October Fury
Peter A. Huchthausen. Hoboken, NJ: J. Wiley & Sons, 2002. 281 pp. Photos. Maps. Bib. Index. $24.95.
Reviewed by Rear Admiral Sumner Shapiro, U.S. Navy (Retired)
The risk of a nuclear apocalypse being spawned at sea during the Cuban Missile Crisis in October 1962 is the thrust of October Fury, which features a protracted engagement between U.S. Navy ships and aircraft and four Soviet diesel submarines of the Foxtrot class, each equipped with a single nuclear-tipped torpedo. The Foxtrots were deployed in advance of seven ballistic-missile submarines that were staged to Cuban waters as part of the surreptitious build up of Soviet nuclear strike forces.
At their predeployment briefing, we are told, a senior admiral gave the commanding officers of the Foxtrots specific instructions. "Use of the special weapons is authorized under the following conditions," the admiral emphasized, "first, in the event you are attacked with depth bombs and your pressure hull is ruptured; second, if you surface and are taken under fire and hit; and third, upon orders from Moscow." These were pretty loose rules of engagement, and not at all typical of the Soviets with their overriding penchant for centralized control of everything, much less nuclear weapons. We are given to believe, however, that these rules were in effect throughout the engagement with U.S. antisubmarine forces that ensued. This engagement is presented as one of multiple close encounters and near misses, with World War III being avoided only because of the great restraint shown by commanders on both sides.
The core issue, of course, is whether the Soviets actually were prepared to fire those nuclear torpedoes. Tension between the two countries was at an extremely high pitch, and it would not have taken much to set off the fuse. Based on recent revelations from some of the Soviet players, we now know that the situation might have been even more perilous than we realized. An authoritative Soviet source has disclosed that the Soviet on-scene commander in Cuba had been delegated authority to employ tactical nuclear weapons against U.S. landing forces and ships. He had this authority only during the early days of the crisis period, however, and it soon was withdrawn and control of all nuclear weapons reverted to Moscow.
The assumption is that autonomous release authority at sea would have been withdrawn at the same time—if, in fact, attack submarines operating independently actually would have been permitted to employ nuclear weapons without first getting clearance from Moscow. The premise behind October Fury is that the submarine commanders had such authority, but this loses credibility when put to the test. Described in some detail is a very close encounter in which one of the submarine commanding officers, convinced he was about to be depth-charged, ordered torpedo tubes—including the one housing the "special weapon"—readied for firing, only to be advised by the special weapon security officer that "we can't arm that torpedo without specific instructions from the Special Weapons Directorate of the Main Navy Staff, sir." So much for autonomous control. The commanding officer then confided to his executive officer, "I have no intention of arming or shooting that weapon. . . . We'd go up with it if we did." So much for making the supreme sacrifice and firing a nuclear torpedo against a nearby destroyer. As it turned out, nobody fired anything lethal, much less nuclear torpedoes.
This is the stuff of Tom Clancy novels. In fact, October Fury probably would make an appealing movie, as did Huchthausen's other book, K-19: The Widowmaker (Washington, DC: National Geographic, 2002). October Fury is not fiction, however. To his credit, the author undertook a very ambitious research effort, much of it centering on Russian-language documentation and extensive interviews with former Soviet Navy officers. What emerges is a detailed picture of the personalities and activities in the staffs ashore and on board the ships at sea. It is an engaging, well-written, and highly entertaining story about the people and life on both sides.
If there is a criticism of the picture the author paints, it is in his tendency to color certain personalities and incidents for dramatic effect. Bothersome also is the fact that so much of the story has been derived from the reminiscences of Soviet submariners, almost 40 years after the fact. It would not be the first time Soviet veterans of the Cold War have proved surprisingly accessible to the Western media and have used the opportunity to tell their versions of the story—often quite at odds with the recollections of others and the facts as we know them. It might make good theater, but one result is that the Soviets come off looking better than they deserve, and the Americans, many of whom are depicted quite critically, suffer by comparison. Also, to describe this encounter at sea as "the single most harrowing moment of the Cold War" (as the publisher does) is quite a stretch. The Cuban Missile Crisis brought us close to the brink of war, but the truly critical flashpoints were elsewhere, and the stand-off between East and West ultimately played out with much higher stakes at the very top levels of both governments.
