Dan lay on his bunk, staring at the wall. Exhausted, but he felt good. Cheyenne had looked better than he expected. He knew the others had felt the opposite; they hadn't seen her in the tank and were shocked at how much black she had.
Dan however saw the same strength, motivation and, well, Cheyenne, behind that patch. He saw the smile that played at her lips when she saw her kids. And he knew she would make it back to a hundred percent. This wouldn't destroy the woman he knew.
That happened sometimes. He'd seen it happen over far less. In high school he had a friend who was a talented sprinter. He played running back on the football team and ran track in the spring. There was talk of a pro career. Then he hurt his ankle. Two years after high school he'd become unrecognizable, forty pounds heavier and drowning his lost career in a beer can.
It happened to soldiers worse than anyone. Cheyenne's ex husband, from the stories Dan had heard, was a perfect example. PTSD and wounds that couldn't be seen took their toll, changed people in ways that others didn't understand.
Dan's reverie was broken by the door. Madsen and Jensen entered, their mood somber and faces bleak.
"What's up?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"
Madsen merely snorted and flopped down on his bunk. Jensen leaned against Dan's bunk, looking up at him. "Well, we just found out why this press conference was so important to the big wigs back home," he said.
"Really? Why?"
"It was just a short piece on the Consortium news channel, but in a day or so it's going to be all over our news, too. Seems the Princess has been asking their legal department to delay certain actions. Their higher court over ruled her and the trials will go ahead despite her protests."
Dan shrugged. "So? Good to know they have some checks and balances, too. She's not all powerful."
"Yeah, and they focused on that, cuz they already knew what the trials were about," Madsen said. "But that's the real kicker."
"It's some of our men," Jensen said. "Americans. Taken in Syria during that action. The conservatives were right, they didn't return everyone."
"But, but," Dan stuttered, sitting up so fast he hit his head on ceiling. "I don't understand."
"They didn't show up on the command's personnel list because they were never on them. It's about a dozen men in all. Two CIA operatives and six navy seals. They were going to assassinate Assad," Jensen said and gave Dan a look. "And his family...including the children."
"What is the Consortium going to do with them?" Dan asked.
"They are being charged with kidnapping and attempted murder of civilians," Madsen said. "Supposedly that's why they went after us so fast and so hard. They saw it happening on their surveillance network."
"And once the trial happens," Jensen said. "Those videos become a matter of public record. They, the Consortium that is, they've seen most of them anyway. They wouldn't show more than a small clip on the news, and even that they warned it was graphic."
"Did you see it?" Dan gasped.
Madsen rolled over and stared at the wall. Jensen gulped and nodded. "Yeah, it's bad, Dan. An American soldier, drawing a bead on a young child. Conversations about how to make it look like friendly fire. I don't think there's anyway those men can avoid being found guilty. And I doubt we will be able to convince very many people we were the good guys in all of this, once those videos go public."
######
Karl Leipeweitz the Third had ditched his stupid, pompous sounding name early on in high school. He particularly hated the third, as though he were from a long illustrious line of oil tycoons, not a family of redneck's living in north Texas.
Kleppie didn't want the pompous name, he wanted real fame, or a life that really mattered. He wanted to do something important. That's why he went into the Navy in the first place, well that and to get out of the redneck town he grew up in. There weren't many ways out. He'd barely passed in high school, and his school wasn't exactly for future rocket scientists.
"Eh, Kleppie," a voice called and he turned. He nodded for Madsen and Jensen to head on without him. They were still in shock from what they'd seen on the news. He was, too, if it came down to that. He wasn't sure which was worse, the fact they were holding American soldiers prisoner, or the crimes that they had committed?
He approached the sailor who had hailed him. He wondered if Hornbeck had seen the news. Probably not. He'd be pissed if he had, Kleppie was sure. After all, they had all kind of knew that this stuff was going on. Hornbeck had made it clear that he felt that any measure was justified, as long as it stopped the terrorist that threatened their country.
Hornbeck was nearly a head taller than Kleppie, and much broader. He was a munitions ensign but for all that he outranked Kleppie. He was center of a small clique of some of the toughest men on the ship, men with good work records and bright military careers.
"Me and some of the boys have been thinking," Hornbeck told him. Several of his friends were there in the hall behind him. "Thinking we could turn this whole stay to our advantage, maybe."
"How so?" Kleppie asked.
"These healers are mostly friendly. They might inadvertently provide us some good intel on these ships, on the Others, their technology."
"Yeah, I suppose," Kleppie said, an uneasy feeling in his stomach. "But what do you intend to do with that intel?"
Hornbeck shrugged. "Not our business. All we are thinking is this, the sailor, or sailors that came back with something useful for military intelligence, they might be fast tracked for some sort intelligence assignment in the future."
Kleppie smiled despite himself. Military intelligence. That was an important career, much better than sitting in the gunners seat for the next twenty years. "You really think so?" he asked.
"Worth a shot. Better than sitting, twiddling our thumbs for five weeks. Or taking fucking art classes," he snarled. Captain Lannister's idea of them finding something to do had turned into a dismal mess, according to some of the men at least. There simply wasn't much they could do right now, or people to teach them. A few of the Consortium healers and crew had offered to teach classes. Kleppie had been tempted by the Consortium language class but had decided it would be too hard, besides he wasn't sure how his fellow crew would react. The American crew either didn't have the skills or the tools to teach much. One of the officers was teaching a course on naval history, mostly from memory. Otherwise it was art class, cooking class, mostly bullshit stuff.
"Yeah, but how are we going to feed this back to intel?" Kleppie asked.
"I'm working on it," Hornbeck snapped. "Look, all I want to know, is are you in? Can we count on you?"
"What do I got to do?"
"Keep your ear to the ground. Befriend some of these Consortium people. See what they know. And then get back to me."
This is the end of Episode Three: Spiders and Clackers, but there's plenty more story to come. I will start on Episode Four: Spies Sunday. Feel free to like and comment. Thanks for reading.