Read Online Friendly Fire by C. D. B.; Bryan - Free Book Online Page B

answer her, so Peg spoke again, “Did Michael die on Thursday?”
    â€œWhy do you ask me when he died?” Sergeant Fitzgerald said. “I haven’t told you your son is dead.”
    Peg glared at him with such utter contempt that the sergeant flinched. “You know the Army doesn’t come to tell parents that their sons are wounded!” Peg said. “You know the Army comes only when they’re dead! ”
    The sergeant again turned to the priest, waiting for Father Shimon to break the news, to speak. But the priest was incapable of talking.
    Very slowly, deliberately, almost threateningly, Gene Mullen pushed himself away from the sink and moved toward the two men. “Now I want to know the truth!” he told them. “Is … my … boy … dead?”
    Sergeant Fitzgerald looked at the priest, then back at Gene and said, “Yes.”
    And, “Yes-s-s-s,” Father Shimon said, too, as if he had been holding his breath all this time. “Yes, Gene, yes, Peg, I’m sorry, yes-s-s-s.”
    Gene sagged as if hit. He looked at Peg and she at him. Gene stumbled backward until he was again against the sink. He shook his head to and fro like a groggy fighter trying to clear his brain. He began to cry gentle tears that welled up hot in his eyes, overflowed and traced down his cheeks. “Why?” he said to no one in particular. “Why?”
    Peg had moved to the kitchen table and stood now gripping the wooden rung of a chairback until she felt herself under enough control to speak. Then she asked the sergeant how Michael had been killed.
    Sergeant Fitzgerald sorted through some papers and pulled one out. “I only know the official casualty message given me by Fifth Army Headquarters this morning over the phone.”
    â€œRead it,” Peg said.
    The sergeant lifted the paper to the light. “It states that ‘Sergeant (E-5) Michael Eugene Mullen, US 54 93—’ so on, ‘died while at a night defensive position when artillery fire from friendly forces landed in the area.’” Sergeant Fitzgerald’s hand dropped. “I’m sorry … I really am very sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Mullen.…” He put the paper away and began buttoning up his trench coat as if to leave. “Generally, at this time,” he said, “families of casualties prefer to be alone with their priests—”
    â€œSit down,” Peg said quietly.
    â€œPerhaps,” Sergeant Fitzgerald was saying, “tomorrow would be a better time to—”
    â€œSit down! ” Peg repeated firmly. “We’re going to talk about this message, this, this official casualty report.”
    Gene watched the sergeant leaf back through his papers, start to say, “Mrs. Mullen, I only—”
    â€œSergeant,” Gene ordered, “read that thing again.”
    Fitzgerald cleared his throat. “‘Sergeant (E-5) Michael Eugene Mullen, US 54 93 22 54, died while at a night defensive position when artillery fire from friendly forces landed in the area.’” He looked up from the paper. “That’s all it says … really.”
    â€œListen,” Gene said, “I was a master sergeant in the United States Army, myself, during World War Two, and I … and I.…” He stopped, no longer certain what the point was that he had wished to make.
    â€œWe’re going to talk about this message,” Peg said. “I want you to explain it to me. This word, what do you mean by ‘friendly’?”
    â€œIt merely means that it wasn’t enemy artillery,” the sergeant said. “Your son was killed by friendly fire.”
    â€œFriendly fire? Friendly fire?” Peg repeated incredulously.
    Sergeant Fitzgerald shrugged lamely. “It means any artillery from forces not the enemy.”
    â€œNot the enemy! Goddamn you!” Peg cried, beating the chairback with her fists in frustration.