Friendly Fire (30 page)

The service was a simple wedding mass with prayers chosen by Patricia and Alan from the Song of Solomon: “Behold, thou art fair, my love; Behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes.…” When the organist played the first full, rich notes of the hymn “How Great Thou Art,” Patricia heard her father suddenly gasp behind her.

Patricia had chosen the hymn simply because it was her father's favorite and she had wanted to please him. She had forgotten, however, that it had been played last at Michael's funeral. When Gene recognized the hymn, he broke down and wept throughout the rest of the service for the son he had lost and the daughter he expected never to see again.

Patricia, too, began to cry. She couldn't help it. She cried out of frustration that her marriage was something her father could find no pleasure in, that it was something which her family seemed only able to endure. She wept because Michael was not there, and she missed him. And, too, she cried for Alan Hulting, who stood so worriedly at her side. She loved him so and wanted for his sake as much as her own for their wedding to be nice. But instead there was now this layer of gloom, the constant awareness of Michael's death, the sense that her parents' thoughts kept straying elsewhere on what was to have been this, her most important day.

When, as Mr. and Mrs. Alan Hulting, the young couple turned back up the aisle, Peg looked up at her tearstained daughter and scolded, “For God's sake, Patricia, stop crying!”

A small coffee and cake reception was held following the ceremony at the University of Iowa's Student Union cafeteria where Patricia had worked, and afterward about seventy-five persons drove back to the Mullens' farm for a buffet dinner. Alan Hulting, sweltering in his tuxedo, found himself at one point trapped by an intoxicated friend of the Mullens' in their basement recreation room. When the man finally turned to Alan and asked, “By the way, who are you?” Alan replied, “I'm the groom,” and went back upstairs to find his bride. Patricia was in the living room worriedly watching her father corner one guest after another to talk about the war.

When it was time for Alan and Patricia to leave, Gene and Peg followed the young couple out to their car. Gene held the door for his daughter and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Patricia got in, and Gene and Peg walked beside the automobile as Alan slowly maneuvered out of the Mullens' driveway and turned onto John Dobshire's dirt road. When Patricia twisted in the front seat to wave out the back window at her parents, she saw they had continued across the dirt road to the mailbox. Patricia sadly realized that whatever little reprieve her wedding might have provided her parents, it was now over. The “cease-fire” had ended, and her parents' private, lonely war with the United States government had resumed.

Chapter Seventeen

The Mullens' obsessive correspondence, their bitterness, their inability to talk or think about anything but the war, their utter impatience with any divergent points of view were symptoms of their continuing belief that a conspiracy existed to prevent them from discovering the details of their son's death. The letter they brought back from the mailbox as Patricia and Alan drove away had been forwarded them by Senator Jacob K. Javits of New York.

Javits had redirected his copy of Peg's registered special delivery letter to each Senator to the Pentagon, where Major Thomas F. McMorrow, a General Staff officer in the Chief of Legislative Liaison Office, was assigned the task of providing answers. McMorrow's point-by-point response was mailed to Javits on August 20 and reached him, after the weekend, on the twenty-fourth.

McMorrow confirmed that Michael's “death was caused by a missile wound to the chest which was the result of an artillery round which exploded when it hit a tree in his company area.” But because McMorrow then added, “He died before he could be removed to a medical facility,” the Mullens now wondered if Michael had
not
been killed instantly as they had been told and instead had lingered, suffering for an unspecified amount of time. McMorrow's letter continued: “Accordingly, the only medical record available is the Certificate of Death which was completed at the mortuary, signed by a medical officer and a mortician. A copy of this document, which confirms the cause of death, is enclosed.”

