The War Before the War, page 21
Taking off from Cat Bi Airfield in Haiphong, several squadrons of B-26 Invaders headed into battle. Each carried six 1,000 lb. bombs, four internally in the bomb bay, and two on wing hardpoints. In addition, the bombers carried ten HVAR rockets under their wings and six M2 Browning machineguns in their nose turrets. A single bomber carried a powerful punch, but a squadron was capable of taking out an entire battalion of enemy troops if caught in the open.
When the Viet Minh heard the drone of approaching aircraft engines, they scattered, seeking whatever cover they could find. Their leaders would have thought this cowardly had they not seen for themselves the damage a squadron of bombers could reap on their troops. Even if the shrapnel didn’t kill its targets, the concussive wave from a 1000 lb. bomb could turn a soldier’s insides into jelly.
Surprisingly, the soldiers in the 304th and 312th did not break. The took the punishment from the French aircraft and held their positions. When the squadrons were finished and headed for the horizon, the Viet Minh rose and continued their assault. They left behind the dead and dying for the medics and support personnel. They knew great sacrifices were needed to overthrow their French overlords. Every bomb that dropped and artillery shell that exploded may have decimated their ranks but left the survivors more resolved that their cause was righteous and more determined to achieve victory. Their deepest desire was not to survive but to get at the French.
The two Viet Minh divisions split; one continued the assault against Mobile Group 2 and the paratroopers while the other turned to face Mobile Group 4 nipping at their flanks. The French armored cars and tanks smashed against the human wave attacks. While the Viet Minh had no armor, they did have Chinese bazookas and lunge mines that could take out steel beasts if they could get close enough. Many Viet Minh fireteams waited in ambush for the French armor to advance past their hidden positions before opening fire. The result, more times than not, was that the Viet Minh fireteam would be wiped out by a spray of machinegun fire. But there were victories, and those victories cost the French dearly.
The Viet Minh ground against the French like a sandstorm. They seemed to be everywhere at the same time. No place was safe.
For their part, the French fought mightily. Never giving an inch without extracting a price in blood. But in the end, it was the French that decided the cost was too high. They could not afford the losses like the Viet Minh. Replacements were hard to come by and were usually inexperienced. The longer the French fought, the weaker they became. It was not a rout by any stretch of the imagination. The French performed a disciplined fighting withdrawal making the Viet Minh pay for their new territory. After a week of fighting, both sides were exhausted. The soldiers just wanted the battle to end so they could sleep once again and maybe have a decent meal. After three days of constant battle, the Viet Minh stopped their advance and let the surviving French return to the safety of their defensive line.
The Viet Minh claimed victory. They had driven the French from the battlefield, but the cost was high on both sides. Over five thousand French Union soldiers were killed or seriously wounded. The French generals were grateful it wasn’t worse.
The Viet Minh suffered about the same but were better able to absorb the loss, although many of their veteran fighters had been killed and would no longer be available to instruct the recruits and give them confidence.
De Lattre’s biggest concern was to prevent the Americans from finding the actual results of the campaign. He was unable to stop the French and foreign press from reporting what they had seen and heard to their readers out-of-country. Brigitte had been part of it, and there was no way to stop her. She wrote the truth of how the battle unfolded and the final results even though it reflected poorly on the French army as a whole. Revealing the truth, even when painful, was her duty to France and her readers.
But in Indochina, De Lattre was the man in charge of both the army and the government. He threatened to shut down the local publishers if he didn’t like what they reported. When they complained, he reminded them that the communists would do far worse if they took control. Journalists would be the first killed. They shut up and reported light French casualties. The whole affair was swept under the rug. De Lattre’s only real problem was the Kennedys. They were still in-country and digging for the truth. Now more than ever, he needed to steer them away from the Battle of Hoa Binh.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
John sat next to De Lattre as they were driven to yet another troops inspection with a full band and dignitaries. John was peeved. He wasn’t interested in the dog and pony show De Lattre was offering. “So, Congressman Kennedy, what do you think of our military strategy so far?” said De Lattre.
“Honestly, General, and I mean this with all due respect, I’m not sure I see a strategy,” said John.
“What do you mean?”
“Your forces control the cities and patrol the main roads during the day. Except for a handful of hamlets, the Viet Minh control the countryside and take over those same main roads at night. In America, we call that a stalemate.”
“I admit it. It has been difficult to take the offensive. We are short on manpower and weapons. If President Truman were to commit ground troops to guard the cities and roads, my men would be free to attack the Viet Minh and end the war once and for all.”
“We can help with the weapons. Lord knows we have plenty of surplus left over from the war. But to be honest, American ground troops are wishful thinking. The American people think Europe is where our military should focus its efforts, not Southeast Asia. We might be able to send some advisors to help train your men.”
“Advisors will help, of course, but it takes time to train men, especially colonial troops. The language is always a problem.”
“I don’t think language is the problem. I think it’s leadership.”
