AN AFTERNOON WITH BERNARD FALL

LtCol W G Leftwich, USMC

A tribute to the memory of a gifted writer who knew his subject implicitly,

including the Marines with whom he lived and died.

 

Copyright Marine Corps Association, 1969.

Published in the Marine Corps Gazette, Feb, 1969

Reprinted with permission.

 Editor’s Note:  Bernard Fall is well known to students of Small Wars.  Imagine our surprise when we found this article recounting his afternoon spent with another well known warrior (yes, Marine, that Leftwich).  The Marine Corps Gazette has been extremely generous with granting us this reprint from their archives.  The Gazette now has its archives online.

TWO years have passed since Dr. Bernard B. Fall, author, lecturer and Indo-China expert, was killed near Hue in Vietnam. This anniversary recalls a memorable afternoon spent with him only two days before he departed on his final trip in December, 1966. I was researching on Vietnam, and Dr. Fall, the acknowledged authority, was a valued source if his always busy schedule permitted. When I called for an appointment, he agreed with characteristic courtesy but warned that he was in the midst of preparing to leave. This was obvious when I arrived at his Washington home. His roomy study already overgrown with books and manuscripts was further cluttered with obvious preparations for the trip. He was to continue his study of Vietnam on a Guggenheim Fellowship and expected to spend a year abroad. He said that Gen. Wallace M. Greene, then Commandant, requested that he spend some time with the Marines, and he had agreed to do so. Indeed, his last days were with the 3rd MarDiv.

I had met Dr. Fall only casually on a previous occasion, but was impressed as always with his cordiality and contagious enthusiasm. He needed little less than an unsolicited visitor at that time, but he devoted the better part of an afternoon to random discussion, interrupted periodically by phone calls from people seeking his time. An enthusiastic and uninhibited conversationalist, he talked freely on all aspects of the 20 years of the war he had studied so avidly. On several occasions he referred to his vast library of books and periodicals. I was startled and complimented that he had read an article I had written previously on some small unit actions in Vietnam. He charitably didn't make any comment on its quality or accuracy, but in the course of the afternoon he did cite the inaccuracy of several other current articles in military periodicals. He obviously read virtually everything written on his favorite subject and made copious marginal notes. I shuddered at the thought that my unscholarly offerings might be the subject of such intense scrutiny.

I gave Dr. Fall some photos taken in the Central Highlands of monuments to the ill-fated Mobile Group 100, which succumbed to a series of Viet Minh ambushes along famed Route 19. This was a subject dear to his heart, and he mentioned appreciatively that the 1st Air Calvary had cleaned up two such sites which were nearly overgrown by the kunai grass that now covered the graves of the men they honored. This launched a discussion of MG 100 and ambush tactics. He alluded to a classic example of antiambush reaction made by the MG survivors, already battered by three ambushes. Rising out of the elephant grass, they charged precipitously across Route 19 and scattered the ambushers bent on finishing them off. He felt that American units were not as ambush prone because they could reconnoiter their flanks by fire with their immense firepower and the profusion of aircraft that the French did not have. "We never learn," he continued, as he described another operation on which he had accompanied American advisors along Route 14 eleven years later. Dr. Fall had carried a tape recorder, and he recalled his voice saying: "Watch out lieutenant. This is a probable ambush area," followed by the advisor's assurance: "There aren't any VC here," and then the rattle of gunfire that confirmed his suspicions. The ARVN convoy, consisting of tanks and infantry, immediately telescoped; the regimental commander was killed when he went forward to spur the advance.

I steered the conversation toward the topic of my visit, research on the advisory effort. "The advisory concept is generally good," he explained, "but it has been misdirected since 1955 when Gen 'Iron' Mike O'Daniel took over from the French." The Americans did away with the Mobile Group concept. They introduced a divisional structure and planned for conventional war after the Korean pattern. Somewhat bitterly he described what he considered to be the systematic removal of French symbolism, down to the floppy-brimmed bush hats. An unfortunate side effect, he continued, was the elimination of all traditional trappings in the Vietnamese services. Elite units who had fought bravely against the Viet Minh were reorganized and their achievements obscured. Only the Vietnamese airborne units retained their symbolic red berets. Dr. Fall added that a further oversight was the failure to assign advisors to the paramilitary forces (now the popular and regional forces) until 1964. "However, even the best advisors can't accomplish much in a year," he admonished. The longer-term French military missions in Cambodia and Laos in the 1960's did much better. In fact, he recounted, a French colonel named Seta even belied the myth that a Westerner cannot command native troops in this age. Seta, chief of the French advisory mission to Cambodia, complained to Prince Sihanouk that he could not accomplish a particular task because he wasn't in command. The mercurial Sihanouk promptly dubbed him a brigadier in the Cambodian Army. A bemused Paris consented, and Seta eventually rose to lieutenant general. Present day advisors can well appreciate this extraordinary achievement. The possibilities of an American being invited to command a comparable ARVN force would appear remote indeed.

