I faced a gigantic desk while Knapp moved around it to take a battle position in his comfortable desk chair. He looked at me coolly for a few seconds, then motioned for me to sit. On a bookshelf behind him stood a huge bust of a bald eagle that peered menacingly at the unfortunate souls forced to sit before the colonel. It was two against one.
Knapp let out an audible breath and began. “You and your crew saved some of my men.” He was still almost expressionless, but the temperature had warmed up a little. “Some of your fellow contractors are pretty fucking”—he enunciated theingfor effect—“cavalier around these parts. They run around with complete disregard for the rules and fuck things up more than they help.”
Another pause.
I figured my best course of action was a direct assault. “Sir, I know I have just made your life much more difficult. But no way could I stand by and allow those terrorists to execute American soldiers.”
The colonel’s secure phone rang. He picked it up with a gruff “Knapp.” Still no sign of emotion. He continued to give me the hard stare while delivering monosyllabic answers to his caller. “Roger that, sir. Will do,” he concluded and put the phone down.
“Here’s the deal. You have indeed caused a massive storm of bullshit for me, Mr. Phillips. It will probably mean weeks of paperwork and investigations and all kinds of shit that I will have to deal with personally.”
He let the words sink in, then continued.
“But trust me when I say this: I would rather deal with a shit ton of paperwork than write another letter to another spouse or parent about their dead son or daughter. I can’t lie to you, son: There is going to be a massive investigation. But if this was a righteous kill and you all were by the book, I can’t see it turning into anything more than a pain in the ass for my staff and yours.”
Colonel Knapp leaned back in his chair. “That was General Montgomery on the phone,” he explained. “He and Congressman Jennings want us to escort you to his office in a few minutes. Apparently a legal team from your outfit will be there, along with Army criminal investigators and Army lawyers.” He shook his head as he stood from his chair, blocking me from the eagle’s gaze.
Nothing more needed to be said. I stood and started to movetoward the door. But first I felt obligated to express my gratitude. “Sir, thank you for shooting straight with me. I really appreciate your help.”
“No, Mr. Phillips, thankyoufor everything,” Knapp said with a knowing nod. “You be safe out there.”
CHAPTER 19
Outside the colonel’s office, I looked around for the escort detail and was surprised to recognize the sergeant who’d been riding shotgun in the wounded Humvee, as well as the staff sergeant who had taken control of security at the ambush and directed the vehicle’s recovery.
“Sergeant Jeff Carnes,” the man from the vehicle said as I approached. Before I could give him my hand, he leaned in for a bear hug. “Thank you, sir. You guys were awesome. Sorry I couldn’t do a damn thing.”
Though he had recovered from the daze of the blast and his adrenaline surge had ebbed, the reality of what had just transpired was sinking in. Sergeant Carnes knew that disaster had been narrowly averted. He was scared and thankful at the same time.
I patted Carnes on the shoulder and shook his hand. I knew at that moment that whatever the higher-ups did to me no longer mattered. I could rest easy knowing that we had saved not only the sergeant’s life, but the lives of the men in his charge.
“Hey, man, a direct hit from an RPG at ten meters is gonna rock your world,” I reassured him. “You don’t ever need to apologize for anything to me or my team. I’m just glad we were there.”
We all knew that the endgame would’ve been nasty had the ambush been successful. Despite the liberal rhetoric spouted by anti-war types, this enemy had never agreed to follow the rules of the Geneva Convention.
The staff sergeant held out his hand. “I’m Sergeant Ben Hilton, sir.”
I gave him a good shake. Hilton was probably in his early twenties but looked a decade older. He’d already done a year or two of fighting in Iraq while most of his peers back home were finishing college or working entry-level jobs.
“Good to meet you, Ben. Nat Phillips. Guess you guys are the ones taking me to see the old man,” I said.
Hilton looked at me sheepishly. I could sense his discomfort. An hour ago, we were fighting for our lives and now we had to go plead our case to a man who’d been miles away from the battlefield.
“I just want you to know that I really appreciate all you did for us,” Hilton said. “That place always sucks, man. Every time I drive by there, it gives me the creeps.”
“I hear you, Ben. The whole damn place gives me the creeps.” I smiled, gave him a brotherly pat on the shoulder and nodded toward the door. “It’s cool, Ben, don’t give it a second thought.”
“Well, um, thanks, Sir.”
We walked outside, where a huge Chevy Suburban was waiting. Sergeant Carnes opened the door in the back for me to enter.
“You’re not gonna cuff me, are you?” I asked with a smile.
He gave me an awkward smile and shook his head. I could tell he felt uncomfortable being a party to my sentencing.
“Every little t’ing’s gonna be alright, mon,” I said in my best Rasta voice, trying to lighten the mood.
I started to realize that I was hungry. No—make thatstarving. Shit, I hadn’t eaten since early that morning, and though I’d had that one cup of coffee with Miller and had drunk a ton of water, I couldn’t lose the battlefield cottonmouth. Oddly, instead of my impending career doom, all I could think about was the growling of my stomach.
