JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA
"So you are recommending a court-martial for Petty Officer Shaw?' asks General Cresswell as he talks on the phone inside his office.
"Yes, sir," replies Sturgis. "His commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander Rivers, mentioned that Petty Officer Shaw had a history of ignoring orders during missions."
"What does command say?"
"The admiral that briefed Rivers's team is recommending a general court-martial. I advised a special court-martial, but apparently the admiral disagrees. I would expect proceedings to begin by the end of this week."
"What did Petty Officer Shaw say?"
"He claims that he heard the order given," replies the commander.
"Keep me informed, Commander."
"Yes, sir."
Cresswell hangs up the telephone. He uses the computer to check his electronic mail.
He gets a message that the computer can not log onto the mail server. He tries again, and still there is no response.
He tries to access the Yahoo! web site; the Netscape web browser returns with a "Can Not Find Server" error.
He figures it might be his computer. He steps out of his office and into Petty Officer Coates's office.
"Excuse me, Coates," says the general, "the Internet on my computer is down."
"I'll go check to see if it's on my computer," replies Petty Officer Coates. She clicks the icon for Microsoft Internet Explorer, which would lead to the Microsft Internet Explorer page. What she gets is an error message.
"Maybe I should use another computer," mutters Cresswell. He walks out to the main office and uses one of the personal computers.
He can not access any web sites on that computer either.
He picks up a phone to call the JAG Headquarters technical support.
"JAG Headquarters technical support," says a male voice.
"This is General Cresswell," says Cresswell. "The Internet is down in the main office."
"We know, sir. We got several calls. We're on it."
"When can you restore Internet service?"
"We don't know, sir."
Cresswell hangs up the phone.
"Internet's down, right?" asks a female voice.
The general turns and sees a woman dressed in a Navy dress uniform. She is Commander Meg Austin, one of the Navy lawyers assigned to JAG Headquarters.
"Yes, it is, Commander," replies Cresswell.
"I did call the tech support staff," says Meg. "You know, I do have experience working with computers."
"Are you busy with any cases, Austin?"
"No, sir."
"Then I am assigning you to provide assistance to HQ Tech Support, and you will work with them until Internet service is restored."
"Yes, sir."
oooooooooo
1911 ZULU
Meg finds herself inside the JAG Headquarters computer room, located in the basement level. The place is lit with bright fluorescent lights, and several computers, looking like rectangular boxes, stand tall inside the room. The computers serve as the central servers for the United States Navy JAG Headquarters. A bespectacled man in his late twenties is checking behind the computers.
"Well, ma'am," says Warrant Officer Rick Marshall, looking at one of the cable connections, "there does not seem to be a loose physical connection."
"Could it be just the main office?" suggests the commander.
"No, ma'am. I got complaints from the other offices. It could be a virus or a worm, or maybe the network software's corrupted. You have any experience with computyer software, Commander?"
"Yes, I do, Warrant Officer. That's why the general asked me to assist you. My skills were valuable in solving a few cases. And you, Warrant Officer Marshall?"
"Ma'am, I have experience with computer guidance systems on board submarines. That's why I have this submariner badge pinned to my uniform."
"That's useful." Meg remembers that Commander Turner had been a submarine officer.
"Well, ma'am, let's take a look at the software. I would appreciate any assistance, of course."
"Of course," says Meg, smiling.
oooooooooooooo
DAY 4
0914 ZULU
BASRA, IRAQ
"Things have been relatively peaceful here since that attack on that terrorist's hudeout," says the U.S. Army captain in charge of the Army garrison in Basra.
"How much do you know about the mission?" asks Captain Bullrider.
"Not much. I was simply informed of an offensive and my people were to stay out of the way."
"I wonder if it was meant to be a trap," suggests Iraqi Army Sergeant Khalil Foumad. "If I remember, one of his men had a bomb srtrapped to him; he was killed before he could set it off."
Bullrider nodded. From the mission reports, he knows how worse it could have been if that terrorists had detonated the bomb.
"Captain, if I find out more, I'll contact you."
"Of course, Captain," replies the Marine.
