Chapter 314: T’s Rise
Rusk’s trip to China did not achieve what the White House wanted.
China could not give them the promise they wanted, nor could it obtain an agreement for the Vietnam War ceasefire.
Of course, it was not entirely without gain; the Chinese side once again emphasized that their aid to North Vietnam would only remain within the 17th parallel north.
Regardless of the war situation, whether North Vietnam has the advantage or disadvantage, even if North Vietnam has the advantage and wants to counterattack, China will not provide strategic support for North Vietnam to counterattack beyond the 17th parallel north.
Reluctantly, it could be considered obtaining a consolation prize.
In terms of military materials, in the past, because China could not do business with countries in the free world, and Hong Kong’s own production capacity was seriously insufficient, China could only provide high value-added products like portable calculators.
They themselves had not even reaped the benefits of port standardization modification; now the global port standards committee’s standardization modifications had only been done to Yokosuka Port, while the ports in Tokyo and Osaka were still kept out in the cold even today.
During his tenure as command sergeant major, he was investigated by Congress, which found that it involved fraud and corruption, with annual amounts exceeding 150 million US dollars; he had assigned businessman William Crumm to monopolize all food supply for the NCO Club.
But that wasn’t even the craziest part; the craziest part was that he colluded with William Crumm to place problematic slot machines in the NCO Club, with William Crumm also monopolizing the operation of the slot machines. Then Wooldridge incited Army non-commissioned officers on the frontline to play the slot machines, swindling away all their combat salaries in one go.
The NCO Club on the America Vietnam frontline was a crude wooden building with posters of beautiful women hanging on the walls.
A ceiling fan spun lazily, but it could hardly relieve the humid and hot air.
A jukebox in the corner was playing The Doors’ “Light My Fire.”
Behind the bar, a South Vietnam bartender was skillfully mixing drinks, while the air was filled with the smell of barbecue spices.
“New York Times dispatch: After Rusk’s visit to China on September 10, the White House has finally made a decision; President Johnson will no longer seek a meeting with Kosygin. According to relevant news summaries, the White House made the above decision due to multiple comprehensive considerations.”
Big T covered his head with the newspaper and lamented: “Damn Johnson, if he thinks he can’t negotiate, he just doesn’t; how much longer do I have to stay on the frontline before I can return to New York!”
Big T had been on the Vietnam War frontline for almost two years; as the son of Fred, he was a red-hot figure in the eyes of frontline reporters, a German descent white person; even if he was not favored by Lyndon Johnson, he still had some advantages on the frontline.
After all, McNamara was an Elephant Party member, and Fred had never publicly criticized him, so there would be some care taken.
Including in the Army frontline, many non-commissioned officers also liked this young man who was good at boasting about himself.
Young people like to boast; that’s too normal.
There are few such powerful and influential rich second generations who would come to the frontline.
So Big T performed outstandingly in Operation Cedar Falls and was promoted to corporal, able to regularly obtain opportunities to go to the NCO Club for rest and adjustment.
Joe, Big T’s good friend on the frontline, walked over from the side and directly snatched the newspaper off his head: “I say T, we’re in Saigon now, not New York; why read the New York Times in Saigon?” Joe glanced at the newspaper and then spat.
“The New York Times does you no good in avoiding Vietnam monkeys jumping out of the jungle; it will only make you overthink and lose focus and concentration!
I say, since we’re all here at the NCO Club to rest, shouldn’t we dance with the girls or play cards and slot machines?”
Big T raised his eyebrows after hearing this: “Joe, didn’t I tell you? Those slot machines definitely have problems!
Those slot machines must have been tampered with; they are absolutely not normal.
You know, back in New York, I followed my godfather, the professor—you know who—learning mathematics.”
Joe held his forehead: “Oh man, T, I’ve heard you say eight hundred times that the professor is your godfather; how could I not know.”
To be precise, everyone here knows that Lin Ran is Big T’s godfather; Big T’s identity is no secret here.
He has a New York real estate businessman and congressman as his dad, and a Chinese descent godfather; these are all open secrets, especially since reporters swarm around Big T every few days.
“That’s right, as you know, the godfather personally taught me mathematics; there’s a subject in mathematics called probability theory. From the perspective of probability theory, I specially observed that no matter who plays this slot machine, the expectation does not exceed one-half; there must be a problem.
