I felt the C-130 Hercules transport plane land, the landing gears transferring the rumbling to the fuselage of the jet. A squad of MP's guarded me. Lieutenant Lana Le Gault was with them.
A few minutes after the plane stopped, I was led in chains into a waiting ambulance. Several police cars also were parked on the taxiway. The ambulance transported me to a hospital.
Inside the hospital, the doctors and nurses did all sorts of tests, from drawing blood and taking blood pressure to doing brain scans.
"You feeling okay," asked LeGault.
"Yeah," I said.
"Your chain of command will decide if you are court-martialed for treason."
"Treason?" I asked.
"You were piloting the enemy bioroids, Lieutenant."
I stayed in this hospital room, which, like most hospital rooms that I have seen, looked sterile. I supposed it was better than staying in a Quonset hut or a stockade cell. As I lay down on the bed, I wondered what happened. How long was I with the enemy? How many of my people had I killed? And not just while piloting the enemy bioroid, but while fighting them. Were most of the bioroids piloted by captured Earth natives?
Meals were served in the hospital room; the MP's refused to let me leave. The meal was beef in this slightly spicy sauce, served with greens and a plastic cup filled with water. Soon after my meal was done, I was transferred. After a short ride in a police car, I was transferred to a holding cell in the basement of the Global Military Police field office. It was a plain holding cell; someone scribbled "GMP Sucks" on the concrete wall.
"I get a phone call, right?" I asked LeGault.
And so I made a phone call to my parents from a pay phone just outside the holding cell. I managed to get their answering machine. I told them that I was all right, for now. Well, there was not much to do in a holding cell in a police station. I remember, from regulations, that they would have to contact my commanding officer, who would be Lieutenant Colonel Lupon Kravshera.
Or was it? Was he still alive? What had happened on Earth since I was gone? How long was I gone?
That night as I slept, I dreamed of combat. I felt as if I were actually the enemy bioroid, blasting Earth ships and troops both on Earth and in space.
A while later, Lieutenant Le Gault arrived with some uniformed investigative aides.
"The Second Division has ordered you to be remanded into custody pending review," she said as one of the aides unlocked the cell door. "We have a plane waiting for you on the tarmac."
And so I was transferred. I was hustled out to the back into a waiting Toyota Avalon police car, and then driven to the tarmac of the air base where a Lockheed C-130 Hercules awaited. I was strapped in by the MP's, and I noticed there were boxes full of cargo.
"We're expecting a long trip," said Le Gault.
And it was. I spent hours on that plane. I knew that the Air Force had faster aircraft, but I guess transport of a prisoner only rates a C-130. There were at least two stops, where I had to wait at a Military Airlift Command terminal, under guard with only some crackers to eat and water to drink.
After what seemed like a day, I was placed in a paddy wagon. There were no windows, so I could not see outside. Finally, after so much time spent on planes, waiting in terminals, and riding in a paddy wagon, I reached my destination.
I scanned my surroundings when the investigative aides took me out of the wagon. From the landmarks, I recognized that I was back in Gibraltar Base.
I was taken to a building, through a door marked "Prisoner Processing"; I knew this was the base's stockade. I found myself in a room with a desk. An Army MP stood guard. I looked at the calendar, and I noticed it was March, about two months after I had been captured.
Another MP arrived, a first lieutenant.
Lieutenant Le Gault signed a piece of paper.
"So Second Division is remanding custody to us," said the military police lieutenant.
"Yes," said Le Gault. "He's in your hands now. Now to get to my guest quarters."
"Follow me, sir," said a sergeant.
And so I did. He escorted me through hallways and into this hallway with cells on both side.
"This is where you are sleeping, sir," said the sergeant. "Shower facility is down the hall. Lights out is after supper. If you cause trouble, you go to the maximum security section."
"I will keep that in mind, Sergeant," I replied.
I sat down in the cell. There was not much to it, just a bunk and concrete walls. I noticed another prisoner sitting in the cell across from me.
"I'd salute you, sir," he said, "but prisoners aren't allowed to salute. I advise you keep to yourself."
The stockade was for short-term confinement and confinement for prisoners awaiting trial, like I was. I knew elsewhere on base there was a disciplinary barracks for long-term confinement, falling under the authority of the Army's Provost Marshal General. I wondered if I would end up there. It would be just a short drive. But I knew of other disciplinary barracks with much greater security measures, like one located deep underground somewhere in Russia.
