January 1966, Bindin Province, Central Vietnam. A CIA intelligence assessment arrives in Washington that sends shock waves through the defense establishment. Four words capture the dire situation. Just about lost. Binden province with a population of 800,000 people is just about lost to the communists.

 This is not some remote jungle province on the border with Laos. This is a critical coastal province through which Highway 1, the main north south artery of South Vietnam, runs directly through the provincial capital. 800,000 South Vietnamese civilians living under communist control, rice patties feeding enemy forces, villages providing recruits, the entire infrastructure of the province serving the North Vietnamese war effort.

 If you’re interested in more untold stories from the Vietnam War, make sure you subscribe to our channel. The communist forces in Bendin are not guerillas hiding in the jungle. This is the North Vietnamese Army’s third division known as the Sao Vong Division, the Yellow Star Division. A full division with three regiments, the 18th NVA Regiment, the 22nd NVA Regiment, the Second Vietkong Regiment.

Professional military units trained, equipped, experienced. They have been operating in Binden for months. They control the villages. They tax the population. They conscript young men. They have established base areas in the mountains where they train and stockpile supplies. The terrain of Binden is varied and challenging.

 A narrow coastal plane of rice patties and villages runs along the South China Sea. This is densely populated agricultural land. The Bong plane is the center of this coastal area. Fertile, productive, contested. Moving inland from the coast, the terrain becomes mountainous. Ridges and valleys covered with jungle. The Anla Valley cuts through the mountains northwest of Bongon.

 This valley has been under communist control for 15 years, not 15 months, 15 years. It is a communist sanctuary. The South Vietnamese 22nd division is supposed to provide security for Bendin province. But the 22nd Division has been mauled in recent fighting. It holds the provincial capital of Bongan and a few other positions, but it cannot control the countryside.

 It cannot stop North Vietnamese operations. It cannot protect the civilian population. The 22nd Division is on the defensive, battered, demoralized, barely hanging on. General William West Morland, commander of United States Military Assistance Command, Vietnam, decides that Bin Den province must be retaken. This cannot be allowed to stand.

 A major population center under communist control. Highway 1 threatened. The communists establishing conventional military control over a province. This requires a response. A major response. The largest search and destroy operation yet conducted in the Vietnam War. West Morland selects the first cavalry division airmobile for the mission.

 The first calav. Fresh from their bloody victory in the Ayad Drang Valley two months earlier, November 1965. The battles at landing zone X-ray and landing zone Albany. The first calav had fought the North Vietnamese army to a standstill. Heavy casualties on both sides, but the Americans had held and the North Vietnamese had withdrawn.

 The First Cav had proven the concept of airmobile warfare. Helicopters providing mobility, firepower providing destruction, aggressive tactics providing victory. The division is built around helicopters. Hundreds of helicopters. UH1 Hueies for troop transport and gunship support. CH47 Chinooks for heavy lift.

 O13 and O23 scouts for reconnaissance. The division can move entire battalions by air. Land them anywhere. Support them with artillery delivered by helicopter. Resupply them by air. Evacuate casualties by air. This is revolutionary. and West Morland wants to use it to clear Bendin province. The operation will involve not just American forces.

 South Vietnamese units will participate. The ARVN Airborne Brigade, elements of the 22nd Division, South Korean forces, the Republic of Korea Capital Division. This will be a combined Allied effort. America providing the combat power. The South Vietnamese and South Koreans filling supporting roles. The objective is clear. Find the Saang division.

 Fix them in place. Destroy them with overwhelming firepower. The plan is hammer and anvil. Classic military tactics adapted for airmobile operations. American forces will sweep through areas where intelligence indicates enemy concentrations. Landing zones will be secured. Fire bases will be established. Artillery will provide fire support.

 Infantry will search villages and forests. The enemy will be driven toward blocking forces. South Korean and South Vietnamese units will seal escape routes. Navy ships offshore will provide naval gunfire support. Air Force and Marine aircraft will provide closeair support and bombing. Every element of American military power will be brought to bear.

Intelligence estimates the Saang division’s strength at approximately 6,000 men. This is a significant force, not a guerilla band, not a light infantry battalion, a full division with artillery, mortars, anti-aircraft weapons, and extensive fortifications. They are dug in. They have prepared defensive positions throughout the province.

 Bunkers, trenches, spider holes, tunnel systems. They know the terrain. They have the support of at least some of the population. And they are not planning to run away. They will fight. The first cavalry division has approximately 15,000 men, but not all will be committed to the initial operations. The third brigade, commanded by newly promoted Colonel Harold G.

Moore, will lead the assault. Approximately 5,700 men, three infantry battalions, supporting artillery, aviation units, engineers. This brigade will be the hammer, and it will hit hard. But before the operation even begins, before the first helicopter takes off, before the first shot is fired, tragedy strikes.

 A tragedy that will cast a shadow over everything that follows. A tragedy that reminds everyone that war kills even before battle begins. January 25th, 1966, 3 days before the official start of Operation Masher. A C123 provider transport aircraft prepares to take off from Camp Radcliffe near Enishi. The second battalion, Seventh Cavalry, the 27.

 This unit has a history that goes back to the Indian Wars of the 19th century. Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Kuster commanded the Seventh Cavalry at the Battle of the Little Bigghorn in 1876. Kuster’s last stand. The regiment has fought in every American war since. And now in Vietnam, the second battalion of the seventh cavalry is earning a reputation not for glory, for tragedy, for bad luck, for losses that seem disproportionate.

 They are becoming known as the hard luck battalion. Two months earlier in November 1965, the 27 fought at landing zone Albany in the Ayad Drang Valley. A sister battalion, the first battalion, 7th cavalry, had fought at landing zone X-ray the day before and held against overwhelming North Vietnamese attacks. The 27 was moving through the jungle to reinforce when they were ambushed, surrounded, attacked from multiple directions by a North Vietnamese regiment.

 The fighting was brutal, close quarters, handto hand in some places. By the time the battle ended, the 27 had lost over a 100 men killed, over a hundred more wounded, nearly half the battalion casualties. The survivors were sent back to Camp Radcliffe to rebuild. Replacements arrived. The battalion was brought back up to strength, but the men who had been at Albany carried the memories.

 Friends killed, officers dead, the chaos of being surrounded and fighting for survival. They had survived one of the worst battles of the war. And now they were being sent to Bong for another operation. The 27 was still not fully recovered, still undermanned in some areas, still integrating replacements. But they had a mission and they would execute it.

 On the morning of January 25th, 1966, elements of A Company, Second Battalion, 7th Cavalry board C123 provider aircraft at Camp Radcliffe. They are being flown to Bong Son to prepare for Operation Masher scheduled to begin in 3 days. These men are from the third platoon of a company. The entire platoon, 42 soldiers, young men, average age about 20 years old.

 Some are veterans of Albany. Others are replacements who join the battalion after that battle. They climb aboard the C123 with their equipment, weapons, packs, the usual mix of confidence and nervous energy that soldiers feel before operations. The C123 provider is a twin engine transport aircraft, reliable, used extensively in Vietnam for moving troops and supplies.

 The aircraft assigned to this mission is tail number 54 by 0702. Four crew members, Captain Harry Richard Crumbley, the pilot, Captain Edward Clarence Handley, the co-pilot, Staff Sergeant Leonard Williams and Staff Sergeant Richard Dwayne Ya, the load masters. Experienced crew. They have flown many missions in Vietnam.

 This is supposed to be a routine flight. And KXe to Bong Sun. 20 minutes. No combat expected. Just a transport flight. The C123 taxis and takes off from NK. The weather is not ideal. Clouds, some wind, but flyable. The aircraft climbs away from the airfield, heading northeast toward Bong Son. The soldiers in the back are doing what soldiers always do on flights.

 Some sleep, some talk, some check their equipment. Some just stare out the small windows. They are thinking about the operation ahead, about what they might face at Bong Sun, about whether this operation will be like Albany or whether they will get through it without heavy casualties. 10 minutes after takeoff, something goes wrong.

 The right engine begins to malfunction. The exact cause will later be determined to be a concentration of magnesium that ignited causing massive damage to the NL and the carburetor. The engine fails catastrophically, power loss, vibration. The pilots fight to control the aircraft, but a C123 cannot maintain altitude on one engine with a full load of troops.