Slot machines in New York, slot machines in Las Vegas, slot machines in San Francisco—they don’t look like this.
Only the slot machines here have problems.”
Slot machines were first born in New York in 1891; later in 1896, Charles Fey successfully developed the first commercially used mechanical slot machine in his San Francisco machine shop.
Slot machines then swept the globe.
Joe placed his wine glass on the bar and sighed: “Big T, do you think you’re the only one who knows there’s a problem?
I may not understand expectation, but I know winning prizes; the probability of minor prizes on those slot machines is less than one-tenth, and in three years, not a single jackpot has been hit. If a jackpot had been hit, we might not have discovered the problem, but damn it, in three years we’ve thrown in how much money back and forth, and not one jackpot has appeared—not needing to study so-called probability theory to discover the problem, okay!
If those damn slot machines weren’t related to Wooldridge, we would have dismantled it long ago, okay?
Moreover, everyone needs relaxation; more and more non-commissioned officers are dying, no one knows if they can survive the next battle; everyone needs that live-fast-die-young feeling; as for winning money, no one cares.
Holding beauties in their arms, surrounded by beauties, enjoying the thrill brought by the slot machine—hitting minor prizes, that’s still a win rate, isn’t it?
Also, Big T, you keep saying the slot machines have problems, but no one else says so; is it that we don’t want to say it? It’s that we dare not.
Your dad is Fred; Wooldridge doesn’t dare do anything to you, but if we said it, we’d be sent to the most dangerous place on the frontline the next day.
Once maybe you can come back, twice maybe still come back, but if you go to those hellholes every time, who can guarantee they can come back?
We may not have professors teaching us mathematics, but we have common sense; we just don’t want to offend Wooldridge.”
When Joe mentioned Wooldridge, his voice lowered, but the indignation in his tone was so clear.
This was the first time Joe had talked about these things with Big T; in the past, no one would talk about these with Big T.
Because although Big T was also a frontline soldier, in their eyes, he wasn’t one of their own.
But now, with the Vietnam War situation deteriorating, Big T still persisting on the frontline without being transferred away made him one of their own in their eyes, even if he wasn’t before.
Plus the same old reason: no one knows if they can live to see tomorrow’s sun, so there are fewer scruples.
Big T frowned after hearing this: for the soldiers working hard on the frontline, Wooldridge hiding in the headquarters actually makes this kind of money—you’re even human? Coming up with such a way to swindle away the frontline non-commissioned officers’ money.
At the same time, Big T realized this was an excellent opportunity.
He leaned to Joe’s ear: “Can you cooperate with me on something big?”
Joe immediately became alert: “Whatever you dare to do, I dare not.”
Big T said: “It won’t trouble you; I’ll tell you what to do—you just go play that slot machine then and complain a few times about why you keep not winning; leave the rest to me.”
Joe was still thinking.
Big T interrupted: “What are you still thinking about? This is for all our good; hitting the jackpot is way better than not hitting any prize at all now, right?
I’ll bear the risk!”
Joe nodded slightly: “I’ll say it first: I’ll complain a few times at most.”
Big T showed a confident smile: “That’s enough!”
Joe asked puzzled: “How do you plan to do it?”
Big T shook his head: “That’s a secret.”
After leaving Yanjing, Rusk did not choose to return to Washington but went by ship from Hong Kong all the way to Saigon.
He wanted to personally inspect the frontline situation.
This was also the opportunity Big T was looking for.
To make a big scene in front of Rusk.
Rusk came to inspect the NCO Club in the evening.
In one corner of the club, three mechanical slot machines clinked; Joe, Sergeant Mike, and Private First Class Tom were excitedly inserting coins, pulling levers, expecting good luck.
Mike complained: “Why has it become so bright here? Too bright; I feel no atmosphere.”
Tom added: “Including the surrounding environment setup has changed.”
Joe knew this was Big T’s so-called big thing, but he didn’t know exactly what Big T planned to do.
“Lost again!” Joe slapped the machine; the reels stopped on a mismatched combination.
The three reels showed apple, cherry, and a bar symbol.
“This damn thing must have it in for me.” Joe changed the subject.
Tom laughed: “Don’t worry, Joe; maybe next time you’ll hit the jackpot.”