Bullrider and the Iraqi sergeant head into the car, and early 1990's model Volkswagen. Sergrant Foumad starts the engine and puts the car in gear. He manuevers on the the road leading out of Basra. It is a busy day, what with people milling about, doing their best to live normal lives considering the circumstances.
Bullrider thinks about the case. He had not been deployed to a combat zone before, even though he knew it was possible he could be assigned to serve as a member of a Marine commander's legal staff. He could understand why some people might want to jump the gun in a combat situation. He remembers the war games simulations he attended back when he was a midshipman in the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis.
Suddenly, he jerks forward and sees the car had come to a complete stop.
"What the hell?" asks the Marine.
He then looks and sees a huge truck stopped ahead. He can hear the sound of gunfire, and can see thick black smoke rising from behind the truck.
Both he and Foumad make a quick egress out of the Volkswagen, taking whatever cover they can find.
The wisdom of their decision is demonstrated when the Volkswagen bursts into flames and scatters glass everywhere. Thick black smoke starts to rise up from the burning car.
Captain Bullrider takes a quick look at his surroundings. The street is narrow, about as wide as a typical residential street in Falls Church. But any comparsion with a quiet neighborhood in Falls Church ends there, if not for the rectasngular buildings built next to the street with signs in Arabic, then by the automatic weapons fire.
He notices soldiers opening fire with their M-16 rifles and M-79 grenade launchers. This is obviously some sort of ambush. Perhaps Amad bin Atwa had not fled Basra, let alone Iraq.
"Every Marine a rifleman," he utters. He had learned this both in Annapolis and in Quantico. He looks at Sergeant Foumad.
Foumad nods at him back, clutching his own submachingun. Submachineguns were effective for suppresive fire at close ranges, but lacked the accuracy of a good sniper rifle like the one he used during the American invasion.
Foumad runs towards one of the buildings. Bullrider looks up and sees a man on a rooftop armed with a machine gun. He squeezes off a burst from the Heckler and Koch MP-5 that he had been issued when he came here, and then concealed himself behind a barrel, not even checking to see if the man on top of the roof was dead.
Clearly, the enemy has the advantage; they hold the high ground. Clearly, he needs a more accurate weapon.
He then sees it - an M-16 lying on the ground, next to a fallen American soldier.
He runs and grabs the M-16. He then tuns over to the burning Volkswagen, knowing that the smoke will conceal him.
He looks and sees a man on the rooftop, armed with what appears to be an RPG launcher.
He takes aim and fires a short burst, bracing the stock against the shoulder.
The man with the RPG launcher is hit and falls forward.
"Over here, whisphers Foumad.
The two of them walk to the side of the building. Foumad jumps on the ladder, and Bullrider follows him. It is a fifteen-second climb to the rooftop.
Foumad clutches a pistol, one he himself modified. It has a longer barrel and is more accurate than most service pistols.
On top of the building are some ducts and air vents- just enouhg to provide concealment. The two men stay low to conceal themselves.
And there they see their target. One of the men is armed with a machine gun, spraying the street below with bullets. The other is clutching a rifle, providing cover for the machinegunner.
Foumad aims his modified pistol at the machinegunner and fires a bullet. The bullet punches through bone and brain tissue, and the machinegunner falls, mortally wounded. His partner turns around and sprays a three-round burst of rifle fire. He looks at the rooftop, cursing that there are too many places for an enemy to hide.
He then receives a pistol round to his head.
"I think it's over," says Bullrider. The gunfire had ceased.
"Look," says Foumad.
A few helicopters approach. Bullrider wonders if the insurgents had managed to acquire helicopters from Iran or Syria.
Then he recognizes them as AH-64 Apache helicopters.
He stands up and waves at the helicopters, hoping that the U.S. Army pilots can see them. Soon the Apaches are circling overhead. A UH-60 Blackhawk touches down at an intersection.
They both climb down from the building to greet the American soldiers who had arrived. Medics tend to some opf the wounded soldiers.
"Are you all right,sir?" a soldier asks the Marine captain.
"It was nothing," says Bullrider.
He then feels lightheaded. It must be after the stress of the events of the past few minutes.
He then sees his left hand covered in red.
He looks, and sees a huge, bright red patch on his khaki shirt.
"Medic!" he hears a soldier yell.