Afghan Sunset: A Jackson Pike Novella

by Patrick Adams

  I staggered slightly and he caught my weight, pulling hard on my upper arm and sending a shockwave of pain radiating down my back through the area where the rubber bullet and Taser had both impacted.

  These fuckers all seemed to be aiming for the same spot. I thought, steadying myself as we walked down the hallway, a hallway which seemed interminably long.

  At the end of the hallway was a set of stairs which were illuminated by a naked incandescent bulb affixed to the wall on the first landing. The lone fixture cast an eerie shadow across the hallway as we stepped down the hard concrete floor, my muscles still in spasm from the surge of electricity the guard had recently sent streaming through my body.

  But still, I walked. I had regained my faculties enough to have attempted to a strike against the guard.

  I assessed the situation.

  My feet were free, and I could envision myself sweeping his legs from under his hefty frame. A head butt was also an option. It was likely to render the young man unconscious before he had a chance to cry out.

  And yet, I continued in line with the guard, my feet shuffling forward. My head bowed.

  There was really no point in fighting this young man.

  Injuring the guard would only make me look guilty.

  Lend credence to his tale that I attacked him.

  No. I'd go along with the chubby young fellow.

  Perhaps down these stairs I would find some answers, I thought, stepping down the first concrete step into the shadowy light of the dimly lit stairwell, the young man's soft, chubby hand resting lightly on my shoulder.

  Chapter 16:

  My legs shook slightly as the guard prodded me along the shadowy stairwell and into the long hallway below. The windowless corridor was dank and dark but it was clean in the Spartan fashion of the rest of the facility.

  Naked incandescent bulbs hung from the ceiling, and a row of cells stretched into the distance.

  The guard stopped abruptly, jerking me to a stop before one of the cells. At the middle of the hallway, a security camera blinked on and a buzzer sounded.

  The buzz echoed through the naked concrete walls of the dimly lit hallway as the door's locks released and the guard unceremoniously shoved me into the empty, windowless room.

  Like the rest of the basement of the facility, the windowless room was gray. Recessed lighting in the concrete above offered the only light. In the corner sat a bucket. It was the only thing in the room.

  Well, the bucket and me.

  I sat on the cold hard concrete floor and let out a deep breath.

  My back ached from the Taser. And it still ached from the rubber bullet of the day before.

  I leaned back and stretched my side. Waiting.

  I didn't have to wait long.

  The buzzer sounded and I stood, stretching my frame to its full five feet ten inches.

  Moments later a man entered the room.

  This was no prison guard. The man's coppery skin stretched tight across his youthful face. His business suit was meticulously tailored. His black hair was combed carefully and swept away from his face.

  He smiled a small, joyless smile and set an expensive brown leather briefcase on the concrete floor at his feet. Two guards stood behind him in an overt display of force.

  I nodded to him.

  "Who are you?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. This was the man who'd been pulling the strings. The man who'd tried to have me killed.

  "An apt question, Mr. Pike." He answered, taking a step towards me in the shadowy light of the cell.

  He continued, "I'm the man with the answers. I'm the one you need to be working with." He nodded to the guards.

  Both men stepped from the room.

  I paused. Sending the guards from the room was a clear display that the man was not threatened by me enough to maintain his security detail.

  A worrying thought. Why would he not be intimidated?

  Even in handcuffs, I could very likely severely injure him before the guards had a chance to return.

  No, there was another reason for this man's confidence.

  As a smile spread slowly across his face, I knew what the source of that confidence was.

  He knew where my family was.

  I groaned and leaned against the nearest concrete wall.

  "Where are they?" I asked, sighing heavily.

  The man just smiled. "You are very astute man, Mr. Pike. In fact, we almost didn't find them. Telling your wife to get out of town really was genius. And it almost worked."

  "Almost," he repeated, opening the briefcase. He handed me the contents. There were several recent photos of Leigh and Clementine taken from a distance with a telephoto lens. They were at the lake cabin where I'd proposed to Leigh. They were seemingly unharmed.

  At least so far.

  I handed the glossy print photos to the twenty-something man standing before me, my eyes lingering too long on the photos as I did.

  "What do you want." I asked, as he placed the images back into his briefcase.

  "I." He paused, correcting himself. "We.. We need you to confess to the killings in Afghanistan. Confess and your family is safe. As for you, we will ensure that the Judge Advocate General does not submit the death penalty as an option."

