Shortly after authorizing ROLLING THUNDER, the president
initiated an American ground war inside South Vietnam in addition to an
enormous air war. The buildup began when two Marine battalions arrived at Da
Nang to guard the air base there; and by June 1, 1965, the ground forces
approved for Vietnam numbered 77,250. Painting a bleak picture of ARVN,
Westmoreland asked for reinforcements to provide “a substantial and
hard-hitting offensive capability on the ground to convince the VC that they
cannot win.” Johnson asked his military advisers whether the enemy could match
an American buildup. The “weight of judgment,” Chairman Wheeler responded, was
that the enemy could not. The president also consulted the “Wise Men,” a
bipartisan group of elder statesmen who seconded the military in recommending
an expanded war. And McNamara believed the only options were to withdraw and be
humiliated, continue the same failed strategy, or expand the effort, with the
latter option presenting “the best odds of the best outcome with the most
acceptable cost to the United States.” Dissenting voices were few, with Under
Secretary of State George Ball being a notable exception. He predicted that
approving Westmoreland’s request would result in “a protracted war involving an
open-ended commitment of U.S. forces, mounting U.S. casualties, and no assurance
of a satisfactory solution, and a serious danger of escalation [involving the
Chinese or Soviets] at the end of the road.”
Johnson chose a bigger war. In late July he authorized
50,000 more men immediately, another 50,000 by year’s end, and, implicitly, still
more troops if Westmoreland needed them. Thus began the gradual increase in
American military personnel inside South Vietnam that peaked at 543,400 in
early 1969. By ratcheting up the war’s scale and intensity, both in the skies
over North Vietnam and especially inside South Vietnam, Johnson hoped to find
Hanoi’s breaking point. When the destruction reached the right intensity, he
believed the enemy would negotiate on U.S. terms to avoid greater suffering.
“This is no longer South Vietnam’s war,” a White House aide
wrote in a memo capturing the significance of Johnson’s decision. “We are no
longer advisers. The stakes are no longer South Vietnam’s. We are participants.
The stakes are ours—and the West’s.” The Communists also recognized how crucial
Johnson’s decision was. In their parlance, it marked the failure of America’s
“special war.” But rather than negotiate, as Hanoi had hoped, the U.S. was
escalating to what North Vietnamese strategists labeled a “limited war,”
sending its own forces to rescue a disintegrating ARVN. The North’s gamble that
it could defeat Saigon without provoking the U.S. to increase its involvement
had failed. America’s escalation compelled the Communists to undertake a
strategic reevaluation. During centuries of intermittent warfare the Vietnamese
had expelled the Chinese, thrice repelled Kublai Khan’s Mongols, and then
whipped France. Now confronting another powerful adversary, they sought to
defeat it through revolutionary (or people’s) war, which was neither guerrilla
warfare nor conventional warfare, though it incorporated features of both. The
Vietnamese embraced a “war of interlocking” in which “the regular army,
militia, and guerrilla forces combine and fight together.”
At the apex of the enemy’s military structure was PAVN, a
conventionally organized army that grew to eighteen infantry divisions and
twenty independent regiments, plus armored and artillery regiments. The VC’s
Main Forces, organized into battalions, regiments, and even divisions, were
akin to PAVN regulars, while their Local Forces consisted of companies that
operated at the province level. Beneath the Main and Local forces was the
“militia,” which incorporated part-time guerrillas; self-defense forces that
included older people, women, and youths; and secret self-defense forces that
were identical to self-defense forces except they lived in hamlets controlled
by South Vietnam. The Viet Cong Infrastructure (VCI) was responsible for
gathering intelligence, collecting taxes, recruiting, and conducting sabotage and
assassinations. Although the U.S. military considered regular forces distinct
from irregulars, Communists perceived them as complementary, like yin and yang,
a union of opposites with a synergistic effect that made their combined power
greater than either of them alone.
The Vietnamese made no distinction between political and
military struggle (dau tranh); the relationship between the two struggles was
symbiotic, with political dau tranh being the anvil and military dau tranh the
hammer. Their interweaving of political and military dau tranh and their
willingness to forego tidy strategic formulas fascinated one American general
who observed that the VCNVA conducted “a different kind of war” in each
province. One might be relatively peaceful as the enemy stressed political dau
tranh, while simultaneously conventional warfare convulsed a neighboring
province and guerrilla conflict simmered in another. To the Vietnamese no
distinction existed between civilians and combatants, so they enlisted not just
battle-age men but women, children, and old folks. One study concluded that
women commanded 40 percent of all PLAF regiments, while children served as
lookouts, built booby traps, and flung grenades.
