Collateral Damage by Dale Brown Page B

would be very easy to fall asleep in. This would have to be fixed.
    â€œI understand that the government hasn’t flown against allied coalition planes until this mission,” said Rubeo.
    Marcum shook his head. “An exaggeration. This is what I mean when I say there has been much misinformation about the entire intervention. I don’t blame anyone, not even the media. It’s a very difficult situation, and NATO command has been less than forthcoming with them. We have already identified half a dozen flights by the government in the past five days. This was the largest, and the only time they engaged a plane. My bet is they won’t be doing that again anytime soon.”
    â€œNonetheless, it is an interesting coincidence,” said Rubeo. “If it were significant, how so?”
    Marcum frowned. Engineers didn’t believe in coincidences. But then again neither did Rubeo.
    â€œThe pilot would not be paying attention to the Sabres, not fully,” said Marcum. “He admits this.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBut the government would have to know about the attack in advance. A possibility not yet ruled out, but a far-fetched one.”
    Rubeo wasn’t so sure. His attention drifted as Marcum continued, reviewing the preliminary data from the Sabres.
    â€œAll of the system profiles are absolutely within spec,” said Marcum. “There are no anomalies. Sabre Four believes it struck the coordinates it was told to strike.”
    â€œBut it didn’t.”
    â€œNo. Exactly.”
    â€œThe visual ID package should have checked off,” said Rubeo, referring to a section of the system that compared the preflight target data with information gathered by the aircraft before it fired. “It should have seen that it wasn’t hitting the proper target.”
    â€œOne of our problems. Or mysteries, I should say.”
    Marcum went through a few slides, showing the designated target and then the village that had been hit. The devastation was fairly awful, as would be expected.
    â€œWere the coordinates entered incorrectly?” asked Rubeo.
    â€œIf they were incorrect, how are they right now?”
    â€œHmmmph.”
    â€œWe are checking, of course, for viruses and the like. But at this point we have nothing firm.”
    â€œUnderstood.”
    Marcum turned to administrative matters, briefing Rubeo on the different team members he wanted and the procedures he would follow as he proceeded. NATO and the Air Force were conducting their own investigations; there was also to be a UN probe. Marcum had assigned liaisons to all, but expected little in the way of real cooperation. These were more like spies to tell him what the others were thinking.
    Rubeo listened as attentively as he could, but his mind was racing miles away. He was thinking of what the attack would have looked like from the ground.
    There would have been no warning until the first missile was nearly at the ground. A person nearby would hear a high whistle—Rubeo had heard it himself on the test range—and then what would seem like a rush of air.
    Then nothing. If you were within the fatal range of the explosion, the warhead would kill you before the sound got to you.
    That would be merciful. If you could consider any death merciful.
    â€œBrad Keeler is on his way from the States,” said Marcum. Keeler had headed the team that developed the control software. “Once he’s here, we should be able to move quickly.”
    â€œGood,” said Rubeo, still thinking of the missile strike. He saw the fires and the explosions. Bodies were pulled from the wreckage before his eyes.
    Was I responsible for all that?
    My inventions make war more precise, so that innocent people aren’t killed. But there is always some chance of error, however small that chance is.
    Little consolation if you’re the victim.
    â€œSomething wrong?” asked Marcum.
    Rubeo looked over at him. Marcum had