Phoenix Program

by Douglas Valentine

  “That was the basic concept. Whether you had an outfit called Phoenix or not, there was a police need for a field force organization in a counterinsurgency role. The British found this necessary in Malaya, and they created Police Field Forces there. In fact, the original idea of the Vietnamese Police Field Forces came out of Malaya. Robert Thompson recommended it. And when I got to Vietnam, they had a contract Australian … who had taken over for himself the Police Field Forces: Ted Serong. If you looked at the paper, he was hired by AID as a consultant; but he was paid by the CIA, which was reimbursed by AID. This arrangement allowed the CIA to have input into how the Field Police were managed.

  “When I got to Vietnam,” Grieves continued, “I found myself responsible on the American side of this thing, and yet Serong was in there, not as an adviser, but directly operating. He had some money coming in from Australia, which he would dispense to get [Vietnamese] to come over to his side, and he had five or six Australian paramilitary advisers, paid by the Company [CIA], same as him.”

  The problem was that the CIA wanted to establish the Field Police under its control, not as a police force but as a unit against the infrastructure. The CIA tried to do that by having Serong suborn the Vietnamese officers who managed the program, so that he could run it like a private army, the way the agency ran the counterterror teams. “Under Serong and the CIA,” Grieves explained, “the Field Police program was not for the benefit of the Vietnamese; when they were gone, there wasn’t going to be anything left. Well, they could run it like the counterterror teams, or they could be advisers.”

  As a matter of principle, Grieves felt obligated to run his program legitimately. “Now Serong and I were both dealing with the same Vietnamese,” he recalled, “with him on the ground trying to make it anti-VCI. Then I discovered that some very peculiar things were going on. There was no accountability. The CIA was furnishing piasters and weapons to get the Field Police going, but these things were dropped by the Company from accountability when they left Saigon. Serong would take a jeep, ship it by Air America up to the training center in Da Lat, ship it back on the next airplane out, and he’d have a vehicle of his own off the books! A lot of piasters were being used to pay personal servants, to buy liquor, things of that nature. And he had sources of information. He was going with the director of AID’s administrative assistant, and she would take things Serong was interested in and let him see them before [USAID Director] Charlie Mann did. There were all sorts of things going on, and this just put me across the barrel.

  “It took me a couple of months to figure it out”—Grieves sighed—”and it made it hard to put the Field Police back on the police track, which was my job. So the first thing we did was try to get rid of that crowd. But Bob Lowe, who was the head of Public Safety in South Vietnam and my boss through the chief of operations, wanted me to stay out of it. Serong had pulled the wool over his eyes, and he just wasn’t interested. Then John Manopoli replaced Lowe, and John called me in and said he wanted to see me get into it; he had a directive to get rid of Serong, and I supplied the ammunition.

  “It was just his personality,” Grieves said in retrospect, “but his handling of funds, equipment, and everything else was completely immoral. And eventually it all came out. After about a year the services of Brigadier Serong were dispensed with; his and his people’s contracts ran out or were turned over to the Company, and my relationship with the CIA station soured as a result.”

  The final parting of ways came when Grieves was asked to work for the CIA without the knowledge of his AID superiors. From his experience with the agency in Greece, Grieves knew that CIA staff officers were protected but that contract employees were expendable. He did not trust the CIA enough to put himself in the tenuous position of having to depend on it.

  Grieves’s refusal to bring the Field Police under CIA control had a significant effect. “In the eyes of Serong and that crew, the Field Police were to be an outlet of the Company,” Grieves explained. “So when it became obvious they were a part of the National Police, the CIA developed the Provincial Reconnaissance Units (PRU)—units operating separately, hired and commanded by Company people.” Unfortunately, he added, “The Field Police could never develop across the board as long as PRU existed.” Indeed, the PRU and the Field Police worked at cross-purposes for years to come, reflecting parochial tensions between U.S. agencies and undermining the U.S. war effort in Vietnam.

  The Field Police was formally established on January 27, 1965, at the same time as the Marine Police. Its mission, as written by Grieves, was “for the purpose of extending police services to the people of Vietnam in areas where more conventionally armed forces and trained National Police could not operate, and to provide a tool to assist in the extension of the National Police into the rural areas.” Field Police units were to patrol rural areas, control civil disturbances, provide security for the National Police, act as a reserve, and conduct raids against the VCI based on information provided by the Special Branch.

  Notably, Grieves placed the anti-VCI role last, a priority that was reversed two years later under Phoenix. In the meantime, he was intent on bringing order, discipline, and a public service purpose to the Field Police. “The headquarters was in Saigon, collocated with Public Safety,” Grieves recalled. “As soon as we could, however, we constructed a separate headquarters and a warehouse on the outskirts of Saigon. We hired Nungs as security. There was a Nung platoon in Cholon at our central warehouse and forty to fifty Nungs at our training center in Da Lat. We got them through Chinese brokers in Cholon.

