North of Hanoi along the road to Lang Son, General “George C. Scott” Freeman, to his acute embarrassment, found it necessary to halt his advance recon cloverleaf patrol because of lack of information about where General Vinh’s forces were.
To make matters worse, the Chinese Fourth Division had penetrated the Vietnamese Army positions along the fifteen-mile Lang Son-Loc Binh front, pushing Vinh’s regulars back along the Lang Son-Ban Re railway, creating the possibility of widespread confusion between the EMREF’s advancing reconnaissance patrol and the retreating Vietnamese.
For now, Freeman and Vinh decided to have the EMREF recon force withdraw sixty miles south to Phu Lang Thuong along the hundred mile Lang Son-Hanoi road so as to avoid any further blue on blue incidents. One of the deciding factors in the U.S./U.N. Vietnamese decision to have the American and U.N.-led force pull back was the lack of good radio communication between dispersed Vietnamese positions, creating the ever-present danger of a unit of withdrawing Vietnamese running into allied or their own units in the thick jungle.
Freeman could have easily rationalized his forces’ pullback, as press officer Boyd advised, by pointing out the inferior Vietnamese communications ability, which posed the greatest danger of a blue on blue. Instead, Freeman, in a CNN interview that night, explained the pullback as a joint tactical decision made by him and General Vinh. It was a face-saving gesture for the Vietnamese which General Vinh would not forget. Freeman’s pullback of his EMREF spearhead, however, received less than fair treatment in most of the world press. It became an opportunity for all those who either disliked and/or were jealous of Freeman’s reputation as one of the most, if not the most, aggressive U.S. field commanders since George Patton.
“Will you be withdrawing any farther south, General?” a British news pool reporter asked. With Vinh looking on, Freeman hedged his bets. “We may find it necessary to regroup to Bac Ninh, ten miles farther south, but—” He turned to General Vinh. “—I don’t expect anything more than that.”
General Vinh nodded his agreement immediately, which told Freeman the Vietnamese general knew more English than his interpreters had led the U.S.-U.N. team to believe. Freeman held up his right hand to signal that the press conference was over. “Cam on rat nhieu.”
Press officer Boyd, surprised, looked at Major Cline. “I didn’t know the old man could speak Vietnamese.”
Cline smiled. “There’s a lot you don’t know about the old man. He does his homework.”
“Well, do you know what he said?”
“Some form of thank-you, I think. But he sure didn’t like that limey’s question about maybe pulling back farther. Apart from Skovorodino, it’s the only time I’ve seen him pull back. It’s against his religion.”
“Which is?”
“His creed is Frederick the Great’s. ‘L’audace, l’audace— toujours l’audace!’ Audacity, audacity, always audacity!”
“Maybe,” Boyd said, “but he didn’t get off to much of a start.”
“Stick around,” Cline advised. “He’ll surprise you.”
“For instance?” Boyd challenged.
Robert Cline thought for a moment. “Freeman was in a winter battle once, leading U.S.-U.N. forces. One of the many wars that’ve erupted since the Berlin Wall came down and we got the ‘new world order.’ Anyway, Freeman gave the order to withdraw his armored corps of M-1 tanks — retreating from Russian-made T-72s. Everybody thought he was nuts— cracking up.” Major Cline paused to light a cigarette.
“And?” Boyd pressed.
“And,” Cline continued, “as the temperature kept dropping — minus fifty degrees, minus sixty — Freeman kept pulling the M-1s back. Until it got minus seventy with windchill factor — then he suddenly orders all the M-1s to stop and attack the T-72s.” Cline took a deep drag on the cigarette. He liked this part, wanted to tease it out a little, show how the Freeman legend had grown, that it wasn’t all bullshit like some of the Johnny-come-latelies thought it was.
“So?” Boyd said, anxiously awaiting the outcome. “What happened?”
“M-1s slaughtered the T-72s. Knocked out over ninety percent of them.”
“I don’t understand,” Boyd said.
By now Marte Price had come in on the fringe of the conversation. “I remember,” she said. “The oil in the Russian tanks froze at minus sixty-nine degrees, right? And the waxes separated out in the hydraulic oil lines — clogged the lines like lumps of fat in an artery. Russian tanks couldn’t move. Seized up, and Freeman’s tanks knocked them out.”
Major Cline blew out a long stream of smoke. “Thanks for ruining my story, Ms. Price.”
“Call me Marte.”
“All right. Thanks for ruining my story, Marte.”
“You’re welcome, Major,” she answered impishly. “You’re not the only one who knows Freeman’s a stickler for detail.”