PART 7 OF 7:ASSAULT ON THE LIBERTY The True Story of the Israeli Attack on an American Intelligence Ship,

JAMES M. ENNES JR.

 ASSAULT ON THE LIBERTY 

The True Story of the Israeli Attack 

on an American Intelligence Ship

Chapter 13 

MEDICINE 

Luck in the long run is given only to the efficient. 

Helmuth Von Moltke, 1800-1891 

A dozen of us were slated to move from Naples Naval Hospital to the United States via Frankfurt Army Hospital. Doctors protected my leg for the trip with a spica body cast, which encased my body from armpits to toes with plaster of Paris. Then, to complete the package, the nurses taped a carnation to my foot, and next to the carnation they fashioned a shipping tag, which read, "If lost, drop in any mailbox. Return to Delores, U.S. Naval Hospital, FPO New York 09521." 

A week later I arrived at Portsmouth Naval Hospital near Norfolk. Dave Lewis went to Bethesda Naval Hospital near Washington; George Wilson went to Great Lakes Naval Hospital near his home in Chicago. Joe Lentini and Dick Carlson made the trip to Portsmouth with me; Jeff Carpenter and Don Herold came on a later flight. The others were widely dispersed to hospitals near their homes.

Liberty was still in Malta, but most of the technicians and most of the wounded had been sent home ahead of the ship. Among the officers, Armstrong, Toth and Pierce were dead. O'Connor was hospitalized at Landstuhl, Germany, recovering from the removal of his kidney; Dave Lewis was being treated for his hearing loss; of the ten officers still aboard, all but Scott and O'Malley had received wounds. Dick Taylor, the supply officer, had been sent as far as Naples, where he had managed to talk the doctors into letting him return to the ship; so now he was back aboard. 

As the first ship's officer to return to Norfolk, I was visited by most of the Liberty crewmen who were in town. During the attack, hardly anyone was aware of what was happening beyond his own little sphere. Now I began to receive reports from throughout the ship. Thomas Smith told me of dropping life rafts overboard in response to the "prepare to abandon ship" order, and of seeing the rafts sunk by machine-gun fire. Lloyd Painter and others told me the same story when they arrived. Jeff Carpenter told me of his experiences on the bridge and of seeing his fire hoses punctured by machine-gun fire from the torpedo boats. Joe Lentini told me of finding himself underwater in a flooded compartment. Doug Ritenburg told me of swimming through oily water in a flooded research compartment. These stories I collected like pearls, unsure as yet what I might do with them, but certain that they needed to be preserved. 

I was soon contacted by a television reporter who wanted to interview me on camera for the evening news-and any candid report at this point would have created a sensation. The Navy had no objection to the interview, I was told, as long as I contacted the public affairs officer in advance so that I could be "briefed." But I didn't want to repeat Benkert's experience. I didn't return the reporter's call. 

****************

The dead arrived home about the same time I did, and these were promptly buried. Jim Pierce and Philip Armstrong were buried at Arlington National Cemetery. Captain Joseph C. Toth held a burial plot at Annapolis, and this he relinquished to his son, Steve. He came to see me a few days later. I had first met Captain Toth during dinner aboard ship in April, and he had displayed the aggressive, suntanned, energetic good health typical of a Navy captain. Now, barely two months later, he had changed. He was thinner, haggard-looking. He looked smaller. Suddenly he was a weary old man. 

"What happened out there, Jim?" 

"It's a long story, Captain. Where do you want me to start?" 

"Tell me why that captain didn't get his ship out of there. You could see smoke on the beach. You knew it was dangerous. Why didn't he leave? I blame him. It was his fault. He should not have been there at all." 

Captain Toth was seething with anger. This graying, still distinguished-looking man spoke with tears in his eyes. His hands trembled as he told me of his anger and frustration over the loss of his only son. He had been to Washington, he told me, to see his congressman, demanding a full and complete investigation. He received sympathy, but no help and no answers. He called on senior officers in the Pentagon, and again he found no answers. He wanted to know who was responsible, why the ship was sent in so close to shore, why she was not protected, why help did not come. 

Captain Toth was personally acquainted with Vice Admiral Martin, the commander of the Sixth Fleet, so he wrote to Admiral Martin asking the same questions he asked of everyone else. He showed me the reply. Admiral Martin wrote a very kind, sympathetic letter of condolence on flag officer stationery, which he signed informally with his first name, but he offered no new information. His letter simply brushed off the attack as an unfortunate accident. This was the official story: it was an accident. So sorry about Steve. 

Captain Toth soon became a bitter and disillusioned man. He had worked to make his son a naval officer. He had helped Steve get an appointment to the Naval Academy, had encouraged him, watched him grow and mature. Now Steve was dead. He was sure that someone in the Navy was at fault, and he could not uncover the truth. He knew he was being fed gobbledygook and he didn't know what to do about it. The old captain remained angry and, being angry, he aged at a remarkable rate. Within a year he was dead. 

**************** 

While Liberty was in Malta, the question of "hostile fire pay" for the Liberty crew arose. This became a thorny matter for the money managers. Vietnam was the only combat zone recognized by the Pentagon. Hence, by bureaucratic reasoning, one could not receive the customary extra stipend of about $45 per month awarded to those who risked hostile gunfire unless one was in Vietnam. 

When this policy was questioned through the Liberty chain of command, the Pentagon was forced to make a decision. Rumor had it that Secretary McNamara personally participated in the judgment. Those who were shot at and hit, it was decided, were obviously subject to hostile fire and would receive appropriate pay for that month; those who were not hit would not receive hostile fire pay; those who were wounded and as a result of those wounds were hospitalized would receive hostile fire pay for up to four months of the period of hospitalization. 

This decision would have been Solomon's undoing. It created ill will and resentment among the eighty-eight men who were lucky enough not to have been hit, and it saved the Navy perhaps $4,000 in hostile fire pay. The men knew that in Vietnam one received hostile fire pay for simply being in the country. It was not necessary to be shot at, or even to be in a dangerous area. And if a man was hit, he continued to draw hostile fire pay for the entire period of hospitalization; it did not stop arbitrarily after four months. 

Ironically, the short-sighted decision ultimately increased the cost of the attack. Men felt they had been cheated of a payment that had been earned. Consequently, they were less than usually inhibited about taking $45 worth of ship's equipment with them upon transfer, or filing a claim for $65 combat damage to a radio that had cost $10, or forgetting to return a set of golf clubs. 

Theft, which had never been a serious problem on Liberty, suddenly became a problem. Before the effects of the dead officers were packed and inventoried, one man systematically looted their staterooms, helping himself to cameras, tape recorders and even a supply of Alka-Seltzer. Sentries and quarterdeck watch-standers were instructed to inspect every package carried off the ship; and when the thefts continued, the sentries themselves were threatened with prosecution for laxity. The captain's 8mm movie camera disappeared. The bridge camera vanished. New typewriters, still in the manufacturer's cartons, disappeared. A man caught stealing from a shipmate was fined $120 and restricted to the ship for two weeks. But the thefts seemed to reflect anger and frustration more than anything else, and they continued. 

Several men qualified for hostile fire pay by discovering and reporting wounds that they had not previously felt compelled to report. Their names were then added to the list of those wounded in action, and they were subsequently awarded the Purple Heart for wounds received in action; eventually, they were also compensated by Israel for minor shrapnel wounds, generally to the tune of $200 or $300. 

It was during this period, also, that the Pentagon, at the behest of the State Department, started gathering information that would be used to prosecute a claim for damages against Israel. 

A Navy lawyer took a medical statement from me during my second month in the hospital. It was impossible to guess what might be the lingering effects of my injuries, how long I would be hospitalized, or what all this might do to my military career. I was disturbed that the government was apparently prepared to act upon what I considered to be incomplete information. I didn't realize that I was lucky to be left in peace. 

