“Sir — yes. I understand my rights.”
“And having those right in mind, do you wish to speak to me now?”
At this, Airman Smith seemed to relax infinitesimally. “Yes, sir, I do.”
Tombstone leaned back in his chair. From what he could tell, the case was relatively open and shut. Airman Smith had been given a direct order to wit: wear the UN beret and sew the patch on his uniform. Said Airman Smith had refused to do so, violating Article 92 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, or UCMJ. There was a lot more verbiage accompanying the charges, phrases having to do with the lawfulness of the order, the fact that a commissioned officer was involved — all sorts of legalese.
Disobeying direct orders was an offense that didn’t allow much leeway. Unless Smith could prove that the order was unlawful, that he didn’t understand it, or that he had no way to obey it, it looked like he was screwed.
And over what? A hat and a piece of cloth. There was no doubt that Smith understood the order and he was physically capable of placing it on his head. Maybe an argument about how you get a patch sewed on when you’re ashore in a detachment, but Tombstone suspected Smith could have worked that out, too.
That left only the legality of the order in question, and Tombstone didn’t have much doubt about that issue either. If the order to participate in a UN peacekeeping force was illegal or unlawful, then a hell of a lot more people than Smith were in deep shit.
“So explain this to me, son. Tell me why you won’t wear the beret.”
Smith took a deep breath. “Sir, my lawyer told me not to talk to you, but I figured if anyone would understand it would be you. I know who you are, Admiral, and what you’ve done. Everybody does.” Smith laughed nervously, his words tumbling over each other. “I’d probably ask you for an autograph if it weren’t for… for all this.”
“Go on,” Tombstone said.
Smith began outlining his initial excitement about being part of the team, then the reality of working side by side with the other nations on the flight line. Some of his complaints were simply the disgruntled opinions of a very junior sailor who didn’t have the big picture. But when he got to the details of maintenance on his Tomcat, Tombstone paid close attention.
“It wasn’t safe, sir. Not what they wanted me to do. Chief, he would never have let me do it that way.”
“And you told the chief?”
Smith nodded. “But the Greek lieutenant said we had to do it anyway. That’s when I knew it wasn’t right, what they wanted us to do. Being under his command. Because what he wanted us to do could have gotten a couple of guys killed in my bird, and that’s not going to happen.”
“Maybe he knew something you didn’t know about it,” Tombstone suggested.
Smith shook his head, now more animated than he’d been since he first entered the room. “No disrespect, sir, but no. You wrap the cotter pin like that and don’t safety wire it, it’s too dangerous. What if it comes loose in flight?”
“What if this lieutenant had been an American officer?” Tombstone asked. “Don’t tell me that you’ve never had one of our officers tell you to do something that was stupid?”
“Sure, that happens,” Smith said. “But then you’ve got a chain of command. I tell the chief, we go to the division officer, the maintenance officer, all the way up if we have to.”
“And what if your skipper still told you to do it?”
Smith was silent for a moment. “It would depend, sir. I’d probably do it because the skipper knows more about the Tomcat than I do. So does the maintenance officer. But this guy, he didn’t. And there was no one else to ask.” He dropped his gaze from the distant spot on the wall he’d been staring at. “We shouldn’t be trusting them with safety of flight, sir. Not unless the guy making the decisions knows what he’s talking about. And they don’t.”
“Why do you say that?” Tombstone asked. From what he’d seen of the Greek forces, they operated pretty much like the American ones did, albeit with a few cultural differences.
Silence again, then Smith said, “They shot one of their pilots when he screwed — excuse me, Admiral — when he messed something up. We don’t do things like that. So what would they do to me if something happened to my bird?”
“They shot a pilot?”
Smith nodded. “Everybody knows about it.”
Everyone but the person who ought to. Tombstone took a deep breath, trying to calm down before he blew up. “Tell me what you know about this pilot getting shot. Tell me everything.”
“He flew a mission a few days ago, the same day that helo went down. When he got back, he had to go see the general. Nobody’s seen him since then. His wife, they said, she showed up at the squadron looking for him, all crying and everything. They took her to see the general too. She hasn’t been back.”
“And you think they shot him… and maybe his wife as well?”
Smith nodded. “The Greek guys that speak English, they say it’s not the first time, either.”
After Tombstone had heard Smith’s entire collection of rumors, he called the Judge Advocate General officer in and sent Smith out to the reception area. Tombstone briefed the lawyer, asking him to take a complete statement from Smith. “And do it yourself,” Tombstone said. “I want this close held until I can find out what’s going on. Don’t grill the kid, just ask him enough questions to keep him talking and to get it all. Then come see me.” He dismissed the lawyer and picked up the telephone. After accessing a satellite telephone line, he punched in the telephone number for Jefferson’s flag spaces.
Batman’s chief of staff answered the phone, then put Tombstone on hold for a few minutes while he tracked down his boss. Finally, Batman picked up the line. Tombstone said, “How far along are you on the turnover of our squadron to the UN command? Officially, I mean.”
“It’s going well,” Batman said, although his tone of voice indicated that he was far from pleased with it. “We’ve got a ton of inventory lists to work through, but we’re getting there. I expect to be done late tomorrow.”
“Find a way to stall. We need to drag this whole thing out for a few days — weeks, if we can.”
“Why? What’s up?”
Tombstone glanced at the telephone to make sure that the crypto light was on, indicating that the circuit was encrypted. “You’re not going to believe this. Hell, I’m not even sure that I do. But until we get to the bottom of it, don’t submit the final documents, okay?” Tombstone filled him in on Smith’s story, concluding with, “And not a word to anyone. Red circuits only, no message traffic on it. Got it?”
“I got it. Let me know when you have something solid and I’ll take care of things on this end.”
Tombstone hung up the telephone, satisfied that he’d done what he could to buy the United States some time.
Four buildings away, General Arkady hung up his telephone as well, scowling.
Ambassador T’ing regarded Wexler gravely. “You ask too much.”
Wexler glared back at him. “I don’t think so. A simple explanation isn’t all that egregious a request, is it?”
“China simply acts on behalf of the struggling people of Macedonia. Their cause is just, and China has a long history of supporting those who fight for the right to determine their own futures.”
“Ah. Like Vietnam? Like Taiwan? Or like Tienaman Square?”
T’ing drew himself up to his full height. “There are many parts of the world that the United States has never really understood. For all your talk about democracy and Wilsonian ethics, you’ve never understood the question of nationalities. In fact, you make it a national ethic to ignore the very question with this melting pot myth of yours. Ha. You end up with a nation of mongrels.”