The War Before the War, page 1
The War Before The War
Based on True Events
David Lee Corley
Copyright © 2020 David Lee Corley
All rights reserved.
DEDICATION
I dedicate this story to all of those who fought in the Indochina Wars. History will not forget your sacrifices.
Table of Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
WAR GEOGRAPHY
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE
LETTER TO READER
Author’s Biography
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I wish to acknowledge Robert McNamara for commissioning the Report of the Office of the Secretary of Defense Vietnam Task Force, also known as The Pentagon Papers. The study was a U.S. Department of Defense history of the political and military involvement in Indochina from 1945 to 1967. Reading the study gave me great insight into what the political and military leaders were thinking leading up to and during the First and Second Indochina Wars. While I do not agree with many of McNamara’s decisions about the war, I appreciate the historical significance of the study that he secretly commissioned.
I also wish to acknowledge Daniel Ellsberg’s role in revealing the study and ensuring that it was published. I, like many Americans during that time, had mixed feelings about what he did, but I don’t doubt the act took great courage. It could very well be that his actions prevented future conflicts as we are now able to look back at the decision-making process that brought about the Indochina Wars.
Both McNamara and Ellsberg are now an essential part of history.
WAR GEOGRAPHY
French Indochina, commonly known as ‘Indochina,’ was a French colony divided into five territories - Laos, Cambodia, Tonkin, Amman, and Cochinchine. After a French declaration in 1949, Tonkin, Amman, and Cochinchine would be known as Vietnam while Cambodia and Laos retained their original names and became independent protectorates.
The major cities in Vietnam were Saigon, Hanoi, and Hue. The major waterways were the Mekong River, Saigon River, and Red River. The Mekong River ran through China, Burma, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam. Hanoi was the administrative center of French Indochina.
Most of the major battles in the First Indochina War were fought in the Tonkin Territory in the Northern part of the country.
“War Is Too Important to Be Left to the Generals.”
- Georges Clemenceau
PROLOGUE
World War II was over. The Japanese emperor had finally capitulated after the U.S. Air Force dropped two atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, destroying large parts of the cities and killing over two hundred thousand Japanese. Most were civilians. The Allies had avoided the invasion of Japan, and the lives of hundreds of thousands of soldiers and civilians were saved. It was a trade-off that would be argued by philosophers and historians for centuries. Regardless, the Allies won.
Peace had never been easy, especially in Indochina, whose fate was decided at the Potsdam Conference by Winston Churchill, Joseph Stalin, and Harry Truman. The Indochinese were not asked their opinion, and neither were the French. The world was divided by three great leaders, and a new post-war order was established.
Indochina was made up of Cambodia, Laos, and three Vietnamese territories - Tonkin, Amman, and Cochinchina. Per the new agreement, Indochina was divided at the 16th parallel. The Chinese were given control of North Indochina and the British control of the South. The question of whether Indochina was still a French colony was simply put off until later in hopes that the Viet Minh and the French could negotiate a settlement that both sides could accept. It was wishful thinking from Allied leaders that had bigger fish to fry, namely the division of Europe.
After trying unsuccessfully to engage the French in meaningful negotiations, the patience of Ho Chi Minh and his followers grew thin. Ho declared Vietnam independent from France and took control of much of the country using his Viet Minh rebels. They would not give up their country without a fight, no matter what the three world leaders had decided.
The British commander, Major-General Douglas Gracey, was backed by the 20th Indian Infantry Division, which landed in Saigon in September 1945. The reoccupation of the South was called “Operation Masterton” by the British. The only thing standing in Gracey’s way was U.S. General MacArthur, who insisted that the British commander wait on taking control of the South until after the Japanese had formally surrendered the country to the Allies. The British forces formed a garrison outside the city. They watched helplessly as the Viet Minh took full advantage of the delay by consolidating their forces and shoring up their defensive positions.
Here our story begins…
CHAPTER ONE
Indochina was a country of floating mist. It clung to everything – the mountains, the rice paddies, the rivers, and the villages – until a gentle breeze pushed it onward. Mist created the mystery that filled Indochina, a country where foreigners went to escape the boredom of civilization. One rarely knew what to expect in Indochina, and that made it all the more enticing. It was the Wild West of Southeast Asia, a place of danger and boundless opportunity. A place where one could reinvent themselves. A place of second chances.
Indochina was a country of two cultures – French and Southeast Asian. Much of the country looked the same as it had for hundreds of years. Field after field, mostly of rice surrounded by mud-packed dikes and filled with knee-deep water, sprouting green. Rubber plantations with lines of trees, the bark cut with sharp knives to bleed a white gummy fluid that was collected and processed by cheap labor. Primitive villages made of wood, of which there was an abundance. Flat-bottom sampans sailing their crops to market, floating down slow-moving rivers, passing under monkey bridges made of bamboo. It was a land of intense green, dark shadows, and a black mold that permeated everything. A sky more often grey than blue with clouds that trapped the heat. The sour smell of rotting vegetation and animal excrement combined with starch from the rice pots boiling in every home overpowered the senses. The countryside was more primeval than civilized, and that is why everyone loved it so.