The enclosure was the same DA form 10-249 the Mullens had received that previous March 17 listing the mode of death as “accident,” the interval between onset and death as “unknown” and the cause of death “missile wound of chest.” The Mullens still questioned how it was possible for their son to have been killed by artillery and be perfectly whole. If the only wound Tom Loomis at the funeral home had found was a small puncture above his right kidney, why did the Army insist the wound was in Michael's chest? Michael, they believed, had been asleep when the shell hit. They knew their son usually slept on his left side. Loomis' placement of the wound made the most sense. Because of this confusion, the Mullens had requested a complete medical report. It was never sent because no such report ever existed.

“On 22 February the Chief of Support Services, Department of the Army, sent a message to Private Mullen's father.…” McMorrow's listing of their son as a “Private,” not “Sergeant,” was the sort of needless error which so infuriated the Mullens. The telegram containing information on the return of Michael's body also mistakenly listed his rank as “private.” The indifference to the details of their son's life suggested to the Mullens an equal indifference to the details of Michael's death.

The remainder of McMorrow's letter dealt with specifics: the problem the Army had had in securing the special escort requested by the Mullens, the Army's attempts to locate Michael's missing camera, the procedures the Mullens should follow to file their claim. Then a brief section was devoted to the itemization of Michael's final paycheck including the deduction for unearned leave.

Payment of the sum of $97.46, reflecting net unpaid pay and allowances, has been held in abeyance by the Finance Center pending receipt of the claim form signed by Mr. Mullen. That sum reflects a careful determination of remaining monies due him as beneficiary.

Your interest in this matter is appreciated.

Sincerely,

s/THOMAS F. McMORROW

Major, GS

Office, Chief of Legislative Liaison

Gene and Peg never did sign the claim form; to have signed it would have meant they accepted the Army's right to deduct nine days' leave from Michael's final pay.

Iowa's summer had given way to fall by the time the Mullens heard from Major McMorrow again. The first Arctic winds had come down to cool the gentle hills, the cottonwoods had begun to drop their leaves, and the pheasant hunters were back out in the fields yelling at their dogs to hunt close. McMorrow's second letter, written to Senator Harold Hughes in response to the Senator's request for information, was, like Javits' letter, forwarded to the Mullens in La Porte.

McMorrow repeated the previous details of Michael's death, then continued:.

Added information from the oversea command revealed that the artillery fire had been requested by the forward observer assigned to that company from the supporting artillery unit. It should be noted that an assigned forward observer for a company habitually lives and works with the supported unit at all times.

At the time of Sergeant Mullen's death, the forward observer was within the overall defensive area and was preparing to adjust fire on four specific locations. This is a standard precautionary measure, even though there was no contact with the enemy at the time. The preparatory action assures the rapid and accurate delivery of artillery fire at predetermined locations in the event of an enemy attack without requirement for the adjustment of fire during the attack itself. It is confirmed that the unit firing was a platoon of a U.S. Army artillery battery.

The Army, for the first time, had admitted an American forward observer had called in the artillery which had killed Michael Mullen. Peg realized that the one young man who could answer all their questions would be that forward observer—but, of course, the Mullens did not know his name. Remembering Lieutenant Colonel H. Norman Schwarzkopf's second letter—“Unfortunately, United States Army, Vietnam policy does not allow me to release the names of its servicemen”—Peg knew she'd never learn the name through the Army. McMorrow's letter continued: “Michael was not the acting platoon sergeant at the time of the incident, but he had previously performed in that capacity since he was a ranking enlisted man.”

McMorrow's allegation was in direct refutation of Culpepper's letter of March 16: “Your son was acting platoon sergeant at that time. He was a soldier like us all, but he was fair to everyone because he believed in right.” The Mullens thought if Michael had been the acting platoon sergeant, he would have been due more pay, but more than the denial of extra pay the Mullens resented the Army's repudiation of the accolade, the honor of the higher rank.

At the time of the accident, his platoon leader was in a defensive position approximately eight to ten feet from him. Other members of the unit within the immediate area included the company Commander, the Company First Sergeant, and the battalion chaplain, who were located within 30 feet of Sergeant Mullen's position.

