Above all, Ho Chi Minh knew, negotiations for an end to the war would have to be attempted in Geneva because his patrons in Moscow and Beijing said so. Repeatedly since the end of the Berlin conference in February, the Communist giants had made clear their desire for a political solution in Indochina and had even made their continued material and rhetorical backing of the war effort contingent on the DRV declaring a willingness to seek peace. The Soviet Union still sought improved relations with the West and also hoped to induce France to agree to a tacit quid pro quo—Moscow’s help in facilitating a settlement in Indochina in exchange for Paris saying non merci to the proposed European Defense Community. China, for her part, viewed the Geneva meeting as an opportunity to solidify her membership in the great-power club and to forestall an American military intervention near her southern borders. Both Communist powers perceived as well a chance to drive a wedge between the Western powers. Said premier and foreign minister Zhou Enlai on February 27, during a meeting with his associates in the Foreign Ministry: “While France seems interested in reaching a peaceful solution to the Indochina issue, the United States is not. Therefore, it seems that France is reluctant to let the United States put its nose into Vietnam.”18
But how to reach such a “peaceful solution”? The Kremlin came down early on the side of partition, a Korea-type solution that would temporarily divide Vietnam in half. Such a solution would respect France’s continuing strength in Cochin China while also acknowledging the Viet Minh’s effective control of large areas of Tonkin and Annam. It would serve China’s security needs as well, by forestalling an American intervention and by giving her a friendly “buffer” state on her southern frontier. And it would stop the war, if not forever, at least for a time. Already in late January 1954, Moscow instructed its ambassador in Paris to float the partition idea with French leaders. “There would be a provisional armistice line drawn at the 16th parallel,” a U.S intelligence assessment said of this Soviet overture, and “the French would evacuate Hanoi and the Tonkin Delta.”19 The French reacted with caution but did not rule out the idea, and the Soviets were further encouraged when the British government in subsequent weeks began making supportive noises about partition.
The Chinese too were attracted to the idea. Beijing’s ambassador in Moscow, Zhang Wentien, told Foreign Minister Vyacheslav Molotov on March 6 that a division along the sixteenth parallel would be “very advantageous” for Ho Chi Minh and as such “should be accepted if it is put forward officially.” A few days later Zhou Enlai told Ho via telegram that conditions were ripe for a greater emphasis on the diplomatic struggle, and that, no matter what the likely outcome of the Geneva Conference, “we should actively participate in it.” Partition should be seriously considered, Zhou went on, because “if a ceasefire is to be achieved, it is better that a relatively fixed demarcation line be established so that [the Viet Minh] can control an area that is linked together.” As for where the line ought to be, the Chinese statesman singled out the sixteenth parallel as “one of our options.”20
The VWP Politburo met three times in March to discuss negotiating strategy for Geneva, more specifically the notion of partition. Details from the meetings are sketchy, but we can guess that the sessions were stormy. Earlier in the month, the DRV ambassador in Beijing, Hoan Van Hoang, had shown little enthusiasm for partition when his Soviet counterpart brought up the matter. How can you find a demarcation line, Hoang asked, when there are no front lines? Over time, though, as the early assault on Dien Bien Phu failed to yield a decisive victory, the thinking in the Politburo swung in favor of partition, or at least against outright opposition. Members agreed to consider the possibility, so long as the division was temporary. The demarcation line would reflect the balance of military forces and would be as far south as possible. A party statement avoided mention of partition but extolled Geneva as “a victory for the forces of democracy” that, “together with big victories in the military field,” would make “our people in the occupied areas happy, and the puppets confused and concerned.”21 VWP instructions concerning the May Day celebrations stressed the need to encourage the people to write petitions to the government to express their “support of the Geneva Conference with a view toward finding ways for peacefully solving the Korean problem and putting an end to the war in Indochina.”22
