Eagle Station Part 15

"We can stop the supplies coming into North Vietnam at these places.

About 15 percent comes down the rail lines, 85 percent from Haiphong Harbor. The supplies then must be delivered into South Vietnam to the North Vietnamese Army and what is left of the Viet Cong. The US Navy and the South Vietnamese Navy under Operation Market Time have done a fine job preventing the North from resupplying by sea their troops in the South. Nothing gets through their blockades.

Same thing at the DMZ, the Demilitarized Zone. US and ARVN troops in Eye Corps prevent direct overland resupply." Whitey made a small smile and said, "And of course outside of a helicopter or two, there is no air transport capability from North to South Vietnam."

"You've been telling me this for years," the President said.

"I only listen to you because ... because your sincerity always impresses me. d.a.m.n few others around here I call sincere."

What could have been a grin crossed his face. "You might be repet.i.tive, but you don't try to bulls.h.i.+t me." He waved his hand for Whitey to continue.

"Here is what I think we should do, Mister President. We take out the SAM sites as required, we hit the MiG bases, and we cut the rail lines and keep them cut. But rather than mine Haiphong Harbor, I say we should destroy the dredge that keeps it open. The Red River that flows into it deposits tons of silt every day. Periodically, the silt must be s.h.i.+fted and removed. Without dredging, the harbor would be useless in a matter of weeks. Furthermore, the sunken dredge itself would help block the harbor. This would eliminate the risks to the Navy minelaying aircraft as well as not damage s.h.i.+ps that belong to nations that are supposed to be friends of ours."

"You mean like Sweden and Great Britain," LBJ said in disgust.

It was an interesting anomaly. British s.h.i.+ps regularly offloaded non-war supplies for the North Vietnamese; at the same time hundreds of British males per year volunteered for the US Army to go fight in Vietnam (due to immigration laws, few were accepted). Just the opposite pertained with the Swedes: while they off-loaded supplies in North Vietnam, some American soldiers stationed in Germany with more of a predilection for pot than patriotism deserted and found refuge in that cold country which advertised itself as a warm safe-haven for Vietnam War objectors.

Of course the Soviet Union and other East Bloc countries were the biggest suppliers of North Vietnam. They s.h.i.+pped in millions of tons of supplies plus all the oil and petroleum products the communist North Vietnamese war machine required.

"Yes, I do," Whitey replied. "And there are three more proposals for which I need approval."

LBJ slowly nodded for him to proceed.

"First is the destruction of a portion of the dikes around Hanoi."

"Oh, no!" LBJ roared. "All those civilians would drown. You told me many times that was why we should not take out those d.a.m.n dikes."

"Yes, sir, that's true. I don't want the drownings. What I do want is to take certain dikes out in the dry season a month or so before the rainy season would cause flooding."

"What the h.e.l.l for?"

"Three reasons. One is that the North Vietnamese have known all along that we would not bomb the dikes, so they have put air defense centers, antiaircraft guns, and petroleum tanks on the tops of the dikes-they are thirty and forty feet across, you know. They are military installations, hence are legitimate targets that deserve to be destroyed. Secondly, they would have to put tens of thousands of workers and soldiers on the job to repair the dikes before the rains.

This would further weaken the economy and slow the war effort in the South.

Thirdly, such a decisive act would show the North Vietnamese we are finally getting serious about bringing them to their knees and that maybe next time we really would take the dikes out when there is water behind them to flood Hanoi."

"You said you had three things you wanted approved. What are the other two?"

"Smash and capture the communist sanctuary camps in Cambodia while at the same time we cut the Ho Chi Minh Trail in half by sending American and Vietnamese troops straight across the Laotian panhandle to Thailand."

"Invade Cambodia and invade Laos? You're crazy. They're both neutral countries." LBJ tapped his finger on the table.

"You're crazy, all right. You tell me you have a plan that not only incorporates bombing, but the invasion by American boys of Cambodia and Laos as well. I don't know whether to laugh or to cry. Both those countries are neutral."

"Mister President, they are neutral in name only. Sihanouk in Cambodia is already complaining to us in secret communiques that he is unhappy with the North Vietnamese occupation of the western part of his country.

