Momentum of War: The Airmen Series, #8

By David Lee Corley

In 1954, the French were defeated by Ho Chi Minh and his followers.

Within months of the final battle, North and South Vietnam were divided.

Peace didn't last long.

How far would covert operatives and world leaders go to reunite the country… and how far would some go to keep it apart?

Based on true events, this is the cloak-and-dagger battle between the American CIA, the Viet Minh, the French 2nd Bureau, and a gang of notorious river pirates for the greatest prize in Southeast Asia - Saigon.

It's the historical account of the rise of Le Duan, a man that would one day challenge his mentor for control of the communist party and the North Vietnamese Army. It's the tale of the CIA operative - Lucien Conein, half-hero, half-scoundrel, a man with few rules and no limits.

The revealing story of a critical period few know about; the slippery slope that accelerated America's involvement in the Vietnam War and defined the tragic outcome. For those that love history, Momentum of War is a must-read war novel filled with action, intrigue and more historical events than you can shack a stick at.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Lee Corley
• Release date: Mar 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215299661

Book preview

Momentum of War

Based on True Events

David Lee Corley

Copyright © 2020 David Lee Corley

All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

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To the men and women that fought and died for their countries, your sacrifice will not be forgotten.

VIETNAM  1954 - 1975

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Table of Contents

THE RIVER PIRATES

THE AMERICAN SABOTEUR

LINGERING BETRAYAL

THE BLACKSMITH'S SON

THE CORSICAN BANDIT

TUMBLING DOMINOS

OPERATION EGLANTINE

THE DARK KNIGHTS

WILLING PAWNS

GOD’S MEDICINE

HOW TO EAT AN ELEPHANT

THE BATTLE FOR SAIGON

THE BLOODLESS COUP

Every battle is won before it is fought.

-  Sun Tzu

THE RIVER PIRATES

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September 12, 1921 – Saigon, French Indochina

The monsoons came early that year. The beating of rain on streets and buildings drowned out all other sounds. Families living on the rivers that snaked their way through Saigon huddled in their sampans. Streetlamps reflected off the wet asphalt and the mini ponds forming in the potholes. All had retreated inside since it didn't look like the storm would let up anytime soon. The city was more dangerous when it rained. It was not good to walk alone, especially at night.

A teenager on the verge of manhood squatted beneath on overhang, his tattered clothes drenched from the storm. The air was warm, but still, he shivered. He hadn't eaten in several days, and the skin on his face was drawn tight and translucent. He didn't know what to do. After being expelled from school, his stepfather had disowned him and thrown him out of his home. He had no job and couldn't read.

There were two things he had going for him – his size and his eyes. He was taller and had broader shoulders than most Vietnamese, giving him a menacing appearance even for a teenager. And his eyes were not dark brown like most Asians. They were blue-grey, odd against his Asian face and coal-black hair. He did not know his birth father. His mother had kept his father's identity a secret to her death a few years back. Most people thought the father must have been a Frenchman because of the boy's size and eyes, but there was no telling. It was just as well. The Vietnamese hated the French, and being a half-breed was no advantage.

The boy looked out at the canal that bordered his birthplace – Cholon, a riverside district south of downtown. A rough neighborhood filled with thieves and thugs. The rain bounced off the slow-moving water with the occasional tree branches floating by. The leafy branches had been torn from their trunk by the hard rain and wind. New streams in the mountains carried the orphaned branches into the river, which then carried them further down into the city. Like many unseen things, they were dangerous and could snap a blade off a motorboat's prop or even poke a hole in the wooden hull if hit at high speed. The boy looked out across the black water and wondered where the river would take his body if he jumped in. He couldn't swim. He knew he would not last long, but his suffering would be over.

The year before throwing him out, his stepfather, the owner of a delivery company, had taught him how to drive. He thought he might get a job driving a truck, but he didn't know how to find a company hiring. So instead, he shivered in the rain and starved. It was there, with his feet in a puddle and his ass resting on his heels, he decided not to die. He owed the world nothing, for it had given him nothing. From that point on, he would do whatever it took to survive, no matter the sin. People feared men with power and wealth. They should have feared the man with nothing to lose and everything to gain. They should have feared Le Van Vien, who would one day be known as 'Bay Vien.'

