All the Way with JFK: An Alternate History of 1964

  ALL THE WAY WITH JFK:

  AN ALTERNATE HISTORY OF 1964

  By

  F.C. Schaefer

  Copyright 2016 by F.C. Schaefer Smashwords Edition

  This book is a work of fiction, while many of the characters are based upon historic personages, they are used fictitiously here and all events are products of the author’s imagination.

  Table of Contents

  Also by F.C. Schaefer

  Interviews conducted by author Frank Sheppard

  About The Author

  Also by F.C. Schaefer

  Beating Plowshares into Swords:

  An Alternate History of the Vietnam War

  Caden is Coming

  Big Crimson

  Reach me on twitter at @fcsnva

  All the Way with JFK:

  An Alternative History of 1964

  The following are accounts taken from interviews conducted by author Frank Sheppard for his book, Kennedy’s America: the Untold Story.

  Lt. Colonel Martin Maddox, USMC

  Alexandria, Virginia

  November 1963 - January 1964

  President Kennedy was understandably late for the meeting of the National Security Council in the Oval Office on the evening of November 22nd, 1963, but when he got there, I must say he was remarkably composed for a man who had a bullet miss his head by inches only hours earlier. It was only natural since he was a Navy man who had been under fire before, not unlike me, only his action had been World War II while mine occurred a few years later in Korea when a wave of Red Chinese infantry tried to overrun my position in the dead of winter.

  The President listened to a series of preliminary reports and then snapped, “What do the Goddamn cables say?” He was referring to the stream of information flowing hourly into the Situation Room from every embassy and overseas military base, all of whom were constantly monitoring our Communist adversaries and anybody else who might be trouble. What the President was really asking was if any of our enemies far and wide had done anything to tip their hand and exposed their involvement in the events during lunch hour in downtown Dallas that day.

  That’s what was on everyone’s mind at the moment.

  My job title at the NSC was Advisor for Planning and Intelligence Analysis, which included among other things the preparation of intelligence briefings for the President and other senior officials. It was what I had been doing ever since the first word of shots being fired at the President reached me at my desk in the Executive Office Building right across from the White House. All afternoon and into the evening had been spent speed reading cables and telegrams from NATO commanders in Europe, Naval posts in the western Pacific and Asia, along with every cruiser steaming in the Caribbean, just out of eyesight of the Castro brothers. I was determined to have a full report on possible enemy activity ready when President Kennedy returned from Texas, but I wasn’t finished yet when Air Force One touched down Andrews Air Force Base well ahead of their 7:00 p.m. ETA.

  So I took what I had and dashed to the West Wing, where the President had ordered everyone to assemble. I joined my boss at the NSC, McGeorge Bundy, along with the Vice President, Secretary McNamara, the Joint Chiefs, the Director and Deputy Director of the CIA.

  There we waited for what seemed like an eternity for the President, who I later learned was spending a few minutes alone with his children in the family quarters-a perfectly understandable delay under the circumstances. When the President came through the door, the only sign that might have betrayed any emotion was some redness of the eyes, otherwise his demeanor was no different than if it were a routine meeting. Not so his younger brother, the Attorney General, who followed the President through the door, he looked as if he was ready to chew someone – anyone - a new asshole at the slightest provocation.

  The President asked where things stood, of the men whose job it was to give him the answers. The Defense Secretary responded first, followed by General Maxwell Taylor and the rest of the Joint Chiefs, and an Assistant Secretary of State. They gave the President a rundown on the status of our armed forces and the official reaction from our allies in Europe and Asia; there would be a call in the next hour from the British Prime Minister, a statement from De Gaulle in Paris, and probably a meaningless pronouncement from Khrushchev. Secretary Rusk was not there because he was hurrying home from an aborted foreign trip to Japan.

  “I want to know where things really stand.” I believe these were the President’s words at this point. “What do the guys who don’t sit on their asses all day have to say?” That is when the President got specific and his attention turned to me.

  “What can you tell us, Colonel?” he asked.

  Having the full attention of the most powerful men in the government, including the Commander in Chief, is not quite the same as a thousand Chinese riflemen having you in their crosshairs, but it’s pretty damn close. And just like on that cold day in Korea, I simply did my job and proceeded to give them a report of a quiet evening in Europe, a restful night in Asia and the Pacific, and a sleepy afternoon in the Caribbean with the exception of some unusual activity out of Havana.

  The last item was read verbatim off a report from a telegram which came in right after 4:00 p.m. from a naval cruiser in the Gulf whose job it was to monitor all activity around the island of Cuba just in case the Russians or their fellow Comrade, Fidel, tried to pull something again.

  “What activity? What made it unusual?” This was the first time the Attorney General had spoken. That was his style, always blunt.

  “Yes, sir, at least two flights, traveling west to South West, which would put them right on a course to Mexico City; they were confirmed as a DC-3 and a Lockheed small passenger plane respectively. It jibes with the inventory of a Havana to Miami American-owned passenger service confiscated by Castro in January 1960. There is a daily flight from Havana to Mexico City, but never later than noon; this return flight is in the p.m.”

