SEPTEMBER 2016 VOL 65 Chapter 16 Newsleer Organizaon and Responsibilies: Secrets, Denial, and, Decades Later, a Medal of Editor: Glen Craig Honor for a Vietnam Medic Secons: By DAVE PHILIPPSJULY 30, 2016 Message from the President: HUNTSVILLE, Ala. — Unofficially, in the jungles of Laos in 1970, hundreds Treasurers Report: Kevin Paon of North Vietnamese troops closed in on a small team of United States Army commandos. Uno cially, as men were shot down, a medic sprinted Sec. Rpt (Staff Meeng Minutes): Paul Bagshaw ffi through a hail of bullets to help, heing a man over his shoulder as he fired Sick Call/Obituary: Chaplain Butch Hall back with one hand. Unofficially, even when bloodied by a rocket, the Blast from the Past: Glen Craig medic kept going, not sleeping for days as he cared for 51 wounded Special Recognion: Paul Bagshaw soldiers. Officially, though, American troops were not in Laos. So officially, nothing Upcoming Events: Paul Bagshaw happened. Calendar: Dave Shell The medic, Sgt. Gary Rose, was part of the secret Studies and Observaons Human Interest Story: Chapter at large Group, an elite division of Special Forces. Aer the assault, the group recommended him for the military’s highest award, the Medal of Honor. SFA Na onal HQ Update: Dave Shell But at the me, President Richard M. Nixon was denying that American Aer Acon Report: Jim Lessler troops were even in Laos. The nominaon was shelved, an example of Membership Info: Roy Sayer what veterans of the group say was a paern of medals being denied or downgraded to hide their classified exploits. Adver sements: Glen Craig This summer that decision is poised to be reversed. Aer more than a Suspense: decade of lobbying, Congress authorized the medal for Sergeant Rose, who now lives in Huntsville. His will be the rst Medal of Honor to expressly st fi Newsleer published (Web): 1 of each acknowledge the heroics of a soldier on the ground in the so‐called Secret odd numbered month War in Laos. th In the past, medal cita ons for the unit listed men only as “deep in enemy Input due to editor: 20 of each territory,” said Neil Thorne, a researcher and Army veteran who has even numbered month draed a number of medal applicaons in recent years for the group. Dra due to President: 27th of each “The Army sll doesn’t want to admit it,” Mr. Thorne said. “Even to this day, I put in Laos in a cita on, the Army takes it out. It’s almost a game, but even numbered month th it’s not really funny. Rose is unique in that they finally le in the truth.” Final Dra due 29 of each During the Vietnam War, Laos was neutral and off limits to foreign troops. even numbered month But the North Vietnamese used the jungles on the border between Vietnam and Laos to funnel weapons along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. The United States secretly sent in Special Forces to disrupt the enemy while not arousing protest from allies or the American public. Since then, veterans of the Studies and Observaons Group, which had one of the highest kill rates and highest casualty rates in Vietnam, have worked to gain recognion for men like Sergeant Rose. “Because we were where we weren’t supposed to be, a lot of men never got what they deserved,” said Eugene McCarley, a rered lieutenant colonel who was the medic’s commander. “Rose is one of them. He was a damn good medic and the level of gallantry and disregard for his own safety that he showed — I’ve rarely seen anything like it.” The group operated in Vietnam under the cover story that it was an academic unit evaluang strategy. In fact, its mission was to sow mayhem. Small teams tapped communicaon lines, sabotaged convoys, snatched capves and peppered enemy territory with fake documents, counterfeit money and exploding ammunion intended to confuse, demoralize and kill communist troops. The Special Forces teams paired with indigenous mercenaries who Page 1 opposed the North Vietnamese. They relied on stealth, many using weapons fied with silencers. A few even carried hatchets and bows. “It was a deadly game,” said Fred Dye, a company commander. “A lot of mes we got the hell shot out of us. Somemes teams didn’t come back.” Mr. Dye was recommended for the naon’s third‐highest military honor, the Silver Star. He never got it. To hide American involvement, teams wore Asian uniforms with no rank and oen carried foreign‐made weapons. Even underwear and raons were from Asian countries. They called it “going in sterile.” “That’s part of the reason so many awards were never given,” said John L. Plaster, a rered major who was in the