Welcome Home
7:30 a.m., April 5, 1991
Shot through the heart,
And you’re to blame,
You give love a bad name.~ Bon Jovi, You Give Love a Bad Name
“Bye honey, I’m leaving for work,” called Virginia from downstairs. “Do you want to meet for lunch somewhere?”
“Sure, how about Adolph’s?”
“OK, see you there at twelve thirty.”
The door slammed shut, leaving me alone in my El Paso, Texas apartment. I glimpsed out the window and saw Virginia’s car drive off. Time to get to work.
The day I had arrived home from the gulf, the wives of three different friends told me all about Virginia’s escapades while I had been gone. Refusing to believe them, I did some detective work on my own. I quickly discovered that my entire life savings I had brought into the relationship was gone. There was a $10,000 debt in its place. Every paycheck I’d earned in blood in the gulf had been spent in its entirety. I soon uncovered trips to Acapulco, Mazatlan, Cancun and Puerto Vallarta. There were forged credit cards and signature loans in my name. She’d had at least four different boyfriends.
The final straw was when Eubie’s wife presented me with some telephone recordings. “I knew Virginia would deny everything, so I made these,” she said.
Virginia’s voice issued forth from the tiny recorder.
“Yeah, I took out over a million dollars of life insurance on him. I can’t wait for him to get blown away. Then me and Edmundo can get a beach house in Cancun.”
“Who’s Edmundo,” came the voice of Mrs. Eubank. “I thought you were seeing Carlos.”
“Carlos was last week. Edmundo makes a lot more money.”
About fifty percent of the married and partnered soldiers in the squadron shared my fate. There was no middle ground. Half the women had been absolute saints. The other half had been absolute sluts, and the queen slut amongst them had been Virginia. I walked out the back door and waved to two men sitting in a U-Haul truck.
“She’s gone,” I told them. I held up a hundred dollar bill. “This is yours if you clear the place out by eleven.”
“No problem señor,” said the larger of the two.
The place was empty by ten thirty, except for what Virginia had owned before we met, a set of cheap, velvet pictures.
“Here’s an extra twenty for your effort,” I told the workers. “You know where to drop it off.”
“Right my man, the self-storage place.”
I tossed the brief goodbye letter on the carpet in front of the door on my way out. “Hasta la vista, bitch.”
The Cover Up Begins
Noon, June 12, 1991
I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and it has been painted black
Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts
It’s not easy facin’ up when your whole world is black~ Rolling Stones, Painted Black
Rick Cortes and I stood in the reviewing stand on the Fort Bliss parade field. Both of us had just relinquished our troops to eager young staff captains, who would now improve upon our deeds. We watched our former units march by under the direction of their new commanders, a bittersweet experience. My world was slowly coalescing from the ugly mess it had become over the past year. My fluency in German and Dutch had won me an appointment as a Foreign Area Officer. No more tanks and endless field exercises in environmental extremes. It would be embassy duty from now on. As an additional boon, the Army was paying for me to get a master’s degree and then sending me to learn French at the Defense Language Institute. I was looking forward to eighteen months of college life with captain’s pay. The culmination of all this training would be a two year tour of duty in Brussels, Belgium. I had worked very hard for this assignment since my graduation from West Point. The next four years were going to be much better than the previous eight.
I drove back to my house to start my one month vacation. A stack of mail greeted me as I opened the door. The “Department of the Army” return address on one of the letters caught my eye. My new orders! I hastily ripped open the envelope. Yes, it was from the foreign area office! I rapidly scanned the contents.
We regret to inform you that your previous selection as a foreign area officer has been canceled. You are currently a promotion risk and, as such, not eligible for the program. You will be returned to your basic branch for reassignment.
This was impossible! Promotion risk? Bullshit! I’d had excellent evaluations throughout my career and was one of the few combat veterans in my year group. I’d even won the Bronze Star (not in conjunction with the fratricide incident) in the gulf. Didn’t that count for anything? There must be some mistake. I dialed Lieutenant Colonel Daly’s telephone number. Maybe he could pull in some of his high powered clout to find out what was going on.
“Hello Sir, Captain Friesen here. I just received a letter from DA canceling my FAO appointment. It stated that I have become a promotion risk. Do you know anything about this, Sir?”
“I uh … well, no Bo. This is a surprise to me.”
“Is there anything you can do to help me out with this, Sir?
“Let me make some inquiries. Stop by my office tomorrow morning and we’ll see what we can do.”
“Thank you Sir, I appreciate this.”
I sat in Daly’s office at 9 a.m. the next morning. Beads of sweat glistened from the pores in his forehead as he pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.
“Well Bo, it seems that Colonel Starr gave you a below average evaluation.”
“When was this, Sir?”
“Quite recently, I believe. Just before he departed last month, when Colonel Ivany took over the regiment.”
“Do you know for what reason?”
“Uh…no, probably just a personality conflict.”
“Personality conflict?! Could you talk to him about it, Sir?”
“I don’t know….probably wouldn’t do much good. Have you considered civilian employment?”
“What do you mean, Sir? Its not that bad is it?”
“Listen to me Bo. Things don’t always go as we want them to. My father, for instance, only made it to brigadier general. Sometimes you have to do what’s best for the Army and not just what’s best for yourself.”
“I don’t believe I’m hearing this, Sir. Are you saying I should just roll over and let Colonel Starr do this to me? How could that possibly be best for the Army? I’ll go to my congressman first. I’m definitely appealing his evaluation.”
“Now…now…now don’t be rash Bo,” said Daly, droplets appearing on his forehead again. “Its best if you just let sleeping dogs lie. You’re a very bright person. I’m sure you could find a very rewarding career in the civilian sector.”
“The Army is my career, Sir. I’ve put twelve years into it and I don’t intend to lose it over an evaluation from one person who has seen me in action for a total of ten minutes. Colonel Starr was totally unaware of what went on in the units. He virtually never visited them.”
“Bo, I’ll tell you one last time. Don’t make an issue of this. It wouldn’t be smart.”
“Thanks for all your help, Sir,” I spat back as I exited Daly’s office.