Of course, he brought it on himself by letting them use that area, in addition to his providing the port of Sihanoukville for them to run supplies from the Gulf of Siam to South Vietnam. Simultaneously, up north, the Laotian Royalists and neutralists are unhappy with the North Vietnamese occupation of the panhandle of their country-not to mention the North Vietnamese holding the northeast section of Laos while trying to capture the Plaine des Jarres."

"We have to respect their neutrality," the President interrupted. "And G.o.dd.a.m.n it, that's what I have been doing all along. We've all those d.a.m.n treaties and things."

"Sir," Whitey began, "under the 1907 Hague Treaty "Another d.a.m.n treaty," LBJ interrupted.

"This is different," Whitey continued, unperturbed. "Under the 1907 Hague Treaty, a neutral is a neutral only so long as it can maintain its neutrality. Neither Cambodia nor Laos is capable of doing that. In both cases our enemy, the communist forces from North Vietnam, are using and holding territory in these so-called neutralist countries against that country's will.

Under the rules of international law we have the right to pursue our enemies into those countries. It is time for us to go on the offensive."

Whitey tried hard not to recite as if speaking to a dull-witted child.

He knew LBJ to be anything but dull-witted-until it came to making hard decisions that might damage his reputation at home and abroad. Then he would do his best to compromise, to satisfy both sides while obtaining some goal of his own. At home he pushed his desire for both guns and b.u.t.ter: win the Vietnam War, but don't raise taxes, while spending vast sums on his Great Society social programs. Abroad, LBJ wanted acclamation as a great US president, not as a despot h.e.l.l-bent on pulverizing a small Asian nation.

"Have you talked to anyone on the JCS about this?"

"Yes, I have. They are busy trying to figure out what the new Secretary of Defense is like and right now don't want to make any waves."

The new SecDef, Clark Clifford, had queried the Department of Defense for the status of the war in Vietnam and for whatever recommendations the military might have for a conclusion.

Rumor had it he was unhappy with the slowness and lack of depth in the response he was getting from military leaders.

Whitey pointed to the eastern Laotian panhandle. "South Vietnam looks like a bow and the Ho Chi Minh Trail running down eastern Laos is the bowstring. The Trail is literally the shortest distance from north to south, and it bypa.s.ses all our troops by running through the Laofian-Cambodian sanctuary."

He traced the east-west line he had drawn, extending the DMZ across the thinnest part of the Laotian panhandle over to Thailand. "Here, we cut the supply trail." He pointed to the area of Cambodia called the Parrot's Beak that jutted into the portion of South Vietnam near Saigon.

This was the southern end of the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

"Down here in Cambodia I suggest two days of concentrated air strikes followed by a lightning ground attack by our troops to capture high-ranking commanders and doc.u.ments, to prove what Ho Chi Minh has been up to in a so-called neutral country.

Maybe even send in some of our more critical journalists and TV crews to record what we find."

President Johnson leaned forward on the conference table and studied the wall map. He began tapping a pencil against a yellow legal tablet in front of him. The only other noise in the room was the soft hiss from the air vents. He put the pencil down, leaned back, and regarded Whitey Whisenand through tired, red-rimmed eyes. He rubbed his face and smoothed his forehead.

"No. I cannot agree to those actions-and I'll tell you why.

But you must never tell the reason to anyone until I make it public." He looked at Whitey for agreement.

After a pause, Whitey said, "I'm not sure I can agree to stipulations.

If my plan proves sound and you don't agree, I may want to--2'

"You may want to NOTHING," the President thundered.

"Now hear me out, dammit." He stood up abruptly, leaned forward, and rested his fists on the conference table. "I will not be here to see what you propose, this plan of yours, to conclusion.

I do not want to start something I cannot finish. I do not want to start something that may go very, very badly and then have to turn it over to someone else. Do you understand?"

"Mister President, there is a good possibility that if you implement my three-p.r.o.nged attack with sudden resolve and fierceness, it would bring the North Vietnamese to the negotiating table with far less intransigence than they have shown up to now. We are, after all, not out to destroy North Vietnam.