 The aircraft begins to lose height. The C123 enters clouds. The pilots cannot see. They are flying on instruments trying to maintain control, trying to find a place to land. But the mountains around in Kay are unforgiving. No flat areas, no fields, just jungle covered slopes and peaks. The aircraft descends through the clouds, still losing altitude.

 The pilots are doing everything possible to save the aircraft and the men aboard, but there are no good options. The right wing strikes trees at altitude. The impact is catastrophic. The right engine and 6 m of the right wing are torn off. The aircraft is now completely out of control. Aerodynamics destroyed. It pitches and rolls.

 The pilots have no chance of recovery. The C123 crashes into a wooded area 10 km from Eni. The impact kills everyone instantly. All 46 men aboard. The four crew members, the 42 soldiers of third platoon, a company, second battalion, seventh cavalry. The hard luck battalion has been struck again. The entire third platoon gone.

Not in combat. Not fighting the enemy. Just gone. A mechanical failure. An aircraft crash. 42 men who will never see Bong Sun. Never participate in Operation Masher. Never go home. Third platoon has been wiped out. A company is now under strength, down from four platoon to three, and the operation has not even started.

 The loss devastates the battalion. These were their men, their friends, soldiers they had trained with, fought beside at Albany, or replacements who had just joined the unit and were trying to fit in. Gone. A platoon sergeant named Jim Hackett, a medic with a company, will later say that third platoon was already considered unlucky.

 They had lost men at Albany. And now this, the entire platoon killed. Third platoon would be rebuilt. New men would fill the slots. But the men of the 27 would always remember. Third platoon, lost before the battle even began. Back in the United States, 42 families will receive telegrams. The Secretary of the Army regrets to inform you that your son was killed in a non-hostile aircraft accident in the Republic of Vietnam. Nonhostile.

That makes it somehow worse. Not killed in battle. Not killed fighting the enemy, just killed in an accident. Flying to a battle they never got to fight. The bodies will be recovered, returned home, buried with military honors, flags folded and presented to families. But that does not ease the pain.

 42 young men dead, 42 futures ended, 42 families destroyed, and Operation Masher has not even begun. This is January 25th, 1966. Operation Masher will officially start on January 28th. The Hard Luck Battalion will go into combat again, under strength, under manned, missing an entire platoon. And they will pay an even higher price in the fighting to come. Colonel Harold G. Moore.

 Just weeks earlier, he had been Lieutenant Colonel Moore, commander of the first battalion, 7th Cavalry, the 17. He had led that battalion at landing zone X-ray in the Ayadrang Valley in November 1965. One of the most significant battles of the early Vietnam War, the first time American forces met North Vietnamese regulars in a major engagement.

 And Moore had led his battalion through three days of hell, November 14th through 16th, 1965. Landing zone X-ray. Moore’s battalion was surrounded by a North Vietnamese regiment. Over 2,000 enemy soldiers attacking from multiple directions. The fighting was desperate. Close quarters. North Vietnamese soldiers rushing American positions.

 American soldiers fighting handto hand to hold their perimeter. Artillery fire falling danger close. Napal strikes within a 100 meters of friendly positions. Air strikes so close that American soldiers could feel the heat. It was a near run thing. At one point, the North Vietnamese nearly overran one section of the perimeter.

Only desperate counterattacks saved the position, but more held. His leadership during that battle was exceptional. He stayed calm under pressure. He coordinated supporting fires. He moved units to threatened areas. He inspired his men to keep fighting when everything seemed lost.

 And when relief arrived on the third day, his battalion had survived. Casualties were heavy. 79 men killed, over a hundred wounded. But the battalion had not broken. They had held their ground, and the North Vietnamese had withdrawn, leaving behind hundreds of dead. Moore’s actions at landing zone X-ray earned him the Distinguished Service Cross, second only to the Medal of Honor.

 His story would later be told in the book and movie We Were Soldiers Once and Young. The book, co-authored with journalist Joseph Galloway, who had been at the battle, would become one of the most widely read accounts of combat in Vietnam. The movie starring Mel Gibson as Moore would bring the story to millions.

 But all that was years in the future. In January 1966, Moore was simply a newly promoted colonel taking command of the third brigade of the First Cavalry Division. The promotion came fast. Battlefield performance recognized. Moore was given command of the brigade that would lead Operation Masher. Three infantry battalions. The first battalion, Seventh Cavalry, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Raymond Camp.

 The second battalion, 7th Cavalry, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Robert McDade. McDade had commanded at landing zone Albany the disastrous ambush that cost the 27 so dearly. and the second battalion, 12th Cavalry, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Rutland Beard. These three battalions plus supporting units would be Moore’s hammer.

 Moore knew what his men were capable of. He had seen them in the worst conditions possible, surrounded, outnumbered, fighting for their lives, and they had prevailed. But he also knew the cost of combat in Vietnam. He had signed the letters to families of men killed at X-ray. He had visited wounded in hospitals. He knew that every operation meant casualties, meant men killed and wounded, meant families receiving terrible news.

 This knowledge weighed on him, but it also drove him to ensure that his men had the best possible chance of success. The plan for Operation Masher reflected Moore’s experience. Establish fire support bases in the mountains overlooking the target area. Ensure artillery coverage of the entire area of operations.

 Use aerial reconnaissance to locate enemy forces before committing ground troops. Land with overwhelming force at multiple locations simultaneously to prevent the enemy from concentrating against any single landing zone. Maintain aggressive offensive operations to keep the enemy off balance and never allow American forces to be isolated or surrounded.

 These were lessons from Drang applied to Bong Son. Moore established his brigade forward headquarters near Bong Sun, close enough to control operations, but far enough back to provide perspective. He would fly in helicopters over the battlefield, observing, making decisions, adjusting plans as the situation developed.

 His presence would be felt throughout the operation. Battalion commanders knew that Colonel Moore was watching, that he expected aggressive action, that he would support them with everything available, but he also expected them to protect their men, to not take unnecessary risks, to accomplish the mission with minimum casualties.

 The men of the Third Brigade respected Moore. Word had spread about X-ray, about how he had led the 17 through that desperate battle, about how he had stayed with his men, about how he had gotten them through it. Soldiers notice these things. They know the difference between commanders who lead and commanders who manage.

 Moore was a leader and the men would follow him into hell if necessary, which at Bong Sun it very nearly would be. But first, the operation had to begin. And on January 25th, before the official start, tragedy had already struck with the C123 crash. 42 men of the 27 dead. Moore felt the weight of those losses. He had not yet assumed command when the crash occurred.

 But these were his men, his brigade, his responsibility. And he would carry the memory of those 42 soldiers throughout the operation and for the rest of his life. January 28th, 1966. A 630 hours. Operation Masher officially begins. Or as President Johnson will soon insist it be called, Operation Whitewing.

 But to the soldiers of the Third Brigade, First Cavalry Division, the name does not matter. They are going into combat. They are landing in the Bong Sun area to find and destroy the North Vietnamese Army’s Sao Vang Division. And they know from experience that this will not be easy. The weather is terrible. Low clouds, wind, heavy rain, the kind of weather that makes helicopter operations dangerous.

 Pilots cannot see clearly. Aircraft handling is more difficult in wind and rain, but the operation is ordered to proceed. Dozens of UH1 Huey helicopters lift off from various bases. Each helicopter carrying a squad of soldiers flying in formation through the weather, heading toward multiple landing zones in the target area.

 The plan is to insert forces at several locations simultaneously. Landing zone dog, north of Bong Sun. Landing zone Papa, further north. Landing zone 2 and landing zone 4 near the villages and firebase brass and firebase steel in the mountains to the west where artillery will be positioned to provide fire support. The insertions are staggered.

 Some units landing first to secure fire bases, others landing in the villages to begin search operations. The complexity of coordinating all these movements in bad weather is enormous. At landing zone Papa, things go wrong almost immediately. A CH47 Chinook helicopter. A large twin rotor aircraft used for transporting troops and equipment is hit by enemy fire.

 The Chinook crashes at the landing zone. The First Battalion, Seventh Cavalry responds immediately. A company is sent to secure the crash site and protect the crew. But when that company arrives, it comes under heavy fire. North Vietnamese forces are in the area in strength. The company is pinned down. Now the battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Campe, has to commit more forces to extract the company and secure the crash site. This is not part of the plan.

