CHAPTER 17

War by Any Other Name

We had a war going, but nobody knew.

—OTS officer in Vietnam, 1962

TSD officer Pat Jameson was sitting on a hard bench in Saigon’s Tan Son Nhut Airport in 1962 studying the aircraft traffic as he waited for another Agency officer’s flight to arrive. A Pan American plane landed for refueling and Jameson watched as a group of American tourists disembarked. Walking across the tarmac through the glare of the Southeast Asian sun, they made their way to the promising shade of the drab building, eager to see what exotic souvenirs the ramshackle terminal might hold.

Perhaps drawn by an American, or at least Western face, one of the tourists approached Jameson. “I hear there’s a war going on down here, is that right?” the tourist asked Jameson casually, as if he were inquiring about the weather in some distant city.

Jameson nodded toward a corner of the tarmac. “Look out there. You see that? There’s a bunch of people being taken from that plane to ambulances,” he said. “And there’s some new guys with fatigue creases in their pants getting on that same plane to go up-country to replace those dead and injured ones. That’s the story that we’re living with here.”

“God, I never knew that!” the tourist exclaimed as he stared at the scene.

More than forty years later, Jameson reflected on a scene he remembered vividly, “We had a war going, but nobody knew.”

That a tourist on a brief layover was unaware of the situation in Vietnam was not surprising. For most of the American public in 1962, Vietnam was an obscure and distant country of little consequence. Seemingly just another former European colony in turmoil, news of Vietnam’s problems was usually confined to the back pages of the morning paper. The French Indochina War of the early 1950s had been largely forgotten or ignored outside of foreign affairs wonks at the CIA, State Department, and Pentagon.

For those concerned about Vietnam’s history and future, 1954 was the year keenly remembered. That spring the French suffered a decisive defeat at Dien Bien Phu when 70,000 Vietnamese soldiers overwhelmed their 13,000-man outpost.1 The Vietnamese had dragged howitzers and other heavy artillery along the ridgeline of the isolated valley north of Hanoi, and then fired directly down into the French garrison.2 Led by General Giap, tens of thousands of troops endured not only the hard physical labor of moving artillery over jungle trails, but also repeated strafing by French aircraft.

DCI Allen Dulles directed the CIA’s “front” airline in Southeast Asia, Civil Air Transport (CAT), to fly resupply missions during the siege using unarmed C-119 “Flying Boxcars” cargo aircraft while the U.S. military sent fifty B-26s for air support operations to aid the beleaguered garrison.3 Despite this U.S. assistance, which did little to turn the tide, President Eisenhower thought the French government’s decision to “make a stand” at Dien Bien Phu ill advised and its efforts to keep Vietnam under colonial rule an invitation for the communists to gain an advantage.4

Eisenhower’s assessment had been correct. The commander of the French garrison, sensing defeat was at hand, committed suicide with a hand grenade.5 The siege, which lasted from March until early May, effectively ended French colonial rule in Indochina, but brought no lasting peace. An international conference, convened in Geneva during July of 1954, offered a plan to create a unified Vietnamese government following democratic elections in 1956. However, the Geneva agreement was not endorsed by the United States and resulted in a negotiated standoff that included a temporary division between north and south along a Demilitarized Zone at the 17th parallel.6

Two countries emerged from the agreement, the communist-ruled Democratic Republic of Vietnam in the north and the Republic of Vietnam in the south. Almost immediately, Ho Chi Minh’s regime embarked on a protracted campaign of guerilla warfare to unify Vietnam under communist rule. The United States, practicing a policy of Cold War “containment,” was determined not to let that happen.7

When Jameson encountered the American tourist in Saigon, U.S. paramilitary support to the South Vietnamese consisted of advisors from both CIA and U.S. Army Special Forces. The Eisenhower administration committed American assistance to South Vietnam, but limited efforts to advising and assisting the South Vietnamese government in unconventional warfare, paramilitary operations, and political-psychological warfare.8 This role expanded during the Kennedy administration to include CIA paramilitary support with substantial assistance from Special Forces to interdict material flowing from the north to the Vietcong in the south.

With limited news coverage and the relatively small commitment of U.S. forces, few Americans recognized Vietnam as a war zone. The fighting did not resemble the battlefields of Europe during World War II or those of the more recent Korean conflict. The Vietcong guerillas, with no means to mount large-scale military attacks, concentrated on building espionage networks within the South Vietnamese government and carrying out terrorist-like attacks on selected targets.

Jameson had been sent to Vietnam by TSD to support the Agency’s covert action program.9 His role, as an “authentication” officer, carried on a tradition that reached back two decades to similar work done by OSS. Just as the OSS had reproduced German and French documents for agents sent into occupied Europe, TSD was now outfitting South Vietnamese agents with documents and clothing for infiltration missions into the north to conduct intelligence gathering, sabotage, and harassment operations.

However, the situation Jameson found in Vietnam suggested that TSD could do more than just provide documentation. Another small TSD unit had experience in training and equipping paramilitary forces through its involvement with the ill-fated 1961 Bay of Pigs invasion. Now, a year later, TSD’s paramilitary and “authentication” units were combined to form a covert action element. As the only member of the new group in Vietnam, Jameson assumed the paramilitary responsibility as well.

The primary problem that confronted the CIA and the South Vietnamese government in 1962 was halting the flow of munitions and personnel entering South Vietnam from the north. The principal infiltration routes were Highway 1, an intermittently paved road running along Vietnam’s eastern coast and the better-known Ho Chi Minh Trail, an intricate 20,000-kilometer network of roads and jungle trails. The Ho Chi Minh Trail ran along Vietnam’s western border, cutting southward through Laos and Cambodia.10 For Jameson and other Agency personnel, shutting down the flow of weapons and personnel meant taking the fight to the enemy by destroying the infrastructure along both supply routes.

It was to become a counterinsurgency war, fought by small, fast-moving teams. Employing unconventional warfare tactics and clandestine weaponry similar to those used by the OSS, U.S. military advisors worked with special units of the South Vietnamese army and indigenous groups, such as the Montagnards and ethnic Chinese Nungs.11 However, waging this type of war required training and detailed planning.

“When doing sabotage, folks tended to focus on the ‘big bang,’ the explosive charge in your hand,” Jameson said. “Part of my job was to make sure all the other pieces were in place. Leave out one of those and you’ll leave a bridge standing or lose your team.”

Planning for sabotage, Jameson recalled, required exhaustive sessions, sometimes taking two or three days for a single mission. Every detail, from the daily rations to intelligence about the target’s precise orientation, materials, and appearance had to be addressed. Destroying just one bridge required logistics, explosives, first aid, communications equipment, and a means to get the team in and out safely. The team had to be trained to handle explosives, set charges, and improvise in the field when necessary. All the intelligence about possible entry and exit routes had to be assembled and considered, since there would be only one chance to bring down the bridge.

“We had to diagnose the construction of that bridge, often with little data, and design explosive charges to do the job,” said Jameson, “but not use P equals Plenty. If you want something destroyed, use the right amount of explosives at the weakest point. We taught the Vietnamese how to attach the explosives quickly and set the time delays that allowed the team to get out before the explosion.”