Still, it must have been with mixed feelings that Ho Chi Minh in late March arrived in Beijing, accompanied by Pham Van Dong, the DRV’s deputy prime minister and foreign minister, for a pre-Geneva strategy session. His powerful allies were telling him to take half a loaf rather than the whole thing, even though his forces were winning on the battlefield. This was hardly what he wanted to hear, even if he had his own reasons for exploring a compromise diplomatic settlement. He and his comrades had not fought for seven-plus years to gain only partial control of the country. Now he had to listen as Mao and Zhou urged him to score a victory at Dien Bien Phu and thereby achieve results at Geneva, but they also cautioned him to have “realistic expectations” regarding how much could be achieved in the negotiations—shorthand, in all probability, for the estimation that the DRV would not come away from the conference with control over all of Vietnam. The Vietnamese, according to Chinese sources, agreed on both points.23
From there the Vietnamese went on to Moscow, accompanied by Zhou Enlai, for meetings with top Kremlin leaders including Nikita Khrushchev and Foreign Minister Vyacheslav Molotov. Khrushchev, emerging as the main man in the post-Stalin leadership struggle, shared Stalin’s general lack of interest in Indochina; like Stalin he saw struggle there mostly in terms of what it meant for European issues, and he hoped at Geneva to undermine the EDC, with its plan for German rearmament. Khrushchev cautioned his visitors against expecting great results from the conference but pledged—cryptically—that the Soviet Union would support the DRV’s interests. When Zhou Enlai returned to the Soviet capital later in April, Molotov insisted on the need to have a realistic Soviet-Chinese-Vietnamese strategy at Geneva, since the Western powers would surely stand up for their interests. But even though the Americans would no doubt try to sabotage the conference, Molotov continued, savvy negotiating by the Communist allies could bring forth a political settlement on favorable terms. Zhou Enlai agreed.24
Much would depend, though, on the outcome at Dien Bien Phu. As April drew to a close and the various delegations arrived in Geneva, the Communist allies were in full accord that General Giap needed to score a knockout blow against the French garrison, and to do so before the Indochina discussions began in earnest—or at least before they reached their critical stage. Mao Zedong, always a keen student of military tactics and strategy, had insisted already on April 3 that the fortress “should be conquered resolutely” and that once conditions were ready, the Viet Minh should start a general attack as swiftly as possible.25 Giap had waited, determined to have every piece in place before initiating the final phase of the battle. He could delay no longer.
IV
THE ASSAULT BEGAN ON MAY 1, AT THE USUAL TIME: LATE AFTERNOON. All day long evidence had accumulated in General de Castries’s command bunker that something was afoot, and by early afternoon the deadly smell of all-out assault hung in the air. Probing attacks down the trench lines were being made in greater strength, and radio intercepts detected the presence of Viet Minh battalions in concentration. The previous three nights had seen more downpours, and on April 29 some parts of the garrison reported three feet of standing water in the trenches. Their boots and clothing perpetually soaked, the men were also hungry, for everyone was now on half rations. April 30 brought a modicum of good news, in the form of an agreement by the American crews from CAT to resume their C-119 flights, in exchange for a promise from the French Air Force to do a better job of suppressing enemy flak (a promise it failed to keep). Supply drops increased dramatically that day and on May 1, and when the assault began, there was again three days of food available, along with desperately needed ammunition.
Just before five o’clo
ck in the afternoon, the artillery barrage commenced. More than one hundred Viet Minh field guns opened up over the whole area of the camp. Bunkers and soggy trenches collapsed under the bombardment, many of their occupants buried alive. After three hours, the firing slackened, whereupon the entire 312th and 316th Divisions stormed up the eastern hill positions of Eliane and Dominique and the 308th targeted Huguette. Dominique 3, defended by a motley mix of Algerians and Tai, fell quickly, and by 2 A.M. Eliane 1 had succumbed as well. In nine hours of fighting, the garrison had lost 331 killed or missing. Was this the beginning of the end? Senior French commanders feared it was. Colonel Langlais wired Hanoi soon after the assault began: “No more reserves left. Fatigue and wear and tear on the units terrible. Supplies and ammunition insufficient. Quite difficult to resist one more such push by Communists, at least without bringing in one brand-new battalion of excellent quality.”26
General de Castries followed with his own message, sent to General Cogny shortly before midnight: “In any case extremely heavy losses require as of tomorrow night a solid new battalion. Urgent reply requested.”27
