by Tom Wilson
Colonel Trung smiled graciously as he shook hands with Dimetriev. "Very good to see you, Feodor," he said in Vietnamese, slowly so to be easily understood. Trung was a soldier, but he also knew his diplomacy, a nicety that Xuan preferred to leave to others.
Feodor Dimetriev returned the pleasantry in the same language, then talked about the weather and the unseasonable showers. It was about to rain at that very moment, as it had done every morning recently, even though this should have been the beginning of the dry season. During the small talk Xuan examined the new major. The man had a florid complexion and was overweight. No older than Xuan's thirty-two years, he had a paunch and was growing jowls. His coarse brown hair was cropped closely, as the Russians did when preparing for their tour in Vietnam. Sweat soaked his service uniform and his skin glistened with moisture. He held a hand over his mouth to suppress a belch. He was indeed, decided Xuan Nha, just another Western Tay pig. He had expected more, for the man had a glowing reputation.
Colonel Dimetriev introduced his companion. "Major Nicolaj Gregarian arrived last night from Haiphong with our latest group of advisers. He is one of our true experts on guided rocket systems and coordinated defenses, on temporary loan from PVO Strany Headquarters."
"Temporary?" asked Xuan.
"Six months. I requested his services for a longer period, but unfortunately," Dimetriev clapped the major on the back, smiling broadly, "next summer he is scheduled for promotion to lieutenant colonel and to take over the development of a new guided rocket system. Unfortunate for us, but fortunate for Major Gregarian and Mother Russia, right Nicolaj."
Colonel Trung listened politely, but Xuan Nha frowned at the news. He had hoped to work longer with the touted Russian rocket expert. It was difficult to break in a new adviser, to wash away the strict, dogmatic Soviet approach to combat and make room for innovation. Sometimes it was impossible to convince the hardheaded Russians that they must use diverse engagement methods to exploit the slightest vulnerability of the enemy. The war changed monthly, weekly, sometimes daily, for it was a tactical war and that was the way of tactical thinking. Xuan Nha hoped the Russian major could accept such flexibility.
Gregarian was uncomfortable under his scrutiny, and shifted his bulk awkwardly, muttering something incomprehensible. After a moment Xuan Nha realized the Russian was having trouble understanding and putting words into Vietnamese.
"Welcome to Hanoi," Xuan said in passable Russian. "I am Podpolkovnik Xuan Nha, and this is my superior officer, Polkovnik Trung."
Gregarian eased somewhat. They shook hands.
"I've heard of you," said Gregarian to Xuan Nha in Russian, quite ignoring Trung and Dimetriev. "Please excuse my Vietnamese. They rushed me through the Asian Affairs language course, and I have little aptitude for that sort of thing."
"Ah, but he is a wizard with radars and guided rocket systems," said Dimetriev, also speaking in Russian. "Mayor Gregarian will be working with you, Podpolkovnik Nha."
Xuan Nha smiled. "We can always use advice from real experts." Only Trung realized that Xuan was being facetious. Xuan Nha knew every vacuum tube, resistor, and set screw of the systems under his command. When he'd commanded the 23rd guided rocket battalion he had directed the destruction of fourteen enemy aircraft, a feat unmatched by any man in the world, including this Russian expert, Nicolaj Gregarian.
Dimetriev continued. "Unfortunately, others wish to share Nicolaj's valuable time. General-Mayor Luc wants him to depart for Yen Bai tomorrow, to help set up the new P-50 radar being transported to the western mountains."
One-star general Luc was commander of the People's Army of National Defense, the branch of the People's Army dedicated to the defense of the Republic, and the man to whom Trung and Xuan Nha owed and provided allegiance. Still, Xuan Nha wished to start working with Major Gregarian immediately. He assuaged his impatience by remembering that the new P-50, the best command and control radar the Soviets had to offer, might help that effort.
"We are lucky the radar was not destroyed." Xuan addressed Gregarian in his direct manner. "Three nights ago the P-50 arrived at Yen Bai along with two new SON-9 artillery engagement radars and twenty-four S-60 guns."
"Ah, yes," said Gregarian. "We were told by General-Mayor Luc."
