Tucker's Last Stand (21 page)

Le Duc Sy was himself excited, but before leaning over to study the pencil markings Captain Thanh-Lang was making on the pad of paper, he pressed the buzzer. Well before the captain had sunk the destroyer by Tactic A, two bottles were brought in by the Frenchman's fourteen-year-old son, who put them down and left the room discreetly. Le Duc Sy listened one full hour to Captain Thanh-Lang, whose enthusiasm for a possible encounter on the following day in turn fired Le Duc Sy, who talked now about the joy of humiliating the imperialist marauder, and how the Yankees would learn the high cost of poaching on waters indisputably North Vietnamese.

Captain Thanh-Lang suddenly pushed aside his half-dozen sheets of paper, each of them demonstrating a different nautical maneuver. “What will the Americans then do, Le Duc Sy?”

Sy smiled. “What more can they do than they are already doing? They dominate the Gulf of Tonkin today. They arm an entire fleet of the Southern rebels, disguise them, dispatch them to our waters to inspect our defensive resources. On our western border they plot to interrupt our flow of men and materiel to press the war of independence—”

“The Americans have not bombed us.”

Le Duc Sy jiggled his fingers dismissively. “They
can
bomb us, of course. And China can bomb Taiwan. And Pyongyang can bomb Seoul. And Moscow can bomb Paris. But the Americans do not
want
a world war, Captain. And do not forget that there is an election being contested in the United States. No, the United States will simply absorb the punishment. Perhaps even the representative of the United States in the United Nations will apologize for its provocative acts within our territorial waters. But we will then emerge, Captain, as the valiant defenders of our little state, not afraid to tell the great dragon of the West when it has gone too far.”

Thanh-Lang was so overjoyed he very nearly couldn't bear it. He asked Le Duc Sy whether he thought it appropriate that, together, in muted voice so as not to alert or alarm the company next door, they might hum the opening bars of the national anthem. Le Duc Sy, entering thoroughly into the spirit of martial enthusiasm, thought this a fine idea. “We'll sing to our country,” he said, “and then we will drink one more time to our country.”

At 11
A.M.
the following day, the three patrol boats of Squadron A hid behind the little island of Hon Me. Two nights before, Hon Me had been assaulted by South Vietnamese naval guerrillas. They had attempted to land, intending to sabotage its radar installations. Rebuffed, they settled for strafing it from the sea. Now it served as cover for Squadron A. Just before 1300, radar detected, at a distance of just over six miles, a heavy congestion of junks: South Vietnamese fishing boats. But one mile off, on a course more or less parallel to the junks, was a solid, squat blip. Le Duc Sy measured the speed it was making over the ground. “Just under 25 knots,” he called out to Captain Thanh-Lang.

“It has to be what we're looking for, no?” Thanh-Lang asked eagerly.

Le Duc Sy lifted his head from the radar. “Let us find out.”

The Soviet-built patrol boats could travel at almost 50 knots, twice the speed of the USS
Maddox
which, spotting the several craft approaching, turned to head out to sea.

It took time for the NVA patrol boat to come within attack range of what Le Duc Sy now knew for a certainty was an American destroyer. The sun was blistering and even at 50 knots Le Duc Sy could not get much relief from it; if he stuck his head out of the cockpit, the vessel's speed exposed him to such a rush of wind speed he had to yank his head back in.

It wasn't until eight minutes past three that the pursuers and the pursued came within range of each other. Just as Captain Thanh-Lang ordered two torpedoes loosed, the
Maddox
began to fire its big guns. By radio Captain Thanh-Lang instructed Vessel Number 2 to bear down on the destroyer's starboard side, intending to limit the enemy's right-side option to step out of the path of the torpedoes. Vessel Number 2 roared ahead while Captain Thanh-Lang adjusted to a port tack, intending a strait-jacket that would lock the
Maddox
into immobility, and a bloody death after the torpedoes struck.

Now Vessel Number 3 was abeam of the
Maddox
, loosing a third torpedo. Captain Thanh-Lang viewed it anxiously as shells from the huge 5-inch gun from the
Maddox
tore into Vessel Number 2. Thanh-Lang shouted into the radio.

