"Do you understand these charges?"
In turn, we both acknowledged that we did.
"How do you plead?" The Captain asked, again in turn we both denied the charges.
"Please take your seat, Lieutenant."
I turned towards the back of the courtroom and flashed a small smile to the man in the black suit. His face was a mask of rage as he stood and adjusted his tie. He walked slowly from the courtroom, his briefcase clutched tightly in a tan fist.
The small smile did not fade from my lips as the Captain then progressed through what seemed like an endless series of explanations regarding the legal rights of the accused. The rights of the convening authority, and the qualifications of our defense counsel.
It seemed like the initial script for the Article 32 hearing had lasted an hour. But, finally we came to a stopping point and the Judge ordered a five minute break.
When we reconvened, the court was sealed in the interest of protecting classified information. At this point, only the defendants, defense counsel, prosecution and judge remained.
The formalities complete, it was time to defend our honor, and that of our team, our organization, and our service.
When the hearing reconvened, my hands were shaking slightly. I breathed slowly, awaiting the surge of calm that came before every operation. Like the other missions I'd served on, today's hearing carried life or death consequences.
After confirming that the hearing had been sealed to all but those involved directly in the prosecution of the case, the judge informed us of the case's importance to national security and read us into the classified information. He then invited Chief Jones to recount the story of the fateful evening that had brought us to this Article 32 hearing.
To his credit, Mike Jones was detailed, he was well spoken and he was brief.
Every inch the SEAL, he sat with an air of quiet authority. You could almost forget the fact that he was injured and sitting in a wheelchair. Almost.
Unlike a civilian hearing, Article 32 proceedings provide a chance for cross examination. The prosecution began.
Chief Jones was quiet and confident. He answered every question clearly and was forthright on all fronts.
When asked about the loss of our team members, his voice betrayed no emotion, but a tear rolled slowly down his cheek. He didn't wipe it away.
The prosecution peppered Chief Jones with questions, the answers to most of which he didn't know. And he said so. It was impressive. Jones' testimony left no doubt as to this man's commitment to the country, the service, and his men.
I hoped I would do as well.
I had my chance moments later.
Like Chief, I was given the opportunity to speak my piece before the cross examination by each of the attorneys who remained.
I stood and walked to the witness stand, my steps slow and measured. My breathing controlled.
I was reminded that it was a breach of the UCMJ to give a false statement to a superior officer, before the questions began.
As I began to speak, I noticed that my hands had stopped shaking. My voice rang clear and true across the near empty courtroom.
And I told our story. A story of heroism and tenacity, the type you would hear if SEALs could talk about their missions on a regular basis.
But we couldn't. In the interest of national security, even our families would never know the truth of what we did, the sacrifices we made.
The families of the men who'd died that night would be handed a folded up flag. Their brothers and teammates would pound an Eagle and Anchor Insignia into their casket and their bodies would be lowered to the earth.
All of this without a single civilian knowing of their true sacrifices for country.
This was my chance. Even in a TOP SECRET hearing where I was defending my own honor, I knew. I was defending the honor of all the heroes who went before, who were lost in missions similarly unacknowledged and unsanctioned.
When I finished speaking, I was mentally drained. I'd recounted the tale of the night of the raid in exacting detail. My story would match the Chief's exactly.
Of that I had no doubt.
But it was time for the questioning.
The prosecutor was first.
He was a tall man. A Marine Corps Captain, lean and wiry with a nose that crooked slightly and a brow that seemed constantly furrowed, the type of man weary from having tried too many of his own for heinous crimes.
He began. "Mr. Pike. You say that you were engaged by an enemy force found to be loading trucks within the facility."
"Yes. That's correct," I replied. "The enemy was distributed throughout the facility and seemed to be loading whatever had been stored at the facility into three large trucks in the central compound upon our arrival. When we spotted the men we immediately established a perimeter and engaged the force from an elevated position."
The prosecutorial attorney nodded. "What were these men loading into the trucks?"
I paused for a moment. "We never actually got a good look at what was going into the trucks. But Intel stated that the facility was being used as a staging area for insurgent strikes against allied forces in the area. We assumed the cargo to be weapons. And the secondary explosion seemed to have confirmed that."
The lawyer strode across the room to a tall easel which was covered with a blank piece of paper. He flipped the page.
"This is a satellite photo of the facility the morning after Operation Afghan Sunset." He paused and pointed to the main compound. "As you can see, the facility is completely destroyed. The FA/18 airstrike devastated the entirety of what remained of any sort of evidentiary support for your claims."
He paused.
"At least, the airstrike destroyed the main compound. The school was left intact."
He flipped the page again. The photo that LCDR Meyers had shown me on day one was blown up, the bodies of the children laying dead across the concrete floor of the school, shot execution style.
I shuddered.
"Do you recognize this photo, Lieutenant?" The lawyer asked as I shook my head.
"I recognize the photo." I replied. "My attorney provided me a copy in the Brig."
He nodded and sidled slowly up to rail that divided the stand from the rest of the courtroom.
"Did you and your men ever enter the school?" He asked.
"No." I replied, unblinking.
He turned away and flipped through more charts. More photos of the devastation. Of dead children.
My response never changed. This back and forth went on for half an hour until the tall and thin Marine prosecutor returned to his desk. "I have no further questions at this time."
My attorney nodded. I'd apparently performed well.
Now came the hard part.
Chapter 22:
I took a deep breath as my attorney approached the witness stand.
"Lieutenant Pike," he said pausing for effect, "Did you or any member of your team enter the school in the compound at any point during Operation Afghan Sunset?"
"No." I answered, already tired of the question.
"Really? Can you prove that?" He continued.
"No, sir." I answered, wondering where he was going with this line of questioning. I thought he was my lawyer.
"And why is that?" He asked, winking ever so subtly as he did.
"Communication broadcasts and helmet cam footage were unavailable for this mission." I replied, beginning to see the brilliance of his line of questioning.
He turned to the judge and the prosecutor in turn. "Unavailable? I thought it was standard procedure to record all missions for training and intelligence purposes. Were you men not provided with a standard pack?"
"We were, sir. But it was different equipment. Non-recordable. And the AWACs were ordered to broadcast a live feed to an undisclosed location without recording the operation."