length of the border and through the jungles of Laos as well. Then the attack bogged down for a time as the regular Vietnamese formations moved in to support the largely local defences that the PLA had broken through at considerable cost. By this time Birmingham and Minsk had been destroyed followed by the swift crumbling of the Soviet empire. Some sort of description of these events would have gone out on Chinese radio, though it may not have meant very much to the wet and weary peasants who formed the bulk of those fighting on both sides in Vietnam. The news spread like wildfire through Hanoi, though, as it did through the cities of ASEAN. The men in the Vietnamese front line — and the women too, since they shared in the fighting that had occupied most of their disturbed lives — may not have taken much notice of the news, but the Vietnamese leaders certainly did. The pro- Peking faction which had always existed under the surface began to show itself, as personal survival came to depend again on backing the right horse. Now there was clearly only one horse to back, for the time being at least. And the sooner the bet was placed the better.
The Vietnamese Politburo had no doubt been in session all this time but it has recently become clear that the hard-liners who had held power for some years, since the conclusion of the treaty with the Soviet Union in 1978, had slowly been losing it. Ample accounts have come out via Peking of the activities of the pro-Chinese elements in the Vietnamese leadership, subdued for some years but never absent. Now, it seems, their influence began to be exerted, first among the few southerners still in responsible positions, then among the military. The battle was going badly and, of course, all hope of Soviet support was lost. There was a coup, aided, it is thought, by a 'heart attack' or two — a terminal illness when caused by a bullet in the right place. Within days negotiations with China were taking place through intermediaries, almost all of whom were pro-Peking Vietnamese returned from exile.
As is now known, the fighting stopped when the PLA was on the point of breaking through at Lang Son and Quang Ninh, ready for a drive with fresh divisions astride Routes 1 and 18 towards Hanoi and Haiphong. A new government was installed — or installed itself, as is the way in such circumstances — and a formal ceasefire was concluded shortly afterwards. This was not all plain sailing; China not only wished to see the Vietnamese divisions totally disarmed but also to see them hand over their equipment to the PLA at once. Peking made it clear, too, that Vietnamese forces were to withdraw from Kampuchea and Laos. The new administration in Hanoi was more than happy to agree to most of this but wanted it done in an orderly fashion, handing over to responsible elements. The hand-over of weapons posed a problem but this was solved by allowing Vietnamese forces to retain certain of them, to enable the new leaders to secure their position against disgruntled pro-Moscow dissidents. Heavy equipment was centralized under Chinese guard and later moved to China by the PLA, though some weapons in the south of the country undoubtedly fell into the eager hands of groups in Kampuchea. A provisional government was set up in Kampuchea, from factions broadly acceptable both to China and to the ASEAN states, and at ASEAN instigation a conference was called (which did not meet for some months because of disagreement over who the potential leaders of a new regime would be) to nominate a new government that would have international backing.
So ended what was, from the Chinese point of view, a satisfactory interlude. Militarily a little messy, it was politically uncomplicated, neatly achieving the aim of removing Soviet influence from Vietnam. It produced a government there that was, on the face of it, likely to be in harmony with Peking, at least for the time being. Since there had been friction between Vietnam and China for 1,000 years, erupting into conflict from time to time, it was perhaps too much to expect harmony in a few short weeks — or to expect it to last. The ASEAN states were relieved at the changes, since the new men in Hanoi promised to turn to peaceful activities. And as we write in 1987, so it has turned out. There has been stability, even in Kampuchea, helped, fortunately, by some good harvests and generous aid from around the world. Perhaps this will endure and the example of the prosperity of the states in the Pacific basin spread to the whole of South-East Asia. One can but hope so. The signs are fairly good.
When Peking decided to use force in Vietnam, the war in Europe had not reached its climax and the Soviet regime had not fallen. The moment this happened, the Chinese leaders had plenty on their minds besides disciplining Hanoi.
