Act of War

by Jack Cheevers

  Gesturing excitedly, Park predicted that Kim would hurl thousands of specially trained guerrillas at South Korea come spring. Through sabotage and assassination, those fighters would disrupt the south’s economy and destabilize its government. When his country was sufficiently weakened, Park warned, North Korea’s regular forces would sweep in to finish it off.

  Park said he didn’t object in principle to the U.S. negotiations at Panmunjom; he just didn’t think they’d work. He certainly sympathized with LBJ’s desire to get his sailors out alive. But inertia in the face of increasing communist violence, he said, would lead South Korea to national extinction. Kim’s guerrillas had sneaked to within 1,000 yards of the Blue House in an “open act of war” intended to overthrow the South Korean government. Future provocations, Park insisted, must automatically be met with heavy counterblows.

  As dependent as South Korea was on the United States, Vance couldn’t simply order Park not to march north; he had to persuade him. And so the lawyer began building his case against a reckless lunge across the DMZ with the same calm logic he might use to counsel a wound-up Wall Street mogul against an ill-conceived corporate takeover.

  Vance asked Park to consider a basic question: What was Kim trying to achieve? Did he hope to provoke retribution that could become a pretext for all-out war? Widespread conflict, Vance noted, would wreck the south’s economy, destroying the notable progress made under Park. On the other hand, left unscathed for a few more years, South Korea’s economic locomotive was certain to pull far ahead of North Korea’s in the race for dominance on the peninsula.

  Yes, the attempted assault on the Blue House was appalling, acknowledged the American. But Park’s troops and combat police had easily contained infiltrators in the past. Even if Pyongyang intensified its subversion campaign, couldn’t that too be blunted, especially with millions of dollars of new counterinsurgency hardware from the United States?

  Park was unconvinced. The communists understood only force, he insisted, and halfhearted responses to repeated aggression would simply embolden them. If the attacks continued, Park declared again, “We must counterattack.” National survival demanded vengeance.

  In fact, Park already was conducting covert counterattacks. Apparently without Washington’s knowledge, his special forces made 11 eye-for-an-eye raids across the DMZ in late 1967. One assault was large enough to have knocked out the headquarters of a North Korean army division. The elite teams were directed by Park’s hotheaded defense minister, whom Vance regarded as “an absolute menace.” Park also had secretly assembled his own assassination squad to go after Kim Il Sung.

  The South Korean president didn’t tell Vance any of this. Instead, he asked how serious North Korean encroachments had to get before the United States took firm action. What if the communists tried to hit the Blue House again? What if they attacked a South Korean air base? Or a factory, hydroelectric dam, or other important economic target?

  “We are not helpless,” Park noted pointedly. “We have an army of six hundred thousand men.”

  The U.S. policy of passivity wouldn’t work, he said. If Washington insisted on pursuing a deal at Panmunjom, he could keep his nervous countrymen under control—but only for so long. In the meantime, allied forces should blast North Korean warships and the army unit that fielded the Blue House commandos. If the Soviets reacted by threatening war, he added, Washington should “accept the challenge.”

  Vance said nothing in response to that incredibly irresponsible remark. He heard the agitated South Korean out, and then bore in again with a coolly reasoned rejoinder.

  He appreciated Park’s comments about Panmunjom, he said, and shared his desire for a rapid denouement to the talks. He added that he now had a clearer understanding of Seoul’s views on retaliation. However, U.S. experts had carefully considered plans to hit North Korea and believed doing so could touch off a major counterstrike—and possibly war. He also pledged that America—which had sacrificed the lives of 33,000 soldiers to keep Kim Il Sung from swallowing the south in the early 1950s—wouldn’t let him do so now.

  On February 13, Vance offered similar assurances to Park’s jittery ministers and got an earful in response.

  The sharpest words came from the short-fused defense minister, Kim Song-eun. Washington’s slow and inadequate response to guerrilla infiltrations, he charged, was responsible for the present threats to both South Vietnam and South Korea. Both nations had warned of the danger of armed subversion, only to be brushed off by American officials convinced they were being shaken down for more military aid.

