All language subtitles for the.vietnam.war.2017.part07.bdrip.x264-wide

# Catch a boat to England, baby,
maybe to Spain #

# Wherever I have gone #

# Wherever I've been and gone #

# Wherever I have gone
the blues run the game. #

I grew up in
a small farming community

in southern Minnesota
called Worthington.

Small town America...
at least my small town...

had great virtues.

It was a safe place to grow up.

There was Little League baseball
in the summer,

and there was hockey
in the winter.

# When I ain't
drinkin', baby, you are on my mind. #

Everybody knows everyone
else's business and their faults

and what's happening
in their marriages

and where the kids
have gone wrong.

It was full of the Kiwanis boys
and the Elks Club

and the country club set and
the kind of chatty housewives

and the holier-than-thou
ministers.

# Wherever
I've been and gone... #

I remember the clay
my draft notice arrived.

It was a summer afternoon,
maybe June of '68.

And I remember taking
that envelope into the house

and putting it
on the kitchen table

where my mom and dad
were having lunch.

And they didn't even read it.

They just looked at it
and knew what it was.

And the silence of that lunch...

I didn't speak, my mom didn't
speak, my dad didn't speak...

was just that piece of paper

lying at the center
of the table.

It was enough to make me cry
to this day, not for myself,

but for my mom and dad,

who both of them had been
in the Navy during World War II,

had believed in service to one's
country and all those values.

...considers all
civilians potential enemies...

On the one hand I did think
the war was less than righteous.

On the other hand
I love my country.

And I valued my life in a small
town and my friends and family.

And so the summer of '68,
I wrestled with what to do,

was for me, at least,
more torturous

and devastating and
emotionally painful

than anything
that happened in Vietnam.

In the end I just capitulated.

And one clay I got on a bus with
other recent graduates,

and we went over to Sioux Falls
about 60 miles away,

and raised our hands
and got in the Army.

But it wasn't a decision, it was
a forfeiture of a decision.

It was letting my body go,

turning a switch
in my conscience,

just turning it off,

so it wouldn't be barking
at me saying,

"You're doing a bad and evil and
stupid and unpatriotic thing."

Last week's casualty figures in
the Vietnam War released today

showed 299 Americans killed,
the lowest figure in two months.

# You say you want
a revolution #

# Well, you know #

# We all want to change
the world #

# You tell me
that it's evolution #

# Well, you know #

# We all want
to change the world #

# But when you talk
about destruction #

# Don't you know
that you can count me out, in #

# Don't you know
it's gonna be all right #

By June of 1968,
the spirit of revolution-

over the Vietnam War, over
injustice, over human rights...

seemed to have spread
everywhere.

The pressure to bring an end
to the war was building.

President Lyndon Johnson
had already decided

not to run again,

assassinations and unrest
had staggered the nation,

and the country was preparing
to choose a new president.

Meanwhile, American and North
Vietnamese diplomats in Paris

were getting nowhere.

The communists insisted there
could be

no substantive negotiations

until the United States stopped
all bombing of North Vietnam.

# With minds that hate... #

The new secretary
of defense, Clark Clifford,

who had turned from hawk to dove

after just a few months
in office,

begged the president
to call a total halt.

"We can only hope for success
at the bargaining table,"

he told Johnson.

"We are in a war we cannot win."

The president refused
to stop the bombing.

Over the following months,

there would be reports of
progress on the battlefield

and in the countryside.

But that progress came so slowly
and at so high a cost

in human lives that the war
against the war

intensified back home,

pitting classes and generations
against one another,

spreading distrust of political
leaders who seemed unable

or unwilling to bring
the fighting to an end.

Young men from all over
the country would continue

to face questions and choices

their fathers and grandfathers
had rarely had to face

when asked to fight
in other wars:

What obligation did a citizen
owe his country?

What should one do when asked
to fight a war

in which one did not believe?

How was a soldier to distinguish
between a shadowy enemy

and the Vietnamese civilians
he was supposed to be defending?

# Shoo-bee-do-wop #

# Oh, oh, oh, oh. #

The coming summer of 1968

would be one of the most
consequential

in American history.

# All right, all right,
all right, all right, all right #

# All right, all right #

# Shoo-bee-do-wop #

Earlier this year,
top U.S. leaders vowed

that the U.S. Marine outpost
at Khe Sanh,

then under a 77-day enemy siege,
would be defended at all cost.

Johnson had
said in the fall of '67,

and as we went into '68,

"I don't want no damn
Dien Bien Phu."

So the whole American military,
from the Joint Chiefs on down,

whether they believed in saving
Khe Sanh or not,

were hell-bent for leather
to make damn sure

the siege was broken.

Now the telltale moment
of that is that a week

after the siege was broken,

they plowed the base under
and abandoned it.

That was Vietnam in a microcosm.

There was a new
commander in Vietnam now,

General Creighton W. Abrams,
a hero of World War II,

a soldier's soldier,
one reporter said,

who "could inspire
aggressiveness in a begonia."

Some newsman once described him

as looking like an unmade bed
smoking a cigar.

He's gruff.

He drank a lot.

He's grumpy in the morning.

Sometimes staff officers would
schedule appointments with him

in the morning

for, with generals who were
causing him trouble.

Abrams was a welcome
new face for the American war.

Reporters found him more frank
and open than his predecessor.

"The overall public affairs
policy of this command,"

he told his subordinates,

"will be to let results speak
for themselves."

"Occasionally," one officer
said, "we are allowed

to state frankly that we didn't
do a damn thing this month."

Many soldiers would believe
for the rest of their lives

that if Abrams had taken command
sooner

the outcome could have been
different.

You're told very succinctly,

"We need to rack up as much
body count as we can.

How many gooks did you kill
today?"

And it was the kill ratio
that determined

whether or not you called it
a victory or a loss.

So if you killed
20 North Vietnamese

and lost only two people,

they declared a great victory
for that particular firefight.

Lieutenant Vincent Okamoto
was born during World War II

in a Japanese-American
internment camp

at Poston, Arizona, the seventh
son of Japanese immigrants.

All six of his brothers had
served in uniform...

two fought with the celebrated
442nd Regimental Combat Team

in Italy and France,

the most highly decorated unit
of that war...

and so, when Okamoto's country
went to war in Vietnam,

he believed he should go, too.

He was now a platoon leader with
Bravo Company, 2nd Battalion,

27th Regiment, 25th Infantry
Division, based at Cu Chi,

some 20 miles northwest of
Saigon, an area honeycombed

with miles of Viet Cong tunnels.

My parents are
Japanese immigrants.

I had rice literally every clay
of my life

until I went into the military.

So we were conducting a cordon
and search of a village.

Didn't find any weapons,

didn't find any communist
literature or whatever.

So we took a prolonged
lunch break.

Everybody wants to get
out of the sun.

Well, my RTO, my medic and I

went into this particular house,
and there was...

there were three women,
and a babe in arms,

and a kid about four years old.

And she was cooking... rice.

Well, here, here's Okamoto,
Mrs. Okamoto's son,

that hadn't had rice now... hot,
steamed rice... for months.

I'm looking at it,
it looks pretty good to me.

So I-I get my interpreter.

I said, "Hey, tell this woman,
the grandma,

"that I'll give her
a pack of cigarettes,

"my C-ration turkey loaf,
and a can of peaches

for some of that steamed rice
and that fish and vegetables."

It was great.

And I asked for seconds.

My RTO says, "Damn, ain't
these people poor enough

without you eating their food?"

I said, "You know, hell,
they got enough rice here

to feed a dozen men."

And then, it just dawned,

they did have enough rice
to feed a dozen men.

So I had my interpreter
ask the woman,

"Who's all this rice for?"

"1 don't know, I don't know."

So we started looking
around again.

We found a tunnel mouth.

