The psychologist and Captain McKellan could see that several of the panelists wished to interrupt or ask their own questions…many of these things they had wished weeks ago. Their clumsy attempts at interrogating Marsha had led to her withdrawal. Their repeated attempts and repetitive questions of previous interviews only shut the woman down. Her silence had saved her on more than one occasion over the past five years. She needed that safety.
“Major Gagliano was declared missing, but was not classified as beleaguered or a casualty surrounded by hostile forces to prevent her escape. She was not classified as besieged because the army didn’t even know of her survival. She couldn’t be classified as such because the organized element that had captured her and forced her to surrender, weren’t hostile forces. We must ask ourselves if her classification should be under captured.” Here she quoted the manual, “The casualty has been seized as a result of action of an unfriendly military or paramilitary force in a foreign country.” She looked around her audience to be sure they were paying attention to her report. Some were following along avidly and others were impatient to ignore her findings and question the major who listened intently. “She wasn’t held by military forces, but the tribe that held her could be classified as a paramilitary force.”
“This is all well and good,” one of the panelists interjected in an attempt to move this along. “It is all in your report,” he slapped the copy before him, “but we need to interview the cap…er major,” he corrected, almost deliberately, “to find out about other classified information that she may have been privy to.”
“I understand that, Major, and I’m doing my best to explain to you and the others,” her gesture took in the entire panel, “why that may not be possible because you simply didn’t follow the procedures set in place by the DODT for a situation such as this. I’m trying to explain why Major Gagliano may simply not recall what you need or may not have the information you desire. In the weeks that myself and my team interviewed her, we found out more than your hostile interviews could.”
He was furious at her audacity in criticizing their attempts to get the information from the woman. He started to speak again, but another panelist interrupted him.
“I think we should let the captain finish her report. She was quite thorough, from what I can see, and I think it important we understand the major and perhaps her reluctance to share vital information with us. Please proceed, Captain.”
The psychologist nodded and continued. “I would say that Major Gagliano should be classified as being interned, that is,” and here she quoted the manual exactly once again, “The casualty is definitely known to have been taken into custody of a nonbelligerent foreign power as a result of, and for reasons arising out of, any armed conflict in which the armed forces of the United States are engaged.” There were several nods of agreement around the table at her assessment. “At no time was the missing then-lieutenant’s location known. She wasn’t quite missing in action as the helicopter went down in what we considered friendly territory. So calling her MIA is not what I would advise for her period of internment in the camp of Zabi.”
“My understanding is that she would be a prisoner of war?” one of the civilians asked.
“She would not be classified as a prisoner of war since this Zabi person didn’t attempt to contact any outside forces to arrange her return,” someone interjected to clarify what the psychologist was saying.
“If I may?” Captain McKellan asked. He too quoted from the manual, “A detained person as defined in Articles four and five of the Geneva Convention Relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War of August 12, 1949. In particular, one who, while engaged in combat under orders of his or her government, is captured by enemy armed forces. As such, he or she is entitled to the combatant’s privilege of immunity from the municipal law of the capturing state for warlike acts, which do not amount to breaches of the law of armed conflict. For example, a prisoner of war may be, but is not limited to, any person belonging to one of the following categories who has fallen into the power of the enemy: a member of the armed forces, organized militia, or volunteer corps; a person who accompanies the armed forces without actually being a member thereof; a member of a merchant marine or civilian aircraft crew not qualifying for more favorable treatment; or individuals who, on the approach of the enemy, spontaneously take up arms to resist the invading forces.
Major Gagliano was not detained by the enemy armed forces. She was returning home and the helicopter malfunctioned and crashed. Her attempts to escape, while admirable, were unsuccessful for many years. She cannot be considered or classified as a prisoner of war at that time since Zabi and his tribe refused to fight on either side and kept themselves separate.”
These discussions continued on for hours and Marsha finally leaned over to Captain McKellan. “I need to expel the milk from my breasts and we all need a well-deserved break.”
He looked at her in surprise and glanced at the clock on the wall. He was shocked to realize how much time had gone by. He was pleased with how the explanations were going to the state department civilians as well as the military that was represented. He’d enjoyed the report of the psychologists, which strengthened his case in defending Marsha. “Of course. I’ll suggest that immediately.” He stopped whispering and looked up at two of the military members who were still debating some of the information that Marsha had provided the psychologists and not the military about the tribe that Zabi belonged to. “Gentlemen and ladies, I suggest we adjourn for today,” his announcement was met with objections immediately, but he continued, “My client needs to rest so that she can continue tomorrow.” When they continued to object, he finally told them the truth. “She has a small baby at home and needs to go feed it.” He watched with pleasure as the implication of a breastfeeding mother finally set in on some of the men’s faces. His suggestion to adjourn for the day was finally met with reluctant approval.
