A Far Justice

by Richard Herman

  The court reconvened at exactly ten o’clock and much to Hank’s relief, Bouchard did not issue a ruling on the Iraqi petition. He called his next witness, a US Air Force historian who specialized in the Gulf War. Hank took longer than usual establishing the historian’s credentials and Bouchard grew impatient, fully aware of Hank’s strategy. “Did the United States Air Force employ napalm in the Gulf War?” Hank asked.

  “No,” the historian answered, “nor did the coalition forces.”

  Hank winced inwardly. He had told the historian to answer all questions simply and truthfully, and above all, not to elaborate. The man had failed on all counts. Denise had to know by now that the Marines had employed napalm, and he shuddered at how she could turn the historian’s lie against Gus. He glanced at Catherine who nodded, urging him to address the problem now. “As it is impossible to prove a negative, how can you be so certain the Air Force never employed napalm?”

  “I have a complete listing of the United States Air Force’s order of battle which includes all personnel, weapons, and weapons systems. The Air Force did not have napalm in its inventory. The logic is simple; to employ a weapon you must first have it.”

  “Do you have a similar order of battle for all the other services, such as the US Navy, Marines or Coalition air forces?” Hank asked, desperately hoping the historian understood that he was running cover for his lie.

  “No, I do not.”

  “Then you cannot speak with the same assurance in regards to the use of napalm by the Navy and other services.”

  “No, I cannot.”

  Relieved, Hank moved on and dragged the questioning into the late morning by going over old ground and reconfirming evidence presented to the court. Frustrated, Bouchard kept pressing Hank for relevance and finally called a recess for lunch. Hank slumped in his chair while Aly gathered up their files and folders. Catherine waited patiently until the courtroom was empty and Aly had left. “At this stage, momentum is everything,” she told him. “And you’re losing it. Napalm is a pushbutton issue for Europeans but I think you’ve defused it. Show the judges something new.”

  “Without Toby, I’ve only got Gus left.”

  “Then ask for an early adjournment for New Year’s.”

  Aly hurried back in. “Suzanne Westcot is in the office,” she told Hank. “She wants to speak to you immediately.” Hank rushed out with Catherine in close pursuit.

  Suzanne was waiting in the outer office, a big smile on her face. “He’s inside.” The man waiting in Hank’s office was a bull of a man, slightly over six feet tall, barrel-chested, with salt-and-pepper hair cut in a brush cut, and the brightest blue eyes Hank had ever seen. “How’s Gus doing?” he asked.

  2

  The court was back in session and Hank rapidly wound up the historian’s testimony. Denise declined cross-examination, her tone and body language adequate testimony to what she thought of the witness. “The defense calls Colonel James Cannon,” Hank said. The courtroom’s side door opened and Cannon came through. He walked with an athletic gait and seemed to fill the room with his presence. His charcoal-gray blazer fit perfectly and his tailor had wisely not used shoulder pads. His corded neck muscles strained at the collar of his black turtleneck when he jerked his head at Gus in acknowledgment. The clerk handed him the declaration to tell the truth and he read in a voice that echoed with command and discipline. He ended with “So help me God.”

  Hank established Cannon’s identity and his relationship to the defendant. Although they had less than two hours to prepare, Hank knew he could rely on him. “Colonel Cannon, as the wing commander at Al Kharj Air Base, did you ever order your aircrews to employ napalm?”

  “No. The Air Force did not stockpile napalm or train for its use.”

  “Please explain.”

  Cannon warmed to the subject. “To begin with, napalm is one squirrelly weapon that is difficult to deliver. The canisters do not separate cleanly and often tumble and hit the underside of the aircraft. Lacking a precise trajectory, they do not provide the accuracy we demand from our weapons systems.”

  Hank glanced at Denise and her body language said it all. She knew. It was time to give the judges something to chew on. “To the best of your knowledge, was napalm ever used in the Gulf War?”

  “The Marines did employ napalm in one operation.” The gasp from the spectators was audible as the reporters in the media booth broke the news to their listeners.

