Phantom Leader Part 28

"Wolfgang Xavier Lochert?"

"Yes, sir," Wolf said, puzzled.

The colonel examined him with a benign expression on his face. "I am Colonel Robert L. Larkin." He did not offer to shake hands. Instead he pointed to a swarthy major standing next to him. "This is Major Gerald S. Remley, my provost marshal. He has a duty to perform." He nodded to Remley, who stepped forward.

"Lieutenant Colonel Wolfgang Xavier Lochert, you are under arrest."

"What for?" Wolf asked. "Stealing helicopters?" Only slightly amused as he remembered the helicopters he and the others had "borrowed" for the rescue at Lang Tri. "Or is it for disobeying orders?" He remembered ordering the men to jettison their heavy weapons and equipment at Lang Tri so Berry could lift the helicopter off the ground. "How about misuse of government equipment?" he offered.

"No, sir," the provost marshal said without humor. "It's none of that."

Greta Sturm drew close to Wolf.

"What is it, then?" Wolf Lochert asked, suddenly wary.

"Sir, the charge is murder. Murder of a Vietnamese citizen."

0015 HOURS LOCAL, MONDAY 5 FEBRUARY 1968.

SITUATION Room, BAs.e.m.e.nT of THE WHITE HOUSE WASHINGTON, D.C.

Major General Albert "Whitey" Whisenand finished his reports shortly after midnight. Seven days had pa.s.sed since the North Vietnamese Army, in concert with the Viet Cong, had violated the Tet truce and had begun ma.s.sive attacks on Vietnamese cities and towns. He had studied the intelligence summations collated from the provinces, from the military commanders, and from the Central Intelligence Agency.

Latest reports listed over 100 cities and villages including Saigon, 39 of 44 provincial capitals, and 71 district capitals had come under a.s.sault.

The attacks followed a pattern: mortar and rocket bombardment in the early morning, followed by a troop a.s.sault.

Once inside the cities and villages, the VC rendezvoused with others who had already infiltrated. Guided by LOCAL sympathizers, they attempted to capture key spots-radio stations, jails, police and civil headquarters buildings. Other VC units stayed outside the city to cut roads and paths. Political cadres accompanied the attackers and used loudspeakers to exhort the populace to rise up against the "enemies of the people." They weren't having much success. So far very few of the many regular NVA units available were committed to the battle. General Giap, an intelligence estimate said, appeared to be holding the NVA in reserve, especially in the southern portion of South Vietnam. It was as if he wanted the Viet Cong all southerners-to face the brunt of the battle.

Although the Viet Cong had been driven from Cholon in Saigon, and the heavy fighting north of Saigon and the western suburbs of the city was over, the fighting over Hue, the old imperial capital of Vietnam, raged on. Intelligence reports indicated the Viet Cong had systematically sought out and murdered several thousand civilians. Scattered incidents of terror and sabotage occurred in other parts of South Vietnam, but nothing on the scale of events in Hue.

Whitey had been tasked by the NSC to go through all the intelligence reports sent to them that might have forecast or at least suggested such widespread attacks might take place.

He had found ample evidence, from the CIA all the way down to a report from the 101st Airborne, that they had captured a VC with doc.u.ments that were copies of public announcements about an historic campaign ahead.

They urged "very strong military attacks in coordination with the uprising of the LOCAL population to take over towns and cities, soldiers should move to liberate the capital city of Saigon, take power, and try to rally enemy brigades and regiments to the side of the revolution.

This will be the greatest battle ever fought throughout the history of our country."

Whitey stood and rubbed his eyes, then put the draft paper in his safe.

He left his office and went down the hall to the Situation Room, that nerve center below the White House that received all the processed communications and reports from the Pentagon. He showed his pa.s.s to the guard and entered. The Sit Room was actually two rooms: one was long and windowless with a conference table; the other a command post, a hub of incoming military information. In addition to the military input, there was wire service from AP, UPI, and Reuters, and three TV sets. On the wall were four clocks with Washington, Saigon, GMT, and official presidential time that LBJ kept regardless of where he was.

The overhead lights were low; the information screens cast a green tinge over the military and civilian duty officers. Tiny colored action lights were sprinkled over a world map on the far wall. A military teletype finished its muted rat-a-tat of news.

