Cry Havoc: The Airmen Series, #12

By David Lee Corley

JFK is losing the war before it even starts. Something has to be done…

 

The South Vietnamese are turning against their own government. Protests are daily events. Even the military is questioning its orders to put down the civilian demonstrations. With the ever-increasing rise of violent factions, it seems Diem is the only leader that can hold South Vietnam together. But even he goes too far when he attacks the temples and imprisons the Buddhist monks and their followers. Saigon is about to explode.

The Viet Cong take advantage of the chaos seizing more territory and villages. Their ranks are growing. It seems nothing can stop them from overrunning the South.

The AP's Malcolm Browne photographs a monk burning himself to death as a form of protest. On the front page of every newspaper, the world is shocked. JFK and his advisors are sickened by the images. The time for patience is over. Kennedy wants action.

The solution is Lucien Conein an erratic CIA officer with connections to the Saigon underworld and the ARVN military leaders. Given a suitcase filled with US dollars for bribes and ordered to solve the problem, Conein is unleashed.

Like all the novels in the Airmen Series, Cry Havoc is based on historical events and real people. A fast-paced narrative of how and why America entered the Vietnam War.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Lee Corley
• Release date: Mar 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215855843

Book preview

Cry Havoc

Based on True Events

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DAVID LEE CORLEY

Copyright © 2022 David Lee Corley

All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

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Dedicated to all the patriotic men and women that fought for their country. Your sacrifices will not be forgotten.

Table of Contents

SEEDS OF DUPLICITY

WAY OF THE JUNGLE

A RISKY GAMBIT

KEROSINE

THE MATCH

MALCOLM’S PHOTOGRAPH

IGNITION

THE THREE GENERALS

THE DRAGON LADY

HERDING CATS

OPERATION BRAVO

ALL IN

A CRAZY IDEA

INTO THE BREACH

THE MONSTER

A FAIT DE ACCOMPLI

REPERCUSSIONS

LETTER TO READER

LIST OF TITLES WITH READING ORDER

AUTHOR’S BIOGRAPHY

SEEDS OF DUPLICITY

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October 8, 1962 – Da Nang, South Vietnam

The early-morning sun cracked orange over the Da Nang airbase. Packed to capacity with ARVN troops and their American advisors, a mix of 21 Chickasaw and Choctaw helicopters lifted off pushing the layer of mist away in swirls. The VNAF pilots formed up and headed away from the sunrise. The taskforce was joined by an escort of five UH-1B gunships piloted by American aircrews.

The Viet Cong (VC) had increased their presence in the steep mountains 36 miles west of Da Nang. The task force’s mission was to suppress VC attacks on surrounding villages and roads. The easiest way to do that was to clear the VC base camps that ARVN Intelligence units had identified. Killing and capturing VC was a bonus.

The previous day, a recon team had identified two landing zones in the treacherous mountains near the VC camps. With luck, the ARVN would surprise their enemy and their hunt would be profitable.

The rice fields melted away and the dense jungle rose when the armada of helicopters approached the mountains. As the lead helicopters approached the landing zone, the rotor wash pushed down the long grass revealing the vertical stakes the Viet Cong had planted on the two landing zones during the night. The recon team’s flyover had tipped them off. It was an ambush. The VC were waiting. Hidden in the surrounding trees, they opened fire on the closest helicopters. The two pilots pulled their aircraft up and banked hard to get away. Small arms fire pierced the fuel tank of one of the helicopters. The damage wasn’t so serious that the aircraft would explode or crash, but it needed to return to base as soon as possible or risk running out of fuel.

An American gunship swooped in and opened fire on the tree line surrounding one of the landing zones. The aircraft’s rockets and machine guns put out an impressive barrage that would normally drive any enemy to flee.

The team of VC concealed in the tree line was well-trained and disciplined veterans. Even under the heavy fire from the American gunship, the VC held their ground and continued to fire at the helicopters. The VC commanders had promised healthy rewards for any of their soldiers that brought down an enemy aircraft. A man could feed his family for a year if he was brave enough to stand his ground and take down one of the flying beasts.

Several bullets punched through the windshield of the gunship and mortally wounded the pilot. More bullets hit the engine shrouding and smoke poured out. The co-pilot took over and broke off the attack. He did his best to keep the aircraft in the air. If the gunship crashed this close to the enemy, it was doubtful that the VC would let the aircrew live. The VC hated the American gunships and their crews.

