Their choice as Kimmel’s successor was someone whose personality was the polar opposite of King’s; a reserved man who, according to a staff member, looked like a “retired banker,” who was capable of astonishing coolness under pressure, and who had declined the billet in January 1941, claiming he was too junior for the post: Rear Adm.Chester W. Nimitz. Together “the S.O.B. and the Quiet Man” would form a not always harmonious team that would create and lead to victory the largest navy the world had ever seen.

When King was offered the post of CinCUS on December 16, he said he would accept after three conditions had been met: that the acronym CinCUS, which sounded too much like “sink us,” be changed to CominCh; that he would not have to hold any press conferences or testify before Congress unless it was imperative; and would have authority over the near-independent Navy bureau fiefdoms. Roosevelt agreed to the first two, but as the law would have to be changed to make the third possible, Roosevelt agreed to fire any bureau commander who refused to cooperate. Executive Order no. 8984 added something else. King would also be “directly responsible to the President.” This awkwardly put him on an equal footing with Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) Adm. Harold Stark. In March 1942, King succeeded Stark as CNO, giving him absolute authority over every aspect of the Navy, from recruitment and shipbuilding to fleet operations. Not even Army Chief of Staff Gen. George C. Marshall exercised as much authority over his branch as King did over the U.S. Navy.

On December 31, in a ceremony at the submarine base he had constructed twenty years earlier and whose backdrops were sunken ships and oil-slicked waters where men in boats were still gathering the dead, Nimitz officially became CINCPAC, going immediately from two to four-star rank. Arriving on December 25, Nimitz had commenced a wide-ranging inspection.

His assessment was a combination of concern, hope, and disappointment. Addressing in part the first, Nimitz retained Kimmel’s staff, boosting its rock-bottom morale. With the second, Nimitz discovered that the situation, though grim, was not disastrous. Having been sunk in the shallow waters of Pearl Harbor, most of the battleships were salvageable. All three of his carriers were operational. And the all-important port facilities, including 4.5 million barrels of fuel oil, were undamaged. Finally, he knew that the first warships in the crash-construction program would start arriving later in the year. His short-term strategy would be: blunt Japanese advances until he was strong enough to conduct a counter-offensive.

The disappointment was Nimitz’ realization that, unlike his Japanese counterpart Adm. Isoroku Yamamoto, whose headquarters was the super-battleship Yamato, he would have to command from ashore. To effectively coordinate and control his far-flung forces, he needed the complex communications system available only at Pearl Harbor, so CINCPAC could no longer be a sea-going command.

Determined to strike back at the Japanese as quickly as possible, in January King “recommended” raids on Japanese facilities in the Gilbert and Marshall island chains. Nimitz selected his friend, Vice Adm. William Halsey, for the operation.

Though Nimitz had a reputation of appearing unemotional, he had a great sense of humor that he used often to help alleviate tension. As Nimitz escorted Halsey down the wharf from where Halsey would embark, Nimitz, wishing to lighten the mood, recalled a meeting al fresco Halsey had outside New York City’s Waldorf-Astoria Hotel the previous year. The occasion was a conference with the admirals, naturally, in full dress uniform, with golden oak leaf “scrambled eggs” on their cap brims and a “fruit salad” of medals on their chests. The day’s meetings having finished, Halsey was waiting for the hotel’s doorman to hail him a cab.

Nimitz was standing behind Halsey when a drunk approached Halsey and slurred, “Shay, doorman, get me a cab.”

The offended Halsey stiffly replied, “I’ll have you know, sir, I am an admiral in the United States Navy!”

“Zat’s all right,” the drunk replied. “Then get me a boat.”

As Nimitz delivered the punch line, they reached the end of the wharf. Gesturing to the vessel that would take Halsey to his flagship, Nimitz smiled and said, “Well, there’s your ‘boat,’ Bill!”

 – The Core of America’s Race Problem

Slavery had been abolished in the United States in 1865. But racial segregation in the form of discriminatory Jim Crow laws had since become the policy in many states, particularly in the South. This “separate but equal” doctrine was affirmed by the Supreme Court in 1896, with only one dissenting vote, in Plessy v. Ferguson. That was why the Pentagon, built in Virginia, contained double the number of rest room facilities. President Franklin Roosevelt decided to override Virginia’s Jim Crow laws with an executive order forbidding such discrimination, justifying the decision by noting that the Pentagon was on federal, not state, property. When the United States formally entered World War II, civil rights leaders saw an opportunity to tear down at least some of the barriers of discrimination that affected African American life, even in the North. But entrenched prejudice was not to be so easily overcome. When the American Red Cross announced a nationwide blood drive to build up that blood supply needed for the military, African Americans lined up with other patriotic Americans to donate blood – but they were turned away.

“American Red Cross Bans Negro Blood!” and similar headlines appeared in newspapers across the nation. The Red Cross quickly found itself in the middle of a civil rights and negative publicity firestorm.

In response to the furor, American Red Cross chairman Norman H. Davis met with the Surgeons General of the Army and Navy to work out a new blood drive policy. The new policy was approved by the Secretaries of War and of the Navy on Jan. 21, 1942. But instead of quelling the controversy, it set off a whole new firestorm of outrage. Under the new policy, Negro blood would be accepted, but in line with the Jim Crow doctrine of “separate but equal,” it would be processed and dispensed separately “so that those receiving transfusions may be given plasma from blood of their own race.” On Jan. 29, 1942, the New York Times, under the headline “Red Cross to Use Blood of Negroes,” ran an article that noted this change in policy was both “hailed and condemned.” A delegation led by Representative Vito Marcantonio of New York met with chairman Davis, “to protest against discrimination in the nation’s ‘victory program’” and insisted that “this policy of segregating the blood of Negro and white donors does not represent the wishes of the American people.” Representative Marcantonio said that in his response Mr. Davis “told us he recognized the scientific fact that there is no difference between the blood of Negroes and whites.” Another member of the delegation, Ferdinand Smith, national secretary of the National Maritime Union and a spokesman for black and white labor members, said, “This policy plays into the hands of those who seek to divide the American people by setting race against race.” Juan B. Emmanueli, editor of the Spanish language newspaper Eco Antillano, added, “Similar discrimination has been practiced against Latin American people.”

On July 4, 1942, an article in the prestigious Journal of the American Medical Association officially weighed in against the policy, stating in part: “The segregation of the blood of white persons from the blood of Negroes in the blood ban is not only unscientific but is a grievous affront to the largest minority in our country.”

In September 1942, an editorial in the Chicago newspaper Defender scathingly thundered, “No Negro blood accepted but – when the American Red Cross set up its first blood collection center in New York for our own armed forces, it was a Negro surgeon who was selected to supervise the entire project and expand the system to every city in the U.S.” And “When the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and maimed hundreds of American soldiers and sailors, it was blood collected by a Negro surgeon that saved their lives.” Despite this continued outrage, and overwhelming medical evidence to the contrary that even Mr. Davis conceded, Jim Crow trumped scientific fact. The policy remained in place throughout the war.

“Lt. Ramsey in leading his platoon into the battle fought like a hungry tiger. . . .”

 – 2nd Lt. Eliseo Malari, Platoon Leader, 2nd Platoon, Troop E, 26th Cavalry Regiment (Philippine Scouts)

            On Jan. 3, 1942, Lt. Gen. Masaharu Homma’s 14th Japanese Army captured the Philippine capital of Manila and was threatening to cut off the strategic retreat of Lt. Gen. Douglas MacArthur’s American and Philippine troops to the Bataan peninsula. To prevent this disastrous possibility, the elite Philippine Scouts were given the dangerous task of fighting a delaying action.

Organized in 1901 and commanded and trained by U.S. Army officers, the Philippine Scouts originally fought rebellious Moros who lived in the southern Philippine islands. By the time of the Japanese invasion, the 12,000-strong Philippine Scouts had a reputation of being a crack unit.

Twenty-four-year-old Lt. Edwin Price Ramsey was one of the American officers attached to the Philippine Scouts, serving as the commanding officer of a platoon in the 26th Cavalry Regiment (Philippine Scouts). Born in Illinois, raised in Kansas, Ramsey had graduated from the Oklahoma Military Academy, where he developed a love for polo. In June 1941, he volunteered for service with the 26th Cavalry because he had heard they “had an excellent polo club.”

