War of Numbers

by Sam Adams

  “It’s had three months, sir,” I said.

  “Deserting the Indo-China Division won’t help your career,” he said, still with a kind voice.

  “I want to go to Carver’s,” I replied.

  Lehman told me that the head of the DDI, R. Jack Smith, had said I could go if I insisted, but only under certain conditions. The main one was that anything I wrote for Carver would have to have a DDI imprimatur. He repeated: “The agency ought not to speak with two voices.”

  “With all respect, sir,” I said, “it’s high time that it did.” And I went below to see my prospective boss, George Carver.

  Carver was lounging behind his polished wooden desk on the sixth floor, hair disheveled like an English don’s. In fact he had attended Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar, and had written there a dissertation on Thomas Hobbes. A copy of the dissertation was in a nearby bookcase. I asked him about Mr. Smith’s demand that my papers appear under the DDI label.

  He said: “Don’t worry about R. Jack. His nose has been out of joint ever since ‘Will to Persist.’ Here you work for the director.” I was to start after the first of the year, he told me. The director, of course, was Richard Helms, of whom I highly approved, recalling the sensible way he had acted during the Congo rebellion. Helms’s office was on the seventh floor.

  Freedom imminent, I finished up several memos for the Indo-China Division. On the following day, 2 December, the service-troop paper went upstairs, minus the Long An codicil.21 A few days later, I sent up my latest guess on the number of VC.22 It was 600,000,* or more than double the order of battle. To make sure the military knew what was going on, I cabled the Saigon Station, telling it to “alert the appropriate MACV officials, particularly Colonel Hawkins.”23

  My swan song with the Indo-China Division was the home-guard study. When I gave it to Dean Moor, it was some sixty pages long, with a hundred or so footnotes—the most detailed paper about the Vietcong written to that date. One of its features was a map that used VC province names and VC province boundaries, often markedly different from those of the Saigon government’s. (In part, because there were then only thirty-eight VC provinces, in contrast to Saigon’s forty-four.) It was the first time an agency paper had ever used a VC map, and to me it symbolized everything that was wrong with the DDI’s approach to the war. As I had complained three weeks before to Mr. Lehman, our best source in those days was captured documents, which of course employed VC names. But since the DDI seldom used enemy documents, it felt no need for an enemy map. A cartographer who helped me on the map said: “It looks like we want them to fight the war our way, not theirs.”24

  The last days of December went quietly. The front office sent back my “Service Troop” and “600,000” papers without comment or request for amplification. My home-guard study went below to be looked at by somebody downstairs. And a Collation Branch analyst named John T. Moore—back from Vietnam on midtour vacation—stopped by to tell me that he’d also written a guerrilla paper in Saigon, but that it had been “suppressed.”25 The year-end MACV Order of Battle arrived on schedule. Except for the “regulars,” its numbers were unchanged.26

  New Year’s came and went, and on Tuesday, 3 January 1967, I moved—together with my files—from Room 5G44 on the fifth floor to Room 6F19 on the sixth. Room 6F19 was Carver’s. It wasn’t a single room, as the name implied, but a row of them, connected by a long carpeted corridor where the secretaries sat. I had one room all to myself, overlooking some trees, and I shared a secretary with only two other people. Her name was Theresa Wilson, a tall girl from Texas with beautiful eyes. My first problem was finding room for my files. It had taken three trips with a shopping cart to bring them from Indo-China. Theresa solved the problem in short order by ordering a brand new safe. This was first indication of the advantages of working on the director’s staff.

  More indications followed. Carver gave me about four papers to write, all for recipients either in the White House or on McNamara’s staff. The subjects were unimposing (such as the “Percentage of Allied Wounded Returned to Duty in Vietnam”) but I felt that at least the papers would be read. Then on my own hook I arranged to brief the Board of National Estimates on the VC home guard. On the strength of the briefing, the board issued a paper, drafted by Bobby Layton, suggesting the number of guerrilla-militia was “250,000 to 300,000.”27 This was the first time the number had appeared under the official agency eagle, and since the board was independent, there was nothing the DDI could do about it.