Dr. Fall mentioned some successful advisory efforts from the past. Lafayette was a grand scale advisor on Washington's staff, and the Germans accomplished much with the Turks prior to and during World War I. Integrated units are an extension of advisory efforts, and the half-French, half-Vietnamese units fought very well during the French War. A frequent critic of American tactics, he called the Marine Corps' Combined Action Companies the "best idea yet." Taking his massive doctoral dissertation from a shelf, he mentioned a French technique that might serve us well today: the GAMO's (Groupes Administrates Mobiles Operationales), 150-man mixed units that contained government officials as well as protective troops. Their mission was to move into newly cleared areas and govern until civilian authority could return. French commanders disliked them because their commands had ultimately to provide security for them. This tidbit never got into any of his books, but offers food for thought as a potential combination of CAC's and Revolutionary Development Cadres.

"Casualties don't mean anything to them . . ."

Dr. Fall with obvious relish produced his then unpublished book Hell in a Very Small Place. "This is the most authoriative book on Dien Bien Plut," he stated, "because only I had access to the French secret files." He pointed out the many diagrams used and cited especially those showing the tonnages of bombs dropped on Viet Minh supply lines. Interdiction of primitive lines of communication accomplished "zilch," then he said, accomplished little before in Korea, and is not much more effective now. Too bad the American command didn't advise the French of their failures in Korea in time to revise tactics in Indo-China, he concluded.

A discussion of Dien Bien Phu naturally followed, and he cited the outgunning of the French artillery as the key factor. The French expected to destroy the Viet Minh artillery, of which intelligence knew, through counterbattery fire. They couldn't conceive of their own loss of air adjustment, the placing of Communist guns on the forward slope of surrounding hills, or the inability of French aviation to penetrate the flak and destroy the guns. I raised the question as to whether anyone had ever talked to the French engineer officer about what was essentially an engineering seige problem. "I have," he announced, and then he described an interview with one Maj Sudrat now stationed in Paris, who was mildly amused that no one had ever bothered to question him about Dien Bien Phu. The analysis of the engineering problem is covered in detail in Hell in a Very Small Place. In essence, Sudrat advised Gen DeCastries that 36,000 tons of fortification material would be needed to make the strongpoints invulnerable to 105mm fire. Only 4,000 was forthcoming; hence the fate of the garrison was sealed when seige conditions evolved. Dr. Fall felt the choice of Gen DeCastries was an incongruous one in view of his personal background and the impending defensive nature of the battle. An aggressive, offensive minded excavalryman, DeCastries did not properly appreciate the defensive implications of terrain. Another command complication, added the writer, was the complexity, as yet unresolved, of multiple battle groups operating together. His book treats this situation in intriguing detail as well.

Inevitably the talk turned to the present struggle, and the author predictably waxed most eloquently and forcefully: "Americans have to grow up in foreign policy. We can't bear to see anyone fall on their faces without propping them up. Our children get hurt, and we immediately pat them on the back and say 'I'll take care of it, kid, don't worry.' This is part of our advisory problem," he elaborated. "Our American take-charge attitude is our own greatest enemy. We get so emotionally involved with the so-called emerging nations that everything that happens is interpreted in terms ot an American defeat or victory.

I asked him of course what he thought was the state of progress. "We'll win when we ultimately get the 10 or 11 to 1 superiority that's needed. By that time American firepower will have destroyed everything in the country anyway; then what'll you have?" I asked about the magnitude of enemy losses, and he replied with feeling: "Casualties don't mean anything to them; they do to us because we're round eyes; we've got to quit thinking in terms of our own concepts of loss." On helicopters, he stated that he doubted the validity of the air cavalry concept because helicopters were simply too vulnerable to carry the total transportation load.

On chivalry in war: "The Viet Minh soldiery used to show compassion toward wounded and frequently left them to be picked up by ambulances at predesignated spots. The political commissars changed all this at Dien Bien Phu, but the failure of the French Command to agree to truces had earlier soured the atmosphere. Today all traces of chivalry are gone."

The afternoon slipped away in my enthrallment with the author's animated flow of commentary. I departed with a sheaf of notes and apologies for disrupting his packing. I had an occasion to call him two days later on the eve of his last departure for Vietnam. I concluded the call with a humorous rejoinder to "stay away from Route 14," the scene of his 1965 ambush. He laughed and said he would confine his activities to Route 1, which he knew better. This was sadly prophetic. On 21 February 1967, he was killed by a mine near his self-titled "Street Without Joy."

The nation thus lost a gifted writer with unique insight into a tortured area about which we still know too little. Often controversial, occasionally seeming outrageously biased, he was ever the probing scholar. More importantly to me, he retained an unflagging consideration for the trooper, be he French, American or Vietnamese. This appealing quality was amply demonstrated that December afternoon.

LtCol Leftwich (USNA, Class of '53) was an advisor to the RVN Marines in 1965-66, later devised a mock Vietnamese village at Quantico for training purposes. He is now Special Asst and Aide to the Under secretary of Navy.

(bio as published in 1969)