by DJ Scott
Kelli Moore watched with pleasure as her corpsman, HM3 Kim Stoller, received the Navy Cross, the second highest award for bravery in combat. It had been Moore’s recommendation backed by the testimony of the other MPs that Stoller had repeatedly exposed herself to enemy fire to treat the wounded, resupply ammunition, and—despite minimal combat training—personally kill at least five of the Yemenis. Moore was also pleased that LCDR Mike McGregor was awarded the Navy Cross, his second. Having finally wormed the story of his first award out of First Sergeant Johanssen, she had a deeper understanding of what McGregor was really made of.
Finally, the Commandant ordered, “Captain Kelli Moore front and center.”
She stepped to the front of the assembled sailors and Marines and saluted the Commandant. He smiled warmly as he pinned her Purple Heart to the left breast pocket of her utility uniform. She was about to salute and return to the formation when Daniel Forrest was handed a second box.
The Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps opened a folder and read:
“The President, on Behalf of Congress, is pleased to present the Medal of Honor to Captain Kelli Bridget Moore, United States Marine Corps Reserve, for services set forth in the following:”
CITATION:
FOR CONSPICUOUS GALLANTRY AND INTREPIDITY AT THE RISK OF HER LIFE AND BEYOND THE CALL OF DUTY WHILE SERVING WITH THE 584 COMPOSITE UNIT, OPERATION OCEAN REACH. ON THE NIGHT OF SEPTEMBER 13-14, 2017 CAPTAIN MOORE WAS TASKED WITH DEFENDING A GEOGRAPHICAL LOCATION KNOWN AS SIMPSON’S NOTCH. DURING AN ATTACK BY A GREATLY SUPERIOR ENEMY FORCE CAPTAIN MOORE REPEATEDLY RALLIED HER MARINES TO DEFEND AGAINST AND TO COUNTERATTACK THE ENEMY. IN DOING SO SHE CONTINUALLY EXPOSED HERSELF TO ENEMY FIRE AND PERSONALLY ENGAGED THE ENEMY, KILLING AT LEAST SIX WITH SMALL ARMS FIRE. SHE SKILLFULLY MOVED HER MARINES TO ALTERNATE POSITIONS MAKING MAXIMUM USE OF TERRAIN AND THE FIRE OF AUTOMATIC WEAPONS TO INFLICT HEAVY LOSSES ON THEIR ATTACKERS, ULTIMATELY DEFEATING THEM IN DETAIL. WHEN HER CORPSMAN WAS SERIOUSLY WOUNDED BY GRENADE FRAGMENTS, CAPTAIN MOORE, WITHOUT HESITATION, PROVIDED FIRST AID WHILE UNDER CONTINUOUS ENEMY FIRE AND THEN GAVE THE WOUNDED SAILOR HER OWN BODY ARMOR. IN A FINAL ACT OF BRAVERY SHE ENGAGED THE ENEMY COMMANDER, KILLING HIM IN HAND-TO-HAND COMBAT AND WHILE DOING SO SUSTAINED A CRITICAL CHEST WOUND. CAPTAIN MOORE’S LEADERSHIP, COURAGE, AND EXTRAORDINARY DEVOTION TO DUTY PREVENTED AN ENEMY BREAKTHROUGH INTO THE REAR OF HER COMMAND THUS TURNING THE TIDE OF BATTLE. HER ACTIONS REFLECT GREAT CREDIT UPON HERSELF AND UPHELD THE HIGHEST TRADITIONS OF THE UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS AND THE NAVAL SERVICE.
The Commandant ordered “About face,” and Kelli turned to look at the beaming faces of her fellow reservists. The Medal of Honor is not pinned to the uniform like other medals. It is hung around the neck, suspended from a pale blue ribbon with small white stars. Daniel Forrest draped it around her neck. Like many recipients before her, she found it to be heavier than she had expected.
Forrest stepped around to face her and came to attention. “Captain, I am honored that the President has permitted me to award this medal.”
Kelli Moore, now quite numb, was just able to deliver a proper salute, which the Commandant returned, before she resumed her place in formation.
The Commandant turned to face the formation and glanced at his Sergeant Major who ordered, “Dismissed.” There were no speeches. The citations had said all there was to say. As the formation broke up, there were some smiles and some tears. Some congratulations and some who simply drifted away.
First Sergeant Johanssen, wearing his second Purple Heart, found Mike McGregor. “Great about the Captain and the Medal of Honor. You must have had to work hard to get that through.”
“I didn’t do a thing. I was interviewed by a Colonel from his staff who said he had never seen General Forrest so focused on anything as taking care of the 584.”
