J Saint - Collateral Damage

"I believe him." Jack shifted his gaze from Weston to Beck. The tension between them was so thick that Jack doubted even a machete could hack through it. What was up? "We'll talk about the NCS and why I'm here in a minute. First things first." Jack met Weston's gaze. "I couldn't believe the CNN report. Glad your ass is intact, Commander."

"Damn. Was my name mentioned?"

"No. I recognized you though. Was it the psycho after Mari?"

"Yes."

"What's this?" Beck asked.

Weston didn't say anything and Jack filled the void. "The commander spent the afternoon trapped in Neil's house with a couple of bombs. Mari was attacked the other day at a convenience store. Hit the wrong person with the door because she was crying too hard to see and he came after her. She locked herself in the bathroom and called 911. The man left, but threatened to kill her. She spent the night in the hospital. The man's name is Frank Dugar. Mental case with ties to the Viper Militia in Washington state."

"Dear lord," Lauren said. "It's unbelievable a man would react like that."

Roger shook his head. "Mari's traditional Muslim and was wearing her head covering and gown. With the political uproar over the terrorist attacks between the West and the radical Islam, the man targeted his hate at her."

Lauren grabbed Jack's arm. "He did this," she whispered. "Bill did this and it's happening all over the world."

Jack took Lauren's hand. "Collins may have set the stage, but evil is in the hearts and minds of individuals. They're the ones responsible." Jack looked at Weston. "So he booby trapped Mari's house?"

Weston nodded. "He had a wire across the hall in front of her bedroom. I partially tripped it before I realized it was there. He also rigged the commode and her bedside lamp. I should have expected something like that, though, after he took a few sniper shots at her when we left the hospital yesterday. Mari is really shook up and frightened out of her mind."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Beck demanded, even angrier than before.

"Who the hell can tell you anything?" Weston shot back. "You're either drunk, don't answer, or too ragged out from other shit to deal with anything else."

"You two want to tell me what's going on?" Jack asked.

"Yeah," said Beck. "I do, but I CAN'T." He gave Weston a hard look.

Weston sighed as if the world on his shoulders just doubled in size. "I can, but let's go sit down."

They moved inside. Most everything in Beck's was handmade by him; a mixture of Native American style and the solid Early American craftsmanship that had been lost in today's mass production. The old world atmosphere gave an added comfort to the earthy tones and soft cushions of the wood framed sofa and chairs. Tomorrow would be the third day of non-stop hell and little sleep, and his body ached tenfold. He welcomed the comfort and to be able to let down his guard for a moment. Or so he thought.

"There are a few things you need to know about what happened in Lebanon," Weston said.

Jack tensed.

"While standing in Neil's house waiting for the IED to blow me apart, my life separated into two piles. Things I regretted and things I didn't. A good bit of what went down in Lebanon went into the regret pile. Though I'm not sure that I wouldn't make the same decision again, given the circumstances."

Jack started to speak, not even sure what he was going to say, but Weston held up his hand. "Hear me out, DT. Just know that every step I made, be it the right step or not, I did the best that I could and at any moment I would have given my life to save any one of the teams."

Weston scrubbed his face and ran a harried hand through his hair. He met Jack's gaze and didn't waver. "Everything was in line and moving smoothly for the mission. Beck's team on the perimeter and your team moving though the building, searching for James and Shalev's daughters. You reported heavy gunfire, as if pinned down on the second floor."

Jack's body began to sweat and tremble. He remembered that now. The four of them had thought they were goners. He had to force his mind back to what Weston was saying.

"Then communications went dead and all signs of life ceased as if your entire team had been wiped out. A truck full of insurgents pulled up to the entrance. Men ran into the building and a man with an entourage of guards entered as well. Beck reported the man's identity and the continued sound of gunfire from inside the building.

"That man was Muhammad al Qassem, DT, the mastermind behind the death of thousands of Americans. Given the data, the absence of signs of life, I ordered a Samson missile strike to take out Qassem. God knows how many more Americans the man would kill if he escaped."

Jack stood, hands fisted, body shaking harder. "Son of a bitch! The nightmares. They were real. There were two explosions. One from the outside then one from below. I was in the hallway going to help Neil. We'd found the hostages and were on our way out. Neil was blown back-"

Weston stood and grabbed Jack's arms. Jack focused on Weston's face, feeling as if he were being whirled in a tornado. Tears ran from Weston's eyes. "What we now know is the terrorist had developed a jamming device that wiped out the signs of life, communications, and even interfered with the Samson's GPS. The missile hit between the terrorist stronghold and the building next door. There were explosives being stored in both buildings and those explosives detonated, causing severe damage to both buildings. Qassem and his insurgents died. Neil died. You, Rico, Pecos, Shalev and James's daughters were injured. But that's not all. There was a makeshift orphanage set up in that second building as cover for the terrorist. Three children and two women died in the collateral damage from the Samson." Weston released his hold on Jack and turned way. The pain Jack saw in his commander's face wasn't bearable. Weston struggled to breathe. "The decision to hide the Samson strike and blame the damage solely on the stored explosives came from the White House. It was, and still is, feared that Islamic radicals would use the tragedy to escalate a world war. Beck, me and the few others who knew of the missile strike were sworn to silence. Even those injured in the collateral damage were not to be told. The more who knew, the greater the chance of the wrong people finding out and the odds of more people dying and being hurt because of it all."

Jack turned away, hurting as his mind grappled with everything Weston had said. As a soldier he registered the facts and processed the logical progression of events and decisions. Intellectually he understood every one of them, even if he didn't wholly agree with every point, he clearly saw the big picture. Emotionally, a maelstrom of hurt, anger and disillusionment had him by the throat.

"Jack." Lauren came up behind him and pressed her cheek to his back in wordless comfort and support.

He drew a deep breath and turned around, squeezing her shoulder in thanks. He looked at Weston. "Why are you telling me now?"

"Because when I stood on death's doorstep today, I realized there are some things I can live with and some I can't. Considering the inhumane depravity that gets excused in a heartbeat around the world, I can live with them not knowing an American missile played a role in the Lebanon tragedy, but I can't live with my men not knowing the truth. So I made the decision to tell each of you. What you decide to do with that information is up to you and I will face whatever consequences I need to that result. Just know that as Commander I made the best decision I could with the facts I had at the time. I'm sorry, DT, sorry you were hurt so badly. Sorry to have kept the truth about what happened from you. If I could trade places this instant, I would."

Jack drew several deep breaths. "I wouldn't. I wouldn't trade places. Given the facts, I don't know if I would have ordered the missile or not. I keep seeing Neil blown against the wall, keep feeling the building cave beneath me, keep hearing the screams of pain, maybe my own. Comparing the damage in Lebanon to the devastation of Qassem's last attack on American soil, the decision to take him out had to be made. But that's why you're a commander and I'm not. Somebody has to carry the responsibility to make critical choices in a crisis and live with the burden of them. We both know there are no good choices or winners in war. Consider your apology accepted."