Five minutes after that, two military policemen came into the squad bay and put handcuffs on Recruit Asshole and marched him down the aisle and down the stairs and put him in the back of their jeep and drove off with him.
(Five)
204 Wallingford Road
Swarthmore, Pennsylvania
2045 Hours, 29 November 1961
When the soldiers came in, Dianne Eaglebury, who was nineteen years old, five feet seven, and honey blond, was sitting beside her mother and her sister-in-law on a couch against the wall of the living room.
In the center of the room was her brother’s flag-covered casket. It was closed and sealed, and there was something unreal in the notion that Ed was in there, dead, and that she would never see him again. When her father had telephoned her at the Tri-Delt House at Duke, where she was a sophomore, to tell her the bad news, she had wept. Earlier a team of officers from the navy had gone to Ed’s quarters at the Anacostia Naval Air Station to tell his wife, Suzanne, that Ed had been killed in the Bay of Pigs invasion and that “recovery of the remains was unlikely.” Suzanne had called Ed’s father, and he had called Dianne soon after.
She’d wept then and again that night, alone in her bed; and she’d wept when she’d come home for the memorial service at St. James’ Church. But she had not wept since they had been informed by the navy that the remains had been recovered; nor when she went with her father and the people from the funeral director’s to the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard to meet the submarine with the casket; nor here in the house. She wondered why she had not.
Ed was to be buried with full military honors, and Dianne wondered about that again when she saw the soldiers. Why didn’t they say “naval honors”? Ed was a sailor, a naval officer. And what was the army doing here?
They hadn’t been able to get any details about how Ed had been killed—just some formal business about it being “in the line of duty in connection with activities near Cuba.” Dianne’s father had pressed the captain who had taken them to the naval shipyard for details, but the captain said that he just didn’t have any details to offer. He seemed genuinely sorry that he didn’t, but Dianne’s father was hurt and angry and had jumped all over him.
“I lose my only son, and nobody knows how it happened? Goddamn it!”
One of the soldiers was black. He was a very large man, Dianne saw. He stood alongside a tall stunningly handsome blond officer while three of the others, presumably Catholics, went to the prie-dieu that had been placed by the casket for Ed’s Catholic friends. One of these three Dianne recognized. She had seen him at the naval shipyard. She had thought then, and still thought now, that he didn’t look old enough to be an officer. Nevertheless he had lieutenant’s bars on his uniform, so he must be. All of the soldiers held something green in their left hands, and after a moment Dianne realized they were hats, French berets. She had never seen soldiers wearing berets, and wondered about that too.
While the three Catholics were saying their prayers by Ed’s casket, Dianne’s father came into the room from the dining room, where a buffet and bar had been set up. Dianne could tell from his flushed face that he had had more than a few drinks.
The handsome colonel led the way to the Eagleburys. As the young officer neared, Dianne saw that he was even younger than she had at first thought. Maybe, she thought, he was somebody’s son. But she dismissed that when she saw they were all wearing the same kind of uniform.
“Hello, Suzanne,” the colonel said to the widow.
“Hello, Craig,” Suzanne said. “It was good of you to come. Dad, this is Colonel Lowell. He and Ed were friends.”
“Colonel,” Ed Eaglebury’s father said to Lowell.
“Good evening, sir,” Lowell said.
“And this is Ed’s mother and his sister,” Suzanne said. “My parents are around here someplace.”
Lowell shook the offered hands.
“May I introduce these gentlemen?” he asked.
“Please do,” Mr. Eaglebury said.
“Colonel Hanrahan,” Lowell said, “Lieutenant Colonel MacMillan, Major Parker, Warrant Officer Wojinski, and Lieutenant Ellis.”
“You’re Lieutenant Ellis?” Suzanne Eaglebury said in surprise. “You were in Florida with my husband?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ellis said. He was visibly uncomfortable.
“My husband described you, Lieutenant, as ‘tough as nails.’ I expected someone a hundred pounds heavier, ten years older, who chews spikes.”
Dianne’s attention was diverted by someone new entering the room. A neatly dressed man in a business suit walked in, carrying a floral display on a metal stand. He crossed the room and placed the display right in front of the casket, thus concealing the two displays behind it. Then he turned and left the room.
“Honey,” Dianne’s father said, a touch of annoyance in his voice, “see what that’s all about.”
Dianne walked to the flowers, bent over them, and took the card from an envelope wired to the stand.
While she was doing this, a tall man entered the room and moved quickly toward the casket. He made the sign of the cross and then dropped to his knees at the prie-dieu.
I wonder who he is, Dianne wondered. He looks just like Kennedy.
She dropped her eyes to the card in her hand. There was a gold-embossed National Seal and an engraved legend:
THE PRESIDENT
and
Mrs. John Fitzgerald Kennedy
She looked at the man on his knees, and for a moment their eyes met. And then the President rose and walked to where the soldiers and other Eagleburys were clustered. There was no question it was Kennedy; the soldiers had come to attention, and there was a buzz of whispers. As Dianne walked after him she saw two men standing by the door. The Secret Service. A small, wiry, balding man in a not—very—well-fitting suit came to the door and was passed inside by the Secret Service.