This does not detract from the fact that Peter Huchthausen has written another good book. October Fury might not qualify as a historical reference, but it goes into exquisite detail and is insightful about operating conditions and life on board Soviet submarines and the challenges and intricacies of antisubmarine warfare on board U.S. destroyers in October 1962. That by itself makes it well worth reading.
Admiral Shapiro retired from the Navy in 1982 after more than 30 years of service. A Russian linguist and Soviet area specialist, he served in the Office of Naval Intelligence during the Cuban Missile Crisis, was ordered to Moscow as a naval attaché immediately thereafter, and later served as Director of Naval Intelligence during the Carter and Reagan administrations.
When I Was a Young Man: A Memoir
Bob Kerrey. New York: Harcourt, 2002. 271 pp. Photos. $26.00.
The Education of Lieutenant Kerrey
Gregory L. Vistica. New York: St. Martin's, 2003. 296 pp. Photos. Index. $24.95.
Reviewed by Colonel W. Hays Parks, U.S. Marine Corps Reserve (Retired)
By any measure, Joseph Robert Kerrey has experienced a storied life: a Navy SEAL officer in Vietnam, where he was awarded the Medal of Honor; governor of Nebraska; U.S. senator; presidential candidate; and university president. Bob Kerrey's endeavors have not been without costs: loss of most of a leg in battle, and allegations by journalist Gregory Vistica of committing heinous acts during an earlier combat mission. These books provide a measure of the man while not necessarily providing a conclusive picture to support Vistica's assertions.
Bob Kerrey's book began as an autobiography and as a place to tell the story of his effort to determine what happened to his father's brother, who went missing in the Philippines during World War II. He is successful in each case. Kerrey's early days are summarized in a measured, perhaps self-effacing way. He grew up in a middle-class family, played high school sports, and graduated from the University of Nebraska. As he began his pharmacy career, the U.S. role in Vietnam was increasing. Facing a draft notice, he applied for and was accepted to Navy Officer Candidate School, to which he reported in February 1967.
Interwoven with Kerrey's narrative about his Navy training experiences are his reactions to events of the day, such as the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennedy and the 1968 national presidential campaign. Somewhat surprisingly, in the midst of some of the most demanding military training and relatively early in the Vietnam War, he expressed doubts about that conflict. Indeed, throughout he appears far more prescient about the war's outcome than most who served there at the time.
About 60% of the book describes his life before his Vietnam service; less than 15% summarizes his Vietnam tour, which ended when he was seriously wounded. The balance tells of his hardship in recovering from his wounds, and of his search for his uncle. The recovery is much the same tale as told in the late Lewis B. Puller Jr.'s Pulitzer Prize-winning Fortunate Son (New York: Grove Weidenfeld, 1991), a story that is no easier for Kerrey to describe than for Puller.
Vistica's accusations of war crimes during Kerrey's mission into the village of Tan Phong surfaced as Kerrey was completing When I Was a Young Man. Notwithstanding interviews and informal meetings over three years with Vistica, as well as two taped interviews with Mike Wallace for a 60 Minutes II segment on the alleged incident, Kerrey offers only the briefest of explanations of the Tan Phong mission. As Kerrey explains in an author's note, his narrative is based on a brief statement prepared with his detachment members when Vistica's accusations became public. They agreed that it would be their only statement. Whether Kerrey served his and their best interest remains to be seen.
When I Was a Young Man is a well-written autobiography. The author's insights into his own life contribute to its value. Its limited summary of the Tan Phong mission appears inconsistent with the rest of the book, and diminishes it somewhat.
Gregory Vistica is a journalist. His previous book, Fall from Glory: The Men Who Sank the U.S. Navy (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1995), is based on his reporting of the 1991 Tailhook Convention. Consistent with Fall from Glory, Vistica's objectivity remains elusive in The Education of Lieutenant Kerrey.
Vistica's book is troubling from the outset. As he acknowledges, his knowledge of the Vietnam War is dependent largely on a single book—Neil Sheehan's A Bright Shining Lie (New York: Random House, 1988). His knowledge of SEAL operations in Vietnam is based on popular histories, neglecting the more authoritative, semiofficial SEALs: UDT/SEAL Operations in Vietnam by T. L. Bosiljevac (Boulder, CO: Paladin, 1990).