With no landing zones available, the armada abandoned the assault and headed back to base. The smoking gunship lagged.

The VC had hidden an anti-aircraft machine gun emplacement between their mountain bases and the Da Nang airbase. With two fully operational American gunships flanking the damaged aircraft, the VC heavy machine guns opened fire.

The two gunships broke off from the escort and attacked the enemy gun emplacement. Well-aimed rockets silenced the enemy machine guns killing the VC that operated it.

A second enemy machine gun emplacement sprang to life firing at the damaged helicopter.

Several bullets hit the tail rotor causing the aircraft to spin uncontrollably. The co-pilot has no choice but to put his ship down in a controlled crash. It landed hard in a rice paddy. Like a corkscrew, the twisting struts sank deep in the mud and snapped off the aircraft’s airframe. The legless helicopter tipped to one side forcing its main blades to slam into the earth and snap into pieces. Shrapnel flew in every direction. The engine ground to a halt. The aircraft’s energy finally depleted; the metal hulk came to a steaming standstill. Everyone in the aircrew was wounded and unable to move from the wreckage.

The two gunships still in the air, descended on the second enemy gun emplacement and dispensed their revenge. Each taking an opposite flank, the American aircrews poured machine-gun fire and rockets down on the Viet Cong gun crew. None survived.

With the current threat quashed, the American pilots radioed for help, then looked for a place to land safely and help their fallen comrades. There was nothing suitable. The surrounding rice paddies were filled with water and mud. If the helicopters got stuck, they would become sitting ducks for the Viet Cong that they knew would be coming. It was better to keep their aircraft in the air and protect the crashed helicopter and its wounded crew from above. With one of the helicopters circling the crash area, the other descended to hover a few feet above a nearby dike. A corpsman jumped out the helicopter’s doorway onto the dike. The helicopter rose to join the other on guard duty. Each gunship flew on the opposite end of a large circle.

The corpsman ran to the smoldering wreckage and went to work saving the crew. A short while later, the wounded pilot died. He had lost too much blood for the corpsman to save him.

It took less than thirty minutes for the search and rescue mission to reach the crash site. The two UH-34D had four pilots, five Marine crewmen, the squadron’s flight surgeon, and two Navy corpsmen. Like the gunship pilots, the Choctaw pilots had trouble finding a suitable landing site. Everywhere they looked was either covered with water and mud or was too close to trees and heavy vegetation.

After ten minutes of searching, one of the pilots spotted an open area at the edge of the jungle that was big enough to fit both aircraft. The pilots moved toward the landing zone. What they didn’t know was the Viet Cong had a third gun emplacement in the tree line beside the landing zone. They had planned their ambush perfectly. The VC gunner waited until the two American helicopters were directly in front of him before opening fire. The windshield on one of the aircraft was pierced twenty-three times by enemy bullets, killing both the pilot and the co-pilot. The aircraft flew upward then turned upside down and came crashing down in the jungle. The enemy gun emplacement swung its barrels around and strafed the fallen airship to ensure there were no survivors. All on board were killed.

The second aircraft faired only slightly better. As the helicopter banked to get away from the enemy gun, it exposed its underbelly. VC bullets punched through the bottom of the aircraft killing several crewmen and seriously wounding those that survived. More shells pierced the fuel lines spraying the cabin interior with fuel. A ricocheted bullet plowed into the engine’s electrical harness sending sparks everywhere. The fuel mist in the interior ignited creating a fireball inside the aircraft blinding the pilot and co-pilot. The aircraft tipped forward as it descended gaining speed. Its rotor blades caught the sloping edge of a dike and bent. The aircraft’s cockpit crashed into the dike finishing off the blinded pilot and co-pilot. The aircraft’s back rotor rose into the air until it was vertical then came down hard in the rice paddy. The survivors were raked with more gunfire from the enemy machine gun less than fifty feet away. All the American aircrews in the rescue mission were killed.

New York Times war correspondent David Halberstam was at the Da Nang airbase hoping to hitch a ride to Saigon when he heard the call from the circling gunships requesting a second rescue mission. He immediately knew that whatever had happened was serious and he needed to reach the crash site. This was the type of event that the South Vietnamese and the Americans would attempt to hide from the public. It was his job to make sure that didn’t happen. He saw the standby pilot and co-pilot of another UH-34D trotting toward their aircraft along with the rest of their aircrew, four marines, and another corpsman. Halberstam couldn’t help but wonder if these brave young men were also heading toward their deaths and that he was going to join them. He shook off his fear and ran after the mission commander, the helicopter’s pilot. Captain, David Halberstam of the New York Times, said Halberstam.

