Chapter 10 - The Verdict
Commander Peter Vale was convicted on all counts.
He was convicted of obstruction of justice, of falsification of official records, of conspiracy to defraud the United States, and of nine counts of manslaughter. He was convicted of nine counts of manslaughter because nine men had died aboard the USS Anzio as a direct result of his decision to keep the secret of what had happened on the night of October 14, 2003.
He was sentenced to fourteen years in federal prison. He was dismissed from the United States Navy. He was required to forfeit all pay and allowances. He was ordered to pay restitution to the families of the nine men who had died aboard the USS Anzio in the amount of nine hundred thousand dollars.
He appealed. The appeal was denied.
He is currently serving his sentence at the United States Disciplinary Barracks at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. He will be eligible for parole in 2035.
The captain — the captain whose name is classified — was not charged. He had been granted immunity in exchange for his testimony. He had retired at the rank of rear admiral in 2014. He had lived the last sixteen years of his life in a house in Florida with a garden and a boat and a wife and a dog.
He died in 2031 at the age of eighty-one. He died in his sleep. He had been in poor health for several years. His obituary in the Florida Times-Union described him as a "decorated naval officer" and a "loving husband and father." It did not mention the USS Anzio. It did not mention the six sailors who had died aboard her. It did not mention the chief boatswain's mate who had gone back down the ladder.
The obituary was wrong.
The obituary was wrong because it described a man who had been many things — a husband, a father, an officer, a captain — but who had not been, in the final analysis, a man who had done what he should have done. He had ordered a ship to a position outside her authorized operating area. He had allowed six sailors to die. He had ordered a young officer to destroy the deck log. He had ordered a young officer to write a new log. He had allowed the families of six sailors to be lied to for sixteen years. He had been promoted twice. He had retired as a rear admiral. He had lived the last sixteen years of his life in a house in Florida with a garden and a boat and a wife and a dog.
He had died in his sleep.
He had not been charged.
He had not been tried.
He had not been convicted.
He had not been sentenced.
He had not been held accountable.
But he had been exposed.
He had been exposed in a court-martial in San Diego. His name had been classified in the courtroom, but his name had not been classified in the file. The file was in the archive. The file would be declassified. The file would be released. The file would be read. The file would be read by historians. It would be read by journalists. It would be read by the men and women of the Navy. It would be read by the families of the men who had died aboard the USS Anzio. It would be read by Morgan Hale. It would be read by Kevin Brennan. It would be read by Brennan's son Thomas.
The file would be read.
The file would be remembered.
The file would be, in the end, the only monument that the captain would ever have.
And the file would say what the obituary had not said.
The file would say that on the night of October 14, 2003, a captain ordered a ship to a position outside her authorized operating area, and six sailors died, and the Navy lied about it for sixteen years, and the only reason the truth came out was that a chief boatswain's mate left a nameplate in a berthing compartment and his daughter found it.
—
Morgan Hale was not charged with any crime. The investigation determined that she had acted in accordance with the highest traditions of the naval service. The Secretary of the Navy issued a personal letter of commendation. She was awarded the Navy and Marine Corps Commendation Medal, the Navy and Marine Corps Achievement Medal, and — in a ceremony at the Pentagon — the Navy Distinguished Service Medal.
She was promoted to senior chief petty officer in the fall.
She was promoted to master chief petty officer two years later.
She retired from the Navy in 2038 at the age of fifty-five.
She had served for thirty-one years.
She had been a diver for twenty-seven of them.
She had been diving on wrecks for twenty-four.
She had been diving on her father's wreck for seven.
She had found her father's nameplate in a berthing compartment of the USS Anzio.
She had testified in a court-martial.
She had watched Commander Peter Vale be convicted of manslaughter.
She had watched the captain — whose name was classified — die in his sleep.
She had watched the Navy acknowledge, in a letter signed by the Secretary of the Navy, that her father had not drowned in a storm.
She had watched the Navy acknowledge that her father had died saving two sailors.
She had watched the Navy acknowledge that her father was a hero.
She had watched the Navy correct his record. His status had been changed from "killed in action" to "killed in the line of duty." His awards had been upgraded. He had been posthumously awarded the Navy Cross. The citation said that he had "displayed extraordinary heroism in the face of grave danger" and that he had "gone back down a ladder twice to save the men in his charge."
The Navy Cross was presented to Morgan Hale in a ceremony at the USS Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor in the spring of 2029.
It was presented by the Chief of Naval Operations. It was witnessed by approximately four hundred sailors and family members and friends. Kevin Brennan was there. His son Thomas was there. Morgan's aunt was there. Special Agent Diane Reyes was there. The dive crew was there. The two senior divers — Chief Webb and Petty Officer Hargrove — were there. The four junior divers were there.
Morgan wore her dress blue uniform.
She stood at attention.
She received the medal.
She did not cry.
She had cried enough.
She stood at attention and she received the medal and she saluted the Chief of Naval Operations and she walked off the stage and she sat down in the front row next to Kevin Brennan and his son Thomas.
Thomas Brennan, who was fifteen years old, leaned over to her.
"Chief Hale," he said.
"Yes, Thomas."
"Was he a hero?"
Morgan looked at him.
"Yes, Thomas," she said. "He was a hero."
"Was he your dad?"
"He was my dad."
"Was he a good dad?"
Morgan thought about it.
"He was a good dad," she said. "He was a good dad and a good chief and a good man. And he went back down a ladder twice to save the men in his charge. And he did not come back up. And that is why you have his name."
Thomas Brennan nodded.
"Then I am going to be a good man," he said. "I am going to be a good man like him."
May you like
Morgan smiled.
"I know you are, Thomas," she said. "I know you are."