I was given a grenade.

After the smoke cleared,
we pulled, I think,

seven or eight bodies
to the town square.

And we wanted to see who would
cry over these people.

And then we'd have more people
to question.

The women that lived
in that house,

and I had eaten their rice,

they're all squatting down,
wailing.

And you couldn't identify these,
these...

they're just charred bodies.

Um...

And I think that was
the first time I knew

that I personally
had killed people.

I got an "Attaboy"
from the supervisor.

But, uh...

it wasn't something that you can
say had glory in it,

or you felt a real sense
of accomplishment.

Over that summer,
Okamoto was wounded two times

and made 22 helicopter assaults,

four of them as commander
of Bravo Company.

On the morning of August 23,
he made his 23rd assault.

Nineteen helicopters ferried
the first and second platoons

to a new landing zone
near Cambodia.

Their task was to dig in,
stay put,

and somehow block a battalion
of North Vietnamese troops,

who were trying to escape
across the border.

Okamoto's unit was reinforced
by a platoon

of mechanized infantry,
three APCs, and a tank,

but they were still
badly outnumbered.

He and the fewer than 150 men
under his command

spent the rest of that day
and all of the next

preparing as best they could
for an attack,

setting Claymore mines

and hanging three coils
of razor wire.

August the 24th,
about 10:00 that night,

we got hit with a very heavy
mortar barrage.

Within the first
I would say ten seconds,

all three of those armored
personnel carriers and tanks

were knocked out with
rocket-propelled grenades.

Trip flares briefly
lit up the landscape.

Scores of enemy troops
were running at them

through the elephant grass.

VC mortar shells blasted
two gaps in the razor wire.

If Okamoto and his outnumbered
men couldn't plug them,

they were sure to be overrun.

He and the four men closest
to him held their M-16s

above their heads
and fired blindly.

The enemy kept coming.

I had my four people.

And through the light
of the flares, I said,

"A couple you guys go and man
the machine guns

out on those APCs."

Well, the response I
got was, like, uh...

"Fuck you, I ain't going
up there."

So I ran to the first armored
personnel carrier, and I...

pulled the, the gunner out of
the turret, dead.

I jumped in there,
manned the machine gun,

and fired until
it ran out of ammo.

Okamoto moved to
the second disabled APC

and then the third,
emptying their guns.

And they were
still coming at us.

So I crawled out there, till I
was about ten meters from 'em.

And I killed 'em
with hand grenades.

Two enemy grenades fell near him

and he managed to throw
both back.

But a third landed
just beyond his reach.

Shrapnel fragments peppered
his legs and back.

I just knew for
sure I was going to die.

"Okamoto, you're not going
to make it out of here.

"Mom's going to take it hard,

but, you know, you're not going
to make it out of here."

And that's liberating.

When you know you're going
to die, you don't...

the fear leaves.

At least in my case,
I was no longer afraid.

I was just mad because here are
all these little guys

trying to kill my ass.

And if that's the case,

then I'm going to make it as
tough on them as I possibly can

before I go down.

I killed a lot of brave men
that night.

And I rationalized that
by telling myself,

"Well, maybe what you did...
just maybe...

saved the lives of a couple
of your people."

During the night, the
enemy had slipped into Cambodia,

dragging as many of their dead
with them as they could.

A third of Okamoto's company
had been lost.

For his efforts that day,

Vincent Okamoto received the
Distinguished Service Cross,

the Army's second highest honor.

Before his tour of duty ended,

he would become the most highly
decorated Japanese-American

to survive the Vietnam War.

You know what?

The real heroes
are the men that died.

19-, 20-year-old
high school dropouts.

They didn't have escape routes
that the elite

and the wealthy
and the privileged had.

And that was unfair.

And so they looked upon
military service as...

...like the weather.

You had to go in,
and you'd do it.

But to see these kids,
who had the least to gain,

there wasn't anything
to look forward to;

they weren't going
to be rewarded

for their service in Vietnam.

And yet their infinite patience,
their loyalty to each other,

their courage under fire
was just phenomenal.

And you would ask yourself,

"How does America produce
young men like this?"

At first, Radio Hanoi
had portrayed the Tet Offensive

as a series of
"tremendous victories"

in which "hundreds of thousands
of people have risen up

and destroyed enemy positions."

"But after a couple of weeks,"
one North Vietnamese remembered,

"we didn't hear any more news.

"The Saigon regime
was still there

"and the U.S. planes
were still bombing.

It was obvious the radio wasn't
telling the truth."

Casualty figures were
never revealed,

but to North Vietnamese citizens
secretly listening to reports

on the BBC and Radio Saigon,

it was clear that they
had been heavy.

In late August 1968, Le Duan
and the North Vietnamese leadership

launched still another
offensive.

The result was the same
as Tet and Mini-Tet.

They lost 17,000 more men.

Thousands of fresh recruits
had to be ordered south

to replace them.

"The war began to seem
like an open pit,"

one North Vietnamese remembered.

"The more young people were lost
there, the more they sent."

The sons of some party officials

and their friends were sent
abroad to escape the draft.

University students
were exempted.

People with money
bribed recruiters

to overlook their offspring

or paid physicians to declare
them unfit to serve.

Most draftees were poor
people from the countryside,

especially receptive
to the slogans

and promises of the revolution.

Thousands of replacements made
their way

down the Ho Chi Minh Trail

past burned-out vehicles
and military graveyards,

the stones neatly marked
with the names of the dead

and the date each had died.

They encountered small groups
of wounded men

moving in the other direction.

Those without arms walked.

Legless men rode
in camouflaged trucks.

There were blinded soldiers

and others who had been
hideously burned by napalm.

"You'll see all kinds of
pleasures in the South,"

the weary wounded told the
young men moving toward the war.

"Everyone was frightened,"
a political officer remembered,

"especially when we met
those men.

It was like looking
at our future selves."

The youngest delegate
of the New Jersey delegation

casts his vote for the next
president of the United States,

Richard Nixon.

We've got 18.

David, we doubled it, 18.

Richard Nixon
had been a prominent

and controversial figure
in American politics

for more than two decades.

He'd been a congressman
and senator,

best known for his fierce
anticommunism,

then served eight years

as Dwight Eisenhower's
vice president.

He narrowly lost
the presidential race

to John Kennedy in 1960

and was defeated again
two years later

trying to become
governor of California.

His career seemed to be over.

But then, in one of the most
extraordinary comebacks

in U.S. political history,

he had outsmarted
and out-maneuvered

and out-campaigned his rivals

to win the 1968
Republican nomination.

Richard M. Nixon...

His pick for vice president
was the tough-talking

but largely unknown governor
of Maryland, Spiro Agnew.

Nixon made the case for himself

as the man who could bring
a fractured America together

and bring an honorable end
to the war.

When the strongest nation
in the world can be tied down

for four years in a war in
Vietnam with no end in sight;

when the richest nation
in the world can't manage

its own economy;

when the nation
with the greatest tradition

of the rule of law is plagued
by unprecedented lawlessness;

when a nation that has been
known for a century

for equality of opportunity

is torn by unprecedented
racial violence;

and when the president
of the United States

cannot travel abroad or
to any major city at home

without fear of a hostile
demonstration,

then it's time
for new leadership

for the United States
of America.

Good evening from Chicago,

where the 35th National
Democratic Convention

opens tomorrow with the promise
of turmoil inside this hall

and a threat of violence
without.

Both sides moved in
their troops on a balmy Sunday morning

for the confrontation
of Chicago.

Some 6,000 crack Army troops,

riot trained and
ready for action...

The Army soldiers moved out to
secret locations around the city

after one of the largest troop
movements in domestic history.

Some 15,000 protesters
had gathered in Chicago,

most to register
their anguish over the war...

Some bent on disrupting
the convention.

