That's the only explanation I could come up with.
In five years with the SEALs, I'd never seen that happen. Oh, I'd seen long drops. I'd seen pilots make mistakes. I'd even survived a couple of helicopter crashes in the mountains of Afghanistan.
But I'd never seen that big of an error.
The coordinates had been spot on.
But, I guess I'd never know what happened up there that caused the pilots to drop their ordinance almost directly on top of our team.
Chief Jones and I had been closest to the small concrete abutment of the mosque's roof. We'd been protected from the fireball and resulting shrapnel from the blast.
I rolled over fitfully once more and pounded at the lumpy little pillow under my head.
Outside in the hallway I could hear guards doing intermittent rounds.
I heard doors opening and closing with heavy clinking sounds. The buzzing of security doors being opened and closed. It was the rhythm of the prison.
It was something I would need to get used to.
I closed my eyes once more and drifted to sleep, thinking of my wife Leigh and daughter Clementine once more. Hoping they believed my innocence.
Chapter 8:
Reveille.
Really? As if jail wasn't bad enough, they fucking played reveille here.
Well, it was a military prison, after all.
I supposed it needed to combine the shitty parts of both the military and prison.
But it didn't matter.
I was already up.
Already on my third set of push ups, sit ups and squats.
If there was one thing I'd learned from all of my years in stressful and demanding situations it was that a healthy body was key to a healthy mind, a healthy outlook and the ability to handle any situation.
So when the loud buzz of my cell door unlocking sounded, I'd already washed my face and shaved with the single bladed safety razor which had been sitting on cold metal of my counter.
Can't hurt anyone with this, I remembered thinking sardonically when I first saw the chintzy plastic razor.
I pulled my BDU top over my head as the door swung open and I stepped out into the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway, looking left and right.
I was the only one in the hallway, besides the two prison guards standing in front of me.
I recognized one of the men from the night before. A burly black man. Name was Peters, if I remembered right. He carried himself like he knew how to handle his close to three hundred pound frame.
"Good morning, Petty Officer Peters." I said, scanning the empty cells to either side of my own. "Where is everyone else?"
He just nodded and took up position behind my arm.
"You have not been convicted of a crime, LT Pike. You are being held at the Naval Brig in Norfolk until an Article Thirty-Two Hearing of the Uniform Code of Military Justice can be convened. There's no one else in the hallway because you are the only one currently being held in pre-trial confinement."
I nodded and followed the two men down the hallway and into a small beige room where a man in a clean and pressed service dress uniform stood, a briefcase clutched in his hands.
He pushed a small wire rimmed set of glasses higher on his face as I entered and extended his hand while Peters and the other, skinnier guard closed the heavy steel door behind me.
"Good morning Jackson, I'm Lieutenant Commander Myers. I'm your assigned Judge Advocate General attorney."
I shook his hand and sat down. I looked around the beige room and frowned. "Well I wouldn't call it a good morning. Have you heard from my wife?"
"I was just assigned the case this morning, but I can certainly get in touch with your family. I may even be able to schedule a visit."
He sat down on the other side of the small steel table and laid the briefcase down on its side, popping open the locks.
"That would be great," I said, smiling slightly for the first time since I'd been taken into custody.
"Lieutenant Pike," the attorney's face was very serious. "I need to tell you that this is a very serious case. It is also sadly a case which has garnered international attention, meaning that the administration, the Secretary of State, and even the Department of Defence are pushing for a quick resolution."
I nodded slowly. "A quick resolution?"
"Jackson, these are serious charges. The Naval Criminal Investigative Service at the request of the Afghan Provisional Government are charging you with the premeditated murder of twenty children."
I shook my head. "There were no children in that facility when my team arrived."
The attorney shook his head and flipped open his hard-sided leather briefcase, pulling out several photos and laying them on the table.
He looked at me as I stared at the bloody photos of numerous slain children, murdered assassination style, still in their bedclothes. "Well, Lieutenant, there were when you left."
I stared at the table.
"My team engaged a heavily armed force within the facility. There were close to forty fully grown, armed men. We were pinned down on the roof of the mosque. I called in an airstrike. That can all be accessed via the satellite radio feed which the combat air controllers recorded. The helmet cameras should prove the rest."
The lawyer nodded. "The satellite radio feed is garbled and incomprehensible, and the helmet camera digital video recording is unavailable."
I slammed my fist on the table. "What the hell do you mean? That is TOP SECRET material. It should have been properly tagged and tracked by the medical personnel on the rescue helicopters."
The lawyer stood up. "I agree. But I'm just telling you where we stand. At this point it is looking like the trial will consist of your testimony plus the testimony of Chief Petty Officer Jones against the evidence on scene of what the media have dubbed the 'palace massacre'."
I shook my head again, the cobwebs failing to clear.
