Friendly Fire (26 page)

Peg explained she had not mentioned to either Larry or Kathy that she was writing Henkin in an effort to help, “but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't.” Phelps, she added, was due to leave for Vietnam in eighteen days.

“Today I sorted out two footlockers of my son's books,” Peg's letter concluded. “Among them was his thesis to be finished this summer, the first leg of his doctorate in bio-chemistry. His plan was to save the world in his research for agriculture nutrition not to destroy it. I am sure there are very few minds in that edifice called the Pentagon that would be equal to his.…”

The letter was typical of Peg Mullen: touching, infuriating, melodramatic, but honest above all.

John Mullen's draft classification had arrived in that morning's mail. Peg knew his 1-A category, “Available for Military Service,” was wrong, that he should have been given a 4-A classification: “Sole Surviving Son.”

John argued with his mother. He did not want her to change the classification. He preferred the drama of confronting the draft board with their error when they attempted to induct him—although there were moments, too, when the idea of escaping to Canada appealed to him. “Mother,” he said, “leave the draft board alone!”

Also in that morning's mail was a letter from Abe Aikins, the young black medic who had been with Michael on the hilltop that night in Vietnam:

Dear Mrs. Mullen:

I guess you can say that it is ironic that I received your letter today, Memorial Day. Memories are difficult when one thinks of loved ones who have died in wars. It is even more difficult when one feels that a life was lost in vain. This is an unjust and inhuman war, for men to give their lives for a cause that is dubious, for ideals that are talked of but never sought, those lives were given in vain.…

Aikins explained that although he and Michael had not been very close, he had known Michael as well as anyone in the company and had had several discussions about the war. He then added a few details about Michael's death. Aikins did not really tell the Mullens anything they did not already know. He did mention that “Mike never knew what hit him. The explosion was directly over his head. He died in his sleep.” Peg was relieved to know that; she had continued to worry over how much Michael might have suffered. There was nothing very heartening, however, in Aikins' confirmation that Michael's “life was lost in vain.” Aikins repeated that it had been a short round fired by U.S. forces. When Peg and Gene discussed Aikins' letter that night, they recalled that Schwarzkopf and Culpepper had each written that it was a “short round,” too. So far, however, no one had explained why the round had fallen short.

Two days later, Saturday, June 13, Peg heard from the Air Force lieutenant colonel who had taken her to the Pentagon casualty room.

“I am sorry to say that nowhere is there a list of U.S. casualties which is kept by the date,” Giorgi wrote. “Your request is the only one to develop such a listing for the week [your son died].”

Lieutenant Colonel Giorgi did, however, enclose a “List of Casualties Incurred by U.S. Military Personnel in connection with the Conflict in Vietnam by Home State of Record.” The document listed those Iowans who had died in Vietnam between January 1 and April 30, 1970. Twenty-seven Army men, four Marines, and one sailor had been killed in action. Six soldiers and one sailor were nonbattle casualties. They were from Mississippi River cities like Davenport, Keokuk and Dubuque, from small farm towns like Victor, Letts, Dunlap and Coin. They came from Rockwell city, Newton, Knoxville, Clarion, Algona—Iowa county seats. They had grown up in Bonaparte, Eldorado and DeSoto in big cities like Des Moines and Sioux City and crossroad towns like Portsmouth and Dumont. The boys had come from towns all over central Iowa and Missouri River communities like Thurman and Mondamin. These young men had names of simple grace: Atkinson, Carson, Davis, Earlywine, Johnson … Marlin, Porter, Reilly, Rogers … Carter, Gardner, Wilson, Roth. They were boys with country names: Dean and Earl and Gary and LaRoy. And they were all dead. Gerald, Jeffrey, Jesse, Jimmy, John E., John M., John W.… There, too, was “Mullen, Michael Eugene … Sgt … 480628411 … Date of Birth: 11 Sep 44 … Date of Casualty: 18 Feb 70 … Home of Record: La Porte City.” Not far from Michael's name was that of the Waverly mother's boy who had died in the burned-out tank.