Richard J. Daley,
the Democratic mayor of Chicago,

was determined that
there be no trouble in his city.

Twelve thousand Chicago
policemen were on alert.

In addition to the
6,000 U.S. Army troops,

there were 6,000 more armed
National Guardsmen

and a thousand intelligence
agents from the FBI,

the CIA, and the military.

Mayor Daley cordoned off
the Chicago Amphitheater

where the convention
was being held

and denied the protestors
permits to march

or to sleep in the city's parks.

Are you planning
to go without the permit

if you don't get the permit?

Given the fact

that for many months we have
notified this city

and this nation that we wish
to hold a demonstration,

an assembly in Chicago

to register our convictions
about the war,

the tens of thousands of people
coming to the city of Chicago

constitute a permit.

Our fight is with the militarism

that is developing
in this country

in the response to legitimate
political and social grievances

by bringing in troops

rather than dealing with the
real issues and real problems.

In the name of
security, freedom of the press,

freedom of movement,
perhaps as far

as the demonstrators themselves
are concerned,

even freedom of speech have
been severely restricted here.

A democratic convention is about
to begin in a police state.

There just doesn't seem to be
any other way to say it.

Will the
delegates please be seated.

Vice President Hubert Humphrey,

President Johnson's chosen
successor, was the frontrunner.

He had always been a hero
to his party's liberal wing,

but because he had loyally
supported the president

and the war, many delegates,
and most of the demonstrators

outside the convention hall,
backed his antiwar rival,

Senator Eugene McCarthy.

On the second night
of the convention,

the police drove hundreds
of demonstrators

out of Lincoln Park
with clubs and tear gas.

The delegates wearing
bands of black crepe on their arms...

The next afternoon,
the Democrats heatedly debated

a plank in the party platform
calling for an end to the war.

When Humphrey supporters
voted it down,

the antiwar delegates erupted.

...who have joined New York
in this extraordinary demonstration

of antiwar sentiment
on the convention floor.

DOUGLAS KIKER ". The demonstrators
resisted when police attempted to arrest

a young man who tried to rip
down an American flag.

Watch... watch these fuckers.

Don't turn your back
on these fuckers!

# Everywhere I
hear the sound of marching... #

The cops were all...

they were guys
from the neighborhoods...

Italians, Polish guys,
Irish guys.

Probably some of them
had been in Vietnam.

And if they hadn't been,

they certainly had cousins
or brothers who were.

Philip Caputo, who had
fought with the Marines in Vietnam,

was now a reporter,

assigned to cover the conflict
in American streets.

Get a picture of them
throwing the rocks!

So all of a sudden
the streets are filled

with these kids who don't look
like college kids

are supposed to look
in the cops' view.

And some of them were
committing vandalism

and yelling obscenities.

And I think a lot of policemen
saw that

as abusing the privileges that
they had and scorning them.

They are provoking us

but we do not want to confront
them now... move back, please.

# Well, then
what can a poor boy do #

# Except to sing for
a rock 'n' roll band #

# 'Cause in sleepy London town #

# There's just no place
for a street fighting man #

Move back! Move back!

That's a report, on film, from
Grant Park, downtown Chicago.

That evening,
thousands of demonstrators,

barred from getting anywhere
near the convention,

were marching toward
Democratic Party headquarters

in the Hilton Hotel
on Michigan Avenue instead.

The marchers seem
to have come from everywhere

and now are coming up south
on Michigan Avenue

back toward the point where

the police were blocking them
before.

Get your hands up!

Hands LIP!

Come on!

Come on now!
Go! Go!

I place before you
for the Democratic nomination

as president
of the United States

the name of Senator Eugene J.
McCarthy of Minnesota.

Downtown Chicago at Balbo
and Michigan Avenues,

there has been in progress for
some time a peace demonstration.

The police have come
to put it down.

The National Guard
has been called to help.

Get him!

Get him! Get him!

...people screaming...

I turned on the television.

I don't think I was
too particularly thoughtful

as a junior in college,

but I thought the country was
coming apart at the seams.

It looked like we were
devolving into madness.

And I couldn't tell, was it
protestors or the police

or was everybody insane?

At the convention
there was more confusion.

Some antiwar delegates
once pledged

to the murdered Robert Kennedy
now threw their support

behind yet another candidate,

South Dakota senator
George McGovern.

And with George McGovern
as president of the United States,

we wouldn't have to have
Gestapo tactics

in the streets of Chicago.

The persistent
chanting by the crowd,

"The whole world is watching."

LBJ, watching
the chaos on television,

considered flying to Chicago

and getting back
in the race himself.

Mayor Daley told the president
he'd have enough delegates

to win the nomination,

but the Secret Service warned it
could not guarantee his safety.

I got to Australia the
last: week of August 1968-R&R.

I never really wanted
to go on R&R.

I felt that, how can you relax?

So I turn on the TV
and the first scene...

The TV gets bright.

The first scene on...
it was the camera...

was a close-up, was over the
shoulder of this storm trooper

who had a kid by the scruff
of his shirt.

And he smacks him with his bat.

And there's blood and everything
and all this jumble.

And then the camera pans out
and it's far away.

And these riots and
there's fighting going on.

And I go, "Oh, my God,

the Russians invaded
Czechoslovakia."

And then ditto, ditto, ditto,
"Chicago Democratic Convention,

United States of America."

And I said...
you know, at that moment my...

I-I was politicized.

# There's somethin'
happenin' here #

# What it is
ain't exactly clear #

At that moment in time,

I realized that anybody who
really cared for America

was sent halfway around the
world chasing some ghost

in the jungle, killing
somebody else's grandmother

for no reason at all.

# What's that sound,
everybody look what's going down #

And, in the meantime,
my country's being torn apart.

So I saw somebody who looked
like my dad

hitting somebody
who looked like me.

Oh, my God,
whose side would I be on?

There's
battle lines being drawn #

# Nobody's right
if everybody's wrong #

# Young people
speakin' their minds #

# Getting so much resistance
from behind #

# It's time we stop #

In the end,

Humphrey won the nomination
on the first ballot.

He told the press
how pleased he was,

but he confessed to his wife
that the convention had left him

feeling heartbroken, battered,
and beaten,

as if he'd survived a shipwreck.

A presidential commission would
declare what had happened

in Chicago a "police riot,"
but in a Gallup poll,

56% of Americans approved

of the way the police had
handled the demonstrators.

And when Richard Nixon chose
to open his campaign

with a motorcade
through the Chicago Loop,

nearly half a million Chicagoans
turned out to cheer him.

Hello, Mom, Pop.

I really can't tell you too much
about this country

except the rice paddies stink.

And it's just miles and miles
of nothing but rice paddies.

And they got dikes in them.

Real cool looking.

We go through them with our APCs

and tear them down
and everything else.

On August 29, the day after
police and demonstrators clashed

in Chicago, 20-year-old private
Michael Holmes

arrived in Vietnam.

He was born and brought up in
the tiny town of Williamsville,

in the heart
of the Missouri Ozarks.

His father and mother
ran the general store

where Michael worked
every day after school.

He floated the rivers,
hunted deer and squirrels,

and was going steady
with a girl named Darlene.

He had trouble keeping up
in high school,

did not complete community
college and, as a result,

was immediately drafted
into the Army.

In Vietnam, he was assigned to
F Troop, 17th Armored Cavalry,

196th Light Infantry Brigade,

stationed at an isolated
firebase

22 miles south of Danang
called Baldy.

So you ask
what the size of Baldy was.

Well, it's just about
as big as Williamsville

and maybe a little bit bigger.

I sent you a picture of me
and a bunch of the other guys.

It's not really that bad.

It's... in a way I like it.

It's just being away from home

and everything
that I don't like.

In Williamsville, family
and friends gathered to listen

to Michael's reports
from Vietnam

and to fill him in on what was
happening back home.

