Fire for Effect (8 page)

“You have my word, Jonah,” Corey said solemnly.

Kellan listened to Jonah explain Kellan’s work for the Senate, and how they were looking into the denied medal for Sergeant Restrepo’s valor during the Second Battle of Fallujah.

“Yeah, it’s kind of shitty that no one will take the word of the Marines who were there,” Corey said.

“Does your platoon sergeant ever talk about it?” Jonah asked smoothly.

“No.” Corey shook his head emphatically. “If I hadn’t seen the ribbon on his uniform, I would never know he won the Silver Star.”

“If I told you that we have good reason to believe that one of the Marines who was there, one of the Marines who has given testimony regarding Restrepo’s worthiness for the Medal of Honor, has been lying about the events of that day, would you suspect your platoon sergeant?” Jonah’s question was carefully worded and quietly asked.

Corey stared hard at Jonah for several interminable moments. “No,” he finally answered. “No, I wouldn’t suspect Staff Sergeant Gilman of lying. I would expect that he’s told the truth as he knows it to be.”

“That’s an interesting distinction,” Kellan said without thinking.

“The fog of war can affect our perceptions,” Corey responded placidly. “Combat is chaotic by nature. Just because someone is present at a particular battle doesn’t mean he has firsthand knowledge of every detail. When you were snatched in Diyala, Kellan, I didn’t know who had been dragged into the Range Rover. I just knew it was an American and I was damn well gonna fight.”

“And I’ve never gotten to say thank you for slowing them down long enough for Jonah to be able to track their retreat,” Kellan said. “How’s your head these days?”

Corey’s fingers lifted to his temple in what looked like an unconscious gesture. “I have a pretty good scar but beyond that, I healed up fine.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Kellan said and turned back to watch the kids climbing the simulated rock wall. Corey would probably be more candid with Jonah than he would with Kellan.

“What does the platoon think of Gilman in general?” Jonah asked.

“He’s pretty well respected,” replied Corey. “He knows his shit. He’s no Jonah Carver, though.”

Jonah made an obscene sound. “Is he the kind of Marine who would lie to cover for another Marine?”

“If by cover you mean deflect blame onto himself to protect a Marine in his command, it’s possible,” said Corey. “If by cover you mean lying to hide something wrong another Marine did, I doubt it.”

There was silence and Kellan suspected Jonah had found out what he wanted to know. Minutes later, the conversation became about who was competing, what their chances were, and reminiscing about their time together in Diyala Province.

The day turned fun and relaxing. By the time the winner of the Challenge was announced, Corey seemed as comfortable with Kellan as he did with Jonah, even if his eyes shined just a little brighter when he looked at Jonah.

When Kellan announced he was ready to head to the hotel, Jonah shook Corey’s hand again.

“We’ll get a beer before I have to leave,” he said, gripping Corey’s shoulder one last time before he stepped away.

“I’d like that, Jonah,” Corey said, seeming at peace finally. “Talk to you later, Kellan.”

“Have a good night, Corey.” Kellan made sure Corey was out of sight before he slid his hand into the back pocket of Jonah’s jeans.

§ § §

“Staff Sergeant Trent Gilman?” Jonah asked as the Marine entered the small office where they were conducting the interviews.

“That’s correct, First Sergeant Carver,” Gilman replied. He shook Kellan’s hand firmly when Jonah introduced him.

Since they were interviewing NCOs, all of whom Jonah outranked, they decided Jonah would ask the questions. It was likely to feel less confrontational that way, which meant they could possibly get more truthful answers.

“We’re not rehashing Sergeant Restrepo’s worthiness for the Medal of Honor,” Jonah explained. “We’re investigating why a Marine so obviously worthy has been denied the Medal twice, despite the public support.”

“I’ll admit, Top, I don’t like my testimony being disregarded like it has been,” Gilman said candidly as they all three settled into chairs.

“I don’t blame you,” Jonah commiserated. “I wouldn’t either.” He scrolled through a document on the screen of his tablet. “Just walk me through the events, from beginning to end, in your own words. If I have questions, I’ll ask them afterward.”

Gilman recounted how he and his patrol had been going house-to-house, searching for armed insurgents. It was the Second Battle of Fallujah and they were outnumbered, only beginning the surge that would eventually take the city back.

