Kellan sighed in frustration. “Do you want me to run down the list of the other Marines who were in the house and how I know none of them are who is being protected? Or can we just cut to the chase?”
Foster cleared his throat. “Do I need to retain military counsel, sir?”
Kellan sat back in his chair. He’d been firing for effect, gauging how he needed to adjust his aim. Now it seemed he’d had good effect on target from the start. “You tell me. Have you had to retain counsel before?”
“It was a mistake, sir, an accident,” Foster blurted. “They said I could be disciplined but there were no grounds for a Court Martial.”
Kellan glanced at Jonah and found he was looking at Kellan. They had already determined this much on their own, none of this was coming as any surprise.
“Gunnery Sergeant, I don’t give a shit about a case of accidental friendly fire,” Kellan said dialing in the aim of his shot. “Your actions do not diminish Sergeant Restrepo’s valor. What I
do
give a shit about is that a hero is being denied the Medal of Honor because of your mistake. Sergeant Restrepo is dead, denied an award he’s worthy of, and here you are, promoted to Gunnery Sergeant. That right there, Foster, pisses me off.”
“The promotion wasn’t part of the deal,” Foster declared, sounding desperate.
“What deal?” Kellan demanded, quelling his excitement, needing to keep digging toward the truth. “Even if your promotion wasn’t part of a
deal
, there was no mention of any friendly fire incident in your fit-rep to prevent it.”
Foster sat stiffly, shaking his head, refusing to make eye contact with either of them.
“Foster!” Jonah barked, using the command voice that had made many PFCs shake in their LPCs. “Mr. Reynolds made us fly all the way to Afghanistan to speak with you, because it was the quickest way to get right to the truth. If you don’t tell him what he wants to know, he’ll just go home and take his sweet time digging it up in safety and comfort.”
“You can be assured my interest in this mystery is peaked,” Kellan said, lifting an eyebrow at Foster’s continued silence.
“Dammit.” Foster’s sudden expletive surprised Kellan, but he quickly masked it. “They said this wouldn’t happen. They promised me no one would ever show up asking questions.”
“Well, they didn’t count on me,” Kellan replied, smiling humorlessly. “I’m not a politician. I don’t have a cushy government job I’m afraid of losing. I work for a company that is funded by private sources that expect me to rock boats and rattle cages.”
“Sir, if I tell you who wanted this all to go away, it’ll piss off some important people,” Foster said pleadingly.
“The last time I wanted to know something that someone else wanted kept secret, I got kidnapped and beaten.” Kellan used a matter-of-fact tone. “And still, here I am.”
Foster sighed with resignation. “How much do you know about my family, sir?”
“If you mean am I aware of who your step-father is, yes,” Kellan replied, struggling to make the necessary connections. Foster’s step-father was a wealthy entrepreneur, with no ties to military contracts or even politics.
“His oldest son wants to run for public office in 2012.” Foster held up his hands as if the rest was obvious.
“You’re telling me your step-father bought everyone’s silence, right up through the Department of Defense, so his son could run for political office?” Even with the dots connected, the picture was far from clear.
“My step-brother expected to use me as a war hero in his campaign,” Foster said, anger bleeding through. “He’s still pissed at me for not finishing my degree so I could be commissioned. He was double pissed when he realized I’d been downgraded from hero to tarnished veteran.”
“You’re fucking kidding me?” Jonah sounded both angry and incredulous.
Foster shook his head slowly. “No, First Sergeant. I wish I was.”
“There’s no reason to think a case of accidental friendly fire involving a step-brother would damage his campaign,” Kellan said, wondering how much of this to believe.
“He didn’t want to be tainted by a step-brother who shot a Medal of Honor recipient. I think he even resents that I wasn’t the one who qualified for the MOH. He wants to claim relation to a war hero, which means I’m going to be vetted during the campaign. So he made anything un-hero-like just go away.”
It was just outrageous enough, Kellan believed it was the truth. It also matched a lot of other facts he already had. “Sergeant Restrepo deserves to be awarded the Medal of Honor,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’m going to do what I have to do to see that he does. I hope you’re ready for what’s about to happen. Even if you’re not, I don’t really give a shit.”
Foster also stood. “I don’t care, sir. I don’t like living the lie. It’s my family that’s going to be pissed off.”