 The 17 is supposed to be attacking eastward from the mountains. Instead, they are reacting to an unexpected situation, fighting defensively rather than offensively. By the time they secure landing zone Papa and recover the down Chinuk, the day is mostly gone, and they have taken casualties without accomplishing their primary mission.

This is how operations in Vietnam often went. Plans that looked good on paper falling apart on contact with the enemy. To the southwest, the second battalion, 7th cavalry, is beginning its mission. Lieutenant Colonel McDade is commanding. The same officer who commanded at landing zone Albany, who saw his battalion nearly destroyed in that ambush.

 McDade is determined that Bong’s son will not be another Albany. His battalion is under strength. A company lost the entire third platoon in the C1 to23 crash 3 days earlier, but the mission must be accomplished. McDade’s battalion lands at landing zone dog and landing zone 2. The landing zones are supposed to be secured by preparatory fires.

 Artillery and air strikes hitting suspected enemy positions before the helicopters arrive, but the weather has prevented some of this preparation. And some landing zones are so close to villages that artillery cannot be used without risking civilian casualties. So the helicopters land and the soldiers jump out, not knowing if they will immediately come under fire.

 At landing zone 2, a company lands without incident. They begin moving north through rice patties toward the villages. This is difficult terrain for infantry. The rice patties are flooded. The water is kneedeep in places. The patties are separated by dikes. small raised earthn barriers that provide some cover, but also channel movement.

 The soldiers move slowly, weapons ready, eyes scanning for any sign of the enemy. They do not have to wait long. As a company approaches a cemetery near the village of Kingi, the North Vietnamese open fire, heavy fire, automatic weapons, mortars, recoilless rifles. The volume of fire is overwhelming. Americans drop.

 Some are killed instantly. Others are wounded and fall into the rice patties, struggling to stay above water. The company is caught in the open. No cover except the low dikes and the enemy fire is coming from multiple directions. This is the beginning of what will become known as landing zone 4 or the battle of Kungi. One of the bloodiest engagements of Operation Masher and one that will cost the hard luck battalion dearly once again.

 The soldiers of a company are fighting for their lives. And it is only the first day of the operation. The cemetery at Chuni. Vietnamese cemeteries are different from American ones. The dead are buried in a sitting position. Burial mounds rise above the ground 3 ft high in some cases. These mounds provide cover and the North Vietnamese 22nd Regiment has used this cemetery as part of their defensive system.

 Bunkers hidden among the burial mounds. Trenches connecting fighting positions. Spider holes where individual soldiers can hide and fire. Machine guns positioned to create interlocking fields of fire. This cemetery is a fortress. Company A, Second Battalion, Seventh Cavalry is caught in the kill zone. Two platoon, only two platoon because the third platoon is gone.

 Killed in the C123 crash. 42 men who should be here fighting are dead. The remaining men are pinned down in the rice patties and around the edges of the cemetery. Enemy fire is intense. Soldiers cannot move forward, cannot retreat. All they can do is return fire and call for help. Lieutenant Colonel McDade responds immediately. He commits more forces.

 B Company is ordered to land at landing zone 4 to reinforce A company. But as the helicopters approach, they come under heavy anti-aircraft fire. The North Vietnamese have position machine guns and recoilless rifles to engage the helicopters. Six helicopters are hit as they attempt to land. One crashes. Others are so badly damaged they cannot land all their troops.

 Only part of one platoon from B company makes it to the landing zone. The rest of the company has to abort and return to base. This is a disaster developing. A company is pinned down. B Company cannot get in. The wounded cannot be evacuated. And the North Vietnamese are attempting to overrun the American positions.

 Soldiers are fighting at close range, throwing grenades, firing rifles from behind burial mounds and rice patty dikes. The fighting is desperate. Private first class Jim Hackett, a medic with a company, is treating wounded under fire, running from casualty to casualty, doing what he can with the limited medical supplies he carries.

 He sees men he knows killed and wounded around him. The casualties are mounting rapidly. Sergeant Bill Burr, a squad leader, performs heroically during the battle. Multiple times he goes out into the open under fire to find soldiers from Charlie Company who are lost or separated. He brings them back to the perimeter. He organizes defensive positions.

 He keeps his men fighting even when everything seems hopeless. For his actions at Kueni, Burka will be awarded the Bronze Star with Va’s device for valor. But awards do not bring back the dead and the dead are piling up at landing zone 4. As darkness approaches, the situation is critical. Rain is falling. The rice patties are turning to mud.

 Visibility is poor. The North Vietnamese are attempting to infiltrate the American perimeter. Throughout the night, soldiers hear movement in the darkness. Enemy soldiers trying to get close enough to throw grenades or assault positions. American soldiers fire at sounds, at shadows, at anything that moves.

 Two Vietkong soldiers are captured trying to breach the perimeter, interrogated quickly. They provide information about enemy strength and positions, but that information is not encouraging. The Americans are surrounded by at least a battalion of North Vietnamese, perhaps more. Lieutenant Colonel McDade calls for fire support.

 Artillery from Firebase Brass pounds the area around the cemetery. Air Force F100 Super Saber fighters are called in at first light. They roll in with napalm. The jellied gasoline spreads across the enemy positions and ignites. 2,000° fires, consuming everything. The heat is so intense that American soldiers a 100 meters away can feel it.

 The napalm creates walls of flame that burn through bunkers and trenches. The screams of men burning to death can be heard even over the roar of the flames. More air strikes follow. 500 lb bombs crater the cemetery, tear up the fortifications, destroy bunkers. The earth shakes with each impact. But still the North Vietnamese keep fighting.

Those who survive the napalm and bombs continue firing. This is their defensive position. They have prepared it for months and they will not abandon it easily. On the second day, January 29th, American forces finally begin to make progress. Elements from the first battalion, 7th cavalry link up with the 27.

 More air strikes pound the enemy positions. Attack helicopters strafe suspected enemy locations with rockets and machine guns. Slowly, the North Vietnamese resistance weakens. Some withdraw. Others are killed at their posts. By the end of the second day, American forces have secured the cemetery and the surrounding area. The cost is staggering.

 During the 3-day battle of Kungi, 77 cavalry men are killed, 220 wounded. Most of these casualties are from the second battalion, Seventh Cavalry. The Hard Luck Battalion has been mauled again. Company A, which bore the brunt of the initial assault, has been devastated. Add the 42 men lost in the C123 crash, and 10 helicopter pilots killed in the fighting, and the total comes to over 140 Americans dead.

 Landing zone 4 earns its reputation as the graveyard. But the Americans claim victory because they hold the battlefield. because they count 566 North Vietnamese and Vietkong confirmed killed in the first phase of Operation Masher. Because by the body count metric, this is success. For every American killed, over four enemy soldiers were killed, the casualty exchange ratio favors the Americans.

General West Morland’s strategy of attrition seems to be working. Find the enemy, fix them in place, destroy them with firepower, claim victory based on body count. But for the men who fought at landing zone 4, this does not feel like victory. They buried their friends. 77 men killed in three days.

 The Hard Luck Battalion living up to its name once again. And they know the operation is not over. There will be more fighting, more casualties, more friends lost. This is just the beginning of Operation Masher. And the graveyard at Kungi will not be the last place where American soldiers die. Major Bruce Kandle, a company 229th Assault Helicopter Battalion.

 Call sign ancient Serpent 6, a helicopter pilot with the First Cavalry Division, 33 years old from Olympia, Washington, a career army aviator, and a man who has already earned a distinguished service cross for his actions at landing zone X-ray in the IA Drang Valley 2 months earlier. But what Crannle does during Operation Masher will earn him legendary status among the soldiers of the First Cavalry.

November 14th, 1965. Landing zone X-ray.Randle had led 16 helicopters carrying troops into the initial assault. On the fifth troop lift, the landing zone came under intense enemy fire. As Crannle’s helicopter landed, three soldiers were killed and three wounded before they could even get off the aircraft.

 The ground commander ordered the remaining helicopters to abort. Too dangerous. Too much fire. No more landings. Butrandle knew that the soldiers on the ground desperately needed ammunition and reinforcements. So he disobeyed the order. He kept flying in. 22 missions that day, most under intense fire, evacuating wounded, bringing in ammunition, supplies, reinforcements.