Vien became a street thug. He took what he wanted and thrashed anyone that stood in his way. When the police came, he ran. He had no honor. He couldn't afford a gun, so he stole a fishmonger's knife with a thin blade that was razor-sharp and used to gut the daily catch. He waited in the shadows of the alleys next to gambling halls, whorehouses, and opium dens, looking for patrons to rob. When they saw his size, his victims rarely protested, and if they did, a swift stab from his blade finished the argument. His belly was full, and his skin soft from proper nourishment.

One night, while watching the sampans paddle their way upriver, Vein heard a car engine approaching. He turned just in time to see a Citroen Type A crash into a light pole. The driver, obviously drunk, stumbled out, scratching his head as he examined the damage. He was followed by the passenger, who drew a pistol from his jacket and fired two rounds at the driver. Both missed but gave the driver enough motivation to stumble around the corner and disappear - a wise choice.

The passenger re-holstered his weapon and examined the damage to the car. He looked up to see Vein staring at him and said, You.

It was obvious that the passenger was talking to him because there was nobody else around. Do you know how to drive a car? said the passenger.

I know how to drive a truck, said Vien.

Close enough. You're hired. Let's go.

It took a few moments for Vien to realize what had just happened. He had just been given the first job in his life. No matter that his new employer carried a pistol and had no qualms about using it. Vien trotted over, climbed behind the wheel, and started the engine. He pushed in the clutch and ground the gears until he found reverse. He backed up the car, straightened the wheel, located first on the gear shift, and drove off. He was happy. Fate had finally smiled at him.

As Vien would learn later that night, the passenger was Van Ba Duong, an underworld kingpin and leader of the Binh Xuyen crime syndicate. Vien was in a privileged position as Ba's driver. He met some of Saigon's most notorious gangsters as he drove his boss around the city. He lived in a room at Ba's villa, so he would be on hand anytime, day or night, when his boss needed a driver. He was given expensive clothes custom made by Ba's tailor and ate the best food cooked by Ba's kitchen staff. He was truly blessed. He did not know why. He didn't care. He was determined to enjoy his newfound luck as long as it lasted. Tomorrow would take care of itself.

Before long, Ba gave Vien a pistol with a holster so he could double as a bodyguard. Ba had learned that an extra gunman was always welcome on Saigon's back alleys and streets. Vien practiced shooting his new pistol at every opportunity he could get. But Ba made him pay for his own bullets, which were expensive, so Vien asked for a raise. Ba was cheap as hell, but he liked the young man. He gave him the raise he requested more because he dared to ask for a raise and less because he deserved it. Vien was rising.

A few years later, the pistol came in handy when a rival gang tried to assassinate Ba. The gunmen pulled up next to the car Vien was driving. Ba was in the backseat reading a newspaper and didn't see the gunmen. Vien caught a glimpse of a Thompson submachine gun as the gunmen in the passenger seat raised it to load a one hundred round drum magazine. Vien froze. He thought about turning around to warn Ba, but he knew it would be too late once the gunman opened fire. Instead, he drew his pistol and smashed the window with the butt of the gun. What the hell are you doing? said Ba, hearing the window shatter.

Vien didn't waste any time explaining and opened fire with one hand and continued to steer the car with the other. He fired three rounds at the gunmen. The first two rounds shattered the passenger side window in the parallel vehicle, and the third round found its way into the gunmen's forehead. He slumped over dead. The driver grabbed the submachine gun and fired wildly back at Vien. Vien calmly aimed and fired two more rounds. One round hit the driver in the chest. He dropped the submachine gun and let go of the steering wheel. The car crashed into a handcart moving in the opposite direction, killing the woman pushing the cart. Vien kept driving and turned down the next corner. Ba realized that he had almost been killed. Well done, boy. Well done, said Ba.

