“Make a decision,” Allston told him. Then, “Jenkins goes.”
“Why?” Lane asked. “Marci’s the best pilot I got.”
“We’ll discuss it in private,” Allston told him. “Okay, folks, go tell your troops to pack.” The meeting was over and Lane held back as the others left, wanting an answer. “She’s pregnant,” Allston said.
Lane was philosophical about it. “It happens every time you put healthy young bodies together. Someone will get it on. I always felt sorry for the Navy, turning their surface combatants into love boats. At least, we can fly the lucky little mother out ASAP.” It was a quick way to solve the problem, and one that some young women used to escape a hard assignment. But there was more. Breaking up a romantic couple in the forward area was simply the smart thing to do. Both men had been around operations long enough to experience how a pair bonding of any kind undermined unit morale and identification. “By the way, who’s the lucky father?”
“G.G.,” Allston replied.
“Ah, crap,” Lane moaned.
“Yeah, it’s a bummer. Well, let’s go howdy the code six. With a little luck he’s in and out on the C-17.”
“We should be so lucky,” Lane said.
The two officers drove in silence to the airfield, each caught up in his thoughts. Lane saw a man standing on the ramp with his bags and equipment waiting to leave. “Isn’t that Tara’s cameraman?” the Ops Officer asked.
“I guess he’s leaving too,” Allston said. The major in charge of Facilities took care of moving personnel in and out of Awana so he didn’t think much of it. They waited while more outbound passengers arrived with their hastily packed bags. “I don’t see Captain Jenkins,” he said. Lane explained that she was flying a sortie and wouldn’t be back in time. Allston walked over to wish the departing Irregulars a safe journey and thank them for all they had done. “You made a difference,” he told them. He went around shaking their hands.
One of the crew chiefs shifted his weight from one foot to the other, crumpling his bush hat in his hands. “Sir, Maintenance doesn’t need me, which is why I’m leaving. But can I stay and work with the cops?”
“You bet,” Allston told him. “They need all the help they can get.” The crew chief saluted, picked up his bags, and walked away as the C-17 taxied in. Allston watched with pride as three of Malaby’s crew chiefs guided the big airlifter as it turned around, barely keeping its main trucks on the asphalt. The engines spun down as the crew entrance door opened and Brigadier General Yvonne Richards came down the steps.
“Oh, no,” Lane moaned. “That’s all we needed.”
“Tell me,” Allston muttered, feeling exactly the same.
Richards sat behind the desk in Toby’s office and clasped her hands on the desktop as she leaned forward. She kept Allston and Jill standing and slowly raised her eyes to fix them with her authority. “I am here,” she explained, “in order to conduct a pretrial investigation under Article 32 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice.” Nothing in her tone or face revealed the relish she felt. “I have been appointed by Major General Aaron Forney, the Judge Advocate General of the Air Force.” She handed Allston the special order signed by Forney. He quickly read it and handed it back. “Any questions?” she asked.
“It would be nice if I knew who and what was being investigated.”
“This is a serious matter, Colonel. Flippancy is not called for. I will get to that at the proper time and place.”
He leaned across the desk and intruded on her personal space. She pulled back. “General Richards, cut to the chase and don’t waste my time.”
“Don’t try to intimidate me, Colonel.”
Allston didn’t move. “Am I under investigation and how may I help you?”
“You may be. My investigation will determine that.”
“You’re on a fishing expedition. How did you manage that?” He looked up at the sound of submachine gun fire as Richards flinched. “Ours. Practice. You’ll learn to tell the difference. Again, what is the purpose of your investigation?”
Visibly shaken by the continuing staccato, and determined to reclaim her authority, Richards came to her feet. “I’m conducting an investigation into the mistreatment of prisoners of war in violation of the Geneva Convention, the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and Air Force regulations. This investigation is in response to a video that has come to our attention.” She opened her laptop computer and inserted a disk. She hit the play button and turned the screen towards Allston and Jill. They watched as the scene opened with a telephoto lens zooming in on Sergeant Loni Williams as he dragged the wounded Baggara, BermaNur, out of a pickup truck. Because of the distance, the only sound was sporadic gunfire in the background. The scene continued as Allston and Williams talked and Williams slapped the back of the Baggara’s head. Then Williams turned towards the camera, his back to Allston, and stepped on the Baggara’s wounded leg. The lens zoomed in, capturing the teenager’s face as he screamed in agony. The screen went blank.
“When did that happen?” Jill asked.
“When the Janjaweed attacked the mission,” Allston replied.
Richards pressed the stop button. “I assume you now understand the seriousness of my investigation. Torture is a crime under the UCMJ.”
“So how may I help you?” Allston asked.
“I’ll need a private office and an officer to act as recorder,” Richards replied. “This office will do.”
“This is Toby’s office and not mine to make available,” Allston told her. “You’ll have to speak to him or we can pitch a tent for you.” Richards face blanched at the thought of working in a tent in the heat. “The only officer I have available is Major Sharp.” He shot Jill a sideways glance. She glared at him. “Will there be anything else?”
Richards stared at Jill for a full ten seconds. It seemed a lifetime. “Major Sharp is acceptable,” she finally said. “That’s all for now.” The two saluted and beat a retreat, closing the office door behind them.
“Thanks a bunch, Colonel,” Jill said.
Allston gave her his best fighter pilot grin. “I knew you’d appreciate that. As your first duty as recorder, I suggest you write a memo for the record on what happened in there. Be sure to show it to Richards and have her initial it.”
“Is Loni in trouble?”
“Oh, yeah. Right along with me. What the video did not show was that I stopped Williams.”
“But what about the knife Williams took off him? Doesn’t that count? So why are you in trouble?”
“Knife or no knife, I didn’t pursue disciplinary action against Williams. I am his commander, fully aware of what he did, aware that it could be a serious crime, and I chose to ignore it.”
“Why did you do that?” He heard the concern in her voice.
“Because I had more pressing things to deal with, and Williams gave me what I needed to know.” Why did I tell her all that? he wondered.
Tara lay on her side and dragged a finger down Allston’s chest. The creaky fan above the bed barely stirred the night air but it provided a curtain of noise that gave them the privacy they desired. She let him talk as she played with the hair on his chest. “I wish I knew where that video came from,” he told her.
“It was Glen, my cameraman,” she admitted. “He was out filming the attack.”
“At night? How did he do that?”
“Infrared,” she told him. “I saw the clip and told him to delete it. I thought he had. It’s worth a lot of money, and he must have e-mailed it to someone in the States. He wants an Emmy so bad he can taste it.”