair and a square jaw. Broad shoulders filled out his uniform nicely. Anne was pretty with sandy hair, blue eyes, and a curvaceous figure that was duly noted.
"Hiya, Commander, Lieutenant," said McHale, shaking hands with the two of them.
"Nice to meet you, Commander," said Arlen. "Lieutenant Belson and I want to prep our witnesses for the court-martial."
"Great, let's camp out here at the picnic table. Tinker, tell Christy, Willy and Virgil to get over here."
"Right, Skip."
"Oh, and tell Happy to send out refreshments. Pineapple juice all right?" he asked his visitors, who answered affirmatively.
"Right, Skip "
McHale and his guests settled at the picnic table. Arlen set a briefcase down on the table and opened it as Anne set a second briefcase onto the wood surface.
"Radioman William Moss was the camera operator, correct?" asked Arlen.
"Correct," said McHale.
"He saw the events, so he's an eyewitness."
"We have a film of Garcia torturing Virgil."
"Which will be invaluable, but a human witness can help our case, too."
"What about Virgil's testimony?"
Happy showed up with glasses of pineapple juice and chocolate chip cookies they had bought at the PX.
"Thanks, Hap. So, what about Virgil?"
Arlen took a sip of juice. "Slave testimony is notoriously unreliable, according to judges and lawyers."
"He's also a sailor of the United States Navy."
"But this is a slave case. His testimony will be considered slave-tainted. And he can't make a positive I.D., anyway."
"So will you put him on the stand?"
"I'm not sure. We'll have to prep him, anyway."
The requested crewmen appeared at the table. Happy brought more refreshments and Arlen got down to business. "Tell us what you saw, Radioman Moss."
Willy described the torture and Virgil tried to hide his discomfort at listening to the details. His nipples were still incredibly tender and his wounds were painful when touched.
"Why were you there, Quartermaster?"
"I'm Virgil's Special Master."
Arlen raised an eyebrow. "You were there in command, Commander McHale, correct?"
"Correct."
"Gunner's Mate Edwards, tell us your story."
Virgil glanced at Anne, his discomfort increasing. "I, uh, pretended to be asleep."
He recounted his experience, aware of Christy sitting next to him. He tried to keep his voice steady. It would be good practice for the courtroom.
"And you never saw Dr. Garcia."
"No." Virgil sipped his juice through a straw. "I was blindfolded."
Arlen made a face. "Pity. Well, facts are facts. You can certainly describe the torture and its effects. That will be powerful testimony."
"It should be," McHale said. "Just listening to Willy describing the action that day was harrowing enough."
Christy squeezed Virgil's hand under the table and Virgil squeezed back.
"Lieutenant Belson and I will head back to the base later to view the film."
"And still photos. Molly Turner took them after we collared Garcia," said McHale.
"Yes, that's excellent."
"Have we got a strong case?"
"I think so. The film and photographic evidence will make the case."
"Good, good. Would you like to stay for lunch?"
"We really should be going. We'll grab something at the base mess hall."
"Okay, it's your funeral."
Arlen grinned. "That bad, huh?"
"Don't say I didn't warn you."
"Maybe we'll grab a coupla dogs at the PX."
The two visitors packed up and left, promising to come back tomorrow.
& & & & & &
During the week of prep, Arlen and Anne opted to eat lunch on the Island, a wise decision, said McHale. His crew nodded vociferously.
"The film and stills are great evidence," Arlen said. "Garcia clearly tortured Virgil, and the affidavits by the other slaves will help."
"Good to hear," said McHale.
They were sitting at the picnic table, which had become their go-to place for their meetings. A warm breeze rustled the palm trees.
"You know, this pineapple juice is so tropical. This setting is so beautiful. Pity the war affects the setting," said Anne.
"Yeah, pesky little war," said McHale with a laugh. "Now, can you tell me who the judges are?"
"Not yet," Arlen said.
"Is that unusual?"
"Nah, it's often close to the vest."
"I still don't like it."
"I don't blame you." Arlen held up his glass, turning it around and watching the sunlight sparkle on it. "Things aren't always what they seem in the Judge Advocate General's Office."
"We ought to know," Anne said with a smile.
"We noticed that the evidence is under Marine guard. "
"We do it up right here on Taratupa."
"Definitely." Arlen put the glass down on the table. "Okay, here's the deal: film and stills, Exhibits A and B. Affidavits, Exhibit C. We've got a line-up of witnesses: Willy, Christy, Virgil and you. That's a pretty solid line-up."
"Sounds like you're ready."
"We are."
& & & & & &
All looked like smooth sailing until the day of the court-martial, when it was discovered that the film and photo stills were missing.
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