Xuan Nha raised an eyebrow. "Did he tell you the Americans bombed the railroad siding the next afternoon as the P-50 radar was being unloaded."
"Yes, but he said the P-50 was undamaged."
"Only because our men fiercely defended the siding. The fornicating dogs destroyed one of the artillery radars, four guns, and a boxcar loaded with ammunition. Thankfully they missed the P-50 and the second artillery radar."
Nicolaj Gregarian's face came to life. "The P-50 is extremely valuable. It must be moved to safety immediately."
Colonel Dimetriev frowned. "Could American intelligence have found out about the shipment? Why else would they pick that particular rail siding at that particular time?"
Colonel Trung looked embarrassed. "Yesterday we captured an American kapitan who had flown on the raid and questioned him at some length. It was luck."
"Perhaps the Cubans could be of assistance there. They had perfected persuasive questioning to a fine art." Dimetriev smiled. "The Cubans hate the Americans with all their Spanish passion and love it when they can get their hands on one."
Xuan Nha spoke, his voice particularly quiet. "I personally interrogated the American pilot. He's telling the truth."
"The Cubans know their American neighbors well, perhaps better than either you or we. They would like to help."
"Not in this particular case," said Xuan with a firm tone. "The American pilot told the truth. I was quite . . . persuasive."
"Ah, I see," said Dimetriev.
Although Castro had recently offered everything from cigars to sugar and combat troops, the North Vietnamese couldn't accept assistance from the Cubans. Their closest ally, the People's Republic of China, scorned the island regime, claiming they were hopelessly revisionist, a dictatorship with few trappings of true Marxism. In turn, Castro made no secret that he vastly preferred Soviet ideology to that of China. Also, the Cuban economy was maintained only through the Soviet policy of paying them much better than world prices for all the sugar they could produce.
The North Vietnamese leadership worked closely with China, for the PRC was their primary source of political support, weapons, and technical aid. But for the past twenty months, following Alexei Kosygin's visit to Hanoi in February of 1965 offering sophisticated antiaircraft defenses, they had been slowly drawn to the Russians. Hanoi played the part of a maiden infatuated with two suitors but unwilling to choose, and received massive attentions from both, for both stood to gain.
Since Peter the Great the Russians had attempted, in spurts and starts, to build a credible navy. The Soviet admiralty had orgasmic dreams about Vietnam's superb warm-water ports. If Ho Chi Minh could indeed create a homogeneous Vietnam under Hanoi's control, the dream could happen. But the North Vietnamese had to win to make it happen, and they had an Achilles' heel. They were vulnerable to air attack. The Soviets had decided the rewards were worth their most Herculean efforts to help them fend off air attacks.
On the other hand, the Chinese didn't want a loose cannon on deck at their back door, as the Vietnamese historically became when freed from Chinese influence. The People's Republic of China wanted a single, communist Vietnam, but they wanted it to remain under their control, so they shipped huge numbers of arms.
As the giants vied for favor, the North Vietnamese were increasingly forced into a balancing act. Trung, a mere colonel, certainly could not appear to favor either over the other, for the North Vietnamese needed help from both.
They needed small arms, MiG-17's, MiG-21's, the superb guided rocket systems, and the radars—as well as technical advisers for all of these—from the Russians. They needed textiles, vast numbers of artillery pieces, rockets, and F-6's, and MiG-19's manufactured in the People's Republic of China. The
y needed the Chinese to allow rail shipment of Soviet arms through their country, and to keep Soviet flight training schools open in China for their pilots.
"I will take the Cuban suggestion under advisement," Trung said smoothly. "Of course, I will have to pass it on to my superiors, and you know how slowly governments move."
Dimetriev smiled. "There are certain decisions that should be made."
Colonel Trung used his fallback response. "I am but a soldier."
Xuan Nha was impatient with the political overtones. "Could we discuss the defensive systems?"
With a pointed glance, Trung silently relayed displeasure at Xuan's impatience.
Colonel Dimetriev turned to Nicolaj Gregarian. "Polkovnik Trung is commander of ground and air defense troops in sector one, encompassing the entire northern part of the country. Podpolkovnik Nha is commander of defenses for the Hanoi area."
