Richards entered. He waved her to a seat. “Is this going to be one of those Mondays?”
“I’m afraid so, sir.” She handed him a leather folder. “I received this by special courier from the State Department twenty minutes ago. We will have to respond. May I suggest we alert Public Affairs for pre-emptive damage control?”
Fitzgerald groaned inwardly. The Secretary of State detested the military and never missed a chance to slap the Pentagon around. He accepted it as part of the give and take of power politics in Washington and never took it personally, although the Secretary of State treated the Joint Chiefs as an evil cabal. He opened the elegant leather folder that was Richards’ trademark and quickly scanned the thin document. He sat upright and slowly read it again. It was a formal complaint filed by the Government of Sudan with the United Nations charging the 4440th with using weapons of mass destruction on innocent nomads at the village of Wer Ping. “Did they specify what WMD they employed?”
“Apparently it was some type of nerve gas.”
“And exactly how did they do that?” It was testing time and he wanted to know if Richards had the technical and operational expertise to analyze the accusation. Thanks to the internet, any rumor, opinion, or accusation had the weight of fact. While it amused him that modern society was confused over the difference, that type of sloppy thinking was not tolerated on his staff. In this particular case, the C-130s deployed to Africa were veteran E models equipped with flares to decoy heat-seeking missiles and totally unarmed. However, the engineers at Lockheed had designed an airframe that was readily adaptable to a variety of missions that ranged from gunship to reconnaissance.
She hit the ball out of the park. “Sir, I’m aware that the C-130s at Malakal are unarmed cargo transports. However, it wouldn’t take much for an enterprising commander to install crop-spraying equipment on the ramp at the rear of the aircraft. A concentrated insecticide could function as a degraded nerve gas. How effective that would be is questionable, but it does raise a possibility we can’t ignore.”
“Are you suggesting we have a rogue commander on our hands?”
“It has been known to happen. Our information is fragmentary, but given the current climate in the UN, I would not be surprised if they arrested Colonel Allston and turned him over to the International Criminal Court to be tried for war crimes. I’m recommending that we recall him immediately and place him under house arrest for his own protection.”
Fitzgerald didn’t answer as he rapidly cycled through his waiting e-mail, looking for a message from Allston. It was number 132 in his private encrypted account with forty attached photographs. Because of a public appearance and traveling over the weekend, he had missed it. Fitzgerald was a realist and knew he was too involved with the 4440th and had to work out a new command structure to handle it. He scanned the message and forwarded it to Jill without opening the attachments. He checked the time. “Thank you, General Richards. Let’s see if Major Sharp has anything for us.” He stood and led the way to the conference room next door.
Richards took her seat in the conference room and checked her personal communicator. The CIA had just confirmed that concentrated forms of agricultural insecticide were available in Malakal. It only remained for her to slam the door on Allston and replace him with a responsible commander who understood that operations were driven by policy. She smiled at the waiting major.
Fitzgerald caught the look on Jill’s face as she concentrated on the computer screen at the podium. He waited until she looked up before nodding for her to start. “Good morning, General,” she began. “Last Friday, two C-130s under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Allston airdropped 121 legionnaires near the village of Wer Ping in South Sudan to rescue a
“I’m afraid so, sir.” She handed him a leather folder. “I received this by special courier from the State Department twenty minutes ago. We will have to respond. May I suggest we alert Public Affairs for pre-emptive damage control?”
Fitzgerald groaned inwardly. The Secretary of State detested the military and never missed a chance to slap the Pentagon around. He accepted it as part of the give and take of power politics in Washington and never took it personally, although the Secretary of State treated the Joint Chiefs as an evil cabal. He opened the elegant leather folder that was Richards’ trademark and quickly scanned the thin document. He sat upright and slowly read it again. It was a formal complaint filed by the Government of Sudan with the United Nations charging the 4440th with using weapons of mass destruction on innocent nomads at the village of Wer Ping. “Did they specify what WMD they employed?”
“Apparently it was some type of nerve gas.”
“And exactly how did they do that?” It was testing time and he wanted to know if Richards had the technical and operational expertise to analyze the accusation. Thanks to the internet, any rumor, opinion, or accusation had the weight of fact. While it amused him that modern society was confused over the difference, that type of sloppy thinking was not tolerated on his staff. In this particular case, the C-130s deployed to Africa were veteran E models equipped with flares to decoy heat-seeking missiles and totally unarmed. However, the engineers at Lockheed had designed an airframe that was readily adaptable to a variety of missions that ranged from gunship to reconnaissance.
She hit the ball out of the park. “Sir, I’m aware that the C-130s at Malakal are unarmed cargo transports. However, it wouldn’t take much for an enterprising commander to install crop-spraying equipment on the ramp at the rear of the aircraft. A concentrated insecticide could function as a degraded nerve gas. How effective that would be is questionable, but it does raise a possibility we can’t ignore.”
“Are you suggesting we have a rogue commander on our hands?”
“It has been known to happen. Our information is fragmentary, but given the current climate in the UN, I would not be surprised if they arrested Colonel Allston and turned him over to the International Criminal Court to be tried for war crimes. I’m recommending that we recall him immediately and place him under house arrest for his own protection.”
Fitzgerald didn’t answer as he rapidly cycled through his waiting e-mail, looking for a message from Allston. It was number 132 in his private encrypted account with forty attached photographs. Because of a public appearance and traveling over the weekend, he had missed it. Fitzgerald was a realist and knew he was too involved with the 4440th and had to work out a new command structure to handle it. He scanned the message and forwarded it to Jill without opening the attachments. He checked the time. “Thank you, General Richards. Let’s see if Major Sharp has anything for us.” He stood and led the way to the conference room next door.
Richards took her seat in the conference room and checked her personal communicator. The CIA had just confirmed that concentrated forms of agricultural insecticide were available in Malakal. It only remained for her to slam the door on Allston and replace him with a responsible commander who understood that operations were driven by policy. She smiled at the waiting major.
Fitzgerald caught the look on Jill’s face as she concentrated on the computer screen at the podium. He waited until she looked up before nodding for her to start. “Good morning, General,” she began. “Last Friday, two C-130s under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Allston airdropped 121 legionnaires near the village of Wer Ping in South Sudan to rescue a
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