Shortly after the Japanese landed in December 1941, Ramsey’s platoon was ordered north, where it conducted vital reconnaissance and assisted in rear guard skirmishes. On Jan. 15, 1942, Ramsey and his troops were looking forward to some rest and relaxation following a demanding reconnaissance mission. But a counterattack was being planned, and because he was intimately familiar with the region, he volunteered to assist in the assault. Then things took a different turn.

Philippine Scouts of the 26th Cavalry on the move in the Bataan Peninsula, pass an M3 Stuart light tank. U.S. Army photo

Maj. Gen. Jonathan Wainwright, commander of II Corps, wanted to make the Japanese-held village of Moron, strategically located on the west coast of the Bataan Peninsula, the anchor for a defensive line stretching inland to the rugged Mount Natib. On the morning of January 16, Wainwright ordered Ramsey to take an advance guard into Morong. Ramsey assembled a 27-man force composed of mounted platoons from the 26th Cavalry and headed north along the main road leading to Moron.

Upon reaching the Batalan River that formed part of Moron’s eastern border, Ramsey’s unit swung west and cautiously approached the seemingly deserted village, composed of grass huts suspended on stilts, with the livestock living beneath the structures. The only stone building was the Catholic Church, located in the middle of the village. At the village outskirts, Ramsey reorganized his force into squads and ordered a four-man point unit to lead them in.

As the point unit approached the village center, it came under fire from a Japanese advance guard that had just crossed the bridge spanning the river. Ramsey saw in the distance lead elements of the main force beginning to ford the river. If the Japanese troops managed to reach the village in force, Ramsey knew that his outnumbered troops would be overwhelmed. Ramsey then decided to do something the U.S. Army hadn’t attempted in more than 50 years – launch a horse cavalry charge against an enemy in war.

Ramsey quickly signaled his men to deploy into forager formation. Then he raised his pistol and shouted, “Charge!” With troops firing their pistols, the galloping cavalry horses smashed into the surprised enemy soldiers, routing them.

At a cost of only three men wounded, Ramsey and his men then held off the Japanese until reinforcements arrived. Ramsey received the Silver Star for his action at Morong. He later fought in the Philippines as a guerrilla, and received numerous decorations. He was discharged in 1946 with the rank of lieutenant colonel. The historic last horse cavalry charge by the U.S. Army was later recreated in the painting “The Last Charge” by John Solie.

Sadly the horses in Ramsey’s unit did not long survive. In early March 1942, with troop rations running low and animal fodder almost gone, Wainwright ordered all horses and mules slaughtered for food. Among the horses was Wainwright’s prize jumper, Joseph Conrad. After issuing the order, adding that Joseph Conrad be the first killed, Wainwright turned away and strode back to his command trailer, his eyes filling with tears.

— Evacuee host parent

 One of the most, if not the most, emotionally wrenching decisions made by the British government during World War II was its decision to relocate its children out of urban centers to locations where the risk of bombing attacks was low or non-existent. Called Operation Pied Piper, millions of people, most of them children, were shipped to rural areas in Britain as well as overseas to Canada, South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, and the United States. Almost 3 million people were evacuated during the first four days of the operation, making it the biggest and most concentrated population movement in British history.

Plans for such a move began during the summer of 1938, in which the country was divided into risk zones identified as “evacuation,” “neutral,” or reception” and lists of available housing were compiled. During the summer of 1939, the London County Council began requisitioning buses and trains. As the prospect of war became more likely, London’s mayor, Herbert Morrison, a Laborite, wanted to begin the evacuation process in August, but was rebuffed by the government led by Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, which was concerned that such a move would cause a general panic.

When Germany invaded Poland on Sept. 1, 1939, Morrison was at 10 Downing Street talking to Chamberlain’s aide, Sir Horace Wilson, about evacuating the children. Wilson protested, “But we’re not at war yet, and we wouldn’t want to do anything to upset delicate negotiations, would we?”

In his thick London East End accent, Morrison growled, “Look, ’Orace, go in there and tell Neville this from me: If I don’t get the order to evacuate the children from London this morning, I’m going to give it myself – and tell the papers why I’m doing it. ’Ow will ’is nibs like that?” A half hour later, Morrison had the document. The evacuation began that afternoon.

In London and other major cities, adults saw long files of children led by teachers or other officials walk toward bus or railroad stations for their journey to different parts of the country. Each child carried around his neck a small square cardboard box containing a gas mask, and on the lapel of each child’s coat was pinned a name card. Brothers and sisters held each other’s hands “like grim death, and refused to be parted.”

One mother in London, after watching her own two children march off, saw two tots leave a line and rush up to a policemen standing in the middle of the intersection, holding traffic until the children had passed. “Bye-bye, Daddy,” they said. The policeman looked down, smiled, and said, “Now be good, kiddies.” The children then got back in line. As they did so, the mother saw tears rolling down the policeman’s cheeks.

Poster used by the British government in the London Underground to spread the word about the evacuations of civilians in Britain during World War II. British Ministry of Health via Wikimedia Commons

The first and largest exodus lasted four days. Other smaller evacuations occurred up until September 1944. Ultimately more than 3.5 million people were relocated. Finding homes was often traumatic for the children. As a rule, billeting officials would line the newly arrived children up against a wall or on a stage in the village hall, and invite potential hosts to take their pick. The phrase, “I’ll take that one” became a statement indelibly etched in countless children’s memories.

Corporations and private relief organizations in the United States arranged for thousands of children to stay in the country. Employees of the Hoover vacuum cleaning company in Canton, Ohio, and Eastman Kodak in Rochester, N.Y., volunteered to take children of employees from their British subsidiaries. In New York City, a radio interview of six evacuee children living there was broadcast back to England on Sept. 10, 1940. According to a New York Times article, “Baseball received a vote of approval, although this was qualified when compared with cricket.”

Given the large numbers and different social classes involved, individual experiences ran the gamut from excellent to terrible. On Dec. 6, 1941, Anna Freud, the daughter of Sigmund Freud, reported the results of a 12-month study she had authorized. Its conclusion was that “separation from their parents is a worse shock for children than a bombing.” In the 2003 BBC Radio 4 documentary, “Evacuation: The True Story,” Steve Davis, a clinical psychologist specializing in the study of war trauma, stated that in the worst cases, “It was little more than a pedophile’s charter.”

Though the big children evacuation story occurred in England, it wasn’t the only one. British women and children in Singapore began to be evacuated shortly after Japan launched its attack on the colony. After a harrowing experience on their ship, one group eventually reached Australia in early January 1942.

The return of evacuees to London was approved on June 1945, but some began returning to England as early as 1944. The evacuation was officially ended in March 1946.

YouTube features a number of videos about the evacuation. One such video is a mixture of posters, photographs, and Imperial War Museum footage. Another video features a young schoolgirl interviewing her grandmother about her evacuation experience, part of a class project. In it the grandmother states that her host family “was not very nice.”

Excerpt from the U.S. Navy SEAL Creed

Of the 258 Medals of Honor awarded since the SEALs were authorized 50 years ago, five members of this special operations community have received America’s highest decoration for military valor in combat – three for action in the Vietnam War and one each for actions in Iraq and Afghanistan.

In chronological order these men are Lt. (j.g.) Joseph Robert “Bob” Kerrey, Lt. Thomas R. Norris, Petty Officer (later Lt.) Michael E. Thornton, Lt. Michael P. Murphy, and Petty Officer Michael A. Monsoor. They came from different backgrounds and different parts of the country, but they were all united in their desire to serve their country, doing so as part of a close-knit fraternity considered the best of the best. Their actions “above and beyond the call of duty” included ignoring severe wounds in order to save comrades (Kerrey), daring rescues of downed pilots on two separate occasions (Norris), the sacrificing of his life in order to save his comrades (Monsoor and Murphy), and, uniquely, saving the life of a future Medal of Honor recipient (Thornton). Herein are summaries of the heroic deeds that resulted in their being awarded the Medal of Honor.

Lt. (j.g.) Joseph Robert “Bob” Kerrey, SEAL Team One

In early March 1969, Kerrey received intelligence about a Viet Cong sapper and political cadre unit located on Hòn Tre (Bamboo Island), located off the coast of the popular South Vietnamese resort of Nha Trang. The communists had been a chronic threat in the area. Thanks to a Viet Cong member who opted to ally himself with American forces through the chieu hoi (“open arms”) program, the Americans now had hard intelligence about the makeup and location of the communists’ camp, and a special operations raid was organized. In his autobiography, When I Was a Young Man, Kerrey wrote that, after he and his men had been ferried close to the island, his plan was to load his team into two rubber boats, “land, hide our boats, hand climb a cliff to where our targets were sleeping, awaken them with force, bind and gag them with tape, and call for a helicopter to remove them to Nha Trang.”