Jameson devised an easy to remember acronym, CARVER, to guide preparation of the target package. “Criticality” assessed the importance or critical role of the target for the enemy. “Accessibility” asked if the team had a reasonable chance of getting to the target. “Recognizability” meant the team would know the target when they saw it. “Vulnerability” focused on a realistic appraisal of the degree of damage or destruction that could be done to the target. “Effect” addressed the impact destruction of the target would have on the enemy. “Recoverability” estimated the time and effort required for restoration or reconstruction of the target.

Taken together, the elements of CARVER provided both the planners in the field and those authorizing an operation at Headquarters with a risk-and-benefit analysis to make sound operational decisions. It was foolish, Jameson reasoned, to engage in high-risk operations unless the probability of success was also high. “Target analysis told us how to get the most ‘bang for the buck’ with limited assets,” said one of Jameson’s fellow officers. “It worked like a flow sheet that described how something worked, and then led your thinking to identify the weakest point to be attacked.”

TSD became engaged in Vietnam as early as 1961, when a marine engineer was dispatched to Hong Kong to overhaul Agency-purchased Chinese junks. Although still conventional in appearance, the junks were far from ordinary by the time the engineer was done with them. The tech replaced the standard propulsion systems with Gray Marine 671 diesel engines that boosted speed from a modest three knots to impressive fifteen knots. He also added a pair of 55-gallon fuel drums lashed to the masts concealing .50 caliber machine guns and a battery of camouflaged 3.5-inch rockets on top of the wheelhouse rigged to a firing switch within the captain’s easy reach. Finally, the engineer built a covered hiding place beneath the deck for a pair of crewmen armed with 9mm Swedish K submachine guns. The junks were deployed for covert patrol and infiltration operations along the Vietnamese coast north of the DMZ. If approached by a hostile patrol boat, the junk’s reaction was both surprising and devastating.12

A seaworthy rubber raft known as the Zodiac, which grew out of a TSS project code-named RB-12 during the Korean Conflict, became the mainstay of amphibious infiltration operations into North Vietnam. These rafts carried landing teams launched by the modified junk mother ships to the insertion points along the coast. To track the rafts after launching, the techs adapted “cherry top” flashers similar to those used on early police cars, lining them with Kodak gelatin filters (numbers 87, 87C, 88A, or 89B) through which light only in the infrared spectrum passed. When lit from within, the covert “flashers” were invisible to the naked eye, but could be seen by using a T-7 metascope—a hand-held, battery-operated infrared optical device.13

Training of poorly motivated Vietnamese guerilla fighters proved problematic. “The Vietnamese government provided the requisite numbers of bodies for sabotage and harassment operations, but they were unqualified, and difficult to train,” Jameson explained. “Many of the young men they supplied were just people the government wanted to get off the streets, city kids, and not country boys who understood how to hunt and shoot. We kept saying, without much response, ‘give us some country boys, and don’t give us these city thugs.’”

This became apparent during one covert mission that called for a CIA-trained four-man Vietnamese team to infiltrate the North and destroy a bridge on Highway 1, cutting off—at least temporarily—a major Vietcong supply route. As planned, the team would launch from the junk in a Zodiac raft, land on the beach, trek five miles inland to the bridge, plant the time-delayed charge, then hike back to the Zodiac hidden on the beach and return to the junk.

On the night of the operation, the team launched on schedule and began reporting their location by radio as the Zodiac approached the landing site. At the command post on the junk, Jameson noted the progress as the team reported reaching “point one,” “point two,” and “point three.” The mission looked good. A few minutes later came the next report: “point three,” then “point two.” Clearly, the team was returning. When the Zodiac pulled alongside the junk, one of the Vietnamese team members pointed to water in the bottom of the raft from what seemed to be a leak.

Jameson, skeptical, inspected the raft and found multiple holes—all made by knife blades. When questioned, team members admitted that after launch they had become frightened and sabotaged the mission. “Those guys went to jail,” Jameson recounted, “but we learned an important lesson. Find a higher caliber of agent. We recruited four Nungs and trained them for the operation.”

Several weeks later the Nung team launched from the same junk and encountered no trouble reaching the beach, landing, or finding the right trail to the bridge. Following the operational plan, they attached the explosive charges to the bridge support structure. Once secured, they activated the time-delay devices and departed the area using a different trail than the one used to approach the target. Overhead photos the next day confirmed that the bridge “dropped” exactly as planned.

Other high-value targets called for a more creative approach. A North Vietnamese petroleum depot that provided fuel for equipment moving into South Vietnam was one such a target. Unlike the bridge, the heavily guarded facility was surrounded by chain-link fences and unapproachable by saboteurs using conventional explosive charges. Since air strikes were not authorized at that stage of the war, the most effective option was to attack from a “stand off ” position. A rocket attack could potentially take out the fuel tanks, but only if a small team could carry enough firepower close to the target. Then they would have to set up, aim precisely, and fire all the rockets for a reasonable chance of hitting the fuel tanks and elude whatever response the attack elicited.

The solution devised by TSD would later be called the Triple Tube Rocket Launcher. “The genesis of the Triple Tube Launcher, what we called the TTL, started with a single antitank rocket fired from an improvised launcher that wasn’t much more than a piece of angle iron,” said one tech who followed the development of the device. “The original concept was to fire a 3.5-inch antitank rocket by stuffing a wad of match heads and time fuse in the back end. Crude but simple, it was used in urban guerilla warfare scenarios like the Hungarian uprising with a civilian population combating tanks. We thought that if one rocket was good, then three ought to do a better job with greater chance of hitting a target. So we set the rockets with a three-degree spread between tubes and added electrical firing for more precise command and control.”

The three-tube launcher was mounted on a modified backpack frame that allowed team members to accurately sight and adjust inclination. “We tried to do all this so the saboteurs didn’t have to do any thinking,” Jameson explained. “They’d just go in there and go right to the place where they’ve been shown, aim it like this, raise it, hit two buttons, and go.” For the rockets to penetrate the tanks’ steel and ignite the fuel inside, the techs added incendiary adaptors, aluminum packages filled with magnesium, that would burn fiercely when exposed to oxygen after the initial explosion.

Time delays were attached to the launcher package, allowing the team to initiate the firing sequence and head out of the area before launch. “We didn’t want to have our guys firing the rockets, then running like hell for nine miles to the boats,” said Jameson. “So we adapted time-delay mechanisms that gave the team several hours to get back to the rubber boats and head downriver before the rockets went off.”