“He’s a good man. I’m happy to see he remembered you too. I think you’re the only guy still in uniform wearing two of those Navy Crosses. Just remember, though, I won’t be around to help with number three. Retirement takes effect in a month.”
McGregor said nothing; he simply looked at his friend with what was often called a ‘thousand-yard stare.’
Chapter 77
November 25, 2017 1910Z (1410 EST)
Michigan Stadium
For the first time in years, Michigan was not only leading Ohio State in their annual showdown, but was leading by a lot—three touchdowns by late in the third quarter. It was a beautiful day for football, brisk and sunny.
Mike McGregor and Al Johanssen had arrived early for tailgating with friends. After a few beers and brats, they were headed to their usual seats when Johanssen said, “Guess who I saw a few days ago? I was waiting for an x-ray when in walks your friend Detective Moore.”
This caught McGregor’s attention. “How is she doing?”
“Very well, her first day back at work was four days ago. She seems more relaxed than she used to be. She asked about you.”
“Really? What did she ask?”
“Just wondered how you were doing. Very casual. We talked a few minutes and then I went in for my x-ray. She was gone when I was done.”
McGregor just nodded.
The game was going better than anyone had predicted, with the new freshman already putting up two touchdowns on long runs, plus another on a punt return.
“Joe, is it okay now to say that kid is a future superstar?”
“Yeah Doc I have to say you’re right about that. Over fourteen hundred yards and only a freshman. You do have to admit, though, you were wrong about one thing.”
“And what was that?”
“It wasn’t a short season after all.”
Epilogue
December 5, 2017 1450Z
Aboard the Carlisle to Glasgow train
The stylish couple in the first class coach gazed out at the Scottish countryside speeding by. The trees were largely bare, and the fields lay fallow, but the rolling landscape had a stark beauty nonetheless. The man, in his forties, wore a tan tweed suit—nicely tailored—and fashionable tortoise shell glasses. He and his companion, a young redhead in a grey Italian wool suit, could have been traveling to Glasgow on business.
The couple went by Johann and Lena Weser. Johann, a wealthy investor, had emigrated, so their story went, from Zittau to the Isle of Man to take advantage of the Isle’s banking laws. Johann had opened several investment accounts, and had slowly begun to increase what was already a substantial fortune.
They had taken the ferry from their home in Douglas to Heysham on the west coast of England; a rough crossing on the stormy Irish Sea. There they caught a train that would ultimately take them to Glasgow. Not wanting to remain on the remote island forever, their plan was to explore potential homes outside Glasgow. In addition to real estate shopping, however, the couple had a second purpose for being on this particular train. For this reason, they had selected a day and time in which travel was usually light and were sitting alone in a cluster of four seats, two and two across a small table.
Their reverie was interrupted when a portly man in rough outdoor clothing sat down across from them. He looked as if he had hiked some distance to the train station. Actually, he hadn’t. He had taken a series of trains that ended in Carlisle earlier that day. He had taken his lunch in a local restaurant, where he then changed out of his perfectly-tailored blue suit and into the clothes he was now wearing. The suit was neatly folded in his carry-on bag.
Maxim Korshkin smiled and extended his hand to Johann. “Alexi, my old friend, I cannot say how pleased I am to see you.”
“And I you, Janos.” This he said very softly. “After all we have been through, I am gratified to see you survived the whole thing. I was worried.”
Lena said very quietly, “This man is Janos? I thought he was Czech?”
“My cover, young Anna—I’m sorry, Lena. There is no Janos, just a figment of my i
magination. I have passed for years as a minor player while Janos handled the big—and dangerous—deals. In this case, the mythical Janos also allowed me to slip critical information to the British security services. None of us really wanted that Saudi lunatic to actually use those things.”
“Well done, my friend, but you had nothing to worry about. Before shipping them I deactivated the detonating circuits. Impossible to detect.”
Korshkin chuckled. “I suspected you might do something like that. Well, the Americans now have five of them and my contacts tell me the Saudis have the other. This chapter is closed.”
Johann leaned even further forward. “I’m curious, how did you manage to convince everyone that Janos was in Prague?”
“I have a couple of rough young men there who deal with logistics, but they have no idea who I am. Everything was done with disposable mobile phones. I have retired, though. This last deal—your deal my friend—has provided me with everything I need. I have told the lads in Prague they are now Janos and may do whatever they wish. I’m certain they will be caught or more likely killed in short order—both are total idiots. Then Janos will disappear from the stage forever.”
“Very clever. But you went through a lot of effort to contact us through our new identities. I’m sure it wasn’t to tell us about your retirement.”