"Including antiaircraft artillery?" asked Gregarian, traces of derision apparent in his tone. Russian military planners had decided that artillery was ineffective against modern warplanes traveling at supersonic speeds, so Soviet doctrine relegated AAA to a tertiary role behind interceptors and guided rockets. But for the Soviet propensity to add new weapons while keeping the old ones, there would be no such weapons in their inventory. Many of the guns and artillery radars they supplied to the North Vietnamese were remnants from the Great Patriotic War, supplied by the Americans under their generous lend-lease programs.
"Antiaircraft artillery," retorted Xuan Nha, "has been responsible for the majority of our successes. We shoot down three Americans with artillery for every one with rockets or interceptors."
"I read the reports before I left Moscow. You have done well with what you have, but I will help create a network of rockets, interceptors, and artillery that the Americans absolutely cannot penetrate."
Those were words Xuan Nha wished to hear. "A wall of steel," he muttered.
"What is the extent of your area of responsibility, Podpolkovnik Nha?"
Xuan nodded tersely to Trung and Dimetriev. "With your concurrence, kamerades, I will take Mayor Gregarian to our headquarters where I can better brief him."
Gregarian looked interested.
"Of course," said Dimetriev, his diplomatic smile glowing. Colonel Trung also nodded, barely hiding his annoyance.
"I'll ensure," said Xuan Nha, "that the mayor is returned in time to prepare for his trip tomorrow."
"Do that," growled Trung.
Colonel Trung
As the two departed, Dimetriev reverted to Vietnamese. "He is all business, your Lieutenant Colonel Nha."
"Yes." Trung wished his subordinate had tolerated at least a few more minutes of social duty rather than leave him alone with the other new Russian advisers. Xuan Nha had irritable traits, and to Trung's mind he placed entirely too much trust in the sophisticated rocket defenses. Trung supposed, however, that he must put up with the man's peculiarities if he was to retain his valuable services.
"Xuan Nha is a man of action," he simplified. He did not add that Nha despised bureaucracies, social affairs, and all Tay, including Russians, or that he was pleased to see Gregarian only because he might be a key to obtaining more sophisticated equipment. "He served in the Army of Liberation." The Vietnamese term was Viet Minh.
Dimetriev turned to friendly chitchat. "I've heard he was a hero in your great victory at Dien Bien Phu?"
"We served together under General Luc there when Luc was only a major. It was General Van Tien Dung himself who called Xuan Nha the 'Tiger of Dien Bien Phu.' "
Colonel Trung took a small, dark breakfast cake from a tray on the table. He had developed a tolerance for heavy Russian food during his two visits to Moscow to demand and cajole additional weapons. He nibbled at the tasteless cake, reflecting.
Success and heroism at the French fortress still harvested rewards. Gen Van Tien Dung had masterminded the plan and logistics for that brilliant victory. Major Luc had been charged with transporting the artillery, unseen, ninety kilometers along roadways and mountain trails. Captain Trung had selected the placement of the artillery pieces.
Sub-lieutenant Xuan Nha had ensured that no one leaked word to the French. Once he lined up a queue of forty women and shot them all, for there was a rumor that one had leaked intelligence to a French soldier. It had been an effective lesson to others.
Then Xuan Nha had tirelessly motivated hordes of men, women, and children to haul the big guns and heavy ammunition up the steep mountainsides overlooking the French fortress. He executed so many slackers that the barrel of his pistol warped with heat. The human oxen had been too terrified to falter in his presence, and he seemed to be everywhere at once. The guns were placed. Then, as the great barrages on the French runways and barracks began, and human waves of Viet Minh threw themselves upon the French Union Forces below, the oxen continued to haul ammunition up impossible hillsides made slippery by the gory juices of those who had been crushed under the awful weight of falling artillery pieces.
More than 2,000 French had died at Dien Bien Phu, and 10,000 more were taken prisoner. The heart was taken out of the French campaign. The great powers had partitioned the country, and the great war for liberation was ended.
General Dung had been honored as the wizard of Dien Bien Phu, and was now charged with planning the intricate military actions of the second great struggle, this one against the Americans and their puppet Army of the Republic of Vietnam. General Luc commanded the VPAND, and was entrusted with the defense of their country. Colonel Trung was charged to defend Hanoi and Haiphong.