  Although Seoul had asked for counterinsurgency equipment two years ago, he said, only now—after the Blue House and Pueblo insults—was it being supplied. The defense minister said his government didn’t question America’s willingness to fight for South Korea in a full-scale war; lower-level aggression, however, was another matter. Washington was willing to passively spend money to strengthen South Korea’s defenses, but when would it take real action against limited but escalating northern attacks?

  President Johnson, the defense chief went on, hadn’t started bombing North Vietnam until four-fifths of South Vietnam lay in Ho Chi Minh’s hands. South Korea couldn’t sit idly by as Kim Il Sung attempted the same thing. Prime Minister Chung then added his own warning that domestic political pressures might force President Park to withdraw South Korean troops from Vietnam.

  Vance had heard enough. If South Korean soldiers pulled out of Vietnam, he declared, U.S. troops would pack up and leave South Korea—a nightmare scenario for Park’s government. Hearing this frank threat, Chung “gasped, sputtered, and went out” of the room.

  The American envoy knew that journalists from his country as well as South Korea expected a statement on what, if anything, his urgent mission had accomplished. He and his aides drafted a brief communiqué and gave it to the ministers for review. The South Koreans didn’t like it, saying it contained almost nothing of substance. Hours of bickering failed to produce a consensus on what the public should be told.

  That night Vance and his two assistants met a group of South Korean negotiators at the elegant Tower Hotel to work out the final wording. The discussions began at nine p.m. and spilled over into the next morning. The South Koreans contested every point, every nuance, fortifying themselves with whisky as the night wore on.

  Vance’s aides were John P. Walsh, the State Department’s deputy executive secretary, and Abbott Greenleaf, an Air Force colonel. All three men were tired when they arrived at the hotel, and exhaustion tugged at them as the hours ticked by. His bad back throbbing, Vance eventually called for a break. The South Koreans, he told Walsh and Greenleaf, obviously were trying to wear them down. But he vowed to outlast them.

  The Americans, Vance decided, would negotiate in shifts. While one man faced off with the South Koreans, the others would catnap in their hotel rooms. The Koreans offered drinks, but Vance and his men, determined to keep clear heads, declined.

  The main point of contention was President Park’s insistence on automatic retaliation. If his country was hit again, he wanted to lash back reflexively, no matter what the circumstances. Vance categorically opposed such a policy. He believed that reprisals should never be decided in advance of a provocation; they had to be weighed on a case-by-case basis, especially when they carried the risk of war. An attack on a car factory wasn’t the same as an attack on an air base, and had to be handled differently.

  At about five a.m. on February 14, Vance finally succumbed to his back pain, leaving the conference table to go lie down in his room. Walsh and Greenleaf stayed on, hammering out the last details of the communiqué at seven a.m. The strongest passage said only that Washington and Seoul would hold “immediate consultations” whenever South Korea’s security was threatened.

  Vance went to the Blue House the next day for a final colloquy with Park. The president’s secretary general and closest adviser,
Yi Hu-rak, intercepted him outside Park’s office. Strongly pro-American, Yi said Park had decided to reject the communiqué as “not strong enough.” Yi considered that a serious mistake. He implored the U.S. emissary to do everything in his power to change his president’s mind.

  Vance met Park and appealed for him to understand the domestic political pressures LBJ faced. Nineteen sixty-eight was an election year, Vance explained, and the antiwar movement was gaining influence. A major outbreak of fighting in Korea wouldn’t play well with an American public already disenchanted with the Vietnam War. No one wanted the Panmunjom talks to go on indefinitely, Vance said. But Johnson felt he had to make every effort to settle the Pueblo mess peacefully before resorting to military means.

  The envoy said he and his colleagues had worked through the night on the communiqué and, though it completely satisfied neither side, the document should be released to the press. To say nothing would unsettle the South Korean people and allow Kim Il Sung to crow that the allies were farther apart than ever. Vance also asked the South Korean leader for his word that he’d refrain from unilateral military action.