“I think it’s obvious I’m not concerned about that,” Kellan replied, serenely. Kellan almost welcomed the fight. He hated this kind of political shit.
“Gunnery Sergeant, go advise your platoon commander we’re done with you,” Jonah said sharply. Kellan knew that whatever excuses Foster offered, Jonah held him responsible for going along with the deception.
In silence, Kellan and Jonah returned to their Humvee. Hopefully the platoon would be ready to step off soon.
“Can you believe this shit?” Jonah asked with disgust.
“I can, but it doesn’t mean I like it,” Kellan replied. He understood Jonah’s reaction and shared it on a certain level.
They had to cool their heels for another ninety mikes. Jonah was agitated by the time Captain Miller ordered the platoon into their victors. Kellan struggled not to let Jonah’s tension affect him, but it was difficult.
Back in his MTV and Kevlar, Kellan settled uncomfortably in his seat. He had a lot to think about, a lot to do when they got back stateside. He stared out the window at the flat, barren, unimpressive landscape. The platoon was scheduled to stop in a small village en route back to Leatherneck and that would break up the monotony somewhat.
Movement and a large cloud of dust caught Kellan’s attention. He glanced back slightly and caught sight of two men on a small motorcycle, pacing their Humvee from several meters off the road. The hair on Kellan’s neck and arms stood up. His skin felt sensitive and prickly. Reflexively, he reached for his M16, startled back to reality when he remembered he no longer had one.
“Staff Sergeant, we’ve got a motorcycle on our seven o’clock,” Kellan shouted over the roar of the Humvee’s engine. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jonah’s head swivel around quickly.
“Yep, we’re tracking it,” the team leader in the front passenger seat replied over his shoulder. “No aggressive movements yet.”
“Are we a likely target?” Jonah asked.
“We don’t secure equipment to the outsides of the victors that they have an interest in stealing,” the staff sergeant answered. “But a magnetized bomb on a less armored part of the Humvees is a serious threat.”
Kellan turned back and watched the small motorcycle kick up a large plume of moon dust.
“There’s always a chance they’re from the village and are just waiting to see where we’re headed,” said the staff sergeant.
Kellan hoped so, but a glance at Jonah told him they both had their doubts.
The platoon pulled into the small, tribal village. One large structure stood at the far end of the main road, such as it was. Smaller structures dotted the immediate area, separated by narrow foot paths. Nothing was paved, everything was covered in the ubiquitous gritty sand and fine moon dust.
The victors came to a stop in the center of the main road, arranged in a herringbone pattern for easy access and quick egress if necessary. The Marines clambered out, immediately setting up a wide perimeter, M16s tucked to their shoulders, muzzles lowered. The gunners all stayed in their turrets, adjusting the ranges of their .50-cals and Mark-19s.
Immediately, children began to gather in clusters. They tried to engage the Marines in conversation with hand gestures and broken English. The platoon was friendly, but Kellan knew they had all extended their situational awareness.
Their team leader leaned in the window. “Captain Miller says the two of you are to stay put while we’re here. Take advantage of the Humvee’s armor.”
“Understood, staff sergeant,” Kellan acknowledged. He just hoped this was a quick stop.
“If we come under threat and it’s no longer safe, some of us will come move you,” the staff sergeant said and started to turn away.
“How long are we expected to be here?” Jonah asked as the team leader withdrew from the window. There he went again, reading Kellan’s mind.
“An hour, unless we encounter trouble,” replied the staff sergeant before he disappeared.
“Let’s hope we don’t encounter trouble,” Jonah muttered under his breath.
The children were still gathered around but kept at a distance from the Humvees. A small number of women watched them warily as they went about their business. Young men gathered in groups, much like the children, and eyed the Marines with hostility.
Kellan’s leg bounced violently. He’d been in situations like this before, many of them in downtown Baghdad. Except he’d been the one in command then, and he’d been outside of his victor and armed with his M16.
“I miss my M4,” Jonah murmured.
Kellan was about to make a joke about mind reading when a sound caught his attention. The high-pitched whine of the motorcycle drifted from the distance. Closing his eyes and focusing, Kellan thought he detected it coming from their six.
