|
photo by:
Master Sgt. Ken Hammond, U.S.A.F. |
"Thank you
Sergeant."
Like most of the
nasty things in Washington, they start with a phone
call. This was no exception.
Sutton had two hours
to make it over to the Pentagon for the meeting. He
couldn’t help wondering what it was all about. If he
hurried, he could stop and grab an early lunch.
Taking a sip of hot coffee, he looked at the morning
headlines, "Vietcong Attack." The newspaper was
dated March 27, 1973.
"Yes sir, down
the hall to your left, room four."
"Thank you."
Taking a seat,
Sutton looked around. Others were entering the room.
Sutton then saw Col. Johnson, along with his aide,
Capt. Marjory Ott. Besides two men from the CIA,
who Sutton knew well, everyone else was military.
Rising to attention as the Colonel walked over to
the podium, everyone readied themselves. Nobody was
quite sure why they were there.
"Gentlemen, thank
you for being here on such short notice. I have an
announcement to make. This comes straight from the President.
Tomorrow—on March 28th—America is pulling its troops
out of Vietnam. Once this is done, America
will officially end its military involvement in
Vietnam. Are there any questions?"
At precisely
that moment, the dirty little secret reared its
ugly head; inside room number four, in the east wing of the Pentagon,
in the room with the
nice view. It was just after one o'clock in
the afternoon.
"Yes Sir, I have
a question."
The speed at which
Sutton had come out of his seat surprised
even himself. He couldn't believe what he had just
heard.
"But Colonel, what about our insertion teams? We’ve
still got men along the Ho Chi Minh Trail."
His question quickly turned into
a nasty confrontation. In fact, over the next
forty-five minutes the entire room was nothing but
a loud argument—a real balancing act when you’re a
young
lieutenant and the person you’re arguing with is a
full-bird colonel. But to Col. Johnson’s credit, he
let the men speak their mind. But it didn’t change
the facts. History now confirms this.
"How are they getting out? Doesn’t the President know
about our men? Of course—he has to! You don’t mean
that we’re just going to leave them behind?"
Sutton took another drag on his cigarette. He had
dropped the flaps on his tent a long time ago. The
rain drops were still striking loud. Picking up the
sheath of papers lying next to the dog tags, he
began to read.
