“Please call the good parson and the key players,” Allston said. More and more, he was relying on her as his second in command.
“Will do, sir.”
~~~
Major Mercier tacked a large-scale chart of the mission and the surrounding area on the wall of the big room in Mission House. Vermullen stood beside the chart. “I have walked every meter of the terrain,” he began, “and the two most likely axes of attack are from Malakal or from across the White Nile at the ford the Janjaweed used when they attacked the mission. I believe we can successfully defend against one, if we have early warning to position our forces. The plan you see here is based on concentric rings surrounding the mission, but not the refugee camp or airfield. The outer ring is approximately three kilometers out.” He touched the small circles that formed the outer ring and extended to the southern bank of the Nile. “I call this Delta Ring. It is made up of manned listening posts, or LPs. The LPs have only one purpose, to warn of any attack. Once we know the axis of the attack, we concentrate our forces accordingly on the next ring, which I call Charlie Ring. It is made up of many defensive firing positions and is our first true line of defense. It is far enough back from the river that we can dig in, at least until the river floods. Then it will turn into a bog. But until then, we must dig as many DFPs as we can. The more we have, the more flexible we can be in reacting to an attack.”
Allston got it immediately. “So the listening posts on Delta Ring, where there is no activity, fall back to help reinforce the part of Charlie Ring where the action is. What happens to the LPs that detect an attack?”
Malone answered. “They’re on their own.” In the hard calculus of combat, the forward LPs were expendable.
Again, Vermullen tapped the chart. “This shaded area between Charlie Ring and the mission compound is a minefield. I call it Bravo Ring.” He waited for their reaction.
“I thought land mines were used at the forward edge of the battlefield,” Allston said, “and not so close in.”
“Normally, that is true,” Vermullen replied. “But we don’t have enough mines to cover a broad area and must concentrate them where they will do the most good.” He tapped the last ring of densely packed DFPs inside the minefield that surrounded the mission itself. “This is Alpha Ring, our last line of defense, that your Sergeant Malone created. The minefield provides a cover for Alpha Ring.”
Toby’s face turned gray and he felt sick. “If anything makes the case for evil, it’s land mines.”
“This evil will keep us alive,” Vermullen said. “We’ll plot where each one is and dig them up later. We’ve done this before.”
Malaby had a question. “How do we get our troops through the mine field to Alpha Ring if we have to pull back?
Mercier answered . “You are very observant, Colonel. Some of the mines that we captured at Bentiu, over a hundred, are armed by remote control.” He sketched in four narrow corridors through the minefield. “We mark these corridors with stakes for everyone to see and place the remote-controlled mines in the corridors. We will arm the mines after we have withdrawn into Alpha Ring.”
“But some of our people might be trapped on the wrong side,” Dick Lane said.
“It is the best of many bad options,” Vermullen replied.
“What about mortar and artillery fire?” Allston’s Facilities commander asked.
Vermullen answered. “Without a counter-battery radar, that is a problem. We can suppress close-in mortar fire with ours and our best defense is to dig as many DFPs as we can to rapidly concentrate our men while still protecting them. Reverend Person, I am hoping you can help with this.”
The coppery taste of bile flooded Toby’s mouth. “I didn’t come to Africa to kill people.” He paced the floor. “This isn’t what I wanted.”
“I know,” Allston said.
Toby jerked his head yes, finally accepting the inevitability of what he had to do. “I’ll have everyone I can here in the morning. “ He walked from the room and disappeared into the night.
The reserved and quiet major who headed logistics spoke. “Is there any way we can make the SA more predictable? I was thinking, what if we take out Waleed now? before the SA hooks up with him. That way, they would have to come across the Nile. I hear most of his men have deserted.”
“A preemptive attack?” Allston replied. “I don’t see how.”
“Let me work on it,” Vermullen said. He had a few scores he wanted to settle with the Sudanese major.
E-Ring
Brigadier General Yvonne Richards was in a state of shock when the phone call came in and it was not a conversation she was ready for. Suddenly, her career was on the chopping block. “Yes, Mr. Speaker, I’m reviewing the CD you sent over as we speak.” The Speaker of the House was adamant about what he wanted done. “Yes, sir, I’ll get right on it.” She was thankful for the abrupt click ending the conversation. There was no doubt he wanted a blood sacrifice and had banged the phone down with force. She placed the CD in a leather folder and considered her next move. The reality was that she was out of options. She called Fitzgerald’s secretary and said that she had a communication from the Speaker of the House and had to see the general immediately.
