Retribution

“We can’t do anything if you’re not with us,” said Rager. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Listen—”

Sullivan frowned at him, then stalked out. Rager and Daly quickly followed.

* * *

Though sorely tempted to just go to bed, Dog instead walked back to the Dreamland Command trailer to check on the Cheli. He’d just gotten to the door when he heard the Megafortress’s engines in the distance. He watched the aircraft touch down, then went inside.

A young sergeant named Sam Bautista, a Whiplash team member who’d flown in with Samson, was on duty inside. Bautista jumped to his feet as Dog came in.

“Relax, Sergeant,” said Dog.

“Sorry, Colonel. I thought you were General Samson. He said he was going over to see the base commander, but I thought he came back for something.”

“No, it’s only me,” said Dog, passing through to the secure communications area. He slid into the seat in front of the console and authorized the connection to Dreamland Command.

Major Catsman’s worried face appeared on the screen.

“Good even, Natalie. Or should I say good morning? Can you give me an update?”

Catsman started with things Dog already knew. The warheads were aboard the Poughkeepsie, Zen and Breanna were aboard the Abner Read. Further analysis of the last warhead site seemed to show that the warhead was gone when the guerrillas arrived, though the imagery was still being examined. The image experts asked to see everything recorded in the area since the EEMWBs had exploded.

“A passenger plane is down in the area the Marine Osprey flew through,” said Catsman finally.

“Yes, Danny mentioned it to me,” said Dog. “Do we know what happened yet?”

The major hesitated.

“Better tell me what you know,” said Dog.

“A Global Hawk went over the area about a half hour ago. This is a photo from the area of the wreckage.”

An image appeared in the corner of the monitor. Dog pressed the control to zoom in.

A triangular piece of white metal with black letters and numbers filled the screen. It was part of a fin from a missile.

“It’s one of ours,” said Catsman.

“From the Navy fighters?”

“No ours ours. It’s one of the control fins from a Anaconda.”

“From the Cheli?”

“Has to be. I haven’t talked to Captain Sparks. I figured you’d want to do that.”

Dog pushed his chin onto his hand. “Yeah.”

“I haven’t talked to General Samson either.”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Dog.

“I — He ordered me not to tell you he was on his way,” Catsman blurted.

“It’s all right, Major. It wouldn’t have made any difference at all.”

* * *

When you’re based near a place like Las Vegas, just about anywhere else in the world can seem spartan. But Diego Garcia was spartan in the extreme, which limited the crew’s options for celebrating their mission.

“First we debrief, then we go over to the Navy canteen,” said Brad Sparks as the crew shut down the Cheli. “Or whatever they call their bar.”

“Hell, Brad, just listing the planes we engaged will take an entire day,” said Cheech. “Let’s debrief tomorrow.”

“Oh sure,” said Cowboy. “Like we’re gonna want to do that with hangovers.”

“Colonel Dog will have my butt if we wait,” said Sparks. “Let’s just get it over with.”

“Where are the unintelligence officers?” said copilot Steve Micelli, getting up from his seat.

“Micelli, that joke is older than our airplane.”

A combat-suited Whiplash security sergeant stuck his head up from the Flighthawk bay at the rear of the cockpit.

“Excuse me, Captain Sparks, Colonel Bastian wants to talk to you right away. He wants the entire crew over at the Command trailer.”

“All right, Sergeant. We’ll be right down as soon as we grab all our gear.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but you’re to leave everything here. The memory cards and tapes from the mission especially.”

“What the fuck?” said Micelli.

“If anything’s missing or erased, we’re going to be court-martialed,” added the Whiplasher. “I’m really sorry, sirs.”

* * *

Dog decided he would talk to the Cheli’s crew one at a time. Sparks, since he was the captain, went first.

“Describe to me what happened on your sortie,” Dog said, sitting across from him at the table in the Dreamland trailer. The others were outside, sitting in the shade of the nearby hangar.

“It was a long mission, Colonel. I don’t know if I can remember every last detail.”

“Do your best.”

“OK. Can I have a drink?”

“I just made some coffee. And there’s water in the fridge.”

“I was thinking about a beer.”

“Better not just now.”

Sparks nodded. Dog recognized something he rarely saw in a pilot’s face, certainly not at Dreamland: fear. Sparks must have sensed what had happened.

Dog had heard enough before Sparks was halfway through. The Anaconda aiming system had been giving them problems; they encountered a plane in the area near fighters that seemed to be a threat; the plane had not had a working friend or foe identifier.

Those were the mitigating circumstances. On the other side of the ledger, the plane should have been better identified by the radar operator, or, lacking that, visually identified by the Flighthawk before being fired on.

Should have been.

That was a judgment call, Dog thought, an extremely difficult decision to make in the heat of a battle, especially under the circumstances.

He truly understood how difficult that call was to make. Others might not.

“Did we screw up, Colonel?” asked Sparks when he was done. “What happened?”

“An airliner went down in the area the Osprey went through. There’s a good possibility it was shot down by a Anaconda missile that came from your plane.”

“Jesus.”

Both men sat in silence for a few moments.

“What’s going to happen?” asked Sparks.

“I don’t know,” said Dog. “It’s up to General Samson. He’s in charge of Dreamland now. And Whiplash.”

“Am I going to be court-martialed?”

Dog wanted to shake his head, to stand up and pat Sparks on the shoulder and tell him it was all going to be all right. But that would be lying. There would be an inquiry — a long one, no doubt — before any decision was made on whether charges would be brought.

“I don’t know what will happen,” said Dog honestly. “At this point anything is a possibility. I want you to go to your room and just stay there until you hear from me.”

“Or the general?”

“Yes. Or the general. He’s the one that has the final say now.”

Malaysia