General Arkady stood just outside the line of trees as the mishap investigation team combed through the wreckage. A support team was erecting a command tent and running field cabling for the generator. Darkness had cut short the inquiry the night before, but wouldn’t slow them down now. By that afternoon, giant floodlights would bathe the area in high wattage night.
“We need proof,” Arkady said as he watched the team clad in white jumpers approach the twisted masses of metal. “You and I, we know who is responsible. But proving it to the world is a different matter altogether.”
“No one has any doubts,” Colonel Zentos observed.
“From a lack of doubts to military action is a large leap,” Arkady said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“We will find it, if it is there,” Zentos said finally.
“Of course it’s there,” Arkady snapped, his mood changing abruptly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“It is hard to tell with aircraft mishaps, General,” Zentos said carefully.
Just then one of the technicians broke away from the crash site and trotted back to them. He sketched off a hasty salute and said, “I think we’ve found some of the equipment, General. Would you care to inspect it?”
“What is it?” Arkady asked.
“We can’t tell yet. It’s buried under some debris. But it appears to be an overnight bag of some sort, perhaps belonging to one of the reporters. They’re going to try to move—”
The area under the trees exploded in the light and noise. The shock wave from the explosion hit them like a cannon, knocking Arkady and Zentos onto the technicians. Zentos shouted, and rolled over to cover Arkady with his own body. Debris rained down on them, one hard shard of metal piercing the colonel’s left shoulder, lancing through soft tissue and muscle like a bullet.
Zentos felt Arkady trembling underneath him and felt a moment of disgust. In danger, one acted. There was time to be afraid afterward.
“Get off me,” Arkady snarled. Zentos waited a few seconds longer to make sure there were no secondaries, then rolled off of his commander. “You presumptuous ass,” Arkady continued, then stopped when he saw the blood coursing down Zentos’s shoulder. Arkady stared for a moment, then turned away indifferently. “What happened?”
The technician was just pulling himself to his feet, his face drained of all color. “An explosion,” he said stupidly. “It exploded.”
“It was a trap,” Arkady said. He turned hard, cold eyes back to Zentos. “Did you not warn them that it might be booby-trapped?”
“General, I… no, sir. I did not specifically warn them of that possibility.” Zentos noted that Arkady’s hands were trembling.
“You are a fool.” Arkady walked over to the tree line, picking his way through smoldering debris. The technician shook off his shock and trotted after him, shouting for the medic to come with him.
“Sir?” a voice asked behind him. “Sir, shall we radio back to the command center for additional teams? A medical helo at least, sir. Colonel?”
“Yes, immediately,” Zentos said, consciously steering his mind away from that train of thought. “And alert the base hospital to stand by to receive casualties.”
As the rest of the men began the careful process of extracting the survivors and the casualties, Zentos tried very hard to ignore the suspicions crowding his mind. Everything had gone wrong, so wrong. There was only one consolation. Zentos might be a fool, as Arkady claimed — but Arkady was a coward. If not worse.
Tombstone stood to one side as the command elements of the investigation filtered back into the center. Most of the men were still in shock, but a somber, angry undertone was starting to surface in the snippets of conversation he understood. You didn’t have to understand Greek to know that every one of them took it personally, just like any military officer would. Somehow falling victim to sabotage made the deaths seem pointless, devoid of the honor of dying in combat.
But this was the way of modern combat, with attacks on civilians and guerilla tactics substituting for conventional warfare. You didn’t have to approve of it to realize that it was the wave of the future.
He felt a vague sense of guilt as well, and saw the accusation in the survivors’ faces. It was an American helicopter that had killed them. Civilian, perhaps, but American nonetheless. Coming on top of American objections to the UN command of their forces, the tragedy of the ACN helicopter simply added fuel to the argument that the United States was not really a part of any peacekeeping force that didn’t serve their own agenda. He supposed it was reasonable from a Greek point of view, if one ignored the countless contributions Americans had made in other parts of the world, most particularly in virtually single-handedly shouldering the burden of keeping the explosive Middle East under control.
He waited until General Arkady retreated to his inner office, then quietly approached and rapped on the door. “Come in,” a voice said in English. Tombstone paused, trying to fit the fact that they were expecting him into his intelligence picture. He shoved the door open.
“My deepest condolences, General,” Tombstone said. “Is there any way in which I can be of assistance?”
Seated behind his desk, General Arkady simply stared at him. Finally, he shook his head. “No. America has done so much for us already.”
Tombstone started to answer, then stopped himself. The aircraft involved might have been civilian, operating with its credentials approved by General Arkady himself, but now was not the time to point that out. Not when Arkady had just lost ten men at last count. There might be time later to discuss it, but for now Tombstone let it be.
“I’ll leave you, then,” Tombstone said.
“Wait.” Arkady held up one hand. “There is something that you might be able to resolve for me. Until the transfer of command power to my task force”—
“Investigating officer? For a court-martial or a JAG investigation?”
“Perhaps either one,” Arkady said. He picked up a file folder from his desk and held it out. “Review the facts. Interview the witnesses and the man in question. I shall require your assessment of the situation.”
“I’m not certain—”
“Read the file. Keep in mind that regardless of the status of your military forces, you are still assigned to me as an advisor. So do that. Advise.”
“Of course.” Tombstone took the folder and eased out of the office, aware that he’d been summarily dismissed. Once out in the corridor, he started leafing through the sheaf of papers, skimming the acts. He let out a low groan when he saw the squadron — VF-95.