Ooooooo
The next day, I had my first breakfast. All of us prisoners were dressed in these bright orange jumpsuits. Breakfast is similar to what is served when Army units camp out in the field. I knew that some of the inmates serving confinement for court-martial or nonjudicial punishment worked in the stockade's kitchen. It was also the one place where male and female inmates work together; the male and female inmates had their own separate cell blocks, exercise yards, and messes, and the male and female messes had a common kitchen.
Some MP's approached the man who slept in the cell across from me.
"Okay, Neil," said the military police sergeant. "Time for your work release."
I somewhat envied Neil. Prisoners serving sentences and nonjudicial punishment often got work release where they served with their unit during the work day, only coming back here for supper. Work release, of course, was unavailable for those who are merely confined pending court-martial, and there is not much to do to amuse myself in a stockade.
I had wondered what was going on in division headquarters. Would they drag their feet deciding whether or not I should be court-martialed? And I wondered about legal representation. While the Army will not assign me an attorney unless they convened a court-martial, I could hire a civilian attorney at my expense.
But even with my combat bonus pay, would I be able to afford a top-notch civilian attorney?
"Excuse me, sir," a military police sergeant said to me, "someone wishes to see you. You will come with us."
And so I did. They escorted me through hallways into a visitors' room. The room was not much, just a room with some chairs divided by a glass partition. This was not the room that would be used for inmates meeting with their attorneys.
Lieutenant Colonel Lupon Kravshera sat on the other side of the partition.
"I will be asking a few questions, Micronian," said the colonel. "Why were you flying the enemy bioroid?"
"I was captured, sir," I replied. "They drugged me and a few of the other prisoners."
"You were drugged?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is there anyone who can vouch for that?"
"One of the civilian prisoners, Aya Al Badri," I answered. "She was from Morocco. Colonel, we managed to somehow break free from their control in Australia. One of them claimed to be a defector from the enemy. And there was something else, sir. The enemy claimed to be the Robotech Masters."
"Robotech Masters?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where were you captured?"
"Casablanca," I said. "I was on a weekend trip with my girlfriend, Melissa Sharp. She was a therapist at the hospital here. It was the morning after that the enemy attacked."
"And where did the enemy take you?"
"To one of their ships."
"Anything you can say about it?"
"Not much, sir. It was…well, a ship. They had us in this huge room. I could see huge corridors and hallways, and there was this room where we were forced to lie down and where they drugged us, probably some sort of medical room. I saw the enemy; they looked human."
"And you say you were drugged into operating the bioroids."
"Yes, sir."
"And you were not offered any reward for defecting to their side."
"No, sir."
"And there was no way to escape."
"No, sir. We would not have been able to take the ship back home even if we could take over before the crew set the self-destruct sequence."
"And you know the ship had a self-destruct sequence?"
"No, sir. But it seemed reasonable that the ship would have a self-destruct in case they lost control of the ship to an enemy."
"That is all for now, Lieutenant," said Colonel Kravshera.
"What will happen?"
"This matter is being handled above my pay grade."
The colonel left the visiting room.
"All right, Lieutenant," said an MP. "Time for you to head back to the inmate area."
Oooooooo
Life inside the stockade was pretty much uneventful. I suspected that the MP's took some pleasure in ordering me around, as I was an officer and this would be one of the few situations where an enlistee has authority over an officer. No one else from the battalion had come to visit me. One moment I was dreading is someone coming to see me and identifying himself as my defense counsel; it would mean that the division had convened a court-martial for me. For what would I be tried? Desertion? Misbehavior as a prisoner? Or even treason? And how long could the Army hold me here without trial? The 2nd Division command had already remanded me into the custody of the military police of this base. I suppose I was still getting paid for just being in the stockade, it would take an order of nonjudicial punishment or a sentence by a court-martial to forfeit pay.
It was some time later, as I was eating dinner, that the MP's approached me, including the stockade officer. For a moment I wondered if I would be meeting with my defense counsel for my court-martial for treason.
"You are being released by order of the second division," said the military police officer. "You are to return to active duty. Report to the 6th ATAC Battalion office."
And so I did. They took me back to the prisoner processing room where I had to sign some forms, and then they gave me the outfit that I had been wearing when I was taken into custody. Leaving the stockade, I took a long walk through the streets of the base. I eventually reached the 6th Battalion office, which looked pretty much the same as before.
Entering the lobby, the front desk receptionist looked at me.
"And you are?" she asked, noting that I was out of uniform.
I told her who I was. "I was released from the stockade and I have to report to Colonel Kravshera," I said.
"Come on in."
I walked upstairs to the floor where the colonel's office was, passing a few uniformed soldiers. I went inside the main office of the battalion. It looked pretty much the same as it did the last time I was here, with cubicles where the battalion's office staff work at their stations.