  Every eye in the room being on me by the time I finished my report.

  “Thank you very much, Colonel.” I believe that was the President’s response before Director McCone and Deputy Director Helms spoke up, saying they would have a report ready in a few hours on any and all activity at the Cuban and Russian embassies in Mexico that day; furthermore they would have surveillance upped on both locations, directions would immediately go out to their station chiefs south of the border. Everybody contributed something except for the Vice President, who stood there the whole time staring at the floor with a real hang dog look on his face. I’d always considered Lyndon Johnson an oily Texas wheeler-dealer, but I couldn’t help but feel the man’s acute embarrassment over having the President be a guest in his home state and then nearly having his brains blown all over the streets of Dallas by some Communist loser.

  There was some more discussion about what might be happening in the Kremlin and Peking, then President Kennedy said, “Well, Gentlemen, this has been a very long day, and I think most of us can‘t wait to put it behind us, but let me say, as bad as it’s been, I’m damn happy to be here now.” With that, the President left us for a meeting with Congressional leaders in the Cabinet room.

  The Attorney General did not accompany him, as soon as the door was shut behind his brother, he said, “I want all of you to keep one thing in mind at all time in the days ahead, we don’t yet know who else was involved with that son of a bitch Oswald, but whoever and wherever they are, we are going to find them. That is your number one priority.” The rage in his voice would have made a bulldog piss itself.

  The meeting broke up and we filed out of the Oval Office with me heading back to the EO
B, where I would have another intelligence report prepared and ready for the President by midnight.

  I’ve often wondered how different my life would have been if hadn’t noticed those Cuban planes that day.

  As hard as it might be to believe, the mention of Oswald in the Oval Office by the Attorney General was actually the first time I’d heard his name mentioned; I had been so busy reading cables, telegrams and getting reports ready that all I knew about the events in Dallas was what I heard in passing: shots had been fired at Kennedy’s limousine as it rode in a motorcade through the downtown, but he was all right. So I missed all the dramatic television footage: of the bullet hitting the tail light of the speeding Lincoln Continental as agents threw themselves on the President and Mrs. Kennedy; a posse of Secret Service and Dallas PD charging into the Book Depository to take down the cornered would-be assassin; seeing Walter Cronkite sigh with relief as he announced the President was unhurt after the limousine sped to the hospital just in case; the smiling President and First Lady walking out of Parkland Hospital to go to Air Force One;

  John F. Kennedy, ignoring the Secret Service, walking over to briefly comfort a distraught woman in a crowd of well wishers in the hospital parking lot - it was the front page photo the country saw on most of the major dailies the next day.

  I didn’t get the real details until I picked up The Washington Post the next morning, with its bold headlines: KENNEDY ESCAPES ASSASSIN: SUSPECT SLAIN. A smaller and more ominous headline below proclaimed: HUNT ON FOR CONSPIRATORS. The story that followed told of how a tip had been called into the Dallas Police Department saying there was a sniper on the 6th floor of the Texas Book Depository literally minutes before President Kennedy would have been in the gunman’s sights; the secret service got the word with seconds to spare, allowing the driver to hit the gas just in time so that the bullet from Oswald’s Italian Army rifle hit a tail light instead of the President.

  As for Lee Harvey Oswald, the sniper who was killed on the spot, his ties to a pro Castro group shouted his motive, not to mention his time spent in the Soviet Union. My wife, Betty said my jaw almost hit the floor when I read that Oswald was a former Marine. How could any man who joined the Corp and know what Simper Fi meant possibly be a Goddamn Commie and Presidential assassin? At least that explained where he’d learned what end of the gun fired the round.

  But the part of the story which got everyone’s attention was the tip phoned into the Dallas PD which saved the President’s life; it had come from a pay phone on a street in New Orleans. So far there were no witnesses who could identify anyone talking on that particular pay phone at that exact time, but it didn’t mean one wouldn’t be found at any moment, potentially breaking the case wide open.

  I went about my duties on the NSC over the next week while the country was riveted on the hunt for Lee Harvey Oswald’s accomplices. There was no end of speculation and outright rumor in the press: on Sunday, the New York Times ran a story saying there were “sources” claiming Oswald was possibly an officer in the KGB; two days later the Huntley-Brinkley Report led with a story quoting “witnesses” who could place Oswald in Havana two weeks before November 22nd. What was true was that Oswald had been in Mexico City at the end of September and the first of October and definitely had dealings with the Cuban Embassy there. To everyone, this pointed a big finger at Fidel and company down there 90 miles from Key West.

  The main job of the NSC in the week after the assassination attempt was to find the needle in the haystack, a secret meeting behind the Iron Curtin or a movement of troops for no apparent reason which might be a clue pointing to something larger. It proved to be a fruitless quest, everybody, friend and foe, appeared to be on their best behavior. The only exception being South Vietnam, but things had been going to crap there since before Diem had been overthrown by his own military and killed nearly the month before.