The Plot Thickens
11:15 a.m., June 20, 1991
I must’ve dreamed a thousand dreams,
Been haunted by a million screams,
I can hear the marching feet,
They’re moving into the street.~ Genesis, Land of Confusion
I was on the Umm Hajul airfield again, but something was out of place. The sky wasn’t dark, it was blood red, and I lay on the sandy ground instead of being in my tank. Suddenly powerful hands grabbed me from behind and lifted me to my feet. I struggled, but the unknown person held me firmly in his grip. A sound like ripping paper rent the air and I felt myself sailing back to the ground. I landed heavily on my stomach and rolled over…just in time to see Lance Fielder on his knees next to me. His eyes were wide open and his lips framed the words “Oh my God.”
The ripping sound repeated and Lance’s chest erupted with several small holes. He clutched ineffectually at his flak jacket and fell forward. A pool of blood began oozing towards me in the sand. Hearing a roaring noise, I looked up and saw a Bradley racing towards me. Smoke belched from its exhaust fan and red fingers of death licked out at me from its coaxial machine gun. It was almost on top of me. I could just make out its tactical designation … THUNDER SIX! Nooooooooo! …… a loud ringing assailed my ears….
….the telephone on my night stand virtually exploded with noise. I groped for the receiver, knocking over a half empty glass of Jim Beam. My head throbbed painfully and the room was still a bit out of focus. Where the hell was I? What time was it? I managed to get the receiver to my ear.
“Yeah?”
“Is this Captain Friesen?”
“What do you want?”
“I have some information I think you’ll find very interesting.”
“Who the hell is this?”
“I can’t tell you that, but I work at the regimental headquarters. A lot of people are really pissed off about what happened to you. We think you got a raw deal.”
“Yeah, so do I, but there’s not much I can do about it. How do you know about what happened to me?” My brain screamed in protest.
“I heard Colonel Starr and Lieutenant Colonel Daly talking last month, just before Starr left for the Pentagon.”
I was instantly awake. “I’m listening.”
“Starr was telling Daly that they had to find a fall guy for the Umm Hajul airfield incident, or they would both be through. Daly seemed real nervous.”
“What else did they say?”
“Starr told Daly that you would be the perfect guy to take the rap, since it was your troop on the airfield. Daly agreed with him and Starr said he would take care of it.”
“Take care of it … how?”
“Starr said something about an evaluation that would satisfy some general that your career was over.”
“Son of a bitch! You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you more. Look Sir, I hope that things work out for you.”
“Thanks. Look, let me buy you a beer or something. I promise that I won’t tell anybody who you are.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got a family and I’m only a few years away from retirement. I don’t need any problems. Good luck ….” Click!
My temporarily relieved headache returned with a vengeance. So, Starr and Daly in a conspiracy. Fall guy. Both of them were fellow West Pointers. It was a bitter pill to swallow and I didn’t have a shred of proof against them. I needed time to figure something out. Most of all, I needed a powerful ally somewhere.
An Unexpected Ally
7:00 p.m., October 18, 1991
I sat in the living room sharing a German Weizenbier with my father, who had recently returned from an extended vacation in Europe. I was no longer a member of the 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment. My branch had told me they didn’t care where I went, so I found a nondescript office job at the Fort Bliss headquarters. My position title was Reassignable Overstrength. It was the perfect epitaph to my murdered career. I intended to resign from the Army as soon as all of the debts my ex had incurred were paid off.
The people I worked for were a decent lot. They were mostly air defense artillery officers who neither knew nor cared about my predicament. That suited me just fine.
“You know,” drawled my father in his thick Rhineland accent, “the pieces are all falling into place.”
“How’s that?”
“What they did to you reminds me exactly of what the Nazis would have done to cover their tracks. Except instead of killing you, they only killed your career.”
“They certainly did that. I’ve got to take some kind of action.”
“Do you have enough evidence yet?”
“Quite a bit more than I started out with, but almost everyone is too scared to open their mouth.”
“Of course they are. They all saw what happened to you.”
The telephone interrupted our discourse.
“Hello?”
“Is this Captain Bo Friesen’s residence?”
“That depends. Who are you?”
“My name is Bart Gellman. I’m a staff writer for the Washington Post.” I motioned for my father to get on the other telephone.
“How can you prove that?”
“I don’t know,” he chuckled, “what do you suggest.”
My mind raced. “There was a Post photographer with the 3rd Armored Cavalry during Desert Storm. What was his name?”
“That would be Lucian Perkins.” Bingo!
“This is Bo Friesen Mr. Gellman, how can I help you?”
“Would you be willing to talk about the Umm Hajul airfield incident?”
“Possibly, but I don’t want to be the butt of some press slander campaign.”
“That’s not at all what I had in mind. Were you aware that the Army lied to Lance Fielder’s family about the circumstances of his death?”
“No, I haven’t heard anything about the incident since an Army lawyer concluded the investigation.”
“Well, the Army told the Fielders that Lance had been killed by Iraqis. They didn’t find out the truth until some months later, when a soldier from Lance’s unit called them. Do you have access to the findings of the investigation?”
“No. They promised me that I would get a copy, but I never did.”
“I have one here in front of me.” My interest perked up considerably. “I obtained it through the Freedom of Information Act. Let me read some of it to you.”
I glanced at my father as Bart read from the report. He winked and nodded at me. We had found the ally we were looking for.
“What would you like to know Bart?” I said when he finished. “I’ll help you any way I can.”
I walked into my office an hour late on the following Monday morning, confident that nobody would notice. There were some advantages to being “reassignable overstrength.” “Where the hell have you been, Captain? exclaimed my boss. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
They obviously had not tried my house, I mused to myself.
“The General wants to see you! Get up to the Chief of Staff’s office right now!”
“Right away, Sir.”
I headed for the elevator. The Deputy Chief of Staff stopped me as I exited the elevator on the top floor. I was now on sacred ground.
“Get into my office, Captain!”
I must be in deep shit. They were all addressing me by my rank. At least I was being seen by one of the cardinals instead of the pope himself.
“Sit down. What do you know about this?” said the Deputy, tossing a newspaper at me.
I glanced down and saw my picture on the front page of the Washington Post’s Sunday edition. The headline read, Friendly Fire: Captain Friesen, the leader of the armored formation called a cease-fire on the troop radio net from his tank before Fielder was killed.
“Not much, Sir. I spoke with Mr. Gellman briefly on Friday evening.”
“You did what!?! Why didn’t you clear that through the Public Affairs Office?”
“I was speaking as a private citizen, Sir. None of the material I revealed was classified.”
“What you did was irresponsible and casts an unfavorable light on the Army, not to mention this headquarters!”
“Sir, I have no ax to grind with the Army or this headquarters. I was treated unjustly by my previous unit however, and I feel I have the right to speak out about that.”