His helicopter was unarmed just to transport Huie. But he kept going back again and again, saving lives, keeping the battalion supplied. His actions at X-ray directly contributed to the American victory there. Now at Bong Sun,Randle is doing it again, but this time it is even more dangerous. This time it is at night.

 This time it involves landing in a tiny landing zone in the middle of a village under enemy fire. And this time he only has a spotlight to guide him through the dense jungle canopy. January 31st, 1966.Randle has just finished a full day of missions supporting the First Battalion, 12th cavalry. He is exhausted, ready to refuel and shut down for the night.

 But as he lands at base, he receives word that company C, First Battalion, 7th Cavalry is in heavy contact. They have 12 wounded soldiers who need immediate evacuation. But no medevac helicopters are available. Or rather, no medevac pilots are willing to fly into the landing zone because it is still hot, still under fire.

 Medevac policy at the time requires landing zones to be cold for 5 minutes before medevac helicopters will land. This policy is designed to protect the medevac crews, but it means wounded soldiers sometimes die waiting. The company on the ground is commanded by Captain Tony Nadal. Nadal had been at landing zone X-ray. He knows Crannle.

They are friends, fellow veterans of that desperate battle. And now Nadal’s men are trapped, surrounded by North Vietnamese forces, taking casualties, unable to get their wounded out. Nadal radios for help. Anrrandle hears the call.Randle does not hesitate. He volunteers. He tells his crew they are going in.

 His crew chief and door gunner do not question. They trust Ancient Serpent 6. If he says they are going, they are going.Randle takes off and flies toward the coordinates Nadal provided. It is dark, full dark. No moon, no ambient light, just the blackness of the Vietnamese jungle at night. The landing zone is a small clearing in the middle of a village, surrounded by trees, barely large enough for one helicopter, and it is under sporadic enemy fire.

 As Crannle approaches, he can see tracer rounds in the darkness. Red lines of fire. The North Vietnamese are shooting at anything that moves. Crannle uses his landing light to find the clearing. A single spotlight beam probing the darkness. Trees on all sides. He brings the Huey in slowly, carefully. One wrong move and the rotor blades will hit a tree and the helicopter will crash.

 He lands. The helicopter touches down in the small clearing. Immediately, soldiers rush out carrying wounded men, loading them onto the helicopter. Crannle can hear small arms fire, bullets hitting nearby, but he keeps the helicopter on the ground until all 12 wounded are loaded. Then he lifts off carefully, slowly, threading between the trees, climbing into the darkness.

 He flies the wounded to the aid station, saves their lives, then he goes back. He makes two trips that night. Two trips into the tiny hot landing zone in total darkness, rescuing 12 wounded American soldiers. His actions are beyond the call of duty. He was not required to go. He volunteered.

 He risked his life and the lives of his crew to save men he did not even know. Men from another battalion. Men who would die without help. andrandle provided that help for his actions during operation masher.randle is awarded the aviation and space writers helicopter heroism award for 1966. This award is given annually for the most outstanding act of heroism involving a helicopter military or civilian worldwide andrandle’s rescue at Bong Sun is selected from an international field of nominees.

 At the 20th anniversary of this award,Randle’s rescue will be ranked as the most outstanding in the 20 years the award has been given. Major Bruce Kandle exemplifies the helicopter pilots who flew in Vietnam. Men who risked their lives daily to support ground troops, who flew into landing zones under fire, who evacuated wounded when no one else would, who brought in ammunition and supplies when the need was critical.

 The helicopter pilots of the First Cavalry Division were the lifeline for infantry in the field. And without pilots likeRandle, the casualties at operations like Bong Sun would have been far higher. Years later, in 2007,Randle’s Distinguished Service Cross from landing zone X-ray will be upgraded to the Medal of Honor. President George W.

 Bush will present the medal in a ceremony at the White House. Over 40 years after the actions for which he is honored,Randle will finally receive the nation’s highest award for valor. But for the soldiers he rescued at Bongon in X-ray, he was always a hero. The pilot who would not quit. The man who came when no one else would.

 Ancient Serpent 6, Major Charles Beckwith. Project Delta. United States Army Special Forces. A legend in the special operations community. Tough, aggressive, a warrior in the truest sense. In 1977, Beckwith will found Delta Force, the Army’s premier counterterrorism unit. But in January 1966, he is commanding Project Delta in Vietnam, and he is about to have one of the worst days of his career.

 Project Delta is a special operations unit, long range reconnaissance patrols, American Green Berets working with South Vietnamese partners. Their mission is to infiltrate behind enemy lines, gather intelligence, locate enemy forces, call in air strikes, stay hidden, avoid contact if possible. Fight only when necessary.

 These are small teams, six to eight men, lightly armed. Depending on stealth and surprise for survival. When Project Delta teams are discovered by the enemy, they are in serious trouble because they are outnumbered, outgunned, and far from help. On January 28th, the same day Operation Masher officially begins, three Project Delta teams are inserted into the Anlaw Valley, the Anla Valley northwest of Bong Son, 10 to 15 m inland, mountains covered with jungle, river valleys with dense vegetation.

This valley has been under communist control for 15 years. Not 15 months. 15 years. The North Vietnamese know every trail, every hiding place, every piece of ground. They have base areas here. Supply caches, training camps. The Onlaw Valley is a communist sanctuary. The mission is reconnaissance.

 Find out what enemy forces are in the valley, where they are located, what their strength is. The three Project Delta teams, 17 American and South Vietnamese soldiers total, are inserted by helicopter. They land in small clearings, move quickly into the jungle, begin their reconnaissance, but within hours, all three teams are in contact with enemy forces, heavy contact.

 The North Vietnamese have excellent intelligence networks. They know helicopters have landed. They know special operations teams are operating in their area, and they respond aggressively. large forces, company and battalionized units moving to find and destroy the project Delta teams.

 The teams try to evade, to hide, to break contact, but the enemy is too numerous, too aggressive, and the terrain favors the defenders. By the end of January 28th, all three teams are in desperate trouble. One team is surrounded, another is pinned down. The third is fighting a running battle, trying to reach an extraction point. Major Beckwith monitors the radio traffic from his command post.

 He hears the desperation in the voices of his team leaders. He knows they are about to be overrun. He makes a decision. He will personally fly into the Anlaw Valley to extract his teams. He will lead the rescue mission himself. Beckwith boards a helicopter and flies into the valley. The terrain is mountainous, covered with triple canopy jungle.

 Landing zones are almost non-existent. The helicopter has to hover above the jungle while men climb rope ladders or are pulled up by hoist. All of this under fire. North Vietnamese soldiers shooting at the helicopter from the ground trying to shoot down the helicopter or kill the men being extracted. Beckwith is on the ground, coordinating the extraction, directing his teams to the pickup point, fighting off North Vietnamese troops who are trying to get close.

 A burst of automatic weapons fire hits him. multiple rounds. He goes down, seriously wounded. But he continues directing the extraction, getting his men out, making sure no one is left behind. Only when all his teams are extracted does he allow himself to be evacuated. The cost of the operation is severe. Seven Project Delta soldiers are killed.

 Three are wounded. Beckwith himself is critically injured. He will spend months recovering and even then he will carry the wounds for the rest of his life. The mission into the Onlaw Valley is later criticized. Going into an area controlled by the enemy for 15 years without adequate support, without South Vietnamese counterparts who know the area in weather that prevents effective air support.

 It was high risk and it went badly. But Beckwith’s courage is undeniable. He led from the front. He risked his life to save his men. He got them out and he paid the price in his own blood. This is special operations, high risk, high reward, and sometimes very high cost. The Anlaw Valley has claimed its first American casualties of Operation Masher.

 But it will not be the last time blood is shed in that cursed valley. The First Cavalry Division cannot respond to support Project Delta during the extraction. They are too engaged at landing zone 4. The entire brigade is committed to the fight at Qingi. There are no reserves available, no helicopters to spare, no artillery that can reach the Anla Valley from current positions.

 Project Delta is on its own. And they pay the price for operating in an area where the enemy is strong and American support is thin. The Anla Valley, February 6th, 1966. The second phase of Operation Masher. The first phase, the fighting at landing zone 4 on the Bongan plane has ended. The Americans have secured the area, claimed hundreds of enemy killed, but the operation is not over.