Survivors transferred to San Juan were less fortunate. In an incredible abuse of authority, military officers held two young Liberty sailors against their will in a locked and heavily guarded psychiatric ward of the base hospital. For days these men were drugged and questioned about their recollections of the attack by a "therapist" who admitted to being untrained in either psychiatry or psychology; at one point they avoided electroshock therapy only by bolting from the room and demanding to see the commanding officer. And before being released, they were forced to promise, in writing, never to discuss the Liberty attack or the hospital episode. 

Chapter 14 

NORFOLK AND HOME 

Not alone is the strength of the Fleet measured by the number of its fighting units, but by its efficiency, by its ability to proceed promptly where it is needed and to engage and overcome an enemy. Admiral 

Richard Wainwright, u.s.N., 1911 

Repairs to the ship were completed on the fourteenth of July, dock trials were conducted on the fifteenth, and the ship got underway for Norfolk early the next morning. Probably the Maltese were glad to see her go. Certainly the work of the police, the shore patrol, the embassy staff, and the shipyard guards and gatekeepers would be simpler with the ship gone. 

A young unmarried officer was nearly left behind as he and a friend slept late in Kiepfer's villa. The pilot was aboard. The lines were singled up and ready to be cast off. The crew was mustered and accounted for. But the young officer was absent. 

Departure could not be delayed, but a certain amount of stalling was possible. Kiepfer trained binoculars on the shipyard's main gate while others fumbled with equipment. Cables were attached to the gangway, ready to lift it away. Suddenly, when the ship could delay no longer, a cry came from the bridge: "Hold it! Here comes a cab." 

The taxi's passenger door was open even before the car stopped. 

The passenger stuffed a large bill into the driver's hand and rushed -looking sheepish, unshaven and sleepy in rumpled civilian clothing across the gangway. The deck department officer gave the thumbs up signal to the crane operator, and the gangway was hoisted. 

Liberty was underway. 

She had been repaired, more or less, but she was not ready for sea in any real sense. Her holes had been covered-at least, steel plates had been welded over them to keep out light, air and water, but these were more "patch" than "repair." Major work had been done on the torpedo hole, as otherwise the ship could not have sailed. She was without radar and her keel was twisted. If one stood on the bridge at the ship's center line, it was clear that the starboard portions of the main deck were several inches higher than the corresponding parts on the port side. The entire ship was twisted from the force of the torpedo explosion. This could be seen even more clearly from about halfway up the ship's mast; it was here that it was first detected by maintenance men who had gone aloft to clean and repair radio antennas. 

Because she was not fully seaworthy, she was accompanied again by fleet tug Papago. Papago would provide assistance with radar, communications and navigation, and with this help it was hoped that Liberty could negotiate the Atlantic without incident. 

As it turned out, USS Papago nearly accomplished what Israel had failed to do. It was night as Liberty reached the Strait of Gibraltar. This heavily traveled gateway to the Mediterranean sees more than its share of collisions in the best of times; Liberty made the transit at night, without radar, and in thick fog. 

Papago led the way. Liberty followed a few hundred yards in her wake. The ships moved together at low speed, Papago scanning her radar for approaching ships and guiding Liberty through the obstacle course with terse radio commands. 

The officers on Liberty's bridge were blind. While foghorns of other ships could be heard in the distance, these came from everywhere, and their distances and directions seemed to change so quickly that it was impossible to know how many ships were near. 

Papago identified ships on her radar scope as "Contact A," "Contact B" and so on, and radioed this information to a man on Liberty's bridge who kept a running plot of each ship's track-information that was not always satisfying to the officer of the deck when he heard foghorns where no ships had been reported. Lookouts on the forecastle extended the conning officer's sight and hearing for perhaps a hundred feet, and everyone knew the ship could not be stopped in less than half a mile. Once again, Liberty was in serious danger. 

Captain McGonagle sat in his chair on the bridge. Occasionally he lifted the heavy Navy-issue Bausch and Lomb binoculars to his eyes to search for other ships. This was more habit than help, as he could see only a gray haze. Above the murmur of the ship's engines he could hear many foghorns, and he could not be certain of their location. When he could tolerate the risk no longer, he turned suddenly to his conning officer, and without explanation said, "Sound General Quarters." 

"Sound General Quarters," the conning officer repeated promptly as he relayed the order to the quartermaster. "General Quarters, sir?" asked the startled quartermaster, certain he had misunderstood.

"Affirmative. Sound General Quarters," confirmed the conning officer. 

"Sound General Quarters, aye, sir," the quartermaster responded as his palm pushed the lever activating the alarm. 

Clang, clang, clang, clang, sounded the alarm. Men moved from their bunks, startled into wakefulness, pulling on trousers, slipping into shoes without socks. 

"What the hell's goin' on?" 

"Must be the goddamned Israelis come back to finish us off." 

In less than five minutes the Liberty crewmen were awake, dressed and at battle stations. McGonagle used the general announcing system to explain that the ship was operating without radar in dangerous conditions in a heavy fog, and that he had sounded the General Quarters alarm as the quickest and surest way to get everyone awake and on their feet. Everyone but Kiepfer. Unflustered, he stayed in bed. There would be time enough to get up when he heard the crash. 

Now at General Quarters, the ship continued slowly through the Strait while the fog, if anything, grew thicker. The crew fidgeted restlessly or dozed at battle stations while McGonagle and the officers on the bridge strained to keep track of ships reported by Papago and stared anxiously into the thick blanket that hung around the ship. 

Once, a message from Papago ordered Liberty to tum right. The officer of the deck turned, then exchanged several urgent messages with Papago, Liberty questioning the course given, Papago insisting that the course was a safe one. Finally, McGonagle trusted his instinct over Papago's advice and ordered the conning officer to turn away. Just in time. A few minutes later he would have run aground in the Strait. Once again McGonagle had saved his ship from destruction. 

Days later, in the open sea, it became necessary to transfer some material between the two ships, and for this purpose a high line transfer was arranged. Liberty, her best helmsman at the wheel, steered her straightest possible course while Papago came close alongside. The material was then hauled over on lines handled by seamen. 

But something went wrong. 

Suddenly Papago veered toward Liberty in a move that everyone on deck knew would cause a collision. They had not counted on McGonagle. Almost in one move McGonagle sounded the collision alarm, ordered Papago to stop her engines and turned Liberty toward Papago. By turning toward her, Liberty's stem swung away from her and the ships separated safely. And McGonagle grew even more in the eyes of his crew. 

From that moment rumor spread that Papago was really an Israeli gunboat in disguise. At any time she could be expected to hoist the Star of David (or the Jolly Roger) and blow Liberty out of the water. 

On July 29, Liberty arrived at Little Creek Naval Station, near Norfolk, with helicopters overhead and a few hundred people on the ground. Although few events seem to move more slowly than the arrival of a ship, Liberty eventually found her place alongside the pier and the crane crews finally positioned the gangway. 

First aboard were the local brass, followed by Miss Norfolk and Miss Hospitality, who were followed by television cameramen, who were followed by radio and newspaper reporters, who, finally, were followed by Mrs. McGonagle and the wives and family of the Liberty crewmen. The reunions were emotional, made more so by the presence of some of the newly widowed wives, who were called to the ship by habit and duty. 

McGonagle endured another painful news conference, this one under television lights in the still-scarred wardroom. Again he mouthed the official fabrication that it was all an unfortunate mistake. Then it was over. Liberty was home. 

During the next few weeks, I was visited at the hospital by nearly all of the ship's officers. While Captain McGonagle said little, the other officers were unanimous in their anger at the Israelis and in their conviction that the attack was deliberate. 

Among the most angry and vocal was Lieutenant Maurice Bennett. Maury Bennett had been invited to accompany McGonagle to Washington for an interview with the Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral David L. McDonald. He was looking forward to this opportunity to meet the Navy's most senior officer and to discuss the attack with him. For myself, I was eager to hear Maury's report of the encounter. Perhaps Admiral McDonald would help clear up some of the mystery surrounding the attack. To our surprise, Maury returned from Washington silent and subdued. 

