1005 Hrs. Local, Camp Sather, Baghdad International Airport, Iraq

After his escort from the 2nd Battalion, 2nd Marines dropped him off at what could loosely be called the VOQ (visiting officer's quarters) Bud located the battalion's secure computer network and booted his laptop up to check his mail and let Harriett know he had arrived safely. The first message that was downloaded was a note sent on Adm. Chegwidden's behalf asking for an update ASAP along with an estimated time for completion.

'Wow, I just hit the ground. It's about four in the morning Washington time, and the admiral's hot for an update. I guess I'd better let the duty officer know I'm alive and start getting my interviews scheduled.' With than he shuffled off to the Marine headquarters detachment to present his orders and get the ball rolling.

A very tall black major from Illinois handled the official "greeting" when Bud checked in. "Good morning lieutenant. I trust the ride in was restful as well as comfortable." When Bud just grinned and shrugged Maj. Jacob L. Moore continued with a chuckle, "I'd really like to get my hands on the bastards from Boeing responsible for C-17 creature comforts.

"Well, enough bitching about the things we can't change. Lieutenant your orders as well as your reputation proceed you. In his unique and highly efficient manner Gunny Waldorf has assembled the interviews we are aware of. They are separated in quarters awaiting your call, and the Gunny has been detailed to assist you in EVERY way possible. Isn't that so, Gunny?"

"Under the major's sterling leadership how could I do anything else but comply wholeheartedly with a song in my heart and angel's wings at my heels?" The Gunny's outrageous rhetorical question got laughter from both officers. "In any case sir, I rounded up the people who filed after action reports that were still in country. Do you require any assistance in locating Commander Rabb and Col. MacKenzie? I believe they are back in Washington, but I can confirm that if necessary."

"Gunny, that won't be necessary," Bud responded, "I've already interviewed both officers. Now, gentlemen, since my higher headquarters is on my back about getting these interviews out of the way, where can I set up and get started?"

"Mr. Roberts, I believe the gunny has a secure interview room set up for you over with the spooks and snake eaters at the terminal," Maj. Moore offered. "I agreed with the gunny's assessment that having to walk through the forces of darkness over there should make your folks more talkative...just in case they're having any second thoughts. Have a wonderful time in beautiful Iraq. If you need anything, anything at all let the gunny know, and please see me before you leave. Dismissed."

A quick move to attention, a nod, an about face and Bud was heading out the door.

0915 Hrs, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA

A third cup of "Navy Special" coffee was finally starting to drive the fog of fatigue away, but Mac was a long way from hitting on all cylinders this morning. Last night's pitched battle with the demons in her dreams had at best been fought to a draw at a very high cost to her badly depleted emotional reserves. "God," she thought, "if I don't get some rest I'm going to keel over either right here or in an even more embarrassing spot. Something's got to give before long."

The interruption knocking at the office door wasn't a welcome one.

Concern tinged Harm's voice. "Mac, you okay in there? I've been standing here for a couple of minutes and you were really zoned out."

Automatically she groused that everything was okay, but that story didn't fly very far. "Mac, you're not okay. It's not okay, and you aren't getting any better." Her sharp headshake didn't slow him down. "Here's the deal: An old buddy of mine specializes in treatment of PTSS (post traumatic stress syndrome). He's a good guy, and he's not an 'on the record' Navy consult. We're going to go see him this afternoon, have a cup of coffee, and shoot the breeze...off the record of course."

Mac cut him off sharply right there. "Like hell! I've got a ton of stuff on the docket this afternoon that won't keep. Besides that, where do you get off setting this deal up? Who died and made you king for the day?"

A slow smile rolled across Harm's face. "Your stuff will keep. If you don't believe that ask Coates? At the admiral's order she's busy rebuilding your week. And if we don't do something unofficially our leader is going to order you to Bethesda for a full evaluation. I'll bet you won't be a happy camper if the troops up on Wisconsin Ave., get a chance to poke and prod around in your head...all on the record."

As Harm's version of the future unfolded Mac's lips slowly vanished into a grimace. "Don't you understand that I just need a little space to get my arms around this? You're a friend, can't you at least buy a little time from the admiral?"

"Mac, there's no more room to bargain with the admiral. I've already backed him off a couple of times, and I don't think there's any more 'give' in his opinion. One way or the other something has got to change, and I'll bet your pension it won't be him." Harm's shrug spoke volumes.

1445 Hrs, Gerson, Brown & Associates, Reston, VA

Dr. Terry Gerson's military bearing was obvious and a quick look around the open, sun-filled office was a thumbnail sketch of an interesting career. A Silver Star citation topped a formidable collection of awards and devices framed behind the blonde desk, and the host of photos and mementos lining the office offered subtle testimony to a substantial, and probably colorful, association with the military arts.