 Intelligence indicates that North Vietnamese forces have withdrawn into the Anla Valley, the same valley where Project Delta took such heavy losses. Now, the First Cavalry Division is going in after them. The plan is a classic hammer and anvil. Three battalions of the First Cavalry will air assault into the valley, landing at multiple locations, sweeping through the valley from west to east.

 US Marines will block the northern entrance to the valley. South Vietnamese forces will block the southern entrance. Navy ships offshore will provide naval gunfire support. The North Vietnamese will be trapped, destroyed. This is the theory. But the weather has been delaying the operation. Bad weather, low clouds, rain.

 The helicopters cannot fly in these conditions. Or rather, they can fly, but it is dangerous. And landing in mountain jungle in bad weather risks crashes. So, the operation is delayed from February 4th to February 6th, giving the North Vietnamese two extra days to prepare or withdraw. 2 days that will make a difference.

 When the weather finally clears enough to launch the operation, the air assault begins. Dozens of Hueies flying into the mountains, landing in small clearings, on ridgeel lines. Wherever there is space for a helicopter to set down, but the jungle is so thick that in many places helicopters cannot land. The bombardment before the assault has not cleared the canopy.

 The bombs and artillery have done little damage to the thick vegetation. So helicopters hover above the jungle and soldiers climb down rope ladders or are lowered by hoist. Scrambling into the jungle while the helicopter hovers overhead. This is dangerous, slow, difficult. And when the soldiers reach the ground and begin searching, they find almost nothing.

 The North Vietnamese have withdrawn. They saw the buildup. They heard the bombardment and they moved deeper into the mountains or withdrew through gaps in the blocking forces. The first cavalry sweeps the Onlaw Valley for days. They find large caches of rice, enough to feed a regiment for months. They find defensive fortifications, bunkers, trenches, fighting positions, all empty.

 They find tunnels, some of which they explore, others they blow up. But they find very few enemy soldiers. The body count for the Anla Valley phase of the operation is minuscule. 11 North Vietnamese confirmed killed. 49 Americans wounded, mostly from booby traps and snipers. The North Vietnamese are not standing and fighting.

 They are avoiding contact, preserving their forces, waiting for the Americans to leave. This is frustrating for American commanders. So much effort, so much firepower, so many resources, and the enemy simply melts away. But the Americans do accomplish something. They destroy the rice caches, burn thousands of pounds of rice.

 The North Vietnamese will have to find food elsewhere. They destroy the fortifications, blow up bunkers, collapse tunnels. The North Vietnamese will have to rebuild. They deny the enemy use of the Anla Valley, at least temporarily. But everyone knows the North Vietnamese will return. As soon as American forces leave, the North Vietnamese will come back, rebuild, resupply, and the cycle will continue.

The Marines blocking the northern entrance to the valley have similar experiences. Operation Double Eagle, a complimentary operation to Masher. The Marines conduct an amphibious landing on January 28th, the largest amphibious operation since the Korean War. Thousands of Marines landing on the coast and pushing inland.

 But they find few enemy soldiers. The North Vietnamese had intelligence about the operation. They withdrew before the Marines landed. The Marines sweep through their area of operations. They claim 312 enemy killed, capture 19 prisoners, but they lose 24 Marines killed, and they do not trap any major North Vietnamese units.

 Marine Corps Commandant General Victor Kruak will later say that Operation Double Eagle failed. Failed because the North Vietnamese were forewarned and escaped. failed because it demonstrated to the Vietnamese people that American forces would come in, sweep the area, and then leave.

 And when they left, the Vietkong would return and resume control. This is the fundamental problem. Search and destroy operations can clear areas temporarily. But without permanent presence, without effective South Vietnamese forces to hold what has been cleared, the enemy returns and all the effort accomplishes nothing lasting. By midFebruary, American forces are pulling out of the Anla Valley, moving to other areas of Bendin Province, continuing search and destroy operations.

 The Anla Valley returns to North Vietnamese control. The rice caches will be replaced. The fortifications will be rebuilt, and in a few months, American forces will have to come back and do it all again. This is the pattern that will define the American experience in Vietnam. Tactical success, strategic failure, winning battles, losing the war. Operation Masher.

 The name says exactly what the operation is intended to do. Masher, to crush, to destroy, to overwhelm with force. It is a blunt name for a blunt mission. Find the enemy, fix them in place, masher them with firepower. General West Morland approved the name. The military liked it. direct, aggressive, no ambiguity about what the operation is trying to accomplish.

Operation Masher. But the name reaches President Lyndon Johnson’s desk in Washington. Anne Johnson reacts with anger. Masher. Too crude. Too brutal. Too aggressive. This is not the image Johnson wants to project. America is not in Vietnam to masher people. America is there to help the South Vietnamese defend themselves against communist aggression.

 America is there to win hearts and minds, to build schools and hospitals, to support democracy. Operation Masher does not convey any of that. Operation Masher sounds like America is there to crush people and Johnson will not accept it. Johnson orders the name changed. General West Morland receives the order and complies. The operation will be renamed.

 Operation Whitewing. A more benign name, a peaceful bird. White, pure, wing, flight, freedom. Operation Whitewing sounds much better, much more acceptable to American and international audiences. Never mind that the mission is exactly the same. Find the enemy and destroy them with overwhelming firepower. Kill as many as possible.

 Drive them from their positions, but call it Operation Whitewing because that sounds better. The South Vietnamese have their own name for the operation, Fang Fong 2. This is the official South Vietnamese designation because this is supposed to be a combined operation. American forces, South Vietnamese forces, South Korean forces, all working together.

 But everyone knows the Americans are doing the heavy fighting. The Americans have the helicopters, the artillery, the air support, the logistics. The South Vietnamese and South Koreans are playing supporting roles. But officially this is a combined operation. So it has a South Vietnamese name, Thang Fong 2.

 The soldiers on the ground continue calling it Operation Masher. They do not care about Washington politics. They do not care about image and perception. They care about the mission. They care about their buddies. They care about surviving. Call it Masher. Call it Whitewing. Call it whatever you want. They are fighting North Vietnamese soldiers in Bindin province.

 The name does not change that. The mission does not change. Only the paperwork changes. Official reports will say Operation Whitewing, but the soldiers will remember it as Operation Masher. This incident reveals the disconnect between Washington and the battlefield, between political concerns and military reality. Johnson is worried about how the operation sounds, whether the name will alienate international opinion, whether it will provide ammunition to anti-war critics.

 These are valid political concerns. But the soldiers fighting in Binden province are worried about staying alive, about accomplishing their missions, about getting their wounded evacuated. The name of the operation is irrelevant to them. This pattern will repeat throughout the war. political leaders in Washington managing perception.

 Military leaders in Vietnam fighting battles and the two concerns not aligning. Johnson wants the war prosecuted in a way that is politically acceptable. West Morland wants the war prosecuted in a way that achieves military objectives. Sometimes these goals align. Often they do not. And the result is a war fought with one hand tied behind America’s back.

 political restrictions on military operations, concern about international opinion limiting tactical options, and soldiers paying the price for these limitations. 15 years earlier, during the Korean War, General Matthew Rididgeway had faced similar pressure. He named an operation Operation Killer. Washington officials complained, “Too harsh, too aggressive.

” Rididgeway refused to change the name. He argued that the purpose of military operations is to kill enemy soldiers. That sanitizing the language does not change the reality of war. That soldiers understand what they are doing and do not need euphemisms. Ridgeway kept the name operation killer and the operation proceeded.

 But Johnson is not Rididgeway. And West Morland is not in a position to refuse a direct order from the president. So the name changes. Operation Masher becomes Operation White Wing. The paperwork is corrected. Press releases are updated. Official histories will record Operation Whitewing. But the soldiers who fought there will always remember it differently.

 They will remember Operation Masher because that is what it was. An operation to masher the enemy, to find them and destroy them. No matter what the politicians in Washington wanted to call it. March 1st, 1966. The final phase of operation masher or white wing six weeks of sustained combat.

 The first cavalry division has been fighting continuously since late January. They have swept the Bong Sun plane, fought at landing zone 4, cleared the Anla Valley, conducted dozens of smaller operations. They have taken hundreds of casualties. They have claimed thousands of enemy killed. But the operation is not over. Intelligence indicates one more concentration of North Vietnamese forces, the TA Gap mountains, 5 miles east of Bong Son, and Colonel Moore is ordered to clear them.