"What happened, Maury?" 

"We met with Admiral McDonald and Senator Fulbright." 

"And?" 

"That's all. It was an accident. There's nothing more to say." 

"Bullshit! We both know better than that, Maury. It was deliberate goddamned murder. Did you get brainwashed up there?" 

"That's all I can say. It was an accident." 

Maury left the distinct impression that he had been told not to discuss the meeting, and he would not allow himself to be drawn out. In fact, seven years would pass before he would discuss what had really happened in that meeting. 

Forgotten in the confusion of the attack and its aftermath was the story, early in the trip, that a spy had been placed aboard to investigate illegal use of alcohol among officers and crew. Because I reported to the ship for duty only a few days before sailing, many of the officers and most of the crew suspected that I was the spy; no one suspected the ship's doctor, who came aboard about the same time I did and who merrily participated in all the ship's shenanigans. 

Shortly after Liberty returned to Norfolk, Dr. Kiepfer was summoned to the office of Rear Admiral Henry Algernon Renken. Kiepfer had hoped that Rear Admiral Renken would somehow forget the assignment Renken had given him. Kiepfer had not wanted the job then and he did not want to see the Admiral now, but the visit was unavoidable.

"Well, what did you find out?" Renken asked after exchanging pleasantries. 

"Fine ship. Fine crew. Those men really came through like professionals. You can be proud of them." 

"I am, Doctor, I am," said the admiral. "But what I want to know about now are the liquor violations." 

"Yes, sir. This is not an easy report to make. I made some close friends on that ship. Under the circumstances the report is a little easier to make, as I don't suppose a lot will be made of it. Yes. Your information was correct. Nearly every officer drank. And most of the chiefs. And much of the crew." 

Kiepfer knew he was not reporting anything that the admiral did not already know; he made the report, and to protect his shipmates he avoided using names. He hated the job and was pleased when the conversation shifted to other subjects. 

As Kiepfer was leaving, the admiral returned to the subject of alcohol. 

"The British have liquor aboard ship." 

"Sir?" 

"Dry wardrooms are almost a tradition in our Navy. But no ship could perform any better than Liberty did, liquor violations or not. Maybe we should put liquor back on all our ships." 

Meanwhile, time passed slowly at Portsmouth Naval Hospital. My body cast had been removed. Now I was scheduled to spend six to eight months in leg traction-an interminable period on my back fighting boredom and bedsores. Soon, however, a friend from the cruiser Newport News offered to help. Commander Dick Grant, a Navy pilot, was an accomplished stage hypnotist, and he suggested that hypnotism might speed my recovery. While I was under hypnosis, he told me that my spirits would remain high despite the long confinement, that my muscle tone would remain good despite the inactivity, and that my leg fracture would heal rapidly; and he taught me to reinforce the suggestions with self-hypnosis. Although neither of us was convinced that hypnosis could do these things, we thought it would be fun to try. 

It may have worked. I never felt depressed, my muscles remained firm and, most amazing of all, my leg healed so quickly that I was removed from traction fully two months ahead of schedule. "In a week or ten days, when you are strong enough to handle crutches, we'll let you go home," my doctor said as he gave me the news. 

Hypnosis had convinced me that I could walk immediately, without lessons or physical therapy, and I spent the rest of the day trying to convince a skeptical hospital staff. Finally, an exasperated physical therapist arrived with a husky male nurse. "Now, catch him when he falls," she said. But I didn't fall. I fairly waltzed around the room, almost as though I had never been hurt. 

"I'll be damned," said the nurse. 

"Amazing," said the therapist. 

"You know," said a hospital corpsman two months later, "we had a lieutenant here a few weeks ago who got right out of bed after four months and walked on crutches with no therapy at all." 

"Is that so?" 

"You know," said a fellow patient some time later, "you are a living legend in that physical therapy department." 

"No kidding?" 

On January 23, 1968, much of the Liberty attack scenario was played out again when North Korean naval forces captured the environmental research (intelligence) ship USS Pueblo 1 and her eighty three-man crew in international waters off the Korean coast near Wonsan after a bloody, one-sided fight. I remember my feeling of angry frustration as I compared the two attacks: Pueblo. like Liberty, was lightly armed, unescorted, unprotected and ill prepared to protect herself against an armed enemy; Pueblo. like Liberty. failed to receive fighter protection or any other armed support; Pueblo. like Liberty, could not be protected because the nearest aircraft were equipped only for a nuclear mission and because conventionally armed aircraft were too far away and lacked refueling tankers. The story is told by William Beecher in the New York Times of January 24, 1968: 

1. Jane's Fighting Ships lists three "Environmental Research" ships: USS Banner (AGERI), USS Pueblo (AGER-2) and USS Palm Beach (AGER-3). These are former Army supply ships of about 180 feet, usually assigned a crew of six officers and about seventy-five enlisted men. Jane's reports that the ships have been converted for passive intelligence operations, are fitted for electronic intelligence, and carry sonar equipment for submarine noise identification and hydrographic work. 

Washington, Jan. 24--The closest jet fighter-bombers to the intelligence ship Pueblo were rigged solely for a nuclear mission, ranking Pentagon sources said today. Thus, they added, the planes could not have been readied in time to aid the beleaguered ship yesterday after she called for help. This was offered as a principal reason North Korean gunboats were able to seize the Pueblo and force her into Wonsan harbor without opposition. 

Contributing causes, some officials conceded, were a lack of ready American fighter planes with nonnuclear payloads. There were 12 Phantom F -4 jet fighters in South Korea at the time, officials said. Half of them were on alert for possible call to use nuclear weapons. The remaining planes were on standby. All of the aircraft were equipped with bomb racks and other equipment applicable only to the nuclear mission. It would have taken at least two to three hours for the nuclear bomb racks and associated devices to be replaced with conventional bomb racks, gun pods and air-to-air pylons. 

The three squadrons of Phantoms in Japan were too far away and did not have aerial refueling tankers available, officials said. Similarly, the Enterprise, with its 90 planes, was about 600 miles away, steaming toward Vietnam. 

The capture of USS Pueblo would never have been seriously considered if our government had not demonstrated through the Liberty fiasco that we were not prepared to protect our intelligence vessels. 

While the American public supposed that Sixth Fleet aircraft had responded "within moments" to the ship's cry for help-for that is what the public was told-the Soviet Union was not deluded. The Soviet Union carefully monitored the entire affair through their network of S.I.G.I.N.T (intelligence) vessels, which included a S.I.G.I.N.T trawler within the American formation. No one knew better than the Soviets that our pilots were hamstrung; the Soviet operators must have watched with amazement as the powerful Sixth Fleet bungled the rescue. 

Having observed the fleet's inability to protect Liberty, the Soviets were aware that an American intelligence vessel was ripe for harvest. Soon the North Korean government became the agent for the plucking of USS Pueblo, an act that was probably the most productive intelligence coup of this century. 

In February 1968, just a few days after the Pueblo capture, U.S.N.S Sergeant Joseph P. Muller, 2 a civilian-operated U.S. Naval Ship, was on special operations (intelligence) duty off Cuba when her engines failed and the ship drifted helplessly toward Cuban national waters.

2. See Reference I, Chapter 4, page 36, for a discussion of Muller 

Communications, which had failed both Liberty and Pueblo, worked smoothly. At the first sign of serious danger, Muller's Teletype circuits were patched directly through to the Joint Chiefs of Staff in the Pentagon, where the situation was directly monitored and controlled by the country's most senior military officers. For weeks, Muller had been escorted full-time by a fully armed destroyer that remained just five miles farther out to sea than Muller. Now the destroyer came in closer and passed a towline to the old civilian freighter to pull her back to safer, deeper water. The line snapped. Fighters were scrambled from a U.S. air base in Florida. Muller crewmen were comforted to see the aircraft near them, ready to provide protection if necessary. Another line was passed to Muller and this, too, parted. During the next hour, several lines and various methods of rigging them were tried, and one after another the lines parted as Muller continued to drift toward the beach. 