The lawyer pulled a small black tape recorder from his briefcase and set it on the table. "I need to know everything. As your attorney, I'm cleared at the highest levels. Do not hold anything back. I need to know as much detail as you can muster about that night. The consequences of neglecting minor details cannot be overstated."
I stared at the photos of the bloody children on the desk. "What consequences might those be?" I asked.
The lawyer looked back at me, unblinking. "Lieutenant Pike, if you are convicted of these crimes, the government is likely to push for capital punishment."
Chapter 9:
When the cell door slammed closed behind me, I braced my back against the concrete wall and slid slowly to the floor, my eyes fixated on the stolid concrete wall directly in front of me.
I must have sat like that for a while. Before I knew it, the loud buzzing noise sounded once more and the heavy steel door to my cell was opening again.
A new guard was calling me into the bright fluorescent lights of the hallway. I sighed and stood slowly before walking into the harsh light.
"Lunch time," The chubby young Petty Officer said as he escorted me down the hallway in the opposite direction from the interrogation room where I'd spent the better part of the morning with my lawyer.
Myers seemed like a decent enough man and a diligent attorney.
I suppose I should be grateful for that.
We stepped into the large dining facility of the Naval Brig and I looked around. For the first time, I was exposed to the other prisoners.
These were not men in pre-trial confinement like me, but men convicted of crimes by a military criminal court. These were men who were serving out their sentences.
If I was convicted, I wouldn't be fortunate enough to be sentenced here.
Norfolk Naval Brig is a Level One Facility, housing members convicted of lesser felonies and not deemed a hazard to themselves or others.
No, if I was convicted I would likely be sent to the only Level Three Military Correctional Facility in the country: Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.
&
nbsp; It was strange. The Naval Brig in Norfolk's dining hall reminded me of a normal military dining hall.
Even the members within the facility were in uniform.
The men in the facility stepped in an orderly fashion through the line to the sneeze guard and received a simple metal tray with some type of slop spilling from the sides.
Some were given bread and water, obviously a form of punishment.
My study of the facility was cut short by a not-so-gentle nudge in the small of my back.
"Go on. Get in line. We'll be back to bring you to your cell after chow." The pudgy Petty Officer smiled a crooked, joyless grin and I complied.
I was the only man here wearing battle dress.
My attire and the SEAL trident emblazoned on my fading green uniform was enough to draw the attention of most everyone in the room as I stepped slowly towards the end of the line.
I could see men whispering to one another, could see them leaning in towards one another in my peripheral vision.
They had seen the news.
These men knew who I was, and moreover they knew what I was accused of.
I moved through the line and received my brown slop and white bread. I could tell now that the slop was some type of brown stew, more brown than stew.
I thanked the young man and moved on, searching for an open seat.
The room was large, interspersed with big round tables. The windows were set high and laced with chicken wire. They allowed in a decent amount of natural light, but prevented inmates from seeing the surrounding Naval facility. The walls were painted the same beige as the interrogation room where I had spent the morning with my attorney.
I wove slowly through the metal tables. None were completely full. I walked up to the closest and took a seat on the small affixed metal stool, nodding to the men around me.
As I did, all but one of the men stood and simultaneously carried their trays to other tables.
The man who remained stared quietly at his plate and took a sip of water.
"Aren't you going to leave too?" I asked as I dipped my white bread into the brown sauce on my plastic tray and slurped it hungrily into my mouth.
The man shook his head and turned back to his meal.
"Thanks for staying with me," I said.
The man nodded, before turning to look me dead in the eyes. "They think you killed all of those kids. Is that true?"
I shook my head. "No. No it is not."
He nodded. He was probably close to forty, one of the oldest inmates at the facility. Still, he was fit. Mandatory PT was likely a big part of the routine here.
He set his water cup down on the tray and stood up. Before leaving he lowered his voice slightly and leaned in. "Watch yourself in here. A lot of these men hate you for what you are accused of doing."
I nodded. I could sense the hostility since I walked into the room. "I will."
He turned and walked away, setting his tray on the scullery window sill before stepping down the long hallway that led to what I could only assume was the cell block.
Chapter 10:
The chubby young guard didn't stay away for long.
In fact, I was barely done wiping up the last of the brown residue from my plastic tray with the heel of a stale piece of bread when I sensed his presence behind me.
"You have a visitor." He said, and I stood.
I nodded and carried my tray to the same counter I'd seen the thin man leave his and stepped out the door to the long hallway.
We walked past my cell and back toward the beige interrogation room at the end of the hall.
As the door swung open slowly, Leigh stood up from behind the metal visitor's table.
I smiled, my face feeling like it was about to break. A sense of joy and relief washed over me. A tear dotted my vision..
She squeaked when she saw me and rushed over. She threw her thin arms around my neck hugged me close.
Behind us, the guard cleared his throat and she let go. "Sorry. They told me that I wasn't supposed to touch you."
I smiled slowly, tears coming fully to my eyes now as I moved towards the metal chair tucked on the opposite side of the table.