The plan is massive firepower followed by a multi-battalion assault. A South Vietnamese division will surround the mountains, blocking positions to prevent escape. The South Vietnamese Navy will position small vessels offshore to prevent enemy forces from escaping by sea. Then the bombardment will begin. Artillery from multiple fire bases, naval gunfire from ships offshore, air force bombers, marine and navy fighters.

Everything will be brought to bear on the Kaayap mountains. Then three battalions of the first cavalry will air assault into the mountains and sweep them clean. The bombardment is intense. Hundreds of artillery shells slam into the mountains. Naval guns fire from offshore. Fighter bombers drop bombs at Napalm.

 B-52 bombers flying from Guam drop hundreds of tons of high explosive on suspected enemy positions. The mountains are pounded, trees are shattered, the earth is cratered, fires burn across the slopes. This is the full weight of American firepower. Nothing can survive this. Or so the planners believe. When the bombardment lifts, the helicopters come. Wave after wave.

 Three battalions inserting into the mountains, landing in clearings, on ridgeel lines, wherever space can be found. The soldiers spread out into defensive positions, expecting contact, ready to fight. But the mountains are eerily quiet. Too quiet. Something is wrong. The sweep begins. Companies moving through the mountains, searching bunkers, checking caves, looking for the North Vietnamese battalion that intelligence said was here.

 They find evidence of recent occupation, fighting positions, supply caches, trails, but they do not find many North Vietnamese soldiers. Most have already left. They saw the buildup. They heard the bombardment and they withdrew before the assault began. The South Vietnamese kill about 50 North Vietnamese soldiers. Americans kill a few more, but hundreds of enemy soldiers have escaped, slipped through the South Vietnamese blocking positions, moved deeper into the mountains, infiltrated through gaps in the cordon. The massive firepower did

not trap them. The coordinated assault did not destroy them. They saw it coming and got away. This is profoundly frustrating for American commanders. Six weeks of operations, massive expenditures of ammunition and resources, thousands of helicopter sordies, hundreds of air strikes, tens of thousands of artillery rounds, and the enemy keeps escaping.

 They can be hit, they can be hurt, but they cannot be destroyed because they will not stand and fight when the odds are against them. They withdraw, regroup, come back later, and the cycle continues. On March 6th, 1966, Operation Masher officially ends, or Operation Whitewing, 6 weeks in one day. 42 days of sustained combat.

The First Cavalry Division withdraws from Bendin Province, returns to Camp Radcliffe at An. The men are exhausted. They have been in the field continuously, fighting, patrolling, taking casualties, losing friends. They need rest, refit, replacements for their losses, time to recover before the next operation.

 The official results of the operation are impressive by the metrics used. Over 3,000 North Vietnamese and Vietkong confirmed killed. Nine prisoners captured. 2358 suspects detained for questioning. 109 crew served weapons captured. Large quantities of rice destroyed. 27,000 civilians evacuated from combat areas. By these numbers, Operation Masher is a success.

 The Saoong Division has been badly hurt. Base areas have been destroyed. The North Vietnamese have been driven from the Bongan area, but anyone who looks closely can see the cracks in this success. American casualties are also high. 199 killed in action on the battlefield. Add the 46 killed in the C123 crash and the total is 245 American dead. Hundreds more wounded.

 Some will return to duty. Others will be evacuated home. The First Cavalry Division has paid a heavy price. Not as heavy as the North Vietnamese price, but heavy nonetheless. And within weeks, intelligence reports will reveal that the success is temporary. The North Vietnamese are already returning to Bendin Province.

 Small groups at first, then larger units. The Sao Vang Division is rebuilding. Replacements are arriving from North Vietnam. Supplies are being cached. Base areas are being reestablished. By late April, just 6 weeks after Operation Masher ended, the Sao Vang Division is back in force and the cycle will begin again. April 1966, less than 2 months after Operation Masher ends.

 Intelligence reports begin arriving at First Cavalry Division headquarters. North Vietnamese soldiers are returning to the Bong Sun area. Not fleeing, not hiding, returning. Small groups initially infiltrating back to areas that were cleared during the operation. Then larger groups, squads, platoon, companies, moving openly through areas that American forces had swept just weeks earlier.

 By late April, the Saang Division is back in strength. The same units that were driven out during Operation Masher, the 18th NVA Regiment, the 22nd NVA Regiment, the Second VC Regiment. They have received replacements for their casualties. New soldiers arriving from North Vietnam via the Hochi Min trail. They have been resupplied.

 Ammunition, weapons, medical supplies, food, everything they lost during Operation Masher has been replaced. They have reoccupied their base areas. The Anlaw Valley is again under North Vietnamese control. The mountains around Bong Sun are again being used as staging areas. It is as if Operation Masher never happened. 6 weeks of fighting. 245 Americans killed.

 Over 3,000 North Vietnamese claimed killed. Massive expenditures of ammunition and resources. And 2 months later, the situation is essentially unchanged. The North Vietnamese are back. The Sao Vang Division is operational. Bind Din Province is still contested. The CIA assessment that led to Operation Masher that Bin Den was just about lost is still accurate.

 Nothing has fundamentally changed. This is the strategic failure of search and destroy operations. Tactical victories that do not translate into strategic success. The First Cavalry can clear any area they choose. They can find the enemy. They can destroy enemy units in battle. They can inflict heavy casualties. But they cannot permanently occupy the areas they clear.

 They have other missions, other areas of operations. They cannot stay in Bind forever. And when they leave, the enemy returns. The South Vietnamese 22nd Division is supposed to maintain control after American forces depart. But the 22nd Division is not capable of doing so. They are not strong enough, not aggressive enough, not effective enough.

 They hold the provincial capital and a few other positions, but they cannot control the countryside. They cannot stop North Vietnamese infiltration. They cannot prevent the Saang division from rebuilding. The gap between American combat capability and South Vietnamese combat capability is enormous. This gap is the fundamental flaw in American strategy in Vietnam.

 The strategy depends on South Vietnamese forces eventually being able to take over the fight. This is called Vietnamization, though that term will not be widely used until later in the war. The idea is that American forces will fight the main battles, weaken the enemy, train South Vietnamese forces, and eventually the South Vietnamese will be able to defend themselves.

 Then American forces can go home. But Vietnamization is not working. The South Vietnamese forces are not improving fast enough. Or perhaps more accurately, they are not willing to fight with the same intensity as North Vietnamese forces. This is not entirely their fault. The South Vietnamese government is corrupt. Officers buy their positions.

 Soldiers are poorly paid. Morale is low. Many South Vietnamese soldiers do not believe in the cause they are fighting for. They do not see the Saigon government as worth dying for. So, they do the minimum. They hold defensive positions. They avoid contact when possible. They let the Americans do the heavy fighting. The North Vietnamese, by contrast, are highly motivated.

 They are fighting for national unification, for independence from foreign control, for a cause they believe in. They are willing to accept heavy casualties, willing to endure hardships, willing to keep fighting no matter how many battles they lose because they know that eventually the Americans will leave. America is fighting a limited war on the other side of the world.

 North Vietnam is fighting an unlimited war in their own country. The North Vietnamese can afford to lose battles. They cannot afford to stop fighting. And that makes all the difference. In May 1966, just 2 months after Operation Masher ended, the first cavalry launches Operation Crazy Horse. Another search and destroy operation in the Binden province in some of the same areas covered by Operation Masher.

Fighting some of the same North Vietnamese units, achieving similar results. Enemy killed, areas cleared, and then inevitably the enemy returning after American forces move on. The cycle continues. Then in October 1966, Operation Thire begins. Yet another attempt to pacify Binden province. Operation Ther will last for months, merging into Operation Persing in 1967, which will continue into 1968.

 For two full years, the First Cavalry Division will conduct search and destroy operations in Bin Province. Operation after operation, Masher, Crazy Horse, The Persing, each one claiming success, each one inflicting casualties on the enemy, each one followed by the enemy’s return. The cumulative cost for the battle for Bendin province is staggering. Over,200 Americans killed.

Nearly 6,000 wounded, 27 missing. These are not just numbers. These are individual soldiers. Men with names and families. Men who left home to serve their country. Men who believed they were fighting for something important. And many of them died fighting over the same ground multiple times. clearing areas that were cleared before, fighting enemies who came back after being driven out.