We're all clown here
at your clad and mother's tonight

and we thought we'd all
say something for you.

And you could hear our voice
and feel like you's back home.

And we're looking forward...

Hello, Mike.

I've been doing a lot of
squirrel hunting lately,

and killing quite a few.

Well, the Ozarks really look
beautiful this time of year.

Looking forward to seeing you.

Uh, this is Jerry, Mike.

I think Ricky and Carol
broke up, Mike.

Ricky, he's really prowling now.

Mike, this is Glenda.

Um, I got a boyfriend,
and his name's Danny.

And...

Mike, this is Glen.

All these other boys been
talking about hunting,

I'm gonna talk about girls.

Girls and fast cars.

Gene Bilbury got him
a new Bonneville.

Michael, this is Mother.

The picture you sent us was real
good, it looked just like you.

I even liked that moustache,
and I didn't think I would.

And we miss you a lot.

This is your dad talking.

We think that you'll be okay,
just don't be nosing around

where you don't have
any business

and get hold of a booby trap
or something.

This is about the end of this
tape, so goodbye for now.

We burned down
a whole lot of hooches today

of these people who don't
cooperate with us, you know.

Yeah, I don't I don't really
understand it

because if, if they are,
you know, not VC,

and we do that to them,
you know, treat them bad,

then they're gonna turn VC.

The Army does everything
backward.

One morning that fall,
several APCs from F Troop

moved cautiously up
Highway One toward Danang.

Michael Holmes rode
in the second vehicle.

His APC hit a BOO-pound bomb
buried beneath the road.

Three of his
friends died instantly.

Holmes was thrown clear

and woke up five hours later
in the hospital.

Hello, Mom, Pop.

This is me.

Up to this point I didn't know

if there was really
a war going on over here.

I just thought maybe they was
playing a game or something.

But I could've reached out and
touched two of those people.

I knew them real good.

And please don't worry about me
getting hurt

because I'm not hurt
all that bad.

Two more Purple Hearts
and I'm out of the field,

and I think maybe I get to get
out of the country altogether.

Six months later, Michael
Holmes was on patrol, walking point,

when he was killed by
a North Vietnamese soldier.

This is Long An province.

Since 1962, it has been an
important testing ground

for the pacification program.

Amidst the flat rice fields and
coconut trees lies Loc Tien Mot.

The hamlet chief says only more
troops will make his people safe

from the Viet Cong.

During the night, he adds,

the guerrillas go from house
to house collecting taxes.

The government may have left
its traces of pacification.

The Viet Cong have not left.

Liz Trotta, NBC News,
South Vietnam.

Since the Viet Cong
had been so badly weakened

in the Tet Offensive and the two
offensives that followed it,

General Abrams believed

that hundreds of thousands
of ARVN troops

could now be freed
to secure the countryside

and win support for the
government in Saigon.

But permanent security
was not possible

unless the Viet Cong
political infrastructure...

the tax collectors
and village chiefs,

runners and spies
and sympathizers...

were killed, captured,
or persuaded to defect.

To do that, the CIA
had created the Phoenix Program.

The villagers
of Thuy Xuan have been assembled

in the village schoolyard,

where teams of government
interrogators are trying

to pick out from among them
the members of the Viet Cong

who live here.

This sort of Phoenix exercise
is a weekly event

in districts
throughout South Vietnam.

After recovering
from his wounds,

Lieutenant Vincent Okamoto
became an intelligence officer

attached to the program.

The Phoenix Program
was premised on the fact

that the North Vietnamese coming
down the Ho Chi Minh Trail,

when they went
into South Vietnam,

they were strangers,
just like the Americans.

They didn't know the terrain,
they didn't know the people.

So in order for them
to function operationally,

they needed the Viet Cong
infrastructure.

And so the project was
to eliminate those guys.

And I think it made
a great deal of sense.

The communists
thought Phoenix was very effective.

They saw it as
a significant threat

to the viability
of the revolution

because to the extent that you
could take a sharp pointed knife

and carve out the Viet Cong,

the shadow Viet Cong,
the shadow government,

then their means of control
over the civilian population

in the South was dealt
a death blow.

The pressure the Phoenix
Program put on the Viet Cong

caused dangerous signs of what
one communist official described

as "wavering" among his
followers in the Mekong Delta...

depression, discouragement,
and widespread drunkenness

even among men
going into battle.

But Phoenix's targeting was only
as good as the intelligence

upon which it was based,
and that varied widely.

This film, made
by a CBS stringer cameraman

some weeks ago shows
South Vietnamese forces

interrogating an old man

identified as a minor
VC official.

In the Phoenix Program,

Americans served
in an advisory capacity;

most of the day-to-day
enforcement was left to

the South Vietnamese Provincial
Reconnaissance Units...

the PRUs...

who sometimes were
more interested

in settling old scores
than in rooting out communists.

It was scary because
it was subject to abuse,

and was abused.

Again, the geniuses in Saigon
would use their computers

to come up with the blacklists.

You get the list, and you check
with other intelligence officers

in the district.

And you try to pool
that information.

Next night,
or a couple nights later,

a bunch of cowboys from the PRUs
would go out there.

And, you know,
knock on the door,

"April Fool, motherfucker!"

And boom.

There wasn't any
real accountability.

Later, the director
of the Phoenix Program

admitted to Congress
that no one knew how many

of the more than 20,000 who had
been killed were innocent.

And although the program
did succeed

in degrading the Viet Cong
infrastructure,

the government of Nguyen
Van Thieu remained

as unpopular as ever.

A poll taken in the Delta
province of Long An

would show 35% of the people
ready to vote for Thieu,

20% favoring
the National Liberation Front,

and 45% backing someone, anyone,

opposed to both the Viet Cong

and the American-backed regime
in Saigon.

In Vietnam there's a wound

that does not cease
its bleeding.

I'm talking about the scream
of death and the wound of war.

We did not come to talk
with you, Mr. Humphrey.

We have come to arrest you.

Now you've had equal time.

Shut up!

Hubert Humphrey's
presidential campaign was in trouble.

Richard Nixon was comfortably
ahead in the polls

and refused to debate.

"I've come to the conclusion

that there's no way
to win the war,"

he told three of
his speechwriters in private.

"But we have to say
the opposite,

just to keep some
bargaining leverage."

Compounding Humphrey's problem
was a third-party candidate,

George Wallace,

the segregationist former
governor of Alabama.

He was sure to peel away
some white voters

who normally voted Democratic.

Humphrey had confided his doubts
about the war to Johnson

early on, but had always
remained stubbornly loyal to him

in public.

Now his advisors told him that
if he wanted to win

he had to break
with the president

and make a bold gesture
toward ending the war.

On September 30,
he called for a total halt

to the bombing of North Vietnam.

I would stop
the bombing of the North

as an acceptable risk for peace

because I believe it could lead
to success in the negotiations

and thereby shorten the war.

This would be the best
protection for our troops.

Johnson felt
betrayed and refused to speak

to his own vice president
for a time.

But on October 31, just five
days before the election,

the president himself
made a surprise announcement.

He was stopping all bombing
of North Vietnam.

There had been real progress
in Paris, he said.

Hanoi had agreed for the first
time to talk with Saigon,

and the United States had agreed
to include the Viet Cong.

It suddenly looked as if
peace were possible.

Humphrey was jubilant.

His poll numbers rose overnight.

He was confident he would now
be able to overtake Nixon.

But then, on November 2,

with just three days to go until
Americans went to the polls,

President Thieu
suddenly announced

that the South Vietnamese
government would not attend

the proposed talks after all.

A representative
of the Nixon campaign

at the candidate's personal
direction had secretly contacted

the Saigon government

urging Thieu to stay away
from the talks,

promising that once
Nixon was elected,

he would drive a harder bargain
with Hanoi than Humphrey would.