Lt. (j.g.) Joseph Robert "Bob" Kerrey. U.S. Navy photo

The night of March 14 was dark, “one of the darkest nights we had in Vietnam,” he recalled, which greatly aided them in landing on the island, climbing a 350-foot cliff, and approaching the enemy camp without detection.

The enemy force had split into two groups. Kerrey’s team found the first group asleep and quickly bound and gagged them and prepared them for extraction. Kerrey then divided his command, leaving one element to guard their prisoners while he led the other element on a search for the second enemy force.

But instead of being asleep, the second group was moving, and the two sides spotted each other almost simultaneously.

A firefight erupted, with Kerrey being severely wounded by a grenade that exploded at his feet. He quickly applied a tourniquet to his right leg and, despite this and other wounds, calmly directed his element’s fire at the enemy’s position. He then got on his radio and coordinated supporting cross fire from the SEAL element guarding the prisoners. After about an hour, the enemy fire was sufficiently suppressed that they could call for an extraction. Helicopters soon arrived and Kerrey and other wounded were promptly medically evacuated (MEDEVACed). The prisoners and other SEALs eventually made it safely back to base.

Ultimately, Kerrey’s right foot had to be amputated. Kerrey recalled in his book that it was during his recuperation from his wounds that he was informed that he would be awarded the Medal of Honor. Shortly after getting that news, he was in San Diego visiting his platoon that had just returned from Vietnam, and told them of his reluctance to accept the medal. SEAL Chief Petty Officer Barry Enoch immediately told him he really had no choice, stating, “You must accept this award for everyone who should have been recognized but was not. You must wear it for others.”

On May 14, 1970, Lt. (j.g.) Joseph Robert “Bob” Kerrey, together with a number of other servicemen, received the Medal of Honor from President Richard M. Nixon in a White House ceremony.

Lt. Thomas R. Norris, SEAL Team TWO

In early April 1972, two American airmen were trapped deep behind enemy lines in Quang Tri province, Vietnam. One of them, Lt. Col. Iceal “Gene” Hambleton – code name Bat-21B – had managed to evade capture for more than a week. Because Hambleton was an intelligence officer with intimate knowledge of aerial and missile operations, it was doubly imperative he be rescued. Numerous aerial attempts had been made; all had failed. One of those attempts had resulted in a second airman, Lt. Mark Clark (contrary to some accounts, no relation to the World War II general), needing rescue as well, and the calling off of further aerial efforts. The two airmen were then told that the next attempt would be a land rescue up the monsoon-swollen Cam Lo River.

On the night of April 10, 1972, SEAL Lt. Thomas R. Norris, leading a handpicked team of five South Vietnamese Lien Doc Nguoi Nhia (LDNN), or “soldiers who fight under the sea,” similar to Navy SEALs, paddled a sampan more than a mile up the Cam Lo River to get Clark. Clark’s trip to the pick-up point was a harrowing one. Twice he was almost spotted by North Vietnamese Army (NVA) patrols. But, at around dawn on the morning of April 11, Clark and Norris linked up and the sampan sped back down the Cam Lo River to their Forward Operating Base (FOB) and safety.

Lt. Thomas R. Norris. U.S. Navy photo

Shortly after Norris’s sampan returned, the FOB came under attack by a strong NVA unit that was only repulsed after numerous air strikes were called in. The attack caused several casualties, including the killing of two of the South Vietnamese LDNNs.

On the night of April 12, Norris, together with the remaining three LDNNs, attempted to reach Hambleton. They traveled upriver about 4 kilometers but failed to rendezvous with him. Two of the three South Vietnamese LDNNs were so intimidated by the large number of NVA troops they saw along their route that they refused to return.

On the night of April 13, after receiving updated directions from a Forward Air Controller who had identified Hambleton’s location, Norris and LDNN Petty Officer Nguyen Van Kiet, dressed as local fishermen, got into a sampan and headed upriver.

After several harrowing close calls with NVA troops, they found Hambleton; weak and delirious but still alive. Quickly they got him into the sampan and hid him under some bamboo. Now it was a race against time to get back before dawn. Twice they were discovered by North Vietnamese troops. The first time they managed to escape downriver before the patrol could fire at them. The second time they found themselves cut off by an enemy unit with a heavy machine gun. Norris radioed for an air strike. Soon seven airplanes from the USS Hancock arrived, and their attacks enabled Norris to resume his downriver journey.

With the sun high overhead and dodging enemy fire from the other side of the river, Norris and Kiet returned Bat-2 to the FOB. Hambleton’s ordeal was finally over.

The U.S. Navy awarded Petty Officer Nguyen Van Kiet the Navy Cross, the only South Vietnamese Navy member to be so honored. On March 6, 1976, in a White House ceremony, President Gerald Ford presented Lt. Thomas R. Norris with the Medal of Honor. If it hadn’t been for fellow SEAL Petty Officer Michael Thornton, Norris might not have lived to receive it. The reason why is in the next account.

Petty Officer Second Class Michael E. Thornton, SEAL Team One

About six months after his rescue of Bat-21, in late October 1972, Lt. Thomas R. Norris was even deeper behind enemy lines. This time he was leading a team that included SEAL Petty Officer Second Class Michael E. Thornton and three South Vietnamese commandos on a high risk/high reward reconnaissance mission of the Cua Viet River military base that had been captured by the NVA.

The team was ferried up the South China Sea the night of Oct. 30, 1972, and landed on a beach believed close to the base. The team stealthily entered the enemy base – and quickly discovered that instead of being in the Cua Viet River base, they were dropped north of the Demilitarized Zone border separating South and North Vietnam, and that they were reconnoitering a large NVA base!

Petty Officer Second Class Michael E. Thornton. U.S. Navy photo

The team continued its mission and returned to the beach early on the morning of Oct. 31 to await exfiltration. As they waited, an NVA patrol wandered close. Before Norris or Thornton could stop him, the South Vietnamese commander ordered two of his commandos to capture the patrol. Instead, a firefight broke out, attracting more NVA troops. The next thing Norris and Thornton knew, they were in a fight for their lives in a tactical situation that could only be described as a disaster about to get worse.

Norris was hit in the face and part of his forehead was shot off, exposing his brain. Ignoring the hail of enemy fire, Thornton dashed up and grabbed his lieutenant, who he thought was dead. Amazingly, Norris was still alive.

The team retreated to the sea, where Thornton, wounded across his back and legs by a grenade, inflated Norris’s life vest and the vest of one of the commandos, who also had been wounded. After inflating his own vest, Thornton began swimming the two wounded men out to sea for rendezvous with their support craft.

The trio’s ordeal lasted hours. Thornton saw one support craft leave the area after having picked up the South Vietnamese commander, who had swum ahead and informed the crew that he was the only survivor. But a second support craft manned by fellow SEAL Woody Woodruff remained in the area, spotted the trio, and rescued them.

Though it would take numerous operations and years to recuperate, miraculously Norris survived. On Oct. 15, 1973, Petty Officer Second Class Michael Thornton received his Medal of Honor from President Richard Nixon. Norris was there to witness it. And, when Norris received his Medal of Honor in 1976, Thornton had the distinction of becoming the only Medal of Honor recipient to save the life of a fellow recipient.

Lt. Michael P. Murphy, SEAL Delivery Vehicle Team ONE

On the night of June 27, 2005, Lt. Michael P. Murphy, a Long Island native who had turned his back on a promising law career to become a SEAL, and his team, including Petty Officers Second Class Marcus Luttrell, Matthew G. Axelson, and Danny P. Dietz, boarded the MH-47 Chinook from the Army’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment – the Night Stalkers – to conduct their part in Operation Red Wings, an operation designed to stop insurgents from disrupting the upcoming national elections in Afghanistan. Theirs was a special reconnaissance mission aimed at locating Ahmad Shah, who led a guerrilla group  called the Mountain Tigers and was aligned with the Taliban and other militant groups operating close to the Pakistani border.

Discovering their initial observation site to be unsuitable due to fog, they moved to a second location where, at about noon, their mission was compromised when they were discovered by three goatherds leading their goats. As there was no evidence they were insurgents, they were allowed to go.

