Balance of Power: A Novel (43 page)

“These are the men who attacked an American ship, murdered the crew, and sank their ship just north of Jakarta. We came to get them. Why’d they bring you here?”

She shook her head. “They never told us anything. They just told us to do what they said.”

“Did they harm you, did they touch your daughter?”

She shook her head. She turned and looked at her daughter and stroked her face.

Dillon tried to ignore the throbbing headache and the bruise on his chest as he led his group up the path to find Colonel Tucker. Luther was with him. Gordon had stayed behind to have a battle dressing placed on his leg wound by a Navy corpsman who had responded to the radio call from the Marines clearing the tunnel.

“There’s the colonel,” Luther said.

Dillon looked at Bonham. “You going to make it or should we get Colonel Tucker to come here?”

“No, I’ll make it,” Bonham said curtly, trying not to slow them down.

Dillon hailed the colonel from twenty-five yards.

Several of the Marines turned to glance at the trio. “Dillon!” Tucker said, walking toward him. “Where the hell have you been?”

“A mortar shell went off right next to us and blew in the side of the hill. There’s a big cave there. We fell in.”

“What?” Tucker said looking at Luther for confirmation. “Well, what are you…”

Dillon put up his hand. “Colonel Tucker, this is Captain Bonham of the
Pacific Flyer.”

Tucker extended his hand, “You’re the captain of the ship that got attacked?”

Bonham looked at Tucker and examined the Marines
around him. His face displayed shock and confusion. “What is all this?” Bonham said.

“We came to get you and take care of these assholes,” Tucker said. “Are you all right?”

Bonham sighed. “More or less.”

Tucker looked around at the Indonesians lying face-down near the edge in the jungle, their hands being tied behind them. “These the men that took your ship?”

“Yeah. The head guy that calls himself Washington was just in the tunnel.”

“Did you get him?” Tucker asked Luther.

“No, sir,” said Luther. “He took off through an escape tunnel and it blew up on him.”

“That’s too bad,” Tucker said, feigning pity. “Well, Captain Bonham, I think we’re about done here. We’ll get you back out to the
Wasp
and get you cleaned up. You can write down what’s happened to you ’cause I’m sure somebody is going to want to know about it.” He suddenly remembered Mary Carson. “Did you know they had a missionary family here as well?”

“No,” Bonham said. “They kept me blindfolded mostly. I knew something was going on, but I sure didn’t know what.”

The group walked toward Mary Carson. “Captain Bonham, this is Mary Carson and her daughter.”

“Hi,” Bonham said awkwardly.

Mary stood silently.

Tucker, sensing the awkwardness, turned toward Luther. “Corporal Luther, you’re relieved from birddogging Mr. Dillon. I’d like you to take care of Mr. Bonham and get him back out to the
Wasp
, next available transportation.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tucker looked at Bonham, “I’ll catch up with you out on the
Wasp
. I’d like to hear all about this.”

Bonham scratched his head. He looked around at the hundreds of Marines and the dead Indonesians, unsure what to say.

Dillon’s gaze followed Bonham’s and for the first time he noticed the dozens of dead men lying within a hundred feet of him, flies around their eyes and their bodies beginning to swell. He fought back a sudden surge of nausea.

Luther led Bonham toward a waiting CH-53E.

Tucker picked up his discussion with the Marine captain. Dillon walked over to Mary Carson. “I’m Jim Dillon,” he said, extending his hand.

She took his hand passively. “Hello.”

“How did you end up on this island?”

“Missionaries. We were kidnapped from another island.” Her face was full of pain.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I think we’ve taken care of these men, though. They won’t be kidnapping anybody else.”

She examined his face without speaking.

“You said we, you and your daughter?”

“My husband and my daughter and me.”

“Where’s your husband?”

“He was killed in the attack. By one of your missiles, I think.”

Dillon went slightly pale. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Mary’s daughter came over to them. Mary put her hand on her shoulder.

“I’m Special Assistant to the Speaker of the House of Representatives.”

“How did this happen?” Mary asked.

“How did what happen?”

“This attack. Did the President declare war on Indonesia?” she asked.

“No,” Dillon said. He studied her face. He couldn’t tell if she was looking for someone to blame or congratulate. “Congress ordered this. I found a power in the Constitution that hadn’t been used in a long time, and Congress ordered this battle group to attack.”

“This is
your
doing?” Mary asked, tears welling in her eyes.

Dillon felt a huge burden shifting to his shoulders. “I guess so,” he said.

