Fic: Sparkling Stars XIII: Court-Martial (2/7)
Title: Sparkling Stars XIII: Court-Martial (2/7)
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters: Elroy Carpenter, Wally Binghamton, El Plummer, Arlen Spencer, Anne Belson, Christy/Virgil, Quinton McHale, Chuck Parker, Joseph 'Happy' Haines, Harrison 'Tinker' Bell, Thomas Jasco, Morton Dedrick, Douglas Gray, Mike Bartowski, Jack Kennedy, Jamie O'Shea, Harrison Mencken, Molly Turner, John 'Max' Maxwell
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: The court-martial begins.
Date Of Completion: March 13, 2023
Date Of Posting: March 25 2023
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Universal does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1753
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
The entire series can be found here.
II
OPENING STATEMENTS
"Slave cases are always a nuisance."
Admiral Hendrik Van Muesen
Judge Advocate General's Office
January 16, 1942
"What in the Blue Pacific is going on here?" Captain Binghamton was red-faced with outrage as he faced the Sergeant of the Guard. The Marine was stoic, letting the captain play out his rant.
Lieutenant Elroy Carpenter glanced sympathetically at the sergeant. Once Captain Binghamton got on a roll, your ears got singed. Sometimes even your eyebrows.
"Today starts an important court-martial here on Taratupa. Admiral Rogers and the rest of ComFleet will be watching this trial. And now key pieces of evidence were stolen under Marine guard."
"We're investigating, sir."
"You'd better investigate! In the name of Halsey, you had better do just that!"
Elroy could have sworn the captain's glasses were steaming up.
Binghamton paced up and down the hall outside the storage room. The reel of film and envelope of still photos were gone.
"It's probably a miracle both cameras are here! If the evidence didn't help McHale and his pirates, I'd figure they did it. Any clues, Sergeant Plummer?"
"No, sir." Elwood Plummer, 'El' to his friends, was a man of average build, bright blue eyes, and sandy hair cut in a crew cut. Despite his relative youth (he was twenty-six), he was a grizzled veteran of Guadalcanal but had been wounded.
After some time in a Navy hospital, he was assigned to Taratupa, the doctors deciding he could get back to full strength with a post that saw action but not the constant intensity of Guadalcanal. He had been making good progress, and now this. "We will find the culprits, sir."
Binghamton paused in his rant, suddenly feeling guilty. He knew Plummer's war record and was acutely aware of his own non-combat record. He sighed.
"All right, get to it, boy."
"Yes, sir "
Plummer went back into the storage room.
"C'mon, Carpenter, we have to meet the judges at the airstrip."
"Yes, sir."
The two officers went outside and got into a jeep.
& & & & & &
Meanwhile, Arlen and Anne were meeting with McHale and his crew on the Island. Virgil sat silently while his skipper and crewmates vented their anger and disbelief.
"So Virgil suffered for nothing!" snapped Christy.
"Not necessarily," said Arlen.
"The evidence is gone, man."
"But we still have witnesses."
"Okay, then let's go over the testimony again. Chuck, call Binghamton and see if the trial's been delayed," McHale said.
"Right, Skip." The exec hurried off to the communications shack.
"Willy, you and Virgil are going to be our star witnesses," said Arlen.
"I guess that's all we've got," McHale said
"Yes, and we'll have to go forward with no physical evidence."
"Who could have stolen the evidence?" asked Happy.
"Friends of Garcia's, I suppose," said McHale.
"That guy has friends?* asked Tinker.
Everyone laughed despite the tension. Christy stood behind Virgil and rested his hand on his friend's shoulders.
"I'll leave the detective work to the gumshoes," Arlen said. "Right now the trial is top priority."
"Right" said McHale. "If we're lucky, the court-martial will be delayed a few days because of the missing evidence."
Arlen and Anne brainstormed out loud for the next ten minutes when Chuck returned. "No soap, Skip. The court-martial stays on."
"What?!"
"Yeah, Carpy says Binghamton wanted a delay but the judges nixed that."
"Oh, great. All right, you swabs, dress whites. The court-martial starts in an hour."
The men went off to the crew quarters, grumbling all the way.
"C'mon, Chuck, we've got to change, too."
After the duo left, Arlen sighed. "We're really screwed. And .."
"Sir, take a deep breath." Anne's tone was sympathetic. "You're a great lawyer. You'll roll with this punch."
Arlen smiled. "Okay, let's do this."
She nodded in satisfaction.
& & & & & &
McHale and the crew went to the base on board the PT-73 while Arlen and Anne motored back in the gig they had used to get to the Island. Arlen enjoyed the sea spray in his face as he piloted the small boat. This was going to be a tough case, but as Anne said, they would roll with the punches.
"Let's go faster, Commander," Anne urged.
"I'm with you, Lieutenant. Time to rev this baby up!" Arlen went full throttle.
Anne took off her hat and let the wind whip through her hair. She would have to do some major repair work, but so what? She could get Molly Turner and some of the other nurses to help. Right now all that mattered was the joy of the open sea.
The two boats tied up at the Taratupa dock. They hurried to the building that would serve as the courthouse, a Quonset hut already reflecting sunlight off its silver sides.