The following week a letter arrived from Lieutenant Colonel H. Norman Schwarzkopf in Vietnam. The letter, written in response to Peg's angry blast of three weeks before, told the Mullens nothing at all. Its whole tone was strange, guarded, impersonal: “I sincerely hope that I can be of some assistance in answering your questions.…” That was the sort of line one expected from a salesclerk in response to some shopper's query. “Michael's platoon leader was in a defensive position approximately eight to ten feet away from him.… The Company Commander, the Company First Sergeant, and the Battalion Chaplain were also located within thirty feet of Michael's position.…” No names. Just their titles. Why weren't the Mullens told who those people were? To Peg the answer was obvious: if she knew their names, she could write them. “Unfortunately, United States Army, Vietnam policy,” Schwarzkopf's letter continued, “does not allow me to release the names of its servicemen,” a convenient policy, Peg felt, should the Army have something to hide. “I have learned that Michael's closest friend was killed in the same tragic accident.…” That, too, struck the Mullens as a bit too convenient. If Michael's closest friend—an obvious reference to Leroy Hamilton—was dead, the one young man most likely to tell the Mullens the truth was lost. And according to Culpepper's letter, those who had survived were threatened with punitive action should they attempt to write.

Schwarzkopf's response to Peg's outrage at Michael's harassment during his final stand-down read as if it had been copied from some training circular: “It is the policy of this command to utilize stand-downs for training and relaxation,” to “maintain the health and welfare of our men,” to “maintain the proficiency and skill of each soldier.…” What sort of man would write such an insensitive, detached letter to grieving parents? What sort of man would write a letter such as this at all unless he had something to hide? The Mullens were now convinced more than ever that Schwarzkopf had been instrumental in both the death of their son and the subsequent cover-up.

Imagine what the Mullens would have felt had they known that the two letters they had thus far received signed by H. Norman Schwarzkopf had not, in fact, been written by him at all.

*
The Cooper-Church amendment, co-sponsored by Senator John Sherman Cooper (R. Ky.) and Senator Frank Church (D. Ida.) would have barred the President from spending money to “retain” American forces in Cambodia, from sending advisers there, from providing combat air support for Cambodian forces and from paving any foreign troops who were assisting the Cambodians—this latter clause sprang from the disclosure in Senate testimony that a secret agreement had existed since 1967 between the governments of Thailand and the United States providing Bangkok with $50,000,000 a year in return for their sending one combat division to Vietnam.

Chapter Fifteen

On Wednesday, June 24, 1970, the United States Senate by a vote of 81 to 10 repealed the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution. The Senate's August 7, 1964, passage of the resolution—in clear defiance of the 1964 electoral mandate to seek no wider war—provided the sole legal basis for the Vietnam War's escalation and the inevitable acceptance by American forces of the major burden of the ground, sea and air war in Southeast Asia, which resulted in the deaths of Michael Mullen and Leroy Hamilton and, by the end of June, 1970, more than 50,000 other Americans as well. The repeal of the resolution was backed by the Nixon administration, which stated it did not need the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution to justify current U.S. involvement in Vietnam.

Earlier that same day Daniel Z. Henkin, the Assistant Secretary of Defense for Public Affairs, telephoned Peg. After graciously complimenting her letter (and expressing surprise she had sent it to his home), he reported having spoken to an Army general in personnel who agreed Larry Phelps should be send not to Vietnam but to some post in the United States. Henkin asked Peg to find out Phelps' service number, prior assignments, current orders and to forward as much information as she could to Henkin's Pentagon office as soon as possible.

Peg was ecstatic. She left for Kathy Phelps' home right away.

Larry had been spending his advance leave with his wife's family, the Rosauers. Kathy Phelps' mother, Nona Mullen Rosauer, was Skinny Mullen's sister and Gene's first cousin. And, like Gene and Skinny, had grown up visiting their grandfather, Patrick J. Mullen's house. Nona Mullen married Alfred Rosauer, who, like his father before him, worked the blacksmith shop at Eagle Center a mile west of the cemetery in which Michael Mullen now lay. Peg and Gene had always been friendly with the Rosauers, but lately, because of Michael's death, a strain existed. When Peg arrived at the Rosauers' she found Nona very upset and Kathy in tears. They explained they had just returned from Waterloo, where Larry had boarded an airplane for the first leg of his trip to Vietnam.

“Then we haven't got a moment to lose!” Peg said. “I need all the information on Larry I can get. I can keep him from being sent to Vietnam.”

“Oh-h, Peg.” Nona sighed. “Please don't start all that. Not now.”