The SEALs moved to a third location, but about two hours after being discovered, they were attacked from the high ground behind them by Ahmad Shah and his men.

A running firefight down the mountain slope ensued. The SEALs’ goal was to reach the village in the valley far below and turn a hut into a fortress where they would fight off Shah and his men until reinforcements arrived.

The SEALs stopped their descent only long enough to return fire and try to communicate with Bagram [a U.S. base and airfield in Afghanistan]. But they were in a communications “dead zone,” unable to establish two-way contact.

Meanwhile, Shah used his advantage in superior numbers and high ground to keep up constant pressure. Dietz was killed, and the others all wounded.

Lt. Michael P. Murphy. U.S. Navy photo

When Murphy, Luttrell, and Axelson reached their latest defensive position, Murphy took out his Iridium satellite phone. The only way Murphy could connect with the communication satellites above, however, was to expose himself to enemy fire. He moved out from protective cover and in plain sight of the enemy hit the speed-dial button on the phone.

With AK-47 bullets ricocheting around him, Murphy said, “My men are taking heavy fire … we’re getting picked apart. My guys are dying out here … we need help.”

An AK-47 round struck him in the back and burst through his chest. The impact knocked Murphy forward and caused him to drop his rifle and phone. Somehow, he managed to reach down and pick both up. After listening on the phone for another moment, he replied, “Roger that, sir. Thank you.” Then he hung up and staggered back to his fellow SEALs.

Rescue was on the way.

They were SEALs, but they were not supermen. Murphy was soon hit again. The concussion from an RPG explosion knocked Luttrell down the slope, an event that ultimately helped save his life, making him the only survivor of the ordeal. Luttrell’s last sight of Axelson was of him using his sidearm; Axelson had three magazines left for his pistol. When a search party found his body days later, only one magazine remained unused.

The rescue attempt itself ended in disaster. A Chinook carrying 8 SEALs and 8 Army Night Stalkers was hit by an RPG. All personnel aboard were killed.

Axelson, Dietz, and Luttrell were awarded the Navy Cross. On Oct. 22, 2007, in a ceremony in front of his parents, President George W. Bush posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor to Lt. Michael P. Murphy.

Petty Officer Second Class Michael A. Monsoor, SEAL Team THREE

In April 2006, Mike Monsoor’s 19-man SEAL platoon was deployed to Ramadi, Iraq, and assigned to the Mulaab area, one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Ramadi. Grafitti on building walls boasted that it was “the graveyard of the Americans.”

When he wasn’t patrolling on the mean streets of Ramadi, Monsoor, who was the team’s heavy weapons machine gunner and communicator, was above them – stationed in rooftop sniper posts. There, acting in his role as a communications specialist, he spotted enemy positions and called in supporting fire.

Petty Officer Second Class Michael A. Monsoor. Photo courtesy of the Monsoor family

On Sept. 29, 2006, Col. Sean MacFarland, the commander of troops in Ramadi, launched Operation Kentucky Jumper, a combined coalition battalion clearance and isolation operation in southern Ramadi using integrated American and Iraqi forces.

Monsoor’s assignment was to serve as the machine gunner for a combined-force team of four SEALs and eight Iraqi army soldiers tasked to serve as a sniper overwatch element guarding the western flank of a unit sweeping the area. The SEAL/Iraqi team quickly found a rooftop location that gave them a good field of view and as much defensive security as possible.

Using tactical periscopes to scan over the walls for enemy activity, they soon spotted a group of four armed insurgents conducting reconnaissance for follow-on attacks of the U.S./Iraqi ground force moving through the area. The snipers promptly engaged them, killing one and wounding another. Not long after, another mutually supporting SEAL/Iraqi army team killed another enemy fighter. After these two actions, area residents who supported the insurgents began blocking off the streets around the teams with rocks. The purpose was twofold: to warn away civilians and to identify the location of the sniper teams for the insurgents.

The first attack occurred in the early afternoon, when a vehicle loaded with armed insurgents charged their position. Though the SEALs and Iraqis successfully repulsed the assault, they knew the insurgents would follow up with additional attacks. Despite this risk, the men stayed with the mission and refused to evacuate.

The SEAL lieutenant in charge repositioned his men, placing Monsoor with his heavy machine gun on the roof outcrop that overlooked the most likely avenue of attack.

Monsoor was using a tactical periscope when an insurgent on the street managed to get close enough to hurl a hand grenade up onto the roof. The grenade hit Monsoor in the chest and bounced onto the rooftop. Monsoor was just a couple of steps away from the exit door. He could have leaped through it to safety. But there were three other SEALs and eight Iraqi soldiers nearby, and no time to throw the grenade over the side of the building.

Monsoor shouted “Grenade!” and as he threw himself onto the grenade, it detonated. Shrapnel from the explosion hit the two SEALs closest to him, wounding them. But Monsoor’s body had absorbed most of the blast. Medical evacuation was immediately requested, and within minutes the three wounded were carried away. Monsoor was still alive when he arrived at the field hospital. But his wounds were mortal. Thirty minutes after he had acted to save the lives of those with him, 25-year-old Michael Monsoor died.

On April 8, 2008, at  a White House ceremony in front of his parents, President George W. Bush posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor to Petty Officer Second Class Michael A. Monsoor.

This article first appeared in Navy Seals 50: Commemorating the 50th Anniversary of the Establishment of the U.S. Navy SEALs.

– Adm. Karl Dönitz, U-boat commander in chief

As of Dec. 8, 1941, the United States was officially at war. But, for several months following the declaration of war, the domestic American population experienced an almost schizophrenic bifurcation of acceptance and denial of the nation’s changed status. Reactions ran the gamut, ranging from large-scale enlistment in the military or signing up for various civilian defense volunteer duties, to refusing to adjust habits and behavior “just because there’s a war on.”

Hand-in-glove with patriotic fervor was war anxiety. The most extreme example was the imagined threat of fifth columnist attack.

The term “fifth column” first appeared in 1936 during the Spanish Civil War. In preparation for his siege of Republican-held Madrid, Nationalist Gen. Emilio Mola divided his army into four columns and in a radio broadcast stated he had a “fifth column” of supporters in Madrid undermining the government.

The term caught on like wildfire. Newspapers across America regularly featured columns recounting fifth column activities in South America and elsewhere.

Warnings about the global fifth column threat reached a high point in August 1940 with a four-part article series in the New York Times co-written by Col. William Donovan and foreign correspondent Edgar Mower and authorized by Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox, who, in his introduction, wrote that the articles were “designed to make Americans fully conscious of methods used by totalitarian powers, so that, if or when such methods are used here, they will instantly be recognized for what they were and their effect nullified” [italics added].

While the articles may not have been like gasoline thrown on hot coals, with such inflammatory statements as “It is in a democracy that the ‘fifth column’ can function most freely and effectively” and “The masterpiece of the ‘fifth column’ was unquestionably the French debacle [its defeat to Germany],” the articles probably increased rather than allayed fears. After Pearl Harbor, Japanese-Americans became the unfortunate “face” of a domestic fifth-column threat, ultimately causing them to be forcibly relocated to internment camps.

At the extreme other end of the spectrum were individuals who selfishly refused to adjust, going so far as to see the anticipated death and destruction in America’s littoral waters as money-making entertainment. Baltimore mayor Clifford B. Cropper was the most notable proponent of this callous attitude. As Thomas Parrish, in his history The Submarine, wrote, Cropper declared “submarine activity off the beaches would create a great new tourist attraction for shore resorts.” For months this outrageous claim was backed up by fact.

Up and down the East Coast, as early as Dec. 14, people would hear explosions offshore and see their flash in the night sky, and the next day walk the beaches and find the flotsam and jetsam of bodies and ship wreckage being washed ashore. Miami and its suburbs refused to impose blackouts, claiming such a move would hurt tourism. As a result tankers and freighters steaming past were perfectly silhouetted for U-boats. As one seaman rescued off the New Jersey shore bitterly said, the tanker he was on was sunk and twenty of his crewmates were lost because the shore “was lit up like daylight all along the beach. That submarine was right there, waiting for the first boat to come along.”

Obsessed with the war in the Pacific, and with warships needed to fight a two-ocean war still under construction, the U.S. Navy was slow to respond to the growing disaster along the Atlantic coast. When it did, its actions were limited and astonishingly predictable. Adm. Ernest J. King stubbornly refused to employ convoys, instead choosing to use Navy destroyers and Coast Guard cutters on U-boat patrols. Unfortunately the vessels on U-boat patrols operated singly and on a schedule and route so regular it would have made a railroad stationmaster proud. A U-boat could either leave until the destroyer passed, or lie in wait and eliminate it, which is what happened to the USS Jacob Jones on Feb. 28, 1942.

