The Final Line (38 page)

“No, ma’am,” Corey replied, meeting her eyes. “But this is the clearest my memory has ever been of that afternoon.”

“We’re making progress, then,” she said. “So, when you reached the platoon and made your initial observations, what did you do first?”

“I approached the lieutenant and told him I needed to speak in private,” Corey recalled. “He was distracted and edgy. He told me he didn’t have time. I chalked it up to post-combat reaction and told him it was critical I speak to him.”

The events of the day played out vividly in his mind’s eye. Corey relayed those events as they sprang into his memory. The lieutenant was visibly agitated. Corey told him about something that had happened during the execution of his mission and the LT’s agitation had grown worse. He felt his own confusion and worry as if this had occurred just yesterday. He’d anticipated accompanying the LT back to the structure to deal with…what had happened, but the lieutenant surprised Corey by ordering him to stay behind and supervise the bagging of the four dead Afghanis.

He’d followed orders. The LT had taken a team and gone into the structure. Corey had made sure the bodies were bagged, not bothering with documenting the wounds.

Because the lieutenant had told him it had already been done.

As the bodies had been placed inside the Humvees, the LT had returned with all of Corey’s team in tow. They carried only five body bags.

“I kept asking Corporal Howe where the other bodies were and he kept asking me what other bodies I meant.” Corey scrounged through his memory for images that had been lost to him until this moment. “Howe and I documented the wounds of the five hostiles we had killed in the initial assault on the structure. No one knew what other bodies I was talking about, but I knew there should have been more.”

“What was Lieutenant Adams doing while this was going on?” Evans asked.

“Standing with Nygaard and his team at the very last Humvee. They were talking.” Corey hadn’t remembered that detail before. “We secured the un-bagged bodies to the hoods of the Humvees and the LT came up to talk to the corporal and me.”

“What was said?” asked Hoffman.

“Howe asked the LT what other bodies I was talking about. The lieutenant said he had no idea. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell anyone what bodies I meant, but I knew they should have…”

With a wordless shout, Corey stood up so fast he toppled his chair. All he could see was a room full of women and children in a blood soaked room, throats slit and left to die on the dirt floor.

§ § §

“Tyler, I can’t raise Nygaard on comms. Have you heard anything?” Corey called across the room.

“No, Sergeant. Want me to go make contact?” Corporal Howe and several other Marines were inventorying the weapons cache they’d found in the house.

“I’ll go. You guys just hurry it up so we can get out of here.” Corey headed out the rear door of the structure in search of Sergeant Nygaard and the Marines he’d taken with him to secure the perimeter.

He walked slowly, his head on a swivel, weapon at the ready. They had heard no weapons fire so he didn’t think Nygaard had engaged any hostiles, but he couldn’t be sure.

Corey’s headset crackled to life and he tuned out the short conversation between the LT and one of the teams still at the site of the IED blast. He vaguely noted that the lieutenant sounded more stressed than usual today, even having lost Marines.

The hairs on Corey’s arms and neck lifted as he scanned his surroundings. He should have seen a Marine or two by now, holding down the perimeter. A sudden sound had him aiming his weapon toward the structure directly ahead as a door swung open.

“Sergeant.” The private stared at Corey, wide-eyed in shock.

“Where the fuck is Sergeant Nygaard?” Corey demanded, lowering his M4 and striding forward.

“He’s inside, Sergeant. Searching the house.” The Marine’s eyes darted around their sockets but never quite looked right at Corey.

“Searching for what?” Corey demanded, pushing the private out of the way so he could open the door. “You were supposed to be securing the perimeter.”

The coppery scent of blood assailed Corey’s nostrils as soon as he stepped inside. An eerie pall hung in the air. He could hear movement coming from deeper in the residence, male voices speaking English carried to him.

Stepping carefully through a small room, Corey reached a narrow doorway that opened into the main room of the residence. The scene that greeting him was horrific and the world spun around Corey. He gripped his M4 until his fingers ached. He swallowed back bile as the scents of blood, excrement and death overwhelmed him.

Slowly, Corey took several steps into the room. His LPCs made moist sucking sounds as he walked and he didn’t dare look down. Corey knew how much blood it took to make that sound. He also knew he’d lose it if he looked down to see it. He wondered briefly if it was all fake. The blood splattered up the walls of the room looked like it belonged in a shitty horror flick.