  By the end of the first week, I knew I was sitting in the catbird seat.28 I thought: Why not exercise my new-found power? So on Tuesday, 10 January, I drafted a decree. Entitled “Revising the Vietcong Order of Battle,” it ordered the DDI “to take on the task of researching with all deliberate speed the neglected areas of the OB.” These of course included the service troops and political cadres, including such types as “armed public security forces,” the subject of one of my manila folders. I also gave my opinion that MACV’s strength estimate (the whole thing, not just the guerrilla-militia) “should be at least doubled.” The reason for this, I pointed out, was to allow American intelligence to make “a better informed appraisal of what we’re up against.”29 Theresa typed up my fiat, and on Wednesday morning I went into Carver’s office—a big one with many windows at the end of the corridor—to persuade him to put his signature on it.

  He read it and said: “I’d love to see R. Jack Smith’s face when this lands on his desk. Well, it’s a fine memo, long overdue I might add, but it has a flaw.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “The phrase ‘what we’re up against.’ In formal prose, never, never elide. ‘We are’ is correct here. Not much of a flaw. Have you ever read James Thurber’s Thirteen Clocks?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said tentatively.

  “In that case, you’ll remember the evil duke. ‘We all have flaws,’ said the duke; ‘Mine is being wicked.’ ” Having made his single correction, Carver signed the order in the director’s name, and shortly thereafter, it went by messenger to Mr. Smith’s office on the seventh floor.

  I was euphoric. My problems were virtually over. Victors are supposed to be magnanimous, but I couldn’t help myself. That evening I went to see a friend of mine in Smith’s office to find out what the reaction had been. The friend was Jack Ives, one-time analyst on Laos, who had fled Dean Moor to become spear-holder in the DDI front office. Ives said: “Cheezil, they’ve been mad as hornets up here all day. One week out of the DDI and already you’re sending us directives. Smith’s gone absolutely berserk.” Just then another spear holder shoved his head in the door. He said: “So it’s you, Adams, you damn son of a bitch, come to gloat. I hope you’re satisfied.”

  Two days later I felt the time had come to jar loose my home-guard study from whatever pigeon hole the DDI had stuck it in. I composed a note to Carver suggesting he take it away from R. Jack Smith and publish it in the name of the director. The note said: “Haste makes waste and all that, but I suggest we proceed as rapidly as possible. Maybe we can scoop the Times. In any case, it would be a good memo to get out before MACV starts an elaborate shell game to hide its enormous goof.” I apologized for the home-guard memo’s numerous footnotes, but said they were necessary to lend it an “air of authority.”30

  When Carver got my note, he called me into his office. He was laughing. “I agree we ought to get your paper out,” he said, “but let’s hold on for a bit. Smith’s still in a lather over that last missive, and he needs time to cool down. Meanwhile I want you to know that the logjam on strength estimates is about to break. I think you’ll be getting good news in the not-too-distant future.”

  Carver was right. On Friday, 20 January, a day-old memo arrived in the office from the Pentagon. Its author was General Earl G. Wheeler, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and second only to President Johnson in the military chain of command. Obviously Wheeler had read (among other things) the Board of National Estimates paper mentioning “250
,000–300,000” guerrilla-militia. He said in his memo: “I am becoming increasingly concerned over the contradictory OB … statistics which are contained in the numerous documents currently being circulated throughout Washington. Recently there have been specific queries by members of Congress, White House representatives, and others calling attention to these discrepancies … in view of the forthcoming congressional hearings, these matters must be resolved on an urgent basis.”31 I showed the memo to Carver.

  “I’ve already seen it,” he said, “and I think you deserve most of the credit for getting the ball rolling. Furthermore, I want you to stay with it. Wheeler’s calling an order-of-battle conference in Honolulu early next month to sort out the numbers. It’s going to be a full-dress affair, with CIA, DIA, MACV, and everybody attending. I want you to go as my personal representative.”

  Feeling slightly awed with myself, I went to George Allen to consult with him about the trip. I told him that in view of what he’d told me about MACV’s shenanigans with the numbers back in 1963, my main worry was that Westmoreland might try a repeat performance.