Thanks to a CIA bug planted
in Thieu's Saigon office

and an FBI wiretap on
the South Vietnamese embassy

in Washington, Johnson got wind
of what had happened

and called his friend
Everett Dirksen,

the Republican Senate
minority leader,

to warn him that the Nixon
people were committing treason.

I'm reading their hand, Everett.

I don't want to
get this in the campaign.

That's right.

And they oughtn't
to be doing this.

This is treason.
I know.

And I think it would
shock America

if a principal candidate was
playing with a source like this

on a matter this important.

Yeah.

I know this...

that they're contacting
a foreign power

in the middle of a war.

That's a mistake.

And it's a damn bad mistake.

Mr. President?

Yes.

This is Dick Nixon.
Yes, Dick.

I just went on Meet the Press

and said that I had given you
my personal assurance

that I would do everything
possible to cooperate

both before the election and
if elected, after the election.

I just wanted you to know

that I feel very, very
strongly about this

and any rumblings around

about somebody
trying to sabotage

the Saigon government's attitude

certainly has no...

absolutely no credibility
as far as I am concerned.

That's, that's...

I'm very happy
to hear that, Dick,

because that is taking place.

My God, I would never do
anything to encourage Saigon

not to come to the table
because basically,

that was what you got.

Well, that's good, Dick.

We've got to get this
goddamned war off the plate,

the quicker the better, and the
hell with the political credit.

Believe me.

Thank you, Dick.

Nixon was lying
and Johnson knew it.

But to go public
with the information,

the president would have
to reveal the methods

by which he had learned

of the Republican
candidate's duplicity.

He was unwilling to do so.

Nixon's secret was safe.

The American public
was never told

that the regime for which 35,000
Americans had died

had been willing to boycott
peace talks

to help elect Richard Nixon
or that he had been willing

to delay an end to the bloodshed
in order to get elected.

At 10:45 this morning,
Eastern Standard Time...

On Election Day, Richard
Milhous Nixon won the presidency

with 43.4 percent of the vote.

Hubert Humphrey received
42.7 percent.

The Nixon campaign's secret
maneuvering may have helped him

win the election,
but the president-elect's fear

that that maneuvering might
someday be exposed

would be part of his undoing.

Thieu waited several weeks
after the election

before agreeing to send
a delegation to Paris.

There, everything stalled
over the seating arrangements.

The North Vietnamese had
insisted on a square table,

with separate sides for all
four parties to the talks...

Hanoi, the Viet Cong, Saigon,
and the United States.

Saigon refused to take part
unless Hanoi and the Viet Cong

sat on the same side
of the table.

The standoff went on
for ten weeks.

It was the Soviets who finally
came up with a solution:

a round table.

Type of injury
is urgent, shrapnel wounds.

The area is insecure.

Keep your head down.

Got some fire.

You have these
19-year-old kids with these huge hearts.

They will do what you ask them.

The issue is are you asking them
to do something worthwhile?

That's up to the adults.

And that's where
the failure comes.

The failure isn't the kids
saying, "I'm not gonna do this."

Because that's not the way
they are built.

19-year-olds don't know to take
a raincoat on

when it's raining, all right?

That's-that's why they're
so good at being warriors.

They'll do it.

They won't even ask you
a question.

"All right, we'll do it."

The responsibility is on
the grownups to make sure

they're not being wasted

because they'll do what they're
told, and they'll do it well.

Karl Marlantes was
born in Astoria, Oregon,

the son of a veteran
of the Battle of the Bulge.

He had joined the Marine
Reserves the summer before

his freshman year at Yale,

eager to prove himself
and defend his country.

When he became a Rhodes scholar,

the Marines allowed him
to defer going on active duty,

and instead of serving in
Vietnam, he went to Oxford

in the fall of 1967.

A few months after he got there,

he wrote to his parents
back home.

"It is with
a little apprehension

"that I write this letter.

"I have given up my scholarship,

"and I will be on active duty
as of May 3.

"As you know, I feel the U.S.
is absolutely wrong

"to be in the war.

"A lot of people are dying
for no good reason.

"I can only feel an
increasing rage and frustration.

And a complete feeling
of helplessness."

"1 have, in effect, been hiding,
and I'll not do it anymore.

"I guess I'm about to do
a highly immoral thing.

"1 will be taking part

"in one of the greatest crimes
of our century,

"and I will be doing so
out of frustration, bitterness,

"and a sense of the absurd that
I have only come to appreciate

"in its entirety
in the past year.

From now on
my logic will be changed."

"I can do something.

"That is, I can do my very best
to get 40 kids

"out of Vietnam alive,

"and if I have to turn
into an evil machine to do it,

then by God I will."

It was my friends,
guys that I trained with.

I felt like I was going
to let the side down.

That by not joining in
with them and sharing the burden

that I wouldn't be
a decent person.

It's a mixed bag because I went
over there and killed people

for, you know...
is that why I did that?

Do you go off and kill people

if you're not
pretty sure it's right?

And if your nation
isn't pretty sure it's right?

If there isn't some consensus,
do you do that?

I was at Fort Lewis, Washington,

and Canada was, what,
a 90-minute bus ride away.

I wrote my mom and dad
and asked for money.

I asked for my passport.

And they sent them to me with,
again, no questions.

Like, "What do you want
the passport for?"

They just sent it.

And I kept all this stuff
stashed,

including civilian clothes
stashed in my footlocker,

thinking maybe I'll...
maybe I'll do it.

It was this kind of "maybe"
thing going on

all throughout this training
as Vietnam got closer

and closer and closer.

What prevented me from doing it?

I think it was
pretty simple and stupid.

It was a fear of embarrassment,

a fear of ridicule
and humiliation.

What my girlfriend would have
thought of me

and the people in the Gobbler
Cafe in downtown Worthington.

The Kiwanis boys
and the country club boys

and that small town
I grew up in,

the things they'd say about me.

"What a coward and what a sissy
for going to Canada."

# It was a time of innocence #

And I would
imagine my mom and dad

overhearing something like that.

# Long ago it must be #

I couldn't summon
the courage to say no

to those nameless, faceless
people who really, in essence,

this was the
United States of America.

And I couldn't say no to them.

And I had to live with it now
for, you know, 40 years.

That's a long time to live with
a failure of conscience

and a failure of nerve.

And the nightmare of Vietnam
for me is not the bombs

and the bullets.

It's that failure of nerve

that I so regret.

In the fall of 1968 was
probably the toughest time we had.

Our daily life was a continuing
struggle for survival.

Our food ration was three cups
of rice per day.

We slept
on a large bamboo pallet.

Sometimes there were ten or 12
people on one pallet.

And we were sick.

We were very sick.

Four people died within...

a month.

And then two more died
very shortly after that.

Thirteen Americans would die

during Captain Hal Kushner's
time in jungle prison camps

in South Vietnam.

He was a doctor
but had no medications,

no antibiotics
or saline solution

with which to treat
his comrades.

All he could do was bury each
in a bamboo coffin

and make sure the spot was
marked with a heap of stones

daubed with Mercurochrome.

We had nothing to eat.

And I thought
that I was just going insane.

So we were sitting around
and with this little fire.

And we saw
the camp commander's cat,

who had free rein of the camp.

And he came down to our area.

And we were starving to death.

So someone suggested,
"Let's eat the cat."

So we killed the cat.

And we cut the head off
and we cut the paws off.

And we had this little carcass
of about two pounds.

And one of the guards came down,
and we told him it was a weasel,

and we threw a rock at it
and killed it.

And then he looked around

and someone had neglected
to bury one of the paws.

And he saw the paw.

And he knew instantly that
it was the camp commander's cat.

And things got very serious.

And they lined us up
and they said, "Who did this?"