The men knew that Castro was eager to capture their ship and crew. Muller was an unwelcome symbol of freedom on the Cuban horizon. Almost weekly she would retrieve men, women and even whole families who had escaped from the Cuban mainland. They came in boats, on rafts, floating on inner tubes; even some strong swimmers came. Castro was sufficiently concerned that he dispatched a group of Cuban agents, who were promptly rescued and who then proceeded to ask obvious leading questions. So Muller men knew that they would be a great prize for Castro; and as they continued to drift toward shore they were reassured by the presence of an armed destroyer alongside and armed fighters overhead. They knew that if Castro took them, they would not come cheap. 

Just as the ship was about to cross into Cuban waters, a towline held and she was quickly towed to safety. A young Muller sailor described the experience in a letter home, and his parents were sufficiently impressed that they told a Chicago newspaper about it; but the wire services failed to pick up the story, and it remains little known except to those who were involved. 

The Navy, meanwhile, concluded that such extraordinary measures to protect special-duty ships were not worth the cost, and soon took all such ships out of service. 

In February, I was released from the hospital on limited duty and was assigned to temporary duty in Norfolk, then to school in Pensacola. While movers worked in our Norfolk townhouse, packing for the move to Florida, the mailman brought a note from McGonagle. He had been promoted to captain in the year since the attack, and was now to be further honored. The note, dated June 5, 1968, read: 

Dear Jim, The President of the United States of America has awarded me the nation's highest award, the Congressional Medal of Honor. You are cordially invited to attend the presentation, by the Secretary of the Navy, at 11:30 A.M., 11 June 1968, at the Washington Navy Yard, Washington, D.C. Sincerely, William L. McGonagle, Captain, U.S. Navy 

My reactions were several. Why was the invitation mailed only six days before the ceremony? This was hardly adequate notice for a trip requiring overnight accommodations in Washington, baby sitters, transportation and other arrangements. 

Why was the presentation to be made by the Secretary of the Navy? And why in the Navy Yard? Medals of Honor are ordinarily presented in the White House by the President with great fanfare and elaborate ceremony. McGonagle's medal should have been awarded with no less pomp. 

A naval officer concerned with medals and awards told me the story: "The government is pretty jumpy about Israel," he said. "The State Department even asked the Israeli ambassador if his government had any objection to McGonagle getting the medal. 'Certainly not!' Israel said. But to avoid any possible offense, McGonagle's citation does not mention Israel at all, and the award ceremony kept the lowest possible profile." 

Medal of Honor winners and their guests are traditionally treated by the United States to a luxurious dinner at a first-class restaurant. Captain and Mrs. McGonagle were put up at the Shoreham Hotel, and it was decided to have the award dinner at the hotel restaurant. In keeping with the spirit of the affair, however, someone failed to notify the restaurant. 

Guests arriving at the appointed hour asked the maitre d' for the McGonagle party. McGonagle? Could it be another name? Another night? The hotel staff moved quickly to avert a disaster. When the McGonagles arrived, they found their guests just being seated at hastily set tables, and never suspected that anything had gone wrong. 

The next morning Navy Secretary Paul Ignatius presented McGonagle's medal in a modest ceremony perhaps two miles from the White House. It was done with a minimum offanfare and almost no pUblicity at all. It was done while the President was in the White House. And it was done within hours of a White House ceremony in which the President awarded medals to a pair of Vietnam heroes. 

Such public recognition was not for McGonagle. The Washington Post did not cover the story; the Evening News pictured a weeping McGonagle on page sixteen over a brief caption. 

McGonagle went on to assume command of a newly constructed ammunition ship, USS Kilauea. On June 28, 1968, USS Liberty was decommissioned at a brief ceremony at Portsmouth, Virginia. Two years later she was sold for scrap to the Boston Metals Company of Baltimore for $101,666.66. 

Chapter 15 

ISRAEL PAYS DAMAGES 

Ships • • • must be followed by the protection of their Country throughout the voyage. 

Admiral Alred Thayer Mahan, U.S. Navy, 

The Influence of Sea Power Upon History (1890) 

A few days after the war, the government of France reneged on a contract for delivery to Israel of fifty Mirage fighters. 1 The United States, in turn, began negotiations with Israel for delivery of fifty Phantom F-4 fighters. 2 

1. The New York Times. November 4, 1967, p. 10. 

2. The New York Times. December 19, 1967, p. 4. 

Liberty sailors, meanwhile, aware that concurrent negotiations were underway to obtain Israeli compensation for Liberty deaths and injuries, and guessing that each was a bargaining card for the other, followed the news reports with interest. We were convinced that the question of Israeli damage payments would be resolved only after the jet-fighter contract was firm. 

Some sources report that Israel tried to avoid liability for the attack by asserting, among other things, that it resulted from McGonagle's negligent presence near a war-tom coast, and that it would not have occurred but for our own failure (due to communication problems) to order the ship out of the area. Nevertheless, death claims submitted soon after the attack were paid in full in June 1968, when our government received a check for $3,323,500 in behalf of families of thirty-four men killed in the attack. 3 That money represented 100 percent payment of claims averaging about $100,000, although the individual amounts varied widely according to the numbers and ages of dependents. Meanwhile, personal-injury claims were prepared for the wounded, and these took somewhat longer. 

For the next several months a tug of war took place as scattered newspaper articles reported the pending sale of aircraft to Israel 4 and opposing factions defended their prejudices. Letters to the editor of the New York Times in January 1969 urged the government to cancel the sale because of Israeli attacks upon Lebanon;5 and later that same month a congressman urged President Nixon to hasten delivery of the airplanes.6 In February, President Nasser of Egypt suggested that delivery of the airplanes should be made contingent on Israel's withdrawal from Arab territories; 7 but a few days later Nasser's government announced that it would not hold the Nixon administration responsible for the sale. 8 

All appeared in readiness for delivery when, late in February 1969, individual Liberty survivors received word from the Department of State of the exact amounts to be claimed. In each case, officials of the Veterans Administration had reviewed the medical records to determine the extent of injury and, if disabled, the percentage of disability. The government decided that just compensation for total disability was $350,000. Therefore, $35,000 was to be claimed for men 10 percent disabled, $70,000 for those 20 percent disabled, and so forth. Although the government supported very large claims for the few severely disabled men, most Liberty claims were for less than $1,000, and many were from $200 to $400 for minor bums and shrapnel wounds.9

3. Department of State press release, May 13, 1969. 

4. The New York Times. December 28. 1969, p. 1. 

5. The New York Times. January 3. 1969. p. 26. 

6. The New York Times. January 27. 1969. p. 14. 

7. The New York Times. February 3. 1969. p. 1. 

8. The New York Times. February 13. 1969. p. 4. 

9. State Department representatives explained the formula to Liberty officers in 1968 while claims were still being processed. In 1975. I asked the Department of State for access under the Freedom of Information Act to records of those meetings pertaining to my own claim. I was told that there is no recollection that such meetings were held and, if they were, no records were kept of the proceedings. That such a system was used, however, tends to be borne out by the claims paid, which were generally divisible by $17,500 (5 percent increments of disability) in the larger awards, and by $3,500 (1 percent increments) in the smaller awards.

Finally, on March 19, newspapers reported that 120 Israeli pilots were being trained by the United States Air Force to fly the soon to be delivered airplanes. 10 Compensation for Liberty wounded could not be far behind. 

On March 28, diplomatic notes were delivered to the government of Israel demanding payment for personal injuries,a separate note for each individual. Tersely worded on single sheets of paper, each note began, "The Embassy of the United States sends Greetings to the Government of Israel," and went on to mention the date and place of the attack, the name of the individual for whom compensation was demanded, and the amount of money considered appropriate. The notes were signed for the "Embassy of the United States of America," and dated the same day delivered. 

