More Than Courage (30 page)

As discouraging as this was, putting together a summary of his findings and conclusions proved to be equally disheartening.

Using a vacant workstation in the secure area of the military liaison's office at the embassy, Robert Delmont quickly discovered that there was no way that he could piece together a full accounting of the affair without its reflecting adversely upon his own superior and a fellow special forces officer. Repeatedly both NCOs made statements that alluded to a deterioration of morale within RT Kilo and an appreciable decline in vigilance by every member of the team as they were told time after time that they would have to remain on station. Sergeant Funk was particularly bitter when this subject came up. When Delmont had pointed out that they were expected to follow orders, he snapped. "Yes, sir, we're soldiers. But there's only so much crap even the best of uS can tolerate, especially when no one else back home gives two

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shits about what we're doing. Can you tell me," Funk asked rhetorically, "what exactly our sacrifice achieved? Can you, sir?

Can anyone?"

Accusations such as this one rattled Delmont. Even as Funk was speaking Delmont found himself recalling each and every time he had walked into General Palmer's office bearing the file on Razorback along with staff recommendations that he himself had drafted. How easy it had been for him to assess RT Kilo's state of readiness and ability to continue until RT Lima could be deployed to take its place. Anything was possible when one was sitting at a desk in Arlington, Virginia, safely tucked away within the Pentagon. There is no sand in the food served in the cafeterias there. Columns of armed soldiers- are not lying in ambush in the parking lot. With few exceptions every one of the thousands of military or civilian employees assigned there are free to turn their back on their labors when their shift is over and retire to their place of residence where they are free to enjoy the company of family, friends, or a few hours of calm, peaceful solitude.

Even a hardcore field soldier such as Delmont found that it was easy to set aside his muddy-boots mentality and adapt to the Pentagon's prevailing psychology and mind-set. As much as he wanted to think that he had somehow managed to avoid slipping into that pit, the results of his debriefings were proving otherwise. He may not have been there. And he definitely had no control over how each of the men belonging to RT Kilo dealt with the situation that night. But in so many ways, he was responsible.

Inevitably, this train of thought came to shade how Delmont now viewed the entire incident. Unable to escape the fact that he nad been a factor in creating the conditions that resulted in the demise of RT Kilo, the special ops plans officer found himself at a loss. In putting together his report, did he purge his prose of any verbiage that could lay culpability for the disaster upon someone's

doorstep? Or did he draft a document that passed judgment on tfre whole sorry affair using what he knew as well as the informa 232

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tion he had managed to glean from the two NCOs and the results of O'Hara's and Laporta's debricfings?

Needing time to figure out how to deal with his troubled thoughts as well as formulating an approach for his report that was factual without being controversial, Dclmont left the embassy early. He reasoned that a good meal and a solid night's sleep would improve his ability to approach the subject in a more analytical and objective manner. If nothing else, the interlude would allow him an opportunity to clear away some of the mental fog generated by a lethal combination of jetlag and self-condemnation.

Unfortunately, like the solution that he sought, Robert Delmont was unable to set aside his problems. They followed him back to the hotel like an unwanted stray dog. There was simply too much going on, too many issues to be addressed, and too much that he needed to sort out. All during his meal he found himself thinking about the hardships the two NCOs had endured every time their redeployment was postponed. Even after he turned off the light next to his bed Dclmont discovered that his brain refused to disengage itself from dwelling upon the challenges he had yet to deal with. In desperation, he threw back the sheets, got up, dressed himself, and made his way to the hotel's bar. While he doubted that he would find a solution to any of the issues he had to deal with there, knocking back a beer or two wouldn't hurt.