He read the situation reports. Another crisis in Asia was being dealt with. A U.S. ship, the USS Pueblo, dubbed a spy ship by the press, had been captured off the coast of North Korea. So far, 15,000 USAF and Navy reservists and 370 airplanes had been activated to augment U.S.

forces in Korea because of the Pueblo capture. The captured sailors had been paraded in front of North Korean TV, accused of being spies, and North Korea was demanding an apology.

Some senators, including Democrat Frank Church of Idaho, had said the capture was an act of war in which the honor of the United States was at stake. Whitey gave a low whistle: Frank Church was one of the more outspoken doves on the Vietnam war. The senior member of the House Armed Services Committee had called the capture a "dastardly act of piracy."

Strong words. The Pueblo was indeed an intelligence-gathering ship-- like those of many nations-that for some reason the North Koreans had decided to seize even though it had been in international waters.

Further reports from Vietnam stated that there was still fierce fighting in Hue, and that the VC seemed to be making a concerted attempt to retain the old section of the Imperial Palace but probably would be driven out soon.

Whitey glanced up and saw LBJ, sitting in the director's chair, chin on his closed fist. He was dressed in his pajamas and thickly padded slippers. "He does this frequently," the duty officer whispered to Whitey. "He listens to the Tet reports, the air strike reports, the missing planes, the casualty reports. But he never says anything. After a while he just sighs and walks out. But tonight he seems to be staying for a long time."

The President looked up. He stood up and beckoned Whitey to follow him to the conference room. He carried a manila folder. He was haggard and walked slowly on bent legs, and eased himself into a large leather chair. He rubbed his face and forehead as if to stir his mind into action. He rubbed and rubbed, almost, Whitey thought, like an impersonator preparing his visage for a new part. Finally he looked up, a fierce scowl on his face.

"All right, Whisenand," he thundered, "what in h.e.l.l is going on?" He jerked his chin toward the manila folder.

"You told me we knew well in advance those little fellows were going to attack. So how come our boys are getting the pants beat off them?"

"Mister President, we did have a mult.i.tude of pre-attack intelligence.

General Westmoreland even asked President Thieu to cancel the Tet truce and put his troops on full alert.

Thieu did cancel some of the Tet holiday but didn't put anybody on a country-wide alert until too late. As far as our troops are concerned, they were ready but never expected the grand scale of the attack. Yet, regardless of what you hear and see on TV, this is turning into a grand rout for General Giap."

"Bah. I've heard that stuff before," the President sneered.

"You generals are always telling me how very nice our little war is going."

Whitey stifled the impulse to inform the Commander in Chief of the U.S.

Armed Forces that he-Major General Albert G. Whisenand-had on the contrary been telling his boss how sorry things were in Vietnam. But every time he opened his mouth, LBJ heaped scorn and said he was a negative thinker.

"One of these days, Whisenand, I'm going to step on you like a bug." The President slapped his hand on the folder.

"Dammit, how could they mount such an attack? Just when I thought that Ho Chi Minh was going to sit down and talk, he does this to me." He opened the folder. "On top of that, I get something like this. Read it," he said, and slid a paper across the table to Whitey.

It was a synopsis of a message from COMUSMACV to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff regarding the defense of Khe Sanh.

1. I consider this area critical to us from a tactical standpoint. To relinquish the Kh e S anh a r e a w o u 1 d b e a m a j o r p r o p ag an d a victory for the enemy. Its loss would seriously affect Vietnamese and U. S. morale.

2 . We should be prepared to introduce weapons of greater effectiveness. Under such circ.u.mstances as the ma.s.sed enemy infantry attacks, I visualize that either tactical nuclear weapons or chemical agents would be active candidates for deployment. Because the region is virtually uninhabited, civilian casualties would be minimal. Like Hiroshima and Nagasaki to the j.a.panese, this action would surely signal Hanoi of our resolve.

President Lyndon Baines Johnson shook his finger at Whitey. "This is what I mean about you generals always wanting to bomb, bomb, bomb. I told Chairman Wheeler nothing doing. My Gawd. Eighty-three of our Pueblo sailors in a North Korean prison camp, the Veet Cong all over the d.a.m.n place in South Veet-nam, and he wants to drop a nuclear bomb. My Gawd. If the press ever heard about this ... He trailed off.