But increasingly Americans shook off the lethargic complacency of peace. Some men even closed their businesses and enlisted. Typical of such sentiment was the proprietor of Joe’s Country Lunch in Alabama, who left a note on his shuttered cafeteria stating, “Maybe you don’t know there’s a war on. Have gone to see what it’s all about. Meanwhile good luck and best wishes until we all come home.”

– Minister of Propaganda Joseph Goebbels, Dec. 19, 1941

On Nov. 8, 1941, Nazi Minister of Propaganda Joseph Goebbels published an article in the magazine Reich that called for “heavy sacrifices” from the German people in the “hard war” ahead. It was a stunning turnaround from the litany of quick victory predictions and declarations the office had issued since the start of the war. Goebbels underscored the situation with a stark declaration: “You are all involved in this struggle whether you want to be or not. … There is no longer a chance of withdrawing for any one of us.”

This master of bombastic rhetoric then ended with an appeal ominously portentous in its subdued tone: “Let us not ask: when will victory come, but instead see that it does come.” To any but the most hardcore of Nazis, the unspoken message was obvious. The war on the Eastern Front wasn’t going smoothly. What the German people didn’t know was that it was going to hell in a frozen hand basket.

Nazi strategic goals were all based on winning the war quickly. With the exception of England, which remained undefeated, that goal had been achieved in Western Europe. Recalling the Red Army leadership’s incompetence during its 1939-1940 Winter War with Finland, Adolf Hitler was confident of swift victory in the east as well, asserting to his generals, “We have only to kick in the door and the whole rotten thing will come down.” Some generals, particularly those newly promoted field marshals, agreed. Others were not so sure. Almost all made a point of reading Gen. Armand de Caulaincourt’s With Napoleon in Russia, the definitive account of the French emperor’s disastrous campaign.

A German army Sd.Kfz. 250 halftrack and Sturmgeschütz III assault gun negotiating the Russian winter, October/November 1941. Often fires had to be lit beneath vehicles to make them warm enough to start, as lubricants turned to ice and engines froze solid. Bundesarchive photo

At first it seemed that, yet again, Hitler’s prediction would come true. The German armies drove deep into the Soviet Union, surrounding and destroying one Soviet army after another. But as the weeks turned into months, and despite crippling losses in land and troops, the Soviet Union defiantly refused to surrender. The invasion’s timetable called for Moscow to be captured by the end of summer. As such, the Wehrmacht went into battle wearing only summer-weight uniforms. The German blitzkrieg literally bogged down in the quagmires caused by the autumn rains. Even when it was obvious that Moscow’s capture could not happen until winter at the earliest, no attempts were made to provide the troops with winter clothing.

As winter approached, conditions for the lightly clad German troops at the front became appalling. Weapons malfunctioned. Vehicles wouldn’t start. Frostbite cases soared. Troops froze to death. Yet, somehow Army Group Center kept advancing toward its goal of Moscow, getting so close that the lead elements were able to see the city’s spires in the distance.

Then, on the night of Dec. 4, Russian Gen. Georgi Zhukov launched a massive Red Army counterattack. The blow stunned Army Group Center and sent it reeling back. At the German Army High Command (OKH) headquarters, its head, Field Marshal Walter von Brauchitsch, resigned. Hitler promptly took direct command of OKH and issued to his field generals in Russia the order, “No withdrawal!”

The retreat, which had threatened to become a disastrous rout, was stopped.

Though Hitler’s order averted that crisis, the other crisis, involving troop welfare, remained. On Dec. 20, 1941, Goebbels delivered an address on German national radio. It was a stirring appeal mixing patriotism and shame. Praise of heroic troops and their sacrifice was contrasted with the comforts enjoyed by the German people at home, who experienced “inconveniences and little curtailments, compared to what our front soldiers have borne daily and hourly, over two years.”

His speech then focused on the Eastern Front. After summarizing the troops’ “superhuman effort” overcoming the heat of the Russian summer and mud of the Russian autumn, Goebbels stated that the troops were in defensive positions “as a safeguard of the homeland.” Finally, after all this sugarcoating he came to the point: “Against heat, the front could hardly protect itself; against cold, only the entire homeland can help our front. Who at home would dare to withdraw his help from this service of unity?”

That help was winter clothing – lots of it. Calling the list the “Christmas present from the German nation to the Eastern Front” it included overshoes, blankets, “any kind of headgear protection . . . furs in all senses of the word … everything of wool is needed urgently on the front and will be doubly welcome.” Collecting began on December 27. When it ended on Jan. 4, 1942, a total of 76,232,688 items had been gathered.

Though Goebbels’ propaganda put the best possible face on it, it was an astonishing admission of the government’s inability to care for an army it had placed in harm’s way.

– Vice Adm. Wallace M. Beakley,
Deputy Chief of Naval Operations, June 5, 1961

In January 1962, a new chapter in the history of special operations opened with the establishment of the U.S. Navy’s SEAL Teams ONE and TWO. The 21-year stretch from 1962 to 1983 was a profound one for the new force, one that would see it created from the Navy’s Underwater Demolition Teams (UDTs) and grow to a point where, in 1983, the parent organization would be folded into that of its offspring.

Throughout this period, SEALs suffered repeated crises of perception by outsiders who controlled their institutional fate. The force labored under the contradiction of being a specialized elite force with “… an all-around universal capability.” This phrase, an excerpt from the U.S. Director, Strategic Plans Division memo dated March 13, 1961, was necessary because, as part of the U.S. Navy, SEALs had to work closely with the Navy’s surface, aviation, and submarine forces. A further complication was the fact that the SEAL program itself was caught squarely in the philosophical cross fire between naval traditionalists and advocates of change during the post-Vietnam War drawdown of the military, with all the budgetary consequences thereof. During their formative years, the Navy leadership seemed perplexed by the SEALs and/or didn’t know what to do with them, a situation that would not change until the Goldwater-Nichols Act of 1986 that reorganized the military and put the U.S. Special Operations Command at the same level as the other unified and specified commands at the time.

On May 25, 1961, President John F. Kennedy, addressing a joint session of Congress, delivered a speech that most people remember as his challenge to the country to put an American on the moon before the end of the decade. Since forgotten by the public at large was the president’s mandate to the military: “I am directing the secretary of defense to expand rapidly and substantially … the orientation of existing forces for the conduct of … unconventional wars. … In addition, our special forces and unconventional warfare units will be increased and reoriented. …”

The Chief of Naval Operations (CNO), Adm. Arleigh Burke, in a memo dated July 11, 1960, tasked Vice Adm. Wallace M. Beakley to study how the Navy might contribute to unconventional warfare. Beakley responded to that tasking in a memo dated Aug. 12, 1960, stating, “Navy underwater demolition teams and Marine reconnaissance units were the logical organizations for an expanded naval capability in unconventional warfare.” Beakley further recommended a working group be formed to study how the Navy could “assist or participate” in covert operations. As a result, on Sept. 13, 1960, an Unconventional Activities Working Group was formed. The slow progress became a whirlwind on March 10, 1961, when the Navy’s Unconventional Activities Committee presented a mission statement for the new special operations unit and officially used for the first time the acronym SEAL. On May 13, 1961, Burke received another memo from Beakley going into more detail on the SEAL concept, basically spelling out everything about the new unit and advising that administratively everything was in place and simply waiting for final go-ahead. This memorandum concluded by stating, “If you agree in the foregoing proposals, I will take action to establish a Special Operations Team on each coast.” Burke wasted no time in giving the green light. On June 5, 1961, the CNO issued a letter notifying the commanders in chief U.S. Atlantic, U.S. Pacific, and U.S. Naval Forces Europe about the Navy’s intentions regarding SEAL units.

Members of U.S. Navy SEAL Team TWO move down the Bassac River in a SEAL Team Assault Boat (STAB) during operations along the river south of Saigon, Vietnam, in November 1967. U.S. Navy photo

The letter stated, “It is the Navy’s intention to provide for the waterborne conduct and support of such guerrilla and counter-guerrilla operations as may be directed in the national interest.” It identified missions, tasks, how the SEALs would be organized, trained, what and how they should identify and obtain transport, and that “measures should be taken to ensure that some staff officers receive the Special Operations Teams training for background in connection with the possible use of these units in their respective areas.”