  “Between 1965 and 1966,” Grieves explained, “the Field Police were just getting organized. Under Serong the planned strength was eighteen thousand, but the actual force in July 1965 was two thousand.” There were six companies in training at the original center in Nam Dong, which Serong moved to Tri Mot, about six miles outside Da Lat. “He was also dealing with piaster funds on the black market, using the profits to build a private villa for his vacations up there,” Grieves revealed.

  The Tri Mot facility accommodated twelve companies. The American in charge was retired Special Forces Sergeant Major Chuck Petry. Training of field policemen began with a two-month course at the National Police training center in Vung Tau, followed by a three-month course at Tri Mot. Field policemen were assigned to provinces initially as a unit, later as individuals. Offshore training in jungle operations and riot control was given to selected recruits at the Malayan Police Field Force training center (created by Serong) through the Colombo Plan, while other field policemen were trained at the International Police Academy in Washington. The first two Field Police companies, from Long An and Gia Dinh provinces, completed their training in December 1965.

  Grieves then arranged for MACV to provide logistical support to the Field Police through U.S. Army channels on a reimbursable basis. In order to make sure that supplies were not sold on the black market, equipment was issued directly into the American warehouse and parceled out by Grieves and his staff. “We did not issue it to the Vietnamese,” he said, “until they had the troops for it. We didn’t give them twenty-seven companies’ worth of equipment when they only had ten companies of people.

  “We were the administrators,” Grieves explained, “which forced us to account for funds and do a lot of things that were not in an advisory capacity. But it was the only way to get the job done. From the very beginning the idea was to turn it back to the Vietnamese when they could handle it, but at first we had to expand our advisory role to create this force.

  “My first counterpart,” Grieves recalled, “for about eight months was a Special Forces lieutenant colonel named Tran Van Thua. He was assigned to the National Police and was working with Ted Serong. Thua meant well but was not a strong officer. He was attempting to play us against each other by not allowing himself to become too aware of it. Then Nguyen Ngoc Loan became director general of the National Police, and he brought in Colonel Sanh, an army airborne officer.” At that point Thua was reas
signed as chief of the National Police training center at Vung Tau. “Colonel Sanh was an improvement over Thua, but he was also a little hard to get along with,” according to Grieves. “He had no real interest in the police side of it. He came from one of the Combat Police* battalions and was interested primarily in the riot control aspect of the Field Police.”

  Reflecting General Loan’s priorities, Colonel Sanh in early 1966 revised Field Police operating procedures to emphasize civil disturbance control, and he directed that Field Police units in emergencies would be available as a reserve for any police chief. Concurrently with this revised mission, the two existing Combat Police battalions—still advised by Ted Serong under CIA auspices—were incorporated into the Field Police. Available as a nationwide reaction force, the Combat Police was used by General Loan to suppress Buddhist demonstrations in the spring of 1966 in Da Nang, Hue, and Saigon. Likewise, Field Police units in provinces adjacent to Saigon were often called into the capital to reinforce ongoing riot control operations. In such cases platoons would generally be sent in from Long An, Gia Dinh, and Binh Duong provinces.

  “The trained provisional Field Police companies were finally deployed to their provinces in July 1966,” Grieves said, “after being held in Saigon for riot control during the Buddhist struggle movement, which dominated the first half of that year. By year’s end there were forty-five Field Police companies, four platoons each, for a total of five thousand five hundred forty-five men.” By the end of 1967 the Field Police had twelve thousand men in fifty-nine companies.

  “My counterpart for the longest time,” said Grieves, “was Major Nguyen Van Dai, who started out as a ranger captain in the Delta. Dai was the best of the bunch—an old soldier and a real hard rock. He was the one who really built the Field Police.”

  From July 1968 until February 1971 Dai served as assistant director of the National Police Support Division and as commandant of the National Police Field Forces. “Over two years and a half,” said Dai, “as commandant NPFF, my relationship with Colonel Grieves and his staff was very friendly. We had open discussions to find an appropriate and reasonable solution to any difficult problems. After twenty-two years in the army, most of that in combat units, I have only one concept: Quality is better than quantity. All soldiers in my command must be disciplined, and the leader must demonstrate a good example for others.”2

  “Dai,” Grieves said with respect, “brought to the National Police Field Forces the attitude of ‘service to the people.’

  “My personnel,” explained Grieves, “the Field Police advisers, were hired in this country and sent over to Vietnam. In addition, because they were coming over so slowly, we got a couple of local hires who were military and took their discharges in Vietnam. The Field Police advisers were all civilians. [Of 230 Public Safety advisers in Vietnam, 150 were on loan from the military.] We also had a bunch of peculiar deals. I needed advisers, and I needed them bad. The Fifth Special Forces at Nha Trang meanwhile had a requirement for men in civilian clothes in three particular provinces where I needed advisors, too. Theirs was an intelligence requirement, mine was a working function, but a guy could do both jobs. When this came out, I went and laid it on the table with my boss. I wasn’t pulling anything underhanded, and I got their permission to do this. These guys came along and were documented as local hires by AID, but actually they were still in the military. They took over and did a damn fine job in the provinces.

  “There were some officers, too,” Grieves said, adding that “most of them were staff members. We also had an ex-military police major as an adviser to two Field Police companies working with the First Cavalry near Qui Nhon, rooting out VC. He was there two days and said he wanted a ticket home. He said, ‘I’d have stayed in the Army if I wanted this.’