Their simplest problem turned out to be that of Mongolia. Messages had been sent to the leaders in Ulan Bator and others now followed, telling them that they should regard themselves from that point on as being under Chinese protection. Soviet forces should therefore surrender. They had in fact already gone, though under whose orders is still not quite clear. The divisions apparently went in good order, taking all of their arms and equipment with them. This, of course, was not quite what Peking had in mind but they were in no position then to influence the situation. The Mongolian Government sent fraternal messages to China pledging its allegiance, though not at once, for these matters take a little time.
It is not yet clear whether there were leadership reshuffles on any scale in Ulan Bator, though some of the men formerly in charge have not been seen since. At any rate, to strengthen the durability of Mongolia's allegiance, China sent an intimation to its leaders that Mongolian defences would be bolstered, against whatever ills there might be around, by a PLA garrison. More precisely, it was requested that the barracks vacated by the three Soviet divisions should be occupied by three PLA Main Force divisions. 'Would the Mongolian Government be so kind as to make them ready.' This was, of course, done at once, since it would have been impolitic to do otherwise. Some time later, the Mongolian leaders went to Peking and were feted. To nobody's particular surprise they agreed that Mongolia's destiny lay with China, that it was, indeed had always been, a part of China. So was the Autonomous Region of Mongolia formed. Another bit of 'tidying up' had been successfully completed.
But this is to run ahead a little. The dramatic events of late August 1985 did not always lead to such readily acceptable solutions. When the Government in Moscow was toppled, Washington was diplomatically very active around the world. The American ambassadors in the various Asian capitals were kept fully informed all along, of course, and normally provided the local governments with the fastest, sometimes the only, news of what was happening. The US Ambassador in Peking had kept his eye on what was going on in Vietnam, with which he broadly agreed but about which he could have done nothing if he had not, and he had intimated to the Chairman that Washington would quite understand if China had certain ambitions for Mongolia. This was by way of a sweetener, because he also made it clear that the surrender of the Soviet forces in the Far East, which he confidently expected any day, would be handled by the United States. It was, after all, the United States that had been at war. China had no standing in the matter, so to speak, 'but its interests would naturally be carefully safeguarded in whatever arrangements were made'.
Similarly, the US Ambassador in Tokyo carefully let loose the offhand remark that he imagined Japan would have views about the Northern Islands, but if so he would rather not know about them, at least not officially. He conveyed the message that the US troops that had been on their way to Korea would, in all probability, now be diverted to the Vladivostok area, to accept the surrender of Soviet forces there. The timing of this was, however, a little uncertain and he formally asked, under the terms of the Japan-US Security Treaty, for agreement to their staging in Japan if need be.
The hint about the islands fell on receptive ears. The Northern Territories — four islands close to the east coast of Hokkaido, the northernmost of Japan's four main islands — were claimed by Japan as its territory but had been occupied by the Soviet Union after the Second World War. Soviet garrisons were installed there then and substantially built up in the early 1980s. Japan badly wanted them back, but the Soviet Union was totally unyielding; Moscow was not and never had been in the business of returning territories it had acquired. The issue united all Japanese; even the mildest section of the press was fiercely nationalistic about the islands.
The Cabinet in Tokyo had naturally been watching matters closely. Whatever arguments there might be about the Soviet title to the islands (and there were unresolved legal arguments, though not in Japan), Tokyo had no doubt at all that if the Soviet forces vacated them then they would revert to Japan one way or another. Accordingly, Japanese reconnaissance aircraft had been watching the islands closely, and on 22 August, or thereabouts, reported that amphibious landing vessels were leaving them. There were still some guns there and some aircraft, but it seemed as if the Soviet garrison might be moving out.
As we now know, that is indeed what was happening. The unfortunate Soviet commander of the Far Eastern Military District, under whom the garrison came, had been without any coherent orders from Moscow for days. Most of his forces had not been involved in the war so far, the fighting having been essentially confined to the Pacific Fleet and various maritime and other aircraft in support. Marshal P. Y. Pavlovsky was understandably a worried man, not merely because of his unhappy situation but also because he felt that the new men in Moscow would be