The Deputy’s eyes gleamed with fire, but he relaxed and leaned back in his chair. “Friendly fire occurs in every war.” I noticed he didn’t have a combat patch on his right shoulder. How would he know? “What happened wasn’t your fault, Bo.” He used my first name, a new tactic. What was he going after? “Rehashing this won’t bring that kid back to life. Sometimes its better to let sleeping dogs lie.”
Who was this guy? Daly’s brother? I nodded obediently to him for the next ten minutes and then left his office, wondering if I’d placated the high command. The mood in my office was quiet when I returned. The useless mound of paperwork on my desk beckoned to me. I sat down and dived in with mock enthusiasm. “Hey Sir,” whispered the Master Sergeant at the desk next to mine. “Way to go!” He winked and held up a facsimile of the Washington Post article. “I’m glad that somebody around here has some balls.”
Bart Gellman called several days later and told me that Lance Fielder’s mother, Debbie Shelton, had wanted to get in touch with me. I felt uneasy, but gave him permission to release my telephone number to her. I sat nervously at home until the phone rang.
“Hello, Captain Friesen? This is Debbie Shelton.”
“Please call me Bo, Mrs. Shelton,” I stammered.
“Then please call me Debbie.”
“OK”
“I don’t quite know what to say.”
“Neither do I Mrs…uh…Debbie. I just want to tell you how sorry I am that I couldn’t prevent Lance’s death.”
“I don’t blame you for that Bo,” Debbie sobbed. “You did everything you could.”
“I wish I could have done more. If there is anything at all I can do to help you, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“Thank you. You’ve done quite a bit already by coming forward. It was a very brave thing to do, sacrificing your career like that. The Army has been forced to re-open the investigation because of Gellman’s article. Several senators and congressmen have taken an interest in the incident.”
“My career was over anyway Debbie. Even so, it was nothing compared to the sacrifice Lance made.”
“Can you tell me how he died? I’ve read all the reports, but I’d like to hear it from someone who was there. Did you see it happen.”
“Yes, I did,” I choked back the tears. “It was very fast. I don’t think he suffered. He was helping another soldier to safety when a machine gun burst hit him.”
“Was he shooting at you?”
“No, he didn’t even have a weapon in his hand.”
“Was it Lieutenant Colonel Daly’s vehicle that killed him?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Then it was in cold blood, even if they had been Iraqis?”
I could think of no kind way to phrase it. “Yes, it was.”
“Oh my God.”
“I know this is of small comfort Debbie, but Lance was the bravest person out there on that airfield.”
“What do you mean.”
“Well…we were all sitting in our tanks, behind four feet of steel. Lance’s fellow engineers were all dug in. Lance was the only one with enough courage to expose himself. He did it to try to save one of his comrades. Considering the large force of tanks they were facing, Lance acted with great valor.”
“That is of very great comfort. Thank you, Bo.”
I could not frame a reply.
“Would you mind if I called again some time?” asked Mrs. Shelton.
“Please feel free any time. If there is anything at all I can do to help, please let me know. I mean that.”
“Thank you, good bye.”
I replaced the receiver and took a beer out of the refrigerator. I felt as though a massive weight had been lifted from my shoulders. No, I was not responsible for Lance Fielder’s death. Daly and Starr were. I did however, feel a strong obligation to his family. I silently vowed to help them in any way I could.
The Investigation
1:45 p.m., November 4, 1991
Don’t turn around, oh oh,
Der Kommissar’s in town, oh oh~ After the Fire, Der Kommissar
“Telephone, Captain F,” called out the secretary.
“Thanks Lisa. Captain Friesen here.”
“Sir, this is Lieutenant Morris. I’m the aide-de-camp to Brigadier General Halley, the 18th Airborne Corps Artillery Commander. The General is conducting an investigation into the Umm Hajul airfield fratricide. He requests your presence at the Chaparral House in Fort Bliss at 0830 hours on 7 November. Will that be all right with you, Sir?”
‘Requests’ my ass, it was a direct order. “Please inform the General that I would be happy to meet him at that time, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, Sir. Airborne!” The line went dead.
This piqued my curiosity. I immediately headed for the installation protocol office. They would know about all generals entering or leaving the area. I entered the office under the pretense of seeing if some obscure ceremony we were planning would conflict with the presence of general officers at Fort Bliss. The secretary motioned me to the status board. I quickly found what I was looking for. Brigadier General Fred N. Halley – Chaparral House – 7-21 Nov 91. The investigator was staying for two, whole weeks. This would be an in-depth affair.
I called one of my few remaining friends in the 3rd Cavalry when I returned to my office. Virtually everybody else I knew had spurned me like a leper after the Washington Post article became common knowledge, at least all of those who were captain or above.
“Have any of you been alerted to meet with some general flying down from Fort Bragg next Monday?” I asked.
“Damn near the entire unit. Daly is holding a massive number of meetings to ‘clear the air’ as he calls it.”
“When did you find out about it?”
“A few days ago.”
“That’s odd, they didn’t inform me until today.”
“That’s not all that’s odd. Daly’s brother-in-law, one of the infamous Abrams generals, is flying into town on the 6th.”
“He’s not on the post protocol list.”
“Of course not. This is all incognito. He’s flying commercial. Everything’s very hush-hush. The staff duty officer overheard Daly making the arrangements.”
“That is a very interesting piece of information indeed. I’ll stop by the unit some time for a visit.”
“Nothing personal Bo, but I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“I understand. Talk to you later.”
“Sure. Bye.”
This was very strange, to say the least. General Abram’s behind the scenes visit just happened to coincide with the arrival of the investigating officer, who also happened to be a general. I wondered what else might be going on behind the scenes.
I walked across the street to the Chaparral House, a luxurious little dwelling reserved for traveling VIPs. I glanced at my watch — 8:25 a.m. Unfamiliar with the layout of the building, I twisted the door knob and poked my right foot into the room. An outstretched arm stopped me short. “Sorry Captain, we’re still with the first witness. You’ll have to wait outside.” Give me a break! It was freezing cold out there. I selected one of the fragile looking Victorian chairs on the patio and gingerly occupied it, fearing the wrath of the aristocracy should it collapse. Thirty minutes later, Lieutenant Colonel Daly’s spare frame exited the door. “Yes Sir, we’ll have to get together again some time,” he called back into the house. He turned around and seemed to have a small seizure when he saw me. “Hi Bo,” he squeaked and hastily descended the steps to the street. I was next.
