8.
Trust

The waiting room smelled of tobacco smoke and stale beer. Drake was sitting in an overstuffed chair, on edge. He had on a pressed and starched white dress uniform. Under the left breast pocket was the purple heart he had earned from a training exercise the had gone awry. But previous narrow escapes were the least of his worries, Wardog squadron was being court marshaled for apparently disobeying orders. A set of doors opened to his left, and Blaze walked calmly out.
"How'd it go?" Drake asked, standing up. Blaze took a minute to study the ceiling before answering, "Like hell. You're up next, brandy and scotch when this is all over." Drake smiled as Blaze walked out and an MP called his name. Drake stood up, straightened his shirt, then walked through the double doors into a darkened room. His purposeful gait concealed his nervousness and anxiety. He walked into a circle of light, slid into attention, and snapped a crisp salute.
"First Lieutenant Drake Draca reporting as requested," he yelled, not being able to see past his island of luminosity.
"Yes yes, we're right here. You don't need to shout," a husky voice said from the darkness. Some lights came on which backlit a group of eight people. Drake couldn't discern their expressions, but from the way they sat he could tell they weren't happy.
"Lieutenant Draca," a female voice said, "At ease. Welcome." Drake was surprised by the warmness of the greeting.
"Lieutenant, we have some questions to ask you. You do know that failure to answer truthfully will result in even more sever punishments?"
"I am aware of my obligations," Drake replied dryly. Someone shuffled some papers as another cleared their throat.
"All right, lets start simple. Where were you yesterday at 01120?"
"I was up in the air with my squadron on a sortie."
"What was the purpose of the mission?" another female voice asked.
"Our mission was to eliminate a group of transport planes carrying troops and supplies from the engagement on the shore. We ran into a spot of trouble when they brought in a couple of aircraft equipped with radar jamming devices."
"Did you at any time engage in an attack on a civilian facility?"
"No sir."
"Is it possible some of your missiles locked on to the college and inadvertently destroyed it?"
"Impossible ma'm," Drake replied sternly.
"How is that?" Drake was getting annoyed at all the obvious questions.
"Listen, we were nearly twelve thousand feet up in the air. All those missiles have electronic fail-safes that detonate the warhead when all the propellant is expended. They wouldn't even reach the ground from that height. So no, there was no possible way that an expended missile hit a building."
"So if you didn't intentionally attack the college, and it wasn't an accident, how do you suppose this happened, Lieutenant Draca?"
"I can only offer speculations sir."
"Please, lets hear them."
"Well sir, I think this was the work of a rouge squadron within the Osean air force."
"Yours was the only registered squad in that area. Are you saying we have unaccounted-for squadrons in our air force?"
"Like I said, just speculations. Although, I did hear a squadron number through the static on my radio."
"What was it?"
"I think it was 8-4-9-2."
"Oh no not that again," one of the men said irritably. Others just grumbled.
"Sir?" Drake asked timidly.
"You honestly expect us to believe that bullshit? Why don't you just admit you screwed up? It'd make things a whole lot easier on yourselves."
"I swear sir that everything I have said is the truth. You can believe it or not, but I stick with my story one hundred percent."
"Ugh, just go, we're done here. We'll let you know what we decide later."
"Thank you sir," Drake said saluting. As he turned around and walked out he heard the people whispering together. For some reason he felt a sense of relief, now that it was all over.