  I pressed my head back into the hard concrete wall of my cell as I leaned against the only support structure in the windowless room. The man waited.

  "I'm innocent." I said, defeat creeping into my voice as I thought of my family.

  The man smiled, his grin knowing and menacing like the Cheshire cat from Carrol's novel.

  A shiver ran down my spine.

  He replied a moment later. "I'm well aware that you are innocent, Mr. Pike. But what you and I know, and what you can prove are two separate matters."

  I groaned.

  The smile dropped from the man's face and he paused, glancing at his watch.

  "Your hearing is in approximately ten hours. I need an answer. I'd hate to have to make other... arrangements."

  He emphasized the word arrangements and lightly drummed his fingers on the leather briefcase in his hand, a not so subtle threat against my girls.

  I nodded.

  "Was that a nod?" The man asked. "I'll need a verbal affirmation."

  I nodded again. "I'll plead no contest to the charges."

  The man smiled again, this time the expression seemed genuine. There was a hint of something more, however, a sense of his relief.

  The man turned around, pacing slowly to the door.

  "Wait." I said, stepping from the concrete wall and striding across the tiny cell. A wave of satisfaction swept through me when the man shrunk away from me, placing the briefcase between us as his eyes glanced furtively towards the cell door.

  "Yes?" He said, trying his best to relax.

  But I'd seen the fear, and he knew it.

  "What is your name?" I asked.

  "My name is of no consequence, Mr. Pike. This meeting never happened."

  He turned and tapped on the door with shaking knuckles as I stepped back to the back wall of the cell once more, lightly chuckling to myself as the guard opened the door.

  He stopped, disconcerted. His face not close to the stony calm young man who'd stepped into the room.

  "Why are you laughing?" He demanded, clearly disconcerted by my mirth.

  "Because you are a coward." I answered, leaning heavily against the cold concrete back wall of the cell. "And name or no name, I can and will find you."

  "It won't matter." He answered. "You'll be in prison for the rest of your life."

  As the slender young coward walked away, the guard entered the room and took up position behind me. At least I didn't have to spend the rest of the evening in solitary. After seeing this place, my small cell in the hallway above seemed positively cozy.

  Chapter 17:

  This was all starting to feel like a movie.

  In what world did military officers get framed for multiple homicides? Get a
ttacked and threatened in military Brigs, have their families threatened?

  I'd been in tight spots as a SEAL, but the last week had been the worst of my life.

  The chubby young guard prodded me forward and up the stairs into the hallway above as I mulled the past hours over in my head.

  My team was dead. My Chief and I suspected in the murder of children.

  Of war crimes.

  Framed by someone.

  Someone who really wanted the investigation into what really happened to go away.

  A representative I'd just met.

  This was no longer my imagination. This was real.

  But knowing I wasn't going crazy was no consolation. There was still the more pressing issue.

  If I didn't confess to the crimes in a few hours, my family would likely be killed or worse. And I'd likely still be tried in open court for the multiple homicide.

  Judging by the heavy hitters that seemed to be on the other side of this matter, I'd likely lose.

  No. The safe bet was to plead no contest. Better the girls be safe and I be in jail. Better to die than to let anything happen to Leigh and Clementine.

  The guard released my shoulder as we approached the cell I'd called home for the past few days. I stepped into the dim lighting and lay down where I fell into an immediate and deep sleep.

  My attorney would learn my "decision" in the morning.

  I lay on the uncomfortable rack and tossed and turned.

  Morning came too quickly.

  The stark notes of reveille awakened me.

  I shook my head. Attempted to clear the cobwebs of the previous night as the last notes of reveille echoed though the facility.

  I awoke to reveille and the uncomfortable sensation that I was about to make a very big mistake.

  I rolled around for a while after reveille. Stretched my back. Avoided laying on the burn marks from the Taser the night before.

  After a few moments, the buzzing sound returned.

  The sound that could only mean one thing. The door to my cell opened and the large guard from the first day emerged from the hallway.

  His hulking black form filled the doorway to the cell and I tried my best to smile at him.

  Only a few of the guards seemed to be involved in whatever corruption was going on at this facility, and I intended to keep as many of the non-corrupt officers and junior enlisted on my side.

