A Bad Start

The long night of defeat was closing down inexorably on the gallant garrison of Dienbienphu. In Paris, where the trees burgeoned in gracious spring, the mood was dark as the lengthening shadows in the Indo-China valley 6,000 miles away, and Frenchmen recalled another spring--1940--when Paris could read the portents of disaster. The shaken French government was on the edge of collapse. As they had in 1940, distraught French officials turned their eyes to the skies, cried for clouds of planes to save the day.

In 1940, they had appealed to Britain, and Churchill had sadly refused. Last week they appealed to the U.S. They asked for massive U.S. air attacks on the Communists' supply lines to force the Viet Minh to loosen their crushing grip on the bone-tired French garrison. Once again, the answer was, sadly, no. The reasons: 1 ) such attacks would be war, could not be undertaken without Congress' approval; 2) even U.S. airmen were convinced that air attacks could not save Dienbienphu now.

Counting on Rain. Strategically, the loss of Dienbienphu would not be decisive. Psychologically, it was all-important. Its fall might set off a chain reaction among Asia's fence-sitters, waiting to be on the winning side; in France, it would set off cries for heads to roll, and demands for peace at any price. Already in Indo-China morale wavered. With the Communists in sight of victory either by arms or at Geneva, many a Vietnamese militiaman prudently concluded this was a silly time to die.

At Dienbienphu, the allies had been caught waiting for rain. Generals and statesmen alike had been counting on the monsoons to halt operations before disaster struck, counted on the five-month respite of the rainy season to make plans and build strength. They had miscalculated both the rains and the Communists.

Talking of Peace. It was a week when Communism was exposed nakedly in all its most cynical ruthlessness--by the confession in West Germany of an ex-MVD agent sent to murder a man in cold blood, by the blatant attempt to kidnap a Russian woman from Australia. But for all its ugliness, Communism had a triumphant week. At Geneva, the men of Communism--Russia's Molotov, China's Chou Enlai, North Korea's Nam Il--arrived smiling smugly and talking of peace. "They come here all dripping with blood and mouthing these pious statements," raged one U.S. delegate.

The West, too, had to keep its date in Geneva. It was no pleasure. If France's shaky morale cracked, and Bidault was forced to sue for peace at a crisis price, the Communists would have split the West and scored a historic victory. For the West, the set smiles and handshakes of diplomacy would come hard.

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