The cities were a different story. They were a strange mixture of Southeast Asia and Europe. Brown faces mingling with white faces. The neighborhoods were divided – some Asian, some European. It was easy to tell the difference.
The buildings in the Asian communities were open, allowing the air to circulate. Bright colored banners hanging from the ceiling offered the occupants some privacy. The roof spans were curved and decorated with stone dragons to keep the demons away. The streets were clogged with trishaws, bicycles, and the occasional car or truck. The road edges were lined with food carts, each offering a specialty and cooked in an iron wok or over coals in a small barbeque. Customers squatted, sitting on their heels as they ate. Pho – a rich broth filled with fresh vegetables and a few slices of pork or fish – was the favorite. In Asian neighborhoods, humanity was on display for everyone to see.
The European communities were much more reserved, and secrets were kept behind thick walls with doors and windows. Shutters provided privacy, and open slats let the air flow through the houses and buildings, but many times the shutters were flung open to allow more ventilation during the hot season. The streets and parks were kept immaculate and uncluttered. Lights on iron lamp posts cast a yellow hue throughout the night, making the neighborhoods safe. Young mistresses known as Congaie were an accepted vice as long as they were used with discretion, never in public or in front of a spouse. Opium was also legal and socially acceptable but confined to dark parlors where one could smoke and dream. Pleasures to while away the long hot nights and fight the longings for home. The men wore white suits with ties and the women long European-style dresses with brimmed hats to shield their faces from the sun when it appeared. White was sensible and clean.
Foreigners came to Southeast Asia looking for something different, and when they arrived, they changed everything to look just like home. Two different worlds living side by side – one incredibly poor and the other rich beyond the imagination of the average Indochinese. It was all so very civilized… until it was not.
Saigon - September 24, 1945
On the northern outskirts of Saigon sat Cité Héraud, a peaceful French-Eurasian quarter. The streets were lined with concrete sidewalks and lush dipterocarp trees that provided welcome shade. Children played on the manicured lawns of colonial villas with their steeply pitched roofs, deep overhangs, and yellow paint. Peugeot 202s with their headlights hidden behind a grill and Citroen sedans with their long noses drove down the paved streets that crisscrossed the neighborhood. A slow-moving river, Arroyo De Avalanche, flowed on the backside of the community offering the wealthy families additional protection against the masses and a cool breeze off its waters. For over a century, the French lived apart from the Indochinese slums and factories in the inner city. Their children were raised away from chaos and extreme poverty. The only Indochinese allowed in the neighborhood were the workers that tended gardens, picked up the trash, cooked the meals, and kept the houses clean. Cité Héraud was its own world. Idyllic. French.
At the end of World War II, the British had been placed in charge of Saigon. Although the Japanese army had surrendered, the British required their help to protect the French citizens until the rest of the British army had arrived by sea, and the question of potential French reoccupation of Indochina had been settled. Conquered and at the mercy of the Allies, the Japanese officers had no choice but to accept the British request. But that didn’t mean they were happy about it. Japanese guards were placed around the French neighborhoods and businesses. Cité Héraud was no exception. The British commander expected the Japanese officers and soldiers to act professionally, no matter the circumstances. The Japanese troops were demoralized from the loss of the war, and discipline was sorely lacking. The Japanese officers, who just wanted to go home, did the absolute minimum to supervise their troops. Small bribes were all it took to circumvent Japanese guard posts or to commit crimes while the soldiers looked the other way.
Just beyond the Boulevard Paul Bert bordering the southern side of Cité Héraud, a group of Vietnamese men gathered. They were armed with metal pipes, machetes, and hammers. A few had pistols with two or three bullets in them; that was all they could afford. They were mostly factory workers and farmers. Peasants working for the French to feed their families.
Dang Phi Hung, a mid-level boss in the Binh Xuyen Crime Syndicate, was the self-proclaimed leader of the group. Hung didn’t care about politics. He was a gangster. Only two things interested him - money and revenge. Today was about revenge.
Hung’s brother had been buried alive by a French plantation owner for disrespecting the man’s wife. Hung and his followers knew that it wouldn’t be long before the British army took control of the city and re-established order. Once that happened, any thoughts of settling old scores would have to wait. It was during the chaos that a man could sow retribution upon his enemies and get away with it. The French were the enemy. In many cases, the Indochinese had been treated as slaves by their French masters. They were often beaten for not making their quota or trying to escape a plantation. Their pay was docked on a whim with not even a pretense of justice. They were forced to pay bribes to the foreman to keep their jobs. The lawless slums in which they lived were filled with vermin and disease. French law and magistrates protected the colonists but did little for the natives. Today, Hung and his men would seek the justice they had been denied. They were determined to teach the French the cost of tyranny.