One element that confused Dclmont was the attitudes of the two NCOs. During his debriefings of them he had become so obsessed with his own role in this crisis that it took him longer than it should have to pick up on the contempt each man held for his erstwhile companion. Only when he began to pay attention to their tone and choice of words, especially when referring to each other, was Dclmont able to discern the hostility each expressed when the other NCO was mentioned. Mixed in wit'1 this animosity were scattered hints of self-loathing that both men

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While not exactly material to his mission, his personal involvement in the operation shaded everything the two NCOs told him, depriving Delmont of the objectivity that would have helped him to paint a more complete and factual picture of that night and its aftermath.

Sitting at the quiet little bar, Lieutenant Colonel Robert Delmont did his best to focus his entire attention on nothing but the beer sitting before him. Even in this modest endeavor the Fates conspired against him. The officer had not given any thought to which seat he took when he had entered the bar. As chance would have it he found himself facing a television that was tucked away in one corner of the bar. The drone of elevator music that filled the room drowned out most of the so'und but did nothing to mitigate the flickering images that caught Delmont's eye every now and then. Like a moth drawn to a light, he found himself glancing over at the boob tube more often than he intended.

During the first half hour or so the program the barkeep watched between tending to customers appeared to be the Jordanian version of MTV. The beat of the local music that accompanied the relatively tame performance mixed with the soft jazz that played throughout the lounge in deference to the Western businessmen who filled it. No doubt, Delmont mused as he watched a comely young woman covered from head to toe in layers of silky , veils twirl about, a single showing of Madonna's latest music video would earn the station manager an old-fashioned stoning.

The American colonel was well into his second beer, an Irish brew that he favored, which somehow didn't quite taste the same here as it did back in Virginia, when the bartender walked over to the TV and changed the channel. In place of the female dancers adorned in traditional dress, a news reader who seemed to be far too Western for these parts appeared on the screen. In the traditions of the BBC he dutifully read the latest news in a crisp monotone.

Delmont was about to turn away and survey his fellow Occidentals who had migrated into the lounge from the dining 234

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room when the image of a member of RT Kilo flashed on the screen. Though he had come down to this place to escape thinking about that issue, Delmont was too much of a professional to turn his back.

For several seconds the news reader rattled on about something in Arabic while the mug shot of Sergeant Yousaf Hashmi was displayed. At first Delmont thought nothing of this. It was quite natural for Arabs to be drawn to the only surviving member of RT Kilo who was a fellow Muslim. That conclusion quickly evaporated, however, when a recent press photo of the Reverend Lucas Brown popped onto the screen next to that of Hashmi.

This apparition struck Delmont as being both incongruous and worrisome, especially since the previously attentive bartender suddenly turned his attention away from what he had been doing and instead focused on what the news reader was saying. In the twinkling of an eye, the dreamy and warm state of mind into which Delmont had slipped evaporated. Shifting about in his seat, the American colonel cleared his throat and lightly tapped his half-empty glass on the bar in an effort to get the barkeep's attention.

That the news item being announced had captured the full interest of the man was obvious by the manner with which he backed away from the screen without taking his eyes off it. Only when he was nearing Delmont did he bother to face him. Even then the American could tell that he was keeping one ear cocked as he tried to do two things at once.

"What's he saying?" Delmont asked when he was sure that the Jordanian was paying attention to him.

Without skipping a beat, the barkeep turned to face the screen while he answered. "The Syrian Ministry of Information has announced that the Syrian who was taken with the Americans is going to be tried by a military tribunal for treason."

Whether it was the offhanded, almost matter-of-fact manner with which the bartender spoke or the news itself, Delmont found himself stunned by this revelation. "Sergeant Hashmi is an American citizen!"

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For the first time the bartender turned and seriously regarded the patron he was addressing. After giving Delmont's statement a moment of thought, the Jordanian replied in the same disinterested tone. "According to law in Damascus, at least the way they are practicing it there these days, he is still a Syrian."

Sensing that his point was lost on the bartender and eager to sort out what possible connection there could be between a Syrian-American soldier and a prominent civil rights leader, Delmont pressed on. "So what's the reverend got to do with all this?"