To prevent spent rocket launchers from later being used against American troops, the techs added a self-destruct mechanism with half a pound of explosives to destroy the unit after firing. But that left another concern. If an enemy patrol discovered the launchers before they fired, the NVA would acquire an effective weapon. TSD engineers responded by incorporating an antidisturbance device. If tampering was detected after the safety was removed, the rockets launched automatically and 1.35 seconds later, the explosives detonated.14

Another TSD innovation, the firefight simulator, resembled a collection of fireworks and other explosives, set on a timer. The device mimicked the sound of automatic weapons fire, mortars, and grenades. U.S. military units infiltrated the simulators into enemy base camps to create diversion and confusion. In one instance, when the device went off in the middle of the night, the panicked and disoriented North Vietnamese began shooting each other.15

In 1962, the Kennedy administration initiated the transfer of covert Southeast Asian paramilitary programs from CIA to military control. The official date for the transfer was to be November 1, 1963. However, the timing was disrupted first because of the overthrow and murder of South Vietnamese President Diem on November 2, then, three weeks later, by the assassination of President Kennedy on November 22. In December, a plan was approved by Defense Secretary Robert McNamara to increase covert attacks into North Vietnam and in January 1964 the U.S. Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV) organized a clandestine unit composed of Air Force Air Commandos, Army Special Forces, and Navy SEALs under the Special Operations Group (SOG).16

As the war effort expanded and troop numbers increased, the Agency continued to maintain an active presence in Vietnam with TSD playing a key role. Much of the early gear supplied by TSD was reminiscent of equipment issued by OSS during World War II, such as escape and evasion devices with concealed compasses and saws as well as radios and clothing. “We had a little package about the size of a pack of cigarettes that illuminated an internal map,” said Bill Parr, a TSD engineer at the time. “By pushing down on the top of the package, the map inside would be dimly lit by a back light. We gave the maps to teams working in North Vietnam, so if a team had to move at night they could orient themselves.”

The backlit maps eliminated the need for flashlight illumination that could give away the presence of a clandestine team and the small size replaced otherwise bulky sheets of large foldout terrain maps. Later, TSD lent some of the units to NASA for evaluation as a tool for astronauts to store navigational information when working in darkness during the early space flights.

033

The CIA Stinger was an easily concealed .22 caliber single-shot pistol effective for targets at short range. It could be fired from the palm of the hand toward a target in the same room or passing in a crowd.

Other devices included concealments that would blend into the environment. “I got an idea one day going through one of the stores down in Naha, Okinawa,” said Parr. “I noticed the way the thermoses were designed. You could buy a big thermos and a little thermos and switch out the glass insert from the little thermos into the larger body. That gave you a big whopping cavity for concealing papers and documents. It became a standard item for our agents in Vietnam. We put a left-hand thread opening on the bottom so that an unknowing person who attempted to open it would actually make it tighter.” Techs then improved on the concept after realizing that dropping the thermos would break the inset and soak any papers inside. By using water-soluble paper, an agent would have a self-destruct mechanism built in his thermos concealment.

There was also a new clandestine radio. The RS-6, a portable shortwave radio station, was intended for use by an agent operating behind enemy lines. Transmitting in the 3-15 MHz frequency range at distances up to 3,000 miles [using continuous wave (CW) or Morse code], the RS-6 received both CW and AM signals. The radio was small enough to conceal inside a standard briefcase, or could be separated into four smaller components buried inside waterproof pouches. The versatile set could be powered using storage batteries, AC lines, or a hand-cranked generator.17

“Puppy Chow” tablets, tranquilizer capsules mixed with ground beef, silenced guard dogs. The average dog required four tablets or more if the animal’s ferocity warranted it. The effects lasted up to four hours with no aftereffects beyond temporary loss of balance and lethargy. A Syrette filed with antidote could be injected to speed the animal’s recovery if necessary.

034

A harassment device known as B-3 Dust Powder consisted of finely powdered tear gas in a small plastic squeeze bottle. Dust Powder could harass and disperse groups of people or be used for personal protection. When the nonlethal powder came in contact with the moist tissues of the eyes, nasal passages, or throat, it caused coughing, tears, loss of breath, and nausea. Once the person left the contaminated area, the effects disappeared in a few minutes.18

A tranquilizer, Puppy Chow, was a plastic case filled with twenty tranquilizer capsules, and two Syrettes containing antidote. The kit was used to silence guard dogs by feeding them tranquilizer capsules mixed with ground beef. The recommended portion for the average dog was four capsules, but was to be increased if the animal was particularly ferocious. After ingesting the special mix, the dog became unconscious for up to four hours, but suffered no ill effects other than loss of balance and lethargy during the recovery period. If needed, a Syrette filled with antidote could be injected to speed up the animal’s recovery.19

A covert Document Copy Attaché Kit that contained a complete photographic reproduction system concealed inside a standard briefcase performed the function of a portable photocopier. Once assembled, it offered a one-position copy device for photographing documents up to nine by fourteen inches. The system employed a fixed-focus Pentax camera modified for silent operation. An agent or case officer could use the system to produce properly exposed negatives consistently with no prior training.20

Early in the Vietnam War, the need to carry adequate food rations posed a persistent problem for covert infiltration teams whose operations could last ninety days or more. Packed in cans with liquid, C-rations, the typical military fare, were bulky and inconvenient. They were heavy and their metal and paper packaging waste had to be carried out since any trash would leave evidence of the mission.

“When I first got to Vietnam I found that the ninety-day supply of food, clothing, ammo, and other equipment for one infiltration team took up about four pallets, with food rations taking up most of the space,” said Jameson. “We could airdrop the pallets into remote areas, but for the team to find it and unpack it without leaving a trail was nearly impossible. So I set out to reduce that bulk as much as I could.”

Working with one of America’s leading breakfast cereal companies, TSD engineers thought they found a solution with a product they called “CD rations.”21 Resembling today’s energy bars, the CD rations contained concentrated servings of protein and other nutrients that were rehydrated in water and cooked in the field to provide all the nutrition of C-rations without the bulk. “I had TSD’s Asia shop make special survival vests with a lot of pockets of the exact size to carry the new product,” remembered Jameson. “Then I found a patrol that was going out for several days and was willing to taste test our new rations. They would be gone for a week and subsist only on those rations. We needed to learn how they would be accepted by soldiers under the stress of combat.”

Jameson accompanied the patrol, which included U.S. Special Forces and eight Montagnards. “No one complained about the food, but the patrol hadn’t been out for more than a couple days when some members started getting sick and throwing up the rations,” said Jameson. “We didn’t have any backup food, because I hadn’t allowed us to take any. I knew that given a choice, they probably wouldn’t eat what they had left.”

The team found a village with an orange orchard and loaded up their backpacks. “Well, those oranges were extremely acidic,” Jameson explained. “We ate them like apples, just spitting out the rinds. So, by the time we got back to the base camp, the acid was eating the lining of our mouths and we were all bleeding. We were a sight. It’s safe to say future patrols didn’t request rations from me.”

Jameson filed a report on the debacle and the techs returned to the drawing board with the cereal people. “Eventually that work produced a much better bar,” said Jameson. “But I could never introduce it. Not after the riding I took from those Special Forces guys.”

Throughout the early part of the war, Stanley Lovell’s .22 caliber silenced Hi-Standard pistol was a favorite among CIA and Special Forces. 22 Compact, accurate at close ranges, and reliable, the World War II gun was marking its third decade of service as OTS engineers worked to improve and adapt the weapon to new missions. Among the first enhancements added was an attachable shoulder stock that essentially turned the pistol into a rifle for increased accuracy.

Parr, who headed the project, added features to make the pistol suitable for the skies as well as the jungles. “After we put the shoulder stock on it, we fitted it with a holster that would survive an enormous amount of G force, so it became a survival weapon for U-2 pilots.” said Parr.23 “That was a cool project. I went to the California test area and sat in the cockpit of an SR-71. I needed to see what it was like, if the pilot had to bail out with a holster and weapon on his hip. Same way for the U-2 aircraft. We talked to the pilots, ‘What are your druthers, guys? What makes you uncomfortable? What can you live with? What additional equipment can you handle, on top of all the other crap that you’ve got?’ We went through all that.”