We’re a bit busy right now, said the commander.

I know. I heard the radio call. I want to go with you.

Looking for front page carnage? said the co-pilot.

No. Just the truth, said Halberstam.

Find it elsewhere, said the commander.

Captain, if any soldiers have been wounded or died in the service of their country, the American public should know about it. Don’t you agree?

The commander considered for a moment, then turned to his co-pilot as if asking for his opinion. The co-pilot shrugged then nodded. The commander turned to Halberstam, We expect a hot landing zone. You could get killed or wounded. You understand that?

I understand, said Halberstam.

Stay the hell out of our way and do as I say.

Right.

Halberstam climbed into the helicopter along with the rest of the crew, four marine escorts, and the corpsman. One minute later, the rotors were turning. Two minutes later, the helicopter was in the air and heading west toward the crash site.

As they approached the crash site, Halberstam could see the two American gunships unleashing their remaining ammunition on the third enemy gun emplacement. The enemy was torn to shreds and the gun was destroyed. Low on fuel and out of ammo, the gunships headed to the airbase to reload and refuel. The guardian angels of the surviving aircrew were gone and so was the protection of the third rescue helicopter.

The commander and co-pilot searched for a suitable landing site. The only one available was the jungle clearing a dozen yards from the smoldering enemy gun emplacement. The commander knew it was risky. There could be armed enemy survivors or VC reinforcements. But he also knew that the sooner he reached the downed aircrews the better chance they had at survival. Everyone in the helicopter could see all three crashed helicopters. There was a lot of wreckage in the area around the landing zone. The commander was careful not to tangle with anything as he set his helicopter down at the edge of the jungle. You guys move your asses. The VC will be coming, and we have no air cover, said the commander.

Two marines remained to guard the rescue helicopter and aircrew. Halberstam, the corpsman, and a two-marine escort piled out of the aircraft and headed toward the closest crashed helicopter in the jungle in front of them.

There was no movement among the wreckage, everyone was dead. Halberstam jotted a quick note of what the scene looked and smelled like to jar his memory later when he was writing his story. He pulled out his camera and snapped three photos trying to keep the mangled bodies of the Americans out of the shot. He had no desire to be morbid. The soldiers had families who were sure to see his photos. Their sacrifices demanded respect. We need to tend to the wounded first. We’ll come back for their bodies, said the corpsman as he moved off to the other crash sites.

Halberstam and the marines followed. The second crash site was the same. All the aircrews were dead. There were still patches of flames scattered around the crash site. The bodies were smoldering from the main fire that had burned itself out, starved of oxygen by the heavy smoke. The smell of burnt flesh was pungent and sickening. Halberstam took more photos and scribbled a few more notes about the atmosphere and his senses. That is what he wanted to remember most... what he smelled, saw, and felt. It was difficult to remember such details in the comfort and safety of the press room. Unable to help, the rescue team moved on to the final crash site.

The corpsman already onsite had his hands full tending to the wounded aircrew. Before joining the other corpsmen, the new corpsman turned to the marines and said, There is nothing you guys can do here. Why don’t you go back and collect the bodies of the dead crewmen? The sooner we get out of here, the better. The marines moved off. Halberstam took photos as he interviewed the survivors. What happened? said Halberstam after introducing himself.

It all went to shit. That’s what happened, said the co-pilot. They were waiting for us.

Any idea how the VC knew your flight path?

A straight line is not hard to figure out. Our aircraft was heavily damaged, and our commander was mortally wounded. We didn’t have time for a detour.

Your commander...

He’s dead.

I’m sorry for your loss.

Don’t be sorry. Just get the damned story right.

I will. I promise.

Halberstam went outside to take some more photos of the crash. That’s when he noticed a skirmish line of Viet Cong in the distance walking through the rice paddies toward the crash site. Toward him! Oh, shit, said Halberstam to himself.

We’ve got company, said Halberstam sticking his head through the aircraft doorway.

The co-pilot turned to him, How many?

A platoon, maybe more. Five minutes out. It’s time to go.

The corpsmen carried those that couldn’t walk. What about our commander? said the co-pilot.

We save the living first, said one of the corpsmen.

I’ll take care of him, said Halberstam.