Ho and his followers understood that a protracted war might
be necessary: Nurturing political support took time, and a powerful adversary
was not quickly defeated. But they reasoned that time was on their side since
the U.S. had no compelling national interest to fight in Vietnam, while they
did. Their goal was to deflate America’s “aggressive will,” to win a political
and psychological victory that made the U.S. unwilling to continue fighting.
Avoid losing long enough and inflict a drip, drip, drip of casualties, and over
time the U.S. would accept defeat.
As a result of their strategic debate the Communists decided
to match the U.S. escalation, with the objective of bogging their foes down in
a protracted struggle and creating a stalemate that sapped American (and South
Vietnamese) morale. Hanoi directed much of its effort to convincing the U.S.
that its “limited war” had failed. For the U.S. to win it would have to
escalate dramatically, possibly igniting a “general war” involving the Chinese
or Soviets. When confronted with a choice between “general war” or de-escalation,
most enemy strategists presumed America would choose the latter.
While the adversary wrestled with its strategic options, and
with reinforcements on the way, Westmoreland formalized a “Concept of
Operations” outlining a three-phase victory plan. Initially the U.S. and its
allies would halt the losing trend by year’s end. During Phase Two, spanning
the first half of 1966, they would assume the offensive, destroying enemy units
in high-priority areas. Phase Three entailed the enemy’s nearly complete destruction
by the end of 1967, thus allowing U.S. troops to begin withdrawing. As so often
happened, a seemingly good plan did not withstand the test of combat.
Westmoreland’s troop buildup went slowly, with one hindrance
being logistical support. Problems began in the U.S., where the production base
operated at a low level in 1965. As the war geared up, production lagged behind
demand, partly because most strategists assumed the war would be over no later
than 1967; due to the lead times involved, many manufacturers feared production
would peak just as the war wound down. For some specialized items only a single
source existed, and often it could not increase production fast enough to meet
requirements. Labor strikes in 1967 at key industries further delayed production,
and many industries considered consumer goods more profitable than supplying
the military. Critical items such as M-16A1 rifles and M-107 self-propelled gun
tubes always remained in short supply.
In Vietnam the U.S. had to build a logistics infrastructure,
which eventually included six deep-water ports, seventy-five tactical
airfields, twenty-six hospitals, a road network, and several dozen permanent
base facilities, from scratch. Despite the activation of the 1st Logistical
Command in April 1965 to oversee the effort, requirements often overwhelmed the
military’s ability to transport, unload, and distribute supplies. Because the
government kept the Military Sea Transportation Service small so that private
industry could profit during wartime, MSTS employed hundreds of ships from the
merchant marine and the National Defense Reserve Fleet. Mobilizing these ships
took time, and even when ships were available port facilities in Vietnam were
so limited, and lighters and warehouses so few, that at times dozens of ships
waited at anchor to unload, accumulating demurrage charges of from $3,000 to
$7,000 per day per ship. Crews frequently unloaded supplies in advance of a
system to receive them, preventing the establishment of orderly management
procedures. In 1965 the Army was automating its supply system, but a lack of
computers and skilled technicians meant using a manual system in Vietnam, which
the supply volume overwhelmed. Since MACV did not establish a theaterwide
standard of living, each commander strove to give his soldiers the highest
possible level of comfort; many units overordered everything from ammunition to
ice cream. A tsunami of supplies, much of it resulting from duplicate
requisitions and thus unneeded, poured over the port facilities. Some items
that arrived in 1965 were still in depots in 1968, never having been identified
and cataloged and therefore unusable. Worried that rising costs undermined
support for the war, Army Chief of Staff Harold K. Johnson implored MACV to
control supply expenditures.
A second factor constraining the buildup was manpower
mobilization. All the Pentagon’s war plans were contingent upon calling up the
Reserves and National Guard, whose units included logistical and engineering
skills that would have eased, though not eliminated, the logistics imbroglio.
