“You can just tell us in your own words what happened.”

“I’d rather read the nomination letter. I wrote it in 1950 while recuperating in Japan. I’m getting on in years, as you can see, and I figure the letter’s more accurate than my memory.”

“As you wish.”

If this is all theater, prearranged by Quentin, it is very effective theater. But something tells me that Colonel Eklund is exactly what he appears to be: a willing witness with an important story to tell. And as he moves the yellowed letter nearer to and farther away from his face, searching for the proper distance, I sense that I am about to learn what my father meant when he said, “Korea wasn’t all like what happened in that ambulance.”

“Should I just start, Judge?” Eklund asks.

“Go ahead, Colonel.”

The man clears his throat once, then begins in a strong baritone that reverberates through the courtroom.

“The nomination reads: ‘27 November 1950, Ch’ongch’on River, North Korea. For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while serving with Company J in action against enemy aggressor forces. At midnight the company, assigned the defense of Hill 403, came under overwhelming fire by two full divisions of Chinese infantry. In the chaos of this night assault, it was impossible to determine how many American foxholes had been overrun. Cries from wounded men came from every side, including false ones made by the enemy in an effort to pinpoint the few holes still held by J Company. With complete disregard for his own safety, Pfc. Cage crawled from foxhole to foxhole, administering aid and encouragement to his fellow soldiers, most of whom were mortally wounded. During this hours-long effort, Pfc. Cage was exposed to constant enemy fire, as Communist troops continued to pour through the American lines. When a second company medic was shot on open ground, Pfc. Cage braved a gauntlet of machine-gun fire to carry his fellow aid man to shelter. Approximately ten minutes later, an enemy grenade dropped into the command hole, and Company J’s lieutenant received disabling shrapnel wounds to the face, chest, and legs.’”

Colonel Eklund gives Judge Elder a crooked smile and says, “That’s me, Your Honor, as you can see from my scarred-up kisser.”

Soft chuckles come from the balcony.

I turn in my seat, looking for Walt Garrity, wondering if he was the second aid man whom Dad carried to safety. After a few seconds, I spot him, on the ground floor this time, about five rows back, in the gallery. Walt catches my eye, shakes his head, then returns his gaze to his former commanding officer.

“Please, go on,” says Judge Elder.