"How is Clementine?" I asked, as Leigh sat down next to me, adjusting the hem on her white skirt as she tried to sit daintily in the cold metal prison chair.
"She's confused, Jackson. Just like her mom."
She looked at the table for a long moment.
I nodded. "Leigh, look at me."
She raised her head a few inches and her piercing green eyes peered into mine.
"I didn't do what they are accusing me of."
Tears came to her eyes now and she dabbed at them with a balled up tissue in her hand. I could tell now that she had been crying for a while.
"I'm going to prove my innocence. I'll prove it to you, to the court, to the American people, and most of all, to Clementine. I promise you that."
Tears began to run down her face again as I stood up. "I love you." I said softly into her ear as I walked towards the heavy steel door next to the chubby young guard.
Leigh stood up once more and ran over to me before I made it even half way. She threw her arms around me again and held me tightly as she weakly sobbed. The guard shifted his feet uncomfortably and cleared his throat.
"That's enough," he finally said before placing a soft, chubby hand on my shoulder and guiding me through the door.
Tears streamed down my face as I stepped down the hall towards my cell, the chubby young guard in tow. When we reached the heavy metal door of my cell I blinked heavily and forced the tears from my eyes.
I lay in the cell for a while before the loud buzzing noise returned and the guard was back.
It must have been a shift change because the rotund young white kid had been replaced by the burly black guard from the day before.
"Good afternoon, Petty Officer Peters."
He just shrugged and grunted something unintelligible in greeting before he said, "Your attorney is here."
I nodded and he followed me down the hall once more.
The door swung open once more, and my attorney stood, motioning towards the metal chair across from him.
I sat.
"Mr. Pike," he said, "Your Article 32 hearing has been moved up."
I nodded.
Article 32 hearings were the precursor to the legal proceedings where I'd be charged with murder. In essence, within military law, the Article Thirty-Two hearing was the opportunity for the Judge Advocate General to determine whether sufficient evidence existed to indict me on the charges.
"When?" I asked.
"Two days. Legally, they cannot hold you longer than two days in pre-trial confinement without your Commanding Officer's permission." He paused.
"He's refused to give it."
I smiled. Commander Stone always looked out for his people.
"I'm not surprised."
"The problem is, that doesn't leave us a whole lot of time to prepare. I have your story, and I have it on good credibility that Chief Jones will corroborate."
"Unfortunately," he continued, "the lack of hard evidence from the helmet cams or the surveillance aircraft is a real challenge. It's likely that the prosecution will accuse you of destroying the evidence."
I nodded my understanding.
Two days to prove my innocence in a preliminary hearing.
The lawyer stood up. "I have a great deal of research to do. We'll reconvene tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM. The hearing is the following day at the same time."
Chapter 11:
The process for the evening meal was much the same as the afternoon.
A loud buzzing noise at my door, guards to escort me to the galley, even the passive aggressive stares of the other inmates were familiar from the mid-day meal.
I gravitated towards the one face that didn't radiate malice.
The older, thin inmate was isolated from the rest of the men in the facility, his back to the wall in a recess as far fr
om the center of the galley as possible.
With my heavy plastic tray in hand, I stepped slowly towards his table, through the sea of hateful stares.
I don't know what it was. Perhaps it was the fluorescent light from above glinting off the makeshift blade. It could have been a sixth sense. But, something caused me to turn abruptly and crouch low, dropping my tray to the ground.
The man clutching the blade was about six foot four and close to three hundred pounds. The makeshift knife was a blur in the brightly lit room as he hefted himself towards me. I had been lucky to miss the first swipe of his blade.
In my mind, the assailant was the only man in the room, but as I focused on his hulking form rapidly advancing on me in the center of the galley, I could see the rest of the men stand up and line the walls of the dining area.
He came at me again, and this time I was ready for him. I crouched low and drove my fist squarely into his groin, before sweeping his legs from under his body. He crashed into a heap on the cold concrete floor next to my tray and the spilled remnants of what remained of my dinner.
He didn't stay down long, however. He hefted himself back up and came at me again.
By this time, the guards were piling into the room in full riot gear and the other prisoners had lay prone on the ground.
The man swiped at me once more with the prison shiv and my training took over. He came at me in a rush and I struck him hard beneath the knife wielding arm, just in his armpit. The knife fell and the man went to his knees.
Without even thinking, my closed fist became a flattened palm, and I could feel myself about to issue a killing blow to the man's exposed throat.
But I didn't have the chance.
My back exploded in pain and I followed him to the ground while guards swarmed around the two of us and cold metal handcuffs were clipped around my wrists.
The men roughly carried me down the hall back to my cell.
I guess I was going to bed without dinner tonight.
My back ached as the two guards in riot gear clutched my upper arms and escorted me down the corridor.
"He started it." I said, painfully wheezing out the words.
Afghan Sunset: A Jackson Pike Novella Page 3