  “Please explain.”

  “The Iraqis had dug an extensive network of trenches in the desert and then filled them with oil. It was a tactic they developed in the Iran-Iraq war in 1988. When the Iranians attacked, the Iraqis ignited the oil and fried the attacking Iranians. Rather than repeat that experience, the Marines used napalm to ignite the oil. As I recall, the Marines dropped approximately 500 canisters of Mark-77s.” He thought for a moment. “I believe that was on February 23rd.”

  Hank couldn’t help himself. “So the Iraqi tactic misfired.”

  “It was more like a backfire,” Cannon replied.

  “Colonel Cannon, you were the wing commander on February 25, 1991, at Al Kharj Air Base. What happened that night?”

  “The Black Hole, that was the Special Planning Group that ran the air war out of Riyadh, called around ten P.M. local time. Sensors had picked up a mass movement of vehicles out of Kuwait City and Intelligence had confirmed that Saddam was trying to extract his army.” For the next hour, he held the courtroom spellbound as he related how he had launched every aircraft he could to pound the convoy into oblivion.

  “What did you tell your pilots?” Hank asked.

  “I reminded them what the Iraqis had done to the Kuwaitis and told them that should put a little hate in their hearts.”

  “Were you concerned about civilian casualties?”

  “A commander is always concerned when innocent people are in harm’s way. But we had warned the Iraqis that anyone moving in a military formation was a legitimate target. If they wanted to avoid attack, they were to stay put and look, and act, as friendly as possible. If they had to move, do it by foot and not in vehicles. ”

  “What weapons did you employ on Mutlah Ridge?”

  “Everything we could throw at them. But since it was a wide-area target, mostly five hundred-pound bombs and CBUs.”

  “Did you ever employ weapons of mass destruction?”

  “No.”

  Hank turned and looked at Gus. They had come to the moment they had discussed endlessly. Now it was here, but not the way they had planned. Gus gave a sharp nod and mouthed the words “Go for it.” Hank turned to Cannon.

  “Was August Tyler under your command that night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you order Gus Tyler to attack the convoy?”

  “I asked him and he volunteered.”

  “Please tell the court why you wanted Gus to lead the mission.”

  “Gus Tyler and Toby Person were the best crew I had, and I could rely on them to do the job.”

  “Was Davis Armiston under your command at the time?”

  “Unfortunately. He was a marginal pilot at best. We had put Toby Person in his backseat to keep him alive and only gave him the puffballs.”

  Gus interrupted. “Your Honor, may I confer with my counsel?” Bouchard granted his request and Hank moved over to the dock. Gus was careful to shield his mouth from the lip readers he knew were watching. “These clowns made up their minds weeks ago and it doesn’t matter what Jim says.” He quickly outlined what he had in mind. Hank’s first reaction was to dismiss it out of hand. Then he reconsidered.

  “This just got interesting,” Hank conceded. He returned to the podium. “Thank you Colonel Cannon. The defense has no more questions at this time but may need to recall you to the stand at a later date.”

  Denise sprang to her feet, eager to get at Cannon. “Colonel, what were these ‘puffballs’ you spoke of?”

  “The non-demanding, milk-run missions we normally reserved f
or the French.”

  Denise ignored the titter of laughter behind her. “You told your pilots” – she looked at her notes – ‘that should put a little hate in your heart.’ Why did you inflame your pilots to kill Iraqis?”

  Cannon almost smiled at how easy it was. “I also told them to ‘Bomb the livin’ hell out of them and render the bastards.’ It has to do with motivation. The best way to minimize casualties on all sides is to press the attack and end it as quickly as possible. Sun Tzu explained it two and a half-millennia ago in ‘The Art of War.’ There’s absolutely nothing new under the sun, or the moon, for that matter when it comes to combat. Do it the NATO way and you kill more people.”

  “NATO does not ‘kill more people.’”

  “Kosovo, 1999,” Cannon answered. “That could have been over in three nights if NATO had gone after the right targets. As it was, they dragged it out and caused many unnecessary casualties.”

