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

returns?” Gene asked.
    â€œJust as soon as they have a plane full,” Sergeant Fitzgerald said.
    Peg said, “I know it won’t be long then.”
    â€œOne more thing, Sergeant,” Gene asked. “When will Michael’s death be announced on the news?”
    â€œAfter I notify Fort Leonard Wood that I’ve seen you, they’ll release it. That should be about two hours from now.”
    â€œTwo hours!” Peg protested. “You can’t! You’ve got to give us time to tell our other children. Our daughters are away at college, and we can’t let them hear about it on the radio. You’ve got to tell them to hold back the news.”
    â€œCan’t you call them?” Sergeant Fitzgerald asked. “You’ll have at least two hours.”
    â€œThey’ll be in classes,” Peg said. “I won’t be able to reach them until tonight. Can’t you wait?”
    â€œI’m sorry, Mrs. Mullen, I’m only a sergeant. I can’t tell the Army what to do.”
    â€œI can!” Peg said angrily. “I’m not afraid of the Army or the Pentagon. If you won’t do anything about it, then I’ll … I’ll call Senator Hughes in Washington. He’ll help.”
    â€œLook, Mrs. Mullen,” Sergeant Fitzgerald said, “you don’t have to do that. I’ll tell Fifth Army you want them to wait. They won’t release the news until you give them the go-ahead.”
    â€œGene, I can’t just tell Mary and Patricia over the phone. They’d.…” She shook her head helplessly.
    â€œWhat about your sister?” Gene asked.
    â€œLouise?” Peg thought for a moment. “She could maybe drive to Kansas City and pick up Mary.…”
    â€œIf there’s nothing else …” Sergeant Fitzgerald said. He was standing by the door, ready to leave.
    â€œI’ll walk you out,” Gene said.
    â€œThat’s not necessary,” Sergeant Fitzgerald said. “Oh, and, Father Shimon? You’ll stay a little longer, won’t you?”
    â€œOf course, Sergeant, of course,” the priest said.
    Peg looked at Father Shimon and shrugged. Back in November, after a Sunday service, she had stopped on the way out of church to ask Father Shimon to say some special prayers for Michael. “You’ve got to pray for him, Father,” she had said. “He hasn’t got a chance!”
    â€œOh, I know, I know,” Shimon replied, taking Peg by the arm to move her out of the path of his other parishioners. “I do pray for him, I’m praying for him every day. We pray for all our servicemen.”
    Peg telephoned her friend in La Porte to tell her that Michael was dead and to ask if she would be good enough to drive the seventy-five miles to Iowa City to inform Patricia, who was a senior at the University of Iowa there. Peg next called her sister, Louise Petersen, and asked her to pick up Mary, who was a freshman at Rockhurst College, Michael’s alma mater, in Kansas City. Then she telephoned her brothers, Bill Goodyear in Omaha and Howard Goodyear in Pittsburgh. She did not cry. She kept the calls short; she remained strong and in control of herself. She informed them only of what she knew so far, that Michael had been killed by South Vietnamese artillery. Her brothers told her they would arrive at the farm as soon as possible. When she finished, she saw that Sergeant Fitzgerald had left and Gene was waiting to use the phone.
    Gene telephoned the local newspapers and television stations and gave them what little details he knew and begged them not to release the news until they had been able to inform their daughters. While Gene was doing that, Peg began drawing up a list of those persons they would need to contact.
    â€œNow, Peg,” Father Shimon said, joining Peg at the table, “ah-h, I didn’t know Michael very well and I’m sure you’ll want, ah-h, someone