by Larry Berman
Abrams paused for a moment before getting directly to the point. “I’ve got a letter in my pocket from the President of the United States whose final instruction to me was, ‘I want every man in Vietnam who carries a peter mobilized.’ ” Abrams warned that anyone who did not get onto the same bus with him was going to be dropped from the team or simply ignored. “You are sitting there telling me that it’s going to be 1976 before you can get these planes turned over to the Vietnamese? No way. Can’t happen. The country won’t give us that time. The incoming administration won’t give us that time.”
Abrams got up and left the room.83
At that point, Major General Corcoran, chief of staff at MACV, told Bud he would be better off not presenting his plan while Abe was in such a foul mood. “You want your briefing officer to go on after this? You can have another day or two if you want to,” advised Corcoran. Kerr thought his boss looked “like the guy at the poker table who had just drawn the inside straight.” He gave a slight smile and replied, “No, General. I’d like to go ahead and make my presentation.” Corcoran said, “All right, Bud, if that’s what you want to do, I’ll go and tell Abe. Let’s give him about 45 minutes to come down from the emotional level that he’s at right now.” Turning to his flag lieutenant, Bud said, “Howard, get the briefing charts!”84
Bud had grasped the fluidity of the situation. The commander in chief had told General Abrams that the war was going to be turned over to the Vietnamese. References to 1976 were simply no longer politically viable. Later, after the presidential election, Bud had reached the same conclusion, that the United States was looking for the exit. Public support was melting away. The only question was whether they had one year or three years. With Nixon’s election, Bud was banking on three. After seeing Abrams’s reaction to the air force plan, Bud instructed Kerr to revise their charts by removing each and every caveat. References to “maybe” and “perhaps” were replaced by the statement “If you give us this support, here’s what the Navy can do.”
Zumwalt and Kerr returned to face their MACV commander. Zumwalt personally conducted the briefing, with Kerr flipping the charts. Bud was the briefing officer, believing since his days in the Naval Academy in the persuasiveness of his own advocacy. Bud began by describing his plan for an accelerated turnover of equipment and training for the South Vietnamese navy that he called the Accelerated Turnover Plan (ACTOV). It involved a crash course in the English language for Vietnamese sailors, joint operations on the rivers of Vietnam, the rapid expansion of the Vietnamese navy through recruiting, and the turnover of all in-country naval assets to the Vietnamese. About halfway through the presentation, the army senior advisor said, “This is a bunch of bullshit. There is no way YOU can accomplish this. You don’t have the resources.”
Abrams glared at the major general and said, “Shut up, Goddamnit! He may be digging himself a big hole, but you’re already sitting over there in a cesspool. . . . Look, this guy has something, he’s the only one that’s got a plan and the rest of you get hot.” As he flipped through the charts, Kerr was thinking “that the admiral didn’t just guess right: he analyzed correctly. He had seen what needed to be done. He had gotten out ahead. . . . The timing was almost perfect.”
When Zumwalt was done, Abrams sat for a long moment before saying, “Admiral, I want to know the following. I want to know what you as Commander Naval Forces Vietnam can do on your own with the authority that you have and the assets that you have. And I need to know what support you need within the Navy chain of command to make this happen. I need to know what part of this plan requires the support of the Vietnamese that you currently don’t have. And I need to know what I can do as Commander, Military Assistance Command Vietnam with the assets and authority that I have.” Abrams asked Zumwalt what was the soonest he could have this information. “Monday, General.”