Actually, the amounts asked were not seriously in contention, as informal agreement was reached before the letters were delivered. Israel hired a crack team of American lawyers to defend her interests, and these lawyers examined the medical records to verify that the claims were reasonable. They were reasonable, the lawyers reported, and should be paid in full. 

The government of Israel maneuvered to protect its legal position. And, again, stories persist that Israel attempted to disclaim legal responsibility for the attack, but on April 28, 1969, $3,566,457 was received from the government of Israel in payment of injury claims. The money represented 100 percent payment of 164 claims totaling $3,452,275 on behalf of injured crewmen, $92,437 for expense incurred by the United States in providing medical treatment to the injured men, and $21,745 for reimbursement for personal property damaged or destroyed in the attack.11 Checks were mailed to claimants on May 15. Seven men found no solace in money and filed no claim. 

In August 1969, Israel received her first consignment of F-4 Phantom fighters. 12 State Department officials with whom I have discussed these events deny that there was any connection. 

10. The New York Times, March 19, 1969, p. 7. 

11. Department of State press release, May 13, 1969. 

12. The New York Times, September 7, 1969, p. 9. 

Meanwhile, the United States asked for only a token payment for the loss of the ship. After spending $20 million for refitting and $10 million more for "technical research equipment," the United States asked only $7,644,146 for the ship's loss-apparently based upon the current value of a typical ship of Liberty's type and age. And Israel quickly promised to pay. Then, as the affair slipped from public memory, the government of Israel became less concerned with justice and more concerned with economics. The bill remains unpaid as this book goes to press in 1979. 

Chapter 16 

REFLECTIONS ON THE COVER-UP 

Most official accounts of past wars are deceptively well written, and seem to omit many important matters-in particular, anything which might indicate that any of our commanders ever made the slightest mistake. They are therefore useless as a source of instruction. 

Montgomery of Alamein, 

Memoirs, xxxiii (1958) 

Two years after the attack I received a letter from former United States Information Agency writer Eugene G. Windchy, who was writing a book on peacetime naval incidents. Windchy had interviewed Kiepfer and McGonagle by telephone. Now he had some questions for me. 

I was not yet ready to talk freely with newsmen about the attack, but Windchy's letter seemed harmless. He asked only whether the ship's name was painted on her stern (of course it was) and why we were apparently unable to identify the aircraft we saw before the attack (we had identified some of them). I saw no harm in answering, so I prepared a brief reply. 

Even before I could clear my reply with my commanding officer, an urgent message arrived from Washington warning of Windchy's inquiries and demanding immediate reports of any contacts made by him. Following the Navy chain of command, I asked my department head to inform my commanding officer. In a few minutes the intercom on my desk barked: "The captain wants to see you in his office right away. Better hurry! He's fuming." 

The commanding officer, I soon discovered, was angry that I had not informed him immediately of Windchy's request, and he seemed genuinely alarmed. His reaction reached far beyond the requirement ofthe message from Washington, and I wondered why. When I told him of my conviction that the attack was deliberate and that the truth was being covered up, he endured the recitation with a blank expression and asked not a single question. His only concern was to assure that I did not answer Windchy's letter. 

So ended Windchy's inquiry. Months later Windchy told me by telephone that none of his letters was answered. He never knew why.1 

1. Windchy's work resulted in his 1971 Doubleday book, Tonkin Gulf, concerning Vietnam's 1964 attack on USS Maddox. which preceded the "Tonkin Gulf resolution." The book contained several references to the Liberty attack. 

Meanwhile, others began asking questions also. Joe Benkert, now in Washington and still smarting from the press interview in Norfolk, began to question survivors and others who might shed some light on the affair, and to compile a file on the attack. 

Benkert remembered the several rolls of pictures he had taken with the captain's Polaroid camera during the latter moments of the torpedo-boat assault. Some of these might have proved that the boats continued to fire long after the attack was supposedly over; but McGonagle told him to give the pictures to Admiral Kidd, and Benkert never saw them again. Benkert also remembered that two rolls of 35mm film were shot by the ship's photographer, Chuck Rowley, before the attack. Some of the pictures should have shown how close the reconnaissance aircraft came. He gave those to Admiral Kidd also, and when they came back they were unprintable. 

He set about trying to learn what he could about the several peculiar things he had seen. However, he was not sufficiently discreet, and word of his inquiries reached his seniors. Soon he was summoned to the office of his department head, a Navy captain, who wanted to know what he was doing and why. 

"Well, uh, I'm just collecting information for a scrapbook. Nothing classified. Just for my own information."

"A scrapbook? You don't need a scrapbook. You'll be much better off if you forget the whole thing. Just knock it off and forget about it." 

"But Captain, I-" 

"Forget it, Chief. That's an order." 

Thus the cover-up was perpetuated by honest men whose concern, no doubt, was to follow orders and protect the national security, not knowingly to foster a cover-up. 

Important clues to the mechanics of much of the cover-up can be found in Phil Goulding's book, Confirm or Deny. Goulding describes the Liberty incident as seen from his office in the Pentagon: the sketchy information, the inquisitive press, the speculation, the time constraints. Among other things, he is troubled by White House reaction to fragments in the press and by his own distrust of the ability of the press to deal fairly with incomplete information. 

"After a rash of misleading and speculative stories appeared early in the week after the attack," Goulding wrote, "I recommended to McNamara that we clamp a lid on all Liberty news until a Navy Court of Inquiry meeting in Valletta, Malta, finished its investigation. He agreed, asking the Navy to handle its inquiry as rapidly as it could so that we could give the people an unclassified version of its findings."2 

Although probably not Goulding's intent, it was here that the cover up went into high gear. Five hours after that message was released, Admiral McCain's London headquarters sent a high-precedence message demanding immediate reports and transcripts of all news interviews conducted.3 Meanwhile, Kidd and McGonagle warned the Liberty crew to say nothing to anyone. Soon Ambassador Feldman entered the scene, applying further pressure. Commander Cooney flew to Naples to help keep the lid on. Public affairs officers visited the ship. 

2. Goulding, Confirm or Deny (New York: Harper & Row. 1970). p. 129; the clampdown order was issued in SECDEF message 141747Z June 1967. 

3. CINCUSNAVEUR message 142145Z June 1967.

These men were not charging off on their own; they were responding to an order-the message from the Secretary of Defense, which Goulding had recommended and which he had drafted. Each man had received the order that no further comment would be made at this time, and each man relayed and enforced the order within his own area of responsibility. On June 28, when the official report was released and the news blackout was officially lifted, the message from Goulding's office advising of that fact contained this unfortunate wording: 

... IF MEMBERS OF THE CREW NOW DESIRE TO GIVE INTERVIEWS AND RESPOND TO PRESS QUERIES ABOUT THE ATTACK ITSELF THEY ARE AUTHORIZED TO DO SO. OTHER SUBSTANTIVE QUERIES ABOUT THE ATTACK WILL BE HANDLED BY OASD(PA) [Goulding's office in the Pentagon]; NARRATIVE AND TESTIMONY REFERRED TO ABOVE ARE THE ONLY PORTION OF COURT OF INQUIRY THAT HA VE BEEN DECLASSIFIED. NORMAL SECURITY PROCEDURES ARE OTHERWISE APPLICABLE [emphasis added]."4 

4. SECDEF message 282051Z June 1967. 

One wonders whether Phil Goulding, a newspaperman, intended to release a message that said, in effect, that the blackout was still on and would remain on, and that nothing at all could be said unless the Court of Inquiry had already said it. That is how the message was understood, and that is how it was interpreted as a direct order to the Liberty crew and to others who might be interviewed. 

Describing the press reaction to the court's report, Goulding wrote: "A great many other questions were asked by the press after publication of the Court of Inquiry findings, and there was considerable dissatisfaction with the findings .... the editorial writers, not having taken the time or trouble to find out what the Court of Inquiry was authorized to do, left the implication that the Navy and the Department of Defense were engaged in a giant conspiracy to deceive the American people." 