The inadequacy of Vistica's historical research is complemented by pejorative descriptions of U.S. operations. F-4 Phantoms bomb "villages" in areas where F-4s never operated; SEALs carry white phosphorous grenades to kill "people" (suggesting innocent civilians rather than Viet Cong) in bunkers; and Operation Phoenix is labeled a "brutal assassination campaign," notwithstanding objective histories to the contrary. He inaccurately describes Viet Cong weapons as "antiquated," offering an underdog image of the Viet Cong and ignoring the lethality of the SKS carbine and AK-47 assault rifle. Vistica establishes a faulty foundation to lead the lay reader down his chosen path. His conclusions, which include an attack on the U.S. decision not to join the International Criminal Court, bolster the conclusion that this book is little more than a polemic against the military, the Vietnam War, Bob Kerrey, and anything more conservative than Vistica's views.
On 25 February 1969, then-Lieutenant (junior grade) Kerrey led his six-man SEAL detachment on a mission into Tan Phong in the Thanh Phu District of South Vietnam to capture or kill senior Viet Cong leaders scheduled to meet there—a high-risk penetration by a small team into denied territory at night. An official report indicated 24 Viet Cong killed in action during the mission.
The mission remained history until Vistica received a tip from an anonymous SEAL officer as Kerrey began his second run for the presidency. One can only speculate over this officer's motivation; Kerrey's earlier description of President Bill Clinton as "an unusually good liar" undoubtedly caused a search for dirt on Kerrey. Vistica's pursuit of the tip led to Tan Phong mission detachment member Gerhard Klann, who met with Vistica in 1997. Klann enjoyed distinguished Navy SEAL service before retiring in 1990. Even in Visitica's description, Klann appears angry that he did not receive a Medal of Honor for a high-risk mission later in his career. There also is what lawyers know as "fresh complaint," that is, that delay in reporting a crime tends to lessen the credibility of a victim's or witness's report. Klann's lengthy delay—measured in decades—does not lend credence to his story.
The Tan Phong mission story breaks down into two accounts: Kerrey's, in which Vietnamese in civilian clothing (their precise status is not clear) died as a result of legitimate combat operations, or Klann's, in which clearly innocent civilians were killed. No other member of the Tan Phong mission detachment supports Klann's story. Vistica does his best to support Klann, focusing on Kerrey's changing of the facts in his numerous interviews, in contrast to Klann's repetition of the same story. Klann's credibility troubled Vistica's employer, Newsweek, which declined to run Vistica's account. (Vistica left Newsweek shortly thereafter.)
Vistica's narrative ignores first-time combat psychological and physiological reactions in the human body that cause auditory and visual exclusion (sometimes referred to as "tunnel vision") and a failure of participants or witnesses to recall events with precision. (This was Kerrey's first battle.) Kerrey's prevarication in his repeated interviews does not necessarily support Vistica's theory of wrongdoing. The perfect, unchanging story more often than not is less likely to be truthful. Vistica does rely on other witnesses, including the wife of a Viet Cong fighter who allegedly witnessed the events on the evening in question; she subsequently recanted her story.
The Vietnam counterinsurgency war was difficult for the men who fought it, in large measure because a dedicated enemy chose to dress as civilians and blend with the civilian population. U.S. military prosecution of servicemen during that conflict reflected intolerance for criminal acts. But criminal acts require criminal intent. Judgment calls in the heat of battle do not form a basis for criminal prosecution; Vistica's account would not have been sufficient basis for such a prosecution in 1969. His "facts" have not been enhanced either by the passage of time or in his telling. If anything, they reaffirm the wisdom of the U.S. decision not to subject its men and women to the jurisdiction of the International Criminal Court for belated or dubious allegations of war crimes by antimilitary journalists and others who see events far more clearly than they appeared to the participants at the time they occurred.
Colonel Parks served in reconnaissance, infantry, and judge advocate assignments during his career, including service as the senior prosecuting attorney with the First Marine Division in Vietnam, 1968-1969. He was the 1990 Proceedings Author of the Year.