“Tell her we want to help them.”

“She won’t believe you.”

“Probably right, boss,” said Jons.

“Then let’s ask the kids,” said Rubeo. “Have them take us to the families.”

“There was a riot here the other day, Ray,” said Jons. “We’ve really pushed this far. Very far. I really don’t think we should go any further.”

“Fortunately, you’re not the one making the decisions,” said Rubeo.

7

Sicily

Turk was on his way to the base when Danny Freah called him on his cell phone and told him to report to him ASAP.

“What’s up, Colonel?” asked Turk.

“We’ll discuss it when you get here.”

Danny’s tone made it clear that he should expect trouble, so when Turk walked into his office, he wasn’t surprised by the colonel’s stoic face—Freah’s standard expression when things were going sour. The colonel wasn’t a shouter—Turk couldn’t remember him ever raising his voice. But in many ways his silent, unspoken disapproval was far worse.

“Have a seat, Captain,” said Danny. He was sitting at a computer screen, and after giving Turk a brief but meaningful glare, turned back and resumed typing.

The wait was excruciating, but Turk knew the best thing to do was wait for the colonel to speak. Danny’s keystrokes seemed to become harsher as he typed. Finally he was done. He sat back from the computer, crossed his arms, and swiveled in his seat.

“Half the NATO command thinks you are an irresponsible pilot willing to fire on civilians—” started Danny.

Turk cut him off. “No way.”

“You had to be ordered several times not to open fire on civilian vehicles.”

“I—I didn’t shoot.”

“And then there are people who think you withheld fire because you’re afraid of hitting anything.”

“What?”

Unfolding his arms, Danny reached across his desk for a piece of paper.

Turk took it and started to read. It was an e-mail detailing part of an after-action report about the A–10E “incident.”

. . . despite having been cleared because of the earlier engagement, Captain Mako erroneously held fire. A few moments later there was a flash from the ground. The flash was the launch of an SA–14, fired from the group Captain Mako had passed. The missile or its shrapnel struck Shooter Three on the right side, disabling the engine and much of the control surfaces . . .

“That’s bullshit,” said Turk. “That’s total bullshit. Who’s saying this?”

“Check the heading.”

The e-mail was from Colonel Ernesto.

“Ginella said this? No, no way. No way,” sputtered Turk. “I couldn’t assume that I was cleared to fire—that’s totally missing the intent of the ROEs. Even if I saw a weapon—”

“Did you see a weapon?”

“No,” Turk insisted. “No. If I had seen a weapon, then—”

He stopped short. If he had seen a weapon, he would have fired. Even if it was a kid.

He would have, wouldn’t he?

“She’s giving me a heads-up as a courtesy,” said Danny. “She said there may be an explanation, and she’s not putting anything in writing until she talks to you.”

Turk felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He had a feeling this had nothing to do with the incident itself, but rather Li.

Damn.

“Colonel, I swear. No one in that group was armed. I would have seen a missile launcher. I looked. I really looked.”

“How fast were you going?” Danny asked.

“I don’t remember.”

“Three hundred knots?”

“No.” Turk shook his head. “It would have been a lot slower than that.”

“A hundred?”

“That’s stall speed. A little faster.” Turk shook his head. “Colonel, I know what I saw.”

Danny frowned.

“You can’t let her say that. It makes me look like . . . a coward.”

“It’s not up to me what she says.”

Turk knew the e-mail was meant as blackmail. But he couldn’t tell Danny that.

“You have to believe me. That’s not what happened,” he said. “They’re saying crap about me because I’m not a member of the squadron. And for the record—I told Grizzly to break the other way. He turned right into it. It was dumb, not his fault, but . . . I mean—”

Danny put up his hand. “She’s the one you have to talk to.”

Turk shook his head.

“Are you saying you don’t want to talk to her?” asked Danny.

“No—I’ll talk to her. I’ll talk to her.”

“You want me to come with you?”

That wasn’t going to work.

“It’s all right. Thanks.”

“In the meantime, you’re not flying for anybody but Whiplash. You understand?”

“Yes, sir. That’s fine.”

Danny watched Turk leave the office. He felt bad for the kid—Ginella’s e-mail was extremely harsh, even without the very strict rules of engagement they were operating under.

Technically, she was within her rights to go through with a report criticizing Turk. If she did, Danny would make sure it was countered somehow.

Still, the damage would be done. Better for Turk to talk her out of it himself.

On the other hand, was her implication correct—had Turk missed the weapon? Had he seen it and dismissed it? It couldn’t have just appeared suddenly.

Between that and the incident with the trucks, which the air commander had mentioned to him earlier, it seemed like the pilot was unduly stressed.

Understandable, he thought. He’d been there himself.

Paulson was standing in the outer office when Turk came in.

“Here’s the Dreamland hotshot who nearly got Grizzly killed,” said Paulson when he saw Turk in the hall. “Thanks a lot.”

“Fuck you,” snapped Turk.

“You gonna slug me?” asked Paulson.

Turk was sorely tempted.

“Mr. Paulson, that will do,” said Ginella, coming to the doorway.

“We’re all grounded, you know,” Paulson told Turk. “Nice going, hotshot.”

Turk felt his face warm.

“We’re taking a breather, Captain,” Ginella told Paulson. “Captain Mako, why don’t you step into my office?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Turk went to the chair quickly and sat down. He watched Ginella close her door, then walk over to her desk.

She was all business. That was a relief.

Or was it?

“I understand you were out with Captain Pike last night,” said Ginella, sitting down.

“We went to dinner.”

“Had a good meal?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad.”

“Listen—”

“I just spoke to Colonel Freah on the phone,” said Ginella. “He showed you the e-mail, I understand.”

“Yes, and it’s bullshit,” said Turk.

“Is it, Captain?”

“Absolutely. I told you what happened.”

“If you didn’t miss the missile, where did it come from?”

“I don’t know.” Turk clenched his fists, then struggled to unknot them. “I—it wasn’t on that hill when I passed. There’s no way it came from that hill.”

“No way?”

“No. Maybe somebody climbed up there after I passed,” said Turk. “I don’t think so—it wasn’t with the kids.”

“You don’t think they might have hidden the missile launcher somewhere?”

She was pushing this ridiculously hard. Turk wondered when she would drop the charade.

And what would he do then?

“Well? Could it have been hidden?” she asked.

“Maybe,” said Turk reluctantly.

“I see.”

Ginella’s eyes bored into him. Turk tried to hold her stare but found he just couldn’t. He blinked, looked down at the floor, then back up.

“You’re worried that if the report is written this way, it’ll hurt your career,” said Ginella.

“It’s not the truth. That’s my concern.”

“Understood. You can go, Captain.”

“Are you going to change it?”

“I’m not sure what I’m going to do.”

“But—”

“Dismissed, Captain. I don’t need you in the squadron anymore. Thank you for your help.”