Mary took her daughter’s hand and turned toward the path to the helicopter.

Dillon watched her go, knowing that nothing he could say would make any difference.

Admiral Billings stared at the display screens in front of him. The Predator showed the image of the woman and child clearly as they spoke with Tucker and Dillon. Tucker had just reported by radio what Mary Carson had told him about her husband. He looked at Beth and saw the deep pity in her eyes for the wife of the missionary. “These things never go like you expect them to go, do they?” he said.

“No, sir, they don’t,” Beth replied so quietly most couldn’t hear her.

“We smoked a missionary. I can read the headlines now.”

“No way we could have known that, sir.”

“Yes, there is,” Billings said, angry. “If we had been in communication with Washington.” He looked at her.

“I bet
they
knew about it.”

“I bet we will find out whether or not they did. And if they did, and didn’t tell us, they may have something to answer for.”

“There’s going to be plenty of answering done by a lot of people in the next few months,” Billings declared.

The helicopters cycled back and forth from the clearing, ferrying people back to the
Wasp
. They moved efficiently, taking the wounded Marines first, then the wounded Indonesians, and then Marines with the Indonesian prisoners.

Dillon watched the procession by himself, uninterested in speaking with anyone. After a few minutes, he sat on
a fallen tree. Its leaves were green and perfect. Its trunk was intact, except where it had been severed by an explosion. Dillon stared at it. The tree was already dead as a result of the battle; it just didn’t know it yet. Dillon sat on the ground and leaned against the fallen tree.

Dillon removed his helmet. His hand unconsciously went to the back of his head to feel the bump that was growing larger by the minute. A corpsman had already pronounced him fit, but told him to get medical attention, including an X ray, when he returned to the
Wasp
.

A Marine sergeant ran up to him. “You’re on the next helicopter, sir,” he said. As Dillon leaned forward to rise, he felt a searing pain in his chest. He took a deep breath and noticed a pungent, unpleasant smell. Then he realized it came from him. It was more than just a dirty smell from camping, it was sharper, more metallic. He realized he had never been this dirty in his life. He turned his head to the side to take a deep breath of fresh air and walked toward the helicopter.

The marine sentry opened the door and Dillon stepped through into SUPPLOT. Admiral Billings was waiting for him. Dillon had his Marine utilities on; the patch over the pocket read USMC. He hadn’t even washed his face. He had come directly from the
Wasp
to the
Constitution
’s helicopter to return to the carrier. Another special trip, not originally on the flight schedule, about which numerous people were bent out of shape. But Dillon was tired of thinking about the burden he was to this operation. He was thinking more about how glad he was to be alive. The Marine closed the door behind him.

Admiral Billings looked up from his lunch. “Well, Mr. Dillon, you made it.”

“Yes, sir,” Dillon said, reaching for the chin strap to undo his helmet.

Beth Louwsma, who was eating with the admiral, as well as Captain Black and the operations officer, stared at
him. “Are you all right?” she asked as she noted the dirt streaks on his face and his obvious fatigue.

“Yeah.” Dillon nodded.

Billings watched Dillon. He spoke with laughter in his voice. “Colonel Tucker radioed that you about got your Jimmy shot off.”

Dillon removed his helmet. He pointed to the dent left by Washington’s bullet, right between the two
m
’s in his name. “Right here,” Dillon said.

“You got shot?” Beth asked, incredulous. “You have a cut, by your ear. You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not much.” He touched the crusted blood.

Beth looked at Billings. “Can civilians get Purple Hearts?”

Billings smiled. “Don’t know. Find out.” He looked at Dillon.

Dillon sat down heavily in the leather chair. “It was my first time getting shot.”

“What happened?” Beth pursued.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said, exhaustion oozing from each word.

“Well, Mr. Dillon, do you think we did the right thing?” Billings asked.

Dillon finally sat up. “That’s really not for me to say.”

Billings looked directly at Dillon. “I think it is for you to say, Mr. Dillon. If you can’t form an opinion now, you never will.” He pressed him. “Are you doing the political thing of waiting to see all the implications before you decide whether it’s ‘right’ or ‘wrong’? We don’t have that luxury here. We have to act.” He waited for a response from Dillon. “You’re not under my command. Let’s hear what you have to say.”

Dillon rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know, Admiral. I thought from the beginning that the right thing to do was to go hammer these guys. Now we’ve hammered them. I guess the part of it that surprises me is that I always thought it would feel good once you did it, but it doesn’t…”