Abrams turned to General Corcoran and said, “I’m not going to hear any more today.” He started to leave, but then turned around and walked over to where Admiral Zumwalt stood. Putting his arm around Bud’s shoulders, they walked together to Abrams’s office. “This showed everybody that I was his boy for the day,” said Bud.85 It was a signal to everyone else in the room. “It turned out to be the thing that changed the whole course of our destiny out there,” recalled Zumwalt. “From that point on, General Abrams was a Navy man.”86
In the car on the way back to navy headquarters, Zumwalt and Kerr focused on developing their plan by Monday. Bud realized that he was in an awkward position, because he needed to inform CNO Thomas Moorer that he had just pledged to give away navy equipment, something Moorer hated to do. In a back-channel message, Bud informed the CNO that “General Abrams had come back from the White House with this stark guidance, and therefore this plan had been submitted.” Bud recalled, “Admiral Moorer was furious.” He had his assistant call Bud on the secure phone line “and question me whether or not I was telling the truth.”87
Moorer grudgingly approved Zumwalt’s turnover plan. Meanwhile, the staff worked all weekend, and by four o’clock on Monday afternoon, MACV had the ACTOV plan. Bud’s relationship with General Abrams blossomed over the next few months and became as close a personal relationship as two flag officers can have. In many ways, the two men were kindred spirits and real war fighters. “General Abrams is a great military captain,” wrote Bud in a letter to Nitze. “I’m already willing to place him alongside such historical military geniuses as MacArthur, Lee, Rommel, etc. He understands the multi-faceted nature of this war.”88 Abrams was also sold on Bud, so much so that when Nixon’s new secretary of defense, Melvin Laird, made his first visit to Vietnam in the spring of 1969, Abe recommended that he consider Zumwalt for CNO whenever the next opening occurred. Laird was impressed with the briefing he received from Zumwalt for an accelerated turnover program and communicated this to the new secretary of the navy, John Chafee, asking that “when you are making nominations for the next CNO, give me five names, make sure that Zumwalt is one of them.”89
By late November, Flag Lieutenant Glenn sent a summary of Bud’s activities to the Zumwalt family, ending with a P.S.: “We are having as much fun as it is possible to have away from one’s family. Little supervision—lots of room for initiative.”90
On November 29, 1968, Bud celebrated his forty-eighth birthday with his family at Clark Air Force Base. Before departing Vietnam, Bud made five stops in the delta to visit his men and pass out twenty-five Bronze Stars and thirty Purple Hearts. “It was one of the most moving experiences I have had in years,” wrote Bud to his family. “Not one single man had a complaint about his bad luck, his pain, etc. Each one was concerned about family or buddies or ‘how did we make out in this mission.’ I’ve seen American youth at its finest. I’m mighty proud to be able to serve with them.”91
Until Bud arrived, the navy got little respect in Vietnam. Larry Oswald was a navy supply officer in Vietnam. In the wake of the Tet Offensive, Oswald was having trouble getting spare parts for guns, radios, and engines. In the Mekong, these parts came from the army supply depot at Long Binh, commanded by an army two-star general. Admiral Veth’s requests for additional parts were consistently ignored. Not inclined to make waves, Veth had literally left his sailors high and dry. One of the first things Bud did after arriving was to call an urgent meeting at Long Binh to discuss these critical equipment shortages. As Bud’s helicopter arrived at Long Binh, the army general decided to have some fun by refusing permission to land. It was the army’s way of sending a message to the navy’s new commander, that no matter how many stars he had, the navy was still not a player. Bud sent his own message back, telling his pilot to hover about a foot off the ground adjacent to the general’s office. Once again, permission to land was refused. Bud had the pilot tip the helicopter slightly to the left, with the left-side skid resting hard on the ground and the right-side skid about a foot off the ground. The pilot, on Admiral Zumwalt’s instruction, flew outward spirals around the office, digging up all the grass ar
ound the compound. “Admiral Zumwalt got out of the Huey, went inside and advised the General that there was ‘a new sheriff in town.’ ”92
The basic style of Bud’s leadership was intense loyalty downward. Bud knew that his aggressive offensive strategy would lead to higher casualties. He understood better than anyone that they were dying because his programs placed sailors at greater risk. “Chances are if it were not for SEALORDS, they wouldn’t have been dead,” said Rex.93 Marine aide Mike Spiro recalled the night Bud was so concerned about a young ensign being alone on a remote listening-post assignment that they both went out to check on him, just to make sure he was OK. “Flag officers should not be doing things like this, but that was something you could not stop the admiral from doing,” said Spiro.94
The army soon developed new respect for sailors going into harm’s way rather than remaining in well-protected areas. The enemy also felt it, because the water was no longer safe for them. That is why each day there were touchdowns into remote and dangerous war zones. Once on the ground, Bud spent time with sailors in rap sessions, listening to them. SEALORDS was his strategy, but Bud could not direct tactics from Saigon. After firefights he wanted to go to the scene and speak with sailors, find out what had gone right and wrong and disseminate the lessons learned. He encouraged his sailors to be more like Bernique, not necessarily in violating rules of engagement but rather in the invention of tactics. “I was learning a lot and bringing back a lot of information to Saigon about things we needed to do better,” recalled Bud.
