French patrol that had been ambushed by a marauding band of Janjaweed.” She kept glancing at her computer as she recapped the operation and described how Allston had dumped fuel over the Janjaweed to simulate chemical weapons, and then directed small-caliber submachine gunfire from the rear of the aircraft onto the Janjaweed, killing five.
“Now that’s an interesting use of jet fuel,” Fitzgerald allowed.
Richards caught the irony in his tone. It was time for damage control. “Major, are you saying this was a deliberate pollution of the environment by Allston?” Even to her ear, it sounded trivial.
“At the present time, we have no reports of environmental damage. But I will pursue it.”
“That’s not necessary,” Richards said, regretting she had mentioned it.
“Do you have anything else for us?” Fitzgerald asked.
“These photographs,” Jill answered, “were taken at the village of Wer Ping, which was destroyed by the Janjaweed. “ She typed a command into the computer and the photos of the carnage in the village slowly cycled on the big briefing screen. It was the first time Jill had seen them and she instinctively stopped on the photo of the impaled baby. A colonel hurried from the room, his hand over his mouth.
Richards changed her tactics. “Do you know who did this?”
Jill kept glancing at her computer as she answered. “Yes, ma’am, we do.” She typed a command and the screen split, showing dead horses and bodies on a road. “These are the bodies of Janjaweed who attacked the legionnaires. Two of them were carrying pouches made from women’s breasts.”
“And how do you know these pouches came from women of this village?” Fitzgerald asked. Without a word, Jill cycled back to the photos of the burned hut. The charred body of a woman filled the screen. Jill hit a button and zoomed in on the woman’s breasts. Fitzgerald closed his eyes and clamped a steel fist over his growing anger. “Thank you, Major. We’ve seen enough.”
He turned to his staff. “I want a full-court press with the media on this one. Make sure these photos get to the right news outlets. I don’t want them buried. Stress the heroism of the legionnaires and the professionalism of the aircrews in extracting them.” He turned to Richards. “Please relay to your contacts in the UN that at the first mention of arresting Colonel Allston, I will recommend to the President that he implement the American Service-Members Protection Act of 2002. In case those clowns don’t get the message, remind them that ASPA allows the President to use all means necessary and appropriate to free any of our service personnel who are detained or imprisoned by the International Criminal Court. Tell them we call it ‘Invade the Hague Act’ for a damn good reason.” The meeting was over.
Richards was pleased that Jill was waiting in the hall for her. “Well done, Major. I assume you had just received those photos and intelligence update.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Richards wanted to know the source of the photos but assumed that Jill was too low-level an intelligence officer to have access to that information. She paused, thinking. “We’re dealing with too many unknowns and need more information. Have you ever been to the Sudan?”
Jill answered with the truth. “No, ma’am.”
“I want to send you there on a fact-finding mission. Can you handle it?” Jill nodded. “Good. We need to get you there soonest. Pack your bag.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jill turned and hurried down the hall.
Richards thought for a moment and pushed through the door into Fitzgerald’s outer office where the tall and lanky, gray-haired lieutenant general who served as the Deputy Chief of Staff for Manpower and Personnel was waiting for an appointment. They exchanged pleasantries and she asked if she might segue in for a quick word with Fitzgerald. Since she was the subject of his meeting with Fitzgerald, the three-star readily agreed. Contrary to
“Now that’s an interesting use of jet fuel,” Fitzgerald allowed.
Richards caught the irony in his tone. It was time for damage control. “Major, are you saying this was a deliberate pollution of the environment by Allston?” Even to her ear, it sounded trivial.
“At the present time, we have no reports of environmental damage. But I will pursue it.”
“That’s not necessary,” Richards said, regretting she had mentioned it.
“Do you have anything else for us?” Fitzgerald asked.
“These photographs,” Jill answered, “were taken at the village of Wer Ping, which was destroyed by the Janjaweed. “ She typed a command into the computer and the photos of the carnage in the village slowly cycled on the big briefing screen. It was the first time Jill had seen them and she instinctively stopped on the photo of the impaled baby. A colonel hurried from the room, his hand over his mouth.
Richards changed her tactics. “Do you know who did this?”
Jill kept glancing at her computer as she answered. “Yes, ma’am, we do.” She typed a command and the screen split, showing dead horses and bodies on a road. “These are the bodies of Janjaweed who attacked the legionnaires. Two of them were carrying pouches made from women’s breasts.”
“And how do you know these pouches came from women of this village?” Fitzgerald asked. Without a word, Jill cycled back to the photos of the burned hut. The charred body of a woman filled the screen. Jill hit a button and zoomed in on the woman’s breasts. Fitzgerald closed his eyes and clamped a steel fist over his growing anger. “Thank you, Major. We’ve seen enough.”
He turned to his staff. “I want a full-court press with the media on this one. Make sure these photos get to the right news outlets. I don’t want them buried. Stress the heroism of the legionnaires and the professionalism of the aircrews in extracting them.” He turned to Richards. “Please relay to your contacts in the UN that at the first mention of arresting Colonel Allston, I will recommend to the President that he implement the American Service-Members Protection Act of 2002. In case those clowns don’t get the message, remind them that ASPA allows the President to use all means necessary and appropriate to free any of our service personnel who are detained or imprisoned by the International Criminal Court. Tell them we call it ‘Invade the Hague Act’ for a damn good reason.” The meeting was over.
Richards was pleased that Jill was waiting in the hall for her. “Well done, Major. I assume you had just received those photos and intelligence update.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Richards wanted to know the source of the photos but assumed that Jill was too low-level an intelligence officer to have access to that information. She paused, thinking. “We’re dealing with too many unknowns and need more information. Have you ever been to the Sudan?”
Jill answered with the truth. “No, ma’am.”
“I want to send you there on a fact-finding mission. Can you handle it?” Jill nodded. “Good. We need to get you there soonest. Pack your bag.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jill turned and hurried down the hall.
Richards thought for a moment and pushed through the door into Fitzgerald’s outer office where the tall and lanky, gray-haired lieutenant general who served as the Deputy Chief of Staff for Manpower and Personnel was waiting for an appointment. They exchanged pleasantries and she asked if she might segue in for a quick word with Fitzgerald. Since she was the subject of his meeting with Fitzgerald, the three-star readily agreed. Contrary to
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