I entered the door and saw three individuals sitting at the far end of a long table. At one corner was a captain, an army lawyer, and at the other was a female staff sergeant, probably a para-legal. At the head of the table sat Brigadier General Fred N. Halley, his uniform bedecked with a sea of decorations. I noticed that he had several Silver Stars for heroism in combat.
“Good morning, Captain,” said the General. “Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like some coffee?”
“No thank you, Sir.”
“Well then, lets get down to business. As you know, I am investigating the Umm Hajul fratricide. Captain Cook will read you the privacy act and we can get started.”
The lawyer droned out the speech I was thoroughly familiar with and I gave my consent to answer any and all questions.
“Good,” said Halley. “Is there anything you would like to say before we begin, Captain?”
“Yes Sir. I’ve prepared an information packet, outlining in detail what transpired on the night of 26 February.” I handed him a ten page document I had prepared over the weekend.
The General began reading it, his eyes growing wider with every second. He passed each page to the lawyer as he completed it, who, in turn, passed it to the paralegal. “Excuse us for a moment,” he said after he finished. He motioned for his two assistants to follow him into the next room. I caught snatches of conversation though the thin walls.
“Don’t quite know how to proceed from here … need more guidance … your recommendations?”
They all returned after a few minutes.
“These are some serious allegations,” stated General Halley. Captain Cook looked a bit worried. The staff sergeant smiled, apparently amused by her superiors’ discomfort.
“Yes Sir, they are, and I stand by them.
“So, you say Colonel Daly almost caused several more friendly killings during the assault?”
“Yes Sir.”
“What leads you to believe that?”
“Sir, its all in my report.”
“Isn’t it possible that your unit was a little trigger happy?”
I saw red and fought to bring my emotions back under control. “Absolutely not, Sir.” I retorted icily. “On the contrary, we displayed remarkable restraint. Colonel Daly made many potentially fatal errors during this operation. First, he attacked the airfield without conducting any reconnaissance to find out what was there. Second, he approached my unit without warning from an exposed flank, seriously endangering the lives of the twenty soldiers in his command group. Third, he dismounted soldiers in my sector during a fire fight without informing my unit. These soldiers could have been shot by any one of my vehicles. Fourth, he countermanded my orders and needlessly sent my scouts into an unsecured area in which a vehicle was exploding. It was sheer luck that these scouts did not die during the final, massive explosion.”
“All of Colonel Daly’s actions were in direct violation of Army doctrine and regulations. Furthermore, these actions were reckless, irresponsible and unnecessary. Colonel Daly was extremely lucky that we did not lose twenty or thirty more American soldiers because of his actions. All of this occurred during an operation in which we never even saw a single enemy soldier. It was only my unit’s restraint that prevented several additional tragedies. If these would have occurred, I would have been made the scapegoat for them as well.”
“Calm down Captain,” soothed General Halley. “Nobody’s making you the scapegoat for anything. I intend to get to the bottom of this affair.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Now, lets get on with the questions.” He asked me a few more generalities that I had covered in the report. I assured him that the fatal burst had come from Daly’s vehicle and that Fielder had been unarmed at that time.
“Do you have any final statements, Captain Friesen?”
“Yes Sir. Two very important questions concerning this incident have never been addressed. Number one: Where did the order to attack the airfield originate? Number two: Where did the false information about an Iraqi battalion occupying the airfield originate? I believe the answers to both these questions will shed a great deal of light upon what went wrong at Umm Hajul.”
“Well, the airfield had been on the corps’ target list, but those are some valid questions Captain. You can be sure this investigation will answer them.” The General concluded the interrogation and escorted me to the door. He stepped out onto the porch with me for a brief moment.
“I just wanted to tell you Captain, that you did the right thing out there on that airfield. I know you’ve been through a very difficult time.” I couldn’t believe my ears. Somebody was actually taking my side in this issue! “However, you are a victim of this just as much as Lance Fielder — a victim of bad luck.” At that moment I realized he was soft-soaping me. I knew I would get no help from his quarter. “We should have this wrapped up within a month,” he said. “I’ll make sure you get a copy of the final report.” It seemed I’d heard that promise before somewhere. “Please remain available at your office for recall.”
“Yes Sir.” I saluted and made my way down the steps.
It was 6:00 p.m. and the desire to go home confronted me. I dialed the number to the Chaparral House to inform them of my whereabouts. The mess sergeant serving as the butler answered the telephone.
“No Sir. The General and his party departed a few hours ago.”
“When will they be back?”
“Sir, they departed for Fort Bragg.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.”
I hung up and dialed the number to my friend in the 3rd Cavalry. “Hi, this is Bo. How many of you guys were called in for questioning today?”
“Just Daly. Twice, once at 0730 and again at about 0930.”
“You’re sure nobody else got called in?”
“Positive. We were waiting until this afternoon, when a call came in saying that the General had departed for Fort Bragg again. What a waste of time!”
“It sure sounds like it. Thanks.”
I replaced the receiver and rocked back in my chair. This entire affair was taking on the manner of a cheap mystery novel. Why would the General fly back on the same day he arrived, especially after he had made reservations for two weeks? Then there was the question of the dozens of witnesses who were never called in. Daly however, had been called in again after I was questioned. Did the General fly home to confer with his superiors about the best course of action to take regarding my allegations? I was in no position to find out. I had no choice but to wait for the final report.
Taking the Offensive
9:45 a.m., January 6, 1992
Hot on the run from the grip of the power game,
The man who leads the way, the man who leads the way.
Shell in its box from his home that they’ll never tame,
The man who leads the way, the man who leads the way.~ Wang Chung, Fire in the Twilight
I moistened the seal on the last of eight packets and pressed it shut. One month had come and gone without even a whisper about the investigation. I gave the boys at Fort Bragg another month for good measure and then took matters into my own hands.
I had prepared packets regarding the Umm Hajul incident and its aftermath for seven prominent congressmen and senators. The Secretary of the Army would receive a courtesy copy. Each packet contained the same information I had given Brigadier General Halley, along with several more sheets of pertinent facts. I implored each official to personally look into this matter. The packets would be in the mail today.
Retaliation
6:15 p.m., January 13, 1992
Welcome to the jungle
It gets worse here everyday
You learn to live like an animal
In the jungle where we play~ Guns N Roses, Welcome to the Jungle
I pulled my car into the driveway of my parents’ house after a long drive back to El Paso from Ruidoso, New Mexico. I had taken four days of vacation to relax in the Lincoln National Forest. I was thoroughly exhausted from all my relaxation and looked forward to a good night of sleep before facing my mundane job the next day.
