The Descent

A  pathology  prof  on  sabbatical  from  OU,  Chambers  had  the  gray  hair  and  pedigree to  mix  with  whomever  she  wanted.  As  a  nurse,  she'd  seen  more  combat  in  Vietnam than  most  Green  Beanies.  Legend  had  it,  she'd  even  taken  up  a  rifle  during  Tet.  She despised  microbrew,  swore  by  Coors,  and  was  forever  kicking  dirt  clods  or  talking crops like a Kansas farmboy.  Soldiers  liked  her,  including  Branch.  As  well,  the  Colonel

– Bob – and Christie had grown to be friends. But not over  this particular issue.

'We going to dodge the bastards  again?'

The  room  fell  to  such  quiet,  Branch  could  hear  the  captain  pressing  keys  on  her keyboard.

'Dr. Chambers...' A corporal tried heading her off. Chambers cut him short. 'Piss off, I'm talking to your  boss.'

'Christie,' the colonel pleaded.

Chambers  was  having  none  of  it  this  morning,  though.  To   her   credit,   she   was unarmed this time, not a flask in sight. She glared.

The  colonel said, 'Dodge?'

'Yes.'

'What more do you want us to do, Christie?'

Every  bulletin  board  in  camp  dutifully  carried  NATO's  Wanted  poster.  Fifty-four men charged with the worst war crimes graced the poster. IFOR,  the  Implementation Forces, was tasked  with apprehending every  man  it  found.  Miraculously,  despite  nine months  in  country  and  an  extensive  intelligence  setup,  IFOR  had  found  not  one  of them.  On  several  notorious  occasions,  IFOR  had  literally  turned  its  head  in  order  to

not see what was right in front of them.

The   lesson  had  been   learned   in  Somalia.  While  hunting  a  tyrant,   twenty-four Rangers had been trapped, slaughtered, and dragged by  their  heels  behind  the  armed trucks  called Technicals. Branch himself had missed  dying  in  that  alley  by  a  matter  of minutes.

Here  the  idea  was  to  return  every  troop  home  –  alive  and  well  –  by  Christmas. Self-preservation  was a very  popular idea. Even over  testimony. Even over  justice.

'You know what they're  up to,' Chambers said.

The  mass of bones danced within the shimmering nitrogen bloom.

'Actually I don't.'

Chambers  was  undaunted.  She  was  downright  grand.  '"I  will  allow  no  atrocity  to occur in my  presence,"' she quoted to the colonel.

It  was  a  clever  bit  of  insubordination,  her   way   of  declaring  that   she   and  her scientists were  not alone in their disgust. The  quote  came  from  the  colonel's  very  own Rangers.  During  their  first  month  in  Bosnia,  a  patrol  had  stumbled  upon  a  rape  in progress, only to be ordered to stand back and  not  intervene.  Word  had  spread  of  the incident.   Outraged,   mere   privates   in   this   and   other   camps   had   taken   it   upon themselves  to  author  their  own  code  of  conduct.  A  hundred  years  ago,  any  army  in the world would have  taken  a whip to such  impudence.  Twenty  years  ago,  JAG  would have  fried some ass.  But  in  the  modern  volunteer  Army,  it  was  allowed  to  be  called  a bottom-up initiative. Rule Six, they  called it.

'I see no atrocity,' the colonel said. 'I see no  Serbs  at  work.  No  human  actor  at  all.  It could be animals.'

'Goddammit, Bob.' They'd  been through it a dozen times, though never  in  public  this way.

'In  the  name  of  decency,'  Chambers  said,  'if  we  can't  raise  our  sword  against  evil...' She heard the cliché coming together  out of her own mouth and abandoned it.

'Look.' She started  over.  'My  people located Zulu Four, opened it, spent five valuable days  excavating  the  top  layer  of  bodies.  That  was  before  this  goddam  rain  shut  us down. This is by  far  the  largest  massacre  site.  There's  at  least  another  eight  hundred bodies  in  there.  So  far,  our  documentation  has  been  impeccable.  The  evidence  that comes  out  of  Zulu  Four  is  going  to  convict  the  worst  of  the  bad  guys,  if  we  can  just finish the job. I'm not willing to see it  all  destroyed  by  goddam  human  wolverines.  It's bad enough they  engineered a massacre, but then to despoil the  dead?  It's  your  job  to guard that site.'

'It is not our job,' said the colonel. 'Guarding graves  is not our job.'

'Human rights depends –'

'Human rights is not our job.'

A burst  of radio static eddied, became words, became silence.

'I  see  a  grave  settling  beneath  ten  days  of  rain,'  the  colonel  said.  'I  see  nature  at work. Nothing more.'

'For once, let's be certain,' Chambers said. 'That's all I'm asking.'

'No.'

'One helicopter. One hour.'

'In this weather?  At night? And look at the area, flooded with nitrogen.'

In  a  line,  the  six  screens  pulsed  with  electric  coloration.  Rest  in  peace,  thought

Branch. But the bones shifted again.

'Right in front of our eyes...' muttered  Christie.