Reviewing the Hi-Standard pistol design, TSD engineers discovered that if the sear—the part of the firing mechanism linking the trigger to the hammer—was trimmed down, the weapon functioned as a machine gun, emptying its ten-round magazine in about a second and a half. “You’d pull the trigger once and it would go ‘burp.’ You’ve put ten rounds into your target and multiple hitting is always more effective than a single shot,” said Parr. “But with the silencer on there was a tendency for the muzzle to drop rather than rise. You have to compensate in that direction. With the shoulder stock, you had a degree of control. The whole trick was cutting the sear, and then you had to do a little work making sure the magazine spring was correct. Our goal was a silent machine gun and we made pretty good progress.”

During their research, engineers found that silenced weapons frequently malfunctioned and jammed when firing standard military ammunition. For a weapon to be silent as well as lethal, powder loads needed to be precise. Too much powder and the weapon was noisy, too little powder and it suffered in terms of velocity and lethality. “That was always trouble with the silent-weapons program, using standard-issue ammunition. There was a wide variance in loading consistencies and performance,” explained Parr. “It turned out the ‘silenced’ guns just didn’t work with regular ammo.”

035

The 9mm CIA DEAR Gun in the mid-1960s was a low-cost personal weapon accurate only at short distances and a successor to the OSS-designed Woolworth or Liberator pistol.

TSD engineers also updated the OSS Liberator pistol, the single-shot .45 caliber handgun designed for large-scale distribution to partisan forces behind enemy lines during World War II.24 The Vietnam edition, called the DEAR Gun (for DEnied ARea Weapon), was a small, inexpensive cast aluminum handgun with a blued steel barrel that fired a single 9mm parabellum round. As with the Liberator, it was intended for use by partisans to obtain another, more powerful, weapon from the enemy. Packed in a Styrofoam box with illustrated instructions, the plan called for an airdrop of the weapons behind enemy lines.25

“By unscrewing the barrel, inserting a single round, and screwing it back together and cocking it by pulling a plunger like a little kid’s toy pistol, the DEAR would shoot a single 9mm round,” explained Parr. “Then somebody at Headquarters said, ‘Maybe we’re not doing them a favor. Maybe we ought to let them shoot twice.’ So then we loaded extra rounds in the handle. That created a problem of what to do with a stuck casing after firing. That led to our designing a simple stick, or push rod to eject the casing attached to the rubberized butt of the pistol.”

The question then arose as to the weapon’s safety after firing multiple rounds. Would the gun, designed for firing only once, fall apart in the shooter’s hand after discharging five or twenty rounds? “We sent a tech to the range and he must have shot it fifty times in a row,” remembered Parr. “But on one shot, he lost control of it and chipped a tooth. After that, people started saying, ‘Oh, it’s a dangerous weapon. People get hurt using it.’ That spread like wildfire through Headquarters and the plan to airdrop thousands of the guns was scrapped.”

The Hi-Standard and Liberator were not the only OSS innovations that saw a second life during the Vietnam War. The technical innovations from TSD and other CIA technical offices frequently improved upon the World War II technology with updates that included modern materials and electronics. Among the improved devices adapted to meet 1960s operational requirements was the Stinger, a .22 caliber weapon designed to be fired from the palm of the hand at a person sitting in the same room or passing closely in a crowd. The 1962 update of the original design improved the concealable, reloadable gun that featured a lightweight aluminum firing tube (four and a half inches long by three-quarters of an inch in diameter). Issued with a spare barrel, seven rounds of ammunition, and a pictorial instruction sheet, it could be concealed rectally, or camouflaged inside a lead-foil tube of mechanic’s grease inside a tool kit.26

Another gun, code-named Golden Rod, concealed a 9mm machine pistol inside an ordinary looking flashlight. About a foot long and six inches in diameter, the weapon had an internal circular magazine feed. “You loaded all the rounds around the barrel, then pressed the firing button, and this thing would spit out these 9mm rounds at a faster rate than you could distinguish an individual shot,” said Parr. “You just leveled it toward the target and it went ‘burp, burp.’ It stopped when you let your finger up and started again when you put your finger down.”

One of the more colorful weapons of the Vietnam era was the Gyrojet.27 The pistol was actually a handheld rocket launcher designed by a California contractor. Constructed of stamped steel and plastic, it fired 13mm projectiles powered by solid rocket fuel that reached a speed of 1,250 feet per second within sixty feet after leaving the barrel. Because the fuel burned quickly, the gun had virtually no recoil and was nearly silent, except for a distinctive “whooshing” sound. Despite its low noise level, it packed a punch. During one test, the projectile penetrated the door of a three-quarter-ton truck and tore through a fifty-five-gallon drum filled with water before embedding itself in the opposite door of the vehicle.28

Unfortunately, the gun had two major flaws: inaccuracy and unreliability. The expended rocket fuel, venting through two holes at the base, often sent the projectile off target. “It stabilized itself by using miniature canted jets to introduce a spinning rotation along the axis of flight. It would almost ‘spin up’ in the barrel as it was getting ready to depart, and that was part of its problem,” said Parr. “You’d pull the trigger and you’d hear the ignition cartridge fire and it would sizzle, and then a whoosh. It was like a bottle rocket—it took a little while to build up momentum. It was spinning as it was leaving the barrel. Compared to a firearm there was a delay.”

Solving the problem required spending huge sums to machine the mini-jets on each round to precise tolerances. “I was managing the Gyrojet contract and the contractor was trying to defend its accuracy,” recalled Parr. “So, he said, ‘Come on out to our range and I’ll prove it to you.’”

The contractor escorted Parr out to the company range, which consisted of a porchlike affair overlooking a dirt patch. Squeezing off several rounds from the Gyrojet, the contractor made shots that clearly were off target. “The rounds were all over the map. And the contractor says, ‘Well a .45’s no more accurate,’” remembered Parr. “He handed me a .45. I fired once and hit right in the middle of the target. Pure luck, but it made my point.”

TSD discontinued the Gyrojet contract because of its accuracy problems, though the gun found limited deployment with SOG. First Lieutenant George “Ken” Sisler was armed with a Gyrojet when he single-handedly charged a North Vietnamese platoon to rescue injured members of his squad. After saving his fellow soldiers, he was shot a short time later by a sniper and awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously.29

Throughout the Vietnam War, Dien Bien Phu remained a potent reminder of the defeat of the French colonial power. With the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) continuing to use the garrison as a military base, the former French stronghold presented an inviting psychological as well as a military target for some U.S. planners.

“Headquarters wanted desperately to send a message to the NVA and we thought we could put together a team with modified 2.75 air-to-ground rockets to attack the target,” explained Parr.

The idea was to put Dien Bien Phu “under siege,” at least temporarily, through a covert operation. The techs needed to develop a means to launch rockets into the NVA garrison in rapid fire to simulate artillery, and do it with a single team of a dozen Montagnards. However, to make the system work, the team would have to position the rockets properly and set coordinates because the angle and direction of flight had to be precise for the rockets to strike their targets. “We couldn’t train Montagnards to use an optical system, it was too complex,” said Parr. “We had to make it simple.”