But the president refused to authorize mobilization. Doing so during Korea and
the 1961 Berlin crisis elid public outcries and sapped morale. Also, Johnson
could mobilize the Reserves only by requesting a congressional resolution or
declaring a national emergency. The former might provoke an acrimonious debate
and make a commitment to South Vietnam more difficult. As for a national
emergency, it permitted only a one-year mobilization; since Westmoreland
expected the war to last longer than that, a call-up was of limited utility.
Mobilizing was such a dramatic step that it might increase tensions with the
Chinese and Soviets. Finally, Westmoreland assured the president he could win
the war without mobilization, and the JCS concurred; when McNamara asked the
chiefs in late 1966 whether they favored a Reserve call-up, each said no. For
the most part the Guard and Reserves remained safe havens from the war for
well-connected men, mostly white and college educated.
Johnson’s decision not to mobilize meant the U.S. fought
with an army of draftees and draft-inspired volunteers—60 percent of
“volunteers” enlisted to avoid conscription. In general, the Coast Guard, Navy,
and Air Force (the safest services) and, with some exceptions, the Marines,
relied on volunteers; the Army was dependent on draftees and draft-inspired
enlistees. Drafting men and converting them into soldiers took time; creating
specialist units, such as engineering and communications, took even longer.
Since far more men reached draft age between Korea and Vietnam than the armed
forces needed, the Selective Service System had liberalized deferments and
imposed exacting mental and physical standards for service, which ensured a
high rejection rate. Average inductions between 1955 and 1964 were 100,000 per
year, but they now rose to approximately 300,000 annually, as the armed forces
expanded from 2.7 million in 1965 to 3.5 million by mid-1968. Almost 27 million
men reached draft age between 1964 and 1973, and 60 percent of them escaped
service. Out of the 40 percent who wore a uniform, only about a quarter (or 10
percent of the available male population) went to Vietnam, and of those
approximately 20 percent (2 percent of the entire male age cohort) served in
combat.
Through “manpower channeling” the draft encouraged young men
into activities deemed essential for the nation’s health and safety, while
still providing manpower for induction. Middle- and upper-class whites
regularly received deferments or took active measures to avoid service. As the
chairman of a Los Angeles draft attorneys panel put it, “Any kid with money can
absolutely stay out of the Army—with 100 percent certainty.” They stayed in
college; applied for conscientious objector status; filed appeals through lawyers,
who were wildly successful because draft boards broke the law with shocking
regularity; hired medical specialists who, because of the draft’s physical and
mental regulations, invariably found a reason for exemption; or traveled to
induction centers known for leniency, such as Seattle, where examiners divided
men into those with doctor’s letters and those without, and exempted everyone
with a letter no matter what it said. While draft evasion was widespread, draft
resistance on moral principles was limited.
Despite the endemic evasion, at no time did a manpower
shortage arise. Poorly educated, working-class men who lacked the skills and
money to attend college or hire lawyers and doctors bore a disproportionate
burden. During the five years of most active fighting, for every volunteer
killed or wounded, nearly two draftees became casualties. Blacks bore an
especially heavy burden. Although African-Americans comprised 11 percent of the
population, they represented 20 percent of Army combat deaths from 1961 to
1966. The reasons for this were complex. For many African-Americans the
military (aside from the Guard and Reserves) offered an escape from the
unemployment that haunted them in civilian society. They often volunteered for
elite units, such as airborne, since that conveyed higher status and provided
an extra $55 dangerous duty pay per month; and with fewer opportunities outside
the military, black men reenlisted at twice the rate as whites. The result was
that in 1965 African-Americans comprised 31 percent of combat infantrymen.
Beginning in 1967 the armed forces undertook measures to reduce black
casualties, but at war’s end they still comprised 15.1 percent of Army
casualties and 13.7 percent of total casualties.
One program that targeted disadvantaged youth was humane in
theory but flawed in execution. Project 100,000 lowered entrance standards for
the poor on the assumption that military service was a means to social
advancement. The armed forces would rehabilitate America’s subterranean
underclass by providing education and training in skills transferable to
civilian life. From 1966 to 1968 Project 100,000 brought 240,000 men into the
military, 41 percent of them black. Few received useful education or training,
and a disproportionate number received combat-related assignments; the death
rate among Project 100,000 men was twice the overall rate.