Bud also learned from these rap sessions about what were known as Mickey Mouse regulations. His sailors understood patriotism; indeed, they were fighting at the behest of their country. His sailors were brave young men who adapted remarkably well to the various types of warfare in the delta and on the coast of Vietnam. Their spirit pervaded the entire naval organization. Few ever asked, “Why am I the unlucky guy to get wounded?” Instead, they wanted to know, “Why is it that I, out here in this unpopular war as a double volunteer to join the navy and to fight this war, am not permitted to have hair and beards that look like my contemporaries’?” Or “Why is it that we have to put up with this Mickey Mouse chicken shit?” None of these things interfered with fighting qualities, good order, or discipline.
Bud would find out what sailors needed, from the third-class boatswain’s mate to the ensign. If they wanted a bag of charcoal or a case of beer, Bud would instruct his aide, “Let’s make sure that we don’t return to that base without providing the things they wanted.”95 Since 1914, when the son of Josephus Daniels, secretary of the navy, became drunk on a navy vessel, navy regulations outlawed the consumption of alcoholic beverages aboard ships. In the delta there were no clubs along the river in enemy territory, so Bud began the practice of tying barges alongside ships to serve as floating bases for smaller craft and to supply beer for the sailors. In a letter to the family on January 28, 1969, Lew Glenn reported that Bud had just gone to an area near the Parrot’s Beak border of Cambodia to congratulate men on the results of Giant Slingshot. “We brought along three cases of beer to repay the sailors at Thuy Dong for their kindness on previous trip.”96
Sailors never forgot what Admiral Zumwalt was doing for them. As supply officer, Larry Oswald was responsible for making sure that sailors patrolling the dangerous Vinh Te Canal had functioning flak jackets while on patrol. The body armor was covered by an olive drab nylon fabric that did not stand up to the heat and monsoon rains, quickly rendering the jackets all but useless. Oswald was responsible for ordering new jackets and sent the request to the commander of naval support activity in Saigon, who accused the crews of gross negligence in maintaining their equipment. The base commander sent a message to headquarters reiterating that he would not authorize new flak jackets; instead, he ordered crews to remove their jackets during the final hour of patrol and tie them to the backs of their boats in order to launder them. “I had never felt so alone and helpless as I was that day,” recalled Oswald. When Bud read the message, he immediately reassigned the commander and made sure new flak jackets arrived. “Every time I see servicemen in flak jackets, I think about ‘Z’ and thank God that this one-of-a-kind man was our Boss,” said Oswald.97
Jim Morgan, a senior patrol officer and operation officer in River Division 593, recalled that “during our three and one-half months on Giant Slingshot we got to know VADM Zumwalt and I gained great respect for him and his leadership that lasts until today. All of the river divisions on the two rivers were having hard times. Casualties were certainly higher than we were accustomed to, and there were a lot more firefights than in our previous areas. Every patrol had every crew member on a high state of alert. Men’s nerves were stretched very taut. Into this atmosphere would come VADM Zumwalt periodically, probably once a month. He would bring members of his staff. I remember his supply and intelligence officers being along. He would call for an all-hands meeting, enlisted as well as officers, put his chin out and tell all assembled that he was the one who put them on these rivers, and if they wanted to take a swing at anyone, he was the one. He explained the strategy, thereby including the troops in the big picture, and he asked what the men were thinking and what they needed that they weren’t getting. If one hasn’t been in the service, one probably cannot appreciate how rare it is for a three-star officer to talk directly with front line personnel, to offer to take it on the chin from them, and to ask directly what they need to fight better and live a little better. In my opinion, it’s extraordinary.”98
