M.S. Forsythe
WHILE ROME WAS SLEEPING
To all the men and women who survived the war in Vietnam
With special regard and appreciation for those who were Prisoners of War and returned, and the families of the MIA’s who did not.
Acknowledgements
Most of the research for this book and documentation came from a variety of sources. We have relied heavily on friends in government, military resources and personal experiences. We particularly wish to thank those who have supported, mentored and encouraged us through this three-year process. Thee are but a few: our newspaper friends, Joel Connelly of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, Mike Benbow, Business Editor, Everett Herald, Jim Haley and Robert Frank of the Everett Herald, and Jim Larsen, Whidbey News Times.
We also thank Linda McNamara, Mary Robertson, Henry Savalza, Commader Sherman Black, USN (Ret, deceased 2006) and Rear Admiral Lyle Bull, USN (Ret).
Operation Redwing
Moscow, Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
November 15, 1968
Soviet Air Force Lieutenant General Pyotr Chernakov was very familiar with the war in Indochina. He should be. As an advisor to North Vietnam, he had spent time there as well as Laos, Thailand and Cambodia. He also had an intimate knowledge of the secret prison system maintained by North Vietnam as well as NVA Prisoner of War camps in Laos and China close to the North Vietnam border.
He had been called upon to oversee the transfer of some of the U.S. prisoners to an interrogation center in Vinh Phu Province in North Vietnam, run by Vietnamese, Soviet and Chinese officials and to two other camps in China; one in Kwangsi Province, the other in Yunnan Province.
Now he would be given a new assignment. One he was told, that could be politically delicate. Regardless, he would welcome the change.
This night General Pyotr Chernakov stood before the mirror in his bedroom. His blue Soviet Air Force uniform was immaculate and fit him perfectly. As usual Chernakov strived to look his best. He carried himself well at 6ft and 180 pounds. He smoothed his sandy hair, noticing some silver strands beginning to show. “I’m not yet 40,” he told himself, “not old enough for this stuff in my hair.” He smiled as he thought of what Valeri would say had she heard her husband make such a vain remark. How he missed her. His clear gray eyes looked back at him, revealing none of his thoughts.
Tonight he would meet with Colonel Yuri Karpov, head of the Soviet Military Intelligence (GRU). Over dinner they would discuss Chernakov’s next assignment.
Satisfied with his appearance, he placed his hat on his head and turned away from the mirror, with his coat over his arm he left the apartment, carefully closing and locking the door.
He arrived at Moscow’s best restaurant about the same time as Karpov. He watched as the short rotund KGB Colonel exited a black Mercedes and nodded to the driver.
Yuri Karpov was 45 and built like a Soviet tank. His appearance belied a physical strength that easily eliminated unsuspecting opponents when the need required him to do so.
A shock of white hair was what people first noticed about him. Watery brown eyes behind black rimmed glasses did not reveal the volatile personality waiting just below the surface. Highly intelligent, Karpov also had an almost psychic intuition; a trait that coupled with his intellect made him an excellent head of the GRU and an extremely dangerous adversary.
“Promptness is a virtue,” the KGB Colonel told Chernakov as the two men greeted each other.
Karpov ordered wine and while waiting for their food, Yuri leaned back and smiled showing a few stainless steel caps as he swirled the red liquid in the glass before sipping it. “I do enjoy my trips to Paris. The French comrades make a splendid beverage among other things… don’t you agree, Chernakov?”
“I’m afraid my trips to Paris have been of a more urgent nature, Comrade. There was no time or opportunity to indulge in social pleasures.” Realizing this might seem like a criticism, Chernakov quickly added, “However, I do enjoy the French Champagne very much.”
Karpov seemed not to notice as he savored the wine and then looking at Chernakov, his smile was replaced by a more serious countenance, “I will get right to the point, Comrade General, this meeting is to discuss an important assignment that will take you again to Hanoi. You will be making an official visit to take charge of equipment that is now in the hands of our North Vietnamese comrades. This material was taken from a Tactical Air Navigation Station on Phou Pha Thi, the former American CIA Site 85 in Laos.”
Karpov went on, “There is much sensitive equipment from that site that our Vietnamese comrades have captured or I should say, rescued, from the mountain. Some of it has been damaged, but not so severely that it will be of no use.
“Also Chernakov, we have access to two cockpit sections of an F-111 American combat plane. One of our aircraft engineering experts will meet you in Hanoi to assist in evaluating and securing all of this equipment. It is imperative, Comrade, that it is placed in the hands of the Soviet Socialist Republic.” Yuri leaned forward across the table looking intently into Pyotr’s eyes. “You understand, Chernakov?”
“Yes, Karpov, I do understand and I look forward to obtaining the equipment for our government. It should tell us much,” Chernakov responded.
The KGB Colonel continued, “Keep in mind that you have been especially chosen for this assignment by the Defense Ministry. It is vital to us that you do not fail.”
Chernakov was surprised. “I assure you I will do my best, but may I ask,” he went on, “why they chose me for this task?”
Karpov smiled, “I personally recommended you; I know your background quite thoroughly. Nothing in your life is hidden from us, you know. Your qualifications are perfect for this assignment. “Yes,” he reiterated with a self satisfied smile, “I personally recommended you.”
“Indeed,” Chernakov commented. “What qualifications do you and the Party believe will enable me to negotiate for, and collect this equipment out of the hands of the comrades in Hanoi? After all, Karpov, I am not trained as a diplomat. And I do not believe that our North Vietnamese comrades or the comrades in Bejing will easily surrender such valuable materials to us.”
“Come now, General, you are far too modest. Your capabilities are well known. Brezhnev himself recommended you after reviewing your action in Nanning earlier this year. Your background and training serve you well,” Yuri answered. “You graduated from Voroshilov Academy with an excellent record. In past assignments you have shown yourself to be a quick thinker and you have masterfully handled several tense situations as in Nanning.
“Your education in aerospace and engineering further enables you; and we know you speak Chinese, Vietnamese, English, Spanish and French fluently… a vital asset for dealing with our comrades in other cultures.”
“I am flattered you think so highly of my capabilities,” Pyotr said simply.
“I also know your personal history,” Yuri went on. “You have excelled in the Party and proven yourself in spite of the mistakes of your father. You have been a widower for nearly a year. You were married for 10 years; your charming wife, Valeri, died last year of complications from pneumonia.”
A sense of deep sadness came over Chernakov. “Yes,” he said quietly, “I do so miss Valeri. She was a great companion and much help to me. She was also a loyal Party member.”
“Yes,” agreed Yuri, “she was. We also know the background of Comrade Valeri.