group and has wrien books about its deeds. “We couldn’t really say what was going on.” Mr. Plaster was also recommended for the Silver Star. He never got it. On Sept. 11, 1970, the group launched one of its biggest missions of the war,Operaon Tailwind. Helicopters dropped 136 men about 40 miles into Laos to “cause a huge ruckus,” Mr. Plaster said, and draw aenon away from a C.I.A. operaon to the north. Sgt. Gary Rose, an Army medic who was involved in secret operaons in Laos during the Vietnam War. Aer years of lobbying from members of his unit, he will be awarded the Medal of Honor.CreditJoe Buglewicz for The New York Times Sergeant Rose, who connued to treat wounded troops in Laos even aer being wounded himself, was helped from a helicopter landing area aer four days of fighng in 1970. According to interviews and Army documents, North Vietnamese forces hit before the team even landed, piercing the helicopters with bullets. Three were shot before any boots hit the ground. When the choppers touched down, the team swept into the jungle to escape enemy fire. The lone medic was Sergeant Rose, a so‐spoken 22‐year‐old from Southern California wearing a floppy jungle hat and camouflage face paint that did not quite hide his nerves. It was his second real combat mission. He had been wounded on his first. Over the next four days, the company blew up ammunion bunkers and set fire to a supply camp, chased by an ever‐increasing enemy force. By the end of the operaon, a third of the company was wounded. When a soldier was shot down in a clearing raked by machine guns, others yelled to stay down unl the team could set up cover fire, But Sergeant Rose ran forward, firing as he went. He shielded the man to treat his wounds, and then carried him to safety. “How or why Sgt. Rose was not killed in this acon I’ll never know,” one platoon leader wrote in a statement at the me. A few hours later a rocket‐propelled grenade hit the command team, blowing the medic off his feet and punching shards of metal into his hand and foot. Ignoring his own wounds, he patched up the other men, stopping only later to fix his bloody boot. That evening in the steaming forest, Sergeant Rose, already exhausted, dug long foxholes so the wounded could lie under cover. “All the night the enemy pounded us,” Mr. McCarley recalled. “Rose went from posion to posion, offering medical help and words of encouragement. I never saw him stop to eat, rest or treat his own wounds.” Mr. McCarley was recommended for the naon’s second‐highest military honor, the Disnguished Service Cross. He never received it. By the third day, Sergeant Rose was all but out of morphine and bandages. He had rigged liers from bamboo for the worst off and ed the wrists of delirious men to other soldiers so they would not get le behind. By the fourth day, when helicopters came to extract the team, enemy troops were so close that American planes dropped tear gas on their own men to drive the enemy back. Sergeant Rose was one of the last on the last helicopter, firing as he hobbled aboard. When they lied clear of the trees, he slumped to the floor of the helicopter, his marathon mission complete. Then a bullet pierced the neck of a door gunner, and the medic was up again. Out of bandages, he stopped the bleeding with a spare piece of cloth. As he worked, enemy fire hit the engines. The crippled aircra crashed on a riverbank, sping out men as it rolled. Sergeant Rose, bleeding from his head, crawled into the wreckage. “Fuel was leaking everywhere, that thing was ready to blow,” Dave Young, a sergeant in the company, said in an interview. “Rose went back in repeatedly unl everyone was out.” Few details of Sergeant Rose’s acons were ever made public. When his name was submied for the Medal of Honor in 1970, Adm. John S. McCain, the father of Senator John McCain and commander of all forces in the Vietnam Theater, turned it down. He was awarded the Disnguished Service Cross in 1971. Operaon Tailwind stayed secret unl 1998, when CNN and Time magazine erroneously reported that the mission’s aim had been to kill American defectors, and that the team had massacred hundreds of villagers while pilots dropped nerve gas. Tailwind veterans united in fierce protest, then began pressing for recognion of men like Sergeant Rose. They spent years subming applicaons and sworn statements. Now the sergeant’s medal just awaits the signature of the president. A 68‐year‐old grandfather, the former medic lives in a dy one‐story brick house, and spends much of his me volunteering with poor and disabled people.