Vien smiled and thought about asking for another raise. There was no need. Ba rewarded Vien handsomely and gave him a gold watch to commemorate his drawing of first blood. It was hard to find good men that he could trust, and Ba wanted Vien to stick around.

In the 1920s, the Binh Xuyen only numbered two hundred and fifty men. Vien often wondered why they were so few, but that was the way Ba liked it, and Ba's orders were law. The green beret-wearing gang was principally made up of river pirates. They would extort money from the sampans that went upriver to drop their goods at the markets in Saigon's Cholon district. Those that refused to pay found their cargo stolen, and the sampans set ablaze. Since few Vietnamese knew how to swim, most drowned in the river when they were forced by the flames to jump overboard. Word spread, and the sampan pilots paid the gangsters.

When one of the pilots mustered enough courage to complain to the police, the Binh Xuyen would retreat into the mangrove forest south of Saigon, known as the Rung Sat Swamp. The water level in the Rung Sat rose and fell with the tide, making it dangerous to travel during certain times each day. The river pirates knew every foot of the swamps and could easily set up ambushes. The police dared not follow them and usually returned to the safety of Saigon's streets. With the police gone, the pirates would hunt down the sampan pilot that had reported them and fed him to the crocodiles that lived in the swamps. Before long, the pirates were back in business, extorting the sampans.

Vien befriended many of the gangsters and quickly worked his way up the Binh Xuyen ladder. He was loyal, fearless, and smart. The fact that he was illiterate rarely hindered him because most of the gangsters could not read either. Vien always paid his tribute to the gang leader above him. On his thirtieth birthday, Ba permitted him to form his own gang within the Binh Xuyen. Vien became the youngest gang leader in the organization. It turned into a mixed blessing as some of the other leaders became jealous of Vien's meteoric rise to power. Vien had to watch his back from that point on.

One night as Vien looked out over the river that he now controlled, he thought back to the puddle under his feet and the moment he decided his path. He wondered what he could have accomplished had he not become a gangster and had listened to his stepfather's council. He decided he had made the right choice. It was fun being a gangster. People respected him. People feared him. He took what he wanted when he wanted it. The sky was the limit. He was just beginning.

Vien was invited to dinner at one of Ba's finest restaurants in Cholon. Vien had not spent much time with Ba since he had become a gang leader. There was too much to do. Each month's tribute payment was a burden that did not go away, and Vien was forced to come up with new methods of making money to keep up. He missed his mentor but wanted to make him proud. Ba was the closest thing to a father in Vien's life.

La Villa Parisienne was not typical of Saigon restaurants, especially compared to those in the Cholon district. It was over-the-top, way over the top. The restaurant's exterior resembled a French villa with carved stone columns and vines growing up the walls. Vien, wearing his finest suit with patent leather shoes and Stetson Fedora hat, stepped from the car Ba had sent for him.

Even dressed to the nines, Vien felt out of place as he stepped inside. It was beautiful, like heaven should be. The finest marble floor stretched wall to wall. The drapes and tablecloths were made from the most expensive silk. There was porcelain china from Vienna and gold-plated utensils from New York always counted by the servers before the guests left the restaurant. The red wine was imported from Bordeaux and the white from Chablis. Caviar from the Iranian side of the Caspian Sea.

The chef and his saucier were both from Paris and demanded the finest ingredients to create their culinary masterpieces. Ba had purchased a duck farm on the city's outskirts, so the chef could ensure the foul was only fed grass that would produce the desired taste. The meals' cost was far more than the patrons were willing to pay, but Ba didn't care. This was his showpiece, and he wanted only the finest, especially when he dined.

Vien was greeted by Ba and was seated by his side. Attractive women filled the table - some Vietnamese and some European – that talked among themselves. Ba disliked participating in chit-chat with women. Life was a more serious matter, but he did appreciate their beauty.