 The enemy casualties are much higher. Over 9,000 North Vietnamese and Vietkong claimed killed, over 2,000 captured or detained. By the casualty exchange ratio, this is success. For every American killed, over seven enemy soldiers were killed. But the enemy keeps coming. The losses are replaced. New units arrive. The fight continues. The Ho Chi Min Trail keeps operating, supplies keep flowing south, North Vietnamese troops keep infiltrating, and the sanctuaries in Cambodia and Laos remain untouched by American ground forces because of political

restrictions. At the start of 1968, General West Morland orders the First Cavalry Division to terminate operations in the Bongan area. The division is needed elsewhere. The Tet offensive has just occurred. Heavy fighting around Hugh, the siege of Kesan. The first cavalry must move north to counter these new threats.

 Bind province is left to South Vietnamese forces. And within months, North Vietnamese control is reestablished, stronger than before. The 2-year battle for Bendin has accomplished nothing lasting. This is the lesson that American military leaders struggle to accept. That tactical excellence is not enough. that winning battles does not necessarily win wars, that strategy matters more than tactics, and that without a coherent strategy to cut off North Vietnamese support, to strengthen South Vietnamese government and forces, and to address

the political dimensions of the conflict, military operations will not achieve lasting results. Operation Masher is the first large-scale demonstration of this reality, but it will not be the last. 245 Americans killed during Operation Masher. That is the number, the official count. 199 killed in action on the battlefield.

 46 killed in the C1 John 3 crash. These are not abstract statistics. These are individual human beings. Each one with a name, a family, a story. Each death is a tragedy, a life cut short, potential unfulfilled. The 42 soldiers of the third platoon, a company, second battalion, 7th cavalry, killed in the C123 crash.

 Their names are recorded, their families notified, telegrams delivered by somber officers and dress uniforms. The Secretary of the Army regrets to inform you. Parents receiving the worst news imaginable. Wives becoming widows. Children losing fathers they will barely remember. Siblings losing brothers. These 42 men died together. An entire platoon lost.

 Not in combat, in an accident. A mechanical failure. Wrong place. Wrong time. But just as dead as if they had been killed by enemy fire. Their families grieve no less because the deaths were non-hostile. A funeral is a funeral. A folded flag is a folded flag. A grave is a grave. The method of death does not matter to those left behind.

 Only that their loved one is gone. and not coming back. The 77 men killed at landing zone 4, the battle of Kongi. These men died in combat, fighting the enemy. Some were killed instantly by gunfire or explosions. Others were wounded and died before they could be evacuated. Some bled to death in rice patties. Others died on medevac helicopters or in field hospitals.

 Each death is different, but each is final. Private first class. Jim Hackett, the medic who treated wounded at Kungi, will carry the memories forever. He saw men he knew killed in front of him. He tried to save them and could not. He did everything possible with the limited supplies and training he had. But combat medicine has limits. Some wounds cannot be treated in the field. Some men cannot be saved.

 Hackett did his best. But his best was not always enough. And he will live with that knowledge for the rest of his life. The wounded number in the hundreds. Some recover fully and return to duty. They go back to their units. They continue fighting. They are the lucky ones. Others are wounded badly enough to be evacuated out of Vietnam, sent to hospitals in Japan or the Philippines or back to the United States.

 Some recover and return to civilian life. Others carry disabilities for the rest of their lives. Lost limbs, paralysis, blindness, burns, traumatic brain injuries, physical wounds that never fully heal. But the worst wounds are often invisible. Post-traumatic stress disorder, though it was not called that in 1966. Back then it was shell shock, combat fatigue, or simply not discussed.

 Men were expected to tough it out, to not show weakness, to carry on. But the psychological impact of combat is real. Nightmares, flashbacks, hypervigilance, survivor guilt, depression, anxiety, anger. These symptoms affect many who fought at Bong Sun. Some will struggle with them for the rest of their lives. The families of the dead carry their own burdens. A mother who lost her son.

 She displays his picture. She keeps his room unchanged. She visits his grave regularly. She wonders what he would have become, what grandchildren she would have had. She is angry at the war that took him, angry at the government that sent him, angry at fate. But mostly she just grieavves. The loss never fully heals. There is always an emptiness.

Always a what might have been. A wife who lost her husband. She is 23 years old. A widow with a young child. Her husband deployed when their son was an infant. He was killed before he ever met his son. Before he held him, before he heard him say, “Daddy, she has to raise this child alone.

 Explain to him why he does not have a father. Show him pictures. Tell him stories. try to make him understand that his father was a hero, that he died for his country. But how do you explain that to a child? How do you make sense of a death that seems so senseless? The soldiers who survived carry their own guilt. Why did they survive when others died? What made them special? Why were they spared? This is survivor guilt.

 It is irrational, but it is real. They see the faces of friends who died. They remember the last conversations, the last laughs, the last moments before everything went wrong. And they cannot shake the feeling that they should have done something, should have saved them, should have been the one who died instead. The North Vietnamese and Vietkong also suffered.

Over 3,000 confirmed killed. How many more wounded who died later or whose bodies were never recovered? Each of these was also a human being. a son, a brother, perhaps a husband or father. They had families who grieved, villages that mourned. They fought for what they believed was a just cause, national unification, independence, freedom from foreign domination, and they died for that cause.

 The Vietnamese civilians of Bindin province paid a terrible price. 27,000 displaced by the fighting. That is just the number displaced during Operation Masher. Many more were displaced by subsequent operations. Homes destroyed. Rice patties cratered by bombs and artillery. Livestock killed. Entire villages burned. Families separated. Some killed in the crossfire.

Others suspected of being Vietkong and detained. Or worse, the South Korean forces alleged to have committed massacres. The Binan massacre. The Go Die Massacre. Over a thousand civilians allegedly killed. These allegations were investigated. Some confirmed, some contested. But even if only a fraction are true, it represents a war crime.

Innocent civilians murdered because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time or because they were suspected of supporting the Vietkong or simply because they were Vietnamese and in the way. This is the human cost of Operation Masher. Not just the military casualties, not just the body counts, but the families destroyed, the lives disrupted, the trauma that will echo for generations.

 The children who grew up without fathers, the widows who never remarried, the survivors who struggled with their demons. This is what war costs. Not just money and material, but human beings. And that cost is paid long after the battles end. Operation Masher should have taught American military and political leaders critical lessons about the war in Vietnam.

 Lessons about the limits of military power, about the importance of strategy over tactics, about the need for a coherent political strategy to complement military operations. But these lessons were not learned, or perhaps more accurately, they were not heated, and the war would continue for years with the same patterns repeating.

 The first lesson, tactical success does not equal strategic progress. The first cavalry division won every major engagement during Operation Masher. They defeated North Vietnamese forces whenever they met in battle. They inflicted heavy casualties. They drove the enemy from their positions. By every tactical measure, they succeeded.

 But 2 months after the operation ended, the North Vietnamese were back. The tactical victories accomplished nothing lasting. Without a way to hold what had been cleared, without effective South Vietnamese forces to maintain security, the enemy simply returned. The second lesson, body counts are a flawed metric for success.

 The emphasis on body counts as the primary measure of progress created perverse incentives. Units under pressure to show results inflated numbers. Civilians were sometimes counted as combatants. There was no independent verification. And even when the numbers were accurate, they did not measure what mattered. The North Vietnamese could replace their losses.

They had a larger population to draw from. They could accept higher casualty rates than Americans. And they were fighting in their own country with nothing to lose but their lives. Body counts measured how many enemy were killed. They did not measure whether the war was being won. The third lesson, search and destroy operations without a hold phase are feudal.

 Clear, hold, build. This is the classic counterinsurgency strategy. Clear the enemy from an area. Hold that area with security forces. Build governance and infrastructure to win the population. But Operation Masher only did the clear phase. There was no hold phase. American forces cleared areas and then moved on. South Vietnamese forces were supposed to hold, but they could not or would not.

And there was no build phase, no effort to establish effective governance, no programs to win the loyalty of the population, just clear and leave. And the inevitable result was that the enemy returned. The fourth lesson, conventional military operations create refugees and alienate the population. 27,000 people displaced during Operation Masher.

