The commander really wasn't a bad sort of guy, but there was a chain of command involved, so maybe he would get a little bit of time off to do some surfing and visit some Hotel Jamacia night clubs. Some lines of Constitutional dignity was being streached here, but he was going to to his job and meet the rebel himself and see what Washington, D.C.'s problem with him was.
If need be, he would tell Negro Nixon that they shot the rebel and buried him at sea. A white lie, but a necesary lie when you are dealing with the Secretary of Defense and the other political idiots that breed there in Washington, D.C., in rat droves. He could tell his future children that he smoked vapors with Chebanna, the rebel leader who the locals called Natty Fred.
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