Cogny obliged, sending in part of his last remaining airborne force, the First Colonial Parachute Battalion, the next night. More ammunition and supplies were dropped as well, but as on previous nights a high proportion of the tonnage—in this case roughly a third—landed in Viet Minh hands, or in sections of the camp too dangerous to enter for fear of snipers, with the result that the packages were left unretrieved. The new troops were a welcome sight, but they could not make up the heavy losses suffered by the other battalions. Intense fighting continued, with the Viet Minh suffering colossal losses but pressing forward relentlessly. Slowly the French perimeter was bent inward and compressed, as the mortar shells rained down on the French positions. On the night of May 4, de Castries and his staff had to listen helplessly as Huguette 4, defended by eighty legionnaires and Moroccan riflemen against an entire Viet Minh regiment plus four additional battalions (roughly three thousand men), fell after a desperate hours-long stand. At 3:55 A.M. a terse radio message from one of the last surviving officers announced that only a few men remained on their feet. His listeners then heard his death cry, uttered as he was shot by Viet Minh troops who had fought their way into his trench.28
After sunrise that morning, de Castries cabled Cogny the news of the enemy advance in the face of enormous losses and asked for the immediate dispatch of the remainder of the First Colonial Parachute Battalion. The concluding passage stands out for its unsparing assessment of the situation at that moment, fifty-three days into the battle:
The provisions of all kinds are at their lowest; for fifteen days they have been reduced little by little. We don’t have enough ammunition to stop enemy attacks or for harassing fire that must continue without pause; it appears that no effort is being made to remedy this situation. I am told of the risks to the aircrews, but every man here runs infinitely greater risks—there cannot be a double standard. The night drops must begin at 8 P.M. instead of 11 P.M. The morning hours are lost because of the fog, and due to the planning of night drops with long intervals between aircraft the results are ridiculous. I absolutely need provisions in massive quantities.
The very small state of the center of resistance, and the fact that the elements holding the perimeter can’t leave their shelters without coming under fire from snipers and recoilless rifles, means that more and more of the cases dropped are no longer retrievable. The lack of vehicles and coolies oblige me to use extremely exhausted units for recovery tasks; the result is detestable. It also causes losses. I cannot even count on retrieving half of what is dropped, although the quantities sent to me represent only a very small portion of what I have requested. This situation cannot go on.
I insist, once more, on the broad authority that I have requested in the matter of citations. I have nothing to sustain the morale of my men who are being asked for superhuman efforts. I no longer dare to go see them with empty hands.—end—29
De Castries did not hold out much hope that the plea would do any good. Hitherto Hanoi had not been able to provide remotely enough supplies; why should that change now? Headquarters was indeed now giving him authorization to consider a possible breakout attempt from the valley, a sure sign in de Castries’s mind that Hanoi was fast losing faith that the situation could be salvaged. The plan bore the unfortunate code name Albatross and called for the able-bodied survivors to break through enemy lines to the southeast at nightfall, under cover of artillery fire, air support, and small arms fire from the walking wounded, who would be left behind, along with more seriously wounded and the hospital staff. The breakout group would make for the Laotian frontier and would rendezvous with the Condor column about ten days thence, somewhere near Muong Nha. Navarre welcomed Albatross as an alternative to leaving the garrison to die, but Cogny was unenthusiastic. The escapees were sure to be routed, he argued, if not at the initial breakout, then soon thereafter; they were too exhausted, and the enemy too entrenched, for it to be otherwise. The Viet Minh would make propaganda hay of the rout, and the French press would not look kindly on such a nonheroic action. But Cogny agreed it should be left to General de Castries to decide whether to attempt the breakout once on-the-spot resistance had become hopeless.30
Strangely enough for a commander whose position was more precarious with each passing hour, whose men were fighting for their very lives, de Castries had ample time to consider Albatross during the daylight hours of May 5. With all the reserves committed, and with ammunition levels low, there was simply not much left to plan or direct other than an attempted breakout. Still, he hardly relished the opportunity. Told by Cogny that under no circumstances should he surrender, he now faced the delicate task of preparing for a potential breakout without shattering the morale of his troops. He summoned his senior subordinates to his command post and briefed them on the plan. No one expressed enthusiasm, but all agreed it might have to be implemented depending on what transpired in the coming days.