Big T appeared nearby at the right moment, observing with interest.
Even if the slot machine had no problem, he wouldn’t participate in such activities; he thought it was a waste of money.
The three non-commissioned officers’ repeated failures made him smile; it was the effect he wanted—Wooldridge was as greedy as ever, showing no restraint even with Rusk coming.
He thought again: also, their slot machines had been shipped here for so long; maybe Wooldridge himself had forgotten about the slot machine business in this NCO Club.
He turned to ask Joe: “How many times have they played tonight?”
Joe shrugged: “Probably fifty or sixty times; the coins are almost all thrown in.”
“How much did they win?”
“Not a single cent.” Joe shook his head and took a sip of beer.
Big T narrowed his eyes and said loudly: “If this machine is fair, the winning probability each time is about one to five percent. After playing so many rounds, not even a minor prize—too abnormal.”
Joe chuckled: “T, you’re analyzing again? You think this machine is rigged?”
“Possible,” Big T said, standing up and walking to the slot machine, with Joe following closely.
“Mind if I take a look?” Big T asked Mike and Tom.
Mike stepped aside: “Look all you want, but you won’t find anything. Just bad luck.”
Big T carefully observed the machine.
It was an old-style mechanical slot machine with three reels, each with ten symbols, including fruit, bar, and lucky seven.
He knew that in a fair slot machine, the winning probability depends on the distribution of symbols on the reels.
For example, with three reels each having ten symbols, the probability of hitting three identical symbols is one in a thousand.
But even minor prizes, like two identical symbols, should have a higher probability, like 1/100.
He asked Mike: “Have you ever seen anyone win on this machine?”
Mike said without thinking: “Honestly, no.
I’ve been here off and on for three months; haven’t heard of anyone hitting a jackpot.”
Tom added: “Yeah, this machine is like a bottomless pit; only eats money, doesn’t spit it out.”
Big T frowned: “This isn’t reasonable. From a probability perspective, after playing so many rounds, you should have hit several minor prizes at least.
I suspect it’s been tampered with.”
Joe laughed: “Tang, you’re exaggerating! Isn’t it just losing a few bucks?”
But Big T was serious: “No, Joe, this isn’t a luck issue.
If the winning probability is 1/100, not winning after 60 plays has less than 1% probability.
This machine has a problem!”
Mike shook his head: “Don’t overthink it, Tang; losing money is normal.”
Big T persisted: “I want to check inside the machine.”
Tom nervously lowered his voice: “Don’t mess around, Tang.
This machine was sent by Sergeant Major Wooldridge’s friend.
I know you have a strong background, but after all, we’re in Vietnam, not New York; if you mess with him, trouble will be big.”
Big T raised his eyebrows: “Wooldridge? That big shot? He cares about this junk machine?”
Joe said loudly: “Heard he’s connected to the supplier somehow.
Don’t meddle, or you’ll bring trouble.”
Big T frowned: “If this machine has been tampered with, it’s scamming soldiers’ money.
I need to figure it out.”
He went to the bar and found club manager Hank, a gray-haired master sergeant.
“Sir, I want to inspect that slot machine. I suspect it has a problem.”
Hank’s face darkened: “The machines have no problem; they were provided by a legitimate company.”
Big T calmly said: “My friends played 60 times, didn’t win once. From probability, that’s abnormal; I want to look inside.”
Hank crossed his arms: “No, only authorized personnel can touch the machines.”
Big T didn’t back down: “Sir, if the machine has been tampered with, it’s fraud; I just want to ensure fairness!”
They were arguing here; seated at the bar, the group surrounding the inspecting Rusk noticed at a glance; he smiled and said to William Westmoreland beside him: “Isn’t that Fred’s son?”
Rusk also liked reading the Johnson jokes Fred told in the newspapers; anyway, they didn’t target him.
Rusk also had a relationship with Lin Ran; from 1950 to 1961, he served as a director of the Rockefeller Foundation, becoming chairman in 1952.
The Rockefeller Foundation’s sponsorship to Lin Ran in 1960 had Rusk’s signature.
Therefore, Lin Ran had also greeted Rusk, asking him not to let Big T get into trouble; Fred knew this too, so Fred never said anything bad about Rusk in public.
