Standing atop the gallows with a braided rope around her neck, Liz Cheney devoted her final breaths to excoriate President Donald J. Trump—who was not present—and his “minions,” accusing them of collectively subverting the Constitution to enforce a “private brand of justice.” Her eyes, open to narrow slits, like knife cuts, surveyed the officers who stood below and before her, as if memorizing faces for a future fight against them.
As is typical at hangings, a uniformed soldier tugged on the rope stretching from Cheney’s neck to a beam several feet above them, testing for slack and tension. He nodded at Vice Admiral Crandall, signaling his readiness to push the button.
A ruddy-cheeked Cheney rambled on about how Trump and Adm. Crandall would eventually face their own tribunals with a predetermined verdict of guilty. She said an ineluctable fate awaited them and their co-conspirators. She held Trump and the admiral responsible for her father’s death and said her “people” would behead them.
“You’re all doomed,” she said, shaking her shackled wrists, and she called Adm. Crandall an irritant, like a buzzing mosquito waiting to be squashed.
“This isn’t personal; I take no enjoyment in my responsibilities,” Vice Adm. Crandall said. “You took an oath to our country—let me correct myself. It’s not your country. It stopped being your country the moment you betrayed the Constitution. You’re un-American. You, your people, you stand up there holding yourself blameless, no misgivings for what you’ve done. I pity you; I really do.”
The admiral seemed uncharacteristically patient. He gave Cheney more latitude than he had previous Deep Staters on the gallows. His face was devoid of expression, but he seemed genuinely interested in what made people like Cheney tick—What drove them to value greed over charity? What compelling force stripped them of decency? His dispassionate look became one of puzzlement as he listened to Cheney’s hateful monologue, her tongue flicking like a snake’s as she cursed the admiral and his family.
“You murdered my father. You killed my friends. And for that you will die,” Cheney said.
Apparently the admiral had heard enough. He instructed the soldier on the platform to push the button, and a second later, Cheney was dangling in the wind. A Navy physician affirmed Cheney’s death and noted the time: 9:30 a.m., Monday, April 24.
Adm. Crandall had a busy schedule. He still had to oversee the hanging of two corrupt feds and then board one of several flights that would eventually carry him to Guam, where tribunals would be held for the foreseeable future.