Even though the Easter Offensive accomplished less than enemy strategists ideally sought, it also revealed that Vietnamization and pacification had not yet created a stout-hearted South Vietnamese nationalism that could match the Communists. And time was swiftly running out.
An Army in Distress
Throughout the war American soldiers committed a number of war crimes, the most heinous being the slaughter of civilians at My Lai and the neighboring hamlet of Co Luy on March 16, 1968. Under the command of Lieutenant William L. Calley, the 1st Platoon of Company C, Task Force Barker, 11th Infantry Brigade, Americal Division, massacred approximately 500 women, the elderly, boys and girls, and infants in My Lai. Some of the women were raped and sodomized before being killed in exceptionally inhumane ways. At Co Luy, the 1st Platoon of Company B committed a similar crime, though on a lesser scale, since the grunts murdered “only” ninety-seven civilians. The lone American to act honorably during the day was Warrant Officer Hugh C. Thompson Jr., a reconnaissance helicopter pilot. Seeing the slaughter unfolding, he landed his helicopter to save a group of Vietnamese civilians from soldiers advancing upon them with murderous intent. When he returned to base, Thompson informed his superiors of the massacre. Soon numerous officers knew something had gone terribly wrong at My Lai and Co Luy, but they conspired to cover up the massacre until late 1969, when the war crime finally became public knowledge. As a result, the Army undertook two investigations, one public, the other secret. Headed by Lieutenant General William R. Peers, a formal board of inquiry confirmed the massacre’s magnitude and the cover-up. But witnesses lied or had selective memories, and documents had been destroyed. Everyone escaped punishment for the murders and the cover-up except for Calley, who was convicted of killing twenty-two unarmed civilians and sentenced to life imprisonment. In late 1974 Nixon paroled him. “Every unit of brigade size has its My Lai hidden some place,” alleged Colonel Oren K. Henderson, an officer charged (but not convicted) in the cover-up. That may not have been an exaggeration. Along with the Peers investigation, the Army established a secret “Vietnam War Crimes Working Group” that amassed 9,000 pages of evidence implicating Americans in rapes, torture, murder, and massacres. The Working Group, whose records were secret until 1994, substantiated more than 300 cases, while another 500 allegations could not be proven. However, many of the “investigations” were perfunctory. For example, one case that landed on the discard pile contained allegations about a Tiger Force reconnaissance unit from the 1st Battalion, 327th Infantry, 101st Airborne Division that murdered women and children in Quang Ngai Province in 1967. As was finally exposed in 2003, the Tiger Force unit had indeed killed at least 120 civilians. According to the officers who helped compile the records, even the 800 proven and unsubstantiated cases combined represented only a small fraction of the Army’s war crimes. The Marines also committed atrocities, most notably in Son Thang where a five-man “killer team” slaughtered sixteen women and children, including a twenty-year-old blind woman and ten boys and girls under the age of thirteen.
To say that wars—all wars—spawn atrocities and to affirm that the vast majority of Americans served faithfully and bravely does not remove the stain that war crimes left on the American record.
As the withdrawal accelerated, the disciplinary problems revealed by atrocities took new directions among units remaining in Vietnam. A hairline crack in the Army’s morale and discipline that first appeared in 1969 had become a yawning crevice by 1971. Part of the problem was the unruliness afflicting American society in general, and part of it came from the soldiers’ realization that America was quitting the war. “Nobody wants to be the last man in Viet Nam killed,” said Lieutenant Frank M. Campagne. Future chief of staff Colin Powell believed soldiers were “no less brave or skilled, but by this time in the war, they lacked inspiration and sense of purpose.” At the bottom of the disciplinary abyss lay poor leadership. “These sorry asses would go out of their way to get their ticket punched and show an increased body count,” remembered Campagne about professional officers. “They didn’t care who or how many guys got ‘wasted’ doing it, because these sorry asses stayed on the fire base or the rear area way in the back.” A “Study on Military Professionalism” ordered by Chief of Staff Westmoreland agreed, revealing that ethical transgressions were pervasive in the officer corps. In pursuit of selfish career goals, senior officers “sacrificed integrity on the altar of personal success.” They became preoccupied with “trivial short-term objectives even through dishonest practices” and compelled subordinates “to lie, cheat, and steal to meet the impossible demands of higher officers.”