A huge smile and hearty handshake that turned into a bear hug greeted Harm as the two officers walked into the office. "Jesus, Harm, how long has it been? You're looking great, so I'll dispense with the automatic 'how are you' and go straight to how are Frank and your mom?"

"They're great TG, just great. Mom sends her best, and Frank wanted me to remind you that you owe him a rematch at LaCosta so he can have a chance to get some of his money back," Harm responded them nodded in Mac's direction. "I want you to meet a dear friend, Col. Sarah MacKenzie, long- time partner and sometimes best friend."

A delicate hand was extended to shake hands, but there was a chill note in the voice. "Good afternoon doctor. My friends call me Mac, but for the moment you can call me Col. MacKenzie. Time will tell on any status change."

"It's very nice to meet you colonel, and I will remain hopeful that we can move to Mac at some point. Just for the record, in the event Harm has shared any particularly outlandish stories about incidents that have been lost in history I categorically deny any involvement in the situation in question and will attempt to deflect any blame on him...whatever it may have been.

"And, since you are being formal here please let me make a couple of things very clear at the outset: First and foremost everything here is off the record; second – there will be no paper trail of any conversations we may have...off the record is off the record in my book, and finally, just in case the idea that 'you can't possibly understand where I'm coming from' jumps into your mind, that's pure, unadulterated bullshit.

"Post traumatic stress syndrome isn't cured, it is managed. There's no magic pill or potent that will make the nightmares, flashbacks, and all of that shit disappear. PTSS is 'handled' by building and using a unique set of tools that only you can master. What works for me may not work for Harm, and what may serve Harm and I well probably won't work for you.

"Now, Harm, there's a great coffee spot down on Lake Anne. Go! Enjoy!"

1550 Hrs Local, Interview Room Quebec, Spook Country, Baghdad International Airport, Iraq

Wrapping up his final interview Bud looked closely at the young Marine across the table. "Sgt. Wheeler, in the weeks since the incident we've been talking about have you had any second thoughts about how it was handled?"

Tommy Wheeler didn't even pause before answering. "Sir, I've thought about the drive up, how we initially handled the ambush, and what happened to Steve. I've thought about it a lot. Lieutenant, if we made a mistake it was in trying to sit tight and wait for someone else to come along and run the damn ragheads back down the waddi. Commander Rabb was right when he wanted to take the hut right away, and Col. MacKenzie's decision to wait probably cost us a KIA. But, who am I to say?"

Bud made a couple of notes to fill a few seconds looking busy while he processed the sergeant's comments. "Sergeant, you were in command of the LAV. It was your trip. The commander and the colonel were just passengers on the bus, at least until the ambush was sprung and all of you were out on the ground." Grabbing onto this unfolding line of thought Bud jumped on the train not at all certain where it would lead.

"Sergeant, did Col. MacKenzie assume tactical command once the situation changed?"

"I don't know; I guess."

"What do you mean you 'don't know'? Sergeant, you were there. Did the colonel assume active command of the operation once things went to hell in a hand basket?" When Sgt. Wheeler didn't immediately answer Bud pushed a little harder raising his voice. "Well, sergeant, what's it going to be? Yes or no are acceptable answers. No additional explanation is needed. Now answer me!"

"Sir, yes sir, the colonel assumed command after the vehicle was evacuated. She sent the commander and I to grab the SMAW out of the vehicle, then she said we'd sit tight until some road movement came along to relieve us. Hell, I mean, sir that was a pretty busy road. Someone should have been along in just a few minutes, but we sat there for nearly three hours before the shit hit the fan."

Bud very consciously remained silent for nearly 30 seconds before leaning forward across the table and speaking in a very soft voice.

"Sergeant, do you believe that the failure to act promptly to regain the initiative was a command mistake or was it just a bad choice in the middle of a day already heading south?"

Tommy Wheeler never blinked and never looked away when he answered.

"Lieutenant, it wasn't a bad choice...the outcome was just bad for everybody"

Bud closed his folder and the thump seemed to fill the small, hot interview room.

"Thank you sergeant. That will be all. You're dismissed."

After coming to attention and prior to making an about face and leaving the room the young NCO paused. "Is there something else sergeant?"

"Yes, sir there is. It was an honor to serve with the colonel. That sorry assed day in the middle of nowhere in Asshole Iraq I learned what being a Marine was really about. I'm sorry the death of a fellow Marine was the price." Sgt. Wheeler snapped to a parade ground position of attention, took one step back, pivoted to his right and marched out of the room leaving Bud alone in the now silent room.

After a few moments Gunny Waldorf entered. "Sir, will there be anything else?"

"No, gunny I just need to process what I've been told right now, but if you can run down the Marines who found our little group I would like to talk with them briefly tomorrow. For now, I need to transcribe my notes and get back with my boss via STU (secure telephone unit) if you can arrange that."

