One of the more striking aspects of the war in Southeast Asia was the adaptation of existing weapons in the American arsenal to the peculiar needs of an unconventional war. This volume traces the history from initial conception of the fixed-wing gunship in the early 1960's through deployment and operations to the end of American combat involvement in early 1973.

The Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA) was the first new agency established by Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara after he assumed office in 1961. The ambitious McNamara intended to reformulate U.S. strategic nuclear policy and reduce inefficiencies that had developed in the Department of Defense (DoD) in the 1950s. DIA was the lynchpin to both efforts. In the early and middle 1960s, McNamara and his subordinates, Deputy Secretary of Defense Roswell Gilpatric and new DIA Director Lieutenant General Joseph Carroll (USAF), worked hard to establish the Agency, but their efforts were delayed or stymied by intransigent and parochial military leadership who objected to the creation of DIA because they feared a loss of both battlefield effectiveness and political influence in Washington, D.C.1 The work of building the DIA was made all the more urgent by the deteriorating situation in Southeast Asia. By the early 1960s, millions of dollars and hundreds of advisory personnel sent by the U.S. were having a negligible impact on the anti-communist campaign there. As the U.S. continued to commit more resources to the ill-fated government in Saigon, the country found itself drawn deeper and deeper into the maelstrom. For DIA, the looming war in Southeast Asia would expose major problems in its organization and performance. Especially in the period from 1961 to 1969, DIA, either because of structural weaknesses or leadership failures, often failed to energetically seize opportunities to assert itself in the major intelligence questions involving the conflict there. This tendency was exacerbated by national military leadership's predilection for ignoring or undercutting the Agency's authority. In turn, this opened up DIA to severe criticism by Congress and other national policymakers, some of whom even considered abolishing the Agency. During the war, McNamara's great hope for reforming military intelligence would be swept up in quarrels between powerful domestic adversaries, and DIA's performance left the Secretary of Defense deeply embittered toward his creation. It was only at the end of the war that DIA assumed a more influential role in Southeast Asia. Until then, however, the Agency was consigned to the wilderness when it came to questions about the Vietnam conflict.

A book about the elite Army Ranger of the Republic of Vietnam

Published for the fortieth anniversary of the final days of the Vietnam War, this is the suspenseful and moving tale of how John Riordan, an assistant manager of Citibank's Saigon branch, devised a daring plan to save 106 Vietnamese from the dangers of the Communist takeover.Riordan,who had served in the US Army after the Tet Offensive and had left the military behind for a career in international banking,was not the type to take dramatic action, but once the North Vietnamese Army closed in on Saigon in April 1975 and it was clear that Riordan's Vietnamese colleagues and their families would be stranded in a city teetering on total collapse, he knew he could not leave them behind. Defying the objections of his superiors and going against the official policy of the United States, Riordan went back into Saigon to save them.In fifteen harrowing trips to Saigon's airport, he maneuvered through the bureaucratic shambles, claiming that the Vietnamese were his wife and scores of children. It was a ruse that, at times, veered close to failure, yet against all odds, the improbable plan succeeded. At great risk, the Vietnamese left their lives behind to start anew in the United States, and now John is known to his grateful Vietnamese colleagues and hundreds of their American descendants as Papa. They Are All My Family is a vivid narrative of one man's ingenious strategy which transformed a time of enormous peril into a display of extraordinary courage. Reflecting on those fateful days in this account, John Riordan's modest heroism provides a striking contrast to America's ignominious retreat from the decade of conflict.

