From the WSJ Opinion Archives
MEMORIAL DAY
'Friendly Fire'
That euphemism sums up what may be war's most tragic consequence.
Of all the terrible consequences of military combat, perhaps the worst are losses caused by that awful euphemism, "friendly fire."
It is virtually impossible, particularly in close combat, to ensure that all your fire, even that directed at what you believe is the enemy, does not hit your own men. All this is, of course, brought to mind by the tragic circumstances of the death in action of Patrick Tillman, an infantry Ranger, in Afghanistan just over a year ago. His death was attributed, after the first of many Army investigations, to his being shot while in a firefight with the enemy, chasing them up a sharp hill in fading light.
Actually, as many now assert, and the Army agrees, Cpl. Tillman was killed by friendly fire as he was mistaken for enemy soldiers who were ambushing his unit, and while he was trying to organize an effective response to the ambush. The Army knew that he had been killed by friendly fire. For whatever reason, neither his parents nor the nation were told of the actual events until months later and after several investigations were concluded and, in fact, reported.
None of those errors should or can diminish the heroism displayed by Cpl. Tillman both during the firefight, and indeed for being in Afghanistan at all. After all he was as complete a volunteer as it is possible to imagine. Not only did he give up what would have been a highly rewarded career as a star football professional, but he specifically asked for service in Iraq and Afghanistan. He was an authentic hero at a time when we urgently needed heroes.
One theory is that the Army made major efforts to hide the truth because they did not want people to know he had been accidentally killed by our own forces. But there is no basis whatever for fearing to acknowledge and report the truth--there is nothing "degrading" about being killed by mistaken fire in the fog of battle.
I had personal acquaintance with "friendly fire" during my infantry service in World War II. It was during a training maneuver in South Australia as a part of readiness training because we were to be sent to New Guinea. The training mission assigned to my platoon was to advance across a fairly clear field against supposed enemy units. For added realism it was a "live fire" exercise. We advanced in standard formation with scouts on each flank, the point consisting of five soldiers in a rough triangle. After moving forward a few hundred yards, one of our soldiers on the point gave the signal, "Enemy in sight."
Immediately and in violation of all orders, a soldier behind one of the flank scouts began to fire. I saw one of our soldiers go down. After yelling "Cease fire," I rushed forward and saw, to my horror, a badly wounded young soldier. I called for medics and designated a soldier to end the exercise and take everyone back to quarters. The diagnosis was grim. I was able to get the wounded man's parents' number and eventually convinced our commanders that a rare wartime phone call must be made to let his parents know of the situation. That was duly done.
The boy made a gallant effort, but died three days later. I then had the terrible duty of notifying the parents of everything that had happened. Later, I told them about the funeral service held in a small Australian chapel: The boy was doing precisely what he was supposed to do and he died in the service of his country. So were many of his comrades who died in the jungles and on the beaches--and I am sure from other "friendly fire." Some 40,000 of our men in World War II died from friendly fire.
Combat creates confusion and much of the training is designed to deal with the chaos inherent in all battles. That chaos is compounded by fading light and terrain such as in Afghanistan: steep crags, sharp rocky edges, narrow valleys. But none of that changes the heroism exhibited every day by those who carry this burden for all the rest of us. Cpl. Tillman will always be a hero. His shield needs no burnishing. And we all need to know how and why our warriors died.
Mr. Weinberger, a former defense secretary, is chairman of Forbes.