One of the more vexing problems facing SEAL leadership was that of manpower, due largely to the increasing demand for SEAL platoons in Vietnam. Because of this demand, and the need to simultaneously satisfy UDT manpower needs and the expansion of the SEAL Teams, there were an insufficient number of people in the pipeline for Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL (BUD/S) training plus additional time for SEAL qualifications to meet those demands in a timely manner. Retired Cmdr. Franklin Anderson, who would go on to become commanding officer of SEAL Team ONE (1966-1968) recalled, “At that time only two classes of trainees were going through [Coronado] each year, and both [UDT] teams’ manpower was down to about 80 percent.” (Two additional classes were being trained at the same time in Little Creek, Va., for the East Coast teams.) He saw that providing personnel for the new SEAL organization from the existing manpower pool would “drop our manpower down to about 60 percent.” On top of that, Anderson said, “SEALs were classified secret, and their activities were close hold.” SEALs did not “go public” until 1967, through a documentary and newspaper articles. Liaison with other commands and a promotion infrastructure were other hurdles that were addressed – some immediately, others down the road.

Capt. Phil Bucklew, who had served in the Scouts and Raiders during World War II, became the first Commander, Naval Operations Support Group Pacific, which included SEAL Team ONE, UDT-11, UDT-12, BJU-1 (Beach Jumpers Unit), and BSU-1 (Boat Support Unit). SEAL Team ONE had as its first commanding officer Lt. David Del Giudice, and was stationed in Coronado, Calif. SEAL Team TWO’s first commanding officer was Lt. John F. Callahan, and the team was stationed in Little Creek.

On Dec. 27, 1962, Rear Adm. Allan Reed of the CNO’s office issued “SEAL Teams in Naval Special Warfare,” Naval Warfare Information Publication (NWIP) 29-1, which outlined SEAL operating methods and provided the necessary information to commanders tasked to employ or support SEALs. NWIP 29-1 summarized SEAL doctrine and listed in broad terms the types of missions that since have become well known to the general public: reconnaissance, interdiction, sabotage and demolition, and training and advising. In addition, SEALs were tasked with developing weapon and transport systems and if necessary customizing them for their specific mission needs. That included the application of specialized underwater breathing apparatuses, transport vehicles (both underwater and surface), parachutes, and other systems. Examples of surface boats used by SEALs in the Vietnam War include the Light SEAL Support Craft (LSSC), the Medium SEAL Support Craft (MSSC), and the SEAL Team Assault Boat (STAB).

A Medium SEAL Support Craft (MSSC), one of several specialized craft used by SEAL platoons in Vietnam, pulls away from the dock at Ben Tre. Photo courtesy of Clint Majors

Missions were assigned soon after the teams became operational. The most significant of these was the Jan. 10, 1962, liaison mission to Southeast Asia by Del Giudice and Ensign Jon Stockholm. Del Giudice later said, “Our task was to establish liaison with the MAAG [Military Assistance Advisory Group Vietnam – the predecessor to Military Assistance Command Vietnam, or MACV] and to determine specific requirements for involvement in Vietnam.” Upon their return in February, they made a series of briefings. Based upon the information in those briefings, in March 1962, the first of a series of SEAL Team ONE personnel was deployed to South Vietnam to train their South Vietnamese military counterparts in clandestine maritime operations. The following month, a SEAL Team ONE detachment, including two members of SEAL Team TWO, was deployed to Vietnam to train Biet Hai Junk Force commandos.

From 1962 to 1964, SEALs focused on training South Vietnamese commandos and UDT personnel in guerrilla operations targeting sites in North Vietnam as part of Operation Plan 34A, or OP 34A, based in Da Nang and under CIA command. Because Americans were prohibited from accompanying the teams into North Vietnamese territory, SEAL Team advisors had to remain south of the 17th parallel, at which time the South Vietnamese naval commandos would continue missions northward on their own. As such, the advisors would accompany the guerrillas as far as the mission launch point, where the guerrillas would continue missions on their own. As the tempo of OP 34A missions increased, they were coordinated with the Navy’s DeSoto missions designed to gather electronic intelligence of North Vietnamese communications and radar installations. One OP 34A mission, on July 31, led to North Vietnamese patrol boat attacks on the USS Maddox on Aug. 2 and a possible second attack on Maddox and C. Turner Joy two days later. The North Vietnamese response was later misrepresented as “unprovoked attacks” by the Lyndon Johnson administration in what came to be known as the Tonkin Gulf incident that led to massive American military expansion in South Vietnam.

In 1964, command of OP 34A and of the SEALs was transferred to the U.S. Military Assistance Command Vietnam, Studies and Observation Group (USMACV SOG), which was the Vietnam War’s joint unconventional warfare task force (JUWTF), responsible for planning and executing a variety of covert, deniable special activities and operations throughout the Southeast Asia theater. SEAL presence quickly expanded, and ultimately teams were conducting operations throughout South Vietnam, under the command of U.S. Naval Forces Vietnam. Their missions ran the gamut from reconnaissance patrols, to direct action missions with specific objectives, to Operation Bright Light POW rescue missions, Phoenix Program missions against Viet Cong cadres, and more. Three standout missions, conducted late in the war in 1972, resulted in three SEALs being awarded the Medal of Honor. The first was awarded to Lt. j.g. Joseph R. “Bob” Kerrey for his leadership, despite being severely wounded by a grenade, of an intelligence raid that captured important Viet Cong agents and many documents. Lt. Thomas R. Norris received the award for his rescue of two downed aviators trapped behind enemy lines, one of them Air Force Lt. Col. Iceal Hambleton – BAT 21. Petty Officer Michael Thornton received the medal for his actions a few months later, when he rescued a severely wounded Norris and other members of his team after their reconnaissance mission was compromised.

Two U.S. Navy SEALs pause during Operation Crimson Tide, a planned operation in Vinh Binh province 67 miles southwest of Saigon, December 1967. U.S. Navy photo by PHI Dan Dodd

By 1968, OP 34A had been discontinued and SEAL missions started shifting south. During OP 34A, detachments from SEAL Team ONE were usually comprised of one officer and six enlisted men. For other missions in South Vietnam, staffing increased to two officers and 12 enlisted men. Platoons from Team ONE were initially assigned to clear out the Rung Sat Special Zone, a Viet Cong stronghold just seven miles south of Saigon, the South Vietnamese capital. On Aug. 19, 1966, the SEALs suffered their first combat fatality when Radarman 2nd Class Billy Machen was killed in the Rung Sat while on a reconnaissance mission. Nevertheless, Viet Cong activity in the region was dramatically reduced by SEAL operations.

SEAL Team ONE’s success in the Rung Sat caused a demand for SEAL operations elsewhere, and soon platoons were sent farther south to the Mekong Delta, one of the great rice growing regions of the world and a longtime Communist stronghold that would see some of the most intense combat activity in the war. Eventually the demand for SEAL missions outstripped SEAL Team ONE’s ability to fulfill them, and platoons from SEAL Team TWO were deployed to South Vietnam.

Bucklew, as Commander Naval Operations Support Group, Pacific, made a concerted effort to ensure that qualified special operations officers were on the staffs of the other commands to provide assistance and planning for SEAL operations. Del Giudice, since promoted to 0-5 commander and assigned as officer in charge of Naval Special Warfare Group, Vietnam, was responsible for coordinating UDT and SEAL operations in Vietnam. In addition, SEAL Capt. Wendell “Wendy” Webber was on the staff of Commander in Chief, U.S. Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor. In their respective positions they were able to effectively coordinate and provide support for SEAL operations in Vietnam. Del Giudice’s assistant officer in charge for part of this time was Lt. Cmdr. George Worthington. Unlike conventional forces, who were always assigned missions, Worthington, who would retire with the rank of rear admiral, said that once SEAL platoons were deployed to an area, “The SEALs made up their own operations.”

Retired Rear Adm. Ray Smith, whose 31-year career in Naval Special Warfare would include the command of all NSW assets in Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm, was a UDT platoon commander in Vietnam. He confirmed Worthington’s recollection, stating, “In Vietnam, the SEALs would be assigned an area and then be in charge of that area.”