This wasn't the first time someone in the governmental hierarchy had considered using a nuclear bomb. Whitey remembered a televised press conference with Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara in 1961. President John F. Kennedy and the nation had been in the middle of the Berlin crisis. McNamara had looked sleek and a.s.sured as he'd answered the questions. One reporter had asked if he meant to imply he would use nuclear weapons in connection with the Berlin situation.

McNamara had answered, "Yes, I definitely do. We will use nuclear weapons whenever we feel it necessary to protect our vital interest. Our nuclear stockpile is several times that of the Soviet Union and we will use either tactical weapons or strategic weapons in whatever quant.i.ties, wherever and whenever it's necessary to protect this nation and its interests."

Whitey spoke to the President. "Sir, I don't think it will make much of an issue, since neither you nor the JCS back such usage. But I do think you should be putting some thought into capitalizing on how Ho Chi Minh broke the Tet truce and how he is being so badly beaten. In fact, Mister President, this is turning into a major defeat for the Viet Cong and the NVA troops. We should be informing the American people of exactly what is going on. The way it is now, they see only the TV clips that show Cholon and the Emba.s.sy in Saigon under attack. It makes no difference that the sappers at the Emba.s.sy never got into the Chancery and that they were all killed. The public sees lots of ruined buildings and dead soldiers as if we have suffered a defeat. Never on the TV did they hear or see the total repulse of the attack on the Vietnamese Navy Headquarters, or the entire battalion scheduled to free five thousand prisoners from the main Saigon jail that got lost and was annihilated by our forces.

Or how three hundred VC were killed in the attack on the Tan Son Nhut Air Base. This is what we should be stressing.

Intelligence reports said that Ho was calling this 'The Great Offensive and People's Uprising." None of that has come to pa.s.s. We must impress this upon the public."

"It's no use, it's no use," the President said in a bitter voice. "All they see is the dead American Military Policemen at the Emba.s.sy and the picture of that Vietnamese policeman executing a VC." The picture, recorded by photographer Eddie Adams, had been taken at the exact instant the bullet fired by the Chief of the National Police had entered the head of a Viet Cong who had just killed some civilians.

"All they see is the Khe Sanh and Hue attacks," the President added.

"Wounded Marines piled on a tank, crashing transports at Khe Sanh. Those are the only pictures those press people show. G.o.d in heaven."

He arose and poured himself a shot of bourbon from the serving table. He put it down without drinking.

"The press. Ho Chi Minh gets better treatment from the press than the President of the United States." His voice became strident. "Let me tell you that NBC and the New York Times are committed to an editorial policy of making us surrender. Editors just won't use the words 'President Johnson' in anything that is good." He sat back. "I feel like a hound b.i.t.c.h in heat. If you run, they chew your tail off, if you stand still, they slip it to you."

ROA Lo PRISON, HANOI DEmocRATic REPUBLIC of VIETNAM As always, the pain awakened him. Pain from the iron stocks, pain from his legs pressed on the flat concrete, pain from his arms and legs. He blinked back to consciousness from a dream where he and his mother had been walking the streets of Washington, D.C. Somehow he was a childlike man in the dream. Although it was a pleasant dream, he remembered asking, "Momma, why do my legs always hurt?"

The small door to his cell porthole flipped open. A guard with a look of exaggerated distaste handed Flak a bowl. This particular guard, Flak had noticed, was older than most, appeared imbecilic, and often made weird faces at him, like a small child would at someone he didn't like.

Once he had stuck his tongue out at Flak. Flak had resisted the instant urge to do the same thing back. The guard slammed the tiny door.

Flak examined his breakfast bowl. The liquid was a slimy concoction with something solid resting on the bottom of the bowl. He dipped it out with his spoon. It was a piece of animal hoof complete with dirt and hair. His stomach churned. He flipped the piece to the floor and tried to sip the liquid. He sipped, retched, and sipped again, until it was all down. He did his number mantra and took deep breaths through his mouth to fight the nausea. After a few moments he could breathe normally.

He lay back and concentrated on his numbers. On the 26th day, the bad king owed thirty-three million, five hundred fifty-four thousand, four hundred thirty-two dollars.

No, that isn't right, he thought. I forgot the decimal point.

He's doubling pennies a day, not dollars. He started over.