As the dull sun fell in the cloud-covered sky, more angry Indochinese joined the ranks of the mob. Hung waited until the group numbered over two hundred. He divided his followers into raiding parties of nine with one member as the leader. Nine was a lucky number in Indochina. They needed luck not to get caught. None of the men knew if the Frenchmen that had actually caused them harm were in the Cité Héraud quarter. It wasn’t important. The residents were French. That was all that mattered.
Hung was not educated. He could barely read and didn’t know how to use an abacus. But as a gang leader, he had proven that he understood how to motivate men – a simple appeal to their basic instincts. “The French are thieves. They have taken your land on which you are now forced to work. Your sweat and blood make them rich while you stay poor. They have taken rice from your children’s mouths. They stuff themselves in fancy restaurants while your families dine on the bones of pigs and fish heads without the eyes. I am tired of their promises that things will soon change for the better. They are liars and conmen. They have no interest in justice or equality. They only wish to fill their pockets with coins earned from your labor, not theirs. It is time to take back what is ours,” he said to the cheers of his men. “They killed my brother. For what? For refusing to clean the vomit of a drunken French woman. I ask you, is this justice? If so, I want none of it. Like you, I want revenge for their sins. I want revenge for the scars on my back from their canes. I want revenge for the young women they raped and beat. We must do to them what they have done to us. It is the time of the ax and hammer. Show no mercy. They have shown none to you. You keep what you take. I want nothing but French blood.”
A roar went up from the mob as their rage swelled. At Hung’s command, the mob split up. Some went straight across the boulevard, stopping traffic, while others circled around the sides of the neighborhood to cut off any French that tried to escape. The river behind the neighborhood helped coral the French. Having been sufficiently bribed, the Japanese guards turned a blind eye to the mob as it passed. Each raiding party picked a house. They kicked in the front door and went room to room. They took captive men, women, and children. Anything of value was looted. Everything else was smashed or slashed. Men carried armfuls of jewelry, pocket watches, tea sets, and silverware. Two men tried to carry out an upright piano, but it slipped through their hands and crashed into pieces on the ground. Cars were filled with valuables and driven away by the very men that once chauffeured them, some dragging their owners behind, their feet tied to the bumpers. Furniture, wall clocks, leather-bound books, and stone sculptures were tossed through the windows, shattering the glass and landing on the manicured lawns.
There were no mock trials. There was no time for civilized gestures. The French men were herded into the street. Their genitals were removed with butcher knives, followed by decapitation as their wives and children watched. The women were raped, mutilated, then left to bleed to death. The children’s limbs were hacked off or crushed with hammers.
Upon first hearing of the massacre, General Gracey was outraged. He rebuked the Japanese commander in Saigon and demanded the Japanese army take action. The Japanese commander was already considering seppuku for dishonoring his emperor by losing the war. Gracey’s scolding only fed his depression, and he became unresponsive. He did nothing, and the French continued to die as the minutes ticked by. Gracey had no choice but to take control of the situation.
The massacre had already lasted several hours when the British Army finally arrived in force. A battalion of Indian Gurkhas from the 20th Division with their famous boomerang-shaped kukri knives surrounded the neighborhood. The Indian Gurkha troops were actually Nepalese and considered by many to be the fiercest fighters in the world. They were shock colonial troops and extremely loyal to their British commanders.
Upon seeing the British troops, the mob took furniture from the houses and threw up barricades across the main entrances of the community. They were outnumbered three to one, and the British troops had much better weapons. And yet, they continued to torture, rape, and pillage. Their bloodlust was like a drug that only grew stronger as they practiced their vengeance. No matter what happened, the French in Saigon would not forget this day.
British mortar and machinegun teams took up positions. The troops could hear the hair-raising screams of men, women, and children coming from the neighborhood. The British major commanding the battalion did not make a move until he was sure he would win the fight that he knew was coming. His desire for victory no doubt cost the lives of a dozen or more French civilians. When three armored cars arrived, the major felt well-prepared and gave the order to start the attack.
The mortar teams shelled the enemy positions, and the machine-gunners raked the barricades while the armored cars advanced firing their 25 mm main guns. The troops, armed with Lee-Enfield rifles, followed on foot, shooting anybody that appeared above the barricade.
The enemy barricade was blown into kindling, and the defenders were quickly overrun. Once past the barrier, the Gurkhas spread throughout the community. While the Gurkhas were accustomed to violence, the young British officers were shocked by what they saw and found it difficult not to toss their lunch.
