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Abruptly, at 9:45 p.m., the barrage began—first against the palace guard barracks, where a mortar and artillery attack went on for hours. When it came time for the big push on the palace itself, there was a danger that Vietnamese and American families who lived in an adjacent residential neighborhood would be hit by shells. So, well after midnight, a force of 18 tanks supported by armored cars and 600 foot soldiers went through a complicated maneuver that brought them circuitously to the palace grounds.
At 4 a.m., from several side streets, the attacking columns began pouring point-blank fire—from tanks, cannons, machine guns and rifles—at the protective walls. Back came a murderous counterfire, everything Diem's defenders had left. First one Diem tank caught fire and exploded in a tower of smoke and flame. Then another was knocked out of action. Two of the rebels' tanks were also destroyed.
The Final Push. With huge holes now gaping in the fences, and the defenders scattering inside the grounds, the way was clear for the final push. Then suddenly, at 6:15 a.m., everything fell silent again. A rebel general, who throughout the battle had been in constant touch with Diem and Nhu by telephone, had called for a five-minute grace period to allow the besieged President and his party to emerge.
But no one came out, and the cannon firing resumed, smashing windows, splintering doors, knocking chunks off the palace walls. The riflemen, belly-flat on the ground, sniped happily at Diem's last-ditch supporters. The battle was clearly over, and 17 minutes later, by dawn's first light, reported TIME Correspondent Murray Gart, "I could see a white flag being waved from a first-floor window on the palace's southwest corner. But there was more shooting from the palace. Then the white flag waved again and firing stopped. At first cautiously, then freely, the camouflage-suited rebels began to stand up, and a chorus of cheers welled up from the streets. Western-style, they fired their guns in the air, and rushed into the sieved fortress."
After all their effort, the rebel soldiers decided that a little looting was in order. Merrily, they ran from room to room, ripping down curtains for souvenirs, grabbing pieces of china. One soldier grabbed a calendar that bore Diem's picture, stuffed it in his shirt. Another made off with a two-foot Japanese doll that he hugged fondly to his breast.
The Official Story. Forgotten for the moment were Diem and Nhu. A few hours later, the ugly facts began to emerge. First, there was the official story. A spokesman for the military junta announced that the pair had slipped out of rebel hands during the ceasefire, boarded a departing truck while wounded were being removed, and somehow reached a Catholic church in the Chinese quarter of suburban Cholon. There, according to the story, both killed themselves at 10:45 a.m.