“What do you mean, Congressman?” said De Lattre, offended.
“Not you, sir. The Vietnamese government. Nobody in the Vietnamese army seems very excited about supporting Bao Dai as a leader of the people or the army. They don’t believe he has their best interest at heart. They believe he is a self-serving French puppet. Just another tool used to control them.”
“They are soldiers. They will do as they are told.”
“I wish that were true. I know you have far more experience at leading men into battle than I. I was only a lieutenant in charge of a PT boat. But I knew, from the day I set foot on that boat, my men would only fight for someone they believed cared about their wellbeing. And I’m not talking about someone who mothers them. There were times they needed a sharp kick in the ass. I’m talking about leading from the front. Not asking them to do something you are not prepared to do yourself.”
“We are doing what we can to help our young officers become better leaders. But frankly, leading does not come naturally to the Indochinese. Most are Buddhist and take a ‘what will be, will be’ attitude. They just don’t have the drive that it takes to lead. Perhaps your American advisors can do better.”
“Have you considered giving them something to fight for?”
“Such as Independence?”
“Well… yeah.”
“We’ve granted them independence.”
“Limited independence. France still controls Vietnam’s finances, diplomacy, and military.”
“Only until the country is stabilized and the government can take on the additional responsibilities required.”
“And when will that be?”
“I imagine when the war is over, and the communists are no longer a threat.
“The Vietnamese don’t believe you will keep your word.”
“We cannot be responsible for what they think. And frankly, independence will not solve Indochina’s problems. Destroying the communists will solve Indochina’s problems.”
“And yet, you have no real plan for doing that.”
“A plan? Of course, we have a plan. The De Lattre line will be the bastion that crushes their spirit.”
“You mentioned that before. I’d like to see it.”
“It’s difficult. The Viet Minh continue to attack our outposts in the north on a nightly basis. I fear it would be too risky.”
“Risky, for whom?”
“Are you inferring that I am hiding something?”
“General, I respect you as a leader. Your men are loyal to you. That says a lot. But you talk about this mythical defensive line like it’s the solution to your problems, and yet you won’t show it to me. What am I supposed to tell the president when I get back?”
“That we are America’s allies and deserve his support.”
“He already knows that. What he wants to know is, can you win?”
“Of course, we can win.”
“Then show me. Let me take that message back to my president.”
De Lattre considered for a long moment and said, “Alright. We will go. But I warn you that it is dangerous. Hanoi is not Saigon.”
“I understand. I have one other request.”
“Yes?”
“No more dog and pony shows.”
“Dog and Pony?”
“No more military parades or inspections of your crack troops. You put on an impressive show, but I’ve seen enough. I want to see the real French Army in action. If you truly have faith in your men, you’ll let me see them as they are. You will let me see them fight.”
“Very well. No more dog and pony. You may go where you wish and talk with whomever you please.”
“I appreciate it, General. Do you mind if we skip the current inspection?”
“The men will be disappointed.”
“Well, I don’t want to be responsible for lowering morale, now do I?”
“I would hope not.”
“Lead on, General. Lead on.”
Granier sat on the Continental patio café waiting for John’s return like a dog waiting impatiently for his master. John had asked to travel alone with De Lattre on this day so he could have a frank discussion with the general. Granier didn’t like the idea but wasn’t given a choice. One of the things he liked about John and all the Kennedys was their independence. They did what they thought was needed and right.
Granier watched the streets around the hotel. Everything seemed normal – taxis carrying westerners, pedestrians strolling around the park, a man selling newspapers to passing businessmen, two policemen patrolling on foot, and checking identification of Vietnamese in the area.
Patricia walked into the café and sat down next to him. “Penny for your thoughts,” she said.
“That’s about all they would be worth,” said Granier. “You really shouldn’t be out here… on the patio. It’s too exposed.”
“Yes, mother hen. I am risking my life for a coffee and… to tell you something.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going back to the states tomorrow. I’ve got an early morning flight.”
“Why is that? I thought you loved Indochina.”
“It’s fascinating for sure. But it’s like you said… you’ve got to pace yourself. And for now, I’ve had enough. Besides, I’ve accepted a job in Hollywood.”
“Hollywood, really?”
“Before we left, I was offered a position as a television producer for NBC.”
“Did your father pull some strings?”
“What makes you think I couldn’t get the job on my own?”
“You’re twenty-two, Patricia. I don’t think NBC hands out management positions to kids just out of college.”
“Well, I’m sure father was instrumental behind the scenes, but I never asked him for help.”
“I wouldn’t imagine you would need to. So, what’s the show?”
“Don’t laugh. It’s a cooking show called I Love to Eat with the chef James Beard.”
“A cooking show. People will actually watch that kinda thing?”
“I don’t know. I suppose we are about to find out. It’s the first of its kind. The folks at NBC are excited. They’ve got lots of sponsors lined up.”
“I wish you luck. What’s going to happen to your documentary of the tour?”