Some rebellious behavior was relatively innocuous. Soldiers sympathized with the antiwar movement, lacked proper haircuts, displayed peace medallions, and penned “UUUU” on their helmets, the code for “We are the Unwilling, led by the Unqualified, to do the Unnecessary, for the Ungrateful.” Other problems were more serious. For all the American services stationed throughout the world, the desertion rate jumped from 8.43 men per thousand in 1966 to 33.9 in 1971. The Army-wide desertion rate was especially serious, soaring from 14.9 per thousand to 73.5 per thousand during those five years. Desertions hindered the ability of the armed forces to function effectively, not just in Vietnam but worldwide. In South Vietnam, rear area “fragging” (slang for murder or attempted murder, often with a fragmentation grenade) became common, especially in the Army, which had 126 incidents in 1969, 271 in 1970, and 333 in 1971. (The Marines had between 100 and 150 incidents, while the Air Force and Navy had a mere handful.) These numbers do not include “accidental” killings in the field where, admitted one lieutenant, “I was very frightened, not just of what was in front of me, but what was behind me.” Although popular culture portrayed unpopular officers as the primary fragging target, most victims were enlisted men, including NCOs. The perpetrators, their judgment often impaired by drugs or alcohol, were usually lower-ranking enlisted personnel settling personal disputes, not making some grandiose antiwar statement.
Equally disturbing were “combat refusals.” While some of these were mutinies—by 1971 the Army occasionally used military police to assault mutinous troops—many were wise decisions by experienced troops who understood the tactical situation better than their superiors. “Nothing against you, Lieutenant,” said one grunt to his commanding officer, “but this is just stupid. We move out and the point’s [the point man leading the patrol] getting ambushed before the rear squad’s even cleared the laager. We’ve been hit day after day, and we’re just not going.” During 1970 even the fabled 1st Cavalry Division experienced several dozen combat refusals. In order to avoid a combat refusal, some officers began ordering “search and evade” missions, purposefully sending their men into areas where they would not encounter the enemy.
Among the most pernicious disciplinary issues were racial friction and drug abuse, both of which flared in rear areas. Out in the bush, said a black rifleman, “everybody was the same. You can’t find no racism in the bush.” But in base camps and on ships, racial friction was always simmering, and it sometimes escalated into full-fledged riots with deadly consequences. Among other complaints, a black soldier convicted at a general court-martial was likely to receive a harsher penalty than a white convicted of the same offense, and blacks more commonly received less than honorable discharges. Since drug abuse imperiled everyone on combat operations it, like racial conflict, occurred primarily in the rear. Marijuana was the primary drug of choice until 1970, when cheap, high-grade heroin became the foremost culprit—behind alcohol, which was the most serious problem. In the spring of 1970 two servicemen a month died from drug overdoses; by that fall two per day were dying. So many soldiers got “high” on drugs and started shooting wildly that some officers believed drugged GIs were a more serious menace than the enemy.
“What the hell is going on?” wondered Abrams. “I’ve got white shirts all over the place—psychologists, drug counselors, detox specialists, rehab people, social workers, an
d psychiatrists. Is this a goddamned army or a mental hospital? Officers are afraid to lead their men into battle, and the men won’t follow. Jesus Christ! What happened?” The general knew that “it does no good to sit around and piss about the good old days, because they aren’t here—if they ever were.” He also understood that even though the majority of soldiers continued doing their duty honorably, the disintegration was so severe that he needed “to get this Army home to save it.”
Peace Without Honor
Even as the Easter Offensive raged across South Vietnam and LINEBACKER I inflicted crippling losses on the North, negotiators inched toward a truce. The battering inflicted by American warplanes convinced the Communists they must get the U.S. out of the war as soon as possible. With indications the Congress that assembled in January 1973 would be so dovish that it might legislate an end to the war, Nixon was also anxious to settle. Both sides retreated from long-held positions. The Communists’ key concession was to drop their demand for Thieu’s ouster and the creation of a coalition government in the South. Nixon’s most significant concession—the most significant in the entire negotiating process—was agreeing to allow NVA troops to remain inside South Vietnam after previously insisting on mutual troop withdrawals. The president’s new position acknowledged reality; as Kissinger stated, “no negotiations would be able to remove [the NVA] if we had not been able to expel them with force of arms.” The NVA’s presence in the South virtually guaranteed the Communists’ ultimate success, even if Thieu remained in power for the time being. The U.S. also failed to insist on a ceasefire that recognized two Vietnams, thereby conceding, as the Geneva Conference had insisted in 1954, that the 17th Parallel was not an international boundary.