“Well, well, well,” chortled my father. “The most important man in the U.S. Army has returned. Did the FBI drag you off the ski slopes?”
I shot him a disdainful look. “Aren’t we in a humorous mood today,” I replied.
“Its going to get quite a bit more humorous, son. The Army’s been looking for you since Saturday morning.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That there are no telephones in the forest and they would, therefore, have to wait until your return. It would seem the letters to congress have them running scared.” [Mobile phones did not exist yet in 1991.]
An urgent knock on the door punctuated his statement. I tugged on the knob and came face to face with my boss, who was in a heavily agitated state.
“Captain Friesen, thank God I’ve found you,” he blurted. “Where have you been? We’ve been searching for days!”
“On vacation, remember …”
“Never mind. Here are travel orders and a plane ticket to Fort Bragg. Your flight leaves in three hours.”
“Sir, I just got back into town and I have several urgent projects needing my attention at the office.”
“Don’t worry about that. Just be on the flight. The orders came directly from the 18th Airborne Corps Commander. They also state you are to bring a copy of your congressional correspondence with you. I have no idea what this is about, but Lieutenant Colonel Daly has also been ordered to Fort Bragg. Have a nice flight.” He turned on his heel and was gone.
“Airline tickets hand-delivered to our residence personally by your boss,” said my father from the shadows. “You must be a special person indeed.”
“What do you think this is all about?”
“I think the boys in green are finally listening.”
I sat in the room of my Fort Bragg transient officer quarters munching on a cold pizza crust and watching MTV. This was my third day in wonderful “Airborne Country.” The incessant drone of aircraft from Pope Air Force Base and austere surroundings made me glad I was not an infantryman. Still, I had to respect these soldiers who were always the first to be placed in harm’s way. They made our job as tankers much easier.
On my first day at Fort Bragg, I quickly realized that I was not here to shed any light on the investigation. The brass had called me here to keep me away from the press. General Halley rehashed the same questions he had asked in Fort Bliss, with a few more thrown in about my allegations that Starr and Daly had conspired to destroy my career. It could all have been handled over the telephone instead of costing the American taxpayers several thousand dollars.
“Remain available in your room in case we need to ask you some more questions,” Halley had said. I was called in two more times for the same drill. I began wondering how long they would keep me here when the phone rang, drowning out Tom Petty on the tube.
“Captain Friesen,” I answered.
“Sir, this is Sergeant Perkins from 18th Airborne Corps headquarters. You are no longer needed for questioning and may return to Fort Bliss at your earliest convenience.”
“Thank you sergeant,” I replied and hung up the telephone.
My earliest convenience would be as fast as I could get to the Fayetteville airport. The press had apparently lost interest and I was a free man once again.
Intrigue
January-April 1992
The next four months passed in a frenzy of moves and counter-moves. The chess game of the conspiracy progressed at an alternatingly maddening, then stagnant, pace. I moved one set of pieces, but I was always unsure as to whom my actual opponent was. Starr? Daly? The entire army? A certain general somewhere? The Abrams dynasty? I despaired of ever finding out or obtaining justice for myself and the Fielders. I received veiled threats virtually every week, stating that the “General didn’t want to hear any more about this issue.” The General apparently was more interested in good public relations than the truth. It seemed as though the web of deceit grew thicker every day.
Colonel Douglas Starr had been forced to retire from the Army just three weeks before he was due to be promoted to brigadier general. This was not due to his involvement with the airfield incident, but rather for his fondness of female enlisted soldiers. He had finally been caught in carnal abandon with a shapely private first class. The Senate had pulled him from the promotion list and he’d received his walking papers. It was even rumored that his wife had divorced him. The entire matter, of course, remained confidential. The official reason for Starr’s retirement was that he could not afford to send his children to college on a brigadier general’s salary. Ninety thousand dollars a year was simply not enough money. [Average college cost in 1991 was $5,000/year.] Starr had dismissed a captain for allegations of adultery just before we left for the Middle East. Apparently the colonel lived by a set of moral standards different from those he expected of his men.
The Army had conducted two more investigations into Lance Fielder’s death, bringing the total to five. The Army Inspector General’s Office (IG) conducted an additional two investigations into why Lance’s family had been told that Iraqis had killed their son. The first IG investigation determined that it was a “miscommunication” caused by lack of documentation accompanying the body back to the 3rd Cavalry’s regimental aid station. I talked to my former executive officer, Aaron McClain, about this. Aaron had resigned from the Army and was now living in Montana. He told me that he had attached a casualty report tag to Fielder’s uniform with a safety pin before zipping him into a body bag. This tag contained information indicating Lance had been a victim of friendly fire. He told Debbie Shelton the same thing during a separate telephone conversation. Debbie and I made the IG aware of these facts.
The second IG investigation returned the same finding as the first. Incredulous, I called up McClain to see what he had told them. His number had been disconnected and the operator was unable to help me locate him. He had dropped out of sight shortly after being questioned by the IG. During this time my old troop First Sergeant stepped forward to proclaim that the casualty tag had been “blown away” by rotor wash from the evacuation helicopter. I failed to see how that could have occurred when it was pinned to Fielder’s uniform and zipped into the body bag before the helicopter arrived. Furthermore, several of my former soldiers told me that the First Sergeant had not even been at the evacuation site. He had departed after becoming violently ill when he saw Fielder’s body. The IG did not solicit comments from these soldiers. The First Sergeant, incidentally, was still working for Daly.
I talked with Debbie Shelton, who had been working closely with MacArthur Foundation researcher Patricia Axelrod to examine the IG findings. More disturbing inconsistencies surfaced. Thoroughly sifting through hundreds of pages of testimonies, they discovered that Lance’s body had arrived at the regimental aid station wrapped only in plastic. When the body left the airfield, it had been fully clothed and wearing a flak jacket. The IG maintained that the evacuation helicopter flew straight from the airfield to the aid station, making it impossible for anyone to tamper with the body before it arrived. Regimental radio logs however, stated that the very same helicopter had landed at the regimental headquarters for fifteen minutes prior to flying to the aid station. The IG conveniently ignored all of these facts.