Nobody said anything.

I thought they were
going to kill us all.

Just execute us.

And one of the people
who was a ringleader in this

said he did it.

And I said that I did it also.

And we all said we did it.

"I am Spartacus," you know?

It was that.

So they called that person
and me out.

And the guard kicked him
and beat him to the ground,

and just beat him unmercifully.

And they hit me in the face
with fists and didn't beat me

as badly as they beat him.

And then tied me with commo wire
very tightly to a hooch

and left me for a day.

And with the carcass of the cat
draped around my neck.

And I was so crazy I thought,

"Maybe they're going to let me
eat this cat."

But I had to bury it.

So, the fellow that they beat
very badly died two weeks later.

But to me the tragedy of it
was we didn't get the cat.

For the
capital of a nation at war,

Saigon abounds with a phenomenal
number of young men

of draft age in sharp,
civilian clothes.

Saigon cowboys they're called.

It's a war profiteer's economy,
fanned by the forced draft

of American money.

They count it a good year
in Saigon

when the prices only go up
by 25%.

Years of American presence,

and the tens of billions of U.S.
dollars that came with it,

had transformed much
of South Vietnam,

creating a false economy
that was utterly dependent

on that presence
becoming perpetual.

Since the U.S. began
its big buildup in the mid-'60s,

millions of dollars worth of
goods have entered the country

each month.

Some economists say ten percent
or more of the cargo

is diverted into
black market channels.

With so much money
flowing into the country,

corruption and crime
inevitably grew.

Government officials
were on the take.

So were many ARVN officers.

Policemen could not be trusted.

Who benefit from
the financial aspect of the war?

Generals.

Don't deny that.

Then they get the money,
then they become richer.

We have a term, and I call it,
they were war profiteers,

from Thieu and Ky down
to every echelon.

The Vietnamese had a saying:

a house leaks from the roof
on down.

And that was, of course, their
way to elliptically refer

to the ever-present, nagging
problem of corruption.

They were stealing
from us and selling to anybody.

Two-man helicopter,
you want one of those?

They got it in a box
in the back.

Probably get it for 12,000 bucks
if you negotiated strongly.

The corruption was endemic.

And we tolerated it.

Tons of American goods
piled up on Saigon's clocks.

Some GIs took advantage, too.

U.S. products flowed
out the back doors of PXs.

In just one year,

the black market cost
the U.S. military $2 billion.

The impact of the war
has disrupted the ancient patterns

of Vietnamese life.

The cities are crowded to the
bursting point with people

uprooted from the land
and the ancestral values

of a rural-oriented society

but who have found nothing
to replace them.

Before U.S. troops arrived,

eight out of ten South
Vietnamese lived in villages.

By the end of the 1960s,

almost half would be crowded
into urban areas.

Saigon's population tripled
to three million.

Half the refugees had
no permanent shelter.

Cholera and typhoid
killed thousands.

Hungry children roamed the
streets, scavenging, begging,

searching for jobs to do
or pockets to pick.

Tens of thousands of young women
left their village homes

and came to Saigon to become
bar girls and prostitutes.

The communist government
in Hanoi

tried to make the most of it,

accusing the United States and
its puppet government in Saigon

of destroying
Vietnamese culture in the South.

But the citizens of Saigon
were far freer

than the North Vietnamese.

The South Vietnamese people
could express their views,

for and against
their government,

in the pages of hundreds
of newspapers and magazines.

And they held demonstrations
denouncing

the rampant corruption and
demanding religious freedom

and better treatment
for veterans.

For all of its problems,
one man remembered,

Saigon was "filthy and free."

In the densely
populated Mekong Delta,

the war in the countryside
suddenly intensified.

General Abrams assigned
the commander

of the 9th Infantry Division,
General Julian J. Ewell,

the job of destroying
the remaining Viet Cong

south of Saigon.

His operation was called
Speedy Express.

"The hearts and minds approach
can be overdone," Ewell said.

"In the Delta the only way to
overcome VC control and terror

is by brute force."

Patrols would pursue the enemy
around the clock.

The night sky was filled
with helicopters,

some armed with instruments
that could detect

traces of carbon and ammonia

that meant human beings
were below,

though not which side
they were on.

In areas designated
"free-fire zones,"

anyone out after curfew
could be shot.

During the day, anyone seen
running was targeted.

Colonel Robert Gard was one
of Ewell's artillery commanders.

If someone was told that
anyone who runs away should be assumed

to be an enemy, I certainly
would disagree with that.

That's totally improper.

People run away
because they're afraid.

I've seen instances of farmers,

when you descend
in a helicopter suddenly,

and they freeze, and they're
frightened, and they run.

You can't just make
a blanket judgment.

General Ewell boasted
of his unit's statistical record-

10,899 Viet Cong killed
in six months

with a loss of only
242 Americans,

an astonishing
kill ratio of 45-to-1.

To say that we killed
only enemy combatants,

and to talk about ratios
of 40-to-1

simply defies my imagination.

At Abrams' recommendation,
Ewell was promoted,

but the Army Inspector General
would eventually estimate

that more than half
of the roughly 11,000 kills

claimed by the 9th Infantry

had been unarmed,
innocent civilians.

No one was ever held
accountable.

# It ain't no use to sit
and wonder why, babe #

# It don't matter, anyhow #

# And it ain't no use to sit
and wonder why, babe #

# If you don't know by now #

# When your rooster crows
at the break of dawn #

# Look out your window
and I'll be gone #

# You're the reason
I'm travelin' on #

# Don't think twice,
it's all right. #

I think moving away
from one's family's ideologies

is a scary balance
on a very tricky precipice

because they have been
the focal point

of how we judge how we're doing.

And I was now trying to judge
my decisions and my actions

on the basis of my own ideas
and own thoughts.

The war was
already uncomfortably close

to Carol Crocker.

Her brother Mogie had
volunteered to fight

and had been killed in Vietnam
in 1966.

She was still grieving.

That fall, Carol had entered
Goucher College in Baltimore,

an all-women's school with
a long conservative tradition.

We dressed for dinner.

We had an 11:00 curfew.

Obviously no boys or men
were allowed in the dorms.

That was the rule.

It could not have even been any
later than the beginning

of the second semester that most
of the rules that were in place

and had been in place for many,
many years, no longer existed.

# Oh, come on,
come on, come on, come on #

# And take it #

# Take another little piece... #

The challenge

to campuses countrywide was

how do we maintain
our student body

to behave in a civil manner,
and teach them,

and not have them try
to burn us down?

If that means not dressing
for dinner, so be it.

# If it makes you feel good #

# Oh yes it did. #

Our guy friends,
we were spending time and talking

and they were scared.

And they were worried.

And they weren't sure
what they were going to do.

And more discussion was
happening about

whether this was a valid war.

And this was really, for me,
the first time I opened my ears

to the war in a way other than

that it was about
my brother's death.

I honored him.

I respected him
for doing what he believed in.

But I did not agree with him.

# Come on, come on,
come on and take it. #

Eva Jefferson was a
sophomore at Northwestern.

A serviceman's daughter, she had
entered college convinced

the American government would
never mislead its citizens.

But for her, too,
things had begun to change.

Earlier that year,

when a handful of black
Northwestern students decided

to occupy the bursar's office

demanding African-American
studies, she joined them,

then called her parents
to tell them what she'd done.

And I said,
"Mom and Dad, guess where I am?

We just took over
the bursar's office."

They were horrified.

And upon reflection,
of course they were horrified.

And they said,
"If you don't get out of there

we're going to cut off
your money."

So that was the moment
in my own consciousness

when I became independent.

I thought, "Well, they're going
to cut off my money.

C 'est la vie."

"The University met all
our demands in three clays,"

she remembered.

"If you asked for black studies
on Friday,

you got it on Monday."