As Lance walked with Marsha to the Corolla she had driven to the base, he noted how old and dilapidated the vehicle was. He handed her an envelope with much pleasure before she got in. “That’s your back pay and papers certifying your promotion. I’m still working on the other one,” he told her with a smile.
Marsha opened the thick envelope and her major’s insignia slipped out. She held them in her hand, thrilled for a moment at what this meant. Next, she pulled out the paperwork that informed her of the promotion. Finally, she pulled out a notification that a specific amount had been deposited in her bank account, breaking down the years and the pay difference. “Is this already in my account?” she asked, wonderingly as she looked at the captain.
“It should be. You can check. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure.” He didn’t tell her how hard he and the corporal had pushed on this item. It hadn’t been missed when he had visited her home how poor the home was. He could see Heather had tried for too long on far too little.
“This will help, Captain…enormously,” she told him. He could hear the relief in her voice.
Just then they both heard the sound of helicopters coming in, several by the sound of it. Lance watched in awe as the huge CH-47 Chinooks came in formation and flew over them, the three of them looking absolutely monstrous at over sixty feet long. He wondered why they were coming into their base and then he looked back to find Marsha down beside her car. Thinking she had fallen, he leaned over her and shouting over the sounds of the copters asked, “Are you okay?” He could see she wasn’t. She had her arms over her head and it was obvious she was trying to hide by the car door, making herself as small as possible, impossible with her adult size. He was relieved that the helicopters flew over and by as quickly as they had come in. Once the sound started to fade, he asked again, “Are you okay?”
It took a minute for Marsha to answer him. At first, she was surprised to hear the English words. She blinked rapidly as she began to recover. She looked around, realizing she wasn’t where she had to hide from such machines…not any
more. Slowly, with the aid of the captain, she began to rise from her ungainly position on the ground. “Thank you,” she gasped, trying not to look embarrassed.
“Are you okay?” he repeated for a third time. He could see she wasn’t. She was cold and clammy and looked like she had broken out in a sweat. “You are going to have to have that checked out,” he advised, not knowing what else to say other than, “It’s okay, they’re gone.”
She nodded as she straightened her clothes, trying to get some of her dignity back. She hadn’t known she would react like that and it took several moments to regain her equilibrium. She looked down at the papers that had been clenched into her fists. She made a big show of straightening them out. It took a few minutes, but she was finally calm enough to attempt to get into her car. Lance looked on worriedly, wondering if he should offer to drive her home.
“Major?” a voice called and she turned to see the psychologist approaching them.
“Captain?” she acknowledged the salute, they were both, after all, in uniform.
“I want you and your wife to continue therapy. The SERE psychologists are here for you,” she repeated what she had said to her a couple of times. “I can’t emphasize enough how important it is to continue to talk to us,” she told her, acknowledging that she was repeating herself.
“Yes, we will. My wife said it helped and she thinks it will continue to do so.” And after what had just happened, she knew she needed help. She glanced at Lance to see if he would say anything, but he was still looking at her worriedly. She nodded to show she agreed with the therapist.
The woman smiled. Heather had thought she was adjusting so well, but there was an underlying anger there that the woman had been surprised to find in therapy. It was because of how the army had handled things, but it was unintentionally misdirected towards her wife. “Just because SERE stands for Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape doesn’t mean we aren’t here for you after all the drama ends.”
Marsha smiled. She had known she needed the therapy and the woman and her team had helped immeasurably. Talking to the different therapists had opened up some of the things she needed to talk to them about. She had allowed them to share some of the information that had come out just today in the interrogation.
Going home was a pleasure, both for the news she had for her wife regarding the money and promotion, and the relief of getting away from the scene of her embarrassment. Seeing her little baby and knowing how enamored her wife was with their little boy gave her such joy. It helped to know she had this to come home to after the ugliness of what was coming out in the interrogation—the disbelief that she didn’t know more, couldn’t give them more.
* * * * *
“Pashto and Dari are the official languages of Afghanistan, sir,” she explained patiently, trying not to sound defensive at the continued questioning she was receiving. She was so tired of this. “The Persian language is Dari. The minor languages such as Uzbek, Turkmen, Balochi, Pashayi, and Nuristani are spoken by minority groups throughout the country. Afghanistan is an ancient country and with more than forty minor languages spoken and over two hundred different dialects, it’s no wonder I don’t speak them all. The dialect or language I learned from the tribe was Tajik.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you don’t know more or couldn’t contribute more to this discussion, Major.” He spat her rank as though it rankled him to acknowledge it.
Marsha understood their frustration that she simply didn’t know more. It all came back to the men that had disappeared from the chopper. One of them was important enough that her lack of knowledge was causing these men and women to be exasperated with her. “I learned of the various languages, sir, before I was captured,” she explained.