Going into the field brought risks for Bud. Flag Lieutenant Bob Powers recalled the day he and the admiral visited a base at Ha Tien, at the west end of the Vinh Te Canal on the Cambodian border. Thinking the admiral was asleep, Powers negotiated a seat on an evening Swift Boat patrol. Out of nowhere appeared Bud, who said he was coming along. Powers strenuously objected, because the danger was just too great. “Who’s the Admiral around here, Bob?” asked Zumwalt. A marine sergeant removed all signs of rank from the admiral, including his ID card and the three stars from his collar. “He ripped the name ZUMWALT off the Admiral’s greens,” wrote Powers. That evening they spent the night patrolling the Vinh Te Canal, watching and hearing the firefights. The entire evening, Powers kept thinking that if anything happened to Zumwalt, he would never be able to explain it in headquarters.99
Another evening, Bud was caught in an attack on the Swift Boats and forced to spend the evening in a muddy bunker with marines eating C rations. This was the only time Abrams ever showed anger toward him. When he returned from the ambush, Abe told him, “Admiral, we got the report that you’ve been out trying to be a goddamn hero. I understand you’ve been out in the goddamn boats all night. You are ordered not to do that anymore.” Bud replied, “Well, General, I’ve got to be able to do that. If I’m going to be commanding these guys, I’ve got to know what they’re going through. I can’t know what needs fixing, and I can’t know what their problems are morale-wise unless I’m out there.”100 Abrams admired Bud’s bravery but in this case said, “Read this.” It was a report that Don Starry, the army colonel Abe was fondest of, had just been shot down in his helicopter over Cambodia, a place he was not supposed to be. Abe had tears in his eyes and appeared heartbroken at the thought of losing his friend.101
Driving Bud’s approach was a belief that a commander’s responsibility was a commitment to the welfare of those who served under him. Bud believed in the old adage “Don’t send men on missions you would not do yourself.” Spending a night on a small naval patrol boat in the face of the enemy engendered immeasurable confidence and respect in the young sailors patrolling there, and Bud’s helicopter became a familiar sight in visits to remote base camps to deliver food and mail. He came not only for information, but to be with the wounded and dying, often holding their hands and whispering words of comfort. Jimmy Bryant of the River Patrol Force under Art Price was in the Twenty-ninth Army Evacuation Hospital in Can Tho. When he visited him, Bud said, “Don’t try to get up,
Chief. I hear you had a pretty rough time of it.” Bud put his hand on Bryant’s left arm. “You will pull out of this, Chief. You’ve done a good job for me and the Navy. When you get back home and request your next assignment, use my name to help you get it. If that doesn’t work, contact me personally.”102
One death haunted Bud most of all but also demonstrated his sense of responsibility and leadership. John C. Brewton, leader of a navy SEAL team, was seriously wounded in a firefight on November 24, 1969, and evacuated to a field hospital in Saigon. He had almost no chance to survive, but he refused to die. Bud visited him eight or ten times, and because he could not be evacuated, his fiancée and father came out to be with him. Bud gave the Brewton family the guest quarters at his villa. Brewton died on January 11, 1970, and Zumwalt personally awarded him the Silver Star and posthumously promoted him to the rank of lieutenant. When Bud became CNO, he saw to it that the destroyer escort DE-1086, commissioned by Mouza in 1972, was named the USS Brewton in honor of the brave SEAL.103 On August 21, 1971, Abrams wrote to Bud, “I remember so well his hard struggle to live and the dedicated and devoted efforts of all who struggled with him night and day.”104 Bud informed Abe about the recent launching ceremony of the USS Brewton in New Orleans. “It was a personal honor for Mouza and me to participate in christening this fine new ship and I know it will be a credit to the name of young Lieutenant Brewton.”
As a child, Elmo Zumwalt III survived polio and surgery for a congenital heart defect. Doctors presented Bud and Mouza with the high-risk surgical option of repairing the small hole in one of the chambers of Elmo’s heart, along with the option of doing nothing, meaning that Elmo would face a lifetime of fatigue and limited activity. Bud’s first son had long dreamed of a naval career and feared that even with the surgery, he would be unable to serve. Bud assured him that “he could become a naval officer if he went through with the heart surgery and that I would be there to see him graduate.”105 Elmo replied, “Let’s go for it!”