Lack of widespread international support was a third factor
that, at least to a modest extent, limited the buildup. Johnson instituted a
“Many Flags” program to entice other countries to reinforce ARVN and MACV. It
turned out to be a “Few Flags” program. Although a political disappointment for
the Johnson administration, the failure to attract more international support
did not cause universal dismay, since the JCS feared that large allied units
would be difficult to maintain and would complicate operations inside South
Vietnam. No NATO nation supported the U.S. effort; indeed, Great Britain
maintained an embassy in Hanoi throughout the war, and its merchant ships were
the North’s leading noncommunist traders. On the other hand, four members of
SEATO—Australia, New Zealand, Thailand, and the Philippines—and South Korea
sent combat formations. Though the number of foreign flags was small, that did
not mean the allied contribution was insignificant.
Collectively, they
represented a substantial reinforcement for U.S. and South Vietnamese forces.
Washington’s most stalwart ideological allies were Australia
and New Zealand, who were linked to the U.S. through both SEATO and the
Australia, New Zealand, United States Security Treaty (ANZUS) of 1951, which
was a more binding defense treaty than SEATO. The 1st Battalion, Royal
Australian Regiment arrived in the spring of 1965, reinforced by a New Zealand
artillery battery. By 1966 the Aussies had committed three battalions, or the
equivalent of a full division, with supporting armor and artillery units. By
far the largest allied contingent came from South Korea, ultimately consisting
of the ROK Capital Division, the 9th Division, and the ROK Marine Brigade. By
the end of 1965, 21,000 South Koreans were in Vietnam; a year later there were
45,000; and two years after that their numbers peaked at 50,000. In return for
such a major reinforcement, the Johnson administration increased economic aid
to South Korea, paid for reequipping the ROK forces that replaced the ones sent
overseas, and defrayed the cost of the Koreans serving in South Vietnam.
Thailand not only permitted the U.S. to construct numerous bases on its
territory, which were vital in the air war over North Vietnam, but also sent an
advisory mission to South Vietnam in 1966, a volunteer regiment (called the
“Queen’s Cobras”) the next year, and the Black Panther Division in 1969. The
Thai contribution peaked at about 11,600 troops in 1969–1970. In addition, Thai
pilots flew secret combat missions over northern Laos and, again secretly, Thai
artillery supported U.S. efforts in Laos. As for the Filipinos, in 1966 they
dispatched the Philippines Civic Action Group of three engineer battalions;
this force of slightly more than 2,000 served through 1968, was then reduced to
about 1,600, and soon represented little more than a token force.
The allied contribution was not without cost. Out of the
372,853 South Koreans who served in Vietnam during the war, 4,687 were KIA and
another 8,352 were WIA. Among the 46,852 Australians who deployed to South
Vietnam, 494 were KIA and 2,398 were WIA. Although their contingent never
reached more than 552, the New Zealanders still had 35 dead and 197 wounded.
And 351 Thais died in combat.
As the buildup commenced, Westmoreland formulated his
strategy. Believing “it was the basic objective of military operations to seek
and destroy the enemy and his military resources,” he adopted an attrition strategy
employing firepower in “search and destroy” operations to kill and wound NVA
regulars and VC Main and Local Forces. U.S. forces primarily conducted these
operations far away from South Vietnam’s population centers, often in remote
border regions. The goal was to reach the “crossover point,” when the U.S.
inflicted more casualties than the enemy could replace, insuring the VCNVA’s
defeat. A brigade commander captured the Army’s belief that its technological
superiority, mobility, and especially firepower would prevail when he wrote
that an officer “spends firepower as if he is a millionaire and husbands his
men’s lives as if he is a pauper. . . . During search and destroy operations,
commanders should look upon infantry as the principal combat reconnaissance
force and supporting fire the principal destructive force.” In a mirror image
of MACV’s strategy, Hanoi also embraced attrition. Realizing it could not
defeat the U.S. outright, it sought to inflict a steady stream of casualties—on
occasion, even at substantial cost to themselves—in the belief that the
mounting losses would fracture American will as it had the French. In sum,
while MACV reduced the VCNVA physically, the North Vietnamese focused on
destroying the South Vietnamese and Americans psychologically.
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