First, the techs calculated the firing angle from the designated launching site to the target, then produced an easy-to-use sighting system. The only requirement was to align a small free-moving arrow on the rocket casing with a black mark on the bracket that held the rocket in position. Once properly located and with the inclination set, the team could arm the rockets and clear out. Similar to the Triple Tube Launcher, the rockets had timers that allowed the twelve-man team to be far from the area when the attack began.

To avoid detection and to deflect attention away from the target, the insertion point was a three-day walk to Dien Bien Phu. Each of the twelve men carried one modified rocket and locating beacon so the techs could track their progress. After reaching the site, the rockets were positioned, armed, and the team extracted. The rockets fired as programmed and hit their targets inside the garrison. “We all considered the operation a roaring success,” said Parr. “We picked up NVA communications stating that the attack came during one of their staff meetings. It was like sticking an elephant with a pin but remarkably satisfying.”

By 1968, Laos had become a major battleground as the CIA fought to slow the flow of North Vietnamese troops and material along the Ho Chi Minh Trail that ran through northern and eastern Laos into South Vietnam. The North Vietnamese government protected these routes, in part, by supporting the communist Pathlet Lao insurgents who controlled the region.30 From Udorn, Thailand, the CIA and U.S. military advisors conducted joint operations with Laotians under the leadership of General Vang Pao. The immediate objective was to interdict supplies and men moving on the Ho Chi Minh Trail and retake Pathlet Lao-held territory.

TSD sent a four-man survey team into Laos in 1968 to assess the technical requirements needed to support paramilitary operations. The base for CIA containment operations in Laos, near Udorn, was located on the Thai side of the Mekong River that divides Laos and Thailand. In addition to housing the CIA’s Joint Liaison Detachment, the base was also home to Air America and a photo interpretation center.

The survey established a need for sustained technical support in the area. A technical shop that included an electronics bench, machine shop, photo darkroom, woodworking equipment, and briefing room was constructed. Prominently in the center of the floor sat a brown craft paper- covered worktable around which the techs met for operational planning and evaluations. The center table in a workshop without individual offices became a symbol of the cooperation and integration required from all parties in operations planning. TSD techs worked alongside other CIA officers in northern Thailand and Laos until the U.S. withdrawal from Vietnam.

Electronic monitoring of the Ho Chi Minh Trail demanded technical innovation from TSD as the Agency attempted to use seismic technology to differentiate the types of vehicles traveling along the trail. “To test the prototype devices, we went out to one of our stateside facilities, strung them out on the road, and ran trucks and bicycles by them,” Jameson explained. “We tested the concept until we figured out how we could do this. I went back to Laos and started burying the detectors alongside the complex of roads and paths that made up the ‘the trail.’ We buried the transceiver off to the side of the road where they were well camouflaged.” As convoys traveled south along the Ho Chi Minh Trail, the devices detected and registered seismic disturbances from traffic and sent the data to a recording unit buried off to the side. Planes then made daily circuits to “interrogate” the recorders by radio.

The Americans also trained indigenous forces to observe at key positions along the trail and report on North Vietnamese convoys. The observers had radios to “call in” when they saw traffic, but information had value only if the teams understood and reported precisely what they were seeing. “Some of them didn’t know the difference between a truck or jeep or trailer,” Jameson noted. “We needed a better way for them to communicate.” To compensate for the language problem, the reconnaissance team units were issued the Elephant Transmitter with buttons that featured icons depicting a man, bicycle, elephant, truck, troop transport, or tank. The observer punched the icon matching the vehicle’s shape to record traffic types and numbers.

The techs also tapped North Vietnamese communications wherever lines or transmissions were accessible. One program tapped transmission wires, recorded conversations, and transmitted to a hidden “repeater” that was actually the first of a string of relays that stretched across Laos to a safe listening post in Thailand. In essence, the system functioned like a modern cell phone network, with the signal bouncing from one cell, or repeater, to another, until reaching the listening post. “The biggest problem with this operation wasn’t the transmission,” explained Jameson, “it was finding places to hide the relays.”

The tapping equipment used a mixture of commercial and Agency audio devices and batteries reconfigured in the field for the operation. Some of these were concealed in wooden telephone poles. In a typical operation, a two-man team of Montagnards would be inserted by helicopter to within walking distance of the target. It was, at best, a difficult operation, the team carrying a pole filled with batteries and transmitters through miles of hostile territory. Once at the target, they climbed the pole, tied down the telephone line, substituted the original pole with the TSD replacement, and reattached the line. When an operation went smoothly, the listening post immediately received a stream of North Vietnamese conversation. “We were getting an awful lot of intelligence on the movement of supply trains coming down along the Ho Chi Minh Trail from North Vietnam to the south,” said Jameson. “That information allowed us to target supply convoys and understand something of their order of battle plan in the South. Trucks loaded with 7.2 [rifle] ammo compared to truckloads of mortar rounds indicated preparations for different types of engagements.”

The development of electronic and high-frequency signal and homing devices for clandestine operations may have been TSD’s most significant contribution of the Vietnam and Laotian conflicts. Historically fires lit on top of high places and hilltops served as beacons for navigation and path-finding and alerts of approaching enemy forces. Paul Revere’s midnight ride that warned patriots of the advancing British army began with a beacon of light in a church steeple.

By the 1960s, ground-based radio direction-finding equipment became a primary navigation aid to “mark” a position for guiding aircraft or a ground party to a specific location. The techs installed hundreds of HRT-2c aircraft beacons at defensive and logistic sites throughout Laos to enable pilots to find locations for airdrops, landings, or close support.

Although the HRT-2c was compatible with automatic direction-finder systems already incorporated into all CIA, military, and commercial aircraft, it presented problems in placement and maintenance. Because each beacon required an antenna at least fourteen feet tall with a ground plane and grounding wires, finding a suitable location for placement could be difficult. The wires were vulnerable to people or animal traffic, and sections of the antenna’s fiberglass pole were pilfered by villagers who discovered they made excellent pipes for opium smoking.

Despite these problems, ground navigation beacons guided pilots throughout Laos and enabled flights in most weather conditions. Agents and reconnaissance teams were equipped with hand-held receiver-transmitters for positioning, authentication, identifying resupply sites, marking targets, air strikes, and calling for extraction. The small cylindrical-shaped unit, resembling a swagger stick when extended, featured a collapsible antenna at one end and a push-to-transmit button on the other.

To support teams on extended missions in Pathlet Lao-controlled territory or North Vietnam, resupply pallets of food and equipment were air dropped, but the covert operations precluded radio communications with pilots. An alternate means of locating the pallets was required. The answer came in a new type of beacon in the form of portable commercial FM receivers and hand-held direction-finding units. The receivers would detect signals from high-frequency transmitters attached to the pallets that began signaling only after the pallet landed.

Some air strike operations involved concealing small transmitters in U.S. radios or rifle butts intentionally left at the scene of a firefight with the expectation they would be scavenged by enemy forces. When these were carried back to a base camp, signals from the bugged weapon would silently pinpoint the location for a precision air attack.

