The Final Line (25 page)

He watched Spencer’s stiff back retreat. Corey climbed into the Humvee and slammed the door closed. None of the other Marines said a word, even though he knew they’d heard the entire exchange. At least they were smart.

As Corey reached for the ignition button, a voice spoke quietly from the seat behind him. “You NCOs are the backbone of the Corps. Stick with the good ones and don’t let the bad ones have the last word.”

Corey was surprised to hear words of encouragement from the lieutenant he’d tried to help earlier. His throat tightened, making words impossible, so Corey simply nodded to say he’d heard.

When he’d secured the Humvee for the night, Corey started to leave. He stopped at the sound of Whitfield’s voice.

“Staff Sergeant Yarwood. My office.”

Fuck. He knew he was about to be reamed for losing his shit on the range.

Corey stepped into the Master Sergeant’s office and closed the door as ordered. He stood at attention, eyes locked on a picture behind Whitfield’s shoulder. “You needed to see me, Master Sergeant?”

“At ease, Corey,” Whitfield said, voice absent of all censure. He sounded almost friendly. “J.A.S. needs you to report again tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Master Sergeant.” Corey took the written order from Whitfield. It gave no indication what he was needed for this time. “Understood.”

“You don’t have to report for class until eighteen hundred hours, so I don’t anticipate that you’ll be late, since they’re having you report to them at ten hundred hours.” Whitfield read through his copy of Corey’s orders to appear for questioning. “But that also means you’ll have to wear your service uniform this time. Sorry about that.”

Corey was taken aback by the Master Sergeant’s smile. “Not a problem. It’s still in the same bag I picked it up from the dry cleaners.”

“You’re all squared away, then.” Whitfield met Corey’s eyes directly. “If something comes up in this interview and you need to report to class late, advise me as early as possible.”

“Yes, Master Sergeant,” Corey answered by rote. He had no idea what Whitfield might be alluding to.

“There’s going to be simulated combat in tomorrow’s training, you remember that?” Whitfield asked.

Corey’s stomach did a slow, queasy roll. “Affirmative, Master Sergeant.”

Whitfield went back to sorting through papers on his desk. “Now that you know what’s likely to happen, see what there is you can do to be ready to deal with it.” His tone was matter-of-fact.

The silence between them was interminable. “Yes, Master Sergeant,” Corey stirred himself enough to respond.

“Dismissed, Staff Sergeant.”

Corey fled the office like he’d lit it on fire. He climbed into his Jeep and took out his cell phone.

“Good timing,” Sean said when he answered. “I don’t have to be on set for another thirty minutes.”

Corey sighed. At the first sound of Sean’s voice, all the tension fled his body. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes and smiled. “I was hoping you weren’t in the middle of anything.”

“Just got done with hair and make-up,” replied Sean. “It’s all hurry up and wait.”

Chuckling, Corey said, “Sounds like the Marine Corps.”

“Then we relate to one another’s professions. Excellent.”

“How long is this shoot for?” asked Corey. This week was shaping up to be pretty fucked up and he wanted something to look forward to.

“This is my only night shoot, but I work tomorrow and Thursday and I have Friday off. What are you thinking?”

Corey stared down at the tail of his uniform blouse. He tugged nervously at a frayed thread. “I want to see you again.”

“I want to see you, again, too,” Sean quickly replied.

This time, the knots in Corey’s stomach and the tightness in his chest were pleasant. “I have night time training the next two days. But Friday night is open.”

“How about the rest of the weekend?” Sean sounded hopeful.

Corey smiled to himself. “Yeah. The weekend is wide open,” he answered quietly.

“Okay, then.”

“Okay, then.” Corey’s smile grew idiotically wider.

“So what are your plans for this evening, while I’m slaving away under hot Tungsten lights?”

Corey hesitated. He knew if he told Sean what had happened earlier, he’d encourage Corey to attend the SMP event. Corey wasn’t sure he wanted to be around people.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sean asked, sounding concerned.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Corey hedged. “Some guys want me to meet them for an SMP dinner and a movie thing tonight and I don’t know if I want to go.”

“SMP?”

“Single Marine Program.”

Sean was silent long enough for Corey to grow anxious. “What, like a Marine Corps dating service?”