“I imagine father will have someone cut together the footage and use it to further Jack’s career when the time is right. Granier, I appreciate everything you’ve done. Especially watching out for Jack and Bobby.
“When they let me.”
“Yeah, well… we Kennedys can be stubborn.”
Patricia leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Look at that… our first kiss. Not how I imagined it,” she said.
He blushed, then something caught his eye. The Vietnamese vendors that sold their wares around the hotel were noticeably absent. The man selling papers was also gone, and there was an absence of trishaws. Only foreigners were visible. “Patricia, do me a favor and go inside,” he said.
“Why? What’s wrong?” she said, looking around.
“I’m not sure. It’s probably nothing. But just to be safe.”
“Alright. Are you gonna be okay?”
“I know when to duck.”
“Yes. Of course,” she said, heading into the hotel.
Granier watched in the distance as General De Lattre’s convoy turned on Rue Catinat and headed toward the hotel. “Ah, shit,” said Granier.
A car pulled up in front of the hotel, and the driver, a Vietnamese man, jumped out. Granier pulled out his pistol from his pocket and pointed it at the driver. “Move that car now!” said Granier firmly.
The driver climbed back in his car and drove away. The hotel security team saw Granier pointing his pistol. They surrounded him, drawing and pointing their pistols at him. They shouted in French. Granier laid his gun on the table and raised his hands above his head. “The Vietnamese have left the area. Something is wrong. You need to move these people off the patio,” said Granier to the security team.
The convoy pulled up in front of the hotel. John started to step from the backseat of the General’s car when he saw Granier, standing with his hands in the air. Their eyes met. Granier shook his head slightly. John looked around as he slipped back into the car and closed the door. “General, would you mind dropping me off at the back entrance?” said John.
“Of course not,” said De Lattre.
The General gave the driver orders, and the convoy turned the corner to the back of the hotel. “Is there something wrong, Congressman?” said De Lattre.
“I’m not sure,” said John.
Watching the convoy disappear around the corner and with the congressman safe, Granier let out a sigh of relief and relaxed. Better safe than sorry, he thought, his hands still in the air, a security guard searching his pockets.
A car parked across the street from the hotel entrance where the General’s car had been only a few moments earlier exploded, sending several pedestrians flying through the air, their bodies torn to shreds. Granier and the security guards were blown off their feet by the powerful blast. Plates and glasses from the tables flew through the air smashing against customers and the walls. The windows on the hotel facing the blast shattered. Glass shards rained down, ripping holes in the cloth overhang above the café. As patrons struggled to their feet, they were pelted and cut by flying glass.
They ran for cover inside the hotel. Blood flowed soaking into the carpet and furniture fabric. Patricia appeared in the doorway, shocked by what had happened. Granier, his face bloodied, saw her and waved her back inside, “Find Jack and Bobby. Get to your room and lock the door.”
“Are you okay?” she said.
“Go, damn it!”
She obeyed and disappeared inside. A fire engine and police sirens approached from a distance. Those not killed from the explosion tended to the wounded.
In the park across the street, a second bomb inside a mailbox exploded, sending shrapnel in all directions, killing and maiming more passerby, and again knocking everyone in the surrounding area off their feet. A man flew off his motorcycle and landed in the street, where he was run over by a car careening out of control. His motorbike skidded across the pavement until it hit a curb, then flipped up into the air, and landed on a pedestrian lying on the sidewalk, a victim of the second blast. A baby carriage flew through a store window and knocked over several mannequins. The baby tumbled out of the mangled carriage, screaming but safe. The baby’s Algerian nanny, missing several limbs, laid on the sidewalk outside bleeding to death.
The streets and sidewalks cleared as survivors ran for cover, leaving the wounded to fend for themselves. Nobody was willing to risk a third blast. Granier and the hotel employees helped those that they could until the emergency vehicles arrived. The carnage from the two explosions was massive – over twenty dead and hundreds wounded.
Granier and the Kennedys sat in the rooftop lounge. Granier was covered with cuts from flying glass and bruises from being thrown off his feet. The Kennedys were mostly unscathed, except for a cut on John’s hand, where he pulled a glass shard from a woman’s forearm. He used his tie as a restriction bandage to slow the bleeding and his shirt to wrap her wound until she could be taken to the hospital for stitches.
It was crowded. The rooftop bar felt like the only safe place to get a drink, which everyone needed to calm their nerves. The waiters served free cocktails, nuts, and French fries. Patrons were visibly shaken, some in shock just stared, expressionless. Other relived the experience telling their stories of what had happened to them, reminding those listening of their own horror stories.
The police were interviewing everyone trying to rebuild the scene before the bombs went off, hopefully, to identify some suspects. A police sketch artist was overwhelmed. Everyone had a different version of who the bombers might be and what they looked like. Everyone seemed to feel that they were Vietnamese and not foreigners. Biases were strong and made most of the information useless. “You saved our lives,” said Patricia tending to a bad cut on Granier’s ear.