“Counting all the reconnaissance, resupply, and sabotage operations, I estimated TSD equipment was used in thirty to forty missions a day in Laos and Vietnam,” said Jameson. “[The technology we used there] wasn’t particularly advanced compared to what was available for top-of-the-line audio bugs; from our perspective, it seemed that Headquarters was more focused on building new audio devices. However, we had guys with enough technical talent that we could build our own ‘bombing beacons.’”

One of these, called the HRT-10, was about the size of a transistor radio with only enough battery life for a few hours. The unit could be concealed in items such as backpacks or PRC-25 radios and issued to agents who infiltrated the Pathlet Lao or North Vietnamese base camps. “They’d get up close to the camp and stop to take a crap and hang the antenna on a tree,” Jameson explained. “Then the agent would come back and tell us where he put it—for instance, it could be fifty yards north-northeast of a base camp in a certain area. Our aircraft could pick up the weak signal once they were in the general area and strafe or bomb the target.”

Jameson never believed TSD invested sufficient money and effort in developing and upgrading combat support receivers and transmitters. “We ended up using commercial receivers and made the modifications ourselves,” he recalled. “Eventually a receiver was modified for our aircraft and linked to direction-finding antennas on its belly.31 It helped, but it was limited to ‘left and right’ indicators and was so complicated that it required a tech to operate it. We flew in unarmed Air America aircraft to guide the pilot to the target site. The CIA pilots would then call in the Air Force for a bombing raid based on the coordinates.”

Because the planes could not fly directly over the target without alerting the enemy below, TSD developed a number of techniques for “off-set targeting.” As the spotter plane flew along the side of the target, a tech took readings from the signal, then calculated the target’s true coordinates. That information was relayed to the bombers already coming into the operational area. The spotters’ planes then released a smoke grenade to provide a visual confirmation of the target for the attack pilots. In the next evolution of the system, a smoke grenade and time-delay mechanism were incorporated into the beacon itself. Since the delay did not ignite the smoke grenade until attack aircraft were on station, the procedure reduced the time enemy forces had to scatter or disable the smoke grenade.

The most successful operations were ones in which an agent carried a beacon into an enemy camp with the time delay. Walking sticks were common throughout the region and were large enough to conceal beacons and batteries. “We devised the means for a timer to switch on so that the asset could depart the area before the signal came on,” said Parr. “The Air Force then did ‘mini-arc light’ strikes with Phantom jets coming in wingtip to wingtip at dawn flying directly in on one of our signals.”

Exfiltration of downed pilots and imprisoned soldiers from behind enemy lines was a CIA and military priority throughout the Vietnam War. The captured and missing would not be forgotten or abandoned. In 1958, when CIA pilot Allen Pope was a prisoner in Indonesia, the Agency came up with an audacious plan for his rescue.32

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During a covert action in Indonesia in the late 1950s, Civil Air Transport pilot Allen Pope was shot down while delivering supplies. TSS worked on two plans to rescue Pope from a low-security jungle jail. One plan involved using the Skyhook air-ground extraction device, another a collapsible rubber aircraft. While the equipment functioned as designed, neither plan proved operationally practical and Pope was eventually rescued by other means.

Intelligence determined Pope was being held in a remote jungle region of Indonesia under house arrest. Although he had relative freedom of movement in the general area, there was little chance for him to survive an escape through the jungle. TSS hit upon the idea of a portable inflatable aircraft. With the help of the Goodyear Company, TSS designed a small rubber plane that could be bundled and airdropped into a jungle clearing.33 All Pope would need to do was add water to special pellets inside the bundle and a chemical reaction would produce enough gas to inflate the plane. “We tested it and it worked out pretty good. But we got ready to run it to him and somebody, politics I suppose, canceled the operation,” recalled Jameson. “As clever as it was, I don’t believe the aircraft was ever used operationally.”

The CIA eventually used a submarine to insert two of its paramilitary officers on the Indonesian coast. They went into the jungle, located Pope, and walked him out to safety, and the rubber airplane faded into Agency lore. “We put it in a warehouse where it stayed for years,” Jameson recalled. “One day there was some operation and I said, ‘I think we can solve this with that rubber airplane.’ But when we went to the warehouse, we found the rubber was all dried up and cracked. Nobody had maintained it. So we threw it away.”

Another extraction device considered for Pope was the Skyhook, an invention of Robert E. Fulton, who envisioned that an airplane outfitted with a hook dangling beneath it could safely snatch a suitably harnessed individual from the ground. Fulton’s inspiration, the “All American System,” traced its origins to a mail recovery technique from the 1920s in which pilots snagged mail pouches suspended between two poles and winched them into the airplane.

An attempt by the U.S. military during World War II to modify the technique was only partially successful. In July 1943 tests by the Army Air Force, instrumented containers were extracted from the ground by aircraft, which recorded accelerations following the pickup in excess of 17 gs, far more than the human body could tolerate. Changes in the pickup line and modifications in the parachute harness eventually brought this down to a more acceptable 7 gs. The first live test, with a sheep, failed when the harness twisted and strangled the animal. During subsequent tests, the sheep survived. Lieutenant Alex Doster, a paratrooper, volunteered for the first human pickup. On September 5, 1943, after a Stinson engaged the transfer rope at 125 mph, Doster was yanked vertically off the ground, and soared behind the aircraft.34

Later Fulton began experiments that would lead to the Skyhook in 1950 by devising a harness that could hold either a person or cargo attached to 500 feet of braided nylon rope. The rope was lifted into the air by a large balloon filled from a small bottle of helium. Once airborne, the rope could be snatched by an aircraft equipped with two steel horns that automatically locked it into place and released the balloon. As the line was pulled tight, it would glide past the side door of the fuselage. Crewmen, standing in an open hatch, could then attach the line to a winch—as the front lock was released—and pull in the rescued pilot or agent to safety.

Over the next few years, Fulton refined the system. Using a Navy P2V for the pickups, he gradually increased the weight of the pickup until the line began to break. A braided nylon line with test strength of 4,000 pounds solved the problem, but early experiments met with mixed results. In one instance, a test pig was picked up successfully. Flown through the air at 125 mph, the pig arrived inside the plane unharmed, but expressed displeasure with the experience by attacking crewmembers.35 Human volunteers testing the system returned to the aircraft in considerably better spirits and John Wayne brought the device public fame in the movie The Green Berets.

The Skyhook became a favorite among Special Forces as a test of courage. One Special Forces officer, a parachute rigger who had made more than 5,000 jumps, was said to enjoy “flying” alongside the aircraft Superman-style for extended periods, before being reeled in. In one instance, now legendary among the Special Forces, the pilot of a plane about to pick up a high-ranking officer testing the system slowed his airspeed in an attempt to give the officer a gentler ride, but only succeeded in bouncing him along the ground, breaking numerous bones.36

An intelligence requirement for Skyhook came in 1961 after the Soviets were forced to abandon a suspected submarine-monitoring station in the Arctic Ocean because the facility’s ice runway was collapsing. In one of the Skyhook’s few operational deployments, two officers, from the Navy and Air Force, were selected for the mission appropriately code-named Operation Cold Feet. They would be dropped by parachute, spend seventy-two hours at the station, floating in the Arctic, assessing and collecting items of intelligence value. Skyhook would then pluck them from the ice along with photographs, papers, and whatever else they discovered on the abandoned facility.