He resisted the temptation to verify the Marines were aware of the motorcycle’s proximity. He had to let them do their jobs.
“You guys hear that?” Kellan turned to see Jonah talking with a Marine just outside of his window. He looked casual and almost disinterested but Kellan felt the tension and aggression rolling off of him.
“Yeah, they been trackin’ us,” the Marine replied. “Captain had a team punch out to get eyes on.”
Kellan was reassured. He just hoped they’d be stepping off soon.
The sound of gunfire erupted around them. Kellan’s heart slammed in his chest and his fingers tightened reflexively around the grip of a non-existent M16.
“Contact, nine o’clock,” shouted one Marine. M16s and AK-47s continued to chatter. A blast sounded nearby and Kellan looked over at Jonah.
“Grenade,” Jonah confirmed Kellan’s suspicion.
All around them, Marines scrambled. Kellan could see blurred figures pass by his window. He heard them shouting but couldn’t make out words. Their gunner’s legs twisted in front of Kellan as the Marine spun his gun in the turret. Kellan just got his ears covered when the .50-cal roared. Blistering casings rained down into the Humvee’s interior. Kellan and Jonah did their best to avoid them, not wanting a .50-caliber hickey.
Grenades exploded, closer to their position this time. It sounded like more AK-47s firing. M16s chattered close by. Kellan felt impotent. He desperately wanted an M16 so he could step out and join the firefight. He knew it had to be worse for Jonah.
The .50-cal roared on the roof of the Humvee again. Expended casings crashed down all around them, bouncing on the metal floor of the victor.
Kellan’s door opened abruptly. A uniformed arm reached in and gripped his MTV. Kellan gripped the wrist of his assailant and fought back. He struggled to stay inside the victor.
“I gotta get you to cover, sir,” the Marine shouted.
Kellan registered that the cammo uniform was friendly. A quick look at the shoulder told him a Marine Corporal was trying to get him out of the Humvee. A glance behind him told Kellan that Jonah was being extracted as well.
When his boots hit the sand, Kellan ducked and pressed himself to the side of the Humvee. A second Marine fired his weapon around the rear of the victor.
“Wiggins!” The corporal called. The Marine at the rear of the Humvee dropped back to join them. “We’re gonna get you and the First Sergeant to cover inside the house, sir,” the Corporal addressed himself to Kellan.
“Keep it simple, call me Kellan,” he shouted over the constant weapons fire.
“Armitage,” the corporal shouted his own name. Armitage turned his back to Kellan, took Kellan’s hand and had him grab the side of Armitage’s MTV. “Don’t let go. Wiggins will cover our six.”
Kellan took a firm grip of each side of Armitage’s armor. He felt Wiggins move in close behind. Wiggins reached around Kellan and slapped Armitage in the arm.
“Mounting!” Armitage shouted and stepped around the front of the Humvee.
They stayed in a crouched position, moving as quickly as they could across open ground. Kellan caught glimpses of Marines, all around, firing from behind cover. The large guns on top of the Humvees were roaring.
They burst through a doorway and into a large, open room inside the village’s large structure. Wiggins peeled off but Armitage kept moving, leading Kellan farther into the room. Relief swept through Kellan when he saw Jonah already seated on the tiled floor, back to the wall.
Wiggins took up a position by a window and began to fire his weapon. Kellan pulled his sidearm from his leg holster. Beside him, Jonah did the same. Together they each racked a round into the chamber.
More Marines burst through the door, one of them was the staff sergeant from their Humvee. “Who cleared the house when you took cover?” he demanded.
“Me and Morgan, Sergeant,” shouted one of the Marines.
“Weeks, take Porter, Blaine and Hooks and secure the rest of the house,” the sergeant ordered. “Find a more secure room for our VIPs.”
Four Marines detached themselves and moved quickly down the hallway. The four left in the large main room kept up the exchange of fire from the doorway and two windows. Kellan watched the gun battle rage. He hated having to sit it out. Jonah had to be ready to climb the walls.
“Any chance of a sit-rep, Sergeant?” Jonah shouted across the room.
“Looks like an ambush, Top,” the Staff Sergeant replied. “The motorcycle was probably a lookout. Large group of heavily armed insurgents came out of nowhere and tried to surround us.”
“How’re we doin’?” asked Jonah.