Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

FORT KNOX, KENTUCKY

As Mac made her way across the sprawling base, she felt depressed. The previous night had been spent tossing and turning. Why had she been stupid enough to refuse a direct order?

Because you had every reason to believe that the country was in the shitter, her inner voice replied. And it would be, except for Sloan. The statement was true but brought very little comfort. Mac consulted the slip of paper in her hand, confirmed that she was standing in front of the correct building, and climbed a short flight of stairs. A door opened into a sparsely furnished reception area. Mac made her way over to a fortresslike desk. A bright-eyed corporal looked up from what she was doing. “Good morning, ma’am… How can I help you?”

“I’m Captain Macintyre, and I’m here to see Judge Advocate Sanders.”

The corporal consulted a screen. “Yes, ma’am. Please have a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Mac found a place to sit. About a dozen people were seated around her. Did they know about the charges that had been lodged against her? No, that was absurd. What would her father think? Mac could imagine the disappointment in his eyes. The same disappointment she’d seen many times before. A major appeared and made his way over. “Captain Macintyre? I’m Judge Advocate Sanders.”

Mac stood. Sanders had thinning flyaway hair, a slight stoop, and was dressed in a uniform that appeared to be a size too big. They shook hands. “Please follow me,” Sanders said, and led the way.

Mac followed him through a maze of cubicles and corridors to a windowless room. “Please have a seat,” Sanders said, as he circled a cluttered desk. “Or should I say the seat, since there’s only one. They called me back to active duty two months ago and, as you can imagine, the regulars have the good offices.” It was said without rancor. As if such indignities were to be expected.

Mac forced a smile. “Yes, sir.”

“Let’s dispense with the formalities,” Sanders said, as he sat down. “Please call me George, and I’ll call you Robin. Now, allow me to bring you up to speed on the process. You’ve been charged with disobeying a direct order and threatening the life of a superior officer. Those are serious allegations, needless to say, so a general court-martial will be convened.

“The trial will involve a military judge, a prosecutor, and a defense counsel. By the way,” Sanders added, “you have the right to choose a defense counsel other than me should you desire to. And no, I won’t be offended.”

Mac felt a terrible emptiness where the pit of her stomach should have been. “I won’t need a defense attorney. I plan to plead guilty.”

Sanders frowned at her. “ What? Are you crazy?”

“No,” Mac said miserably. “I’m guilty. Not only that, there were witnesses, plenty of them. So that’s that.”

“Maybe,” Sanders allowed, as he picked up some papers. “And maybe not. It’s true that Privates Wessel and Dooly gave statements that support the charges. But your driver, Corporal Garcia, said he couldn’t hear the interchange between you and Major Fitch. That in spite of the fact that he was outside the Stryker and standing a few feet away!

“Then there’s Dr. Hoskins. He said that Major Fitch appeared to be suffering from PTSD, and Private Hadley indicated that Fitch was threatening you with a machine gun. All of which can be used to attack Fitch’s credibility. Or lack thereof.”

The fact that Garcia, Hoskins, and Hadley had been there for her was heartening. “I’m glad to hear it,” Mac said. “But be honest with me. What are my chances?”

Sanders frowned. “Of going scot-free?”

“Yes.”

“I’d put the odds at five to one against it.”

Mac swallowed. “Okay, so why fight it?”

“Which would you prefer?” Sanders inquired. “Twenty years? Or two? A short sentence. That’s worth fighting for. I know things look dark… But you have an extraordinary record, and believe me, the court will take that into account. But only if we tell them the story. So what do you say? Do we fold? Or fight?”

Two years in prison. If she was lucky. Mac felt sick to her stomach. “Okay, George, we’ll fight.”

The smile made Sanders look younger. “Good. I’ll push for a speedy arraignment. Be sure to follow all of the rules and stay out of trouble during the interim.”

The next two weeks were difficult. Mac had to check in four times a day. But, other than occasional meetings with Sanders, she had no other duties. So rather than sit around and think dark thoughts, Mac put in two hours at the gym every morning. Then it was time to shower, eat breakfast, and do chores.

Once lunch was over, Mac had all afternoon in which to read. The Art of War by Sun Tzu was a favorite, and histories, including the four-volume A History of the English-Speaking Peoples by Winston Churchill.

And Mac had time for lighter fare as well… including both online and print publications. That’s how she came across a story concerning Sloan’s love life. “The love affair between the President of the United States and World News reporter Beth Morgan is over.” That’s how the article began. And, farther down, there was an equally interesting sentence. “According to people in the know, the president broke off the relationship, and Ms. Morgan is anything but pleased.”

Mac remembered the room, what Sam had said to her, and her reply. What part, if any, had the conversation played in ending his relationship with Morgan? And what would the president think of her now? Nothing good.

The arraignment was a good deal less dramatic than Mac had imagined. The charges were read, her rights were made clear, and a trial date was set. Rather than stall for time, Sanders was pushing for a speedy trial. “I don’t want to be morbid,” he said. “But what if Dr. Hoskins gets killed? As a physician, and someone who is clearly on your side, his testimony is very important to us.”

Mac understood the logic of that, even if it was a bit cold-blooded, and wanted to get the whole process over with. The sooner she was convicted, the sooner she could serve her time, and the sooner she’d be released. To do what ? Mac didn’t know. But, she thought to herself, I’ll have plenty of time to think about that.

ABOARD THE VIRGINIA-CLASS ATTACK SUBMARINE JOHN WARNER

The President of the United States had never been aboard a nuclear attack submarine before. And he didn’t like it. Because, in spite of the fact that the boat was more spacious than its predecessors, the close quarters made Sloan feel claustrophobic. It was a sensation he was determined to conceal.

Sloan was standing in the control room next to Captain Rawlings. Each time the officer gave an order, Sloan could monitor changes on the screens located in front of the pilot and copilot. Only three people were required to steer, rather than the five or six that was standard in the Ohio-class subs. “We’re pausing just below the surface,” Rawlings said, “so we can take a look around.”

The rest went unsaid. Had the Confederates kept their word? If so, there wouldn’t be any vessels in the area other than the Ohio-class submarine Alabama . And it, according to Rawlings, was under the command of an old friend. A classmate from Annapolis who had chosen to fight for the Confederacy instead of the Union. “ He’s trustworthy,” Rawlings had said. “But the people he reports to? Not so much.”

And that’s typical of this war, Sloan thought to himself. Friend against friend, brother against brother. God help us.