Chase: Roman

Hate!
        ‘Zacharia,’ Chase said, though he had often sworn never to repeat that name again or to remember the man attached to it or, indeed, to recall the events that man had perpetrated.
        ‘Hate,’ Cauvel said, more quietly this time.
        ‘Another word, please.’
        ‘Hate,’ Cauvel insisted.
        ‘Lieutenant Zacharia, Lieutenant Zacharia, Lieutenant Zacharia!’
        Abruptly, the doctor brought an end to the game, though it had been much less complex than usual. He said, ‘Do you remember what Lieutenant Zacharia ordered you to do, Benjamin?’
        ‘Yes, sir.’
        ‘What were those orders?’
        ‘We had sealed off the two back entrances to a Cong tunnel system, and Lieutenant Zacharia ordered me to clear the last entrance.’
        ‘How did you accomplish that?’
        ‘With a grenade, sir. Then, before the air round the tunnel face could clear, I went forward and used a machine gun.’
        Then, Benjamin?’
        ‘Then we went down, sir.’
        ‘We?’
        ‘Lieutenant Zacharia, Sergeant Coombs, Privates Halsey and Wade, a couple of other men.’
        ‘And you.’
        ‘Yes, and me.’
        Then?’
        ‘In the tunnels, we found four dead men and parts of men lying in the foyer of the complex. Lieutenant Zacharia ordered a cautious advance. A hundred and fifty yards along, we came across a bamboo grate behind which a number of villagers, mostly women, were stationed.’
        ‘How many women, Ben?’
        ‘Maybe twenty.’
        ‘Children?’
        Chase sank down in the heavy padding, his shoulders drawn up as if he wished to hide between them. ‘A few.’
        Then?’
        ‘We tried to open the grate, but the women were holding it shut with a system of ropes. When we ordered them out of the way, they would not move. The lieutenant said it might very well be a trap, designed to contain us at that point until the Cong could somehow get behind us. It was dark. There was a smell in that tunnel I can't explain, made up of sweat and urine and rotting vegetables, as heavy as if it had substance. Lieutenant Zacharia ordered us to open fire and clear the way.’
        ‘Did you comply?’
        ‘Yes. Everyone did.’
        ‘Later, when the tunnel had been demolished, you ran into the ambush which earned you your Medal of Honor.’
        ‘Yes,’ Chase said.
        Cauvel said, ‘You crawled across the field of fire for a distance of nearly two hundred yards and brought back a wounded sergeant named Coombs. You received two minor but painful wounds in the thigh and calf of your right leg, but you did not stop crawling until you had reached shelter, at which point you secured Coombs behind a stand of scrub, and having reached a point on the enemy's flank by means of your heroic crossing of the open field, accounted for eighteen communist soldiers. Your actions, therefore, not only saved Sergeant Coombs’ life but contributed substantially to the well-being of your entire unit.’ He had only slightly paraphrased the wording on the scroll which Chase had received in the mail from the President himself.
        Chase said nothing.
        ‘You see where this heroism came from, Ben?’
        ‘We've talked about it before. It came from guilt, because I wanted to die, subconsciously wanted to be killed.’
        ‘Do you believe that analysis, or do you think it's just something I made up to degrade your medal?’
        Chase said, ‘I believe it. I never wanted the medal in the first place.’
        ‘Now,’ Cauvel said, unsteepling his fingers, ‘lets extend that analysis just a bit. Though you hoped to be shot and killed in that ambush, took absurd risks to make it a certainty, the opposite transpired. You became a national hero. When you learned Lieutenant Zacharia had submitted your name for consideration, you suffered a nervous breakdown that hospitalized you and eventually led to your honourable discharge. The breakdown was an attempt to punish yourself, once you'd failed to get yourself killed, but it failed too. Well regarded, honourably discharged, too strong not to recover from the breakdown, you still carried your burden of guilt.’
        There was a pause. Chase was silent.
        Cauvel continued: ‘Perhaps when you chanced upon that scene in the park on Kanackaway, you recognized another opportunity to punish yourself. You must have realized that there was a strong