Twenty minutes later, she was standing in front of Fitzgerald as the CD played out on his computer. “Why does it always hit the fan on Friday afternoon?” he asked. It was an occurrence that happened all too often in the Pentagon. “Have you downloaded this?” She assured him she had. “We need to preempt.” The implication was clear; he expected the Speaker to break it to the media when it could do the most harm and they had to be ready when that happened. He hit the direct dial button to the JAG, Lieutenant General Forney. “Aaron, meet me in the Chairman’s office ASAP.”
He listened for a moment, his lips compressed into a tight line. The JAG was scheduled to deliver the keynote address to the annual American Bar Association convention in three hours. “Cancel or send your deputy,” Fitzgerald said. He punched off the number and called the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “General, I have a situation that requires your immediate attention.” Although they were old friends, formality conveyed urgency and Misner reacted accordingly. Fitzgerald dropped the phone in its cradle, ejected the CD, and handed it to her. “I’ll let you brief the Chairman.” For a moment, he thought Richards was going to throw up.
Richards followed a half step behind as Fitzgerald quick marched to Misner’s office where Forney was waiting. They were ushered directly into the Chairman’s office. “This is your baby,” Fitzgerald told Richards.
She gulped hard, and inserted the CD into a player. The three men watched in silence as the short scene played out. “The Speaker expects a court-martial,” she told them.
“I really needed this,” Misner replied. “Aaron, appoint your best legal beagle to head an Article 32 investigation.” An Article 32 investigation under the Uniform Code of Military Justice was the military’s equivalent of a pretrial investigation and the first step leading to a court-martial. “I don’t see how we can avoid a court-martial on this, so play it by the book. No mistakes and no cover-ups. And no leaks. Fitz, lay on airlift and get the lucky lawyer there ASAP. I’ll brief the Secretary. Any questions?”
“Sir,” Forney said, “the best man I have is a reservist, Lieutenant Colonel Henry Sutherland. Hank was an extremely successful deputy district attorney and now teaches law at the University of California at Berkeley.”
“Since Berkeley is the Speaker’s hometown, that should set well,” Misner replied. He hated the part of his job that required him to play games, but there was no avoiding it. The reality was that appearances trumped logic and reason in the give and take of Washington politics and mattered more than substance.
“It will take a few days to get him there,” Forney added.
Misner’s fingers drummed a tattoo on the table. The Speaker would interpret any delay on their part as stonewalling or a cover up. “Anybody else you can send?”
; “No one half as good,” the JAG replied.
Fitzgerald had a solution. “We need to preserve the evidence. I suggest we send an officer, preferably flag ranked, to start the investigation and then turn it over to Sutherland when he gets there.”
“Someone who is familiar with the situation,” Forney said. The three generals turned and looked at Richards.
TWENTY
Mission Awana
A llston’s small staff clustered around his table in the Ops Center for their morning meeting. They were a cohesive team, and because the 4440th was small and well-integrated unit, they were extremely efficient. The meeting didn’t take long and they were almost finished when the radio squawked; a Dumbo was inbound with a code six on board. Malaby was worried. “Can a C-17 land on the mission’s runway?” Allston assured her it could although turning around might get dicey. “A code six is all we need,” she added.
“I’m betting it’s the US consul general for the Sudan,” Dick Lane said.
“It might be a brigadier general,” Malone said.
Allston cut off the speculation. “It’s a chance to get some of our folks out of here,” he told them. “Who have you got that wants to get out of Dodge?” He went quickly around the table. Malaby had fourteen maintenance personnel, Logistics two, and Facilities six who wanted to leave. Malone shook his head, a satisfied look on his face, as none of the security cops wanted out. “What about the aircrews?” Allston asked Lane.
“No one wants to leave,” the ops officer said, “but with only four Herks, I only need twenty-four bodies to make up six crews. I can send sixteen home.”
“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 a
long 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.”
“Fucking lovely,” Allston groused.
“Speaking of which,” she murmured, linking a leg with his.
“Glen left on the C-17 today,” Allston told her.
She came up on an elbow. “I didn’t know. That complicates things. Technically, he was working for me and that video is my property.” She thought for a moment, considering her options. “I can take care of it. Can you get me to Addis tomorrow? I need to get to the States and sort it out.” He nodded, and she cuddled against him. “I don’t know if I’ll be back.”
The Peacemakers Page 26