The officers landed as planned on the ice and collected a hundred pounds of intelligence materials from the station. With the collection mission completed, the first intelligence officer picked up by Skyhook was dragged 300 feet by wind blowing the balloon before the plane hooked onto it. When the second investigator inflated the pickup balloon, he held on tightly to a piece of equipment on the ground to avoid being dragged. Eventually both men were safely “Skyhooked” into the airplane, bringing information that confirmed the facility was a submarine monitoring station.

Every day Brian Lipton arrived at 0800 hours for work at the Agency and departed at 1700 hours or earlier if he had a late-afternoon softball game. Lipton, a member of Gottlieb’s cadre of university-trained chemists hired in the mid-1960s, seemed like a good fit with TSD. He shouldered a heavy workload, was amiable, and always put in a full day’s work. Few of his colleagues suspected Lipton led a double life inside his primary CIA cover. At night after the parking lot and the offices of TSD’s South Building headquarters emptied, Lipton returned to his office alone. There, behind a locked door, he worked on one of the most closely held projects of the Vietnam War era—creating covert-communication systems for U.S. prisoners of war in North Vietnam.

For the POWs who were isolated, inundated with propaganda, and subjected to continuous physical and psychological torture, these covert communications were often their only link to the outside. Confirmation to the beleaguered POWs that the U.S. government knew they were alive gave hope, and for many, enabled them to hang on. The communications were also a means for the U.S. government to identify who was alive, detail their living conditions and treatment, and possibly plan rescue missions.

“As a new TSD officer, I initially thought this was the kind of stuff that happened every day. A person is called in and gets assigned an important and super-secret job,” said Lipton. “We understood there were many things going on up and down the hall that you didn’t know about. It wasn’t until later, when we started to see successes, that I appreciated how valuable the work was.”

The project traced its origins to a single POW, Navy Captain James B. Stockdale. Shot down over North Vietnam on September 9, 1965, Stockdale at first used letters from prison to his wife, Sybil, to communicate the last names of fellow prisoners, employing a simple code, uncharacteristically referencing several “football mates” from his class at the U.S. Naval Academy. In fact, the three men had not played football with Stockdale, but their last names were the same as missing aviators from his squadron whose status was then unknown.37

U.S. Naval Intelligence was presented with the information and afterward asked for Sybil Stockdale’s cooperation in sending a secret message to her husband using a “special picture.”38 Preparing the first images took weeks, but Sybil began by including a photograph in the one letter her husband was allowed to receive each month. The “photograph of the month” ploy was designed to create a routine pattern of the correspondence so the special photo would not be alerting to North Vietnamese censors.39

In the fall of 1966, the special photo was ready and Sybil devised text in the letter that secretly instructed her husband to submerge the picture in water. Once soaked, the photograph’s layers would separate, allowing her husband to read an enclosed message.40Sybil’s signal involved a photo of a stand-in for her mother-in-law shown enjoying herself in the ocean. Sybil knew that her husband would immediately recognize the woman was not his mother.41

Sybil’s two letters reached Stockdale just before Christmas of 1966 and were handed to him during a filmed North Vietnamese propaganda session intended to show the humane treatment of American POWs. Stockdale instantly knew the photograph was not of his mother, but remained puzzled as to why his wife sent it. Several days after Christmas, in a moment of frustration, he decided to destroy the photo, then thought: “It’s dumb to throw away something from the States without doing more with it; James Bond would soak it in piss and see if something came out.” Stockdale’s middle name actually was Bond.42

In the few minutes of privacy before the guards made their next rounds, Stockdale filled his drinking cup with urine and stuck the picture inside. After a half hour, nothing happened, other than the “cheesy Polaroid paper starting to fray at the edge.” When he pulled at the edge and separated the two white pieces of the photo, he began to see “small specs” emerge. Suddenly, an entire paragraph appeared on a “decal-like thing” on the inside of the photo paper.43 With only seconds before the guards arrived, he tried to memorize the message, which read:

The letter in the envelope with this picture is written on invisible carbon. . . . All future letters bearing an odd date will be in invisible carbon. . . . Use after you write a letter. . . . Put your letter on hard surface, carbon on top and copy paper on top of that. Write message on copy paper with firm pressure but not enough to indent papers below. . . . Best to write invisible messages in lines perpendicular to lines of plain language of letter home. . . . Use stylus directly in invisible carbon if copy paper not available. . . . A piece of invisible carbon can be used many times. . . . Begin each “carboned” letter with “Darling” and end with “Your adoring husband.” . . . Be careful; being caught using carbon paper could lead to espionage charges. . . . Soak any picture with a rose on it. . . . Hang on.44

Stockdale’s first priority was to construct a list of the names of every POW known to be alive and send it back to the people “in intelligence.” On January 2, 1967, he prepared his first letter containing forty names of confirmed POWs, using the carbon technique along with the “darling/adoring husband” phrases.45 The message was then unknowingly returned to the United States by a leftist anti-Vietnam organization named Women Strike for Peace.

Two weeks later another opportunity to communicate arose when Reverend Muste, a Presbyterian minister and frequent Hanoi visitor, passed through and offered to take mail back with him. Stockdale used the carbons for a second secret message, adding more names of confirmed POWs along with information on the camp’s location and a list of potential nearby targets.46 Its secret writing, when developed, revealed ominous content: “Experts in torture . . . hand and leg irons—16 hours a day.”47

Commander Robert Boroughs of Naval Intelligence, who worked with Sybil, attempted to expand communications with other POWs, but the project stalled. One Agency officer who became aware of the project later on said, “What I understood was that more senior Pentagon officers took the position, ‘Absolutely not. These guys have got it tough enough right now, they’re being tortured to death. They’re in the most miserable situation in the world. The last thing we need to do is make them spies.’”

At that point, the Navy turned to the CIA. “It’s my understanding that after the Pentagon decided not to continue communicating covertly with Stockdale, the Navy decided to do it ‘under the table,’ because they believed their guys needed it. They also had a senior pilot [Stockdale] who asked for it,” said a TSD officer who served at the time. “The Navy request came in from outside the normal chain of command, but we had a Director or Deputy Director who accepted their request and TSD was directed to assist.”

Unfortunately, there had also been private attempts by some of the families of POWs to communicate clandestinely with their loved ones. In one well-meaning but failed effort, the wife of a POW secreted a transistor radio in a jar of peanut butter without telling anyone. The North Vietnamese guards stole the peanut butter for their own use and discovered the radio, leading to thorough searches of all packaged material. For example, candy bars were crushed into small pieces and toothpaste tubes squeezed empty before being given to prisoners.

Then, in April of 1967, Commander Boroughs introduced Sybil to an “expert from Washington,” Bruce Rounds, from the State Department. Sybil recalled the way Rounds laughed when he said he was a State employee—it made her think he really worked for the CIA.48 Rounds suggesteda new code that would allow Stockdale to communicate even if guards were dictating each word he wrote. Rounds taught Sybil the code, which she then used in a May 25, 1967, letter that included a photograph of the roses she received on Mother’s Day. The picture with the roses was intended to be “soaked.”49

Fourteen months passed before Stockdale was allowed to send another letter. He inserted a phrase of special interest, “I often think of Red and wanted to include a message, but it is impossible; tell him next time.” His reference to Red alerted the intelligence community that he was unable to send a covert message. “Red” was Retired Vice Admiral William F. “Red” Rayborn who, until June of 1966, had been Director of Central Intelligence.