It felt like something
was happening that was profound,

that was irreversible.

But also you're
18, 19 years old.

It's exciting.

I felt as though
a revolution was coming.

And I thought the revolution
would be won by our side.

Relations between parents
and children, brothers and sisters,

were changing everywhere.

When I stood in the
living room and I was hugging two brothers,

it didn't matter to me
about their choices

or that they were on two
different sides of the fence.

All I knew was that they were
both my brothers

and they were both back in the
same room and there we were.

Captain Matt
Harrison, Jr... Chips-

had graduated West Point,
served a tour in Vietnam

and took part in two of the
war's bloodiest battles...

Hill 1338 and Hill 875.

He was back stateside
in the autumn of 1968,

when the family began to worry
about his younger brother, Bob,

whom his siblings sometimes
called Robin.

He and I were just
great pals since we were growing up

because we moved every year
or two years.

And, you know,
new set of friends

but always had my brother.

Bob was in ROTC

and polished and buffed his
shoes and had short hair

and said "Yes, sir"
and "Yes, ma'am."

And then we moved to California
his senior year in high school.

And he was the consummate blond
surfer boy and cutting school.

And he was immediately
very popular

and having a great time.

Robin did not go to West Point,

entered Marin Junior College
instead,

and then shocked his family
by signing on

with the Marine...
not the Army... Reserves.

At some point Robin
became convinced that...

that the war was wrong, and not
only wrong, it was immoral.

So he quit going
to the Reserve weekends,

and because of that
he was activated...

and was very likely now he was
going to be going to Vietnam

as a Marine Corps rifleman.

I didn't think being
a Marine Corps rifleman

was a very safe occupation.

And I didn't think Robin
would be a particularly good

Marine Corps rifleman.

And so I just thought that this
was a very bad outcome for him

and for the family.

Matt Harrison knew
that under military regulations,

if one brother was already
in a combat zone,

a second brother need not
accept assignment there.

So to keep Robin out of the war,

he volunteered for
a second tour in Vietnam.

I was back in Vietnam
I think in less than 30 days.

I was a seasoned veteran.

I was going to go command
a company.

My chances of getting hurt were
a lot less than Robin's were.

And if I did choose to make it
a career,

the fact that I had had
a second tour

as a rifle company commander
was going to be good for me.

And so, you know, it wasn't
entirely selfless.

I honestly don't remember a
tremendous amount of dialogue

between my mom and dad.

I think they felt like
if Bob had gone,

he would have been killed.

Whereas I think they felt that
Chips was going to be okay.

I can't imagine, having
had a son now go to Iraq,

how my mother could have gotten
through every single day at all,

without believing very firmly
that he was going to be fine.

Matt Harrison's
decision to serve a second tour

did not fully
protect his brother Robin.

He went AWOL,
was court-martialed

and sentenced to three months
hard labor.

The sentence was suspended.

He returned to the Marines,

served as a chaplain's
assistant,

applied for conscientious
objector status,

and then went AWOL again.

I remember the
FBI coming and knocking on the door

and looking for him.

They asked if Robert Harrison
was there

and I just knew this wasn't good

and said "No"
and slammed the door.

And Bob went out the back

and ran out to the main street.

And as I understand it,
got in a car and left

and that was the last
I saw of him.

I don't think a military
mom at the time would want

to announce,
"My son has gone AWOL.

"My son has run to Canada.

"My son is all the words
that were associated with it,

a deserter, a coward."

All of the things
that these guys were called.

I don't think that's what those
guys thought they were doing.

I do not think they thought
they were deserting.

I do not think they thought
they were cowards.

In fact, I think they thought
they were very brave.

When Matt Harrison
assumed command of Alpha Company,

2nd Battalion, 14th Regiment
of the 25th Infantry Division,

his Army had changed.

I was commanding
a company of draftees,

almost none of whom
wanted to be there.

They didn't want to be
in the Army

and they certainly didn't
want to be

an infantryman in Vietnam.

There were times when it was
very difficult

to keep the men under control,

particularly if we had taken
casualties on the way

into a village.

One of the things I learned is
the veneer of civilization

is very thin... very thin...

on me, probably on you,
and I think on everybody.

I just saw over and over again

some nice young guy
out of Huron, South Dakota,

who back in Huron helped
old ladies across the street

and went to church every Sunday.

It did not take long for that
veneer of civilization to erode.

And he was now capable
of doing things

that just simply are inhuman.

I was not willing to allow it
to happen on my watch

and I didn't think it was good
for the soldiers

to do those kinds of things.

Now, I'm not saying that we
didn't do some horrific things.

We did.

But there's a difference
between being spontaneous

and being premeditated.

Many years later,
Robin Harrison, still adrift,

got caught up
in the world of drugs

and died 10,000 miles from home
in a hotel room in Hong Kong,

another casualty,
his brother Matt believed,

of the war in Vietnam.

# I like to dream #

# Yes, yes, right between
my sound machine #

# On a cloud of sound
I drift in the night #

# Any place it goes is right #

# Goes far, flies near,
to the stars away from here #

# Well, you don't know... #

I dropped a bomb one afternoon

that must have had a broken fin
or something on the bomb.

It just went crazy, went over
and hit, you know,

a mile away
from where I was aiming.

And it started a series
of secondary explosions,

meaning that I had hit
an ammunition dump,

or a cache of ammunition
or something.

So it cooked off for 15 minutes.

As we were leaving,
the thing was still blowing up.

The best result I achieved
in a year,

it was a result of a gross miss
from what I was aiming at.

Now that's the exact reverse of
how you want to use air power.

Major Merrill McPeak
was a crack fighter pilot

when he arrived in Vietnam
in late 1968.

At first, he had helped provide
air support for the Army,

with a guaranteed number of
sorties per day, he remembered,

"whether or not they had
anything in front of them

worth blowing up."

At the end of any
sortie where we dropped bombs

on what we called
"trees in contact"

because there was nothing
important down there,

we would always get back a list
of bomb damage assessment

from the forward air controller.

And it would be, like,
"12 supply sources destroyed,

two structures collapsed ."

All these metrics.

It was phony.

Just a waste of time.

Then, McPeak was
assigned to a top-secret squadron

seeking to pinpoint men
and supplies

moving on the Ho Chi Minh Trail
in Laos.

He and his fellow pilots
called their unit Misty,

after its radio call sign.

I spent four months in Misty.

And that was the best
four months of the war,

as far as I'm concerned,

because what we were doing was
simple, straightforward,

and made sense.

We want to stop traffic from
A to B down this dirt road.

That I can understand.

Somebody in Saigon
wasn't saying,

"Go bomb trees at such-and-such
a location."

We went out and actually found
the target.

It was dangerous work.

One out of five pilots
was shot down.

Misty put up seven sorties a day
from dawn to dusk,

on the lookout for
signs of human activity...

gardens, encampments, roadside
trees coated with dust,

or wet roads on either side
of fords

that signaled a truck convoy
had recently passed through.

I have enormous respect
for those truck drivers.

They left their homes
in the North,

and they weren't drafted
for a year or two.

They just left and didn't know

if they were ever
going to come back.

Although McPeak and his
fellow pilots did not know it,

among the drivers threading
their way

down the Ho Chi Minh Trail
by night were hundreds of women.

For three years, Nguyen
Nguyet Anh drove her section

of the Trail, ferrying arms
and supplies south,

then heading back north
with cargoes of wounded men.

They drove in stages.

So they knew 15, 20 clicks
of the road.

And they drove from A to B
and back to A.

And then they rested,
during the daytime,

and then the next night, they
drove from A to B and back to A.

They had kind of memorized the
road, which was very important,

because they were running
without lights at night.

One time I stumbled across
a bunch of trucks backed up,

and that was a great morning
for me.