One such force in the delta was X-Ray Platoon, SEAL Team ONE, which arrived in the region in October 1970, where it was stationed in Ben Tre City. Clinton Majors was a petty officer in X-Ray Platoon. He recalled, “Our mission was to disrupt the existing Viet Cong infrastructure; to halt the continuance and growth of the Viet Cong … The war in Vietnam was a business, and we approached it that way. … To survive you had to act like a Viet Cong, think like one, look like one.”That part was important because, though they didn’t know it at the time, they were targeted. “They were in the eye of the storm,” Del Giudice said. Part of the reason for that was the fact that their area of operations was both the communists’ breadbasket and an important source of revenue. Control of the region, or more importantly loss of control, would have an enormous impact on their prosecution of the war. There was a political reason, as well; Ben Tre was where the Viet Cong movement was formed in 1959. Despite the platoon’s success in disrupting Viet Cong operations – capturing prisoners and more than 100 pounds of documents and destroying numerous enemy caches, bunkers, weapons factories, and other sites – during its deployment, X-Ray Platoon found itself encountering an unusually high number of ambushes. Ultimately the unit suffered 100 percent casualties, with four members killed. The unit’s last mission was on March 4, 1971. In it, the platoon’s commander, Lt. Mike Collins, was killed, and a number of others were severely wounded. Following this action, the decision was made to rotate the platoon back to the States. An investigation later revealed that its missions had been compromised; one of its South Vietnamese commandos was actually a Communist agent.

Overall the SEALs chalked up a great record of success, as exemplified by the facts that the Viet Cong offered cash bounties for the killing of a SEAL, and that the SEALs were given by the Viet Cong the respectful sobriquet “The Men with Green Faces.” Vice Adm. Elmo Zumwalt, Commander, U.S. Naval Forces in Vietnam and the Naval Advisory Group, Vietnam, was so impressed with SEAL successes that he wanted “hundreds” of SEALs in Vietnam.

In 1970, Zumwalt would become the youngest officer to become Chief of Naval Operations. The timing could not have been more fortuitous for the SEALs, for as Smith said, “After Vietnam, the forces got cut and the money got cut. Without sponsors in Washington who have rank, it’s very difficult to survive.” The SEALs came closest to being budgeted away in 1973-1974. By this time, Del Giudice was in Washington, as Office of the Chief of Naval Operations (OPNAV) for Naval Special Warfare (NAVSPECWAR), and led the administrative overhaul of NAVSPECWAR organization. His work and that of his staff was rewarded, for Worthington noted, “Happily, Adm. Elmo Zumwalt directed that the Naval Special Warfare Groups remain as major commands … the rest survived therefrom.”

SEAL Team ONE, X-Ray Platoon, and South Vietnamese personnel on a dock near Ben Tre in Southeast Vietnam. U.S. Navy photo

On Nov. 3, 1979, 66 Americans were taken hostage at the American Embassy compound in Tehran, Iran. The yearlong hostage crisis, and its failed rescue mission, Operation Eagle Claw, would mark the end of President Jimmy Carter’s presidency and the beginning of a new chapter in SEAL history: the creation of SEAL Team SIX, which was founded on Oct. 1, 1980.

SEAL Team SIX was commanded by Cmdr. Richard Marcinko, who organized it to be the maritime component to the National Mission Force.

Unlike other SEAL Teams that were trained to work in small teams up to platoon size, SEAL Team SIX was trained to work in larger assault units of 30 to 40 men in coordination with similar-sized units. Marcinko, during his three-year tenure, succeeded in his goal of building SEAL Team SIX to naval operational task level capability for counterterrorist assignment. In July 1983, he was succeeded by Capt. Robert Gormly.

By the early 1980s, the distinction between UDTs and SEALs had blurred to the point that a number of senior commanders began calling for the two forces to be combined. Foremost among them working to make the change was Rear Adm. Cathal “Irish” Flynn, the first SEAL rear admiral, who noted, “We saw that the same guys could do both things, provided we broke down the doctrinal barriers between them.” Flynn led a storied career in the SEALs. Serving two tours of duty in Vietnam, he was part of the advisory group in OP 34A, officer in command of Detachment Golf, executive officer of SEAL Team ONE, and commanding officer UDT-12. Eventually he would become deputy assistant secretary of defense for special operations. In early 1983, the four UDTs were formally integrated into the SEALs and the number of SEAL Teams was increased to a total of six. SEAL Team THREE was established later, on Oct. 1, 1983, in Coronado, Calif.

In 1974, the British Caribbean island of Grenada was granted independence. In 1979, the pro-Communist government led by Maurice Bishop came to power and actively sought aid from Cuba and the Soviet Union. This was still the time of the Cold War, and the Ronald Reagan administration became alarmed when Cuba sent crews to the island to construct a 9,000-foot-long runway capable of accommodating Soviet strategic bombers.

On Oct. 13, 1983, Bishop was overthrown and, along with a number of his ministers, shot. This second coup resulted in an even stronger pro-Communist government. Trapped on the island were about 1,000 American citizens, of whom about 600 were medical students. President Reagan authorized Operation Urgent Fury, the invasion of Grenada. This was a joint operation under overall command of the Navy. Included in the land attack element were SEAL Team FOUR and SEAL Team SIX. The SEAL Teams were tasked with four missions: reconnaissance of the Salines airfield prior to a parachute assault; beach reconnaissance near Pearls Airport; the capture of the important Beauséjour radio station and the prevention of it broadcasting until relieved by the landing force; and the seizure of Government House, the residence of the British Governor General Sir Paul Scoon, his rescue from house arrest, and defense of the residence until reinforcements arrived.

Amphibious assaults are the most complex of military operations and any glitch can have enormous ripple effects. Operation Urgent Fury was planned in less than 10 days. Though ultimately successful, a number of mishaps, some of them deadly, occurred as a result of the hasty cobbling together of plans. SEAL Team SIX was disestablished in 1987.

A SEAL moves through waist-deep mud during an operation in May 1970. National Archives photo

H-Hour for Urgent Fury was 0500 Oct. 25. SEAL Team SIX successfully reached Government House and managed to free Scoon and fend off attacks until reinforcements arrived on Oct. 26. The Point Salines mission, however, was a failure. Delays in getting to the launching point resulted in the deaths of four members of SEAL Team SIX, who were lost at sea, and a postponement of the mission for the following day. The second attempt was almost as bad. The SEAL boats got swamped, and their radios were wrecked by seawater; ultimately the Rangers had to land on the airfield blind. The beach reconnaissance mission near Pearls Airport, however, was a success, and the Marines landed there without any major problems. By the time the SEALs reached the radio station and took control, surprise was lost. An alert Grenadian commander in nearby Fort Frederick organized a reaction force around a Soviet-built BTR-60 armored personnel carrier and, faced with a superior force, the SEALs were forced to destroy the transmitter and retreat back to the sea.

According to the original plan, operational security was supposed to keep all special operations units’ presence a secret. But delays and accidents compromised security, and well before the operation had concluded, the world knew which special operations units were involved.

Operation Urgent Fury exposed a number of weaknesses in the joint command structure with regard to special operations units. The lessons learned from the operation would help build the case for an independent Special Operations Command in charge of all the different special operations units and at the same level as that of the service branches, which was achieved in 1987.

Meanwhile, SEALs returned to work on their training regimen. As Worthington observed, “In much of what SEALs do it’s learn as you go. Adaptability is the name of the game. … And the wars of the future will be heavy SOF.”

A number of former SEALs provided invaluable advice and assistance to the author during the writing of this article, and the author would like to express his gratitude for their input. Some have requested that they remain anonymous. Those who allowed their names to be listed, in alphabetical order, are: Franklin Anderson, Joe DeFloria, Clint Majors, Ray Smith, and George Worthington.

This article first appeared in Navy Seals 50: Commemorating the 50th Anniversary of the Establishment of the U.S. Navy SEALs.

—Tokyo Rose

Within the long list of bad war news coming out of the Pacific in December 1941, one item of good news stood out for the American public. On Dec. 11, 1941, the small Marine and Navy force on the strategic American outpost of Wake Island had repulsed an attempted Japanese amphibious assault, sinking two Japanese destroyers. The gallant success and temporary victory electrified the nation. But that force needed reinforcements fast, or it would be overwhelmed.

In one of his last acts as commander in chief of the United States Pacific Fleet, Adm. Husband E. Kimmel ordered Task Force 14, containing the aircraft carrier Saratoga and under the command of Rear Adm. Frank Jack Fletcher, to ferry supplies and a relief force to reinforce the defenders on Wake. On Dec. 15, Task Force 14 left Pearl Harbor. Three days later, Kimmel was relieved.