“What do you mean?” Peg asked. “I'm trying to tell you I've got the most wonderful news. I just finished speaking with a Mr. Daniel Henkin, an Assistant Secretary of Defense at the Pentagon—I met him in Washington, see?—and he called me this morning to say Larry wouldn't have to go.”

Kathy looked at Peg apprehensively.

“What's the matter with you two?” Peg asked. “Don't you believe me?”

“Oh, sure, Peg,” Nona said, unconvinced. “It's just that we're all pretty upset right now, and, well, we know how upset you've been and.…” Her voice trailed off.

“But I tell you I can help!” Peg insisted. “I can keep Larry out of Vietnam!”

“You can?” Kathy asked. “How?”

“What do you think
you
can do?” Nona asked.

“As soon as I heard Larry had been ordered to Vietnam, I wrote Henkin a letter and—”

“You wrote this man at the Pentagon about Larry?” Kathy interrupted.

“And he telephoned me not more than a half hour ago,” Peg continued. “He told me he'd talked to some general in personnel who said Larry would not have to go to Vietnam, that he should be reassigned to some place here in the United States. But they need more information so they can give him new orders. That's why—”

“Peg, please,” Nona begged gently. “Larry's already gone. You can see how heartbroken Kathy is, how worried we all are. You're only making it worse.” “This man you wrote about Larry, he called you back?” Kathy asked. She looked over at her mother, not sure whether to believe Peg or not.

“I don't understand why he called you, Peg,” Nona said. “Why didn't he call—”

“He telephoned me,” Peg said a little impatiently, “because I was the one who wrote him about keeping Larry out of Vietnam. Look, I have a copy of the letter I sent him back at the farm.”

“Why didn't you say anything to us about this before?” Nona asked. “Why did you wait until we'd put him on the plane?”

“I didn't know you were putting him on the plane!” Peg said. “I didn't want to say anything before because I didn't want to get your hopes up. I wasn't sure I could do anything to help. Besides, it doesn't matter that you put him on the plane. He still has to process through Oakland. That takes a couple of days. The only thing is that you've got to give me the information so I can call Henkin back at the Pentagon. I need Larry's rank, his serial number, orders, things like that.”

Kathy leaned forward hopefully. “Do you really think you can keep them from sending Larry to Vietnam?”

“Of course I do,” Peg said. “I wouldn't have come here if I didn't think so. Don't you believe me?”

“I want to,” Kathy said. “It's just that, how can you be so sure?”

“I simply believe Michael will help.”

“Michael who?” Nona asked uneasily.

“My Michael in heaven.”

Nona Rosauer looked dismayed, but Kathy asked Peg again to tell her again what information was needed. Afterward Peg suggested Kathy come back to the farm so she could be there when Peg telephoned Henkin's office.

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Mullen,” Henkin's secretary said, “we were expecting your call. Mr. Henkin asked me to take down the information, so go ahead.”

Peg gave her what details she knew, and the secretary told Peg if Larry telephoned that evening, she was to ask if he had ever filed for compassionate reassignment, and, if so, how many times and where. Peg was also to tell Larry he would be met by a personnel officer at Oakland that the personnel officer would know Phelps had had a “hold” put on him by the Pentagon, and all Larry would need to do would be to file the necessary reassignment forms there. The papers would then be forwarded to the Pentagon for approval, and in about ten days his reassignment would come through.

“See?” Peg asked triumphantly.

Kathy smiled uncertainly. “I still don't know whether to believe it or not.”

Peg returned that evening to the Rosauers and waited with them for Larry's call. Peg brought Nona the letter she had written Henkin, and Kathy confirmed that she herself had heard Henkin's secretary on the phone. When Larry finally did telephone, Kathy answered it saying, “Honey, I've got the most wonderful news!”

Larry had not known that Peg was trying to help either, so initially he, too, found the story difficult to believe. But when he spoke with Peg, he agreed to do whatever she said, adding he would try anything to keep out of Vietnam. Phelps said he had applied three times for compassionate reassignment, once each at Fort Polk, Fort Benning and Fort Ord. His requests, however, had never been forwarded beyond the desks of the lieutenants who had handled the forms. Peg told him not to worry; a personnel officer would meet him when he went through processing the next morning and that the Pentagon had put a hold on his orders for Vietnam.