  “History amply justifies what NATO did.”

  “But not the way NATO did it.”

  “We are not in a debate, Monsieur Cannon. Confine yourself to answering the questions.”

  “Ah shucks, Ma’am, you brought it up.”

  An alarm bell went off in Denise’s mind, warning her to exercise caution. She ignored it. “You said that you chose the defendant to fly the mission because you could rely on him to ‘do the job.’ Exactly what was the ‘job’ you were referring to?”

  “To stop the Iraqi army from retreating and regrouping. We wanted to fight them once, not twice.”

  “By your own admission, you used cluster bomb units, a weapon designed for widespread and indiscriminate killing and maiming, to do this.”

  “Widespread and indiscriminate killing compared to what? You ever see what a two thousand-pound JADAM does when it comes through your bedroom window? CBUs are a wide-area weapon because targets get scattered over a wide area. There’s nothing indiscriminate about CBUs if the pilot presses the attack and hits his target, which is exactly what Gus did.”

  Denise scoffed. “From the safety of a supersonic jet at high altitude.”

  “CBUs are not a precision guided, stand-off weapon. You don’t deliver CBUs above the Mach from forty thousand feet. You got to go subsonic and get down in the weeds and rocks, up close and personal, while the bad guys are doing their damndest to ruin your day. It’s an equal opportunity chance to get killed.”

  The assistant prosecutor passed her a note. This is going badly. End it. She gave the hapless man a withering look as she crumpled the note and dropped it to the floor. “You testified the Iraqis had been warned not to move in vehicles and act ‘as friendly as possible’ if they didn’t want to be attacked. How were they warned? Perhaps by the BCC World Service’s broadcasts in English?”

  Cannon reached into his blazer’s breast pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He carefully smoothed it out to reveal a leaflet the size of a dollar bill. He handed it to the clerk. “We dropped five million of these over the Iraqis. Plastered Kuwait with ‘em. It’s a safe conduct pass telling them to not move but if they did, to travel only on foot without weapons. The front is in Arabic with an English, French, and Farsi translation on the back.”

  The clerk passed the leaflet to Denise. She glanced at it and dropped it disdainfully to the floor. “Are we to assume this reached the Iraqis?”

  Cannon answered with a straight face. “Not this particular leaflet. But Intelligence reported the Iraqis were using the rest of the five million as toilet paper. We don’t know if they read them or not, but we’re pretty sure they made contact.” Laughter swept the courtroom.

  Denise froze, now fully aware of the threat in front of her. She had never met anyone like him, confident and eager to engage in combat under any circumstances. There was no doubt that he was playing with her and wanted more. She glanced at her notes. “Colonel Cannon, what is your current profession?”

  “I’m an aerial assassin.”

  Denise looked at him in horror, certain that he had spoken the absolute truth. He looked back, much like an eager rottweiler contemplating its next meal, and she knew, without doubt, that she was on the menu. “I have no more questions at this time.”

  “Monsieur Sutherland, do you have any questions?” Bouchard asked.

  Hank retrieved the leaflet and handed it to the clerk. “We enter the safe conduct pass as defense exhibit nine.” Bouchard waited for an objection from Denise, which did not come. The other two judges nodded and he ordered it entered. “Thank you, Colonel Cannon,” Hank said. “We have no further questions at this time.”

  Denise came to her feet, still in an obvious state of shock. “If it may please the court. As it is late and tomorrow is New Year’s Eve, may we adjourn until Monday?”

  “The defense has no objection but would prefer to reconvene on Wednesday,” Hank said.

  “Your Honors,” Denise replied, “the prosecution sees no reason for more delays at this time.” The judges conferred and Bouchard recessed the trial until Monday.

  “Justice delayed is justice denied,” Hank muttered, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

  The two men met in the holding cell and clasped hands as the defense team crowded around, all eager to share the moment. “A fine mess you got yourself into here, Gus,” Cannon said.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. How’s Clare doing?”

