Killing Time by Cindy Gerard Page B

wouldn’t it show up on their tracking system?”
    “Because that terrain sucks for radar detection. Even the antimortar radars have a problem with the mountains and valleys. And let’s face it—the Taliban have no air game.”
    “So, they decided you were making it up?”
    “That was the consensus, yeah. Webber was dead. Taggart and Cooper had been unconscious or too disoriented to know what had gone down. I was the only one telling the story. And remember, I was already guilty of disobeying a direct order. They pegged it as CYA—cover your ass—all the way.”
    “Your decision was mission critical. You couldn’t leave those men there to die.”
    He shook his head wearily. “Everyone was covering their asses. The Afghan government was all over Com Cent. They wanted a fall guy—it became real clear real fast that it was going to be me.”
    “I still don’t understand why you let it happen.” She couldn’t keep the frustration from her voice.
    “You weren’t there, okay? So don’t judge me.”
    “Then I’m judging your CO. He never should have signed off on that report.”
    “You think he wanted to? Look, Henry Brewster was a stand-up guy. He ran the FOB, for God’s sake, yet he took time to come to see me in the brig. Told me he was sorry I was taking the heat and the rap, and assured me that after some time passed it would blow over and all go away.”
    “So you agreed to plead no contest?”
    “Hell no. I didn’t agree to anything. Not then. I waited. I counted on Brewster coming through. Then I got sent back stateside. To Bragg.”
    “Wait.” She held up a hand interrupting him. “Fort Bragg? You were Navy. Why were they holding you at an Army base?”
    “The One-Eyed Jacks team fell under Joint Special Operations Command. JSOC is based at Bragg. And JSOC is all about command and structure. I was a fault line in that structure that threatened their very foundation. They wanted me gone, incident forgotten, end of story. The base commander at Bragg—James Slockem—made sure it happened.”
    “And Brewster didn’t stop it.”
    “He did what he could,” he repeated defensively. “He was still in Afghanistan. Dealing with the troop surge, a complete operational reorg, and a bump from one to two stars—so yeah, he was a little busy.”
    “Too busy to stand up for his own men?”
    His jaw clenched. “Let it go.” He stared herstraight in the eye. “You’re barking at the wrong dog. Brewster was . . . he was the man, you know? The One-Eyed Jacks was his pet project. He fought for the unit, put it together. No one went to bat for us like he did. No one would have let us get by with the shit we pulled but him. He had our backs time and time again.”
    “Just not when it counted.”
    He closed his eyes. “Especially when it counted. Who do you think arranged for the plea deal? Brewster set it up. He pulled the strings, pulled in markers. He made the file go away. He made it all go away. He did the best by me that he could. If he hadn’t, I’d be rotting in a military prison somewhere.”
    “He could have exonerated you.”
    He swore wearily. “Enough. I don’t want to hear any more about it. It was all on me, okay? I’m fucking guilty. That kind of weight doesn’t transfer. Not to Brewster. Not anyone else. I didn’t save them. That’s the bottom line.”
    She got it. He felt tremendous guilt because he hadn’t saved his men. For him, there would never be any getting out from under that guilt. She, however, wasn’t saddled with that particular problem. And whether he liked it or not, she was looking into Brewster. The man might be a god to Mike, but she wasn’t worshiping at his altar.
    She understood something else, too. Mike needed to believe in Brewster. If not his CO, then there was no one he could believe in.
    And maybe he was right. But she was going to follow up, and then they’d both know.
    “The bottom line remains, someone sold you out,” she said quietly.
    He