  "Good morning, Petty Officer Peters." I said, standing for the first time.

  He nodded. "Good morning, sir."

  I was surprised for a moment that the Petty Officer had used my respectful title, until I saw what he held in his left hand.

  My dress uniform was neatly pressed and slung over a cheap plastic hangar. The hulking three hundred pound guard hung it on the edge of my rack and turned back towards the door.

  "Your attorney is waiting down the hall." He said, before pausing.

  He turned, eyeing the uniform and alternating his gaze to my face. Respect and curiosity alternated in his eyes.

  "That the Navy Cross?" He asked, pointing to my ribbon bar.

  "It is." I replied, beginning to strip off my BDU top.

  He grunted. Pointing to another ribbon. "That the Silver Star?"

  I nodded again, pulling my green undershirt over my head as he continued to stare at my uniform, his eyes wide.

  As his gaze shifted back towards me I was pulling a white V-Neck shirt over my head.

  "You do it?" He asked, clearly breaking most every protocol.

  I sighed and slung my service dress white blouse over my shoulders before stepping into my white trousers and taking a seat on the bunk.

  Something in his eyes demanded a truthful answer. I looked down at the ribbon bar.

  The Trident insignia on my chest glinted in the breaking morning light.

  The ribbon rack of years of combat was bright in the dingy prison surroundings. I began to button the blouse.

  I knew at that very moment that I couldn't do it. I couldn't plead no contest.

  The six Americans who'd been ambushed by a superior armed force in that compound deserved better. The SEALs deserved better. The children who'd been killed deserved justice.

  I stood, tucking my feet into the white shoes laying on the floor of the cell and meeting the large guard's gaze for the first time all morning. "No." I said simply, before walking slowly towards the door of the cell.

  The guard nodded silently and fell in step behind me. Petty Officer Peters believed in my innocence.

  But now it was time to convince the rest of the world.

  Chapter 18:

  I stepped ahead of Petty Officer Peters feeling for the first time in days the sense of pride in myself and my Team that I'd almost lost.

  Not only was my honor at stake in this hearing, but the honor of my Team, my SEAL organization, and my Navy.

  No. I could not admit to doing something I did not do. I could not sully the names of the men I'd served with. It wasn't about me or my family. It was about the truth.

  I stepped into the interview room with a new sense of purpose, a purpose that my attorney seemed to sense immediately.

  "Good morning, Lieutenant." He said, smiling.

  "Good morning, sir." I replied, waiting to be instructed to take a seat.

  He waved at a chair across from himself and opened a manila folder on the metal desk.

  "I have some good news. Well, fantastic news really." He was beaming.

  I waited.

  "NCIS found a survivor. A young boy. He's willing to testify that the men who did this were wearing traditional Afghan garb, but that they were speaking English."

  "How does that help us?" I asked, peering at the folder in front of LCDR Myers.

  "Because, Jackson." He replied, opening the first pages. "The medical personnel who were responsible for the MEDEVAC of yourself and Chief Jones recall that you were both wearing standard issue Battle Dress. No one on your team was wearing anything resembling traditional Afghan garb."

  I nodded.

  I still wasn't excited by this defense. "I'm sorry sir, but that seems pretty thin and circumstantial to me. And I'm the defendant."

  He smiled again. "It did to me, too. Until I read the medical examiner's report. Gunpowder residues. Something that laypeople never think to examine. If your team had been disguised as Taliban, there would be no residue on your uniforms."

  "And?" I asked.

  "Your men were covered in cordite and explosive residue. The amount was consistent with a sustained firefight. There's no way your clothes were covered by Afghan garb."

  I nodded. We had reasonable doubt.

  "The helmet camera footage or voice recording from the AWAC would seal the deal. Its unfortunate we can't get our hands on that."

  I was nodding now. Thinking of Leigh and Clementine and how, if I was able to be released I would protect them.

  LCDR Myers smiled. "Now," he said, "that's the attitude."

  I returned the smile weakly. There was too much on my mind to display any sort of hope no matter how the evidence looked like it might get me off the hook.

  He dug through his briefcase again before lifting another folder from the recesses of the leather case.

  He tossed the folder almost haphazardly on the cold metal table next to my case folder.

  It was marked TOP SECRET.

  I blinked and peered at the document.

  My attorney slid it across the table, and I flipped open the cover.

  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.