  “So Ed Schlacter took over in Binh Dinh,” Grieves continued. “Based on Special Branch intelligence that Vietcong guerrillas were in the village, around first light the First Cavalry would go in by chopper and circle the village, followed by a Field Police squad, platoon, or company. While the Cav provided security, the Field Police would search people and look in the rice pot. The Americans never knew what was going on, but the Vietnamese in the Field Police would know how many people were feeding by looking in the rice pot. If they saw enough rice for ten people but only saw six people in the hooch, they knew the rest were hiding underground.”

  About the Special Branch, Grieves commented, “They had a security and intelligence gathering function. Special Branch furnished the intelligence on which the Field Police would react. They could pick up two or three guys themselves and actually didn’t need to call in the Field Police unless it was a big deal.

  “What we did was put a company of Field Police in each province,” Grieves explained. “Originally the plan was for a fixed company: four platoons and a headquarters. If you had a big province, put in two companies. Then it became obvious, if you’re going to put platoons in the districts, that it would be better to have one company headquarters and a variable number of platoons. So the basic unit became the forty-man three-squad platoon. They had M-sixteens and were semimobile.

  “In theory, each company had an adviser, but that was never the case. There were never enough. In fact, some of the places where we didn’t have a Field Police adviser, the Public Safety adviser had to take it over. When I first went out there, some Public Safety people had to cover three provinces and were supposed to take the Field Police under their wing. In most cases, however, they didn’t have any interest, and it didn’t work too well. But when the thing got going, the Public Safety adviser had the Field Police adviser under him, and by the very end the companies were so well trained that they could run themselves.”

  Doug McCollum was one of the first Public Safety advisers to manage Field Police units in Vietnam. Born in New Jersey and reared in California, McCollum served three years in the U.S. Army before joining the Walnut Creek Police Department in 1961. Five years later one of McCollum’s colleagues, who was working for Public Safety in Vietnam, wrote and suggested that he do likewise. On April 16, 1966, Doug McCollum arrived in Saigon; two weeks later he was sent to Pleiku Province as the Public Safety police adviser.

  “There was no one there to meet me when I arrived,” McCollum recalled, “so I went over to the province senior adviser … who didn’t know I was coming and was surprised to see me. He didn’t want me there either because of the previous Public Safety adviser, who was then living with his wife in Cambodia. Rogers didn’t think Public Safety was any good.”3

  Not many people did. To give the devil his due, however, it was hard for a Public Safety adviser to distinguish between unlawful and customary behavior on the part of his Vietnamese counterpart. The province police chief bought his job from the province chief, and in turn the police chief expected a percentage of the profits his subordinates made selling licenses and paroles and whatever to the civilian population. Many police chiefs were also taking payoffs from black-marketeers, a fact they would naturally try to keep from their advisers—unless the advisors wanted a piece of the action, too.

  The problem was compounded for a Field Police commander and his adviser. As Grieves noted, “the Vietnamese Field Police platoon leader could not operate on his own. He received his orders and his tasks from commanders outside the Field Police, and the National Police commanders he worked for were in turn subjected to the orders of province and district chiefs who had operational control of the National Police.”

  Another limitation on the Field Police was the fact that Vietnamese policemen were prohibited from arresting American soldiers. Consequently, Doug McCollum worked closely with the Military Police in Pleiku to reduce tensions between American soldiers and Vietnamese and Montagnard pedestrians who often found themselves under the wheels of U.S. Army vehicles. With the cooperation of his counterpart, McCollum and the MPs set up stop signs at intersections and put radar in place in an effort to slow traffic. To reduce tensions further, McCollum and the MPs rest
ricted soldiers to bars in the military compound.

  A dedicated professional who is now an intelligence analyst for the Labor Department, McCollum believed he “was doing something for our country by helping police help people.” One of his accomplishments as a Public Safety adviser was to renovate the province jail, which before his arrival had male and female prisoners incarcerated together. He inspected the PIC once a week, did manpower studies which revealed “ghost” employees on the police payroll, and managed the national identification program, which presented a unique problem in the highlands because “it was hard to bend the fingers of a Montagnard.” McCollum also led the Field Police in joint patrols with the MPs around Pleiku City’s perimeter.

  Soon McCollum was running the Public Safety program in three provinces—Pleiku, Kontum, and Phu Bon. As adviser to the police chief in each province McCollum was responsible for collecting intelligence “from the police side” on enemy troop movements, caches, and cadres and for sending intelligence reports to his regional headquarters in Nha Trang. Then, in February 1967, McCollum was reassigned to Ban Me Thuot, the capital city of Darlac Province. There he had the police set up “a maze of barbed wire, allowing only one way into the city. I put people on rooftops and had the Field Police on roving patrols.” McCollum also began monitoring the Chieu Hoi program. “They’d come in; we’d hold them, feed them, clothe them, get them a mat. Then we’d release them, and they’d wander around the city for a while, then disappear. It was the biggest hole in the net.”