  “I wouldn’t put it past him,” George said, “but if I were you, I’d keep an open mind. Westy’s chief of intelligence is Major General Joe McChristian, the best J-2 that MACV’s ever had. And McChristian’s Order of Battle head is still Gains Hawkins. I told you before, Gains is a good man. He’s a country boy from Mississippi, and bone honest. You know the old saying: ‘You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy.’ ”*

  Toward the end of January, I received horrendous news. Although I was still Carver’s “personal representative,” the head of the CIA delegation would be Dean Moor. In a high state of agitation, I burst into George Allen’s office to tell him. He groaned. “I might have known the DDI’d pull a fast one. Damnation, I should have taken the job myself, but now I’m busy with something else. Dean doesn’t know squat about the OB, and if MACV cares to, they can wrap him around their little finger. This makes your job all the more important. You’ve got to keep them honest.”

  “But George, I’m an eleven,” I said (meaning my government pay grade was GS-11, the rough equivalent to captain). “Moor’s a fourteen. He’ll be my boss.”

  “I know, I know,” he said dejectedly. “Do your best.”

  The order-of-battle conference gathered shortly before its scheduled opening of 8:30 on the morning of Monday, 6 February, in a theaterlike auditorium at Camp Smith, a military base overlooking Pearl Harbor, not far from Honolulu. There was the normal hubbub of people finding their seats and greeting old acquaintances, until, from a side door, a major general entered the room. There was a hush. It was Joseph A. McChristian, the so-called MACV J-2, head of American military intelligence in Vietnam, and obviously the star of the show. He had close-cropped hair over a roundish face, a chestful of ribbons, and a pair of blue eyes that looked as though they could drill holes through a wall. He took his seat at the center of a long curved table that dominated the room. Dean Moor plopped down to his left. I found a place four or five seats down from Dean. Colonel Gains Hawkins sat to McChristian’s right. I caught the colonel’s eye. He smiled and waved.

  At precisely 8:30 A.M. the meeting came to order. General Grover Brown—chief of intelligence at CINCPAC (Commander in Chief, Pacific, headed by Admiral Sharp, nominally Westmoreland’s superior) made some opening remarks. Another General Brown seconded the first one’s. A certain Major Williams from DIA made a plea for “better understanding.” Then it was McChristian’s turn. As he rose the clock stood at 8:55 A.M.

  McChristian said roughly the following: “Gentlemen, I heard some loose remarks earlier in the day that we are here assembled to arrive at a new number for the order of battle. I would like to use this opportunity to inform anyone who harbors this notion to drop it, and to drop it at once. The Vietcong order of battle is MACV’s business, which is to say, my business. Don’t tread on me.” He glared around the room to spot potential treaders. I had already sunk down in my chair, thinking: “Here we go.”

  He continued: “In the last few months, certain individuals in certain organizations have raised questions about three of the four categories of the MACV order of battle.” (I sunk further into my seat.) “Colonel Hawkins of my OB Branch has made a preliminary investigation into these categories. This investigation shows that each of them will need drastic upward revision.” (I sat up.)

  Publisher’s note: Here ends Adams’s finished text for this chapter. What follows is his précis for the remainder, after which Adams’s narrative continues as before. This is the only section of Adams’s book left in an incomplete form.

  The balance of this chapter includes my conversations with Colonel Hawkins, whom I found both knowledgeable and candid. We discussed at length the various documents, including Bulletin 689, on which the “upward revisions” were likely to be based. Thus reassured, I returned to Langley. There, George Allen told me that the conference was a “sellout.” Dumbfounded, I asked why. He showed me a copy of the conference report, signed by General McChristian and by Dean Moor, the first time I’d seen it. The report assigned the MACV the sole custodianship of the numbers. George said: “Now Westy can do any damn thing with them that he wants.” MACV’s end-of-February strength report came in with the VC numbers unchanged, except for the regulars.

  The chapter goes on to describe my third trip to Vietnam. The trip’s purpose was to investigate the VC’s Armed Public Security Forces (their secret police), on whom I already had a thick file. In Vietnam, I traveled around the provinces to interview Vietcong prisoners. I also checked in at the MACV’s Order of Battle Section. Hawkins was away, and I could find no sign that MACV intended to revise the numbers. I headed back to CIA headquarters determined to push once again for a higher estimate.

