"Washington Irving?" the chaplain repeated with surprise.
"Come on, Washington," the corpulent colonel broke in irascibly. "Why don't you make a clean breast of it? We know you stole that plum tomato."
After a moment's shock, the chaplain giggled with nervous relief. "Oh, is that it!" he exclaimed. "Now I'm beginning to understand. I didn't steal that plum tomato, sir. Colonel Cathcart gave it to me. You can even ask him if you don't believe me."
A door opened at the other end of the room and Colonel Cathcart stepped into the basement as though from a closet.
"Hello, Colonel. Colonel, he claims you gave him that plum tomato. Did you?"
"Why should I give him a plum tomato?" answered Colonel Cathcart.
"Thank you, Colonel. That will be all."
"It's a pleasure, Colonel," Colonel Cathcart replied, and he stepped back out of the basement, closing the door after him.
"Well, Chaplain? What have you got to say now?"
"He did give it to me!" the chaplain hissed in a whisper that was both fierce and fearful. "He did give it to me!"
"You're not calling a superior officer a liar are you, Chaplain?"
"Why should a superior officer give you a plum tomato, Chaplain?"
"Is that why you tried to give it to Sergeant Whitcomb, Chaplain? Because it was a hot tomato?"
"No, no, no," the chaplain protested, wondering miserably why they were not able to understand. "I offered it to Sergeant Whitcomb because I didn't want it."
"Why'd you steal it from Colonel Cathcart if you didn't want it?"
"I didn't steal it from Colonel Cathcard"
"Then why are you so guilty, if you didn't steal it?"
"I'm not guilty!"
"Then why would we be questioning you if you weren't guilty?"
"Oh, I don't know," the chaplain groaned, kneading his fingers in his lap and shaking his bowed and anguished head. "I don't know."
"He thinks we have time to waste," snorted the major.
"Chaplain," resumed the officer without insignia at a more leisurely pace, lifting a typewritten sheet of yellow paper from the open folder, "I have a signed statement here from Colonel Cathcart asserting you stole that plum tomato from him." He lay the sheet face down on one side of the folder and picked up a second page from the other side. "And I have a notarized affidavit from Sergeant Whitcomb in which he states that he knew the tomato was hot just from the way you tried to unload it on him."
"I swear to God I didn't steal it, sir," the chaplain pleaded with distress, almost in tears. "I give you my sacred word it was not a hot tomato."
"Chaplain, do you believe in God?"
"Yes, sir. Of course I do."
"That's odd, Chaplain," said the officer, taking from the folder another typewritten yellow page, "because I have here in my hands now another statement from Colonel Cathcart in which he swears that you refused to co-operate with him in conducting prayer meetings in the briefing room before each mission."
After looking blank a moment, the chaplain nodded quickly with recollection. "Oh, that's not quite true, sir," he explained eagerly. "Colonel Cathcart gave up the idea himself once he realized enlisted men pray to the same God as officers."
"He did what?" exclaimed the officer in disbelief.
"What nonsense!" declared the red-faced colonel, and swung away from the chaplain with dignity and annoyance.
"Does he expect us to believe that?" cried the major incredulously.
The officer without insignia chuckled acidly. "Chaplain, aren't you stretching things a bit far now?" he inquired with a smile that was indulgent and unfriendly.
"But, sir, it's the truth, sir! I swear it's the truth."
"I don't see how that matters one way or the other," the officer answered nonchalantly, and reached sideways again toward the open folder filled with papers. "Chaplain, did you say you did believe in God in answer to my question? I don't remember."
"Yes, sir. I did say so, sir. I do believe in God."
"Then that really is very odd, Chaplain, because I have here another affidavit from Colonel Cathcart that states you once told him atheism was not against the law. Do you recall ever making a statement like that to anyone?"
The chaplain nodded without any hesitation, feeling himself on very solid ground now. "Yes, sir, I did make a statement like that. I made it because it's true. Atheism is not against the law."
"But that's still no reason to say so, Chaplain, is it?" the officer chided tartly, frowning, and picked up still one more typewritten, notarized page from the folder. "And here I have another sworn statement from Sergeant Whitcomb that says you opposed his plan of sending letters of condolence over Colonel Cathcart's signature to the next of kin of men killed or wounded in combat. Is that true?"
"Yes, sir, I did oppose it," answered the chaplain. "And I'm proud that I did. Those letters are insincere and dishonest. Their only purpose is to bring glory to Colonel Cathcart."
"But what difference does that make?" replied the officer. "They still bring solace and comfort to the families that receive them, don't they? Chaplain, I simply can't understand your thinking process."
The chaplain was stumped and at a complete loss for a reply. He hung his head, feeling tongue-tied and naive.
The ruddy stout colonel stepped forward vigorously with a sudden idea. "Why don't we knock his goddam brains out?" he suggested with robust enthusiasm to the others.
"Yes, we could knock his goddam brains out, couldn't we?" the hawk-faced major agreed. "He's only an Anabaptist."
"No, we've got to find him guilty first," the officer without insignia cautioned with a languid restraining wave. He slid lightly to the floor and moved around to the other side of the table, facing the chaplain with both hands pressed flat on the surface. His expression was dark and very stern, square and forbidding. "Chaplain," he announced with magisterial rigidity, "we charge you formally with being Washington Irving and taking capricious and unlicensed liberties in censoring the letters of officers and enlisted men. Are you guilty or innocent?"
"Innocent, sir." The chaplain licked dry lips with a dry tongue and leaned forward in suspense on the edge of his chair.
"Guilty," said the colonel.
"Guilty," said the major.
"Guilty it is, then," remarked the officer without insignia, and wrote a word on a page in the folder. "Chaplain," he continued, looking up, "we accuse you also of the commission of crimes and infractions we don't even know about yet. Guilty or innocent?"