  “Not good. She’s in the Mayo undergoing an experimental procedure that Max Westcot’s people came up with.”

  Aly stood against the wall with Catherine and listened as the two men talked.

  For a few moments, they totally dominated her world and she truly understood the words “bigger than life.” She loved Jason unreservedly, but she was attracted to the sheer animal magnetism radiating from Cannon. Hank stood alone, quietly smiling to himself. And there was Gus, unchanging and unafraid of his future. “Where do they find them?” she asked Catherine.

  “I wish I knew,” Catherine replied.

  Aly was back in time, remembering when Jason took his reenlistment oath. “They’re a band of brothers, true to each other.”

  “And to us,” Catherine added. Hank edged over to her side and held her hand.

  Cannon turned to Hank. “You do good work, counselor.” He handed the lawyer a videocassette. “I believe you were looking for this. Mutlah Ridge.” It was the airborne video from Gus and Toby’s attack on the convoy.

  Hank carefully checked the cassette to make sure the seals were still intact. They were and he exhaled loudly in relief. Slowly, a big smile spread across his face as he held the cassette up. “Now it really gets sporting. Thank you.”

  Cannon nodded and looked at Gus. “Anytime you want to come to work for me, just tell General Hammerly. Well, is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Any chance you can help us find Toby Person?” Hank asked.

  Cannon looked interested. “Where is he?”

  “Lost some place in Southern Sudan,” Hank replied.

  “He’s with Jason,” Gus added. “I believe Max Westcot is looking for them.”

  Cannon thought for a moment. “I can help.” The three men looked at each other, an unspoken understanding between them.

  “Would someone tell me what’s going on here?” Aly demanded.

  “Sorry, young lady,” Cannon replied. “It’s way above your pay grade.”

  Southern Sudan

  Landerrost switched off the radio and closed the cover of the control panel when Jason came through the door of the compound’s communications shack looking clean and rested. He had collapsed after taking a shower and slept all day Thursday in air-conditioned comfort, only waking in the early evening. “How’s Toby doing?” Jason asked.

  “Resting comfortably,” Landerrost replied. “Leon is taking good care of him.” It was an understatement. Leon, a scrawny Frenchman who had learned his tradecraft as a medic in the French Foreign Legion, had pushed everyone aside the
moment he saw Toby and went to work. Within an hour, he had pumped the missionary full of antibiotics, cleaned his wounds, replaced many of the sutures, and bathed him while carrying on a loud, and very obscene tirade about incompetent doctors.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Jason said. “I hope the antibiotics do the trick.”

  The Afrikaner shrugged. “We gave him all we had. But not to worry. I got a message out and a helicopter will be here tomorrow or Saturday night at the latest. It will fly you to Addis Abba. From there, the company has laid on a jet to fly you to Europe. You should be back in Holland no later than Monday.”

  Jason glanced at the small radio. “Isn’t that one of those new jam-proof satellite transceivers?” Landerrost didn’t answer. “NATO doesn’t even have it yet.”

  “We’re not NATO,” Landerrost replied. He handed Jason a printout. “This came in about an hour ago.” Jason read the short message and his face paled. “I’ll leave it up to you to tell the Reverend.”

  “Do I have a choice?” Jason answered.

  Jason held the message for Toby to read while Leon hovered in the background. Toby shook with a slight tremor as his eyes close. “I should have never left the mission.” His voice was almost inaudible. “I could have saved them.”

  Jason bathed his head with a wet cloth, feeling the fever that was wracking his body. “We only know the Sudanese Army overran the mission. We don’t know how many survived.”

  “They’re dead. This is Africa. This is the way it is. It’s destroyed.”

  “Then we’ll rebuild,” Jason said. Toby quieted and fell asleep.

  “Let him rest,” Leon said.

  “How bad is he?” Jason asked.

  “I’ve seen worse, but they all died. I’m going to bed. Call me if his fever goes up.” Jason sat with Toby, occasionally bathing his head, and checking his temperature. It was still over 103 degrees and showed no signs of relenting. He dozed off.