  On my return, I discovered that the agency was putting together another big paper for McNamara, this one nicknamed McNamara II. With Carver’s permission I inserted in the text all my higher numbers. A copy of the McNamara II went to Westmoreland. He fired back a cable saying: “The CIA has no business challenging our order of battle; it has violated the agreement made at Honolulu.” On receipt of the MACV cable, the agency rallied behind the higher strength estimate. It sent a telegram to Westmoreland that said in effect: “It’s time to tell the truth.” The cable’s author was none other than Dean Moor. On 12 June 1967, Bobby Layton wrote the first draft of “National Intelligence Estimate Fourteen Three”—the annual forecast on Indo-China. Layton’s draft used the higher numbers. Since all parts of American intelligence were expected to sign off on Fourteen Three before its issue, the numbers dispute had therefore come to a head, with MACV on one side, and CIA on the other. The first session of Fourteen Three was scheduled for 23 June.

  *MACV Order of Battle listing for Phu Yen: 916 guerrillas and 2,294 self-defense militia, totaling 3,210. The VC document’s: 3,398 guerrillas, and 17,009 self-defense militia, totaling 20,407. Thus the VC had 17,197 more people in their home guard in Phu Yen than the OB listed.

  † MACV Order of Battle listing for Phuoc Long: 387 guerrillas and 146 self-defense militia, totaling 533. The VC documents’ figures: 174 guerrillas, and 141 militia, totaling 315. The OB overshot by 218 men.

  *He did. He was Patrick McGarvey, who later wrote a book about his experiences CIA: The Myth and the Madness (New York: Penguin Books, 1973). McGarvey was a classmate of mine at the Farm. He cleared his book, before its publication, with the CIA.

  *U.S. casualties by “causative agent” as taken from the New York Times article:

  World War II Vietnam

  artillery 61% 19%

  grenades 2% 16%

  mines/booby traps 3% 21%

  Casualties from small arms and other causes are omitted.

  *The U.S. Ninth Division later captured a Vietcong report that gave the size of the Long An home guard in 1966. The report listed 1,321 village guerrillas, 2,029 hamlet guerrillas, 198 secret guerrillas, and 3,363 self-
defense militiamen for a total of 6,911. You will recall the equivalent numbers in the MACV Order of Battle were 100 guerrillas and 60 militiamen for a total of 160. You may also remember my puzzlement in Long An on 9 February on noting that almost as many guerrilla-militia had defected as were in the official estimate. (See Chapter 3) Obviously my confusion stemmed from the fact that the MACV Order of Battle listing for the province home guard was forty-three times too low.19

  *The 600,000 was broken down as follows: Regulars, about 100,000; guerrilla-militia, about 300,000; service troops, about 100,000; political cadres, about 100,000.

  *Allen’s exact wording. It predated the Salem cigarette ad.

  5 FOURTEEN THREE

  THE CHIEF HUN opposing the upward revision of the OB turned out to be George Fowler. A gray-haired, heavyset, chain-smoker of Chesterfields, Fowler was the Pentagon factotum who had carried my guerrilla-militia memo to Saigon when the CIA had first published it in September 1966. His battle cry was “Harrumph.”

  He had arrived with thirty or forty other intelligence people at just before 10:00 A.M. on 23 June 1967 at the Board of National Estimates’ seventh-floor conference room, to attend the first session of Fourteen Three.* Windowless, furnished with leather chairs and maps, the room had a large conference table with Bobby Layton, the estimate’s drafter, at one end, and General Collins, Fourteen Three’s chairman, at the other. The rest—from the State Department, the Defense Intelligence Agency (namely, Fowler), the three services, the National Security Agency, and the CIA—arranged themselves either at the table or along the walls. I sat next to a wall. A board member since his retirement from the Army, General Collins—stocky, bullnecked, with flared eyebrows—opened the proceedings:

  “Gentlemen, as you all know, the guts of this year’s Fourteen Three is the numbers game, so we might as well face up to it before we do anything else. I want all positions put clearly, so there’ll be no misunderstandings. George, you look like you’ve got ants in your pants, why don’t you lead off?” The general was addressing George Fowler.