Debbie and Patricia firmly believed that the documentation had been removed from Lance’s body prior to its evacuation to the aid station. I had to admit that this seemed very likely. Did Colonel Starr or one of his subalterns remove this documentation during the fifteen minutes the helicopter was at the regimental headquarters? Were they trying to prevent a stain on the honor of the 3rd Cavalry? It was doubtful these questions would ever be answered.
Punishment
2:35 p.m., May 15, 1992
Lunatic Fringe,
In the twilight’s last gleaming.
This is open season,
But you won’t get too far.
We know you’ve got to blame someone,
For your own confusion,
But we’re on guard this time,
Against your final solution.~ Tom Cochrane (Red Ryder), Lunatic Fringe
“Telephone for you, Captain Friesen.”
I turned from my vital mission of planning a tree planting ceremony and cradled the receiver in my hand.
“This is Major Smith from the Fort Bliss Staff Judge Advocate Office.”
The army lawyers. What did they want? “How can I help you, Sir?”
“I’m calling to see if you mailed your correspondence to Fort McPherson.”
I was without a clue. “What correspondence, Sir?”
“Your reply to General Burba.” General Burba was the Commanding General of Forces Command, all the Army combat units located within the continental United States.
“You have me at a loss, Sir. A reply to what?”
“You mean to tell me you have no idea what I’m talking about, Captain?”
“None whatsoever. Please enlighten me.” My patience grew thin. What kind of game was this guy playing?
“General Burba issued you a formal letter of reprimand on 14 April. You have missed the 30 day period to submit matters in your defense.”
“Is this in connection with the Umm Hajul airfield incident, Major?”
“I believe so.”
“Sir, I never received notification of this reprimand.”
“That’s impossible! A general officer was supposed to formally serve you with it within days of it being signed. It will now automatically go into your record because you did not rebut it.”
“How many times do I have to say this, Sir? I did not receive any notification. Do you have any suggestions about what I can do?”
“Absolutely. We’ll prepare an acknowledgment of receipt and send it to Forces Command. If they don’t accept it, you can take legal action against them for depriving you of due process.”
“One question, Sir. Do you think this was deliberate?”
“I couldn’t even hazard a guess about that, Captain. One thing I can tell you however, this is the first time I’ve ever seen a letter from a general not make it to the addressee.”
I mailed the acknowledgment the next day and the rebuttal two weeks later. I received no reply from General Burba for the next two months, but I was able to get my hands on the investigation that sparked the reprimand. It was over 1,000 pages in length, but still did not answer the two crucial questions. Who had ordered the attack and who had fabricated the information about an Iraqi battalion on the airfield? It was a classic example of a huge amount of eyewash to lend false credibility to the findings. Any document supported by five pounds of testimonies must be valid, but nobody would ever read the testimonies. Nobody, except me.
I spent weeks analyzing every single testimony. Once again, some serious discrepancies were present. The boundary between the 18th Airborne Corps and 7th Corps had run exactly through the middle of the airfield. This gross blunder was in direct contravention of the Army’s most basic tactical principles. How could one 25,000-man corps assault half the airfield while the other corps attacked the second half? Even the most junior private had more common sense than that. It is impossible to assault “half an airfield.” The converging forces ran a tremendous risk of shooting at each other and sustaining friendly casualties. If Thunder Squadron had not encountered the engineers, it would have continued attacking four miles into the neighboring corps’ territory. Hundreds of soldiers driving trucks in the supply columns there might have suffered fiery deaths. Nevertheless, colonels on both corps staffs had drawn this boundary directly through the Umm Hajul airfield and generals had given it their blessings, all the way up to General Schwarzkopf himself. The investigation’s findings glossed over this.
Daly’s and Starr’s testimonies were even more disturbing. Although Starr stated that he had no knowledge of friendly units at the airfield, six other officers testified that they had told him or the regiment to stay away from Umm Hajul for that very reason. Starr contradicted himself in another testimony when he stated that he was sure Daly got the message of possible friendly troops in the area. Daly denied that Starr told him anything.
In several testimonies, Daly stated that he had never heard me give the cease fire order before he fired the fatal shots. In his final testimony, he casually mentioned that he heard me give this command over the radio. Daly also stated initially that he shot Fielder because he looked as though he were fleeing. He later reversed this and said he opened fire because Fielder was moving forward to attack. One thing was crystal clear from the report. Daly knew of the corps boundary running through the airfield and the prohibition against firing across it. He did not share this information with his subordinate commanders. Furthermore, he himself fired across it to kill Lance Fielder. In a final attempt to shirk responsibility, Daly testified that his gunner, a staff sergeant, had asked for permission to pull the trigger and then shot Fielder.
Finally, the investigation never addressed where the 288 high explosive artillery shells fired at the airfield actually landed. Were the cannons over ten miles off their mark, or did $60,000 worth of shells deliberately impact in the middle of the empty desert? Even worse, was the artillery commander aware of friendly force locations to which officers at my level were not privy? Despite these and other inconsistencies, the sixth investigation found nothing unusual about the incident and contributed the fratricide to the “fog of war.” I wondered if Lance had known about this fog before he idealistically went to fight for his country.
The Army released information about my reprimand to the press and they had a field day with it. It was then that I found out that Daly and Starr had also received reprimands. I firmly believed that Daly’s clout would be able to remove his before it even entered his official record. Starr probably couldn’t care less, he was out of the Army.
Good Morning, America
3:45 p.m., June 28, 1992
The telephone on my desk buzzed as I was putting the finishing touches on my computer programming assignment. I would need a new career when I left the military and I had chosen computer science. I had submitted my resignation paperwork a month earlier. I would resign from the Army in September. I saved my program and picked up the phone.
“Howdy!”
“Hello, this is Richard Pollock calling for Captain Bo Friesen.”
“This is him, but you can drop the captain. Just Bo will be fine.”
“OK, Bo. I’m the Washington D.C. producer for Good Morning America. We’d like you to appear on our show to give your version of what happened at the Umm Hajul Airfield.”
“I would like to do that very much Mr. Pollock, but I doubt that the Army would allow it. Can you wait until this October?”
Possibly, but I can’t guarantee it would still be an item of interest.”
“Can I let you know in a few days?”
“Sure, let me give you my number.”
The producer of CNBC’s “Real Story” called several days later with the same offer. Debbie Shelton would be on the program as well. In the end, I decided to make an appearance on both shows. This would probably be my best chance to get across my side of the story. I set a date with both networks for July 27th. I would take leave from the Army to fly to New York City for the live appearances. I told my superiors nothing of my plans when I submitted my leave request.