The corpsmen and the survivors took off toward the rescue helicopter, its blades still turning. Halberstam took one last look at the approaching VC platoon. It was going to be close. He lifted the pilot’s body from the deck of the aircraft and hoisted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The enemy opened fire. A bullet punched through the aircraft’s sheet metal. Halberstam picked up his pace and set out for the rescue helicopter. Loaded down with the extra weight, his boots sank in the rice paddy’s mud. Each step was a struggle. He figured if he could make it to the dike bordering the paddy, he could use the series of dikes as a footpath to make it back to the rescue chopper. The only problem was that he would be moving without cover and the Viet Cong were quickly closing on his position. He gave it everything he had. His legs and back ached as he climbed up the side of the earthen dike. He ran across the top of the dike. Bullets zinged past him and kicked up clumps of dirt. Several bullets hit the body of the dead pilot and almost knocked Halberstam off his feet.

Out of breath, he made it back to the rescue helicopter and laid the dead pilot on the deck next to several of the bodies the marines had recovered. The marine pulled him inside as the chopper lifted off. More VC bullets hit the aircraft as it banked back toward the airbase. A few moments later, the helicopter was out of range. They were safe. The pilot flew low to avoid enemy gunfire on the way back to the airbase. Nobody spoke.

Halberstam caught his breath and looked down at the deck of the helicopter. The bodies of the dead soldiers were stacked like cords of wood. It was so disrespectful, but there was nothing to be done. Not all the bodies had been recovered. He wondered what the Viet Cong would do to the American corpses. He was overwhelmed with grief and tears welled up in his eyes. The wounded co-pilot looked over at him and nodded that he understood. Halberstam lowered his head and wept. It was all too much.

The rescue mission of the downed helicopters from HMM-361 was the largest one-day loss of American lives to that point in the Vietnam war. Halberstam would later write in his story for the New York Times, The closer one gets to the actual contact level of the war, the further one gets from official optimism.

DMZ, North Vietnam

Le Duan and the Viet Cong commander of the Central District sat by a fire waiting for a tea kettle to heat. It was night and they were surrounded by a grove of trees. They were on the communist side of the border, so they didn’t care who saw the flickering flames. The VC commander had crossed the border an hour earlier. As First Secretary of the communist party, Le Duan rarely left Hanoi but felt the message for the commander needed to be delivered in person so there was no chance of miscommunication. After the first sip of tea, the conversation began with Duan speaking first, Caution is in order. The South is falling under the weight of the misdeeds of Diem and his family. Soon, civil war will break out and we will be able to seize power. We must be ready for that moment. In the meantime, we must be careful not to upset the momentum already achieved.

I disagree. We must push with all our might, said the commander.

When a rabbit approaches a snare, you must be patient and not scare it off. Let events unfold of their own volition.

And if they don’t?

Then, when the time is right, we will give them a push.

My men will not sit still.

I understand. But you must guide their undertakings. Keep their attacks focused on civilians, not the military. Sowing the seeds of mistrust in the government’s ability to protect its people will keep the revolution moving forward. With patience, we will win a final victory and once again unite our country.

The commander grunted his acceptance and threw more wood on the fire. The symbolism was not lost on Duan as he sipped his tea and watched the orange sparks fly into the night sky.

Saigon, South Vietnam

Lucien Conein liked Corsican cuisine, but he didn’t love it. It was similar to Italian cuisine but heavier with wild boar stew, sheep cheese, and chestnut flour pastries. The liquor and wine were strong as was the beer. The ingredients were all local from the island of Corsica which helped the Corsicans remain independent from the outside world, including their French masters.

Sitting at a booth near the rear of the Saigon restaurant, Conein was munching on Sanghi di maiale incu l'uva secca, a blood sausage with raisins as he sipped aqua vita, a potent Corsican grappa poured in great quantities by his host, Mathieu Franchini. Franchini was a Corsican mob boss that had moved to Saigon to ensure the opium continued to flow to France without pause. He also opened many businesses, including the restaurant with the profits from his questionable endeavors. The Corsicans were good businessmen that didn’t distinguish between legal and illegal commerce. It was all the same to them. Whatever industry they engaged in, they dominated by whatever means necessary. Bribes were the easiest method, but they were not opposed to violence when required. Strangely, men like Franchini were honorable and always kept their word. It was just good business. That was one of the reasons Conein liked him... that and the debt he owed his friend.

