Free 'A' for Argonaut by Michael J. Stedman Page A

Central Intelligence and the Director of National Intelligence. Major General Baltimore is Director of the National Counterterrorism Center’s Action Division there.”
    “Continue with your questioning, Major Rojas,” Fahnestock said.
    The prosecutor turned back to Maran. “In your own words, Colonel Maran, what you were doing in Cabinda, Angola, between the 20th and the 22nd of April?” Rojas asked.
    Other than his attorney, Maran sat alone in the courtroom.
    “Sir, I had been called for Temporary Duty to lead Task Force 9909 in its covert hostage recovery, code-named Taxi Home.”
    “You are airborne- and Ranger-qualified, Delta, Special Action Teams?”
    “Correct, sir. Qualified Airborne-Ranger; served with the ‘75’ Ranger Regiment prior to joining Special Forces. From there, I was recruited into 1st SFOD-D Delta‌—‌then Special Action with SAWC.”
    “You have had training in languages, correct, sir?”
    Is this question a joke?
    Maran was conversant in a number of languages. It was clear, however, that his basic skill set was that of a killer, someone trained to track down and kill terrorists like the Animal of Angola.
    Rojas stepped up to the table and handed Fahnestock pages from Maran’s Military Personnel Records highlighting his foreign origins.
    “As a result of my overseas background‌—‌”
    “And what was that, Colonel?” Rojas cut Maran off.
    “…Helped, I suppose, that I was born half Nigerian, in Lagos, already learned at least the rudiments of several languages, including Yoruba, from my father and Swahili from an uncle in Uganda.”
    Rojas raised his hand to cut in again, sneered dismissively.
    Maran continued. “The Army sent me to Stanford for a Master’s in international relations, African affairs, and I put in a year in at the Army’s Monterey language school, learning Lingala and Portuguese.”
    Fahnestock stepped in. “Colonel Maran, give us a brief on the physical expectations riding on a SAWC officer.”
    “Sir, they are simple. Basically, you have to be a U.S. citizen, at least a Captain with a one-year command behind you, a volunteer male with a secret clearance, and the ability to do 55 pushups in two minutes, 62 sit-ups in the same period of time, and make a two-mile run in 15 minutes in full gear.”
    “And what does full gear weigh?” Fahnestock asked.
    “Sir. Sixty-five pounds, including fifteen pounds of ammunition.”
    Inside, Maran felt better with Fahnestock’s questions.
    “Since you are an elite Army officer with sophisticated training, we can assume you know the gravity of disobeying an order in combat. What else can you tell us about your training with SAWC that you believe would warrant your actions?” Fahnestock finished.
    “That information is included in a Special Action Program and I cannot discuss it. I will swear that I am not guilty of these charges or any other violations of the United States Military Code of Justice.”
    Maran lived by his word and he wasn’t about to dishonor himself by breaking his SAWC oath. He knew it would only come down to his word against those of his accusers. No one else could testify to the facts on his behalf.
    They were all dead.
    “How do you plead to these charges?” General Fahnestock asked.
    “Not guilty on all charges, sir. My guys never saw the hidden enemy force. They had been warned of our location in advance. They were waiting for us over the hill in front and on our left flank. We were doomed coming or going. But we had an obligation to those U.S. hostages. And we were prepared for anything but an ambush. Sir, when I left on this mission, Brigadier General Luster was in command. I have the utmost respect for him as a soldier and as a man. I don’t know what happened. The terrorist force had been tipped off. They knew our position. They knew our plan. They were armed with American weapons. We went in after my recon patrol saw that the rebel camp was under-defended.”
    “That decision