were all in a new brotherhood. So we get orders to go to our fourth village… and some of my men say no. They were shutting down. They lost their pride. We weren’t soldiers. We weren’t Delta Force. We were killers. So I sat, phoned Worley and told him we’re done. He says okay.”
End of story. Not quite. Brodie knew not to interrupt a confession. Lots of criminals started to think of the interview room as the confession box—except in this case, the sinner could kill his confessor. So Brodie stayed silent.
But Taylor was ready to offer absolution and redemption. She said, “When I got to Mirabad, I was sickened by what I heard. Literally sick to my stomach. But… and I’ve never told this to a soul… I was also sick to death of how we were treated by the villagers… how they took advantage of us, how they lied, how they set us up for the Taliban… and, God forgive me, a thought flashed through my mind that they got what they deserved.”
Mercer looked at her but said nothing, though he nodded.
Brodie, too, looked at her. Was this bullshit? Probably not. He’d had similar thoughts in Iraq. War is the dark angel on your shoulder that whispers bad things to you.
Mercer sat on the platform, cross-legged, and stared at the bamboo. He said, “Worley… the son of a bitch comes to my outpost by chopper, and says he needs a word with me. No surprise there. He tells me to calm down. He says my team needs some R&R and he’ll take care of that. I tell him to shove his R&R up his ass. He reminds me that I’m speaking to a colonel, and he also reminds me that if I say a word to anyone about the pacification program, I’m going to jail for the rest of my life. He tells me to think about my men. They’re going to jail too. I tell him he’s going to fucking jail if I go to jail. He also tells me—and I’m not sure I believe this—that some of my men are okay with what we’re doing, and not okay with me making a stink about it. He tells me to watch my dark corners and sleep with one eye open. Then he gets on the chopper and leaves.”
Brodie nodded to himself. He could almost fill in the blanks and guess why Captain Mercer deserted his post.
Taylor said to him, “If it makes any difference to you, Captain, I was similarly threatened.”
He looked at her sitting in the chair a few feet from him. “Did you keep quiet?”
“I did. And I’m sorry I did.”
“Well… I was not going to keep quiet. Not after that son of a bitch threatened me. I was going to make a full report to the JAG office, to Major Powell, and also to the CID—” He looked at Brodie and Taylor, and the irony was obviously not lost on him. He continued, “I was ready to come clean and take my punishment, because I deserved it. And I was going to give testimony in exchange for immunity for my men…” He found something funny and said, “I had a Christ complex… willing to die for the sins of others—even my guys who were ready to betray me to Worley. Jesus… what was I thinking? I was thinking Worley was the devil—the tempter—and I fell for his shit. But he didn’t fall for mine. The bastard knew I wasn’t going to keep quiet, but he tells me I’m going home. End of tour. And I’m almost believing that, so I decide to keep my mouth shut until I get stateside…” He looked at Brodie and Taylor. “I had no experience dealing with a man like Brendan Worley. I was a warrior. He was a fucking snake. Still is.”
That reminded Brodie of the fraught relationship between Maggie Taylor and Trent from the CIA. The difference, thought Brodie uncharitably, was that Maggie Taylor got laid, and Kyle Mercer got fucked.
Mercer stood with some difficulty. “The Taliban broke my ribs. And fractured my spine. So I get pain… and I think of Brendan Worley.” He let them know, “I’m going to break every bone in his fucking body.”
Brodie suggested, “Let it go at that.”
“That’s for starters.”
Taylor pointed out the obvious. “He’s still controlling you.”
Mercer ignored the obvious and said, “He’s going to pray for death, like I did.”
Brodie changed the subject by asking, “Mind if we stand?”