Conein had learned a great deal from Franchini who had adopted him after the French army got their asses kicked by the Nazis in the Ardennes Forest and Somme valley. Conein was an American that had returned to his birth country of France to fight the Germans. He fought bravely when others fled but were overwhelmed by the German Blitzkrieg. In the end, he too fled and ended up in Southern France where he met Franchini.

The Corsicans were part of the resistance in Southern France but fought with their own methods which tended to make them profits in addition to hindering the Nazis. Conein was an experienced printer with an eye for detail. He became the underground’s best counterfeiter of German Deutschmarks which were distributed by Franchini through his Corsican connections.

When Conein finally left to join the American Army as it entered the war, Franchini gave him a gold medallion worn by Corsican mob bosses. It was a powerful calling card throughout Europe and Asia. Conein cherished it.

They met again after the war when Franchini moved to Indochina where Conein had been stationed with his guerilla team to fight the Japanese. Even though years had passed, their friendship took up like it was yesterday. Corsicans rarely forgot their friends, especially those that had proven their loyalty like Conein. Just as before, they found use of each other’s skills and connections. Conein was part of the CIA’s paramilitary teams while Franchini was in control of the Corsican mob interests in Indochina. They trusted each other and spoke freely. The real war is coming, said Franchini. Like all war, it will bring opportunities along with hardship. We need to be ready.

When you say, ‘The real war’ you mean the Americans? said Conein.

Yes. It is inevitable. The South Vietnamese cannot win without them... and maybe not with them.

You cannot be pleased if South Vietnam falls to the communists.

No. The communists are lousy businessmen. They care far too much about what the people need and not enough about what they want. One needs to be flexible, and the communists are rigid.

So, where are the opportunities?

As always, drugs and prostitution. When the American soldiers finally arrive, they will need diversions that their military cannot offer.

You mean marijuana?

No. Like prostitution, marijuana is small money. We need to focus on opium. It’s far more addictive and makes for better customers.

The smoke from the opium pipes will give the soldiers away to their officers. The Americans will prefer heroin. They can carry it with them into the field and they are not afraid of needles.

I see. Then heroin.

It’s stronger, but will require more processing.

No problem. We already produce it in Laos. But we will need to increase our production... and we will need more transportation into South Vietnam. Perhaps the Ho Chi Minh trail?

I don’t think so. The NVA will be tempted to sabotage the shipments to kill American soldiers. You’d be better off finding a member of an aircrew that will smuggle it in their aircraft.

Isn’t that riskier?

It depends on who you find to smuggle the stuff and their motivation.

Won’t their motivation be money?

Perhaps. But money is not always reliable, especially when it comes to high-value items like heroin.

If they steal from us, they die.

True, but we are talking about someone who is already risking capture by the South Vietnamese or the Americans. They may discount the threat from their employer.

That would be a mistake.

No doubt. But don’t underestimate the bravado of a smuggler.

All right. It’s good to know. So, how do we find this perfect smuggler?

You don’t. I do.

Do you have someone in mind?

No. But I haven’t been looking.

We need the supply line in place before the American soldiers arrive.

I agree. It won’t take too long. Maybe a year.

I can always count on you, Lucien.

And I you.

They finished the evening talking about old times and companions that had been lost but not forgotten.

White House – Washington D.C., USA

Sitting in the cabinet room, President Kennedy had already read the Situation Report on the South Vietnam military prepared by the Pentagon. He listened to his generals pontificate on the progress being made against the Viet Cong and the NVA supporting them. The ARVN forces were becoming more effective with the additional military aid Kennedy had already approved. Viet Cong activity was decreasing. The ARVN now had more than 219,000 regular troops, plus 77,000 in the Civil Guard and 99,000 in the Self Defense Corps. It was an impressive accomplishment when considering that the country of South Vietnam was only six years old. The U.S. had 11,000 advisors, 300 aircraft, 120 helicopters, and a plethora of heavy weapons to support the ARVN and protect their airbases. American pilots were flying covert combat missions using napalm and other munitions. Defoliants such as Agent Orange were being dispersed throughout the country to drive back the jungle and deprive the enemy of cover.

As the generals wrapped up their presentation, the president asked, If what you represent is true, and I have no reason to doubt you, why did the ARVN and our helicopter crews get their asses kicked at Ap Bac?

There were nervous glances exchanged between the generals. It was General Maxwell Taylor, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, that replied, It was a fluke, Mr. President.

A fluke?