Not yet, though. The situation was bad but not yet desperate enough to initiate an escape plan that even its few proponents considered risky in the extreme. The enemy continued to suffer vastly greater casualties and surely had his own supply problems; if the fortress could hold out a few more days, Giap might have to call a halt and withdraw, at least temporarily. The mood brightened further on the morning of May 6, with the largest supply drop in almost three weeks, a total of almost 196 tons. Ninety-one volunteers also parachuted in during the early hours, many of them Vietnamese. (These paras would be the last reinforcements to reach Dien Bien Phu.) Meanwhile a weak Viet Minh probe against Eliane 3 was easily repelled, and a more serious attack on two Huguette positions was also beaten back.31
Soon the fog lifted to reveal that most rare of sights in these weeks: clear blue skies. Seemingly on cue, the air above the valley filled with aircraft, bringing further hope to de Castries’s desperately weary men. With French Air Force and Navy bombers and fighters concentrating on flak suppression, some transport pilots volunteered to come in lower to achieve better success releasing their loads over the drop zone. Art Wilson, a CAT pilot carrying ammunition for Isabelle, took a hit from a 37mm flak shell in his tail and lost elevator control but completed his run and made it safely back to base at Cat Ni.
Next into the circuit was another CAT pilot, Captain James B. McGovern. A giant bear of a man—his nickname was “Earthquake McGoon,” after a hulking hillbilly in the comic strip Li’l Abner, and his pilot seat had to be specially designed to accommodate his massive frame—McGovern was a legend among Indochina pilots, just as he had been a legend among Chennault’s Flying Tigers in China in World War II. With a booming voice and an insatiable appetite for food and drink, the native of Elizabeth, New Jersey, was a fixture at bars from Taipei to Saigon, and he did not hesitate when offered the chance to fly the Dien Bien Phu run. This was his forty-fifth mission to the remote valley, and he had with him copilot Wallace Buford of Ogden, Utah, as well
as two French crewmen. As McGovern eased the C-119 in for the final run over the drop zone, he was hit in the port engine; he feathered it quickly, only to have a second 37mm shell tear into one of the plane’s tail booms. With six tons of ammunition aboard, the aircraft was a gigantic bomb, and the two pilots fought desperately to regain control. They made it out of the valley to the southeast, the plane yawing badly, but it was hopeless. “Looks like this is it, son,” McGovern coolly radioed another pilot, seconds before the plane plummeted to earth behind the Laotian border, cartwheeled, and exploded in a huge black cloud.32
The following day a telegram from the American consulate in Hanoi informed Washington that, according to French officials, “a C-119 was shot down yesterday by ack ack fire south of Dien Bien Phu. Entire crew, composed of two CAT American pilots (names unknown) and two French crew members, reported lost.”33 Since March 13, thirty-seven CAT pilots had made nearly seven hundred air-drops over the basin, the importance of which to the garrison’s survival would be next to impossible to exaggerate. McGovern and Buford would be the only ones to lose their lives.34
V
ABOUT THE TIME MCGOVERN’S PLANE ENTERED THE DROP ZONE on that fateful final run, the French command in the camp below received a shocking message from Hanoi. Cryptographers had picked up news of the date and time of the final Viet Minh assault: It was to be launched shortly after sundown that very day, May 6. For General de Castries and his subordinates, this was a bombshell of a different kind. They would not be prepared, they knew. True, more ammunition had come in overnight, but many of the parachuted packets would not be retrievable until after dark, by which point it might be too late. The enemy trench works had drawn ever closer, and the garrison was acutely undermanned. But it would be vital to persevere for the next few days, especially with a column en route from Laos and with the Geneva Conference about to commence discussion of Indochina. “We must hang on,” Colonel Langlais told a gathering of officers at ten A.M. “We must force a draw. On the other side they’re just as exhausted as we are.”35 If the defenders could withstand the assault and in the process inflict heavy losses on Giap’s forces, he might choose to halt the proceedings for a period of weeks, or might be compelled to do so by a cease-fire agreement at Geneva. If, on the other hand, the Viet Minh commander succeeded in overwhelming the last strongpoints, he might be perceived far and wide as the victor in Indochina. These broader considerations were hardly the central concern of the officers in the bunker that morning, but they grasped that the stakes were huge—that on the defense of their tiny patch of territory in the coming days could hinge the entire war.
Embers of War: The Fall of an Empire and the Making of America's Vietnam Page 61
