Learning To Walk - A Soldier's Story by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 25

I was escorted back to the detention center where we were shown to a private room. I had been handcuffed just before leaving the courtroom. The only times they came off were when I was in my cell or in court. The four of us sat at the table as the agonizing wait began and there was no way of knowing how long the jury would be in deliberation. Randall quietly reviewed my case file as my parents sat staring at the table. The only other thing Randall would do was to prepare an argument for my sentencing trial. Everyone was exhausted as time crawled to a near standstill.

"How long should this take?" my father asked. Randall shook his head slightly.

"It could take an hour; it could a day," Randall answered. "But, we want them to take their time. The jury has to vote unanimously and the longer they take, the more uncertain they're going to be."

"What if they can't decide?" I asked. "If they can't make up their minds, then a mistrial is declared and we start over again," he answered. I immediately decided that I could not go through another trial and I certainly didn't want my parents going through it again. I just wanted it over. I would have been glad to do the twenty years, as long as it meant that I wouldn't have to go through this again. A little more than two hours went by when there was a knock at the door. Our apprehension was immediate as Randall got up and walked the short distance to it. Upon doing so, he was met by two armed guards who informed us the jury had finished its deliberations and that court was reconvening.

Ten minutes later, we were once again standing while the judge took his seat at the bench. The jury soon followed, taking their seats right after the judge gaveled the court to order. According to procedure, one of the jury members had been assigned as foreman. This was the only person who could deliver the words that would mold my fate. The judge silently requested a handwritten note from the foreman. Upon receiving it, he skimmed its contents and handed it back. The courtroom grew silent as he called to the foreman to read aloud the jury's decision. The charges of war crimes and murder had been previously thrown out. Now, without a shred of emotion, the foreman announced that they had found me guilty of involuntary manslaughter. My parents had been sitting right behind me as my mother began weeping loudly. My mind started spinning with shock and denial as the voices around me began to sound muffled and distant.

Knowing the charges and hearing the words are two completely different experiences. Now, they were set in stone. My life would continue as a tangled mass of tragic, personal defeat. Sitting next to Randall, I could feel my soul transform into a cancer as I realized that the next twenty years of my life had been forfeited by only a few minutes of uncontrolled rage. Death would certainly be easier. Before my case was closed, the judge announced the date of my sentencing trial. In civilian court, there would be a hearing and the sentence would be handed down by a judge. A defense attorney would ask for leniency, but the final word would rest with the judge. In military court, sentencing was decided upon by a jury through written, secret ballot. I would wait another three and a half weeks to receive my sentence.