  Park replied that he had no desire to add to President Johnson’s burdens. Both he and LBJ understood how easily war might flare if North Korean aggression went unchecked. Their quarrel was over what tactics were most likely to stop it. He knew America didn’t want to be fighting on two fronts in Asia. But, Park declared, the certainty of reprisal was the only realistic prophylaxis against future communist violence. Even if the allies decided to forgo payback for the Blue House and the Pueblo, they must issue an unmistakable warning that swift and devastating retaliation would inevitably follow any more such acts. So wishy-washy was the proposed communiqué, he said, that not only would it cause public trepidation if released, but it might actually encourage the North Koreans to believe they could attack again without consequences.

  Park then abruptly reversed himself, saying he “did not care” whether the joint statement was issued or not. But if the Panmunjom talks became stalemated, he demanded, what did Washington intend to do?

  A range of options was under study, Vance responded. They included a naval blockade, air strikes, seizing a North Korean ship, and trade sanctions. LBJ hadn’t yet decided what course to take, and his choice would depend on future events.

  That seemed to agitate Park. What if the attacks on his country didn’t stop? Ambassador Porter would show up in his office pleading for patience yet again. Did the United States intend to do anything except exercise restraint?

  Vance said he couldn’t predict the future. But, he added, as close allies, South Korea and the United States had to consult when the actions of one so profoundly affected the other. President Johnson could have punished the communists severely after the Pueblo was taken, Vance noted. But that might well have exposed South Korea to serious collateral damage, including invasion.

  Park promised not to strike back at Pyongyang “at this time.” But, he added with chilling bluntness, further provocations would leave him no choice but to attack on his own. If the United States joined him, that would be fine, he said, “But unilateral action would have to be taken whether or not the U.S. joins.” Park insisted his country “can overcome North Korea.” He understood that “human casualties would be great,” but he was willing to pay that price “in order to permit [his] people to survive.” South Koreans had a right to defend themselves, and Washington shouldn’t demand “endless patience in the face of endless aggressive acts by the other side.”

  Vance didn’t fail to grasp the dark implications of Park’s remarks. The battle-hardened ex-general was willing to thrust his country—and American troops defending it—into war regardless of U.S. wishes. Vance carefully explained that although Park’s position “would create very grave problems” in Washington and might damage the two allies’ close relationship, he’d convey his comments to LBJ.

  Listening to this exchange, Park’s adviser, Yi, grew “profoundly disturbed.” He interrupted the discussion and, in rapid Korean, pleaded for Park to consider what he was saying. Heeding his trusted aide, Park tried to assure Vance that he didn’t want to divide their nations. But when it came to protecting South Korea, he had no alternative.

  The quick-witted Vance saw his chance, a last opportunity to change the mind of this strong but heavily burdened man. He asked whether Park already had decided to get even if Kim Il Sung hit him again. Park replied that he had to do that if another serious incident occurred.

  Vance then asked whether South Korea would seek retribution for an attack on one of its airfields. Park said he’d make that call based on the situation at the time.

  Yi jumped in, saying his boss had just made Vance’s point. Park thought for a moment and burst into laughter. His assistant was right. Future retaliations couldn’t be dreamed up without reference to future circumstances. The tough little president stood up, warmly put his arm around Vance, and thanked him for coming.

  —

  A Marine helicopter whisked Vance to the White House after his jet rolled to a stop at Andrews Air Force Base outside Washington. LBJ met him on the South Grounds and ushered him into the Cabinet Room, where the president’s top defense and foreign-policy experts were waiting.

  Vance didn’t sugarcoat what he’d heard in Seoul. Although he’d succeeded in reducing the levels of anxiety and suspicion there, he reported that the situation remained “very dangerous.” Fueled by a copious intake of alcohol, President Park was moody and erratic, Vance told the assemblage. He related the ashtray-throwing episodes and characterized the South Korean leader as “rather unsafe.” With the exception of Yi, no one in his government had the nerve to tell him anything he didn’t want to hear. If Kim Il Sung kept goading him, Vance warned, sooner or later Park would explode.