The U.S. and North Vietnam completed a treaty on October 8, agreeing to sign it by October 31. But the U.S. negotiated its retreat without fully consulting South Vietnam—with good reason, since Nixon capitulated on such crucial issues. “The real basic problem,” wrote one of his aides, “boils down to the question of whether Thieu can be sold on it.” He could not. Fearing his government would not survive if the NVA remained in the South, and wanting the 17th Parallel recognized as a boundary between sovereign nations, he insisted the treaty required major changes. In an effort to placate his recalcitrant ally, Nixon assured Thieu “that the United States will react very strongly and rapidly to any violation of the agreement,” and warned him that it was essential “your Government does not emerge as the obstacle to peace which American public opinion now universally desires.” Thieu was not placated, resulting in a paradoxical situation: Since the U.S. had a deal with its enemy, its ally was the obstacle to peace.
Nixon directed Kissinger, who considered Thieu’s proposed changes “preposterous,” to present them to North Vietnam, but the North’s chief negotiator, Le Duc Tho, insisted the U.S. fulfill the October 8 agreement. When negotiations failed to break the deadlock, Nixon tried to get tough, first with his ally and then against his foe. He sent Thieu several messages threatening to move forward with the treaty “at whatever cost.” When the South Vietnamese president did not relent, Nixon threatened the North with another aerial barrage. When the Communists rejected any amendments, he ordered Operation LINEBACKER II, which lasted from December 18 until December 29. Like so many operations, it yielded ambiguous results. Relying extensively on B-52s, it rearranged much of LINEBACKER I’s rubble, crippled the North’s air defenses, and inflicted additional damage, particularly on previously restricted targets in Hanoi and Haiphong. But the U.S. lost fifteen B-52s and thirteen other warplanes, leaving thirty-one crewmen as prisoners of war and another ninety-three missing and presumed dead.15 Moreover, the operation provoked outrage. Domestically, impeachment threats hung in the air, and Congress vowed to cut off war funding contingent upon the withdrawal of all U.S. troops and the return of its prisoners. Nixon knew he had to obtain a deal quickly, because the bombing was not politically sustainable. Even though he threatened the North with still more bombing, the outcry was so great “we cannot consider this to be a viable option.” Internationally, in contrast to their tepid objections to LINEBACKER I the Soviets and Chinese now reacted angrily, raising fears that détente was at risk.
Nixon used LINEBACKER II to try to influence both North and South Vietnam. Rather than risk a third LINEBACKER, the North returned to the conference table determined to get the U.S. out of the war even if it meant accepting a few cosmetic changes to the October 8 agreement. Nixon hoped LINEBACKER II would reassure Thieu that the U.S. would not desert him or allow the enemy to break the agreement with impunity. When Thieu still balked, Nixon insisted he was going to sign an agreement, alone if necessary, in which case “I shall have to explain publicly that your Government obstructs peace.” Not wanting an open break with the U.S., Thieu unhappily acquiesced.
On January 23, 1973, all parties—the South, the U.S., the North, and the NLF—signed the Paris Peace Accords, which were only slightly modified from the October 8 document. The agreement called for a ceasefire in place (which left at least 100,000 NVA in the South), complete American withdrawal, and prisoner exchanges, though the North betrayed the VC because the accords excluded them from the prisoner swap. In a protocol kept secret from the public and Congress, Nixon pledged the U.S. to pay at least $3.25 billion in what were essentially reparations. The president insisted he achieved “peace with honor,” but even viewed in the best light the accords left the South in a precarious position. Former secretary of state Dean Rusk said they were “in effect a surrender”; South Vietnam’s Vice President Ky described them as a “Sellout”; and Chief of Naval Operations Elmo Zumwalt asserted that two words that could never describe the outcome of Nixon’s policy were “peace” and “honor.”
