In a development that has shattered the morning calm of the Oval Office, two American tankers have reportedly mistaken three Indian sailors for a hostile naval force. Or perhaps, a particularly aggressive pod of sea lions. The official line from the Pentagon is characteristically opaque: 'We are aware of an incident in the Indian Ocean and are working with allies to ascertain the facts.' This translates to: 'We have no flippin' idea what happened, but we're going to blame it on a faulty GPS or a rogue wave.'
The White House press secretary, looking like a man who has just swallowed a wasp, faced a barrage of questions about the civilian toll. 'We regret any loss of life,' he droned, his words as hollow as a campaign promise. 'Our thoughts and prayers are with the families.' Because nothing says 'accountability' like a hashtag.
The three Indian sailors, whose names have not been released due to 'privacy concerns' (read: to avoid awkward diplomatic cables), were part of a crew on a merchant vessel. But in the eyes of a trigger-happy tanker commander, they were just enemy combatants. Or maybe they were just too close to an oil slick. The truth, like a good gin, is best served straight up.
The incident raises the obvious question: if the world's most powerful navy cannot differentiate between a commercial ship and a warship, what hope is there for the rest of us? Perhaps we should outfit all vessels with giant neon signs reading: 'NOT A MILITARY TARGET. PLEASE DON'T SHOOT.' But then, that would ruin the fun.
Meanwhile, the families of the deceased are left to grieve in a world where their loved ones have become statistics in a geopolitical game of Battleship. The Indian government has issued a mild statement expressing 'deep concern,' a phrase that in diplomatic parlance means 'we are furious but have to be polite.' Expect a strongly worded letter and possibly a reduction in bilateral trade talks.
The real question, of course, is: who will be held accountable? The answer, as always, is nobody. There will be an investigation, a report, a few redactions, and then we will all forget about it until the next incident. Because that is the circle of life in the era of forever wars.
In the meantime, I will be making my way to the nearest pub, where the only tankers are those filled with ale, and the only casualties are my livers. Cheerio.