“No!” Corey gave himself a mental kick. Of course Sean wouldn’t automatically understand. “It’s to keep Marines without families from feeling isolated and lonely. It’s not about dating. Some guys leave their parents’ homes and get shipped across the country and they don’t know anyone.”

Sean laughed. “Oh, okay. Cause I was picturing Devil Dog speed dating.”

It was Corey’s turn to laugh. “Not even close. Did you really think I’d arrange a date with you and then go cruising?” He’d meant the question to be a joke but decided he wanted a real answer.

“I didn’t want to think so, but then again we’ve only fucked the one time.” Sean’s tone sounded casual but Corey felt the weight behind the words.

“Yeah, well, that was my first time with
anyone
since I got back from deployment.” Corey had no idea why he objected to Sean’s use of the word
fuck
.

“Oh.” Sean’s pause was interminable. “That should not make me as happy as it does,” he finally said with a chuckle.

Something heavy lifted off of Corey’s shoulders. Before he could respond, Sean had a brief conversation with someone on his end.

“Shit, they’re calling me to the set,” Sean said hastily. “I’ll call you later.”

Corey barely said goodbye before Sean ended the connection. He smiled down at the dark phone in his hand. He decided he’d meet up with the other NCO instructors tonight. At least until Sean called.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Corey removed his barracks cover as he stepped inside. The receptionist seemed to recognize him as she greeted him with a smile and immediately escorted him back to the same conference room.

The receptionist closed the door as she left and Corey stood at attention. Immediately, Captain Evans said he should be as he was. He slowly approached the chair he’d occupied during his first interview.

“Good morning, ma’am,” Corey greeted with a nod, turning his cover around and around. “Captain. Sir,” he said to Hirata and Special Agent Hoffman.

“Good to see you again, Staff Sergeant,” Hoffman said, handing Corey a bottle of water.

“Thank you.” Corey nearly refused the water, until he remembered the previous interview.

“This is going to take a little while. Feel free to make yourself comfortable,” Captain Evans said. She shed her olive green uniform coat and folded it, carefully laying it over the back of a chair.

Captain Hirata was already in his khaki uniform sleeves. Hoffman was less careful with his suit jacket, and as a civilian, was free to roll his shirt sleeves above his elbows.

Corey unfastened the belt of his coat, pushed the buttons through their holes and shrugged out of his coat. He folded the olive green material with as much care as had Captain Evans. Draping the garment over the chair to the left, Corey made sure the heavy set of ribbons and medals didn’t crease the fabric.

“Good. Now I’m much less intimidated,” Captain Evans said, smiling as they both took their seats.

Captain Hirata chuckled as he came around the end of the table and, to Corey’s surprise, took the chair to his right.

“Ma’am?” Corey asked in confusion, fearing he’d offended an officer.

“You’re a heavily decorated NCO, Staff Sergeant,” Evans replied, still smiling. “That chest full of ribbons makes those of us who’ve never seen combat jealous.”

Corey sat frozen, unsure how to answer. He was required to wear his medals and ribbons, he wasn’t flaunting his combat experience.

“Relax, Corey. It’s a compliment,” Hirata said, opening a thick manila file folder.

“If you say so, sir,” Corey answered carefully.

“Would you two leave the kid alone?” Hoffman cried in mock outrage. “This is stressful enough for him.”

“Let’s get started then,” Hirata said, spreading papers out in front of him. They appeared to be after-action reports. “The quicker we get through this, the quicker the Staff Sergeant can flee our company.”

Realizing they were all trying to set him at ease, Corey allowed himself a small smile. “I appreciate that, sir. I have an appointment to have needles inserted beneath my fingernails.”

The room filled with laughter.

“And a sense of humor, too,” Captain Evans mused.

“Unfortunately, what we need to talk about today is very unpleasant,” Agent Hoffman said, looking regretful.

“We need you to be honest, precise, and candid,” added Evans.

“Understood, ma’am.”

Agent Hoffman used a remote control to activate the video camera.