“No, no,” said Korshkin. “You brother —” He looked at Lena — “contacted me and asked that I pass on some information to you. The contact was very secure, I assure you, and I took extraordinary precautions in coming here. First he wanted me to pass along a way to contact him in an emergency.” He handed Johann a small mobile phone. “It’s a burn phone, use it only once. Second, he wanted to let you know that, with the recovery of the warheads, that the SVR and the FSB have greatly reduced their efforts to find you. I would not take a holiday in Moscow or hang about near a Russian embassy, but on the whole he believes you’re in the clear.”
The couple was both obviously relieved. Life as fugitives had taken a toll.
“What of Boris?” asked Lena. “Do you know anything about him?”
“We met very briefly. He lives somewhere in London, though I don’t know where. He has a bushy moustache and told me he has had some silicone injections in his face. He said you would not recognize him. I later spotted him one evening, purely by accident, at a club near Leicester Square. I was able to recognize him from his new identity photos. Seems he is something of a playboy.”
Johann smiled. “That would be Boris. Well, at least he can afford it.”
They chatted a few more minutes, then an announcement came that the train was approaching Glasgow.
Maxim Korshkin said, “I have a flat in Glasgow, ownership totally disguised. Please join me for dinner. I am an excellent cook, and the place is swept often for listening devices. I wish to hear more about exactly how you managed this extraordinary coup. And to spend some time getting to know your lovely wife.”
“Yes,” said Johann. “Yes, that would be splendid. And can you get some of that Scottish beer? I’ve grown rather fond of it.”
December 17, 2017
0030Z (Dec. 16, 1930 EST)
Gratzi, Main Street Ann Arbor
Mike McGregor swirled the excellent bourbon in his glass while he tried to understand just what he was feeling. Four days earlier, he had been working the evening shift in the ER, his bullet wound healed enough to permit a regular work schedule. His mind, too, had healed, and he found comfort in his work and in the routine daily of life. On this evening he was examining a grad student who had fractured his thumb playing basketball when he saw a familiar face. Detective Kelli Moore, escorting a bleeding man in handcuffs, was trying to get her suspect past the front desk and into an exam room.
McGregor excused himself and brought the pair into a room, annoying the front desk staff in the process. “Detective Moore, are you beating up the suspects again?”
“Never laid a hand on him, Doc.” She said this with a gentle humor. “He tried to jump out a closed window, head first.”
McGregor spotted Nicole Ellis in the hallway. “Nicole, see what you can do about this scalp laceration.”
Ellis stepped in, and was surprised to see Kelli Moore. “Captain Moore, I didn’t know you were back to work.”
“It’s Detective, and yes, I started back just before Thanksgiving. A bit stiff, but doing pretty well. That cut you fixed on my arm is healing okay too, though the scar is still kind of red.”
“It’s only been three months; scars mature. Give it ‘till next summer.”
“I’m just pulling your chain. I appreciate all you did for me. You too, Doc.” She grinned, just a little.
She had indeed lightened up a bit. “Actually, that was Russell’s work.”
“Right, I remember you said he was the smartest guy in the regiment. Lucky for me.”
Okay, how did he navigate a potentially new relationship after all that had happened to both of them? Being direct was always good. If you got rejected, at least it was over quickly. “Say Detective, as long as we’re back to our old lives, how about having a few drinks on Saturday?”
“Love to. Where and when?”
Ah. He might have wanted to prepare an answer to that before he asked it. “Um . . . How about Gratzi on Main Street? Seven thirty?”
Sitting at the bar, waiting for Kelli Moore, McGregor realized he was scared. Well, why not? Life was back to normal, but everything had changed. What had been a flirtation between him and Moore now promised to become something different.
Or did it? Moore, always a complicated woman, was somehow different than she used to be, more laid back, less cynical. Or was it he who was different? He began to think this date was coming way too soon when he saw her come in the door.
It was a frigid December evening, and Kelli Moore slipped out of a long overcoat. Underneath she was wearing a black dress, very short, with red high heels which really called attention to her long legs. The sleeves were just long enough to cover the scar on her left shoulder, but short enough to show off her strong arms. A red belt and a necklace of big, red cinnabar beads completed the outfit. She was instantly the center of attention for every man in the restaurant.
She looked around for a moment, spotted McGregor at the bar, and flashed him an electric smile that sucked all the oxygen from the room.
She strode across the bar and sat down next to McGregor. She put her hand on the back of his neck, pulled him close, and kissed him—hard. Then, as if nothing had happened, she asked, “What are you drinking, Doc?”
For the first time in more than two years, Danielle was no longer on his mind.