Richards pulled into herself, and calculated her next move. Tara Scott had changed the political landscape. The door opened and a teenage page, a pretty sixteen-year-old girl, held the door for Fitzgerald. “Please wait in here,” the girl said. “General Richards, the committee has requested your presence.”
Richards nodded at Fitzgerald as she followed the page into the committee room. She took her place at the witness table. Her heart beat fast knowing that Fitzgerald was listening to every word. The Speaker smiled knowingly at her.
Mission Awana
Beck fought the battered Land Rover he had appropriated from the mission to a stop at the side of the airstrip’s parking apron. Allston and Vermullen climbed out in time to see the C-17 turn final. “A most welcome sight,” Vermullen said.
“And a total surprise,” Allston added. He keyed his handheld UHF radio and called the big cargo plane. “Dumbo, be advised we are experiencing sporadic artillery fire. Exercise minimum time on the ground.”
A cool voice answered. “Copy all, Awana. Arriving passengers advised of situation. Min time on the ground.”
Automatically, Allston scanned the big bird, checking the landing gear. “Gear down,” he transmitted. “Cleared to land.” The pilot answered with two clicks. “Must be an old fighter jock,” Allston said. The two men watched as the plane touched down and rolled out. It turned off the runway onto the parking apron as its rear door came up and ramp lowered. Two crew chiefs guided the bird as it turned on the small ramp, using every inch. “Jesus H. Christ,” Allston swore. “That’s Williams. What in hell is he doing here?” The big Globemaster stopped briefly as a self-propelled howitzer clanked down the ramp and onto the tarmac.
“Ah, very good,” Vermullen said. “That’s your Paladin, with a 155mm howitzer. He stomped a foot. “That rotating antenna bar on top is a counter-battery radar.”
The C-17 swung onto the runway as its engines spun up. The Paladin came towards them as the shriek of an incoming artillery round split the air. The C-17 was moving as the Paladin’s long barrel swung to the north. It fired a single round without stopping. Vermullen and Allison sprinted for a slit trench and piled in as the incoming round hit the ramp. The Paladin fired again as another incoming round screamed its arrival. Allston’s head darted up for a quick glance. The C-17 lifted off as the Paladin fired a third time. Allston buried his head as the round hit the runway. Silence ruled as the smoke and dust cleared. The Paladin’s anti-battery radar had tracked the trajectory of the incoming artillery shells and backtracked them to their location. The Paladin’s computers had slewed the big cannon and the crew had fired three rounds, taking out both artillery pieces shelling the airfield.
Allston stood and scanned the sky. The C-17 was safely climbing out.
The Paladin spun around on its track and clanked to a stop beside Allston. The commander’s hatch flipped opened and a tall and lanky young man stood, the upper half of his body well clear of the turret. He was dressed in civvies but his haircut and bearing were US Marine. He snapped a sharp salute. “Corporal Rickert… ah… ah… sorry, sir. Richie Rickert reporting for duty.” He lifted himself out of the hatch and waited. Jill’s head popped up and she climbed out. The marine helped her down the side of the turret and onto the ground. “My apologies ma’am,” he said. “It is cramped inside.”
“And very noisy,” Jill added.
“Where did you find them?” Allston asked her.
“Djibouti.” She lowered her voice as the gunner, loader, and driver climbed out. Like Rickert, they were wearing jeans and T-shirts. “They’re Marines, but think of them as temporary civilians.”
“How did you make that happen?” Allston asked. Jill didn’t answer. He didn’t need to know that the Boys in the Basement were involved and pulling strings. She introduced the four young men.
“Welcome to Mission Awana,” Allston said. “You could not have arrived at a better time.” He introduced Vermullen and asked what was on the pallet.
“Glad to be here, sir,” Rickert said, still uncomfortable in his new role. He pointed to the pallet. “Those are spare parts for the Paladin and forty rounds, a mix of high explosive and anti-tank.” A wicked grin played across his mouth and quickly disappeared. “We got two Copperheads on board.” The Copperhead was a smart artillery projectile that guided itself to a laser designated target, and was bad news for any tank that came within its range.
“We’ll make good use of those,” Vermullen promised. “For now, stay and operate from the airfield.” The Paladin was a great deterrent but it was also a target that he wanted as far from the mission as possible.
“What do you need?” Allston asked.
“Diesel fuel,” Rickert replied. “We got our field gear on the bustle.” The bustle was the equipment rack welded on the back of the turret. He shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Sir, we… ah… were wondering… if you might still have some of those hats.”
“You bet we do,” Allston said. He looked around the ramp. “Williams! Get your young body over here.” But the sergeant had disappeared.
The Capitol
The Speaker was hunched forward, his hands folded in front of him on the committee bench, as Richards finished her opening statement. He leaned into the microphone. “General Richards, I’m not sure I understand your point.” He was giving her a chance to change her testimony.
“My apologies, Mr. Speaker. I’ll try to clarify. When I was investigating the 4440th, I discovered they were in an untenable situation. Their commander was determined to carry out their mission of supporting the UN relief and peacekeeping operation, yet the UN commissioners running the operation are hopelessly compromised and corrupt. For example, they ordered the peacekeepers to turn over their heavy weapons and aircraft to the Sudanese Army, which is engaged in genocide operations against the Nuer and Dinka tribes. That would have been a grave dereliction of duty if Colonel Allston had complied with that order and surrendered his Hercules C-130s. It would have been a moral failure if Colonel Allston had ceased relief operations. As to the alleged charge of torturing a prisoner, the only direct evidence I discovered was the testimony of the alleged victim.”
“Then how do you explain the video?” the Speaker asked.
“The video I saw was taken at a great distance without audio. While conducting my investigation, I repeatedly heard a rumor that the prisoner had hidden a knife in his bandages and was attempting to use it. But I could not confirm that rumor.”
“But it was at your direction the prisoner was turned over to the UN. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Mr. Speaker, that is correct. The prisoner was worried the Dinka and Nuer at the mission would kill him. I believed that fear was well founded and moved him for his own safety. I never suspected that the UN would immediately release him.”
The Speaker was furious. “If there are no more questions, this committee is in recess.” He didn’t wait for the committee members to reply and banged the gavel.
Mission Awana
It was midnight when the small group gathered in Mission House. Jill spread out eight satellite photos on the table as Allston, Vermullen, Toby, and Malone crowded around. “We’re facing a reinforced regiment of over two thousand infantry,” she explained, “along with twenty tanks, and at least fifty APCs and armored cars. The good news is that they only had one battery of artillery with two pieces, which, I suspect, the Paladin made short work of. The bad news is that they still have mortars they can use as they come in range. Mortars will be much harder for the Paladin to take out.”