Missing Delmont's sarcastic tone, the bartender listened to the television for a moment before answering. "It would seem that he will be going to Damascus tomorrow to meet with Syrian officials as well as the American prisoners."

Somewhere in the back of Delmont's mind this possibility had already begun to generate a coherent thought, one that the special plans officer dreaded. Even so, when the Jordanian confirmed his suspicion Delmont found that his frustration over being so far from the action as well as the beer he had consumed kept him from checking himself. With more force than he had intended, he lifted his glass before slamming it on the bar. "Great. That's all we need."

Throughout the lounge the collection of businessmen who had gathered with their fellow travelers as well as some of the local talent stopped for a moment and turned their attention to Delmont. Ignoring their stares and -glares, he stood up, pulled some money out of his pocket, and threw it onto the bar before storming out of the room, mumbling as he went. In his wake an English electronics salesman quipped, "Americans!" With that, everyone returned to whatever business proposition they had been making.

Fort Bragg, North Carolina

15:55 LOCAL (19:55 ZULU)

The media blitz unleashed by the Syrian government concerning its decision to put Sergeant Yousaf Hashmi on trial coupled with the stilted interviews of the other American prisoners had its desired effect upon the ceremonies 'staged to greet O'Hara and Laporta. Rather than celebrating an American success, the homecoming served to remind those who turned out to welcome home the two NCOs that the crisis was far from over.

In itself, this new propaganda campaign would have been difficult for the American military community to deal with. Unfortunately for the families of those still in captivity, the ever-voracious American press snapped up every scrap the Syrians dangled before them. Reinvigorated, legions of reporters fanned out across the American landscape as they redoubled their focus on the families, relatives, and friends of the members of RT Kilo featured in the Syrian propaganda clips. As devastating as this was to the loved ones, the effect upon efforts to resolve the crisis was nothing less than crippling. Overnight open negotiations on neutral ground and back-channel communiques between the two nations ceased.

Also lost by this unexpected change in the international landscape Were several initiatives sponsored by third parties.

Even when it became clear that this unwanted attention was having adverse effects on serious efforts, the stampede to project, analyze, and predict what the national leadership would do next did not subside in the least. And when the networks ran out of talking heads, the topic merely shifted to an on-air debate by the

| journalists on how their compatriots were covering the story.

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Throughout this media melee one topic that no one on-camera ever seemed to tire of was the search for someone whom they could hold responsible for the sudden collapse of serious negotiations.

Anxious to lay the blame for this on everyone else's doorstep except their own, TV journalists and newspaper editors stood as one in proclaiming that this reversal of diplomatic fortunes was due to the manner in which the military had gone about retrieving O'Hara and Laporta. In one paper of record, the front page sported a banner headline that read "Misguided Military Misadventure Misfires."

At Fort Bragg silver-tongued commentators who mistook shouting matches between political foes for meaningful discussion of issues and considered a thirty-second film clip to be an in depth report struggled to outdo their competition when it came to describing the somber, bittersweet occasion of the homecoming.

"Even the weather has turned its back on the people assembled here to greet the returning heroes," one wag noted when commenting on the cold gray clouds that filled the sky. And in an effort to keep from offending any of their viewers who preferred redwood trees to more conventional deities, several of the networks cut to commercials when the post chaplain stepped forward to lead the gathering in prayer.

If anyone standing in the hangar was aware of these shenanigans being played out on the nation's airwaves they did not let 1

on. Unlike the esteemed members of the fourth estate who honI estly believed that they actually spoke for the American people, the leadership of the nation's armed forces kept their eye on the ball and their priorities straight. They congratulated those who had participated in the effort to snatch O'Hara and Laporta away from the Syrians, did their best to console the families of those still being held, and maintained their calm when accosted by journalists eager to cap that day's report with a crisp, candid sound bite. At no time did any of the generals, colonels, and senior NCOs allow themselves to forget what their true goal was. While shaking the hand of Specialist Four O'Hara and Specialist Four