Nevertheless, the Vietnam thing kept nagging Gretchen.
Gretchen did not think her father would have deliberately lied to her, or over-hyped the competing agendas at play within the Administration over a country of which she, in common with ninety-nine percent of Americans, knew little and cared less. It was all very curious.
Curious and in a funny sort of way, fascinating.
Having stripped away the overburden of State Department hyperbole what she was left with was the improbably reality that the President and most of his key advisors — but not Under Secretary of State George Ball the nation’s primary author of post-October War foreign policy initiatives — enthusiastically wanted to prop up a corrupt, brutal, fundamentally obnoxious anti-democratic puppet regime in Saigon, the capital of South Vietnam against the threat posed by an even more impoverished, but Communist, as opposed to simply Fascistic, regime in North Vietnam under the leadership of Lucifer’s right hand man in Asia, whose name was Ho Chi Minh. To achieve this end the United States Government had fomented a coup earlier that year to put the right sort of despot — that is, a pro-American despot — in power in Saigon, a dirty business in which George Ball had participated, presumably with the whole-hearted backing of the men in the White House. However, his ongoing lack of enthusiasm for the project had been the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back vis-a-vis South Vietnam, because — according to Gretchen’s father — the Under Secretary of State had since robustly cavilled against the President’s subsequent reinstitution of a pre-October War scheme to send US ‘advisors’ and ‘trainers’ — American GIs — to prop up the ‘new’ regime in Saigon.
Against the wishes of his boss at State, Dean Rusk, George Ball had made his case against the deployment of additional ‘advisors’ to Saigon directly to the President. During that meeting the Under Secretary of State had reminded the President of the humiliating defeat of the old colonial power in Vietnam, France, at Dien Bien Phu in 1954. That event had been so catastrophic that it had destroyed French power and influence in Asia overnight. Indochina had been the graveyard of one former great power and it could easily be again. ‘Mr President, if we do this then within five years we will have three hundred thousand men in the paddies and jungles of Vietnam and we will never find them again!’
While to Gretchen the logic of this was compelling it seemed the President of the United States of America had dismissed George Ball’s warning, pretty much out of hand. Only an acute shortage of troops — a direct and one would have though, predictable, consequence of the ‘peace dividend’ cuts that had, and were continuing to salami slice the US Army’s manpower on the mistaken, publicly stated and restated premise that the ‘President has no plans to ever send GIs overseas to fight another war’ — had thus far restricted the ranks of the ‘advisors’ and ‘trainers’ in South Vietnam to a force of less than two thousand men. Even this initial ‘investment in the future of South East Asia’ had been kept secret from the American people. According to Gretchen’s father — notwithstanding nobody knew where the GIs were going to come from — the President eventually meant to send up to eleven thousand US ‘advisors’ to Indochina.
‘Arithmetic was never the Kennedy boys’ strong suit,’ Gretchen’s father had declaimed dryly. ‘Old Joe Kennedy was always there to bankroll whatever they touched. Why would they need to know the real cost of things or how to count?’
What with one thing and another it was all very perplexing.
Not to say intriguing.
Gretchen decided she needed to look at a map and remind herself where South Vietnam was; perhaps, that would give her some clue why it was so important to the Administration.
Surely, the President had to have more important things to think about?
Two or three weeks ago he had made that speech about putting an American on the Moon; and now she had learned about this Vietnam thing.
Ought the President not to be worrying more about rebuilding Chicago, Seattle or Buffalo? Or doing something about the riots in Alabama and Mississippi?
What was so important about putting an American on the Moon or the affairs of faraway South Vietnam?
Chapter 36
When General Earl Gilmore ‘Bus’ Wheeler, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs had been called to the White House, the other ‘Chiefs’ had gone back to their own offices to catch up on the ‘latest news’, disasters in the main, before re-convening late in the afternoon.
Secretary of Defence Robert McNamara sat down at the table when the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs returned from the White House. It was McNamara, the former President of the Ford Motor Company, who quickly made it clear that this was his meeting.
“Two British warships were attacked and seriously damaged last night off Cape Finisterre,” he announced. He glanced at Admiral Anderson, whose expression was that of an angry, very constipated man straining to maintain his dignity. “We have no information as to whether the British ships have sunk. You will know more about the prevailing weather conditions off Cape Finisterre than I, but I have been told there is a winter gale blowing through that area. The ships were attacked without warning by four A-4 Skyhawks. Since I was unaware that any A-4s had been supplied to the Spanish Air Force I am at a loss to understand how this could have happened. Is there anybody around this table who can enlighten me?”
“You need to be addressing that question to the Air Force, Mr Secretary,” the Chief of Naval Operations growled.
General John Paul McConnell’s composure was perfect, excepting a small muscle ticking under his right eye.
“I have no explanation, sir.”
“What about LeMay?” McNamara demanded, breathless in his ire.
“General LeMay is on leave, sir. My people are looking into…”
“Our aircraft have launched sneak attacks on the ships and bases of a friendly country!” The Secretary of Defence very nearly shouted. He never shouted. “Not just any country! The one country in the World with a large arsenal of deliverable nuclear weapons capable of laying much this country waste! Looking into this is not good enough! The President has to have answers! Now, gentlemen!” Not expecting this to happen ‘now’ or any time soon he turned his exasperation onto the Chief of Naval Operations. “Please don’t tell me that the Enterprise Battle group is still lying across the route of the first Operation Manna convoy, Admiral?”
“The Battle Group has recently had to manuever to evade a submarine believed to be the British SSN HMS Dreadnought,” Anderson began but got no further.
“Gentlemen,” McNamara said slowly, trembling with a rage nobody in the room had previously suspected he was capable, “I don’t care about what you think you are doing, or what stupid military games you think you are playing,” he paused, gathered his ragged breath, “I just want straight answers to straight questions and then I want you to get off your arses and get a grip of the men, ships and aircraft under your command! If you don’t feel you are up to the challenge say so now and the President will bring in officers who are! Do I make myself clear?”