Part 33 (1/2)
”Yes, but--”
”But it was just easier to shoot them.”
”No, I . . . It was . . . one of the hardest things I've ever done.”
”But you made it look look so easy.” so easy.”
”Also I realized that if we left those men physically intact, they would be available to battle the Marines. These are dangerous men, hardened terrorists, murderers.”
”Are you finished?”
”Not yet. I'm not saying what I did was legally right. It wasn't. I know that. Yet I still believe it was the proper thing. If it saves the life of a single U.S. Marine--”
”That's why the Army has its own court-martial system with boards composed of veteran officers.”
”What are you talking about?”
”They appreciate the unique strains and stresses that accompany combat, the situational judgments, the rationalizations for questionable conduct, the extenuating matters.” I opened a door, but it turned out to be a galley closet. ”Save it for them.”
”Sean, I'm telling the truth.” After a moment she asked, ”Why do you you think I did it?” think I did it?”
”Maybe you snapped. Maybe you have bad memories of your time here, flashbacks, an illogical hatred of Arabs, or battle fatigue, or latent sociopathic tendencies, or PMS. Possibilities abound. I really don't know. I really don't care.”
I moved toward the pilot's cabin and stopped at the first door on the right. I opened it and stepped inside.
”You know what I think?” Bian asked.
She doggedly followed me inside what appeared to be the crew's cabin. She said, ”This isn't your your war. How did you phrase it before? Correct me if I misquote you. It's just a news event, a tidbit tucked between the weather and the sports update. That wasn't only the great American public you were describing, it was you.” war. How did you phrase it before? Correct me if I misquote you. It's just a news event, a tidbit tucked between the weather and the sports update. That wasn't only the great American public you were describing, it was you.”
There were no fold-out beds, but I did see a door that I a.s.sumed led to a closet.
She said, ”You're just pa.s.sing through, an impartial observer, a reluctant tourist, emotionally disconnected. I'm not. Nor are the hundred and fifty thousand soldiers and Marines fighting here. It's life, and it's death, and that's how you have to play it.”
”Bulls.h.i.+t.”
”Is it? You didn't even want to come. You're here only because Phyllis and I shamed and pressured you into it.”
True enough. And yes, maybe that did make it, not easy, but at least easier easier to pa.s.s judgment. I had to pa.s.s judgment. I had my my wars, wars, my my battles--Panama, the first Gulf War, and Mogadishu--and as my father likes to say about battles--Panama, the first Gulf War, and Mogadishu--and as my father likes to say about his his wars, those were the last wars, those were the last real real wars. No, I had no emotional connection to this one--like empathy and sympathy; I understood, I just didn't emote. I avoided eye contact with her, opened the door, and inside was, in fact, a fold-up bed, which I reached for. wars. No, I had no emotional connection to this one--like empathy and sympathy; I understood, I just didn't emote. I avoided eye contact with her, opened the door, and inside was, in fact, a fold-up bed, which I reached for.
Bian said, ”Look at me, Sean.”
I looked at her.
”You weren't so judgmental tonight when we threatened those men with execution. That also is a violation of the laws of war. Going all high and mighty now doesn't look good on you.”
There was no need to point out the difference between threatening and doing; she understood the distinction. And yes, I had crossed a line; she, on the other hand, had jumped galaxies.
She continued, ”Had I been some burned-out, hyperventilating basket case, I would've killed those men. I couldn't . . . and I didn't. I deliberately wounded them. Explain that.”
I couldn't explain it. Had it been battlefield rage or simmering racial hatred, those men wouldn't be crippled; they'd be worm meat.
But in the eyes of the law, it mattered not whether her motive was expediency--as she claimed, to separate the chaff from bin Pacha--or, as she further rationalized, to immobilize a future battlefield threat. Shooting unarmed prisoners is, at the very least, an excessive use of force; at worst, it is a method of torture.
”Don't be angry with me.”
”I'm disappointed in you. There's a difference.”
”That's worse.” I looked at her again and noticed that tears were coursing down her cheeks. She said, ”I think there's something between us . . . and . . . I . . .”
I grabbed the bed and tried to maneuver it out of the room. It was too large and unwieldy, and I said, ”Give me a hand.”
”Tell me what you intend to do.”
”I'm going to report you.”
”To whom?”
”When I decide, you'll be the first to know.”
”Am I under arrest?”
”Not yet. But consider yourself under military custody.”
”I want to finish this . . . I . . . I have have to finish this.” to finish this.”
”I can't trust you around prisoners, Bian. I'm sure I don't need to explain why.”
”Then you're not thinking straight. You can't finish this without me. You know that.”
”Do I?”
”Yes. If we can get bin Pacha to talk, how many lives might that save? You have . . . This is very importent to me. Come on, we've come this far.”
She had a point. She understood the operating environment and she could converse in Arabic, whereas I couldn't even ask, ”Who's handing over the moolah, bin Pacha?”
On the other hand, I could not get past the memory of those men toppling over.
She sensed that I was conflicted and said, ”Satisfy your conscience after we're done, okay? Mission first, right? What is it they say about babies and bathwater? What more damage can I accomplish?”
”Are you out of cliches yet?”
”You know I'm not.”
I looked at her. Against my better judgment, I said, ”Promise you won't shoot anybody.”
She smiled and crossed her heart. ”Promise.”