We are out to prevent them from taking over South Vietnam by force. And because of these new tactics, the negotiations could lead to our withdrawal and their withdrawal from South Vietnam. It is something to think about."

Lyndon Baines Johnson looked at Whitey Whisenand and snorted. "Something to think about." He slammed his fist on the table. "SOMETHING, TO THINK ABOUT." He drew himself up to his full height, thrust his chest out.

"Whisemand, what in Gawd's green earth do you suppose I think about day and night? I think about THE GAWDDAMMED WAR, that's what I .think about." He snorted again in derision. "And you, you p.i.s.sant general, you have the nerve, THE NERVE, to tell YOUR PRESIDENT the gawddammed war is SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT. You disgust me."

Major General Albert G. Whisenand, United States Air Force, stiffened, his face a mask of cold indignation. His two years of watching this man ruin the American military surfaced as barely controllable bile.

"Mister President, if there is any disgust in this room, it is on my part at you for your squandering of lives of our soldiers while you pursue will-o'-the-wisp, half-baked military and economic plans without having the slightest knowledge of what you are doing. You are a disaster as a Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces of the United States. I can no longer stay in your employ. Effective immediately, I resign from this position."

Johnson smashed his fist on the table. "Whisenand, you don't know the half of what goes on around here and you don't understand politics by one piece of a sick cow's t.u.r.d.

You who are such a bomb-happy general ... let me tell you, I'm STOPPING all bombing north of the DMZ. You hear me?

No more strikes north of the Demilitarized Zone. Now take that to your precious Chairman, and while you're there tell him for me YOU'RE FIRED."

"Sir," Whitey spit out, "you don't understand. I'm quitting YOU."

"No, Whisenand," Johnson roared, "you don't understand. n.o.body quits me.

I'm firing you. Now get out of here."

1930 Hours LOCAL, TUESDAY 15 OCTOBER 1968 THE OFFICER'S CLUB PATIO.

UBON ROYAL THAI AIR FORCE BASE.

KINGDOM OF THAILAND.

The party was to kick off promptly at 1900 Hours when the seven off-duty members of the Phantom FACs would appear at the hospital with a rented Thai baht bus to pick up the men they planned to honor. The bus was then scheduled to tour the base to allow the honored guests to receive accolades from the fighter squadrons. It would pull up to the Officer's Club promptly at 1930 and the festivities would begin.

The base commander had warned Hostettler about the huge soiree he was hosting in the Officer's Club for the visiting congressional delegation and the local Thai Ubon village dignitaries. "Keep your people on the patio and keep the noise and foul language down," the base commander had ordered. Base commanders had all the housekeeping duties on an air base, thereby relieving the wing commander for operational concerns.

Base commanders in combat zones were generally known for their tactful ability to allow shenanigans in the Officer and NCO clubs that would automatically Provoke court-martial in the States.

Doc Russell, dressed in fatigues, had been prepping the honored guests with mission whiskey at the hospital in the doctor's lounge since 1700.

"Say again about this mission whiskey, Doc," Joe Kelly asked. Because neither he nor Bernick had been wounded, they had reported back to Udorn the previous Sat.u.r.day, immediately after the weather had cleared up.

They had returned to Ubon two Hours ago on a courier flight to attend the party and were to fly back to Udorn with Manuel Dominguez the next day.

They both wore their bright-green Jolly Green Giant party suits and had brought one for Dominguez. An Air America plane would be in to get Wolf Lochert at 0800 the following morning. The number two PJ, Hiram Bakke, was no longer at the Ubon hospital. His severe leg wound had required he be med-evaced to the big Army hospital in Saigon.

"Mission whiskey is, young man," said Lieutenant Colonel Conrad Russell, MD, USAF, in a stentorian tone made rich by the whiskey, "the remnants of an old Air Force tradition." He held up a tumbler full of Jack Daniel's and examined the amber liquid against the light from the window. "Not bad," he said, and took a dainty sip-his sixteenth of the past hour. "Back in the big one, the one we won, I might add, and in Korea, the one we tied, I might add, the hospital and clinics were provided whiskey to equal one shot per pilot per day. Supposed to be dispensed in the intell rooms at postmission debriefs. Help the air-crew unwind after a mission. We'd order it through the pharmacy, just like any other medicine, in accordance with Air Force Reg 160-18.