He was quickly reconciled: The vessel was lost. Almost simultaneously he knew that his own torpedo had been a dud; either that, or else he had missed his target.

At that moment the strafing began. Neither Le Duc Sy nor Captain Thanh-Lang had spotted the American fighter planes, which now dove down, strafing the two remaining boats. Involuntarily, everyone on the patrol boat dove for cover, sweating now from the heat of the sun and of the rocket fire. The destroyer, in a maneuver that seemed almost casual, had eased its way out of the path of the two torpedoes and was headed now not away from the remaining Vietnamese boats but toward them. Captain Thanh-Lang hesitated an instant. Le Duc Sy, his exuberance spent, spoke. “Head back! Head back! We can't handle the destroyer
and
the airplanes.” At that moment—for some reason—the
Maddox
, instead of continuing its pursuit, turned away, out to sea.

The two patrol boats limped back toward land, Captain Thanh-Lang looking up anxiously at the planes overhead. They circled, but evidently satisfied that the engagement was over, flew casually off to the south.

Vessel Number 1, Captain Thanh-Lang reported to shore radio on his painful retreat, would be returning with two wounded aboard and two dead—at that, fewer than the five casualties of Vessel Number 3. The strafing had done severe damage to both vessels. They set out for their shelter traveling at only one-third speed.

It took them two hours, at 15 knots, to make land, a dispirited squadron leader and his political leader having spent the time in silence. When finally they docked at the naval facility behind the island, they found a detachment of six North Vietnamese soldiers waiting. The lieutenant called out the names of Le Duc Sy and Thanh-Lang. The two men descended the gangway. Handcuffs were put on them. They were led to a waiting van.

20

August 2, 1964

Washington, D.C.

There was no hesitation at the Pentagon when word came in from the Gulf via Honolulu.
Wake the President
.

They rang him at 3:29 in the morning and by 3:30 he had taken command. In his bathrobe and slippers he walked down to the spare, grim Situation Room.

Within half an hour he had what he wanted to know. 1) There was no question that the torpedo boats were North Vietnamese. 2) There had been zero U.S. casualties from the machine-gun fire by the one patrol boat, nor was there any question that the patrol boat had subsequently been sunk. 3) No question that fighter planes from the
Ticonderoga
had coordinated the defense and strafed two of the patrol boats, partially disabling them and causing them to return to port. He learned that Admiral Sharp had given instructions to Captain Herrick aboard the
Maddox
not to give chase. (It would have been altogether feasible to do so, because the two damaged patrol boats were—even now—traveling back toward their base at limited speed.) Admiral Sharp, LBJ noted, had done the prudent thing.

President Johnson dismissed his two aides and gave orders that nothing was to be said to the press until he had given instructions to his press secretary, Bill Moyers.

“Should he be awakened, Mr. President?”

“Naw. But call him at six an' tell him to come on over, here at seven. Ah'll be ready for him. An' tell Secretary Rusk and McNamara to be here. Oval Office. Yes. Goo-night.”

“Well,” he began, placing another cube of sugar in his coffee cup, “looks like they begun it.”

Dean Rusk spoke. “Looks like it, but it's confused. I had a call from Seaborn, International Control Commission. They just received a blistering note from Hanoi. Complaining about our 34-A raids. ‘Acts of war.' ‘Violation of all neutrality laws'—the whole bit. Now this is the first official complaint we've had from Hanoi on these raids from the South, even though they've been going on for three months.”

“Did our people do anything special that accounts for the protest?”

“Not really
special
,” the Defense Secretary broke in. “ARVN did attempt a landing on Hon Me—that's the little island, Mr. President, five or six miles off the coast, about seventy miles south of—”

“Ah know where Hon Me is.”

“Yes,” McNamara said. “Well, the landing party wasn't able to bring it off, so the ARVN went back to their boat and fired away at the new Soviet radar. But we've been—they've been firing at radar installations along the coast for
ten weeks
. Don't quite see why Hanoi would choose
this
moment to protest.”