William Westmoreland was the top Vietnam War commander; he also knew Big T; he squinted and looked: “Yes, that’s Fred’s son, Big T; he seems to be arguing with the manager here.”
Rusk said to the secretary beside him: “Bring both of them over; ask what they’re arguing about.”
After the two were brought before him, Hank was very nervous, while Big T was very composed; this was the effect he wanted.
His embedded reporters were all around waiting, having found good shooting angles, just waiting to photograph the moment he disassembles the slot machine, and also to capture Rusk and William Westmoreland.
After Big T explained the cause and effect, Rusk immediately became interested; coming to inspect and encountering such an interesting thing: “Big T, are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” Big T said firmly, “If I’m wrong, I’ll apologize, but if I’m right, we must protect the soldiers’ interests.”
Rusk laughed, thinking he really was an interesting guy; he nodded: “Okay, I permit it, but be careful; if you damage it, you compensate the club’s loss.”
Was this bit of money even money? Big T thought; he replied: “Yes, sir, Mister Rusk.”
Under everyone’s gaze, Big T carefully opened the back of the machine.
With Rusk, William Westmoreland, and a bunch of commanders present, plus such fun, almost all the soldiers in the NCO Club came after hearing; they surrounded the slot machine.
Big T wasn’t a machinery expert, but he understood the basic principles of slot machines; his family ran hotels, and hotel lobbies almost always had slot machines for revenue.
He checked the reels and internal mechanisms and soon discovered the anomaly: one reel had only one high-payout “lucky seven” symbol, while others had three to four.
“Look here!” Big T pointed at the reel, “This reel has only one ‘lucky seven’; normally there should be multiple, which reduces the jackpot probability.”
Rusk leaned in and frowned: “Is that so?”
“Yes,” Big T said, “A fair slot machine should have balanced symbol distribution. This machine has been modified to reduce winning chances.”
All the non-commissioned officers crowded over, looking surprised. “So it really was tampered with?”
“This is outrageous. Who did it?”
Rusk’s face darkened: “Who did it?”
The commanders’ gazes all focused on manager Hank; Hank was really sweating now.
He said lowly: “These machines were sent by Wooldridge’s friend.”
Wooldridge wasn’t on site; his status wasn’t high enough to attend the reception for Rusk.
There was a sense of being neither here nor there: on one hand not low enough to be in this level of NCO Club, on the other not high enough to participate in Rusk’s reception.
Rusk asked: “Who is Wooldridge?”
He really didn’t know who this person was.
After William quietly introduced who he was to Rusk’s ear, he continued: “Sir, Wooldridge is on good terms with Major General Turner.”
Now he knew; Major General Turner was the Army Sergeant Major Marshal, a tough guy.
Like riots across America, black people’s rallies—if anyone stepped out of line, Turner would bring soldiers to arrest without hesitation, use force, even publicly declaring in some cases to use gas to crush them.
Yes, using gas on the public—that was Turner.
This year, Director Hoover was also awarding Turner a special medal to commend his outstanding contributions to the BI.
Rusk’s face turned ashen; Turner wasn’t someone easy to handle.
Big T closed the machine and calmly said: “Now we know, gentlemen officers, see? Our commanders use such despicable means to swindle away the blood-sweat money from us frontline soldiers; for this behavior, Washington must give us an explanation!”
Big T raised his arm and shouted; the surrounding non-commissioned officers first discussed, then shouted with him; in Big T’s cries for fairness and explanation, it formed a synergy, the voices echoing through the entire NCO Club.
Such an unexpected scene completely broke Rusk’s defense, because Big T’s call had reason; this behavior was indeed too despicable.
People come to the NCO Club to relax, and even playing a slot machine gets their money swindled; putting himself in their shoes, he couldn’t accept it himself.
But it wasn’t easy to handle.
Because such a scandal was very serious; the White House’s reputation was already bad, the Vietnam War was a mess; if publicized, opposition would only grow louder.
And not publicizing it, how to handle Wooldridge? This also involved Major General Turner behind the scenes.
Rusk felt a headache, a real headache.
Fortunately, this matter wasn’t his to handle; he said loudly: “Everyone, please calm down, please calm down; I believe our General Westmoreland will surely give everyone an explanation!”
William Westmoreland was somewhat dumbfounded: how am I supposed to handle it? In Saigon, how can I handle Washington’s Major General Turner?