No wonder. The court failed to address the questions that the press and the people wanted answered. If the court could not report the truth about the attack, then someone else in the government should have. But no one did. Instead, witnesses were silenced, the government pretended that nothing untoward was going on, and the questions remained unanswered. In short, a cover-up. 

There were a number of perfectly legitimate security issues that had to be reckoned with: the mission and capabilities of the ship; the reaction time of the fleet; the deployment and control of nuclear weapons; the deployment of submarines. All of these things are sensitive and could provide useful information for a potential enemy. However, the cover-up went far beyond that. 

Close questioning of McGonagle would have revealed the flaws in his account. Instead, as we have seen, everything he told the court was accepted as fact, and with only minor exceptions everything that conflicted with McGonagle's testimony either was classified "Top Secret" or was kept out of the official record. 

While it is entirely possible that McGonagle testified as he did because he was ordered to testify that way, it is equally possible that his memory was faulty-as incredible a memory lapse as that may seem. From brief conversations I have had with McGonagle, I am convinced that there truly are large gaps in his recollections, that he has honestly forgotten much that happened on June 8. For instance, he seems to have no recollection at all of the initial rocket attack, and starts his story, as we have seen, with the gasoline drum explosion caused by the second airplane. Such pointless oversight seems more a trick of memory than a deliberate attempt at cover-up. 

Memory gaps are common among Liberty survivors. For instance, Dave Lewis, who once told me in detail of seeing Chief Smith swept away to his death and of watching the bulkhead dissolve as the room filled with water, can no longer remember anything that happened during that period. George Wilson cannot recall putting a tourniquet on my leg. Frank McInturff cannot remember who helped him carry stretchers. Dave Lucas has forgotten much that happened during the attack and, as we have seen, is confused about the sequence of events he does recall. Yeoman Brownfield, even though he was on the bridge for much of the air attack, told a reporter that he can recall only three strafing runs. And although I prepared a statement for the court, I forgot that fact and some related details until reminded years later by a Liberty officer. 

It is no wonder, then, considering the pressure he was under, that McGonagle's memory seems less than perfect. Among the records available to help him, probably the most important---certainly the most detailed record of the ship's operational situation-was the quartermaster's notebook. However, since McGonagle's review of the quartermaster's notebook did little to improve his testimony, it is likely that the notebook failed to provide a complete record. (If so, much of the responsibility for this failure is my own, as officer of the deck during the morning.) We know that McGonagle did consult the notebook, because he listed it with the court as a source of his information. 

It is impossible now to check the accuracy or completeness of the notebook, because the most pertinent pages were not entered into evidence by the court, and the original notebook, if not destroyed, is buried in some inaccessible archive; the transcript contains quartermaster's notebook pages covering the afternoon (after 1300) only, whereas pages covering the period of heavy reconnaissance during the morning are conspicuously absent. 

Unless someone deliberately doctored evidence, which seems unlikely (the habit of the court was to ignore evidence, not to doctor it), we must assume that the notebook failed to reflect all of the reconnaissance activity. McGonagle, then troubled, sick and relying upon his own sometimes faulty memory and probably incomplete logs-may well have told the story to the best of his ability. 

Admiral Kidd, for his part, was under pressure of a different sort. He had only a few days and limited resources to produce a public report on a controversial international incident. At the same time, he was required to protect classified information. And despite his warrant to look into "all of the pertinent facts and circumstances leading to and connected with the armed attack," he was nevertheless, as Goulding reminds us, limited in the scope of his inquiry. His purpose was to determine whether anyone in the Navy was at fault. He was not authorized to rule on, or apparently even to accept testimony bearing on, the culpability of the attackers. It was a difficult task. When witnesses did not agree, he had to make a decision. He could not entertain and resolve every conflict. So he accepted the commanding officer's testimony and gave short shrift to any witness who disagreed. 

Isaac Kidd is a marvelously brilliant and thorough man. I once watched him at work, and I was awed by his genius. One would expect him to see through and to resolve at least some of the more obvious discrepancies in the testimony he received. But to compound his problems, Kidd was ill. The high temperature he had when he came aboard eventually reached 104 degrees, and the bronchial infection probably turned into pneumonia. He should have been in a hospital. Yet he stayed on his feet and continued to work sixteen and eighteen hours a day for nearly two weeks until the report was completed and a cleared summarized version was delivered to the press. With his seniors urging him to hurry and with the press and Congress clamoring for his report, Admiral Kidd apparently lacked the time, the energy, the heart or the authority to challenge a weary, grieving and heroic McGonagle. 

President Johnson must have known from the submarine photography that the attack consumed much more than five minutes and that it was probably deliberate. (According to Liberty's Lieutenant Bennett, he did know. After years of silence on this subject, Bennett told me that in 1967 Senator William Fulbright informed Captain McGonagle and Chief of Naval Operations Admiral David L. McDonald in Bennett's presence that the President knew the attack was deliberate and had ordered the information covered up "for political reasons."5 The President must have known that McGonagle's description of the attack was inaccurate. He must have known that nuclear-armed aircraft were launched, and he would have been humiliated by public knowledge of failure to defend the ship. But even the President didn't have the full story; so when he elected to keep quiet about his knowledge of the attack, he was simply withholding another piece of the puzzle. Ordinarily, the press might have put the pieces together; however, the press was effectively hamstrung by the steady stream of "press guidance" messages that issued from the Pentagon. 

5. On January 21, 1974, while buying coffee from a machine in a Navy building in Washington, D.C., Bennett ended almost seven years of silence on this subject to tell me, "The government knows the truth. Knew it all the time. Senator Fulbright told us that Johnson ordered a cover-up to protect Israel and to avoid causing a ruckus." Although Bennett confirmed that conversation on several later occasions, Captain McGonagle denies that he was present and Senator Fulbright has told me that he has no recollection of such a meeting. As this edition goes to press the apparent discrepancy remains unresolved. 

Aside from the purely political motive of covering up the story to protect Israel, or the more direct purpose of avoiding public protest over our government's failure to protect the ship, there are indications that our government may have had yet another reason for covering up the circumstances of the attack. 

The story first came to me from a Navy master chief petty officer who was working with the Central Intelligence Agency on a sensitive project. The master chief had lost friends in the attack and happened to mention that fact during a meeting at CIA headquarters. Several people were in the room at the time and the subject soon changed. Later, one of the CIA employees returned to the topic in private conversation, seemingly anxious to inform the chief that the attack was no real surprise to the CIA. "Sending Liberty to Gaza was a calculated risk from the beginning," the man said. "Israel had told us long before the war to keep our intelligence ships away from her coast. Liberty was sent anyway because we just didn't think they were serious. We thought they might send a note of protest or, at most, harass the ship somehow. We didn't think they would really try to sink her." Although the man knew nothing of the circumstances of the attack itself, he insisted that our government was well aware that Liberty's presence would be unwelcome in Israel. 

At about the same time I learned of that conversation I received a report that there was a note of protest. "There was plenty of warning," a former Israeli government official told another friend. "Israel warned the United States to get that ship out of there. The United States just didn't react." Again, although the speaker knew nothing of the details of the attack, he insisted that the Israeli government had protested the ship's presence just a few hours before the attack. 

Both of these stories are unconfirmed and secondhand; I cannot vouch for their accuracy, and I am not acquainted with either source. However, the two anonymous tales do tend to reinforce one another, they support much of what we do know about the attack and, if true, they explain the eleventh-hour frenzy to recall Liberty, and they provide a motive for the cover-up that followed. 

American failure either to protect or to move the ship after a protest and implied threat would certainly compound our government's responsibility for whatever followed. When the failure resulted in attack and great loss of life, our government would not be inclined to layout all the circumstances for public discussion. 