Occasionally one of 'em would
break down,

in a spot where the trucks
behind it

would get trapped and
couldn't back out of there.

So you try to strafe the last
truck, so that it can't move.

And these are one-lane roads.

So once you get
the back truck disabled,

then you just call in fighters.

You're shooting fish
in a barrel.

As she drove the Ho Chi
Minh Trail, Anh thought constantly

of her fiancé Tran Cong Thang,

an army engineer she'd fallen
in love with four years earlier.

He was also stationed
somewhere on the Trail.

Over 20,000 engineers,
soldiers, and truck drivers died

along the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

72 military cemeteries would
eventually be required

to hold their remains.

We dropped more
tonnage of munitions

than the United States dropped
in World War II,

most of it aimed
at the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

We did not stop traffic
down the trail.

And that is
a big disappointment for me.

To this day, it irritates me.

The real failures were made
at the policy level.

We were fighting
on the wrong side.

The South, the government
in the South was corrupt.

And its people knew it.

And we knew it.

I'll tell you something,

those truck drivers
fought very well.

I would have been proud
to fight with them.

So one of the things you got
to do when you go to war

is pick the right side, okay.

Get the right allies.

Merrill McPeak would
serve 37 years and retire

as Air Force chief of staff.

Nguyen Nguyet Anh and Tran Cong
Thang were reunited

after the war and married.

The peace we seek to win

is not victory over
any other people,

but the peace that comes
with healing in its wings;

with compassion for those
who have suffered;

with understanding for those
who have opposed us;

with the opportunity for all
the peoples of this earth

to choose their own destiny.

Like Lyndon Johnson,

Richard Nixon had an ambitious
agenda for his presidency...

easing a quarter of a century of
tensions with the Soviet Union

and opening the door to China,

whose existence the United
States had refused to recognize

since the communists
took over in 1949.

But as it had with Johnson,

the ongoing war in Vietnam
threatened all those plans.

37,563 Americans had died there

by the time he took
the oath of office.

"I'm not going to end up
like LBJ,

"holed up in the White House,

afraid to show my face
on the street,"

Richard Nixon told an aide.

"I'm going to stop that war.

Fast."

Nixon's national security
advisor was Henry Kissinger.

A refugee from Nazi Germany, he
had taught government at Harvard

and was already a well-known
advocate of a foreign policy

based on pragmatism,
not ideology.

"Give us six months," Kissinger
told a group of Quakers

demonstrating on
Pennsylvania Avenue,

"and if we haven't ended the war
by then, you can come back

and tear down
the White House fence."

In February of 1969, the North
launched yet another offensive.

This time, they killed 1,100
Americans in just three weeks.

Nixon did not feel
he could retaliate

by resuming the bombing
of the North

for fear of provoking the
antiwar movement at home.

So in March, he secretly ordered
B-52s to begin attacking

the North Vietnamese bases
within Cambodia,

which had offered sanctuary
to the enemy for years.

The American public was told
nothing about the bombing.

Congress was kept in the dark,
as well.

Even members of Nixon's
own cabinet

were not initially informed.

When the New York Times finally
discovered what was happening,

the White House denied any
bombing was taking place

and ordered that illegal
wiretaps be placed

on the telephones
of 17 reporters

and government officials

in an effort to find out
who had leaked the story.

"We will not make
the same old mistakes,"

Henry Kissinger had joked
to an aide

shortly after coming
to Washington.

"We will make our own."

The war went on.

There's basically
two sides to heroism.

One is that I want
to be special.

I want people to look at me,
I'm an important person.

I've clone heroic deeds.

The other side is simply
somebody's got to do something

to save these people, my platoon
or my company, from destruction.

The exact same act can be done
with one attitude or the other.

After leaving Oxford,
First Lieutenant Karl Marlantes

found himself executive officer
of Charlie Company,

First Battalion, Fourth Marines,
Third Marine Division,

just south of the DMZ.

His unit was fighting
the same sort of war

over the same terrain that
Marines had been fighting now

for four years.

You would hear,
"Well, it's going to be

Operation Purple Martin I
or Operation Scotland II."

And, and it'd be
like, "Yeah, whatever."

What that meant to us was
that someday soon

some choppers are going
to show up and drop us

into the jungle someplace
or a valley north of us

or wherever it was going to be.

And then we'd be off the hill

and we'd be humping,
as we called it.

On March 5, 1969,
Marlantes' company was ordered

to attack a regiment
of North Vietnamese regulars

dug in on the slopes of a hill
the Americans called 484.

A few days earlier,
his unit had taken the hill

and then, under heavy fire,
had abandoned it.

This time air strikes meant
to soften up the enemy

hit the wrong hill.

Charlie Company was ordered
to advance anyway.

Marlantes led the way.

It was a very steep hill.

And you don't charge because you
have a lot of weight.

And we had started walking up
and we had probably gotten

about a third of the way
up the hill

and then they unleashed on us.

We were in the middle
of this horrible shit sandwich.

The Marines took
what cover they could.

Marlantes realized that if they
continued up the slope

they would face
machine gun fire,

but if they stayed
where they were,

mortar shells
would surely find them.

And then I stood up

and went up the hill.

And I thought it was...
I was all by myself.

And I was running at this point

because I wanted to cover
that ground fast as I could.

And I caught some movement out
of the corner of my eye,

and I rolled to the ground
to come up with my rifle

to shoot the person.

And it was a kid
from my platoon.

And then I looked behind him,
there was more kids.

They had all come behind me.

It felt to me like I was there
for a week

but I think I was probably
by myself

four seconds, five seconds.

The entire platoon just stood up
and out they came.

It remains to me a moment
that is just

almost inexpressible of the
heart that these kids had.

And then we just
hit those bunkers.

The Marines cleared
the bunkers one by one.

For his bravery, Marlantes was
awarded the Navy Cross.

Combat is like crack cocaine.

It's an enormous high
but it has enormous costs.

Any sane person would never
do crack.

Combat is like that.

You're scared, you're terrified,
you're miserable,

but then the fighting starts...

...and suddenly everything
is at stake...

your life, your friend's lives.

It's almost transcendence

because you're no longer
a person.

You lose that sense; you're
just... you're just the platoon.

And the platoon can't be beat.

And not to mention there's
a savage joy

in overcoming your enemy,
just a savage joy.

And I think that we make
a big mistake if we say,

"Oh, war is hell."

We all know
the "war is hell" story.

It is.

But there's an enormously
exhilarating part of it.

# Tell the truth #

# Tell the truth, girl, now #

# You know you got me doin'
everything crazy #

# That you want me to do #

# Yes, you have, girl #

# Don't you, don't you,
don't you know #

# You got to tell the truth,
yeah #

# Baby, baby, baby, babe #

# Why don't you tell me
the truth, now? #

# You know you got me doin' #

# Everything crazy
that you want me to do #

# Yes, you have,
yeah, watch it #

# Loving you is just a little
bit easy to start it #

# So hard to stop #

# If I could #

# Baby, baby, you know I would #

# I'd build a stone wall
around #

# If I thought that it would do
any good, mama #

# Tell me the truth, yeah #

# Lit-lit-lit-lit-little girl,
just tell me the truth now #

# Yeah, huh #

# You know you got me doin'
everything foolish #

# That you want me to do, oh #

# Oh, play it #

# Come on, yeah #

# Tell me, tell me,
tell me the truth now #

# Lovin' you #

# Is easy to start #

# Hard to stop #

# But I'm gonna just tell you
this, uh #

# Baby, you know I would #

# I would build a stone wall
around #

# If I just thought that it
would do me some good #

# The truth now #

# Tell 'em, tell 'em,
tell 'em, tell 'em #

# Tell, tell me the truth now #

# Just tell me the truth now #

# Got to tell me no lie #

# Tell me the truth now. #