Lieutenant Commander Jackson eyed Hawk over the report he held, his features taut with a frown. Silence, tense and oppressive, stretched between them.
“So you’re certain of Flash’s position outside the building?”
Jackson asked.
Hawk forced his clenched fists open and rested his hands on his thighs. “Yes, sir. He was monitoring the movements of the tangos from the exterior and signaling us on the radio.”
“Where was Ensign O’Connor?”
“His duty was to set charges at the North corner of the build, bottom floor. He finished, exited the building and signaled.”
“But you didn’t see him exit the building.”
“No, sir.”
“And Ensign Rivera?”
“Bottom floor, back room, South corner.”
“Ensign Armstrong?”
“Bottom floor, back room, South East corner. And Ensign
Weaver had the North West corner. I had the middle two rooms and the stairs.”
“And you finished ahead of the others?”
“I got inside ahead of the others by a few minutes. I exited the building out a side window and took up a position across the street beneath the wall of a bombed out building there.”
“Ensign Carney backs that up.”
Hawk nodded. “Flash was acting radio man and was positioned on the roof of one of the buildings diagonal to the target.”
“He observed the operation--including Ensign Weaver’s rescue.”
“Yes, sir.”
“From his testimony, and the other men’s, you should receive a commendation for saving Ensign Weaver’s life.”
Hawk raised one brow. A commendation hadn’t played into his actions. It wouldn’t help Cutter walk out of the hospital a whole man.
“Was there any bad blood between Weaver and any of the men in the team?” Jackson continued.
“Not that I’m aware of, sir.”
“Armstrong and O’Connor were the last two out and Rivera just minutes before.”
“Yes, sir. Armstrong raised the alarm, and O’Connor worked like a mad man to keep Weaver alive until we could reach the extraction point. Rivera and Carney helped me walk every step of the way there. Shaker guarded our back door. He’d taken out two tangos before we withdrew and two more during the extraction. We worked as a team, sir.”
“Then what happened to Weaver inside that room, Lieutenant?” Jackson’s voice took on an impatient tone.
There had been no debris around him. No sign of the weapon used to bash in his skull. There’d been no time to look. And they couldn’t exactly return to the scene and investigate the evidence now that the building was toast. “I don’t know, sir.”
Jackson closed the report and tossed the manila folder aside. He rose and folded his arms.
Hawk followed suit coming to parade rest.
“Officially we’re going to list this as an accident. But unofficially this will hang over every man’s head in your team until we find out what happened, Lieutenant. Because you were the leader of the mission, it will hang over yours as well.”
Having it spoken straight out had the knot in Hawk’s gut tightening. In other words it could affect his promotion possibilities. For himself. For his team. “I understand, sir.”
“These men know you, trust you. I’m expecting you to find out what the hell’s going on with them. I want this shit squared away. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Hawk kept his expression under control as a quick spike of renewed anger roiled inside his gut. Who ever had hurt Cutter had succeeded in injuring the whole team in the process.
For a few moments Jackson’s gaze continued to bore into him.
With an impatient twitch of his shoulders he breathed, “Dismissed.”