They came under heavy fire and took refuge in a bombed out house while they dug in, regrouped, and prepared to take the fight to the enemy. A Marine made his way to the roof and was hit. When he came falling down the stairs, two more Marines went up, both of whom were hit but still managed to toss grenades and return fire.

The two Marines on the roof held the insurgents off, preventing them from identifying targets to shoot and from making entry into the house. As the rest of the team took cover in the outer rooms, insurgents managed to launch grenades into the house. The Marines were taken out one-by-one and had to pull back further into the house. Gilman himself had shrapnel wounds in his legs and crawled into the room in time to see Restrepo, bleeding from a head wound, helping a quickly fading Gunnery Sergeant John Warner stumble in and fall.

An insurgent grenade bounced off a wall and rolled into the room where they had all taken cover. It came to rest just feet from where Restrepo and Warner lay wounded. Gilman watched Restrepo throw himself over the now-limp body of Gunny Warner. Restrepo’s body absorbed the blast and the shrapnel from the exploding grenade. Gilman had been far enough away that the shrapnel missed him, embedding in nearby walls.

Sergeant Restrepo was shredded by shrapnel and he was dead by the time the corpsman reached them. Gunny Warner survived, but eventually lost a leg below the knee.

“They said the medical board that reviewed the forensics determined that Restrepo’s head wound was too severe, he didn’t have the conscious thought or physical ability to cover Gunny’s body with his own,” said Gilman. “That’s bullshit, Top. I saw it with my own eyes.” He was vehement in his declaration, leaning toward Jonah slightly.

“What was Gunny Warner doing when the grenade landed in the room?” Jonah asked. In his typical fashion, Jonah’s posture appeared relaxed, but Kellan saw the focus and intensity in his eyes.

“Gunny was already unconscious,” Gilman answered. “He’d been shot up pretty bad and was losing a lot of blood.”

Kellan focused on Gilman’s last sentence and could tell from the set of Jonah’s shoulders, he’d picked up on it, as well. There had been hints of this in other documents. Kellan had never been able to find an official statement that mentioned Restrepo having gunshot wounds. Not even the final medical reports mentioned anything other than blast and fragmentation wounds.

“So, there’s no chance he pulled an already unconscious Restrepo on top of himself as a shield?” Jonah pressed.

“No.” Gilman gave an emphatic shake of his head. “Me and Lance Corporal Rich Connell saw the same thing as we were crawling into the room.”

“So, to summarize, Gunny and Restrepo were fragged. Gunny Warner was unconscious when another grenade landed in the room. Sergeant Restrepo threw himself over Gunny’s body, absorbing the majority of the blast and the shrapnel,” Jonah said. “Is that it?”

Sergeant Gilman nodded. “At some point, they both took gunshot wounds, too.”

Kellan tensed. He shifted in his chair slightly, to mask his urge to leap up and press for answers.

Jonah frowned slightly, as he scanned through the scrolling screen on his tablet. Kellan knew it was for show, so he waited to see if Jonah’s tactic would pay off. “When did they take rounds?” Jonah asked. “If the insurgents hadn’t breached the house and only the roof was taking small arms fire, when did they take rounds? If all of you were pulling back to avoid grenades, and they were both down when the insurgents breached the house, when were they shot?”

“It happened before we all met up in that room so I didn’t see what happened,” Gilman answered without hesitation. “That’s why it was never part of my testimony. It shouldn’t matter anyway. Restrepo sacrificed himself to save Gunny. I saw him do it, Top. He was a hero that day, no matter what happened before that grenade got tossed in.”

“You know what you saw, Sergeant,” Jonah replied noncommittally. “And it’s consistent with the Silver Star citation. Who was still in the room Restrepo and Warner had fled? Do you recall?”

The Sergeant paused, obviously scanning his memory of the event. “I
think
it was Staff Sergeant Galen Foster, but I’m not real sure.”

“That’s okay. It’s listed somewhere in one of the reports,” Jonah replied casually. He and Kellan both knew for a fact it had been Foster in that room. “Okay. I think we’re done here,” he declared as he rose and shook Gilman’s hand. “If we have more questions we’ll let your CO know.”

When Gilman was gone, Jonah and Kellan resumed their seats. “What’s our next move, sir?” Jonah asked.

“First, I want to interview Lance Corporal Rich Connell and verify his story matches Gilman’s,” Kellan said, scrolling the screen of his own tablet. “Once we’ve done that, we need to interview Gunnery Sergeant Galen Foster. All accounts, including his own, state that he was in the outer room with Warner and Restrepo when they started taking grenades.”

