As the slender young coward walked away, the guard entered the room and took up position behind me. At least I didn't have to spend the rest of the evening in solitary. After seeing this place, my small cell in the hallway above seemed positively cozy.
Chapter 17:
This was all starting to feel like a movie.
In what world did military officers get framed for multiple homicides? Get attacked and threatened in military Brigs, have their families threatened?
I'd been in tight spots as a SEAL, but the last week had been the worst of my life.
The chubby young guard prodded me forward and up the stairs into the hallway above as I mulled the past hours over in my head.
My team was dead. My Chief and I suspected in the murder of children.
Of war crimes.
Framed by someone.
Someone who really wanted the investigation into what really happened to go away.
A representative I'd just met.
This was no longer my imagination. This was real.
But knowing I wasn't going crazy was no consolation. There was still the more pressing issue.
If I didn't confess to the crimes in a few hours, my family would likely be killed or worse. And I'd likely still be tried in open court for the multiple homicide.
Judging by the heavy hitters that seemed to be on the other side of this matter, I'd likely lose.
No. The safe bet was to plead no contest. Better the girls be safe and I be in jail. Better to die than to let anything happen to Leigh and Clementine.
The guard released my shoulder as we approached the cell I'd called home for the past few days. I stepped into the dim lighting and lay down where I fell into an immediate and deep sleep.
My attorney would learn my "decision" in the morning.
I lay on the uncomfortable rack and tossed and turned.
Morning came too quickly.
The stark notes of reveille awakened me.
I shook my head. Attempted to clear the cobwebs of the previous night as the last notes of reveille echoed though the facility.
I awoke to reveille and the uncomfortable sensation that I was about to make a very big mistake.
I rolled around for a while after reveille. Stretched my back. Avoided laying on the burn marks from the Taser the night before.
After a few moments, the buzzing sound returned.
The sound that could only mean one thing. The door to my cell opened and the large guard from the first day emerged from the hallway.
His hulking black form filled the doorway to the cell and I tried my best to smile at him.
Only a few of the guards seemed to be involved in whatever corruption was going on at this facility, and I intended to keep as many of the non-corrupt officers and junior enlisted on my side.
"Good morning, Petty Officer Peters." I said, standing for the first time.
He nodded. "Good morning, sir."
I was surprised for a moment that the Petty Officer had used my respectful title, until I saw what he held in his left hand.
My dress uniform was neatly pressed and slung over a cheap plastic hangar. The hulking three hundred pound guard hung it on the edge of my rack and turned back towards the door.
"Your attorney is waiting down the hall." He said, before pausing.
He turned, eyeing the uniform and alternating his gaze to my face. Respect and curiosity alternated in his eyes.
"That the Navy Cross?" He asked, pointing to my ribbon bar.
"It is." I replied, beginning to strip off my BDU top.
He grunted. Pointing to another ribbon. "That the Silver Star?"
I nodded again, pulling my green undershirt over my head as he continued to stare at my uniform, his eyes wide.
As his gaze shifted back towards me I was pulling a white v-neck tee shirt over my head.
"You do it?" He asked, clearly breaking most every protocol.
I sighed and slung my service dress white blouse over my shoulders before stepping into my white trousers and taking a seat on the bunk.
Something in his eyes demanded a truthful answer. I looked down at the ribbon bar.
The Trident insignia on my chest glinted in the breaking morning light.
The ribbon rack of years of combat was bright in the dingy prison surroundings. I began to button the blouse.
I knew at that very moment that I couldn't do it. I couldn't plead no contest.
The six Americans who'd been ambushed by a superior armed force in that compound deserved better. The SEALs deserved better. The children who'd been killed deserved justice.
I stood, tucking my feet into the white shoes laying on the floor of the cell and meeting the large guard's gaze for the first time all morning. "No." I said simply, before walking slowly towards the door of the cell.
The guard nodded silently and fell in step behind me. Petty Officer Peters believed in my innocence.
But now it was time to convince the rest of the world.
Chapter 18:
I stepped ahead of Petty Officer Peters feeling for the first time in days the sense of pride in myself and my Team that I'd almost lost.
Not only was my honor at stake in this hearing, but the honor of my Team, my SEAL organization, and my Navy.
No. I could not admit to doing something I did not do. I could not sully the names of the men I'd served with. It wasn't about me or my family. It was about the truth.
I stepped into the interview room with a new sense of purpose, a purpose that my attorney seemed to sense immediately.
"Good morning, Lieutenant." He said, smiling.
"Good morning, sir." I replied, waiting to be instructed to take a seat.
He waved at a chair across from himself and opened a manila folder on the metal desk.
"I have some good news. Well, fantastic news really." He was beaming.
I waited.
"NCIS found a survivor. A young boy. He's willing to testify that the men who did this were wearing traditional Afghan garb, but that they were speaking English."
"How does that help us?" I asked, peering at the folder in front of LCDR Myers.
"Because, Jackson." He replied, opening the first pages. "The medical personnel who were responsible for the MEDEVAC of yourself and Chief Jones recall that you were both wearing standard issue Battle Dress. No one on your team was wearing anything resembling traditional Afghan garb."
I nodded.
I still wasn't excited by this defense. "I'm sorry sir, but that seems pretty thin and circumstantial to me. And I'm the defendant."
He smiled again. "It did to me, too. Until I read the medical examiner's report. Gunpowder residues. Something that laypeople never think to examine. If your team had been disguised as Taliban, there would be no residue on your uniforms."
"And?" I asked.
"Your men were covered in cordite and explosive residue. The amount was consistent with a sustained firefight. There's no way your clothes were covered by Afghan garb."
I nodded. We had reasonable doubt.
"The helmet camera footage or voice recording from the AWAC would seal the deal. Its unfortunate we can't get our hands on that."
I was nodding now. Thinking of Leigh and Clementine and how, if I was able to be released I would protect them.
LCDR Myers smiled. "Now," he said, "that's the attitude."
I returned the smile weakly. There was too much on my mind to display any sort of hope no matter how the evidence looked like it might get me off the hook.
He dug through his briefcase again before lifting another folder from the recesses of the leather case.
He tossed the folder almost haphazardly on the cold metal table next to my case folder.
It was marked TOP SECRET.
I blinked and peered at the document.
My attorney slid it across the table, and I flipped open the cover.