1600 Hrs Local, Gerson, Brown & Associates, Reston, VA

Terry Gerson, MD, PhD and LTC Sara MacKenzie, USMC spent the first 30 minutes of their time together circling like a pair of fighters trying to get a feel for a new, dangerous opponent. Denial and rejection were old friends in this conversation, and finally Mac thought she had enough. "Doctor, we're just dancing around here. I don't need your help. Period. All I need is a little more time to put some of this crap behind me, so let's just call it a day."

Silence, complete silence filled the room for 90 seconds or so.

"Colonel, we can call it a day, but that's not going to help you. You're a hard case aren't you? I'll bet you've been a hard case for, what 20 or so years? You have obviously put a tough childhood behind you. I'll bet you've even buried an addiction or two somewhere along the trail.

"Think about this: How many relationships, good and bad, have you also buried as you went along? How many times has that hard shell of yours caused good things to bounce away?

1655 Hrs Local, Camp Sather, Baghdad International Airport, Iraq

Briefing the admiral had been quick and surprisingly painless since there really wasn't anything new or unexpected to pass along to the boss. The entire investigation seemed to be pointless, as far as Bud could see, unless there was something else going behind the scenes. 'This was entirely routine. There's nothing remarkable here, so I don't know what to think.'

Gunny Waldorf interrupted any additional reflections. "Sir, will there be anything else today? The major wanted me to be sure you were finished before securing for the day."

"No, gunny that will be all" Before the gunny could take his leave, Bud had an additional thought. "On second thought, do you think Maj. Moore could spare a few minutes this evening?"

"I'm sure he could fit you in, although his calendar has been extremely crowded since arriving in beautiful Baghdad. It's the height of the social season you know," he laughed as he held the door open for Bud. "I doubt he's left the office, so if you don't mind the walk we'll head back that way."

1710 Hrs Local, Camp Sather, Baghdad International Airport Iraq

"Lieutenant, at ease. In fact have a seat." As Bud sat down the major gestured for the gunny to leave them. "Gunny, give us about 10 minutes then see if you can find some of the sergeant major's special desert fever medication for the three of us. Also, secure the hatch on the way out."

After the door closed a somewhat heavy silence fell over the office before the major cleared his throat. "Okay, lieutenant, it's your meeting. What's on your mind?"

Bud was very uncomfortable with the line of thought that had been developing over the last few hours, but he was not at all sure how to broach the subject with the officer across the desk from him. Sliding his chair back from the desk Maj. Moore stepped into the conversational void.

"Lieutenant some interesting scuttlebutt has made the rounds. If the voices in the wind are to be believed, some chair-warming son of a bitch has looked deeply into the tealeaves and found evidence of some war crimes bullshit in your incident. Is that what you are so obviously uncomfortable about son?"

The major's dark eyes seemed to slice right through Bud like a laser.

"If you're are here to look for evidence to incriminate a fellow Marine you are pissing into the wind. From my seat, which by the way is much closer to the action that any seat at CENTCOM (Central Command) or on the editorial board at The New York Times, everyone involved did exactly what they should have done.

"Sgt. Wheeler, Col. MacKenzie, the Navy guy, and the rest of the grunts were just dumped into a bad deal and they coped. Yes, we lost one man KIA, but so what? That young man's death was a tragedy to his family and probably his community, but it was one of those things. Period. Why's that so damned hard to see?

"If you are responsible for finding someone to blame where are you going to go? Did Wheeler fuck up by leading his track into an ambush? If that's the case you better start building a new wing at Ft. Leavenworth.

"Did the colonel err grievously by wanting to sit tight to wait for a road movement to relive them? That road must have 300 or more vehicle movements per day. Who would have guessed that they'd sit and bake for three or so hours?

"Did both the colonel and that kid from Iowa mess up by trying to get a little shade from the ass end of the LAV just before the RPG lit the damn thing up?

"Was the whole deal a result of incompetent leadership? How about cowardice, or dereliction of command duty? There's probably room for a lot of Monday morning quarterbacking here, but where's the war crime?

"Just where do you want to go with this Mr. Roberts?"

Any discussion of war crimes was a bolt out of the blue to Bud. He couldn't think of anything, anything at all that even approached that level of irresponsibility. "Major, I don't know about any allegations of that kind of behavior, and, unless someone's hiding something, I'm a little puzzled about how that story could have even gotten started."

Any lengthy response was cut short by Gunny Waldorf's return from his foraging mission. Following a knock at the door the gunny stepped into the office with a canteen and three cups. "The Sergeant Major recently had the opportunity to consort with some of our British brothers down south and a new stock of desert fever medication is secured in the CDO's safe. Since Mr. Roberts is with us may I assume that the sun is sufficiently over the yardarm for a libation?"

Chuckles all around and a nod from the major effectively ended the business portion of the day.