“Yarwood, man, we found these bitches waiting to fucking ambush us!” Nygaard shouted from across the room.

Corey looked up into Nygaard’s wild eyes. “What the fuck did you do?” he asked weakly.

“The fuckers who ambushed us didn’t think we’d find their families hiding out in here.” As he spoke, Nygaard kicked one of the corpses that lay at his feet. “They wouldn’t tell us where they hid the weapons and explosives.”

Corey’s chest heaved as he dragged desperate breaths in through his open mouth. All five of the Marines who had accompanied Nygaard on his mission stood casually around the room, M16s leaned against a wall. Each one wore an expression that was part hate, part smug. Their uniforms were all heavily splattered with blood. Corey put the back of one hand to his nose and mouth in a futile attempt to block the nauseating smell that filled the room.

How the fuck was he going to handle this?

“They’re fucking women and kids, Nygaard.” Corey’s horror abruptly morphed into outrage and no small amount of disgust. “How much of a threat could they be?”

“This is where they been hidin’ their guns,” Nygaard replied angrily, as if he didn’t understand why Corey didn’t get it. “This is where they put together those IEDs that kill
Marines
,” he snarled.

Corey forced himself to look at the piles of bloody bodies scattered on the floor. His stomached churned and he swallowed repeatedly as his mouth flooded with bitter saliva. Despite that, Corey’s lips were dry.

He focused on the gruesome scene before him. The bodies were in clusters, the clusters making up a rough circle. They were all face down in their own blood that was inches deep on the tiled floor.

“You had them all detained.” Corey put the facts together even as he said them out loud. “They weren’t armed. All you needed was to interrogate them about the cache.”

“They lied, refused to tell us,” Nygaard’s response was filled with agitation.

Corey crossed to one of Nygaard’s Marines. He gripped the Private by the throat. “Who made the first kill?”

“Sergeant Nygaard wouldn’t let any of us do anything until he was done with his,” the private replied with eagerness and pride that weakened Corey’s knees.

He turned on Nygaard, careful not to slip in the still-wet blood. “You had them on their knees, didn’t you?” demanded Corey. “Surrounded by armed Marines, they were no threat.”

“None of them would give up any information.” Nygaard again kicked the dead woman at his feet. “This one didn’t believe I’d kill her daughter if she didn’t talk so I had to show her I was serious.”

Corey gripped Nygaard’s armor and dragged him closer. Corey shoved his face right into Nygaard’s, disturbed by the joyful gleam he saw in the Sergeant’s eyes. “How many did you kill before you realized they had nothing to tell you?”

“What the fuck, Yarwood?” Nygaard clawed at Corey’s fist in the front of his armor. “I was trying to save Marines. How many did you kill when we busted into the other house?”

“I killed armed men who were firing at me in a combat situation!” Corey shouted, his voice cracking at least once. “I didn’t put women and children on their knees and make them watch me slit their throats.” He gave Nygaard’s vest a vicious yank and sent him sprawling to the floor amongst the corpses. Corey shouldered his M4 and turned back to aim at the remaining Marines. “Don’t anyone reach for your weapon.”

Nygaard slowly climbed to his feet, the front of his uniform covered in tacky blood. “Why do you care?” Nygaard seemed genuinely puzzled. “They’re just the families of terrorists.”

“All of you; back to the first structure. Leave your weapons where they are.” Corey kept his weapon raised, genuinely ready to blow one of them away if they reached for their Ka-Bar or tried to make a run for it.

Corporal Howe and the rest of Corey’s Marines looked shocked and confused when he brought his prisoners in at gunpoint. “Sergeant Yarwood?” Tyler questioned.

“Take their Ka-Bars,” Corey ordered brusquely, pushing his prisoners up against a wall. “Restrain them.”

“Sergeant?” Howe asked again. He looked stunned, even as he removed plastic cuffs from his leg pouch.

“You’re in charge here, Corporal,” Corey ordered as Nygaard and the other four Marines slid down to sit with their backs to the wall. “Don’t talk to them, don’t answer any questions. Don’t anyone go into the next structure until I get back with the lieutenant.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Tyler replied hastily. He quickly crossed the room to where Corey stood. “Shit, Corey, what the fuck happened out there?”