“…was a brave man, Mrs. Eaglebury,” Dianne heard the last part of the sentence, “and his death was not in vain.”
“We are honored that you could come, Mr. President,” Suzanne said.
“It is my privilege,” the President said.
“Mr. President,” Dianne’s father said, “I would like to know how my son died.”
Dianne wondered if her father would have had the courage to say that to the President of the United States if he weren’t half plastered. She decided that he would have.
The President seemed to consider that for a moment before replying.
“Is there somewhere private?” he asked.
“There’s a butler’s pantry off the dining room,” Mr. Eaglebury said.
The President looked over his shoulder and spoke to the small man in the ill-fitting suit.
“Felter, ask whichever of these gentlemen may have the information Mr. Eaglebury wants to come with us, will you, please?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Felter said.
Dianne was surprised to see there were two more Secret Service men inside the dining room. When they saw where Dianne’s father was headed, followed by the President, they sped across the room and went into the butler’s pantry ahead of them.
The President turned and looked at Dianne.
“I’m John Kennedy,” he said, and offered his hand.
“This is Ed’s sister, Dianne,” Dianne’s mother said.
“I’m very sorry about your brother, Miss Eaglebury,” he said.
Felter came in the room, followed by the handsome colonel and the very young lieutenant.
“Colonel Hanrahan and Lieutenant Ellis, Mr. President,” Felter said.
“Thank you, Felter,” the President said. “These officers were intimately involved with Commander Eaglebury in the mission during which he gave his life. Colonel Hanrahan is commanding officer of the Special Warfare School; Lieutenant Ellis was commanding officer of the Special Forces team with which Commander Eaglebury infiltrated into Cuba. Will you take over, Hanrahan?”
Hanrahan looked hesitant
. So Felter began the story.
“The mission was duofold,” he said. “Lieutenant Ellis’s ‘A’ Team was charged with establishing a radio direction finder on the ground, which would permit aircraft to locate themselves in relation to the invasion site. Commander Eaglebury had an even higher priority covert mission, and went in with Ellis’s team in the uniform of an army sergeant.”
“What was that ‘even higher priority mission’?” Mr. Eaglebury asked.
Felter looked at the President.
“Tell him, Felter,” the President said. “I decide who has the ‘need to know.’”
“Commander Eaglebury believed that the Russians were constructing missile sites on Cuba,” Felter said. “It was his intention to bring back proof that they were.”
“The initial phase of the mission was successful,” Colonel Hanrahan said. “That is, the parachute drop.”
“My husband parachuted into Cuba?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hanrahan said.
“And you, too, Ellis?” Suzanne Eaglebury asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Ellis said.
Dianne looked at him in disbelief. He was a boy.
“And then what happened?” Suzanne asked. Hanrahan raised his palm toward Ellis.
“When we were in place, he went off wherever he was going,” Ellis said.
“But he didn’t make it,” Mr. Eaglebury said.
“He got the proof—photographs is what I’m saying,” Hanrahan said. “According to plan, he cached duplicates and tried to make it back to Ellis.”
“But didn’t make it?” Mr. Eaglebury pursued.
“No, sir,” the President said. “He was captured and summarily executed.”
“Without a trial?” Commander Eaglebury’s mother asked.
“And for nothing,” his father said.
“No, sir, not for nothing,” the President said. “The mission was continued by Colonel Felter.”
“Who?” Mr. Eaglebury asked.
“This Colonel Felter,” the President said, pointing, “parachuted into Cuba and picked up the duplicate film, took some more of his own, and made it back to Ellis. They ultimately made their way to the coast, where they were picked up by Colonel Lowell and flown home.”
“The Russians have missiles in Cuba?” Dianne’s father asked. “What are we doing about it?”
“The matter is under consideration,” the President said. “No decision has yet been made.”
Mr. Eaglebury looked at the President.
“‘Under consideration,’” he quoted bitterly.
“Commander Eaglebury has been posthumously awarded the Distinguished Service Cross,” the President said. “But I’m afraid under the circumstances there can be no public announcement.”
“The DSC?” Mr. Eaglebury asked. “For what? For getting killed?”
“No,” the President said. “For dedication to his country above and beyond the call of duty. Your son, Mr. Eaglebury, considered it his duty, at the risk of his life, to prove the President of the United States wrong. I really didn’t think the Russians would do what your son believed they were doing.”
“I didn’t vote for you, Mr. President,” Mr. Eaglebury said. “For some reason I think I should tell you that.”
“I don’t think Ed Eaglebury voted for me,” the President said. “But when I took office, I became his commander in chief, and he chose to serve me with a dedication that ultimately cost him his life. That’s distinguished service, I think, Mr. Eaglebury. He earned that medal.”
The President and Mr. Eaglebury locked eyes for a moment.
“It was very good of you to come here, Mr. President,” Mr. Eaglebury said. “We’re grateful to you. And thank you for telling us what happened.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier and that I can’t stay longer,” the President said. He glanced over his shoulder. “Felter!”
Felter handed him an oblong box.