Ba's bodyguard stood nearby with a bulge in his suit coat, keeping an eye out for possible threats. If an attack did occur, his job was to slow down the assassins so Ba could escape. Although preferred, it was not required that he survived the incident. He was paid handsomely for his fidelity and enjoyed the scraps Ba left behind, especially the women.

The maître de that had escorted Vien to the table handed him a menu, not knowing that he was illiterate. Vien opened it and looked at the letters scrawled across the page in a flowing font. They made no sense. I knew you would be hungry as always, so I took the liberty of ordering you the Salade Lyonnaise before you arrived, said Ba knowing that Vien would be embarrassed that he could not read the menu. For your main course, you should consider the Duck a l'orange. I raise them at my farm outside the city.

That sounds good, said Vien as he closed the menu and handed it back to the maître de. I'll have that.

Ba ordered more food, enough to feed an army so that Vien could try different dishes. As Vien rose in rank, Ba wanted him to become more sophisticated. He exposed him to the finer things in life whenever possible. Vien pretended to like the fancy foods and fine wines that Ba offered him, but in truth, he was a simple man with simple tastes. He would do whatever Ba wanted while he was the leader of the Binh Xuyen. It was prudent.

There was no business discussed during dinner. That was the way Ba liked it. It was time to relax and built bonds between himself and his associates. Bonds were important. They built trust, and trust was what kept him alive. When the meal was finished, Ba nodded to one of the women. The women all got up at once and excused themselves to go powder their noses. As they left earshot, Vien turned to Ba and said, I am full and ready for a nap. But I imagine that is not what you had in mind when you invited me here.

No. But a nap does sound good. Let's go to the patio and have our cigars and brandy, said Ba as he rose.

Vien followed him to the patio. A waiter was already there with two glasses of brandy and a box of Cuban cigars. The waiter clipped two cigars and left the patio, closing the doors behind him. They were alone now. Vien lit Ba's cigar and then his own. I need a favor, said Ba.

I imagined, said Vien.

There is a young man, a Communist, that I would like you to meet.

A Communist?

Yes. In fact, he was one of the founders of the Communist party in French Indochina.

You want me to kill him?

No. I mean... not unless it becomes necessary. I do not want to start a war with the communists. They are growing in number, especially in the north.

The north? Who cares?

I care. And you should too. The communists are passionate and idealistic; that makes them dangerous.

Why don't you meet with him if he is so important?

The communists do not like gangsters and may wish to kill me. It could be a trap. I doubt they would bother with you being only a captain. I have let them know that any harm to you would incur my wrath.

So, what do you want me to find out?

I'm not sure. Maybe we can do business with them.

With communists? I doubt it.

Times are changing, my son. We must change with them if we are to survive and thrive.

And you think the communists are going to help us?

I don't know. That's why you will meet with him. His name is 'Le Duan.'

I will do as you ask. But I cannot guarantee I will not kill him. I am not fond of communists.

That is fair. You will do your best.

They finished their cigars and brandy in silence, staring out at the city of Saigon with its twinkling lights and slow-moving black rivers.

Vien and his three bodyguards approached the junk tied up to pier on the Saigon River. The man Le Duan and his three bodyguards had already arrived. As agreed, one bodyguard from each side was allowed to board and search the junk for bombs and hidden assassins. They climbed aboard using two prepositioned gangplanks, so neither needed to get near the other. The process only took five minutes because the owner had emptied the vessel of all cargo and unnecessary gear to make hiding something difficult. In the meantime, on the pier, the two sides eyed each other. The Viet Minh bodyguards were armed with antiquated muskets, while the gangsters were armed with Tommy guns with drum magazines. It wouldn't be much of a fight if a skirmish broke out. Nobody spoke.

Duan's father started his career as a blacksmith then obtained a job as a railway clerk. Because of his father's job, Duan was educated at French colonial schools. After graduation, he, like his father, secured a job with the Vietnam Railway Company in Hanoi. When he worked for the railway, Duan was exposed to the Marxist ideology and became active in promoting a communist revolution. Considered by most to be rigid and secretive, he had few friends and wanted fewer. His mind was focused on the revolution. He had little time for socializing.

