I almost smiled at the thought, the handcuffs digging into my sore wrists as I tried to ignore the discomfort.
I was definitely no dignitary.
I was also definitely no murderer.
Chapter 7:
The past few days had been surreal.
Like walking through the smoke of battle, constantly reminded by the reality of the situation and yet yearning to wake, as if from a bad dream.
When the thick metal door of the Brig's cell closed and the lock slid into place, reality was as harsh as it had ever been.
The locking mechanism clicked three times.
My lawyer would be here in the morning.
Until then, there was nothing to do.
I lay on the gray bed, folding the hard and lumpy pillow into some semblance of a headrest.
My eyes slowly closed and the image of the cracked concrete ceiling of the prison cell faded from my vision, replaced by thoughts of my family.
Images of my wife Leigh and daughter Clementine danced through my mind as I lay in a state far from asleep but not quite awake.
I was sure they'd seen the news.
I wish the agents had let me call them, to tell them that I was alright.
I shifted on the hard bed and rolled onto my side.
They would know I was innocent of the charges. That's all that mattered.
That thought gave me more peace than any of the past few days, and I let my thoughts drift as I laid my head on the lumpy prison pillow and finally drifted into a fitful sleep.
When I woke up, I was covered in sweat and my heart was racing.
Images of the night my team had been killed cascaded through my memory, mixed with the photos that had been broadcast across Al Jazeera and even the American news networks.
I shook my head. It was rapidly getting to the point that even I didn't know what was true anymore.
I sighed, pushing the doubt from my mind and surveying my surroundings.
I had never been to prison, but this one was not what I would have expected.
A heavy metal door with a small window at face level sealed me into the solitary cell.
The furnishings were Spartan. An uncomfortable bed, a metal toilet and sink in the far corner of the small room. Solid concrete walls painted an odd shade of gray.
It was a far cry from the image I'd pictured in my mind. I guess I'd expected the classic cell from Western movies; thick metal bars, and a little metal cup to clink against the heavy steel gate.
Least they could have done was give me the little metal cup to clink, I thought, trying to smile.
I glanced at my wrist.
They had taken my watch when I got here.
Being in a world with no indication of time was a strange feeling for a Navy SEAL.
For years, my life had revolved around being in a certain place at a certain time. In the SEALs, time was everything.
Time was life and death. It was the difference between being at an extraction point in time or being in enemy territory when the airstrike came.
I shuddered and rolled over on the bed again, staring at the ceiling.
The airstrike.
The flight of FA/18 aircraft must have dropped the bombs long.
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 32 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 pretrial 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 Defense 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."