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“Sure.”
Danny watched her trot away. His attraction toward her hadn’t faded, though it seemed to him she could have been more supportive.
“Lieutenant Klacker’s a pretty unique Marine,” said Jennifer.
“How do you mean?”
“Oh, it’s OK, Danny. I know.”
“Know what?”
She laughed. “Nothing.”
“No, seriously, Jen. Know what?”
“Nothing … You have a crush on her, that’s all.”
“No, I don’t.”
Jennifer laughed even harder.
“I’m married,” said Danny, wondering if he was talking to Jennifer or to himself.
Jennifer smirked, then changed the subject. “Where do you think I can find something to eat around here?”
“There’s a temporary mess tent in that direction,” said Danny, pointing. “They may not have anything hot.”
“As long as it’s edible.”
“That may be pushing it as well,” he said.
“WHAT’D HE SAY?” DEMANDED BLOW AS SOON AS HE SAW
Sergeant Liu.
“What do you mean?” Liu asked his fellow Whiplasher.
“Did Captain Freah say something about what happened?”
Jonesy, silent, stared at them from a nearby stool. The sun had just come up, and Liu found its harsh light oppressive, pushing into the corner of his tired eyes.
“You know Cap,” said Liu. “He said what he was going to say already. Case closed.”
“It ain’t closed, Liu. We’re going to be up to our necks because of this.” Blow shook his head and made the loud sigh that had earned him his nickname. “Man, I don’t know.”
“There wasn’t anything we could have done differently,”
Liu told him. “I believe that.”
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“Is anybody else gonna? We shoulda kept quiet about it.
Shit.”
“No, we did the right thing,” said Liu. “God has a plan.”
“God?” said Jones.
“Yeah.”
Jones continued to stare blankly toward him. Liu wanted to tell him—both of them, but Jones especially—what he had felt in the water, what he’d realized, but he couldn’t put it into words. He’d passed some sort of line, not in understanding, but in trusting—but how did you say that? The words would just sound silly, and not convey a tenth of the meaning. He couldn’t even tell himself what had happened.
“I don’t know,” said Blow. “I think they’re going to court-martial us. There’ll be an investigation.”
“Colonel Bastian will understand,” said Liu.
“He’s not going to be in charge of it. We’re supposed to go to the aircraft carrier to talk to Woods. The admiral. You know what that will be like.”
“We know what happened,” said Liu. “And the smart helmets will back us up.”
“Nobody’s going to believe that’s the whole story.”
“They’ll just have to.”
“It really went to shit, didn’t it?” said Jonesy.
Dreamland
1730
LESS THAN FORTY-EIGHT HOURS INTO HIS COMMAND, AND
already he was scheduled for a tête-à-tête with the National Security Advisor, Defense Secretary, and Secretary of State—not bad for someone whom the Chiefs of Staff had obviously decided to shunt aside, General Samson thought, checking his uniform.
Of course, he also had three men who might be charged with a war crime. Even if he could blame that on Colonel Bastian, the stain might spread to him. Samson had decided 252
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he’d have to handle the issue with kid gloves. Certainly he’d defend the men, especially if there was evidence that they weren’t to blame. But if push came to shove, three sergeants weren’t worth jeopardizing his career over.
“They’re ready for us, General,” said Major Catsman.
“How do I look, Natalie?” Samson asked, presenting himself.
“Very good, sir.”
Samson smiled appreciatively. Use a woman’s first name, defer to her judgment on aesthetics, and they’d follow you anywhere.
Catsman could be salvaged, as long as he surrounded her with enough of his own people. He needed a good staff officer, someone who knew the place well, so he could avoid the land mines while reshaping the place.
Catsman led Samson down the main hallway to the elevator. Inside, they had to wait for the security devices to take their measurements.
“We’re getting rid of that thing,” said Samson impatiently.
“General?”
“The biometric thing or whatever the hell it is that’s wasting our time.”
The elevator jerked the doors closed, as if it had overheard.
Samson wondered if maybe it had—there was no telling what the eggheads had concocted here.
The video conference had already begun by the time Samson arrived. Colonel Bastian’s red-eyed, stubble-cheeked mug filled the center screen.
“The aircraft were definitely Chinese,” Colonel Bastian was saying. “Absolutely no doubt.”
“Were you over their territory?” asked Secretary of State Jeffrey Hartman.
“Not for the better part of the engagement.”
“Which means you were at one point.”
“After we attacked, certainly.”
“Before then?” asked Hartman.
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“I’d have to review the mission tape. The border there is tricky.”
“Do these new weapons pose a threat?” asked Secretary of Defense Arthur Chastain.
“We can neutralize them now that we realize they exist,”
said Dog. “We’ll use radar-emitting decoys.”
“What weapons is he talking about?” Samson asked Catsman.
He thought he was whispering, but his voice was picked up by a nearby microphone and transmitted over the network.
“Good evening, General,” said the Secretary of Defense.
“We’re speaking of the radiation homing missiles the Chinese used against the Bennett. ”
“I see,” said Samson. Had he been briefed on this earlier?
He didn’t think so, but then he’d spent the day listening to so many reports about weapons systems that he couldn’t be sure.
“The missiles aren’t the major threat,” said Bastian. “As more of the power comes back and the military in both India and Pakistan turn their attention back to their borders, it’s going to be difficult for us to operate up there all. The Marines and our Whiplash people are operating very far from the coast—too far. We have to wrap it up quickly.”
“I’m of the opinion that we wrap it up now,” said the Secretary of Defense.
“There are only three warheads left,” said the Secretary of State. “If we don’t get them, someone else will. Terrorists, most likely.”
“The Ch-Ch-Chinese are helping them,” said a young man Samson didn’t recognize.
“Who is that?” Samson asked Catsman. “He has a terrible stutter.”
Again, Samson thought his comments were private. But the session was conducted with open mikes, and everyone on the line heard. The young man—Jed Barclay—turned beet red.
“NSC liaison,” said Catsman.
“Navy intelligence has a different view,” said Admiral Balboa. “They don’t see a link. The Chinese actions can be 254
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explained by their own internal needs. And you were over their territory, Bastian. You shouldn’t have fired.”
“I was under fire already,” said the colonel. “I did what I had to defend myself and complete my mission.”
Samson felt torn. Bastian was surely correct, and one of his people; the general felt he should stick up for him. But on the other hand, Balboa was the head of the Joint Chiefs, and the lieutenant colonel’s tone was hardly respectful.
“And then there’s the matter of that baby,” said Balboa.
“Wait until the media gets a hold of that. Al Jazeera, or whatever that damn Arab television station is—they’ll crucify us.”
“I take responsibility, Admiral,” said Bastian.
That was just what Samson wanted to hear. The colonel explained the circumstances, adding that the entire incident had been caught on video.