Peg read that paragraph twice. At first she wasn't even sure what bothered her about it. It wasn't simply the lack of names; she was accustomed to that. It was something more. Then she recalled the description of the incident in Lieutenant Colonel Schwarzkopf's second letter and searched through her papers until she found it:

When the tragic incident occurred [Schwarzkopf had written] Michael's platoon leader was in a defensive position approximately eight to ten feet away from him. Other members of the unit were within the immediate area. The Company Commander, the Company First Sergeant, and the Battalion Chaplain were also located within thirty feet of Michael's position.

The almost exact duplication of the wording was more than coincidence, Peg felt; certainly the descriptions had been coordinated, but whether or not the similarities provided concrete evidence of a cover-up conspiracy, Peg couldn't be sure.

Every incident in which our personnel are fired upon by friendly forces is thoroughly investigated so that any warranted corrective action may be taken to preclude any recurrence. The loss of life of an Army member under such circumstances is a matter of deep concern to all commanders and is a source of untold grief to all those immediately involved.

Peg seized upon that first sentence. In May Senator Fulbright had forwarded to Peg Daniel Henkin's letter on how nonbattle casualties are listed. In that letter the Mullens had learned the accident was termed a “misadventure.” Henkin had also written, “I am informed that each instance where Americans have been killed by friendly artillery fire is investigated.” McMorrow's letter confirmed this fact. Somewhere, therefore, a report of such an investigation must exist. If Peg could read it, she would know exactly what had happened to her son.

McMorrow's next paragraph was in response to the Mullens' demand to know why no one was permitted to write them and why they had not heard from any of the other officers in Michael's unit:

Under established procedures the commander of a deceased or missing member's unit of assignment, the chaplain servicing that unit, or the installation commander will write a letter of sympathy to the next of kin and to his parents if they are not the designated next of kin. In accordance with the policy of the 1st Battalion, 6th Infantry, the battalion commander sent letters of sympathy in behalf of the battalion. In addition to the letter of sympathy, the battalion commander forwarded a letter dated 10 June 1970 to Mrs. Mullen in response to an inquiry he had received.

There is no censorship of mail from Vietnam. A serviceman who wants to communicate with the next of kin of a deceased comrade is not prevented from doing so; he is often encouraged. However, the member is under no obligation to correspond, and the extent of his communication is a matter of personal choice.

The Mullens did not believe this. They had Culpepper's letter of May 9: “Today we were informed of rights in the army. If any people have written to you in mail, the future is in jeparody.… For they can be courtmarshalled for mutiny and undermining the army. Don't publish any article of such writing for it would bring harm to people and their future. Anything sent to you can be censored as we are in a war zone.” Lieutenant Colonel Schwarzkopf, himself, later confirmed that Division had written the letters sent out under his signatures and that he had not been permitted to answer the Mullens' letters, although he had wished to.

McMorrow then defended the Army's classification of Michael as a nonbattle casualty: “It has been definitely established that Sergeant Mullen's death was not directly related to hostile action, nor was the presence of the enemy a contributing factor. Therefore, his death was correctly classified as non-hostile.”

The Mullens still smarted over that judgment. Michael, they knew, had been going out on a combat mission. With increasing bitterness and irritation, Peg Mullen read on:

At all levels the Army is keenly aware of the human feelings that are involved. Individuals designated to act as official representatives of the Army are carefully selected for their ability to perform this difficult task with tact and understanding. In view of the seriousness of allegations that Master Sergeant Waldo T. Fitzgerald made certain comments, a full report was requested from the Commanding General Fifth U.S. Army.

Information received indicates that when the parents saw the notifier in uniform accompanied by a Catholic priest, they immediately sensed the purpose of the visit and became very emotional. Approximately one-half hour later, when they were sufficiently composed, Sergeant Fitzgerald read the official casualty message he had received by telephone. It stated only that Sergeant Mullen died at a night defensive position when artillery fire from friendly forces landed in the area.