“Also Fort Irwin. A Black Hawk is on the way to transport you. There you’ll be medically and psychologically evaluated.”
Taylor said, “I’ll make sure the doctors know Scott was mentally ill before we got here.”
Howe smiled, and added, “You’ll also be debriefed. As you’ll already know from experience, this is where they make you tell them everything, after which they tell you to never repeat anything you’ve just said ever again.”
“Yeah,” said Brodie, “we’ve gotten that before. And I’ve played ball. But I think I’m tired of that game.”
Howe looked at him. “Don’t go to prison over this.”
This wasn’t worth arguing over. The truth was that Scott Brodie had not yet decided whether to spill the very damaging classified intelligence he’d learned at Camp Hayden, and if so, to whom. The press? A politician? A priest at confession? It all depended on what happened at Fort Irwin and how pissed off he was once he left.
Brodie spotted Caroline Dixon, her arm in a cast, walking alongside Lieutenant Lehner, who was pushing a wheelbarrow full of the twisted wreckage of D-17s. Brodie gestured toward them and asked, “What’s that about?”
Howe looked to where he was pointing. “Caroline and the lieutenant are in charge of collecting the D-17 detritus and keeping it in a secure facility until it can be retrieved.” She added, “I heard they’re also sticking some of the heads between the bars of the brig window so Captain Spencer has company.”
Well, being watched through the window by half-melted robot heads was the least that bastard deserved. Brodie and Taylor hadattempted to interview him, but to no avail. He wanted his lawyer. Which was fine. Dixon had traced the remote accessing of the Vault computer to Spencer’s own computer in the lab, which could only be accessed by his personal password, so they had the guy dead to rights, even without everything else. It was plenty of material to hand over to the JAG for criminal charges. Brodie just hoped those charges, and the investigation into Praetorian, did not end with Captain Ed Spencer.
Brodie noticed General Morgan kneeling near the line of covered bodies. He excused himself and walked over to the general, and waited quietly as the man finished his prayer and stood.
Morgan turned to him. “How are you holding up, Mr. Brodie?”
Brodie looked down at the bodies. “That depends, sir. Who’s going to answer for this?”
Morgan did not respond. Then he looked over at a group of Rangers who were clearing rubble from the smoking ruins of the administrative building. “I told them to rest, but they don’t want to. Sometimes you occupy your body to avoid occupying your mind.”
“They’ll have plenty of time for that. Plenty of sleepless nights. Meanwhile, what are you going to do about all this?”
Morgan turned to Brodie. “Do you have any idea what would happen to them if any of this became public? The amount of attention and pressure that would bear down upon them from all sides? They’ll keep their mouths shut because they have to. They have too much to lose, and they’ve already lost enough. Were I to do anything different, it would negate their sacrifices and imperil their futures. My duty is to my men.”
Brodie met the general’s eyes. “With all due respect, sir, your duty is to your country.”
Morgan took a deep breath. “A levee fails in a storm. The floodwaters destroy buildings, kill hundreds. You can hold the people who built the levee to account. That might lead to some justice, and maybe a stronger levee next time. But it does not stop the storm.”
Dixon and Lehner returned with an empty wheelbarrow and walked toward a tall pile of blackened and deformed D-17 parts for their next load. Brodie watched as Lehner took a shovel and began scooping debris. A D-17 head dropped into the wheelbarrow amid a pile of shredded titanium, its sensor strip melted and deformed. Brodie felt like it was looking at him.
He said to the general, “There’s a problem with your analogy, sir. These things are anything but an act of God.”
“They may as well be. They are just as inevitable.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“Believe what you want,” said Morgan.
He turned back to the man. “You’re just going to play the game.”
“No, Mr. Brodie. I’m going towinthe game. Look around you. This is an unspeakable tragedy. But in the ashes, we’re the ones still standing. We’re the victors, when real bullets and rockets were flying, when it truly mattered.”
Brodie looked at the general in shock. But maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. On some twisted level, what had happened here both validated Morgan’s worst fears and assured him of his own bedrock faith—that man can best machine.
Total victory on the battlefield is the best argument.
He’d said that at their dinner together. But the problem was, the argument is never over. History does not end.
Brodie looked at the sky, now an almost impossible blue after the day’s violent storm. Two ravens flew through the air over Camp Hayden.
General Morgan followed Brodie’s look. He said, “I was being a bit morbid yesterday. Ravens don’t only mean death. Some believe they are messengers to the gods. Others say they are signs of hope. That’s the thing about signs and symbols. They can be anywhere and everywhere and mean whatever the hell you want.”
“Doesn’t that make them meaningless?” asked Brodie.