“Seems pretty obvious to me,” said the President. “They wanted something to offset their attack on the
Maddox
. Why isn't that obvious to you, Dean?”

“Well, there is a rough parity, if that's what you mean, Mr. President. You attack me, I attack you. But
why now
? They could have struck out at us any time since we began 34-A, back in March.”

McNamara again. “Don't forget, we've been easing the Seventh Fleet closer to their territory.”

“But the
Maddox
wasn't close in when they attacked, right?”—the President knew exactly the location of the
Maddox
, but he wanted to shape the conversation.

“Right. But it had been, a few hours before.”

The President sat back in his rocking chair, patterned after his predecessor's. “I've made a list, and here it is:

“We're going to send a diplomatic note to Hanoi.”

“We've never done that before, Mr. President.”

“Ah know we never done it before. That's one of the reasons I want to do it now. That note will say that if there is any further interference with the freedom of the seas, there will be quote grave consequences unquote.” The President's voice was grave.

“Ah'll use the hot line to Brezhnev, tell him we have no desire to widen the war being fought illegally by North Vietnam against South Vietnam. Who knows how to work the hot line? I don't; never used it.”

All three men raised their hands.

“Admiral Sharp should be told that the Seventh Fleet will continue to patrol the Gulf of Tonkin closing on up to, uh, eight miles, yes, eight miles from the shore. And that it is to return all hostile fire.

“Now, Bob, on the matter of the press release. Bill Moyers here will handle the first release. You should be
ver-ry
calm. Stress:
no
American casualties. Just one of those—accidental encounters, I guess is the best way to put it. No mention, obviously, of our diplomatic traffic with Hanoi or Moscow.”

He got up.

McNamara spoke as he too, with the others, got up.

“You should know, Mr. President, that the Joint Chiefs think we should take retaliatory action.”

The President put his hand on his forehead and closed his eyes in pain. “The military
always
like to fire their guns, don't they, Bob? Kinda natural. Well, you've passed on their recommendation, as you should. An' you have my answer: No.”

“One more thing.” It was the Secretary of State. “Do you think we should inform Senator Goldwater? I mean, brief him personally?”

Lyndon Johnson hadn't thought that one through. “Ah'll consider that. Let you know by noon. Since we want to treat this in a—
particular
way, if he gets a call it should be from you, not me.” He repeated that he would decide by noon.

They nodded and filed out of the room.

He recalled Moyers. “Call Abe Fortas, brief him on what's happened, then ask him to come over and have a little lunch with me upstairs at twelve o'clock.”

“Well,” said Abe Fortas, walking into the little dining room opposite the presidential bedrooms, “that was one hell of a coincidence. Have you got what you want?”

“I don' really think so,” said Lyndon Johnson, squeezing a whole lemon into his small glass of tomato juice. “You pull it all together, an' I don't think it's quite right. The voters aren't going to want to think that the President takes the very first opportunity, a little chance engagement in the Gulf, no Americans hurt, to go shit on the North Vietnamese, and who knows before you know it at this rate maybe we'll be at war. No, they don't want that; aren't ready for it, it seems to me. An' then there's the Hanoi protest comin' in first, right at the same time, and how do we know how long before it gets out what our 34-A missions are up to?”

“But we've
talked
about that. You have
very good
justification. I mean, your public justification is the same as your private justification. We are simply engaged in hindering an aggressive war by the North Vietnamese, and to do that we are making a variety of ordnance available to the South Vietnamese.

“I mean, the American people know we have seventeen thousand military advisers in the South. What are they
supposed
to be doing?”

“Abe,” Lyndon put down his toast and spoke as he chewed a mouthful, “the answer is we just don' want a great big debate in the United Nations or for that matter in Congress about what we been doing. I'm surprised Ho hasn't gone to the U.N. on the 34-A operations, probably because he's got plenty to hide, what he's doing in Laos on the Trail, and that's why he's holding back, ah figger.”

“So you don't even think it's time to go to Congress for that special resolution?”

“I don't think so.”

Abe Fortas was quiet. “
You told me in July you didn't want to know when our
—
little business got done. We'd let our man on the field use his own timing. Still feel that way
?”