Free Friendly Fire by C. D. B.; Bryan

“You couldn’t even give him the … the decency of being killed by the enemy!” She glared at the sergeant. “These, these ‘friendly forces not the enemy,’ how come the word ‘American’ isn’t used?”
    The back door opened, and Michael’s younger brother, John, finished with his chores came up the stairs and into the kitchen. He peered curiously at the Army sergeant first and next at the priest, then at his mother and father before quietly taking a place by the door.
    â€œWhy wasn’t the word ‘American’ used?” Peg repeated.
    â€œBecause it wasn’t ‘American,’” the sergeant said.
    â€œAnd why wasn’t the word ‘accidental’ there?”
    â€œBecause, Mrs. Mullen, it wasn’t an accident.”
    â€œWait a minute,” Peg warned ominously.
    Sergeant Fitzgerald began talking about the accidental shelling at Bien Hoa.
    â€œWe know all about Bien Hoa,” Peg snapped.
    â€œWell,” Sergeant Fitzgerald said, “this is how and where your son was killed.”
    There was a sudden moan, and before Peg could reach John, his knees buckled and he collapsed onto the floor. Gene rushed over and, with Peg, eased their son into a chair. “Oh, poor John,” Peg said, “are you all right?”
    â€œTake it easy, son,” Gene said.
    â€œMichael’s dead?” John asked.
    â€œWhat were you thinking?” Peg asked him. “I thought you knew. I thought seeing the Army car.…”
    â€œNo, I never, I never thought of Michael,” John said. “I thought they were after me! That I’d done something wrong!”
    John had registered for the draft only five days before.
    â€œWhat happened to Michael?” he asked.
    â€œThis sergeant is telling us,” Peg said.
    â€œBut is he …? Is Michael …?”
    â€œYes, son,” Gene said. “Mikey’s gone.”
    â€œAnd now,” Peg said, whirling on the sergeant, “we want to know how, and we want to know why!”
    â€œYou said you heard about Bien Hoa.…”
    â€œBien Hoa?” Peg said. “You don’t know very much! Michael wasn’t anywhere near Bien Hoa. My son was three, four hundred miles from there!”
    â€œGood God,” Sergeant Fitzgerald said, “it must have happened all over Vietnam that night.” He sat down at the kitchen table. “You understand, how it could have happened,” he said. “The Vietcong infiltrated these South Vietnamese artillery units, got onto their radio channels and called in the wrong artillery coordinates so that when the ARVN artillery fired, they hit Americans.” Sergeant Fitzgerald apologized for not having any more information than was contained in the official casualty message and added he did not want to say positively that this was what had happened to Michael, but the Vietcong had infiltrated ARVN radio channels in the past, and this is what might have happened to their son’s unit.
    Sergeant Fitzgerald next explained that the Mullens had the right to request a special escort to accompany Michael’s body back from Vietnam. If they had some special friend of Michael’s in mind, someone whom they would like to have return with Michael’s remains, they should let him know.
    â€œWell, it’s so soon, so sudden …” Peg said. “Michael had so many friends, I really don’t know.…”
    â€œThere’s no need to decide now,” Sergeant Fitzgerald said, “Either myself or another survivors’ assistance officer will call you tomorrow. Now,” the sergeant said, “What funeral home do you want your son’s body delivered to?”
    Peg and Gene looked at each other speechlessly.
    â€œWell, we don’t know,” Peg said.… “We really don’t know yet.”
    â€œHow long will it be before Michael … Michael’s body