In 1971, while U.S. ground forces were prohibited from crossing the Laotian border, a South Vietnamese Army corps, with U.S. air support, launched the largest airmobile operation in the history of warfare, Lam Son 719. The objective: to sever the North Vietnamese Army's main logistical artery, the Ho Chi Minh Trail, at its hub, Tchepone in Laos, an operation that, according to General Creighton Abrams, could have been the decisive battle of the war, hastening the withdrawal of U.S. forces and ensuring the survival of South Vietnam. The outcome: defeat of the South Vietnamese Army and heavy losses of U.S. helicopters and aircrews, but a successful preemptive strike that met President Nixon's near-term political objectives. Author Robert Sander, a helicopter pilot in Lam Son 719, explores why an operation of such importance failed. Drawing on archives and interviews, and firsthand testimony and reports, Sander chronicles not only the planning and execution of the operation but also the maneuvers of the bastions of political and military power during the ten-year effort to end Communist infiltration of South Vietnam leading up to Lam Son 719. The result is a picture from disparate perspectives: the Kennedy, Johnson, and Nixon administrations; the South Vietnamese government led by President Nguyen Van Thieu; and senior U.S. military commanders and army aviators. Sander's conclusion is at once powerful and persuasively clear. Lam Son 719 was doomed in both the planning and execution - a casualty of domestic and international politics, flawed assumptions, incompetent execution, and the resolve of the North Vietnamese Army. A powerful work of military and political history, this book offers eloquent testimony that ""failure, like success, cannot be measured in absolute terms.

A Compelling Read or the Perfect Gift... What it's like to fly combat jets down between the trees. Whether you have ever flown a jet, or just wished to do so, and whether you served in Vietnam or just read about it, you will be riveted by this fast-paced and vivid account in prose and poetry that tells the story of a special breed of men. These were the hand-picked few who led death-defying lives as F-100 Super Sabre pilots. "Songs" tells the story of the "Hun Drivers" in war and peace, who flew low and fast between the trees with troops under fire day or night, or spent weeks away from home and family on nuclear alert, hoping that the red phone that signaled WW III would never ring. Their plane was called "The Widow Maker" for good reason, as you soon learn. Songs From A Distant Cockpit puts you in the cockpit and in among these single-seat, single-engine fighter pilots as they trained in the "most dangerous plane ever built." It brings you along as they learned how to fly it, and how to survive in it, and the sudden risks and terrors that they faced often as they flew it. If you've ever wondered "What it's like to fly a close-air-support fighter bombers" in combat in Vietnam, or on other missions that pushed the ragged edges of the flight envelope, with Death an all-too-frequent wingman, then you'll have a vivid understanding when you read "Songs." This highly acclaimed book uses on-the-scene, at-the-time prose and poetry in a blend said by historians to be unique in books about combat in its ability to capture the feelings and experiences shared by those who took pride in their ability to fly "the Hun." These men were few in number, because, with rare exception, only top pilots could become F-100 Super Sabre pilots. Many were the sights they saw, the things they felt, and the terrors that visited so suddenly, when Death came calling but left again as suddenly, without a "customer." What they, and the author, have most in common to this day is that they all enjoyed their "Songs" in distant cockpits, high above, or down so low, so fast, so far away, that only God could find them. Men and women from all walks of life are saying, "I couldn't put it down," and some add that parts of it "brought them to tears." So, satisfy your yearnings to fly because now it's time for YOU to get in that fighter cockpit and go flying through the bullets and down between the trees "

The untold tale of the first year of the Centaurs in Vietnam as told through the eyes of air cavalry helicopter pilots and grunts who built a troop from the ground up at Cu Chi based on teamwork, fighting ability, and guts. Climb aboard their Huey for an up close and personal account of the war.

Not your typical war story, this book captures an unvarnished account of how the Army formed an air cavalry troop in early 1966. "Rookies to war," the pilots were plucked out of the skies of places like Fort Rucker, Alabama, and joined by troopers from across America to fight a guerilla war in the jungles and rice paddies of Vietnam. There were no field manuals for this war, and air cavalry was just a glimmer in the eyes of reconnaissance, infantry, and artillery units.

This is the story of one year of the storied 25th Infantry Division, 3rd Squadron, 4th Cavalry that left the paradise of Hawaii's shores for the heat, rain, mud, and guerilla warfare of Vietnam. The combination of helicopters, infantry, and a Long Range Reconnaissance Platoon (LRRP) makes for compelling reading as you follow the lives and battles of 30 different contributors.

There are stories of bravery and fear, ingenuity and innovation, humor and sadness, boredom and electrifying insertions and extractions of LRRP teams. In the end, you will grasp the brotherhood of war and appreciate the sacrifices of those that serve in the name of freedom.