Corey swallowed against a tight throat. “You really don’t want to know, Tyler,” he replied just above a whisper, refusing to give in to the sudden wave of exhaustion and sadness. “I really need your help with this. Please.”

“You got it, man, you know that,” Tyler replied emphatically, keeping his voice low and calm. “But you’re scaring me. Something bad happened, didn’t it?”

“Really bad,” Corey confirmed. “Just keep everything calm and secure here ’til I get back.”

“Yeah, sure, of course.” Tyler took a step back and scanned the room quickly. “Waters, Green, you’re with Sergeant Yarwood.”

Corey led the two Marines back to the site of the IED blast and they discovered there had been an engagement with the occupants of the white vehicle. By the time the lieutenant returned without the massacred bodies of the women and children, Corey’s memories of the event were fuzzy and fading by the moment.

It was bad enough Marines had slaughtered innocent Afghanis. Corey’s platoon commander had covered it up, letting five Marines get away with murder. Even as that thought settled over him, Corey realized that Lieutenant Adams had to cover up Nygaard’s crime, because the investigation would probably uncover his own.

“He hid what Nygaard did ’cause he had to hide his own crime,” Corey said on a sob.

“Hey, Corey, it’s all right. You’re safe. You’re with friends. It’s all okay.” A calm, soothing voice cut through the fog of Corey’s rage and despair. “Are you back with us now?”

Blinking several times to clear away the fog and the disturbing images of the slaughtered families, Corey struggled to focus on the figure in front of him. Kellan Reynolds, dressed in shirtsleeves and neatly knotted tie, crouched several feet away. His expression was calm but obviously concerned.

“Yes, sir.” Corey was surprised by the raw sound of his own voice. He glanced around, recognizing the now-familiar conference room. He caught sight of Jonah Carver, crouched farther away, near the door.

“Take your time, get your bearings,” Kellan said quietly.

Corey slowly became aware that he himself was crouched on the floor, his back pressed to the wall behind him. Like Kellan, Corey was in his shirtsleeves. Unlike Kellan, Corey was a disgrace to the grooming standard. His cuffs were unbuttoned, his tie was pulled away from his collar and was twisted askew. His back ached from curling inward on himself, his palms pressed over his ears.

“I remembered,” Corey choked out.

“Yes, it seems that way,” Kellan said calmly. “Are you ready to come up off the floor, yet? Jonah can bring you a chair.”

Corey managed not to flinch when Jonah quietly appeared beside him with a guest chair. Jonah set the chair down and slowly backed away across the room.

With a shaky hand, Corey gripped the chair’s arm rest and tried to get to his feet.

“Can I help you, Corey?” Kellan asked, rising to his feet. He held his palms outward in supplication. “If I can touch you, I can help you into the chair.”

Corey nodded his consent. Kellan slowly stepped forward and took Corey’s arm, easily helping him into the chair. Immediately, Kellan stepped back and resumed his crouch.

“You need to hydrate, Staff Sergeant.” Jonah’s soft voice alerted Corey to his proximity.

Taking the open bottle of water, Corey’s hand trembled so violently he couldn’t drink.

“Let me help,” Jonah said, his hands closing over both of Corey’s around the bottle.

Corey drank gratefully, not stopping until half the contents were gone. He managed to finish off the water without assistance. Jonah took the bottle and stepped away.

“I’m sorry,” Corey said, clearing his throat awkwardly. He straightened his tie, then saw that his shirt tails were un-tucked so he shoved them into the waist of his uniform trousers.

“What are you sorry for?” Kellan asked. He was slowly moving a chair so he could sit while he talked.

Corey gave a self-deprecating snort. “I obviously lost my shit. Sir.” He struggled and failed to fasten the cuffs of his shirt.

“Actually, I’d say you just got your shit back.” Kellan gestured toward Corey’s hands. “I can help you with that if you like.”

Corey heaved a frustrated sigh. Kellan and Jonah both had seen him out of his fucking mind. There was no point pretending he didn’t need help. Corey nodded and Kellan carefully moved his chair closer. He had Corey’s cuffs fastened in seconds.

Murmuring his thanks, Corey shifted in his chair. He grimaced at the feel of his dress shirt clinging to his skin. He tried to straighten the fabric but it peeled away from his chest and back. At some point, he’d sweated through his shirt. Lifting his arms, Corey saw dark stains.