As more letters with coded information were received, the few people who knew about the project were hard pressed to explain how they were getting access to POW information, such as prisoner names and camp locations.

“Over the time that I worked at night on the project, I had the deeply satisfying personal pleasure of seeing how grateful the military was that they had this channel. For years, it had been unknown what happened to many of the guys, whether they were KIA or MIA or POWs,” said Lipton. “After we had the communications link, not only did the military know, but a lot of these families also began to get reliable information about their sons, fathers, and husbands.”

After Stockdale and the other POWs were released in 1973 and books began to be written about their experiences, concern mounted that the closely held secret methods of communication would be exposed. Word reached DCI William Casey that Stockdale intended to include a detailed account of the covert communications in his autobiography and a subsequent movie starring James Woods.

Stockdale, now retired from the Navy as a Rear Admiral and awarded the Medal of Honor, seemed determined to write about POW communications. He reasoned that since the war was over, secrecy surrounding the covert channels was no longer necessary. “The Agency told Stockdale, ‘You can’t do this,’” Lipton remembered. “And Stockdale said, ‘The hell I can’t. What are you going to do, court-martial me?’”

With negotiations mired, Lipton offered to visit Stockdale. Along with an Agency lawyer, he met the retired Admiral at his Southern California home in a face-to-face attempt to dissuade him from revealing the POW secrets. “It was a very hostile environment when we walked in—electric, fiery,” Lipton recalled. “It took two hours, but we convinced him to remove the most sensitive references to our capabilities. Then he bought us lunch at the Hotel del Coronado.” Back in Washington, Lipton and the lawyer went directly to Casey’s office. “I don’t know how you did it,” the DCI said. “I couldn’t, but you did. Congratulations and thanks.”

For his work that made secret communications possible, an association of American POWs called Nam-POWs Inc. declared Lipton an honorary member and “prisoner of war in Vietnam.” Lipton remembered his first POW reunion. “A heck of a lot of guys came up to me and said, ‘I wouldn’t be alive today if it wasn’t for what the CIA did. That’s what kept me going.’ That’s how I was able to go in and work all night long, then come back and work the next day. I knew that we were doing things that really made a difference; not only in military value, but for those warriors and their families.”

The U.S. withdrawal from Vietnam did not end OTS’s involvement in covert warfare. President Reagan and DCI William Casey believed that Central America was in danger of falling under the influence of Communist, pro-Soviet regimes in the early 1980s. The leftist Sandinista government that came to power in Nicaragua in July of 1979 bore troubling similarities to Castro’s Cuba. The five-member junta ruling the country after overthrowing the former leader, Anastasio Somoza, almost immediately established close ties with the Soviet Union and began building up military forces.50 The Sandinistas had an estimated 5,000 guerilla fighters in 1979, a number that quickly grew to an army of 70,000 troops by 1982.51

American satellite photography also showed an expanding military infrastructure with three dozen new bases constructed in rapid succession. Sandinista pilots were training to fly advanced Soviet MiG aircraft and the army was being equipped with Soviet tanks and artillery.52

The effect of another Marxist government in the Western Hemisphere suggested a breach in the U.S. policy of containment and the potential to destabilize pro-American governments in nearby countries such as El Salvador. U.S. intelligence reported weapons flowing to the El Salvadorian guerillas through Nicaragua. Reagan and Casey agreed that CIA covert operations should be part of the strategy to thwart Soviet-Marxist ambitions in Latin America.

Under Casey, reconstituting the CIA’s covert action infrastructure, dismantled after Vietnam, became a priority. Casey decided to visit one of the OTS’s newly upgraded facilities for training of foreign counterinsurgency teams and target analysis. Jameson and Parr acted as hosts.

“Casey sat with several OTS special missions officers until three in the morning, drinking beer and planning the CIA’s action in Central America,” said Parr. “Jameson prepared an analysis of how he believed the Agency could effectively counter problems caused by the Sandinistas in countries around Nicaragua. It became a loud and raucous evening with Casey’s encouragement and participation. He was interested in the special weapons, explosives expertise, and training OTS could bring to the problem. Impressed by Jameson’s analysis, the DCI concluded the evening by saying he had the funds and directed OTS to expand its training capabilities.

In early 1984, the CIA, acting on a classified authorization from President Reagan, began mining selected Nicaraguan harbors in an attempt to disrupt the country’s economy. The DO tasked OTS to develop, test, and produce special mines that could not be traced back to the CIA or U.S. military suppliers. OTS engineers used thirty-inch sections of ten-inch-diameter industrial sewer pipe and C-4 explosive was tamped into the pipes with Louisville Slugger baseball bats. The mines used the military Mark-36 impact fuse system triggered by hull pressure, magnetics, or the sound of a ship passing overhead. The techs also installed a self-destruct capability set for varying times depending on the anticipated length of the operation.53

An initial plan to airdrop the mines was abandoned when the operational managers decided that parachutes floating downward failed the covertness test. As an alternative, the CIA used high-speed boats launched from a mother ship positioned in international waters to lay the mines. The ocean-going racing vessels, called “Cigarette” boats, obtained courtesy of the U.S. Customs Service, had confiscated them in drug busts.54

OTS engineers modified the boats for paramilitary operations by adding superstructure to accommodate 25mm chain guns powerful enough to penetrate tank armor.55 They also increased the boats’ speed to greater than 60 knots, assuring a rapid withdrawal after launching an attack.56

Between February and April of 1984, as many as seventy mines were planted in the harbors on both the Atlantic and Pacific coasts of Nicaragua. 57 Several ships were hit, including Dutch, Japanese, and Russian vessels. The mines created a loud noise, caused some limited damage to the ships’ structures, and killed no one. Nevertheless, after becoming aware of the mines, a number of merchant ship pilots refused to sail into Nicaraguan ports and secret intelligence reporting indicated the Sandinista government was preparing for negotiations to stop the mining.58

However, in early April, the mining operation became public knowledge followed by a political uproar. Senator Barry Goldwater, Chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, sent DCI Casey a blistering letter on April 9 accusing the Agency of failing to inform him of the operation.59 Goldwater’s assertion was in dispute, but the public furor in Washington could not be contained. The intense reaction to the “secret mining” led to a U.S. Senate 84-12 vote passing a resolution that condemned the CIA’s actions. While the resolution was not legally binding, the Reagan administration bowed to the will of Congress and ended the operation in Nicaragua.60

“Oh boy, there was this hue and cry about mining neutral waters and acts of war. The Navy and Congress both got their noses out of joint,” remembered Parr. “They’d [Congressional leaders] all been briefed, but some ‘conveniently forgot’ that when the crap hit the fan.”

Through its first thirty-five years, OTS officers, in response to policy directives of Republican and Democratic Presidents, supported covert military and paramilitary operations in Cuba, Vietnam, Laos, and Central America. Over the next two decades many of these same officers would be called again into harm’s way in Iraq, Africa, and Afghanistan.

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