Led to a lot of pleasant moments, it did.

Free, of course." He reached into his black doctor's bag and pulled out the nearly empty fifth of Jack Daniel's. "Let me top you off."

Joe Kelly held out one of the white coffee mugs Doc Russell had handed out. "Looks like it's no longer free and you're buying."

"It's no longer free and I'm buying. It is my privilege and rare pleasure to top you off, sir. And you, sir, and you too, sir."

Doc Russell carefully filled the mugs of Kelly, Dominguez, and Bernick.

Wolf Lochert wasn't drinking. He wore a cotton sport s.h.i.+rt and dark pants he had purchased at the BX. His folded green beret was tucked under his belt.

"Gentlemen, a salute to warriors." Doc Russell tipped his mug.

"Warriors," the others said and sipped their whiskey.

"To Colonel s.h.i.+lleto," Kelly said, and the men drank again.

Wolf took a deep draught from the Coca-Cola can he had in his fist. He rarely drank and was dangerous when he did. He stood up.

"I owe my life to many people. There have been other battles, other places. This time it started with a little guy named Tewa."

He tilted his c.o.ke. "To him." He didn't mention he had saved Tewa's life when the C-46 had gone down. The others held their drinks up.

"Tewa," they said, and drank.

Manuel "Little Cat" Dominguez looked like a disfavored sparring partner of Ca.s.sius Clay. Slitty eyes peered from an overripe eggplant face. His head had been shaved following the circular bullet path, making what hair he had remaining on top look like that of a rag doll. Next to him was his shot-up helmet Joe Kelly had brought back to him. It had a big red bow tied around it and a note saying: To Little Cat Dominguez This is your life.

Signed, G.o.d.

Wolf Lochert's grizzled face looked pale, but his voice was hearty when he said to Dominguez, "Here, this is for you." He handed him a large bag of Fritos he had purchased from the Base Exchange earlier. Attached to the bag was a note Wolf had printed on a hospital Rx memo: TO MANUEL DOMINGUEZ, I OWE YOU FRITOS FOR LIFE.

SIGNED THIS FIFTEENTH DAY OF OCTOBER 1968,.

WOLFGANG X. LOCHERT.

LTC,USASF.

"I'm overwhelmed, Colonel," Dominguez said. "Simply overwhelmed. Thank you." He popped the bag and offered Fritos all around. Soon the small lounge sounded like a herd of eight-footed elephants loose in a cracker factory.

"And I have something for you," Wolf said to Joe Kelly. He rummaged in a brown paper bag and pulled out a 105mm howitzer sh.e.l.l lined with gla.s.s. Brazed to the sh.e.l.l was a carabiner, and snapped into the carabiner was a Special Forces descender.

"This is so you can drink and descend ... or descend and drink, or whatever you want to do."

Kelly dumped his whiskey into the clanking apparatus and used both hands to hold it to his mouth. He lowered it and smacked his lips. "Ahh, good. Fits just right," he said, beaming.

He tilted it toward Wolf and took another swig. "You sure know how to do it up right, Colonel. Thanks." Kelly put the 105mm sh.e.l.l down and reached into his leg pocket and pulled out something folded and held it up. "For you," he said to Tech Sergeant Dan Bernick and handed it over.

"For outstanding work on the hoist, I present you with the award of the golden glove."

Dan Bernick unfolded a left-hand electrical linesman's glove that had been painted a bright golden hue. "Well, doggone, Captain, that's right nice of you," he said and put the glove on.

Outside, raucous noise broke the serenity of the hospital area.

The anemic horn from the baht bus (so named because for the one-baht coin-about 20 cents-a pa.s.senger could ride from the air base to the town of Ubon) was joined by squawking sounds that could best be likened to the slow strangling of a fat swan.

One sound, reminiscent of a flatulent duck intermixed with other less identifiable sounds, became louder until it was outside the lounge. The door flew open and Lieutenant Rolly Grailson and Captain Donny Higgens burst into the room.