  “Is [Park’s] drinking irrationally something new?” Johnson asked.

  “No, this has been going on for some time,” his emissary responded.

  Vance said he’d nonetheless nailed down some important commitments from Park. The South Korean had agreed not to stand in the way of the Panmunjom talks, provided they didn’t take too long. He also promised no retaliation without first consulting Washington.

  But Park had his price. His ministers had handed Vance a laundry list of additional defense goods they wanted, including six squadrons of F-4 Phantoms and four new airfields. Not only was that equipment expensive—Vance estimated a $1.5 billion price tag—but it also would strengthen Park’s hand if he tried to strike a preemptive blow against the north.

  Yet Vance thought Park deserved at least part of what he wanted. “We have to give them some F-4s,” he told LBJ. Clark Clifford turned the discussion back to Park’s mental state, saying he was disturbed by the South Korean’s apparent instability. Did he have the power to unilaterally launch a sizable attack on Kim Il Sung?

  “The generals would let us know and would drag their feet,” said Vance, referring to the South Korean military. “But if he said ‘go,’ they would have to go.”

  That was a sobering thought for the men in the Cabinet Room. Clifford urged that Park be watched closely, and that Washington find a way to disengage from him if his armies suddenly headed north.

  “This,” Clifford warned, “is a weak reed we are leaning on.”

  —

  The Soviets’ weak reed was Kim Il Sung. Kremlin leaders were as wary as Lyndon Johnson of getting drawn into a war they didn’t want by a belligerent client state.

  Moscow had publicly condemned the U.S. military buildup as “fierce, rude, and aggressive.” Privately, the Russians were upset at Pyongyang for taking the “unusually harsh” measure of violently seizing the American spy boat rather than simply shooing it away. They’d urged the North Koreans to now act with restraint and not give Washington any excuse to escalate the standoff.

  But Kim had sent a chill through the Soviet leadership with a Januar
y 31 letter to Premier Kosygin in which he “expressed confidence” that their two nations “will fight together” if the United States attacked North Korea. Moscow’s alarm grew when Kim mobilized his forces, informed his countrymen that “a war could begin any day,” and began evacuating factories, government offices, and people from Pyongyang.

  The Soviets decided it was high time they made their views known directly to Kim, and invited him to Moscow amid the gala celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of the Red Army. But the North Korean leader declined, saying he couldn’t get away, and in his stead dispatched Minister of Defense Kim Ch’ang Bong.

  On February 26, the defense chief met with Leonid Brezhnev, secretary general of the Soviet communist party. Brezhnev told him flatly that Moscow wanted no war in Korea and didn’t understand the meaning of the evacuation that was under way in Pyongyang. Brezhnev also declared that the mutual assistance treaty between the two countries was of “a defensive character”—in other words, the Soviets felt no obligation to back up North Korea if it started a war against the south. The Russian complained that Pyongyang had provided no information about the progress of the Panmunjom talks, and strongly advised that the impasse with the Americans be resolved peacefully and without delay.

  Brezhnev’s lecture got Kim Il Sung’s attention. On March 1, Kim received the Soviet ambassador to Pyongyang, assuring him that evacuation activities in the capital “did not have an emergency character.” Kim also said he had no intention of “raising military hysteria” in his country and promised to squelch “panicky rumors” among his people.

  CHAPTER 9

  THE ENDURANCE OF MEN

  Two guards shoved their way into Bucher’s room on the afternoon of March 5. They ordered him to gather his belongings and line up with his men in the hall.

  None of the Americans knew what was going on, but some of them whispered excitedly about maybe being headed for freedom. The seamen marched downstairs and out into the snow. Two buses, surrounded by armed soldiers, sat idling. Bucher demanded to know their destination; he was told to shut his mouth and get in.