 Homes destroyed, fields ruined, villages burned. These were people who had lived in the same area for generations. They had farms, businesses, communities, and all of it was destroyed by American firepower. Some fled to government controlled areas. Others stayed and supported the Vietkong out of anger at what had been done to them. The use of overwhelming firepower in populated areas was counterproductive.

It might kill enemy soldiers, but it also created refugees and grievances. The fifth lesson, the war cannot be won without addressing the strategic level. American forces in Vietnam were focused on tactics. How to find the enemy, how to engage them effectively, how to use firepower to maximize enemy casualties while minimizing friendly casualties.

They were very good at tactics. But tactics operate within strategy, and the strategy was flawed. There was no plan to stop the flow of North Vietnamese troops and supplies. The Ho Chi Min Trail continued operating throughout the war. Sanctuaries in Cambodia and Laos were off limits to American ground forces because of political restrictions.

 Without addressing these strategic problems, tactical successes were meaningless. The sixth lesson, the South Vietnamese government and military must be strengthened. Vietnamization was the eventual goal. Hand the war over to South Vietnamese forces. Let them defend their own country. But the South Vietnamese forces were not improving fast enough.

 And perhaps more importantly, the South Vietnamese government was not providing the kind of leadership that would inspire loyalty. Corruption was endemic. Officers bought positions. Soldiers were poorly paid. The population saw the government in Saigon as corrupt and illegitimate. Without a South Vietnamese government worth fighting for, South Vietnamese soldiers would never fight with the same determination as their North Vietnamese counterparts.

 These lessons should have led to fundamental changes in strategy. Shift from large unit operations to pacification. Focus on securing and holding areas rather than searching and destroying. Address the strategic problems of infiltration and sanctuaries. invest massively in building effective South Vietnamese institutions.

 But these changes did not happen. The same strategy continued. More search and destroy operations, more body counts, more tactical victories that did not lead to strategic progress. General West Morland believed that attrition would work, that if American forces killed enough enemy soldiers, eventually the North Vietnamese would be unable to continue fighting, that the breaking point would come, and once it did, the war would be won.

 But this assumption was wrong. The North Vietnamese were fighting an existential war. They would accept casualties that Americans would not. They would keep fighting no matter the cost because this was their country, their fight, and they had nowhere else to go. President Johnson and his advisers in Washington believed that gradually increasing pressure would force North Vietnam to negotiate, that bombing campaigns would convince them that continuing the war was feudal, that the combination of air power and ground operations would

achieve results. But they were unwilling to commit the resources necessary for victory as defined by the military. And they were unwilling to take the political risks of expanding the war into North Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia. So the war was fought with self-imposed limitations. With one hand tied behind America’s back, the result was a war that could not be won under the constraints imposed.

 American forces were capable of winning every tactical engagement. But tactical victories did not lead to strategic success. And without strategic success, the war would drag on. More operations, more casualties, more money spent, more political support eroded until finally America would withdraw and all the sacrifices would be for nothing.

Operation Masher was an early indication of this dynamic. But the lesson went unlearned, and the pattern would repeat for years. More than 50 years have passed since Operation Masher. The battlefield at Bong Son is quiet now. The cemetery at Kungi has been restored. The villages have been rebuilt. The rice patties are cultivated again.

 Highway 1 still runs through Binden Province, now busy with civilian traffic. The Onlaw Valley is peaceful. Few physical traces remain of the fighting that occurred there in early 1966, but the memory remains important for the veterans of Operation Masher. The memories are vivid and lasting. The heat, the fear, the chaos of combat, the friends lost. Private first class.

 Jim Hackett, the medic who treated wounded at landing zone 4, still remembers the faces of men he could not save. Sergeant Bill Bearaw, who rescued lost soldiers under fire, still remembers crawling through rice patties while bullets snapped overhead. Major Bruce Kandle, who flew rescue missions at night through jungle canopy, still remembers the darkness and the Tracer fire and the wounded men who depended on him.

 These veterans have held reunions over the years. They gather to remember, to honor the dead, to share stories with the only people who truly understand what they experienced. These reunions are bittersweet. Joy at seeing old friends, sadness at remembering those who are gone, and recognition that they are getting older and fewer with each passing year.

 Eventually, there will be no veterans of operation. Masher left, no one who was there, no one who remembers firsthand. Only the historical record will remain. The families of those who died at Bongan carry a different kind of memory. Sons who never came home. Husbands killed before their lives really began. Brothers remembered forever young.

 The third platoon of a company, second battalion, seventh cavalry. All 42 men killed in the C1 to23 crash. Their families received telegrams on the same day. Dozens of families and communities across America all receiving the same terrible news. Their sons, husbands, brothers were gone. The 77 men killed at landing zone 4.

 Each death is its own tragedy. Each family has its own story of loss. Some families stayed connected over the years, meeting at reunions, visiting each other, sharing memories of their loved ones. Others retreated into private grief, never speaking of the loss, never connecting with other families who understood. There is no right way to grieve.

 Each family found their own path. For the second battalion, Seventh Cavalry, the Hard Luck Battalion, the losses at Operation Masher added to a legacy of sacrifice. From landing zone Albany in November 1965 to landing zone 4 in January 1966, the battalion suffered hundreds of casualties in a matter of months.

 The unit was rebuilt again and again. New men came in, replacements for the dead and wounded. But the survivors carried the memories, the knowledge that they served in a unit that had paid a terrible price, that they had fought in some of the worst battles of the war, and that they had survived when so many did not.

 Colonel Harold Moore went on to have a distinguished military career. He retired as a lieutenant general. He wrote the book, We Were Soldiers Once and Young about the Ayad Drang Battles. The book was a bestseller and became required reading for military officers. Moore became one of the most recognized commanders of the Vietnam War.

 But he never forgot Bong Sun. Never forgot the men who died under his command. Never stopped carrying the weight of those losses. Leadership in combat means accepting responsibility for casualties. And Moore carried that responsibility with grace and dignity for the rest of his life.

 Major Brucele continued flying in Vietnam. He completed over 900 combat missions during two tours. In 2007, over 40 years after the actions for which he was honored, his distinguished service cross from landing zone X-ray was upgraded to the Medal of Honor. President George W. Bush presented the medal in a ceremony at the White House.

Randle was recognized not just for X-ray, but for a career of exceptional service. His rescue missions during Operation Masher earned him the Aviation and Space Writers Helicopter Heroism Award. At the 20th anniversary of that award, his actions were ranked as the most outstanding in the two decades the award had been given. Crannle exemplified the helicopter pilots who made Airmobile operations possible, who risked their lives to support ground troops, who came when no one else would.

For Vietnam, Operation Masher is remembered as part of a much longer struggle. The Vietnamese call it the American War. Part of decades of conflict. French colonial rule, French war, American war, always war. Bindin province saw fighting throughout the entire war. Operation Masher was one battle among many.

 The Vietnamese who lived through it remember the destruction, the displacement, the casualties on all sides. They rebuilt. They moved on, but they did not forget. The North Vietnamese remember Operation Masher as proof of their determination. They took heavy casualties. They were driven from their positions, but they came back.

 They kept fighting and eventually they won. In their narrative, Operation Masher is an example of American tactical success that did not matter strategically. They lost the battle, but won the war, and that is what they remember. Historians study Operation Masher as a case study in the Vietnam War. The operation demonstrated the capabilities of airmobile warfare, the ability to rapidly deploy large forces by helicopter to bring massive firepower to bear to conduct complex operations across varied terrain.

 But it also demonstrated the limits of purely military approaches, tactical victories that did not translate into strategic progress. Body counts that did not measure what mattered. search and destroy operations that did not produce lasting results. The lessons of Operation Masher are relevant today. Modern military forces still conduct combined arms operations, still use helicopters for mobility, still face the challenge of translating tactical success into strategic progress.

 The specifics change, the technology improves, but the fundamental questions remain. How do you achieve lasting results from military operations? How do you measure success beyond body counts? How do you win not just battles but wars? These are questions that Operation Masher posed but did not answer. May those who fought at Bong be remembered.

May their courage be honored. May their sacrifice not be forgotten. And may the lessons of Operation Masher inform how military force is employed in pursuit of national objectives. This is how we honor those who fought. Not by forgetting. Not by pretending the war was simple, but by remembering honestly what happened, learning from it, and striving to do better.

 This is Operation Masher. This is the Battle of Bong Sun. This is why it matters.