Tense Moments
11:50 a.m., July 22, 1992
“Hello Bo, this is Richard Pollock,” said the receiver into my ear.
“Hi Richard, is everything still a go for next Monday?”
“I hope so. Have you told anybody about your appearance?”
“Just my folks, why?”
“There have been several military types snooping around the New York set, trying to pry information from the people there. They seem desperate to know who will be appearing.”
“Have your people told them anything?”
“Just that we will be having a segment about the incident. We had to give them the chance to send a spokesman. They declined of course.”
“So nobody mentioned my name then?”
“I’m the only person who knows its you, Bo. Charlie Gibson won’t even know until the day of the show.”
“That’s good, because my leave would be canceled very fast if they knew I was appearing on the program.”
“All right then, it seems that both our ends are covered. I’m looking forward to meeting you this weekend. Have a good flight.”
“Thanks Richard, see you on Saturday.”
I spent the entire next day at the university checking into possible courses of study. I stopped by my parent’s house on the way home.
“They always seem to want you when you’re not around,” my father greeted me. “The telephone started ringing at 8:00 a.m. already. This is for you.” He handed me a sealed envelope.
“What’s this?”
“General Burba’s office has been calling every hour to explain how sorry they are that it took so long to reply to your rebuttal. They finally had a courier deliver this. He left about 30 minutes ago.”
I tore open the envelope. The seven line letter was signed by General Burba. It stated that he had withdrawn my reprimand based upon the “very persuasive statement” I submitted. He concluded by informing me that he “considered this matter closed.” He may have considered it closed, but I certainly did not.
“What do you make of all this Dad?”
“I hope you don’t believe for one minute that it was withdrawn due to your rebuttal. If that were the case, Burba would have done it two months ago when he received it. I think they’re running scared because they suspect you’re appearing on national television.”
“I hope they don’t cancel my leave.”
“We’ll find out in a day or so.”
My father had hit the nail on the head. The reprimand had not been justified to begin with, considering the information contained in the body of the final investigation. General Burba’s office had stated that my rebuttal had brought up information of which he was unaware. Had it taken two months for him to evaluate this information in his mind? It was too great a coincidence that he withdrew my reprimand at the exact time I was appearing on Good Morning America.
The General definitely had egg on his face. Everything contained in my rebuttal was also in the body of the investigation. Either he had not bothered to read the investigation before issuing the reprimand, or he had done so in spite of overwhelming evidence in my favor. Now that it was about to become public knowledge, he quickly retracted it. The reprimand had been a charade. Its real purpose was to punish me for speaking out.
The National Stage
6:55 p.m., July 26, 1992
I nervously adjusted my tie and cast a final glance at the mirror. I closed the door of my Ritz-Carlton hotel room behind me and made my way towards the elevator. Good Morning America had provided excellent accommodations, right at Central Park. I felt uncomfortable in a suit and knew that I probably looked somewhat out of place. Army officers rarely carried themselves well in civilian suits because they rarely ever wore them.
I entered the elevator and descended to the lobby. The doors opened and I strode out, scanning the assemblage of people. My heart pounded furiously as my eyes came to rest on Debbie Shelton and Ron Fielder. I knew them only from newspaper and magazine pictures, but I identified them immediately. Recognition flashed in their eyes as well. I walked towards them, certain that my heart would burst forth from my chest with the next step. I had talked to them many times over the telephone, but this was our first face to face encounter.
Debbie alleviated my fears with a quick hug and I shook hands with Ron. We soon fell into a conversation about a variety of topics. It seemed as though I had known them an eternity. These were good, decent people. It greatly reinforced my feelings that I had done the right thing by helping them crusade for justice. I only hoped justice would be served.
Debbie and I entered the set of Good Morning America at 6:30 a.m. the next morning. I was a bit nervous, but my desire to tell the nation about this sordid affair overrode all other emotions. I was incredibly anxious to have my five minutes in the spotlight. Charlie Gibson’s voice broke my reverie.
“It is five minutes past the hour. Not all our Gulf War casualties were caused by the enemy. Some American soldiers died at the hands of their own countrymen. Sergeant Lance Fielder was one such soldier. Occupying an airfield they had captured twelve hours earlier, Lance’s unit came under attack by the U.S. Third Armored Cavalry Regiment. Rushing to the aid of a fellow soldier, Lance was killed by friendly fire. In a moment, we will speak with Army Captain Bo Friesen, the commander of the troop ordered to attack that airfield.”
“Two minutes!” shouted a man to the rear of the cameras. A woman guided me to the stool opposite Charlie. I cringed as another padded make-up onto my forehead.
“Ten seconds! And five, four, three….”
“Good morning. I’m Charlie Gibson and we’re back with Army Captain Bo Friesen, the commander of an armored cavalry unit during the Gulf War who was tragically ordered to attack an airfield already occupied by friendly forces. Sergeant Lance Fielder, an American combat engineer was killed by friendly fire during the ensuing battle. Good morning Captain Friesen.”
“Good morning Charlie.”
“Can you give us a brief description of the events leading up to the assault on the Umm Hajul airfield?”
I sped through the events, desperately trying to compress several hours of action into a few seconds. There is no way to do it, but I did so anyway.
“Now, friendly fire incidents have occurred in every war,” continued Charlie. “Is this one any different from the rest?”
“Definitely. This was not a “fog of war” incident. My superiors withheld information about boundaries and friendly unit locations from officers at my level. If they had shared this information with us, Lance Fielder would still be alive today.”
“When you say superiors, who do you mean?”
“My Squadron Commander, Lieutenant Colonel John Daly, and my Regimental Commander, Colonel Douglas Starr.”
“Why would these officers withhold that type of information?”
“I believe they did so in an attempt to gain glory for themselves. There was not a whole lot to fight for in Iraq. There were no cities or bridges to capture and the enemy ran faster than we could follow. Faced with the possibility of not being able to make a name for themselves in combat, I believe that Starr and Daly created a heroic attack against a non-existent enemy.”
“And once on the airfield, who actually fired the fatal shots?”
“Lieutenant Colonel Daly’s vehicle.”
“Is it unusual for a squadron commander to be that far forward?”
“Yes it is, especially since he had over a hundred combat vehicles at his disposal. He completely disregarded them and concerned himself only with his own actions.”
“Why do you think he did that?”
“The only way to get a medal for valor is to actually take part in the fighting. Since there was very little fighting at hand, Daly could only win a decoration by personally charging forward.”