When the two bodyguards returned from their search below deck, they disembarked back onto the pier. Vien and Duan boarded the junk alone using the two gangplanks and met on the main deck. The two men were similar in age, with Duan being a few years younger than Vien. I am Le Duan. Thank you for coming, said Duan.

And I am Bay Vien, and I had no choice in the matter, said Vien.

Then, thank Ba.

Enough of the niceties. What do you want?

All right. You know the Viet Minh and our cause?

You're communists. That's all I need to know.

We are the future of Southeast Asia.

So, you say. Right now, you look like a mob of street urchins armed with peashooters.

It is true. Our weapons are antiquated, but they can kill just the same. It is the heart that wins the fight.

Excuse my disbelief, but it is my experience that says otherwise. Although you are welcome to put your theory to the test once our meeting is over.

We would not waste our ammunition on you. We save it for the French.

Well, then... there is something we both agree on... the French.

Yes. We must drive the invaders from lands.

Easier said than done. They have armored cars and fighter-bombers.

We have courage and right on our side.

I'd rather have the armored cars and aircraft. Get to the point.

The Binh Xuyen should support the Viet Minh.

Why in hell would we do that? Are you going to pay us?

You know we have little money.

I can tell by your wardrobe.

But we do have something we can trade.

And what's that?

Your survival. Our numbers grow by the day. Before too long, we will be able to fight the French in open battle and defeat them. What happens to the Binh Xuyen when that happens?

If that happens.

It is inevitable. The French take everything, including the rice. At some point, even the simplest farmer or shopkeeper will take up arms against them to keep his children from starving... no matter the odds. The people have had enough. The time of revolution is fast approaching. It is already too late to stop it. Where will you stand when it happens?

I admit. It would be good to kick the French out. But they have been here for over a hundred and fifty years. Don't you think somebody would have done it by now if it was possible?

Nobody had Ho Chi Minh as their leader. You have heard of him?

Of course. Who hasn't?

He fights the French in the mountains in the north. The people flock to him like bees to a poppy field.

Yeah. I've heard the rumors. But he is no match for the French. They will hunt he and his followers down with their planes and bomb them into oblivion.

And if they become martyrs, even more will arise to take their place. The revolution will not stop. It is like the ocean crashing against the cliffs. Even rock will wear down and crumble given enough time.

Perhaps, but I will be old and grey before the French leave our shores.

Two days from now, we will have a protest march in the streets of Saigon. You will see our strength.

I will see you bleed from French batons.

Yes. You will. But you will also see the will of the people to bring about the revolution.

You still haven't told me what the Binh Xuyen have to gain by supporting the Viet Minh.

If you support us now when we need it, we will support you when we take over Saigon.

Why should I trust you?

We both have the same enemy.

And when that enemy is gone?

Another will rise in its place. Only together can we keep Indochina free from invaders.

And what about our businesses? Gambling, opium, and whores?

It is true to accomplish a communist state; we must rid the people of such vices. But many things need to happen before such a time. I can guarantee you... the Bihn Xuyen will fare far better with us than against us.

That sounds like a threat.

No. That is a promise. Consider my words, Bay Vien. We will talk again. I am sure of it.

Duan left the junk leaving Vien deep in thought.

––––––––

Vien stood on the balcony of a whorehouse as he watched the banners of protestors pass below. The mob of protestors was like a giant snake winding its way through the streets of Saigon. What impressed him was the diversity of the crowd. It wasn't just one group. It was everyone. There were students, fishermen, farmers, coal miners, merchant sailors, and all manner of workers.

Vien saw French police holding long batons line up in a wall of human force on the far end of the street. A lieutenant ordered them forward. At first, they marched. Then the lieutenant ordered the quickstep, and the police broke into a trot, closing the distance between themselves and the protestors.

Some of the protestors ran away, ducking down side streets and alleys. But most held their ground and locked arms forming their own wall. They knew what was