Chapter 3 - THE DOG TAGS I NEVER REMOVED
Z
Daniel Mercer wasn't my husband.
People assumed he had been.
Perhaps because I wore his dog tag beside mine. Perhaps because I never spoke about him without looking as though something inside me had been torn open.
The truth was more complicated.
Daniel was my older brother.
He had raised me after our parents died.
He taught me to ride a bicycle, helped me apply to nursing school, and once drove nine hours through a snowstorm because I'd called him crying after failing an anatomy examination.
He was seven years older.
An Army medic.
A terrible cook.
And the first person who ever told me that being frightened didn't mean I wasn't brave.
When we were assigned to the same joint evacuation mission, we'd both protested.
He said having his little sister nearby would make him reckless.
I said having my older brother around would make me homicidal.
The commanding officer laughed.
Then approved the arrangement.
Six months later, Daniel was dead.
I sat across from Holloway with the old photograph in my hands.
“Have you heard the recording?”
“Only part of it.”
“What does he say?”
Ray hesitated.
“He identifies an unauthorized change to evacuation priorities.”
I looked up.
“What change?”
“The medical evacuation aircraft had been reassigned.”
“By whom?”
“We're still verifying the chain of command.”
I felt anger rise.
“You've had six years.”
“I know.”
“Six years, Ray.”
His expression tightened.
“I was there, Annie.”
I stopped.
Of course he was.
Holloway had been the senior enlisted coordinator for the evacuation. He had helped move the wounded. He'd nearly died when the second blast destroyed the southern access road.
He had carried Daniel's body to me.
I looked down.
“I'm sorry.”
He shook his head.
“Don't apologize for wanting the truth.”
For a long time, neither spoke.
Then I asked, “Why now?”
Holloway opened a folder.
“A federal review team reopened several historical logistics cases last year. The new records led them to equipment and archived transmissions that weren't included in the original Kestrel investigation.”
“Is that why the research vessel was surveying the area?”
“Partly. The coastal recovery was connected to a separate procurement investigation, but the equipment identifiers overlapped.”
“And someone attacked it?”
“An explosion occurred. The cause hasn't been established.”
I stared at him.
“You think somebody's trying to keep the evidence hidden.”
“I think we need to find the missing people and preserve whatever they recovered.”
That answer was more careful than I expected.
The old Ray would have been ready to name an enemy.
This one had learned what unproven accusations could cost.
At five-thirty, Linda found me standing beside the ambulance doors.
The storm had eased slightly.
Rain still moved across the pavement, but dawn was beginning to dilute the darkness.
“Honey?”
I looked at her.
“You okay?”
I almost gave my usual answer.
Fine.
Instead, I shook my head.
“No.”
Linda stepped beside me.
“Want to talk?”
I touched the tags beneath my scrubs.
“My brother died during a military evacuation six years ago.”
Her expression softened.
“I'm sorry.”
“I was there.”
She waited.
“I kept thinking if I'd been faster, if I'd found him sooner, if I'd insisted on going back—”
“Annie.”
I stopped.
Linda looked directly at me.
“Did you cause the explosion?”
“No.”
“Did you cancel the evacuation?”
“No.”
“Then you've been carrying somebody else's decisions around your neck for six years.”
I looked at her.
Tears blurred the ambulance bay.
“I should have saved him.”
Linda's voice was gentle.
“You loved him. Those aren't the same thing.”
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
Then I started crying.
Linda put her arms around me.
And I let her.
At seven, Dr. Hail arrived.
Commander Evelyn Hail was the hospital's medical director, a fifty-two-year-old Navy physician who rarely raised her voice and never confused rank with competence.
She had already received preliminary reports about the night's events.
Teague stood in her office.
So did I.
He looked uncomfortable.
Hail placed my personnel file on her desk.
“Nurse Keller, why didn't you disclose your previous military medical assignments during orientation?”
I kept my hands folded.
“They were included in my employment documentation.”
Hail looked down.
She turned several pages.
Then stopped.
Her expression changed.
“Joint medical evacuation task force. Advanced trauma nursing. Multiple operational deployments.”
She looked up.
“Your résumé described overseas nursing experience.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“That's a substantial understatement.”
“I didn't want a supervisory role.”
Hail studied me.
“And were you offered one?”
“No.”
She looked toward Teague.
He shifted.
Hail continued.
“I'm more concerned about the reports of repeated workplace humiliation.”
The room went still.
Teague glanced at me.
I looked down.
Hail folded her hands.
“Dr. Teague, is it true you've been calling Nurse Keller 'Mouse'?”
He cleared his throat.
“It was harmless teasing.”
“Did she invite that nickname?”
“No.”
“Did she ask you to stop?”
Teague hesitated.
“I don't recall.”
Hail turned toward me.
“Nurse Keller?”
I swallowed.
“I asked him twice.”
Hail's expression hardened.
“Then it wasn't harmless.”
Teague stared at the desk.
For the first time, he looked less like the most powerful person in the emergency room and more like a man realizing that other people had been keeping records of his behavior.
Hail closed the file.
“We'll address this through the appropriate professional process. In the meantime, I expect respectful communication from every member of this department.”
She looked at me.
“And Annie?”
“Yes, ma'am?”
“You don't have to become someone else to deserve respect here.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“Thank you.”
When I returned to my locker, the little plastic mouse was gone.
In its place sat a handwritten note.
I'm sorry I laughed. — Danny.
I stared at it.
Then folded it carefully.
For the first time in seven months, I didn't feel the need to hide the scars on my arm.
But as I turned to leave, Holloway appeared at the end of the hallway.
He carried a radio.
His expression was grim.
“Annie.”
I stopped.
“We received another transmission from the missing recovery team.”
My heart quickened.
“Survivors?”
“Possibly.”
He looked toward the storm-dark windows.
“The signal came from an abandoned coastal station north of Blackwater Point.”
I frowned.
“That station's been closed for years.”
“I know.”
“What did they say?”
Holloway swallowed.
“Only five words.”
He handed me the transcript.
ANGEL SIX KNOWS THE WAY.
May you like
And suddenly, the past wasn't merely reaching for me.
It was asking me to come back.