“I thought,” the President said, “that tonight might be the wrong time for this. But I finally decided that one day, Mrs. Eaglebury, Ed’s sons might like to know you received this from the hand of the President.”
He opened the box and handed it to Suzanne.
When she looked down at the medal in the box, there was a sob in her throat, but she fought it down, found her voice, and forced a smile.
“I think this belongs on the pillow,” she said, “with Ed’s other decorations.”
It took the President a moment to understand what she meant.
“Yes,” he said, “I think it does.” He put out his hand, and Suzanne gave the box back to him. He took the medal from the box and handed the box back to her.
Then he led them all out the butler’s pantry, through the dining room, and into the living room, where he walked to the casket. When he was sure they were all standing beside him, the President pinned the Distinguished Service Cross to a blue pillow, which rested on the flag on the casket beside Lieutenant Commander Edward B. Eaglebury’s brimmed cap, his sword, and his other military decorations. He pinned it immediately below Eaglebury’s gold naval aviator’s wings and his silver army parachutist’s qualification badge. Then he shook the hands of the Eaglebury family, nodded at the officers, and walked quickly away from the casket and out of the room.
III
(One)
Camp David, Maryland
0715 Hours, 30 November 1961
The marine guard found Lieutenant Colonel Sanford T. Felter in the communications cabin.
“Sir,” he said, and waited for Felter to look up from the IBM typewriter at the commo officer’s desk. Then he went on: “The President asks that you join him, sir.”
“I’ll be right there,” Felter said, and returned his concentration to the typewriter. He typed rapidly for another two minutes, then tore the sheet of paper with the TOP SECRET(Presidential) letterhead from the machine, folded it, stuffed it in an envelope, and stood up.
He followed the marine guard to the presidential cabin. The Secret Service man on duty outside opened the door for him.
“He was just looking for you,” he said as Felter passed by him.
The President was sitting at a small table by a window, looking out on the mountains. A light snow had fallen during the night, and the snow looked very white in the early-morning light.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting, sir,” Felter said, and handed him the envelope.
“Your breakfast was getting cold,” the President said. “That’s all.” Then he said, “I ordered you ham and eggs.”
“Ham and eggs are fine, Mr. President,” Felter said. “Thank you.”
He sat down at the table and opened a napkin and put it on his lap. A white-jacketed navy steward poured coffee into his cup, and Felter nodded his thanks.
The President read the summary and handed it back to Felter.
“That’ll be all, thank you,” he said to the steward.
Felter cut a piece of ham and broke the yolk of an egg with it.
“I was very impressed with that young Green Beret lieutenant yesterday,” the President said.
“Lieutenant Ellis,” Felter said. “Very interesting young man. His mother is Puerto Rican. He grew up in Spanish Harlem. If I may correct you, Mr. President, the proper term is Special Forces.”
“I thought they…you…liked to be called Green Berets.”
“That’s become moot, Mr. President. The CONARC commander has seen fit to forbid the wearing of ‘foreign-type’ headgear.”
“Is that was is known as a ‘subtle appeal to higher authority,’ Felter?” the President asked.
“The decision has apparently been made that Special Forces properly belong to the Airborne family, Mr. President, and should dress accordingly.”
“When I was in the P T boats, Sandy, we used to take the stiffeners out of our hats, and we’d soak the gold braid strap in seawater so it would corrode. We didn’t want anybody mistaking us for battleship sailors. And every time an admiral would see u
s, he would message our commander, ordering him to ensure that his officers dressed like naval officers. We would of course comply with that order. Sometimes for as long as a week.”
“I don’t wish to press the point, Mr. President,” Felter said.
“But…?”
“The green berets are a symbol of independence.”
“You think Special Forces should be independent of Airborne? Sort of supersoldiers?”
“I think they would be of more value if they were not considered as just one more Airborne asset, Mr. President.”
“Max Taylor wants to send a flock of airplanes and about five thousand ‘advisors’ to Indochina. Are you aware of that?”
“I was not,” Felter said. “But I’m not surprised.”
“What do you think?”
“I wouldn’t presume to comment on General Taylor’s recommendations, sir.”
“What do you think, Felter?” the President said.
“General Taylor is the best man you could have sent to Indochina, Mr. President. His military credentials are impeccable. He is, additionally, a scholar. Whatever recommendations he has made should be considered very carefully.”
“President Truman sent American troops to Greece to advise the Greek army. They succeeded in keeping the Communists out of Greece. You were there. Why did that work?”
“Because, by and large, we sent highly qualified, highly motivated people to Greece. Colonel Hanrahan is a good example. He had been in Greece during the war. He knew and liked the Greeks. And they liked him. There was also a strong religious element in Greece. The people thought of the Communists as godless. The people believed they were defending their church as well as their country.”
“Would the same kind of operation work in Indochina?”
“The Communists were defeated in Greece, Mr. President. They learn from their mistakes. In Indochina they will use the religious feelings of the population to their advantage. They will pit the Buddhists and members of other Asiatic religions against the Roman Catholics and against each other. They will also be able to paint American forces as colonists. They used that tactic successfully against the French.”
The Berets Page 6