Colonel Kravshera entered the office, dressed in his MARPAT camouflage. I saluted.
"Lieutenant," he said, returning the salute.
I reported for duty, and handed him a copy of the release form. "My apologies for being out of uniform, sir," I said. "I had been gone for two months."
"Emerson will take care of the details," said the colonel.
I looked and saw Jack Emerson in his MARPAT camouflage. He looked pretty much the same as before, with his short-cropped dark hair. One thing I noticed were the brass oak leaves on his collar; he was an Army major.
"Major Emerson," I said. "I am reporting back for duty."
"I should tell you that I am now the XO here," said Jack. "There have been a few changes since I have gone. Come into my office."
And so I did. We went in what used to be Major Yoon's office. It had a desk and three chairs as well as a bookcase and a file cabinet.
"At ease," said Jack, sitting down. "I have heard what had happened. The colonel forbade us from visiting you in the stockade. You were still under investigation for a possible court-martial."
"And yet the division commander decided to release me," I said.
"From what I have heard, the Robotech Masters were using prisoners in their bioroids," said the major. "It is believed that the bioroids use a mental control system."
"Yeah, there were other people from Earth who were captured in Australia besides me," I said. "So you believe that the enemy is indeed the Robotech Masters?"
"That is what RDFCOM intelligence has deduced. Why they are here, I don't know. They're not attacking the Zentraedi Nation, and they haven't attacked our colonies, or even our base on Tirol."
Then I asked him one question that I had wanted answered since my capture. "Is Melissa Sharp still alive?" I asked.
"Yes, she is," said Jack. "She contacted me about you being missing after the attack in Casablanca."
I breathed a sigh of relief. I wanted to see her. "Where were you guys?"
"We received the order to scramble and support the Moroccans after the attack started," said Jack. "But we were pinned down by the enemy bioroids on the outskirts of the city. Then the enemy retreated. I guess what they wanted was prisoners, and they retreated as soon as they had prisoners. If only we could have broken through their defense."
"I'm here now," I said.
"Listen, I will have you take the rest of the week off. You will report back to duty on Monday, or if we go into full tactical alert. Get yourself new uniforms, Lieutenant. I'll have you assigned to your old room. And by the way, on Saturday I'm inviting you to a barbecue at my new house."
"A new house?" I asked.
"I'm a major now, so I get a new housing assignment. My own private, two-bedroom house, the typical assignment for a major with no dependents."
"See you at the barbecue, Jack."
I went out to the main office. I came across Rebekah Avital, looking much the same as before. I noticed that she was a master sergeant now.
"Congratulations on your new position, Master Sergeant," I said.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," she replied.
"Anything new happen since I was gone?"
"There were a few transfers in, a few transfers out," she replied. "Corporal Glenn La Belle was killed in combat three weeks ago."
I remembered him; he was in the 18th ATAC troop. "He was married, right?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. His widow moved back to her family after the funeral."
I remembered the guy. He fought with us, and helped around the office.
"I will see you later, Master Sergeant," I said.
Oooooooo
I had gone to the base's uniform store to purchase two spare uniforms – a Class "A" service uniform and before stashing it in my quarters. My quarters looked like the typical bachelor's quarters for junior officers- a single bedroom with an attached bathroom. I was grateful that the BOQ had not been bombed in my absence. There was one question burning.
Putting on my Class "A" uniform, I went to the base's medical center. It looked pretty much the same as before, aside from a fresh coat of new paint. I entered the door nearest to where Melissa would work.
The lobby had a reception desk, with chairs and tables. Magazines sat on the tables. The walls were decorated with posters, some of them recruitment posters for the Air Force Medical Corps, and other color-illustrated posters with information on physical therapy. A man in his early twenties and dressed in a light blue outfit manned the reception desk.
"Is there a Lieutenant Melissa Sharp here?" I asked.
"Let me check, sir," replied the man, whose rank insignia showed he was an airman first class. "There is no Lieutenant Sharp here, sir."
"I know she worked here three months ago."
"Three months ago, Lieutenant?" asked the airman. "If there was a Lieutenant Sharp here, she could be in the local personnel files." He typed in a few letters. "According to the personnel file, she was transferred to Tirol Base a month ago."
"Tirol Base?" I asked.
"Yeah. The military set up a base on this world. They say the Robotech Masters used to rule that world. Well, if you're looking for her, you'd have to go there. It could be rather expensive to book a flight to the new colony the government set up there."
"Thank you, Airman," I said.
I left the medical center, walking along the road. Melissa was gone, not even on Earth anymore. I looked up at the blue sky, wondering if I was looking in the direction of Tirol, wherever that was.