"I don't know, sir. How can I say if you don't tell me what they are?"
"How can we tell you if we don't know?"
"Guilty," decided the colonel.
"Sure he's guilty," agreed the major. "If they're his crimes and infractions, he must have committed them."
"Guilty it is, then," chanted the officer without insignia, and moved off to the side of the room. "He's all yours, Colonel."
"Thank you," commended the colonel. "You did a very good job." He turned to the chaplain. "Okay, Chaplain, the jig's up. Take a walk."
The chaplain did not understand. "What do you wish me to do?"
"Go on, beat it, I told you!" the colonel roared, jerking a thumb over his shoulder angrily. "Get the hell out of here."
The chaplain was shocked by his bellicose words and tone and, to his own amazement and mystification, deeply chagrined that they were turning him loose. "Aren't you even going to punish me?" he inquired with querulous surprise.
"You're damned right we're going to punish you. But we're certainly not going to let you hang around while we decide how and when to do it. So get going. Hit the road."
The chaplain rose tentatively and took a few steps away. "I'm free to go?"
"For the time being. But don't try to leave the island. We've got your number, Chaplain. Just remember that we've got you under surveillance twenty-four hours a day."
It was not conceivable that they would allow him to leave. The chaplain walked toward the exit gingerly, expecting at any instant to be ordered back by a peremptory voice or halted in his tracks by a heavy blow on the shoulder or the head. They did nothing to stop him. He found his way through the stale, dark, dank corridors to the flight of stairs. He was staggering and panting when he climbed out into the fresh air. As soon as he had escaped, a feeling of overwhelming moral outrage filled him. He was furious, more furious at the atrocities of the day than he had ever felt before in his whole life. He swept through the spacious, echoing lobby of the building in a temper of scalding and vindictive resentment. He was not going to stand for it any more, he told himself, he was simply not going to stand for it. When he reached the entrance, he spied, with a feeling of good fortune, Colonel Korn trotting up the wide steps alone. Bracing himself with a deep breath, the chaplain moved courageously forward to intercept him.
"Colonel, I'm not going to stand for it any more," he declared with vehement determination, and watched in dismay as Colonel Korn went trotting by up the steps without even noticing him. "Colonel Korn!"
The tubby, loose figure of his superior officer stopped, turned and came trotting back down slowly. "What is it, Chaplain?"
"Colonel Korn, I want to talk to you about the crash this morning. It was a terrible thing to happen, terrible!"
Colonel Korn was silent a moment, regarding the chaplain with a glint of cynical amusement. "Yes, Chaplain, it certainly was terrible," he said finally. "I don't know how we're going to write this one up without making ourselves look bad."
"That isn't what I meant," the chaplain scolded firmly without any fear at all. "Some of those twelve men had already finished their seventy missions."
Colonel Korn laughed. "Would it be any less terrible if they had all been new men?" he inquired caustically.
Once again the chaplain was stumped. Immoral logic seemed to be confounding him at every turn. He was less sure of himself than before when he continued, and his voice wavered. "Sir, it just isn't right to make the men in this group fly eighty missions when the men in other groups are being sent home with fifty and fifty-five."
"We'll take the matter under consideration," Colonel Korn said with bored disinterest, and started away. "Adios, Padre."
"What does that mean, sir?" the chaplain persisted in a voice turning shrill.
Colonel Korn stopped with an unpleasant expression and took a step back down. "It means we'll think about it, Padre," he answered with sarcasm and contempt. "You wouldn't want us to do anything without thinking about it, would you?"
"No, sir, I suppose not. But you have been thinking about it, haven't you?"
"Yes, Padre, we have been thinking about it. But to make you happy, we'll think about it some more, and you'll be the first person we'll tell if we reach a new decision. And now, adios." Colonel Korn whirled away again and hurried up the stairs.
"Colonel Korn!" The chaplain's cry made Colonel Korn stop once more. His head swung slowly around toward the chaplain with a look of morose impatience. Words gushed from the chaplain in a nervous torrent. "Sir, I would like your permission to take the matter to General Dreedle. I want to bring my protests to Wing Headquarters."
Colonel Korn's thick, dark jowls inflated unexpectedly with a suppressed guffaw, and it took him a moment to reply. "That's all right, Padre," he answered with mischievous merriment, trying hard to keep a straight face. "You have my permission to speak to General Dreedle."
"Thank you, sir. I believe it only fair to warn you that I think I have some influence with General Dreedle."
"It's good of you to warn me, Padre. And I believe it only fair to warn you that you won't find General Dreedle at Wing." Colonel Korn grinned wickedly and then broke into triumphant laughter. "General Dreedle is out, Padre. And General Peckem is in. We have a new wing commander."
The chaplain was stunned. "General Peckem!"
"That's right, Chaplain. Have you got any influence with him?"
"Why, I don't even know General Peckem," the chaplain protested wretchedly.
Colonel Korn laughed again. "That's too bad, Chaplain, because Colonel Cathcart knows him very well." Colonel Korn chuckled steadily with gloating relish for another second or two and then stopped abruptly. "And by the way, Padre," he warned coldly, poking his finger once into the chaplain's chest. "The jig is up between you and Dr. Stubbs. We know very well he sent you up here to complain today."
"Dr. Stubbs?" The chaplain shook his head in baffled protest. "I haven't seen Dr. Stubbs, Colonel. I was brought here by three strange officers who took me down into the cellar without authority and questioned and insulted me."
Colonel Korn poked the chaplain in the chest once more. "You know damned well Dr. Stubbs has been telling the men in his squadron they didn't have to fly more than seventy missions." He laughed harshly. "Well, Padre, they do have to fly more than seventy missions, because we're transferring Dr. Stubbs to the Pacific. So adios, Padre. Adios."