And as they had done at Dien Bien Phu, they regarded Xuan Nha as one they could rely on to make their plans succeed. At Dien Bien Phu they needed him, and he had not faltered. Today he was one of few who understood the technical systems they used to defend the country, and again they needed him. They also looked with favor on Xuan Nha's brilliant wife, Li Binh, who sat at the side of powerful party leaders.
Still, Colonel Trung decided he must speak to Xuan about the lack of patience he'd displayed at the Russian Embassy. They were both warriors and could talk together. He was more fearful of Li Binh, who wielded her considerable power with the subtlety of a poised cobra. He would handle the matter judiciously.
Xuan Nha
Xuan led the Russian major to his staff car, an aging Peugeot left by the French, peering up at the darkening skies as a few drops of rain began to sprinkle. Soon the rain would come in torrents. Sgt Van Ng, with his one eye and scarred face, opened the rear door for them. The patch and twisted scar tissue made the sergeant appear mean, perhaps more so to a Tay, for Gregarian eyed him warily as he got in. Xuan smiled, inwardly pleased at the Russian's discomfort.
"Back to the headquarters," Xuan directed. Sgt. Van Ng grinned through his mask of scars.
Xuan turned to Gregarian. "How much do you know about our operations, Mayor?" he asked in Russian.
"I was briefed that VPAND is much like our PVO Strany, with radars, interceptors, rocket systems, and antiaircraft artillery."
Xuan raised his hand. "The interceptors operate independently. We work together, but the People's Army Air Force is not part of VPAND."
Gregarian sighed. "Pilots are often difficult to work with."
"We are effective, but our operation could be improved."
"I have ideas that may help. First though, we must get the P-50 long-range radar into a safe position. I feel that with the older early-warning radar that is already operating at your Phu—uh . . ."
"The old P-1 radar is at Phuc Yen airfield, twenty kilometers northwest of here. We have an air regiment there, and they use the P-1 only to control interceptors. That was the way your advisers wanted it."
"But how do you coordinate your defenses if there is no central control?"
"Before each air raid certain areas are assigned to interceptors, others to guided rockets and artillery."
"That is archaic. You should tie the old radar and the new P-50 together with commu
nications lines and control all the defenses with them," Gregarian said.
Xuan Nha agreed, but he had not been able to convince his superiors. He said nothing.
They rode through the city with its obvious French influences. Wide boulevards prevailed throughout the northern quartier.
The rain came suddenly, pelting against the windshield and running down the side windows in sheets. Sgt. Van Ng slowed to a crawl, for visibility was poor. Thunder boomed in the distance, then a loud crash was heard nearer. After a couple of minutes, the rain diminished to a steady downpour and they picked up speed again.
"Very nice," grunted Gregarian, pointing out to the tree-lined streets. "I saw great damage from bombing when we came from Haiphong last night, but I see none here."
Xuan Nha said, "As long as Hanoi is safe, the people know we are invincible. The Americans help by making sure they don't bomb Hanoi."
Gregarian looked perplexed.
"America is a colossus of armed power, but its political leaders are timid. They void their bowels when they think of either you Russians or China entering the war. Their fears are our greatest ally."
Gregarian shook his head in disbelief that the Americans were not trying to bomb Hanoi off the face of the earth.
"My wife is in charge of two important departments in the Ministry for External Affairs, and her people labor relentlessly to ensure that world opinion remains sympathetic to our cause. They pass out truth, but do so very carefully."
"To whom does your wife pass her information?"
"Ahh, but those are her secrets. She lives in a different world than we do, but often her efforts are as effective."
Xuan pointed to a large government building they were passing. "One of the colonial administrative buildings the French erected in 1897. They made Hanoi the capital of all of French Indochina when they realized the people of Laos, Cambodia, and our poorer brothers in the south were accustomed to taking their orders from here. For nearly two thousand years we have approved their governments, punished them when they've erred, and received fair payment for our leadership. Outsiders have tried to change that. The Chinese in ancient times, the French after the Japanese occupation, the Americans now, but always we've regained our position of dominance over Southeast Asia."