“And did he win a decoration?”
“Yes, a Bronze Star, but that was the standard award for all 3rd Cavalry captains and above after the war.”
“Is it possible that the fatal shots were fired in the confusion that surrounded the fighting at the airfield.”
“No, the situation had already calmed down considerably before Lieutenant Colonel Daly’s arrival at the scene. Although we still thought our opponents were Iraqis, they did not have any weapons in their hands, nor were they making any threatening moves towards us. Shooting them was completely unjustified, even if they had been enemy soldiers.”
“Then we are talking about possible criminal negligence here.”
“Definitely negligence. Whether it is criminal is not for me to decide.”
“You contacted Lance Fielder’s mother, Mrs. Debbie Shelton. What made you decide to do this?”
“I have a son myself. If anything were to happen to him, I would want to know everything I possibly could about it. I had a moral obligation to Lance Fielder’s family.”
“The Army formally reprimanded you for this incident, did it not?”
“That is correct.”
“And then withdrew that reprimand a few days ago.”
“Right.”
“Why do you think they did that?”
“I can only guess that they heard I would be appearing on your program.”
“Where do you think this investigation should go from here?”
“I think a disinterested civilian body should conduct an investigation. The Army has investigated itself six times already in this matter and we are still no closer to the truth.”
“And what about Captain Bo Friesen? What happens to you now?”
“I’ve submitted my paperwork to resign from the Army.”
“Because of this incident?”
“Yes.”
“As a graduate of West Point, you must have had the potential for a good career.”
“I had intended to make the military a career, but it is no longer possible.”
“Thank you for taking the time to come and talk to us, Captain Friesen. In a moment, we’ll return with Mrs. Debbie Shelton, the mother of Sergeant Lance Fielder.”
Epilogue
December 1992
And we’re all glad it’s over,
We thought it would last,
Every minute of the future,
Is a memory of the past,
Coz’ we gave all the power,
We gave all the best,
And everyone lost everything,
And perished with the rest.~ Laibach, Opus Dei (1987), “Life is Life”
I resigned my commission as an officer in the United States Army on September 30, 1992. As of this writing, the U. S. General Accounting Office is investigating the circumstances surrounding the death of Sergeant Lance Fielder and the attack on the Umm Hajul airfield. Lieutenant Colonel John Daly is still in the Army and currently assigned to the office of the Deputy Chief of Staff for Operations in the Pentagon. I have no idea of the whereabouts of retired Colonel Douglas Starr. While I hold no animosity towards the Army, I do feel that this incident should be discussed openly to prevent such tragedies in the future.
I recently attended a parade by the Third Armored Cavalry Regiment. I stood in the background in my faded jeans, my considerably longer hair blowing in the cold winter breeze. I recognized very few of the camouflage figures and felt certain that even fewer of them recognized me. Cymbals crashed and bass drums boomed the cadence for over a thousand boot clad footsteps.
As the ranks of cavalry troopers marched past, the announcer recited the hundred-year regimental history. His final paragraph stated that, during the Gulf War, the regiment captured two Iraqi airfields. What the audience did not know, was that one of them had been “captured” from American soldiers already occupying it. The regimental history made no mention of Lance Fielder’s sacrifice, but I would carry his name in my heart forever. He was the real hero of the Battle of Umm Hajul.
Update
May 1998
The General Accounting Office concluded its investigation into the Umm Hajul incident in April 1995. The findings determined that both Colonel Starr and Lieutenant Colonel Daly had been negligent in their duties and failed to inform their subordinates of critical information. It also brought to light that several fraudulent awards were presented in conjunction with the Umm Hajul incident. Members of Daly’s vehicle crew, as well as the regimental surgeon, all received Bronze Star Medals for valor. Citations and witness statements for these awards and Daly’s Bronze Star Medal all contained false statements about what occurred that night at the Umm Hajul airfield. All of them contained some reference to heroism in combat against an enemy force. The regimental surgeon was the ranking member on the helicopter flight where all the documentation on Lance Fielder’s body mysteriously disappeared. Daly’s Officer Evaluation Report, which directly affected his promotion, also contained false statements about what had transpired during the operation.
Colonel Starr is currently living in the Middle East as a consultant with General Dynamics. Lieutenant Colonel Daly’s reprimand was never filed in his official record. He was selected for promotion to full colonel, but the U.S. Congress, at the urgings of Senator Fred Thompson, did not approve this promotion. Daly appeared before the Senate Sub-Committee on Investigations of the Committee on Governmental Affairs on June 29, 1995 to explain his actions in Operation Desert Storm. The Assistant Secretary of the Army and the Army Vice-Chief-of-Staff appeared with him. Both I and former Lieutenant Kevin Wessels, the officer in command of the engineers on the airfield, had the opportunity to testify at these proceedings as well. Senator Thompson, the committee chairman, called for Daly’s immediate dismissal from the military. Mrs. Debbie Shelton requested that the army revoke Lance Fielder’s post-humous Bronze Star Medal for valor, because he had not been in contact with enemy forces at the time of his death.
Lieutenant Colonel John H. Daly Jr. received a second reprimand for “misleading statements” resulting in the inappropriate awards for valor. Senator Thompson believed that this action was insufficient and requested that the army re-examine what action it would take regarding Daly. Finally, after five years of intrigue, hearings and investigations, John Daly was forced to retire from the United States Army. He was also reduced in rank to major. It is my personal feeling that allowing Starr and Daly to retire in comfort is a travesty, considering the lives and livelihoods they have destroyed.
Aside from Lance’s death and the destruction of my career, Daly was the only other person to suffer any negative consequences for the fratricide and subsequent cover up. There were dozens of other culpable individuals who lied, concealed or destroyed evidence, threatened witnesses and attempted to bribe others into silence. Not one was held accountable.
The Senate Chief Investigator told me, “We have to concentrate our efforts on a narrow front. If we go after too many people, the investigation will fail and there will be no justice at all. I know there was a lot of stuff going on, but we can only concentrate on the central figure, or else we will get no one at all.” I understand his words and appreciate his efforts, but a lot of people were able to do crooked things and walk away without consequence. Think about that every time you see a government or military scandal. For the one or two you see held accountable, there are dozens more who got away with it.
Lance Fielder’s Bronze Star Medal for Valor was rescinded and he received the Soldier’s Medal in its place, a higher and more fitting award.
Rest in Peace, Lance.