On the 26th day, the bad king owed three hundred thirty-five thousand, five hundred forty-four dollars and thirty-two cents.

My mind is slipping, he said to himself. They are starving me to death and my mind is going. He had tried some calculus and some physics.

Although a few formulas came to mind, he had a hard time tracking them and remembering exactly what they were for. There was something about MV squared, Ma.s.s times Velocity squared. He knew he had used it at the test pilot school at Edwards, both as a student and as an instructor.

But it escaped him exactly what it was for.

He was learning to live in the past or in the future, but never in the present. The present was just too painful to contemplate. The only time he had to deal with the present was when he was undergoing torture.

Even then he tried to occupy his mind with his numbers or senseless humming. It rarely worked for long, especially when he was in the ropes.

The ropes. His whole body tensed. Oh G.o.d. They were coming for him again. He had another session due, he just knew it. Yesterday they had offered him half an orange and a chance to talk about seeing visitors from the United States.

He had eaten the orange, peel and all, then refused to talk.

They had hung him up in the k.n.o.bby room by his ankles in a metal stock and poured water in his nose. His ears still crackled and popped from the introduction of the fluid.

Again, blubbering and bellowing, he had refused to meet with anybody.

"You think tonight," Rabbit, his chief torturer, had said.

"You think tonight about decision. Tomorrow you will be severely punished unless you agree to see your countrymen."

Flak knew "severely punished" meant the ropes. None of the guards or torturers would ever use the word torture.

Instead, punishment was the word. For a POW to complain of being tortured would bring a heating-a punishment for --qpw-, maligning the humane and lenient treatment given to POWs by Ho Chi Minh and the Democratic Republic of Vietnam.

And now tomorrow was here. Flak had to think about what Rabbit proposed, seeing somebody from the United States. He didn't know if his bailout radio call had been heard two and a half months ago when he had ejected from his shot-down F-4. He didn't know if he was carried as killed, missing, or as a prisoner of war. Maybe seeing someone would get the news out that he was a prisoner and still alive. His mother would be so worried. He had to talk to someone about this. He needed to know what the SRO would advise.

He bent his head in a torturous way to look over his shoulder at the flipper hole in the door. The best he could tell, no one was looking in. Keeping his eye on the hole, he reached behind himself and rapped with his sore knuckles shave and a haircut," the opening call like a telephone ring, to Ted Frederick. Rap, rap. "Two bits," Frederick answered.

HOW U, Flak asked.

COPING.

THEY WANT ME TO SEE PEOPLE FROM STATES.

MAYBE THEY GET WORD TO MY MOM I STILL ALIVE. WHAT IS POLICY.

NO STATEMENTS, NO TAPES, NO BROADCASTS, NO VISITORS.

RABBIT SAID ROPES TODAY IF NO SEE.

There was a pause before Frederick answered.

YEAH FLAC. WE DONT GIVE THEM ANYTHING.

THEY MUST PULL IT FROM US. THEY MUST FORCE US. EVERY TIME. COPE BEST.

YOU CAN. IS UR JUDGMENT CALL. DO WHAT YOU CAN LIVE WITH REST OF UR.

LIFE.

WHAT ABOUT LETTING SOMEONE KNOW I ALIVE.

POW NAMES GET OUT. WE HAVE A WAY.

METHOD TS. GL N GBU.

GL N GBU, Flak had learned, meant "good luck and G.o.d bless you." Flak felt better. If Ted Frederick said the names were getting out, then they were getting out. Frederick said the method was TS, Top Secret.

Maybe if they could be alone together sometime he would find out how the information got back to the United States.

They came for him an hour later and took him to the k.n.o.bby room. Rabbit sat at a small desk table covered with a blue cloth that hung down both sides. He motioned to a small stool in front of the desk. "Sit," he commanded. Flak Apple lowered himself to the stool, which was only six inches high.

"What is your decision?" Rabbit asked in an even tone.

"About what?" Flak asked.

Rabbit nodded to someone behind Flak. Flak heard a swish of wind, then something slammed into his right ear, knocking him sideways off the stool. He picked himself up and sat back on the stool.

"What is your decision?" Rabbit's voice was the same.

"I've decided I don't like being hit from behind," Flak replied. Rabbit rattled off something in Vietnamese. Two guards pounced on Flak, wrestled him to the floor, and pulled his arms straight out behind him.