The hut was jammed with supporters of both sides. The hubbub was loud, and Captain Binghamton arrived, taking a front-row seat behind the defense table. He was not indicating support for either side, but it was not practical to sit in the aisle.
The three judges sat at the table, elevated on a small stage. The officer on the left, a slender blond man who looked very young, was Commander Thomas Jasco. The man on the right was a brown-haired dandy, Commander Morton Dedrick, his uniform impeccable and his hair slicked back.
In the center was the true power, Commodore Douglas Gray, a robust man with thick brown hair and a craggy face. Pale blue eyes roved around the room as he shuffled, the papers in front of him.
Arlen felt a headache coming on. Commodore Gray was not only a hard-ass, but he was notoriously disdainful of slaves as part of the judicial process. He was the worst possible Chief Justice to preside over the court-martial. He exchanged a despairing look with Anne, who had done a quick touch-up on her hair with Molly's help.
Virgil was sitting next to Christy behind the prosecution table. Christy wanted to hold his hand but sensed Virgil wanted to be in Crew Mode rather than Slave Mode right then.
Gray rapped his gavel. "Court will come to order."
The hubbub died down. The lawyers stopped shuffling papers and Arlen shot to his feet. "Commodore, I request a delay in this trial "
"Denied, Commander Spencer."
"But, sir, our evidence..."
"I am well aware about your evidence. However, this is wartime and minor cases must be moved along."
Minor case? Well, he's not bothering to hide his bias. Arlen was tempted to argue further, but it was no use. I've got to pick my battles. He sat down.
"Present your opening statement, Commander Spencer," sid Gray.
"Thank you, sir." Arlen rose. "Respected judges, may I say this is most definitely a case worthy of consideration. This is a case of medical malfeasance. The patient, Gunner's Mate Virgil Edwards, was under the care of the staff at the Taratupa Base Hospital. He expected healing care, not abuse. Our witnesses will detail that abuse, and as for our physical evidence, it went missing as of this morning."
This created an astonished hubbub as most of the people in this building was hearing this news for the first time. Behind the prosecution table Mike Bartowski tapped McHale on the shoulder from the row behind him.
"Quint, for real?"
"Yeah "
"Damn."
"You ain't kiddin'."
Bartowski sat back, shaking his head. In the row behind him, Jack Kennedy frowned, and Jamie O'Shea looked worriedly at Virgil two rows up. Virgil was looking very unhappy.
"This case is not just about slaves in the United States Navy, but sailors. Dr. Garcia obviously forgot that slaves are also seamen, as is Gunner's Mate Virgil Edwards. What doctor delivers pain instead of alleviating it?"
Arlen had plenty of admirers behind the prosecution table for his opening statement, and one if them was Christy, who was also worried about Virgil. He could feel the tension radiating from his friend. Virgil was pale and his fingers were knotted tightly together in his lap.
"We will prove that Commander Edward Garcia is guilty of the serious charge of slave torture."
After Arlen finished, Gray said, "Your opening statement, Commander Mencken."
Harrison Mencken rose to his feet. He was a big man beginning a pot belly but still looked strong with wide shoulders and thick legs. His hair was silky-white and his florid face's defining feature was a bulbous nose, but his blue eyes were sharp. He was also one of the best lawyers in the Judge Advocate General's Office.
"Thank you, Commodore Gray." Mencken came out from behind the prosecutor's table. "I am here to prove that these charges are frivolous. It is a waste of time. Prosecuting a highly competent doctor for slave torture? Nonsense! He was just doing his job. There is no concrete evidence to back up these ridiculous claims."
Behind the prosecution table, spectators rumbled. Mike Bartowski and the crew of the PT-87 we're here, and so we're Jack Kennedy and his men of the 109. Molly and several hospital personnel, though some were sitting behind the prosecution table.
"Let him run his mouth," Anne whispered to Arlen.
On the same page.
"We will prove to you that this case is only worthy of one thing: dismissal."
Mencken sat down as if the whole court-martial was just a triviality.
"Call your first witness, Commander Spencer." Gray waved his hand almost dismissively.
"I call Radioman William Moss."
& & & & & &
Sergeant Plummer lit a cigarette as he stood on the dock. He watched a destroyer chug its way out to sea.
"Sarge?"
"Yeah, Max?"
Private John 'Max' Maxwell, a stocky 19-year-old who had also seen action on Guadalcanal, ambled up to his sergeant. "Got any ideas?"
"Nope, not brilliant ideas or crappy ones, either."
Max laughed. "Not a bad idea to come down here to get a fresh perspective."
"True."
"Beats a beachhead on Guadalcanal."
"Doubly true." El threw down the cigarette and ground it under his boot. "How many slave-haters do you think are on this base?"
" 'Bout a dozen."
El shook his head. "I don't mean those who don't give a crap about slaves. I'm talking the hard-core haters."
"Oh, then about three or four."
El nodded slowly.
Max cocked his head. "You think the slave-haters stole the evidence?"
"Why not? They'd want to back Garcia."
"You think Garcia's a slave-hater?"
"The charges certainly indicate that."
"Then let's work that angle."
"Let's." El looked in the direction of the courthouse. "Hope Lieutenant Commander Spencer can pull a rabbit out of his hat while we search for the thieves."
"Amen to that."
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