He nodded.
It was the operational order for the raid.
At the top of the first page were clearly stamped the words Operation Afghan Sunset.
Like most other TOP SECRET Operational Orders, the brief was specific. A communication plan was clearly specified, teams were identified. Air support was requested and AWAC aircraft were ordered into place for airspace deconfliction and communication support.
It was a standard operational order. Nothing seemed amiss. At least at first.
The operational order spanned close to nine full pages.
As I flipped through the papers, papers that I'd seen before the raid, I sighed.
My lawyer just laughed. "Want to know what I saw in that OP order that you didn't, Lieutenant?"
"Please." I responded, exasperated.
"There isn't one thing, Jackson. But three." He said, serious now as he spun the folder towards himself and pulled a highlighter from his briefcase.
"First, look at the date." He said, highlighting the top of page one and moving the highlighter down the page twice more in rapid succession.
I spun the page around towards me and looked. The date looked exactly like I would have expected. But then I realized where he'd highlighted. He hadn't highlighted the date time group of the OP order's receipt or even its implementation, but its date of issuance.
It had been issued the same day.
I swallowed. Hard.
"There's no way this order was issued twelve hours prior to the mission. We had weeks to prepare. Hell, it took almost forty eight hours to deploy my team in the first place."
My lawyer just nodded and stepped from his chair, pacing slowly towards the door of the briefing room, his gleaming shoes glinting in the fluorescent light of the prison's overhead lighting.
My mind was racing.
If the operational order had not been issued by the Navy until around twelve hours from strike time it could only mean one thing.
"Executive privilege?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
My lawyer continued to pace through the room, his shoes squeaking lightly.
"Keep reading." He answered.
I noticed two more places, both on the first page of the OP order had been highlighted.
I glanced towards LCDR Myers and back to the page.
The second highlighted section fell under the communications plan. In every operation, communication strategies were ordered and adhered to.
Radio frequencies, operational code words that would be used, orders for the "eye in the sky", what we called the AWAC aircraft that circled above and functioned as a combat controller for the air support and a communication platform for us during missions such as this one.
Under communications, as always were listed the frequencies, code words and encryption strategies. I glanced to where my attorney had highlighted.
The AWAC had been ordered not to record the SEAL team's radio communications.
Under disposition of physical intelligence, the aircraft was ordered to BCST, Undisclosed.
I blinked. "What does this mean."
My attorney sighed. "I hoped you could tell me. Keep reading."
I did.
The next highlighted section was under materiel support, buried in a portion of the OP order that few beyond our supply department ever read.
It was regarding the helmet cameras.
I straightened in my seat and read. The OP order specified a type of helmet cam that I'd never seen before.
I glanced at my attorney.
He handed me a piece of paper that I hadn't realized he'd been holding.
It detailed the specifications of the cameras that our supply department had ensured our parachute riggers had affixed to our helmets.
Another segment of this spec sheet was highlighted. But only three words stood out to me as I glanced at the page. "Live feed only." The devices were designed to enable only a satellite uplink to a live feed and not to record.
"Know why we couldn't find any helmet cam footage or audio recordings of your team's ingress?" My lawyer asked.
"Because there wasn't any." I replied, closing the folder with trembling fingers.
Chapter 19:
Myers glanced at his watch. "It's almost time."
He handed me a safety razor and pounded on the door to the briefing room.
The guard opened the door a moment later.
"My client needs to get himself cleaned up."
The guard nodded and led me out of the room into a small, private visitor's bathroom down the hall, where I was able to shave and wash my face.
As I went through the mechanical motions of ensuring my uniform was in good condition and that my hair and facial hair met Navy standards my mind raced.
The witness surfacing in Afghanistan was positive news.
It meant that we finally had a corroborating witness. Added to that the medical examiner's chemical evaluation of my team's clothing, and it looked as if Chief Jones and I could very well walk away from these accusations.
The rest of my lawyer's revelations had been much more unsettling.
How he'd gotten his hands on the TOP SECRET Operational Order I wasn't sure. And in many ways I was almost certain I didn't want to know.
The revelations in that document had been almost too much.
The operational order told us two important pieces of information.
For one, it indicated that the strike had been ordered directly by the White House.
For two, it told us that the video and audio evidence that could exonerate my men from the murders in that compound had been sent via live feed to an undisclosed location rather than being recorded.
Somebody had watched the events of that evening unfold.
Somebody who had known in advance that the evidence they were witnessing would exonerate my team.
It was clear now.
None of us were meant to have survived Operation Afghan Sunset.
The highest levels of government had ordered my team to that compound in order to place the blame for the massacre of children held within at our feet.
I leaned against the sink, the realization of what had happened sweeping over me for the first time.
The mission had been a failure.
On more fronts than one.
My team and I must have arrived early. Otherwise, the other combatants would not have been loading the trucks when we arrived.
They would have been strategically posted throughout the compound for maximum devastation.
They would have killed my team. Laid it at the feet of the Taliban fighters. Broadcast the murders across Al Jazeera television as a victory for Muslim freedom fighters.
But this wasn't about politics. This was about whatever was in those trucks.
Post operational analysis had said they had been empty.
They had not been empty.
I knew that now.
And whoever was pulling strings at the highest levels of government knew it too.
And they wanted Chief Jones and I dead for knowing.
I peered into the mirror. I looked better than I had in days, though my brow was furrowed tightly. I splashed water on my face and stood up straight, tossing the small plastic safety razor into the metal wastebasket in the corner.
I turned towards the door with a resolute stride and swung the wooden door fully open. My lawyer awaited with two Military Police Officers at his side.
"Ready?" He asked, picking up his briefcase and eyed my uniform slowly.
I held out my wrists for the MPs and nodded.
As they fastened the metal clasps of the handcuffs around my wrists, I peered around the small corridor of the military Brig.
I've never been more ready, I thought as we walked down the hallway and towards my awaiting fate.
Chapter 20:
A light rain fell as we climbed into a government Ford Expedition, the two Military Police officers taking the front seats of the vehicle as LCDR Myers sat next to me on the soft cloth seat of the rear passenger bench.