Broken Honor Read Free

reading the article about the commission report and making several phone calls, to little avail, Irish was determined to prove his grandfather innocent. There had to be something. His grandfather was known for his attention to detail. He’d even dictated every part of his memorial service. Irish had found journals written through most of World War II. They had stopped, however, in June 1944, the date of the European invasion.
    Nothing after that. Not so much as a letter. It was as if every piece of paper relating to the final campaign had been eliminated. Had his grandfather expunged everything from those years? He couldn’t quite believe that. But there had been no evidence of a break-in over the years.
    Oh, he’d realized his grandfather had never wanted to talk about World War II. He’d wondered about it, then credited it to modesty, although modesty was not usually a virtue of general officers. Perhaps the events had been too painful. Irish did know something about that. He’d lost his best friend in an investigation. He couldn’t imagine losing hundreds, even thousands of men. In truth, he’d never wanted that kind of responsibility. He’d liked the lone wolf role he’d perfected over the last few years.
    His grandfather had certainly been loquacious enough about other topics, particularly about his earlier years in the army and western novels. But he’d always been reticent about what everyone called the “Greatest War.”
    Had there been an ominous reason behind that silence? The feeling of uncertainty had clawed at Irish all day. Could there possibly be something?
    He watched the sun disappear behind a snow-covered mountain. He gloried in a sky that was clear and so blue it hurt. The first few stars were just barely visible, and a silver disk of a moon appeared translucent. Another thirty minutes and it would be dark.
    He started back toward the ranch house. The ride had served the purpose of clearing his mind. He’d made his decision, one he knew he’d really made days ago. He would ask for an extended leave. He sure as hell deserved one.
    Irish knew he had to get to the bottom of the charges. The investigator inside him was raging. The absence of any records or memoirs had raised the hackles of every instinct he had. It was uncharacteristic of the General. Someone must have taken them.
    He had to do something about the commission report and its implications. He had to do it for the General. And for himself.
    He’d read the public part of the report. He’d thought about picking up the phone and contacting the commissioners, accusing them of character assassination. He’d even dialed the first three numbers after locating the office. But then he wouldn’t get any cooperation.
    No, he had to get his facts straight first, compile evidence. That meant securing top-secret information, and that might be difficult, even for him.
    Perhaps he would start with the other officers named in the report. The names were imprinted in his mind. Brigadier General David Mallory and Colonel—later General—Edward Eachan.
    M EMPHIS
    Amy Mallory grabbed a quick lunch with her teaching assistant, Sherry Machovitz, who had become both friend and valued ally. She had also been her house sitter when Amy did an occasional visiting lecture, a necessity to gain her tenure.
    The last few days had been so busy she hadn’t had time to think of her grandfather, or of the article that had been shoved back on her desk. Once the tenure hearing was over, she would think about it.
    Like Scarlett O’Hara, she thought, then grinned at the idea. She was as unlike Scarlett O’Hara as poor Bojangles was unlike the fearless Lassie.
    But she was a devotee of old movies, and Gone with the Wind was her all-time favorite despite its skewed history. She knew she shouldn’t like it. She had a doctorate in history, and her colleagues scorned such mindless entertainment. But