  My world changed forever on the morning of December 1st, when I got a message to hurry over to Mr. Bundy’s office in the West Wing; what I thought would be some routine matter was instantly disabused when I arrived to find, not Mr. Bundy, but the Attorney General himself, Robert F. Kennedy, waiting for me.

  He began by reciting my bio: born in Oklahoma, Annapolis Class of 1948, a Bronze Star in Korea, seven overseas postings in less than ten years - one of them to Guantanamo Bay, staff of the Commandant, a year teaching at the Naval Academy, a stint working for Naval Intelligence before joining the NSC, wife and two children. Then he asked me why I joined the Navy?

  My answer was succinct: Because I didn’t want to spend my life selling nails in a hardware store like my old man, Sir.

  That brought the merest of a smile to the Attorney General’s face; I knew him by reputation, which could have been summed up in four words: son of a bitch. And I had no problem with it since those same four words could be used to describe a lot of the people I’d had to answer to on the way up the ranks in the United States Marine Corp.

  He came right to the point, saying both he and his brother were quite impressed with my work on the NSC, especially the presentation on the evening of the 22nd. That I was able to document the make and model of those planes and their origin on such short notice was better work than the CIA usually turned in - quite impressive. It’s what the President respected and needed in times like these - men who could go way above and beyond and function well outside of the lines of the rigid bureaucracy which was the American security apparatus. President Kennedy frequently felt the need to go outside the normal chain of command to get vital information and to get things done, to not do things by the book, a book written by career diplomats and high ranking officers with lots of fruit salad on their chests. The President had listened to those people, and it had gotten him the debacle at the Bay of Pigs. He’d learned his lesson the hard way and now knew the value of having a few good men in his own corner.

  For that reason, the President had been going outside what would normally be considered the proper chain of command to recruit and cultivate assets and sources which could give him access and options Foggy Bottom, the Pentagon and Langley simply were unable and unwilling to give him. He described them as men who were too comfortable working in air conditioning. Many of these assets and sources worked inside the government, wearing proper business suits and uniforms, but there were others who made their living and risked their lives far from the safety of a plush office with a big desk and a secretary and staff who jumped at their every whim; men with guts and nerve and most all, the eyes to see what other timid souls either failed or feared to see.

  There was a job for me, the Attorney General explained, with a small group he was putting together. Its purpose was to prepare for the inevitable crisis which would arise in the wake of the exposure of the conspiracy behind Dallas. It would be a crisis potentially worse than the one the previous October and to handle it, the President would need men like me who had the right kind of Top Secret clearance and who could be trusted with information to which not even Cabinet officers, the Joint Chiefs or the CIA Director had access.

  I instantly grasped the opportunity being afforded me, and the risks as well; success could easily mean the fast track to another star on my shoulder, because with victory comes rewards. But the opposite is equally true, no one prospers in the wake of disaster or defeat when there is the inevitable need for scapegoats as the shit flows downhill. All I needed to remind me of this was a certain Dulles brother and his chief deputy who suddenly had a lot of leisure time after the Bay of Pigs. And working outside the chain of command was the kind of thing that could make you enemies even if you succeed.

  But I was a trained warrior and warriors are not ruled by fear and doubt if they want to be worthy of the title; so I said yes to Robert F. Kennedy right then and there, making it clear that if there was a conflict at hand, then I was ready to charge toward the sound of gunfire.

  Robert Kennedy did not look particularly impressed with my enthusiastic acceptance, and I quickly learned it was how he
usually handled subordinates. He merely thanked me and went on to explain how starting immediately I would be moving to an office in the basement of the White House itself; that I would be working with others possessing the same clearance as myself. They might be of equal rank, but they would report to me because my official title was Deputy Director, which meant I was third in line behind the President and the Attorney General. Much of what we would be dealing with would come in the form of verbal reporting only, while other information might be nothing more than a handwritten note. “You will have to get used to not relying on cables and formal staff reports, but I will make sure you receive copies of everything coming out of the situation room daily along with briefings from Defense and the CIA. You are going to be our set of independent eyes.” It would be my job to take all this raw data and anecdotal information and find the truth hidden below the surface. The truth the enemies of this country desperately want to keep hidden - and make sure the President knew it.

  “This assignment might not make you any friends in some of the other branches of the service,” the Attorney General warned.

  “Not a problem, Sir,” was my reply.

  It sounded like a real challenge, the kind of thing I’d signed up for on the first day at Annapolis. So that same afternoon, I cleaned out my desk and moved into a small office in the basement of the White House; the space was definitely less, but the proximity to power was so much the greater, that was what counted in Washington D.C.

  It was there that I met Colonel Ralph Gillison, thirty years in the Army and the three pack a day Marlboro man who was in charge of a group that consisted of a couple of junior analysts from the Rand Corporation who had consulted with the CIA on the offensive capabilities of the Warsaw Pact; a former car designer from General Motors who’d worked with Harley Earl and had spent five years advising the Defense Department on weapons. All of us would be working solely on the coming crisis arising from Dallas.