Fire for Effect by Kendall McKenna Page A

his desk. He regarded Kellan for several moments before he sighed heavily. “The general consensus is that your separation from the Marine Corps was the Corps’ loss,” he said ruefully. “I think that assessment might be correct.”
    Kellan stored that away for future analysis.
    “Mr. Secretary, I’m here to discuss your decision to uphold your predecessor’s denial of Sergeant Miguel Restrepo the Medal of Honor.” Kellan scrolled through the notes on his tablet app. “When we establish that this is part of a larger policy that systematically denies veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan the MOH, I’ll be back to discuss that with you.”
    “I have no doubt of that, Mr. Reynolds,” Burnett responded dryly.
    Kellan continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “The former Secretary of Defense, Harry Simpson, manufactured a method to discredit and disregard the eyewitness testimony of heroic Marines. You were handed a face-saving reason you could revise that decision and award Restrepo the medal, yet you chose not to take it.”
    “Is there a question in there somewhere, Mr. Reynolds?”
    “There are several, Mr. Secretary,” Kellan replied, undaunted. “Why is Sergeant Restrepo being held to a higher standard than every other MOH recipient? Why is the veracity of the testimony of United States Marines being questioned? Why did Simpson convene a medical panel for the first, and last time in the history of the awarding the MOH, without any official adjustment to standards and policies? When the findings of that panel were contradicted and disproved, why did you uphold them, Mr. Secretary?”
    Kellan held the stylus poised above the screen of his tablet, prepared to make notes of Burnett’s answers.
    The Secretary exhaled harshly and sat back in his chair. He inhaled deeply before he spoke. “You may feel free to call me Cal, if I may call you Kellan,” Burnett said placidly.
    Kellan hoped he hid his surprise. He inclined his head, silently agreeing to the concession for which he had been asked.
    “I’m going to have some coffee.” Burnett sat forward and typed briefly on his laptop. “Would you like some coffee, Kellan?”
    Kellan recognized the twenty-first century equivalent of the peace pipe. “I would appreciate that, Cal, thank you.”
    Minutes later, Burnett’s assistant entered carrying a tray, laden with a carafe, two mugs, sweetener packets and a small pitcher of creamer. As Kellan prepared his coffee to his taste, the assistant said, “I’m making sure the Staff Sergeant is comfortable, Mr. Reynolds. He accepted a bottle of water when I offered.”
    “Thank you,” Kellan said gratefully. He knew Jonah would be bored as hell, waiting for him, so at least he’d be comfortable.
    When they were alone once again, Burnett regarded Kellan over the rim of his mug. “This conversation is off the record,” he said abruptly. “I legitimately can’t be of help to you, but I’m also not going to be a hindrance.”
    “I don’t understand.” Kellan was confused but the Secretary’s words stirred hope, deep inside of him.
    “I have no knowledge of a systematic denial of medals for racial or gender reasons,” Burnett explained. “It’s not something being encouraged, even subtly, from my office. When you build a case against anyone in the DOD who is guilty of that kind of discriminatory behavior, I won’t stand in your way, or protect the guilty. But I can’t help you with building that portion of your case.”
    Kellan nodded his understanding, letting it stand as a tacit agreement. “Good enough.” It was more than he’d thought he would achieve.
    “The heroic veterans of these two current wars are the unfortunate victims of the modern internet and the previous administration’s rush to publicly declare victories and heroes,” Burnett said with a sad shake of his head.
    Kellan was genuinely baffled. “Could you please clarify that for me?”
    “Before the war in Afghanistan was even