Shad nods as though he and the colonel share some difficult knowledge about life. “I personally know that one veteran of the Mogadishu raid dramatized in Black Hawk Down was convicted of child molestation. They left his character out of the movie because of that.”

“Move to strike,” says Quentin.

“So ordered,” says the judge. “You’ve made your point, Mr. Johnson, and the jury will disregard that last statement.”

Shad lifts one hand in acknowledgment. “War changes men, doesn’t it, Colonel?”

“Yes and no,” Colonel Eklund says after reflection. “Depends on how much action they see, and where they see it. Tempo is the thing. In the Pacific, you could endure a year’s worth of hell in five days of combat. Two days could break a man. In Vietnam, you had lighter contact, but it never let up. Two or three hundred days of exposure in the field, to land mines and trench foot and booby traps and sniper fire. It’s like a Chinese water torture.”

“Did you return to combat in Korea after receiving your wounds?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever serve with Private Cage again?”

“No.”

“So, you have no idea what kind of operational tempo he experienced in the months that he remained in the Korean theater?”

“That’s true.”

“Is your opinion of him based entirely on his actions on the night of November twenty-fifth, 1950?”

“And four months of operations leading up to that night,” Eklund clarifies. “We saw a fair amount of action prior to that.”

“But nothing comparable to that night?”

“Naktong was pretty hairy, but not like after the Chinese came in. That’s true.”

“Thank you, Colonel. Most enlightening.”

Colonel Eklund nods warily, not quite trusting Shad’s solicitous tone.

“And thank you for the information about Love Company—the ‘colored boys,’ as you called them. I thought the army had been desegregated by that time.”

The colonel shifts on his seat as though to get the blood flowing in order to stand. “On paper it had been. But there were still all-black units in the early months of the war. The army doesn’t like change.”

“Nor does society at large, Colonel. Thank you. No further questions.”

“Shad just earned his paycheck,” Rusty says in my ear.

Judge Elder looks at Quentin and raises his eyebrows. “Redirect?”

“Nothing further, Your Honor.”

“You’re free to go, Colonel,” Judge Elder says.