An Indecent Interval
The Paris Peace Accords removed the U.S. from the war and brought its prisoners of war home, but they did not resolve the fundamental issue: Was Vietnam one nation or two? Consequently, as Nixon and Kissinger expected, the Vietnamese civil war continued with barely a pause. Thieu ordered ARVN to reclaim as much territory as possible, and it recovered some areas the NVA had “liberated” during the Easter Offensive. The NVA did not yield terrain without exacting a sanguinary price. ARVN suffered 25,473 KIA in 1973 and another 19,375 in the first eight months of 1974, and was stretched dangerously thin. Initially the South seemed to benefit from Projects ENHANCE and ENHANCE PLUS, two gargantuan efforts to beef up the South’s arsenal before the ceasefire went into effect, because the terms limited resupply to one-for-one replacements. The Department of Defense engorged the South’s armed forces with equipment, but as Lieutenant General Phillip Davidson observed, the U.S. had provided “airplanes they couldn’t fly, ships they couldn’t man, and tanks and other equipment they couldn’t maintain.” By late 1974 many ARVN soldiers were dispirited and desertions were running about 24,000 per month.
After the Americans departed, the Communists were more confident than ever of ultimate victory. They moved cautiously, however, for fear of provoking another LINEBACKER and because they needed time to rebuild their own weakened forces. Encouraged by cuts in U.S. aid to South Vietnam, the convulsions in the U.S. caused by Nixon’s misdeeds during the Watergate scandal, continued Soviet support, and growing unrest against Thieu’s dictatorship, they began driving ARVN from territory South Vietnam acquired in its immediate post-peace land grab, and adopted a two-year plan to unify Vietnam. Limited offensives in late 1974 and into 1975 would create favorable conditions for a climactic “General Offensive—General Uprising” in 1976.
Northern strategists often miscalculated during the war, usually to their regret. This time, however, they miscalculated to their advantage. In mid-December 1974, the NVA in Cambodia attacked Phuoc Long Province northwest of Saigon and captured it in only three weeks. Despite this blatant violation of the Paris Peace Accords, the U.S. did not react with anything more forceful than diplomatic notes. Convinced that Nixon’s successor, President Gerald R. Ford, would not intervene
militarily, the Communists launched an offensive in the Central Highlands on March 10, 1975, aimed at Ban Me Thout. Within a week the Communists controlled the city and stood poised to bisect the South by advancing to the South China Sea. They would not have to fight very hard to do so. Without any advance notice, Thieu ordered ARVN to abandon the Highlands. Since it had no plans for withdrawing, the retreat degenerated into a rout. When General Van Tien Dung unleashed a second offensive, this one in I Corps, ARVN suffered another debacle despite a few pockets of heroic resistance.
Pleased by these unexpectedly easy successes, Hanoi ordered General Dung to discard the two-year plan and complete the South’s destruction in 1975. Substantially rebuilt after the nadir years of 1968–1971, the VC played vital roles in supporting the North’s conventional forces. By mid-April the NVA was approaching Saigon, delayed only by a ferocious last stand at the strategic crossroads of Xuan Loc by the 18th ARVN Division against four NVA divisions. On April 29 the Vietnam War’s last battle started when NVA rockets blasted Tan Son Nhut air base, which had been MACV’s headquarters. The next day the South unconditionally surrendered.
South Vietnam had collapsed after an indecently brief interval. If the war’s beginning was ambiguous, its ending was not. The U.S. and the South Vietnam it tried to create had lost, unequivocally.
In succession the VC/NVA defeated America’s special war, limited war, and Vietnamization-pacification strategies. By 1975 the U.S. could not afford the cost of propping up Thieu’s government; the public no longer had any interest in Vietnam; and America could not continue to ignore its other domestic and worldwide commitments. Throughout its brief history, the South had always been too dependent on the U.S. to stand on its own. William Colby once asserted: “There’s no reason why 17 million South Vietnamese can’t hold off 18 million North Vietnamese.” But there was a reason: The South’s population, like America’s, was never willing to pay anything close to the steep price the North Vietnamese and VC did in pursuit of what they considered the sacred goals of national unification and independence. In a larger sense, the Communist victory flowed with the tidal wave of decolonization that washed over the globe after World War II.
For the Common Defense Page 81