During the several years since the attack, press interest in the story has never died and cover-up efforts have only rarely relaxed. Liberty crewmen living near Washington are approached regularly by reporters; yet, despite the attempts, few accounts have gone beyond the government's own version of the affair, and most reports that have gotten further have been based on speculation and imagination. The reporting effort has been thwarted by the vigilance of the Pentagon, by the reticence of the crew and, apparently, by suspicious publishers -who wisely see a political motive behind much of the writing. 

Some survivors might consent to be interviewed if they were free to speak candidly, but they are not. For example, in 1975 Liberty officers were asked by the Chief of Naval Information (a post now held by Rear Admiral David Cooney, the former CINCLANTFLT public affairs officer) whether we would consent to be interviewed by a newsman. 

Had the policy changed? I telephoned Cooney's office to ask what restrictions would attach to an interview. 

"Nothing has changed," I was told. "Whatever restrictions were in effect in 1967 will still apply today." I asked whether we would be free to discuss pre-attack reconnaissance, duration of the attack, the fact that napalm was used, the fact that our flag was flying or that our life rafts were machine-gunned in the water. No, those things could not be discussed. 

"How do you really feel about the interview?" I asked. 

"We aren't encouraging cooperation," Cooney's man said, "although you are perfectly free to talk to the reporter if you want to. We will just want to know what questions he is going to ask and what answers you intend to give, and my boss"-Cooney again?-"will want to be present to see that it all stays on track." 

Nothing had changed. Any interview would be a sham and would be restricted to previously published information. I declined the invitation. So did all my fellow officers. 

Despite the frustrations, press and public interest remain strong more than twelve years after the attack. However, even in 1979, Liberty interviews were frustrated by the government and Liberty inquiries were sometimes pigeon-holed indefinitely by government departments in violation of federal law. 6 Clearly, the USS Liberty cover-up is alive and well. 

6. The Freedom of Information Act of 1974 (81 Stat. 54; 5 U.S.C. 552) governs the release of public information and requires each government agency to respond within ten days to a request for release of records. In unusual circumstances, that ten-day period may be extended for not more than an additional ten days. Despite those requirements, as this is written, three of the author's requests are still pending after delays of seven, seventeen, and nineteen months and despite repeated appeals to the agencies and to members of Congress. Apparently, court action will be needed to pry more information from the government. 

Epilogue 

WHY DID ISRAEL ATTACK? 

We can chart our future clearly and wisely only when we , know the path which has led to the present. 

Adlai Stevenson, Speech, 

Richmond, Virginia, September 20, 1962 

On May 24, 1967, as Liberty left Abidjan ultimately to patrol the Gaza Strip, President Lyndon Johnson met in the White House with Israel's Foreign Minister Abba Eban. The purpose of Eban's visit was to advise the President of an impending all-out attack against Israel by the United Arab Republic and to determine what support Israel might expect from the United States. 

Johnson's response must have been disappointing. He stressed that it would be necessary to work through the United Nations before the United States became directly involved, and added, "If it should become apparent that the U.N. is ineffective, then Israel and her friends, including the United States, who are willing to stand up and be counted, can give specific indication of what they can do." 

Eban, displaying papers from a briefcase, reminded Johnson of American commitments to Israel and of Johnson's own strongly pro-Israel statements. "I am fully aware of what three past Presidents have said," Johnson said bluntly, "but that is not worth five cents if the people and the Congress do not support the President." 

Mr. Johnson wanted Mr. Eban to understand, and to inform his government, that the United States would not support Israel if Israel initiated hostilities. The President chose his words carefully as he said, "The central point, Mr. Minister, is that your nation not be the one to bear responsibility for any outbreak. of war." Then he added, very slowly and positively, "Israel will not be alone unless it decides to go alone." When Eban remained silent, Johnson repeated the statement: ''Israel will not be alone unless it decides to go alone. " 

Mr. Eban returned to Israel, obviously impressed with the President's message. On May 28 the Israeli Cabinet decided to postpone military action, and on May 30 Prime Minister Eshkol sent Mr. Johnson a message confirming his understanding of the conversation with Eban. That conversation, he said, had "an important influence upon our decision to await developments for a further limited period."1 

1. Lyndon Baines Johnson, The Vantage Point-Perspectives 0/ the Presidency 1963-1969 (New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1971). 

Six days later Israel attacked the Arab countries. Arab forces were slaughtered in huge numbers while largely Soviet-supplied equipment was destroyed and captured with embarrassing ease by overwhelmingly superior Israeli forces. The Israelis slashed their way across the Sinai. They opened the Gulf of Aqaba. They captured the old city of Jerusalem from Jordan. 

Jordan agreed to a cease-fire. With most Arab forces in full retreat, the United States and the United Nations pressured Israel to back off. But even now the Israelis prepared to invade Syria. 

Syrian artillerymen had shelled Israeli settlements from the Syrian Heights for nineteen years. And for nineteen years Syrian forces had strengthened their positions until they extended along thirty-five miles of mountain ridge from the Sea of Galilee to the foot of Mount Hermon. The bunkers were built of thick, reinforced concrete to withstand Israeli 500- and 1,000-pound bombs, and were designed with overhanging lips to resist the flow of napalm. The defenses were more than ten miles deep, consisting of row upon row of emplacements, cannons, tanks, tank traps, rocket launchers and antiaircraft guns. 

Israeli forces were assembled for the attack as Liberty approached. It was to be a major assault under the worst tactical conditions against a well-entrenched enemy who commanded all the high ground. The Syrian deployment consisted of five infantry brigades, each with a battalion of modern Russian tanks; and behind the infantry was a freshly reinforced striking force of four more armored and mechanized brigades. 

Brigadier General Elazar planned to pound the positions from the air, then carve a road up the side of the hill with bulldozers. Finally, he would send the tanks, tracked vehicles and infantry up the newly made road. 

Syrians had been bombarding the lowlands steadily since the second day of the war, and Elazar's troops were eager to strike back. The Israeli general chose a ridge on the northern end of the border, fifteen hundred feet above the plain, for the initial breakthrough into Syria. This was one of the steepest points; thus it was one of the least heavily defended. Elazar assembled his troops and waited. At last, after several delays, he received his orders: the invasion was to begin Thursday morning, the eighth of June. 

But less than three hours before the scheduled assault and less than two hundred miles away, USS Liberty arrived near EI Arish. She slowed to five knots and ambled along the coast in good position to intercept radio messages from throughout the war zone, including much of the traffic from the invasion site. 

A well-equipped electronic intelligence-collection platform positioned as Liberty was could have learned a great deal about the tactics, procedures, morale, discipline, order-of-battle and military objectives of both sides. And the lessons learned would have helped to build a data base of radio frequencies, call signs, unit identities and other information that would have helped to interpret and forecast other battles to be fought at other times and places. 

Indeed, any good intelligence officer must have concluded that Liberty was an intelligence ship-and Israeli intelligence officers are among the best in the world. Any doubt about the ship's mission would have been resolved by the photographs taken during the morning (more special-purpose antennas than a guided-missile frigate) and by her behavior (a high-speed transit of the Mediterranean followed by a snail's pace crawl along the war-torn coasts). 

But shortly after Liberty's arrival-even as Israeli troops prepared to move toward their objective-General Elazar received new orders: the invasion was to be delayed for twenty-four hours. 

Randolph and Winston Churchill tell us that the final postponement "would seem to have been General Moshe Dayan's decision,"and they go on to speculate about the reasons.2 The additional day, say the Churchill's, was needed for the Israeli Air Force to "soften up" the Syrian positions, and for troops who had been switched from other fronts to rest. Also, say the Churchill's, a successful Thursday attack would have encouraged Syria to accept the United Nations' call for a cease-fire-and Israel did not want to allow Syria that easy way out. 
2. Randolph S. Churchill and Winston S. Churchill, The Six Day War (Boston: Houghton Miftlin, 1967). 
The Churchill's do not tell us why those reasons became evident only as Liberty arrived on the scene or what influence the sudden appearance of a notorious American "spy ship" must have had on the invasion plans-nor do they tell us what might have compelled General Dayan suddenly to step in. But it seems more than coincidental that last-minute orders to delay the invasion came so soon after the arrival of USS Liberty. 