He looked at her suspiciously. It was obvious to her and Lance that they didn’t believe everything she told them.
“Could you explain when exactly you became aware that you had been captured?” he asked.
Lance interjected before she could even open her mouth, “She’s explained that.”
“Captain, I would appreciate if you let the major answer for herself for a change. I have to say, you have been more detrimental to this investigation than anything else.”
“As I’ve explained before, sir, I’m here to defend the major’s rights. This panel…” he gestured at the group, some of whom he now knew had been flown in from Kabul at the public’s expense and had remained here all during Marsha’s interviews and childbirth, “continues to ask the same questions and they continually come back to the same time frame—when the major was captured. As I have asked before, what exactly do you want to know so we can all adjourn this pointless line of questioning?” I’m sure we are all anxious, after these many weeks, to conclude this.
“You are being impertinent, Captain!” he nearly shouted.
“No, sir. I say this respectfully, but you are wasting the American taxpayers’ money and all of our time. Unless we resolve this and now, I’m advising my client not to cooperate any further and we will take this further up the chain of command until my client is clear of anything you think you may have on her.”
“She hasn’t been charged…” he sputtered.
“No, she hasn’t, not formally, but you’ve time and again flaunted the protocol in this matter and I would appreciate a resolution from this panel,” he answered firmly, knowing he was in the right.
Several members of the panel exchanged looks and at the nod of Colonel Kodel, the other colonel turned back to Lance and Marsha. “Major, Captain, would you excuse us for a few minutes in order to discuss some things?” He looked up at the cameras and the man that controlled them. “You can turn those damn things off for now,” he ordered. The man scrambled to hit the pause button.
Marsha exchanged a look with Lance and the two of them rose, saluted smartly, and made their way out of the room, followed by Corporal Harris. “What the hell is that about?” Marsha asked, her thumb pointing back where they had come from.”
“I think we are about to come into the loop of some top secret information,” he murmured softly. Looking around, he said, “Let’s go outside and enjoy the sunshine.”
Since it was pouring rain, she looked at him curiously, but walked outside with him to stand under an overhang as the wet came down. Corporal Harris stayed inside, pretending he wasn’t interested in their conversation.
“I found out the other week that Colonel Kodel wants information kept out of the official findings on your disappearance,” he began and looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. With the rain coming down it wasn’t likely.
“Why? What do I know that they are looking for?”
“Did you know the other two riders in the chopper at all?”
She shook her head. “Only Sergeant Ames.”
“Did they introduce themselves? Do you remember their names at all?”
She shook her head. She’d wondered about it many times, but she didn’t know. “Do you?”
He nodded. “I do now.”
She waited.
He waited, watching her curiously.
“Well?” she finally asked.
“Lieutenant Kodel was one of the men.”
The name was the same and too much interest from Colonel Kodel meant that he must be related. “Son?”
“That’s what I’m trying to get him to admit. I don’t know what the hell they are keeping from us, but it wouldn’t look good is what I’m guessing. You didn’t notice his rank?”
“I don’t recall seeing lieutenant’s bars at all,” she closed her eyes, trying to picture those last two men who had climbed out of the chopper with her and Sergeant Ames. She shook her head as she reopened her eyes. “Think he was dirty?”
Lance nodded. Now that Marsha outranked him, he wondered what she would do if he couldn’t get the powers-that-be to give her the promotion to lieutenant colonel. His arguments had fallen flat so far, but if she somehow came out of this as a hero, it would look a lo
t better and could help. “Do you remember when we first met? Colonel Kodel didn’t want me to go, but General Biggins insisted. I think Biggins knew something was up with Kodel or his son, if that’s who the man was.”
“This has been a whole lot of ridiculous,” she stated, tired of it all. Pulling her out of time off for the birth of her son was the worst. She should be home enjoying this time, but instead she was here once again being interrogated. It was like they felt they had new ammunition to fire at her each time and really, it was the same questions asked different ways. Enough already.
“Captain? Major? We’re ready for you now,” a voice called from the doorway to be heard over the rain. The sergeant looked curiously at the two of them, wondering what they had been speaking about.
They turned and returned to the conference room, heading back to their seats.
“Major, you understand anything you tell us or we tell you in this room is classified?” began the colonel.
Marsha glanced around the table and caught the anger in Kodel’s eyes. He was not happy with whatever they had discussed and their decision. She decided, since she had no choice, that she would agree and she nodded as she replied, “Yes, sir.”
“The day you disappeared, you were accompanied by Warrant Officer Brown and Warrant Officer Wicker, both deceased,” he confirmed as he looked up to see her nod, “Sergeant Ames, Lieutenant Wesley Kodel, and a civilian named Bridgette Townsend.”
She looked surprised. There was no way she had thought the other passenger had been a woman.
Veil of Silence Page 19
