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There had been some inklings of a coup, including rumors that generals had begun moving troops loyal to Diem away from the capital. New York Times Correspondent David Halberstam and another correspondent received a slip of paper the night before with the message: "Please buy me one bottle of whisky at the PX." It was a prearranged signal meaning that a coup might be imminent. While Saigon was still at lunch, thousands of men in combat garb were gathering just outside the city, buckling on equipment, checking their weapons, listening to last-minute instructions for the violent overthrow of the government.
Shortly after 1 p.m., the soldiers moved. Throwing roadblocks across the avenues leading from the city to Saigon Airport, army units quickly won over units of Ngo Dinh Nhu's crack "special forces" near the airfield, giving a free hand to air force pilots who were planning to support the coup d'état with rocket-equipped dive bombers.
Truckloads of red-kerchiefed, insurgent marines were already racing toward the heart of Saigon. A primary target was police headquarters, where some troops surrounded the building while others rushed inside to put pro-Diem officials under arrest. Other groups of troops showed up at navy headquarters, on the banks of the Saigon River, and at the telegraph office and radio station.
At first, there was little shooting. But as word spread to pro-Diem forces, small-arms fire began to crackle along the shady avenues around the palace. By now, the little air force bombers were soaring high over central Saigon, peeling off now and then to make strafing runs at the navy headquarters, where defenders inside were putting up a spirited fight. Antiaircraft guns aboard Diem's naval vessels moored in the river barked back.
Not for Fame. At 4:45 p.m., Saigon Radio, which abruptly ceased broadcasting at the start of the fighting, returned to the air. "Soldiers in the army, security service, civil defense force, and people's force," blared the radio. "The Ngo Dinh Diem government, abusing power, has thought only of personal ambition and slighted the fatherland's interests . . . The army has swung into action. The task of you all is to unite . . . The revolution will certainly be successful."
This declaration was signed by 14 generals, seven colonels and a major who have what for Americans are some of the most unpronounceable names on earth—such names as Brig. General Pham Xuan Chieu, Brig. General Nguyen Giac Ngo, and Brig. General Tran Tu Oai. At the top of the list was Big Minh and Lieut. General Tran Van Don. Like Minh, Don has been close to the Americans—so close that he went to a dinner for Admiral Felt the night before the coup, calmly saw Felt off at the airport shortly before the shooting started. "We have no political ambitions," declared the generals' communiqué. "We act not for fame or benefit, but to save our beloved fatherland."
Early Risers. By now, word of the coup was reaching the world in fragments. Apparently, the first top official in Washington to hear about it was John McCone, chief of the Central Intelligence Agency, who had word flashed to him as early as 1:25 a.m. Secretary of State Dean Rusk was out of bed at 2 a.m., the President at 3.