“I’ve been trying to think of some way to hit back for Vialli. Some way to go after the terrorists who murdered him.”
“Like what?” Rayburn asked, putting his feet up on the desk.
“I’ve already talked to the Admiral about us attacking them, but he isn’t going to do that… I was thinking that we should declare war.”
Rayburn realized Woods had finished. “That’s it?”
“Yeah. What do you think?”
“Against who?” Rayburn asked, narrowing his eyes.
“The guy who was in charge of the attack, and planned it. The Sheikh.” Woods’s eagerness showed on his face. “We should declare war against him, as an individual, and maybe his group of terrorists. We wouldn’t have to just issue statements about how horrible it all was and do nothing. I say declare war, tell the whole world the full force of the U.S. military is going after them, and then do it. If some country is hiding them, or letting them train there, they should know it won’t matter to us. We’ll go after them wherever we can find them. If someone is protecting them, they’d better get the hell out of the way.”
Rayburn’s expression was one of disbelief. “You got me up in the middle of the night to ask me about declaring war against terrorists?”
“Yeah. What do you think?” Woods said enthusiastically.
“It’s ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“The Admiral can’t declare war, only—”
“I know that. I’m not saying we should declare war, I’m saying the country should declare war.”
“Only Congress—”
“I know. But that’s it. That’s what I want to know. Where does it say that Congress can declare war?”
“In the Constitution,” Rayburn said sharply.
“Then here’s the question,” said Woods, leaning on the gray desk. “Is there anything there, in the Constitution, that says we can’t declare war against one man? Or a terrorist group?”
Rayburn shook his head. “You’re nuts. I have no idea. You don’t need a JAG officer, you need a psychiatrist. I’ll call him in the morning and set up an appointment for you,” he said, starting to get up.
“Come on, think about it! What’s so wrong with it? It could be the very thing Congress has been looking for all these years to combat terrorism. Leave a standing declaration of war against every terrorist who attacks us. Then wherever we find them, we can go after them with the full force of the military and hammer them. We don’t need to worry about arresting them, or playing international police. We treat them like any other soldier of any country that we’re at war against. They’re fair game.”
Rayburn put his hands on his desk, and pushed himself up. “Good night,” he said.
Woods was confused. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t know how else to say it,” Rayburn replied. “We’re done. And next time,” he added with a bite, “spare me the late-night harebrained schemes, will you?” He motioned to Woods to leave the office as he turned off the lights, one after the other. Rayburn locked the JAG office behind them and started down the passageway.
“At least think about it, won’t you?” Woods asked of his back.
“Good night,” Rayburn said without slowing or turning.
14
Woods put his tray down across from Big McMack, who had gotten enough eggs, French toast, and bacon to preserve his name for at least one more day. “I’ve got it figured out, Big,” he said as he sat down.
Big squinted at him through swollen morning eyes. “Did you take a shower this morning?”
Woods looked at him with confusion. “Sure.”
“And yesterday?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“We’re only supposed to take showers every other day.”
“Probably send the shower Nazis after me,” Woods remarked.
“They’ll make you take saltwater showers from the fire main.”
“Just like the good old Navy. David Farragut. John Paul Jones. They washed with salt water. I guarantee you.”
“Yes,” Big agreed. And they read books, and wrote letters, and thought great thoughts. Today’s Navy officer is condemned to a life of the lowest common denominator. Men love to see breasts, so they give us these horrible movies. Anything rated R. The library is full of Mad magazines, and books about cars. Where is the intellectual in uniform? Where is the Renaissance Man?” Big asked, hunched over his plate, cramming his mouth with a forkful of French toast. “You’ve got what figured out?” he asked through his food.
“How we can hit back.”
“Speak English. I do better in that. It was my minor.”
“For Vialli. We can do something about it.”
Big put his fork down on the table and sat back. “You still on that? Your little vendetta bit? Let it go, Trey. It’s going to drive you crazy.”
“No,” Woods said with intensity. “We can declare war.”
“Against whom?”
“Against the people who killed Vialli. Against the Sheikh.”
“I hate to break it to you, Trey, but war is declared against a country. You know, ‘a date which will live in infamy… I ask that the Congress declare… a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire’ and all that. You’ve heard Roosevelt. It just wouldn’t do if he’d said, ‘We hereby declare that a state of war exists against Admiral Yamamoto.’ Just doesn’t have the same ring.”
“We can do it.”
Big suddenly realized he was serious. “How?”
“I had this brainstorm last night. I was lying there and it just hit me. Like a bolt of lightning — like a vision. So I went to see the JAG officer. I told him the idea. He said he’s gonna think about it. I think it struck him as something completely new.”
“Well, if you get it so the Washington can declare war, then you’re on to something.”
“No. Congress. If they really chew on it, they might just do it. And if they do, and we’re right here, we’ll be the ones to go.” Woods looked at his roommate with obvious enthusiasm. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re nuts. You should have some French toast and fill your belly. Once you get enough fat in your system you’ll be ready to fly, and then you’ll start making sense.”
“You’ll see. You laugh now, but you’ll see.”
“What am I going to see? You going straight to the Admiral with this insight? He may just put you right in the brig for insubordination, sitting on the deck in your underwear with a bunch of druggies.” Big smiled to himself at the image.
“This Admiral isn’t going to do anything about it. He doesn’t have the balls. He’s more worried about his prostate or something. He’s not worried about his pilots.”
“His prostate?” Big said, screwing up his big round face.
“Well, whatever.”
“So what are you planning?”
“I’m going to write to my congressman.”
“Now there’s an idea,” Big said, rolling his eyes, his belly moving with internal laughter. “Shoot, I’ll bet your congressman doesn’t get more than ten or twenty thousand letters a day. Probably answers every one of them personally. He’ll probably read yours on the floor of the House as one of the most brilliant ideas in American history.”
“Get off my back, Big. This could be the kind of idea that changes American foreign policy forever.” Woods was flush with excitement. He hadn’t slept all night, and was operating on adrenaline. “We’ve never had a good response to terrorism. It’s always covert, or half baked, or a one-time air raid. We never go after the bad guys. But in a war, that’s exactly what we do. We go after the bad guy. We go after him until he surrenders or we’ve killed him. Capture the Flag. Out in the open, in the full light of day, with the full force of the military. Right at them, until it’s over. It’s time to do that with terrorists.”