Moore was placed in a wheelchair, a not unusual sight in a Navy base, and whisked off to a room. The accommodations were, if not palatial, at least not cell-block stark. And his status was being referred to as “detained for questioning”. But Moore didn’t attempt to kid himself. He was under arrest. If nothing else, the MP standing outside his door made that clear.

Moore asked for, and received, a pen and notebook. He wouldn’t be called before tomorrow. Might as well prepare.

* * *

The next day, Moore gazed at the officer sitting across the desk from him. Lieutenant Voigt was nominally Moore’s junior, but that wouldn’t get any mileage in this situation.

“Loss of two ships, Admiral. Unauthorized exercise. Falsified documents. And detonating a nuclear device during peacetime… For ffffff…” Voigt made a visible effort to control himself. “What possessed you?”

“Do you really care?”

“I’d suggest you lose that attitude, sir. This actually isn’t an adversarial situation, yet. The Chiefs of Staff are still trying to get a handle on what’s going on. Given your previous record, and the unusual nature of your assignment, I’ve been instructed to look for a complete story and possible extenuating circumstances. However, believe me, if we don’t find them, you will be dealt a level of heck that will make you wish for a mere firing squad.”

Moore nodded. The proper thing to do, technically, would be to request a lawyer, and clam up in the interim. But that would only be useful for mitigating his punishment somewhat. By his estimation, even a mitigated version would still comprise unacceptable damage. As a best case outcome, it was not attractive. But it sounded like there was an alternative that might, just might, get him off the hook entirely.

The admiral had always bet big. Conservative bets rarely netted you enough to be worthwhile, even when you won. That philosophy had never seemed more true than at this moment.

Moore leaned forward and rested his weight on his elbows. “All right, Lieutenant Voigt. No excuses, nothing held back. Here’s what happened…”

* * *

Voigt had taken his statement without further comment, and had promised a response within twenty-four hours.

Now, Moore sat at a chair facing a semicircle of very, very high-ranking Navy brass. This was an informal hearing. He’d been asked if he wanted a lawyer, with the understanding that it would then be a formal hearing. The formal version would be much worse.

The ordeal was into its third hour, and showing no signs of letting up. Moore had started sweating by the end of the first hour, and was now thoroughly wrung out.