I was taken outside the room, where I was relieved of my crutches and handcuffed, of all things! Maybe they were afraid I'd use the crutches as a weapon. Hell, I couldn't come close to thrusting them where I felt they belonged! Even with the crutches and no handcuffs, I would surely have come out a bad last in a race for the prison wall, had I known where it was.

This whole charade was so ridiculous that I'd have burst out laughing, if I hadn't begun to recognize the grimness of the situation.

I was helped to hop along several corridors to a door leading to the outside and a waiting Willys station wagon.

Following what seemed like a fifteen minute ride during which I was forced to bend my head to my knees, we arrived at a large building. It appeared to have some governmental significance. Again they assisted me as I hopped inside. If it hadn't been for the few stone steps, they need not have bothered. I could have laid down and rolled in.

I was placed in a small room, and after awhile a soldier opened the door and issued some instructions. My cuffs were removed, my crutches were restored and I was led into a hallway. Here, were the other crew members. All were dressed as I, in black pajamas.

I was slightly stunned. This was the first I'd seen or heard of them in more than a year and a half. My escort ushered me into place, next to colonel Arnold. The rest were then lined up beside us. Jack and I smiled at each other and he said, “Good luck, buddy. Pass it on.”

I turned to relay the message, but the person in charge shouted, “No talking!” So I winked at the man next to me.

We were then told to turn, facing the back of the man on our right, and were led, single file, into a courtroom. We were lined up in front of a tribunal of military officers seated at tables which seemed to be about twenty-five feet above us. Actually, the platform was probably no more than three feet high.

Glancing to the right, I could see parachutes hanging from the walls, along with various articles commonly worn by combat crews in Korea. Other items were displayed on tables. I suppose this equipment was ours.

At other tables sat “defense counsels” and prosecutors. I could just as easily call them all persecutors.

My small and very private world had suddenly exploded into unbelievable proportions! Here were motion picture cameras, lights, photographers, guards all over the place, and a gallery packed with spectators, mostly military. Here were all the trappings for a major production — and we were the “heavies.”

The “trial” was opened by an English speaking Chinese in a blue uniform. He asked each crew member his name. Then repeating everything in both languages, he described our “crimes” — violation of Chinese territorial ----- etc.

From this point on it became apparent we had a bad stage show on our hands, but one which had been well planned. The actors, with the exception of the “terrible eleven” dressed in black, all had scripts. Some had even done their homework by memorizing portions of the script. The others just read. We, the culprits, were allowed no speaking parts of any significance.

After the characters had been introduced, and the background had been laid for what was to follow, we were led out of the courtroom.

I was returned to my holding room, but it wasn't long until I was returned to the courtroom. Jack Arnold was already there, and we were charged, together, for being the leaders in the “crime.” I was taken out and Jack remained.

About fifteen minutes later, I again made the trip to the big room. This time I was alone.

My “defense counsel” was a great help — to himself. He talked for about five minutes. He used the first half of his speech to apologize for having to defend such criminals. The second half was devoted to a plea for leniency, on the ground that we were “born and bred in a country that breeds crime and therefore, couldn't help but be criminals.” Actually, he said just that!

A judge then asked, “Do you understand the seriousness of your crime?” (Not the seriousness of the charge?”

I said, “I was told we violated Chinese territorial air. If this is so, it was due to a radar navigational error. I am sorry for it, and on behalf of the crew, I wish to apologize.”

When this was interpreted for the tribunal, the officer in the center exploded. He soundly berated me for attempting to raise any doubt about our guilt, and for impugning the integrity of the Chinese “people” by implying they lied.

Hell, I thought I was showing I could be reasonable, in spsite of an obviously rigged “trial.”

I was dismissed and as I left, I glanced at the gallery of spectators. It was difficult to tell, but they all seemed to be swallowing this crap.

The pattern of court appearances for the other crew members generally matched mine.

The “trial,” which could be called that only in the sense that it was an ordeal, ended with another appearance by all the crew members lined up as before. After a review of the court proceedings, the chief “justice” stated that we had all pleaded guilty to the charges of violating Chinese territorial air for the purpose of carrying out acts of espionage. That, of course, was not true!

We were transported back to the prison.

Shortsightedly, I viewed this farce as a completed production. Thinking they had meant to display us before the world and had carried out their intention. I failed to envision Act II, “The Sentencing.” The script for this, too, had already been written.

On the afternoon of November 23, after being issued a spanking new blue winter uniform, I was taken from my cell. But this time I walked directly to the station wagon on my crutches. We drove again to the building in which we had been “tried.”

Again we were lined up according to rank, this time before a lone officer. There were fewer photographers; but because photos were being taken, there was a slight adjustment to my situation.

I suppose, after viewing shots from the previous session, it was decided that pictures of a prisoner on crutches didn't blend well with the “humane” billing being given our treatment. Consequently, after we were lined up, my crutches were taken away, and I was supported from behind by two guards, each with a hand under one of my armpits. These special accomodations were not noticable because there were many guards lined up behind us. After cameras stopped clicking, and formal proceedings were about to begin, my crutches were returned.

Following the reading of our names and ranks and a review of our crimes, sentences were pronounced. They followed rank and crew position and were meted out in the following portions: Col. Arnol - 10 years; Maj. Baumer - 8 years; Capt. Vaadi - 6 years; Capt. Llewellyn, Lt. Buck and Lt. Brown - 5 years; Sgt. Brown, and Airmen Benjamin, Kiba, Schmidt, and Thompson - 4 years.

At the time the sentences didn't particularly disturb me. First, I now knew the other men were near. I had company, at least in the sense that we all were suffering the same fate, though in varying measures. Second, I still felt there was a possibility that the farce was meant to end with a trade off of some sort; ransom (“fines”), a political maneuver, or just a release to gain “humane” stature in the eyes of the world.

This act had been short, about thirty minutes, so we were back to our respective vehicles before the engines had cooled. Colonel Arnold rode in a white American ambulance, equipped with small barred windows; I rode the station wagon; and the remaining crew members had a bus.