The Israeli government was acutely aware of President Johnson's warning: the American President had told Foreign Minister Eban that he would support Israel only in self-defense, not in attacks against her neighbors. It was important, then, for Israel to be seen as an innocent victim fighting to ward off hoards of wild-eyed Arabs. Not surprisingly, Israel claimed that nearly everything she did was in self-defense. The preemptive strikes of the fifth of June were in self-defense. The capture of EI Arish, the naval and paratroop assault on Sharm el-Sheikh, the sweep through Sinai, and the armed penetration of Jordan were all in self-defense. Now, with the war virtually over and with the world crying for peace, could Israel put troops in Syria without being seen as an aggressor? 

Probably not. 

Not with USS Liberty so close to shore and presumably listening. Liberty would have to go. 

So-by remarkable coincidence, if not by design-General Elazar was forced to delay the invasion until Liberty was dispatched. Instead of attacking Syria, Israel's air, sea and shore-coordination forces worked together to attack a United States ship. Only then, with Liberty safely out of the picture, was Elazar turned loose. At 1130 Friday morning, June 9, as Liberty limped toward Malta, the first Israeli bulldozers climbed the mountain above Kefar Szold. A few hours later General Elazar took possession of the ridge to achieve a major objective of the war. 

The invasion of Syria just a few hours after the attack on Liberty came as a surprise to most of the world. There seemed to be no connection between the two events, and writers who claimed to see a connection had no facts to back up their speculative stories. They had no facts because the facts were kept from them. 

In the months following the Liberty attack, the Central Intelligence Agency received a number of reports in support of the view that it was deliberate. 

First to arrive was a message from Turkey dated June 23, 1967, reporting that the Turkish General Staff was convinced that the attack was deliberate. The report gives no indication what led to the conviction, but it is interesting that a foreign government with no stake in the affair had apparently come to such a disconcerting conclusion. 3 

A month later a message to the CIA reported a conversation with a confidential Israeli source who strongly implied that the attack was no error. The message read in part: 

He said that "you've got to remember that in this campaign there is neither time nor room for mistakes," which was intended as an obtuse reference that Israel's forces knew what flag the LIBERTY was flying and exactly what the vessel was doing off the coast. The source implied that the ship's identity was known at least six hours before the attack but that Israeli headquarters was not sure as to how many people might have access to the information the LIBERTY was intercepting. He also implied that there was no certainty or control as to where the information was going and again reiterated that Israeli forces did not make mistakes in their campaign. He was emphatic in stating to me that they knew what kind of ship USS LIBERTY was and what it was doing offshore. 4 
3. CIA intelligence information cable, "Turkish General Staff Opinion Regarding the Israeli Attack on the uss LIBERTY." 
4. CIA information report, "Comment on Known Identity of USS LIBERTY," July 27, 1967. 
This report gains credibility when we recall that Israel did identify the ship six hours before the attack. Hence, the informant does indeed have access to inside information. 

On November 9, 1967, a confidential source reported clearly and unequivocally that General Moshe Dayan ordered the attack. The message read: 

The source commented on the sinking  of the US Communications ship Liberty. They said that Dayan personally ordered the attack on the ship and that one of his generals adamantly opposed the action and said, "This is pure murder." One of the admirals who was present also disapproved the action, and it was he who ordered it stopped and not Dayan.5 

The messages, released under the Freedom of Information Act after heavy deletions by CIA censors, created a momentary stir when they appeared in the New York Times as a "public service message" by an Arab group under the heading "Are We Welcoming the Murderer of Our Sons?" The notice was timed to embarrass Dayan, appearing as it did simultaneously with his arrival in New York on September 19, 1977, but the hysterical tone probably cooled the press. Except for one mild question by a Washington-based radio reporter, Dayan was not asked about the attack, and the CIA promptly cleared him of any wrongdoing with a news release that called the reports "raw and unevaluated intelligence." "Israel," said the CIA, "did not learn the Liberty was an American ship until after the attack." 

As we well know, Israel did know that the ship was American and admitted to our government that they knew the ship was American; Israel claims only that the attacking forces failed to get the word. In view of the less-than-candid CIA statement, I asked the CIA for a copy of a staff summary cited in the news release. When the summary finally arrived, an accompanying letter directed my attention to paragraph seven, which, said the CIA, would set forth the grounds upon which the agency's opinion was based. The report, however, fails to set forth any grounds at all and barely expresses an opinion. The pertinent section reads: "Thus it was not until [1512 Liberty time] that the Israelis became convinced that the Liberty was American."6 
5. CIA information report, "Attack on USS Liberty Ordered by Dayan." 
6. CIA intelligence memorandum SC No. 01415/67, "The Israeli Attack on the USS Liberty," June 13, 1967. 
We are shown only the conclusion; nowhere are we made privy to information that leads to or supports the conclusion. The ten lines preceding it are deleted from the summary by the CIA censor. But 1512 is the time at which the torpedo boats fired upon the life rafts, picked the bullet-riddled rafts out of the water, and departed; and that is the time that Israeli troop-carrying helicopters arrived and hovered near the ship's bridge not fifty yards from the oversized American flag that flew from the yardarm; and that is the time the last shot was fired. Presumably, the CIA accepts some of these circumstances as evidence that the ship was (or must have been) identified if, in fact, it had not been identified long before. 

The CIA summary, prepared from early reports while Liberty was still en route to Malta, contains many errors and adds little to what has been published in the press. In an effort to learn more, Liberty's Lieutenant Bennett (now Commander Bennett), assigned to the National Security Agency near Washington, prepared an official letter from the National Security Agency to the Central Intelligence Agency requesting access to all CIA files on the attack. Unlike a private request, this was entirely within government channels; Bennett was adequately cleared and had a reasonable excuse to see the material. Soon Bennett was telephoned by a lieutenant commander aide to Admiral Stansfield Turner, the CIA director. "Why do you want to see the file?" he asked. Bennett explained. "Will you guarantee the security of the material?" Bennett guaranteed. Several days later the officer phoned again. "You must promise not to copy any of these files, and you must assure us that you are not writing anything for publication." Bennett promised. 

It looked very much like Bennett would finally get the complete file-the uncensored, official story of what really happened to USS Liberty. Then the lieutenant commander called a third time. "There is nothing to send," he said. "Everything in our file has already been released under the Freedom of Information Act." 

If that was true, it is highly unlikely that Bennett's request would have taken so long to answer or that it would ever have reached the CIA director's office. No matter. Admiral Turner's office had spoken, and it was unlikely that anything further would be learned from the Central Intelligence Agency. 

Much of the Liberty story is still a puzzle; for each question answered, another looms in its place. We know that the true story of the attack was covered up; but was it covered up by habit, fear and blind overreaction, or did a responsible American official deliberately withhold the truth? Was the cover-up ordered by the President of the United States? If so, did the President know the truth, or was he simply being cautious in the face of inconclusive evidence? Did senior officials in our government really believe that this carefully coordinated air/sea/commando/intelligence effort could have been a mistake? Was the attack ordered by a crazed Israeli officer, or was it a deliberate, calculated act of the Israeli government? Did General Dayan order the attack? We know that the ship was inadequately protected. Has any senior officer been required to answer to that? We know that Israel's excuse for attacking the ship cannot possibly be true. Why has our government not demanded a better explanation? 

These questions cry out for answers. Some of the answers seem obvious while others have defied investigators for more than ten years. Perhaps the time has come for a committee of Congress to explore the remaining questions in order to tell the American people why thirty-four men died and why the truth has been hidden for so long. 

http://www.lander.odessa.ua/doc/Ennes_James_M_Jr_-_Assault_on_the_Liberty.pdf