Captain Hirata began to read from a neatly typed sheet of paper. “Okay, Staff Sergeant, to recap: your platoon was on patrol in Ghazni when one of the Humvees was struck by an IED, resulting in the deaths of three enlisted Marines. In the ensuing chaos, it was determined that occupants of a nearby dwelling were firing on your position. Your platoon commander ordered you to take a detachment of half the platoon and neutralize the threat. Is that accurate?” Hirata looked up from the notes and waited for Corey to confirm.

“Affirmative, sir.”

The captain looked back down at his notes. “You followed proper Marine Corps procedure and training, in conjunction with the ROE at that time, to secure the structure and neutralize the threat, all while sustaining zero additional casualties. Is this also accurate?”

“It is, sir.” Corey’s leg began to bounce.

“At this point, you ordered Sergeant Michael Nygaard to take five Marines, exit out the rear of the dwelling and ensure the perimeter was secure and that there were no additional threats nearby.” Hirata set his notes aside. “Are these the facts as you remember them, Staff Sergeant?”

Corey smoothed his tie down his chest. “They are, sir.”

Captain Hirata handed Corey several sheets of printed paper. “Do you recognize this document, Staff Sergeant Yarwood?”

Corey skimmed over the document with a nod. “It appears to be my after-action report on the incident, sir.”

“Please read the entire document
carefully
,” Hirata said. “Verify for us that this is the report that you wrote and submitted to your platoon commander.”

Corey read the report, easily recalling the facts, recognizing his own writing style and word usage. The facts were exactly as he remembered them, and as he remembered writing them.

Until he reached the section where he had ordered Nygaard to secure the perimeter.

With a brisk shake of his head, Corey tapped the offending paragraph. “I didn’t write this,” he said, looking up at the others in disbelief.

No one looked surprised.

“That is not the report you wrote and submitted?” Captain Evans asked.

“It is, up until this paragraph.” Corey emphasized his point by tapping his finger on the paper. “This isn’t what happened, and it’s not what I wrote.”

Hirata handed him a pen. “Note anything that you yourself did not write.”

Corey kept reading and marking. The remainder of the report was filled with complete falsehoods. When he was finished, he handed the report to Captain Hirata.

“Who changed my report, Captain?” Corey asked angrily.

“That’s something we still need to determine,” Hirata replied.

“Is your original report still accessible?” Captain Evans asked.

“It’s saved on the hard drive of my battalion issued laptop, ma’am,” Corey answered.

Evans frowned. “That’s convenient, but unusual,” he said. “You weren’t required to return the laptop when you changed billets?”

“I was told there was no need since I would be instructing at Basic Recon,” replied Corey. “I’m still considered a part of the Recon community.”

“Someone’s going to regret that oversight before this is all over,” Evans said, glancing at Hirata briefly. “We’ll need you to provide that report to us, ASAP, Staff Sergeant.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll email it after class this evening.” Corey took a long drink of water. He tugged at one leg of his uniform trousers.

“I have some questions for you, Staff Sergeant,” Agent Hoffman said, “regarding the events as they have been presented in the various reports submitted by your platoon.”

Corey’s gut felt like it was knotted around a lead weight. He was thankful he’d heeded his counselor’s advice and taken a dose of Xanax. “Was mine the only one that was modified?”

There was a long moment of silence. “We’re not sure, yet,” Hoffman answered. Before Corey could question further, he pressed on. “At any time during the incident, did you receive orders, or issues orders, to engage hostiles at any location other than the site of the IED blast or the structure you made entry into?”

“No, sir,” Corey answered. He knew what the Special Agent was trying to establish.

“Did you engage any hostiles, or order anyone else to engage hostiles, anywhere other than inside the structure you entered?” Hoffman asked.

Corey’s leg bounced. He shifted in his chair. “No sir. The only hostiles we encountered were inside the structure and were neutralized as soon as we made entry.” He ran both hands down his tie to smooth it.

“And all of those hostiles were young, adult males, correct?”

Corey paused, scenes from his recent nightmares flashing through his mind. “Correct, sir.” He reached for his bottle of water.

“When you located Sergeant Nygaard and his team, had they secured weapons and or explosives?” Hoffman spoke slowly, watching Corey intently.

Gesturing toward the report he’d handed back to Hirata, Corey answered. “That’s one of the things that was altered in my report. The only weapons my team secured and inventoried were the ones from the dwelling we entered.” He took another drink of water. His mouth kept going dry.