“It’s looking more and more like a case of friendly fire,” Jonah confirmed. “And someone arranged for a medical panel to provide a finding that would disqualify Restrepo for the MOH, without pointing a finger at anyone for lighting up a fellow Marine.”

“This entire thing is so FUBAR,” Kellan said, his anger burning hot and knotting his gut. “False medical findings have most likely been released to the family and the public. We need to figure out how to get our hands on the real reports, including photos, and determine who they’re protecting and why.”

“Who is
they
?” Jonah asked in bafflement.

“I have no idea, that’s a piece of the larger puzzle,” Kellan answered.

Jonah rubbed a thumb and forefinger over his eyes. Subtle bags had formed that Kellan hadn’t seen on Jonah since those first days of Operation Iraqi Freedom. “You know Foster is in Afghanistan, right?” Jonah asked.

“Yep.” Kellan had wondered how long Jonah would wait to have this conversation.

“You know I want you to send someone else to interview him, right?” Jonah met Kellan’s eyes, expression resigned.

“Yep.” There was no one to send besides Jonah, and Kellan wasn’t letting him go alone. They sat in tense silence for several interminable moments.

“You know I’m going with you, right?” Jonah finally asked.

“We discussed this already,” Kellan said with a tired grin. Whatever else they were both feeling, Jonah’s concern warmed him. “I don’t want you back in a war zone any more than you want me in one. We’ll go together, so we can at least watch one another’s backs.”

“Just don’t make me have to chase you through the streets of a hostile city again,” Jonah said as he stood and headed for the exit.

“If you insist,” Kellan said teasingly, as he followed Jonah out the door.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jonah whistled the opening bars of the theme song to ‘Welcome Back Kotter’ and Kellan couldn’t quite stifle all of his laughter. It had taken many weeks, some stern words from Senator Gilchrist, and finally a private meeting between the Senator and Secretary Burnett. Kellan wasn’t privy to what had been said in that meeting, but the Secretary had finally relented and approved Kellan and Jonah to fly to Camp Leatherneck in order to interview Gunnery Sergeant Galen Foster.

“I admit, I didn’t think we were going to get clearance to come here,” Jonah said, his breath warm on Kellan’s cheek as he leaned over his shoulder to watch their descent.

“Honestly, neither did I,” Kellan concurred, admiring the stark beauty of the Afghan countryside. “Secretary Burnett is keeping his word and facilitating Hammond’s and Giammona’s investigation, but he has solidly stonewalled us.”

“Which means there’s something there to find,” Jonah concluded darkly.

“Mmm.” The 747 banked and the sprawling features of Camp Leatherneck came into view.

Designed to accommodate 20,000 Marines, Camp Leatherneck was a combination of single-story, pre-fabricated structures and beige colored tents. Marines slept on cots, twenty to a tent or 2,000 to a structure. As austere as it was, it had been built up extensively since its establishment just a few short years before. The 3,282 yard runway they were currently landing on was just one of the new and improved features.

Jonah stood and retrieved their bags from the overhead bins. He pulled their sidearms from inside the bags and handed Kellan’s to him. All through the cabin, passengers were donning holsters and handguns. Their flight had originated at Ramstein Air Base in Germany, so all passengers were military or CIA.

With their nine millimeter Berettas secured in their thigh holsters, Kellan followed Jonah down the stairs of the plane. Jonah paused to place his utility cover on his head. He was dressed in his desert MARPAT cammo utilities.

Kellan had worn and packed the most practical civvies he could find. Cotton tee-shirts, light-weight, long sleeved cotton shirts to protect from the sun, Carhartt canvas pants and beige lug soled boots. He pulled his Padres ball cap down over his eyes and slid on his sunglasses. Jonah called his shades ‘snivel gear’, but Kellan just smiled in response.

“Would you be Mr. Kellan Reynolds, sir?” asked a corporal standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“I am,” Kellan replied, stepping onto the tarmac. “My aide, First Sergeant Jonah Carver.”

“First Sergeant,” the corporal greeted with a nod. “I’m Corporal Ruhl. I’ve been tasked with escorting you to meet with the base commander, Colonel Chuck Mills.”

“Lead the way, Corporal.” Kellan fell into step beside the young Marine, Jonah close on his six.