The responsibility of prosecuting the U.S. Navy’s war in the Pacific now belonged to Vice Adm. William S. Pye, who would hold the position until Kimmel’s permanent replacement, Adm. Chester W. Nimitz, arrived. The fate of the Wake garrison was now in the hands of the Pacific Fleet’s former Battle Force commander, whose flagship California, and almost all of that command, was resting on the bottom of Pearl Harbor.

Pye’s naval career began in 1901 when he graduated from Annapolis. During World War I he was on the staff of the Atlantic Fleet’s commander in chief, where he was awarded the Navy Cross for “exceptionally distinguished” staff work (the Navy Cross did not become a combat valor-only decoration until 1942). With a stocky and pugnacious appearance that made him look more like a beat cop than an admiral, Pye was considered one of the Navy’s best strategic minds. The question now was would Pye act as tough as he looked?

The Japanese destroyer Kisaragi, destroyed by Marine Wildcats in the successful first defense of Wake Island. Kure Maritime Museum photo

On Saturday, Dec. 6, Kimmel, through his intelligence chief Lt. Cmdr. Edwin T. Layton, asked Pye for his opinion regarding an intelligence report about Japanese fleet movement south, possibly toward the Philippines or the Dutch East Indies. Pye stated, “The Japanese will not go to war with the United States. We are too big, too powerful, and too strong.” Less than twenty-four hours later and covered in oil after having left his sinking flagship, he was beside Kimmel in the War Plans Office of CINCPAC headquarters watching Japanese aircraft turn the Pacific Fleet into so much burning wreckage.

Vice Adm. William S. Pye. National Archives

Pye’s appointment as temporary CINCPAC shocked Layton, who vividly recalled the admiral’s Dec. 6 prediction. Others noticed that Pye, after having dismissed the Imperial Japanese Fleet threat out of hand, had now done a complete about face and seemed to be particularly gun-shy about engaging it, especially when he read any intelligence report containing the words “Japanese carrier.” Even so, Pye did not countermand Task Force 14’s mission. He also allowed a diversionary attack on the Japanese-held Marshall Islands by the carrier Lexington to continue.

On Dec. 20 (Dec. 21, Wake time), Pye received a report that the Japanese had renewed their assault on Wake, and that one, possibly two, big Japanese carriers were providing support. Two days later, Pye received from Cmdr. Winfield Scott Cunningham, the overall commander on Wake, the message: enemy on island – issue in doubt. Delayed by fueling problems, Task Force 14 was more than 500 miles from Wake. At about the same time, Pye was handed a message from Chief of Naval Operations Adm. Harold Stark that read, in part, “Wake is now and will continue to be a liability.” He was authorized to evacuate the island. But by then evacuation was impossible.

Fletcher was on the bridge of the Saratoga when he received his latest order from Pye.

The Japanese destroyer Hayate, sunk by Marine Corps gun batteries during the initial defense of Wake Island. Photo from History of Japanese Destroyers, Kaigunsha Press

After he read it, he said to the staff, “We’re called back to Pearl Harbor.” He then angrily threw his hat onto the deck. The outraged staff officers urged Fletcher to disobey the order. Fletcher refused, believing that Pye knew something that he didn’t. The news rocketed through the ship and fleet and was received with curses. Many men hung their heads and wept.

After Nimitz assumed command, Pye was transferred to the States and made commander of Task Force One based in San Francisco, a surface fleet containing the Pacific Fleet’s remaining operational battleships. In October 1942, he was appointed president of the Naval War College. He retired in 1944, having never received another operational command.

When President Franklin Roosevelt received word of the fall of Wake Island he called the news “worse than Pearl Harbor” and never quite forgave Pye for his decision to abandon its defenders.

As for the Marine Corps, it never forgave him.

– Prime Minister Winston Churchill upon receiving news that the Prince of Wales and Repulse had been sunk

In December 1941, it was as if Hachiman, the Japanese god of warriors and protector of Japan, had straddled the home islands, gathered up the armed might of Japan in his hands and with a mighty heave flung the ships, aircraft, and troops south and west over the Pacific Ocean like so many stones thrown into a lake. In rapid-fire succession and across an 8,000-mile arc, a scope so mind-boggling that it seemed only through divine – or demonic – assistance that it could be achieved, large Japanese forces attacked Hawaii, Wake Island, Guam, the Gilbert Islands, the Philippines, Hong Kong, Thailand, and the Malay Peninsula. With the U.S. Navy Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harborcrippled and its senior commanders demoralized, the Netherlands conquered and its government in exile, and Great Britain fighting for its life in the Atlantic and North Africa, Japan was poised to seize the Philippines, sunder the portions of the British and Dutch empires in the region, and incorporate them into its “Greater East-Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere.”

HMS Repulse follows HMS Prince of Wales out of Singapore harbor. In less than two days, both ships would be 30 fathoms down on the bottom of the South China Sea. Imperial War Museum photo

British naval strategy in the region linked itself to the U.S. Pacific Fleet. With that fleet crippled, the bankruptcy of that strategy became manifest. Based in Singapore – touted as the “Gibraltar of the Pacific” – the British Eastern Fleet was responsible for protecting British colonies from Hong Kong to India. Even when reinforced by the modern battleship Prince of Wales and battle cruiser Repulse, its force was laughably inadequate, consisting of about twenty warships and just one light carrier that was assigned anti-German raider patrols in the Indian Ocean. Aircraft assets were equally pitiful.  The majority of the fighter force comprised some 60 Brewster Buffalo fighters, which were easy meat for the Japanese Zeroes, and better Hurricane fighters, which arrived too late anyway to affect the outcome, were also outclassed by the faster, more maneuverable Zero. The Dutch navy in Batavia on Java was little better. It had 24 submarines, but just five cruisers, eight destroyers, and some additional support ships.

HMS Repulse and Prince of Wales under Japanese air attack. Repulse, at bottom, has just been hit by one bomb and near-missed by several others. Churchill, the staunch imperialist, called news of their sinking the most profound shock he experienced during the war. Wikimedia Commons

On the same day as the Pearl Harbor attack (December 8 in Singapore since it was on the other side of the International Date Line), Lt. Gen. Tomoyuki Yamashita and the Japanese 25th Army landed at three locations on the eastern coast of the Malay Peninsula. Singapore was a naval fortress built at a cost of more than £60 million. But the defenses were designed primarily to repulse attack from the sea. While the British military leadership had recognized the threat of invasion through Malaya, the pleas for the resources to defend against attack from that direction fell on deaf ears. There were no fortifications inland, not even around the reservoir that provided the colony its water. The troops had neither tanks nor anti-tank weapons, and while it is a myth that the casemates protecting the mighty harbor cannons prevented them from being redirected inland, the ammunition was by and large armor-piercing, for use against ships, rather than high explosive, useful against troops. Most of the cannon were able to fire inland during the Japanese attack, but to little effect.

When Force Z, consisting of the Prince of Wales and Repulse and an escort of destroyers, steamed north two days later to interdict the Japanese landings on the peninsula, the Japanese air force had all but wiped out the British fighter squadrons. On December 10, Prince of Wales and Repulse became the first warships on the open sea to be sunk by enemy aircraft. The blow stunned the British. It was the harbinger of worse to come.

The British surrender Hong Kong to the Japanese on Dec. 24, 1941.

On the same day Pearl Harbor and Malaya were attacked, the Japanese Army launched its offensive to capture Hong Kong. British hopes centered on the Gin Drinkers Line, a line of fortifications on the mainland north of Hong Kong Island and nicknamed “the Maginot Line of the Orient.” The defenders believed it strong enough to hold back the Japanese for six months. The line was breached within three days. On December 13, Mark Young, the colony’s governor, received the offer of surrender. Young refused and the siege of Hong Kong commenced.

This month of crises flung open the war chest of eloquence from Prime Minister Winston Churchill and President Franklin Roosevelt, with the former issuing morale-boosting cables to the defenders of Hong Kong and Singapore and Roosevelt doing the same for American forces in the Philippines. But what the defenders needed were reinforcements, arms, and food.

On December 25, Gen. Alan Brooke began his diary entry for the day with the sentence, “Xmas day and my first official day as CIGS [Chief of the Imperial General Staff]!” The paragraph then summarized the minutes of various meetings of the day. The entry closed with the sentence, “News received this evening that Hong Kong had fallen on Xmas Eve.”