[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 151 (2005), Part 10]
[Senate]
[Pages 14304-14306]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




                       HONORING OUR ARMED FORCES


     Tribute To U.S. Army Staff Sergeant Harold ``George'' Bennett

  Mrs. LINCOLN. Mr. President. I rise today to honor the memory of U.S. 
Army SSG Harold ``George'' Bennett. In the jungles of Vietnam, this 
young Arkansan displayed courage and honor while serving his Nation in 
uniform. Tragically, almost 40 years to the day, on or about June 26, 
1965, he became the first American prisoner of war executed by the Viet 
Cong.
  George Bennett was born on October 16, 1940, in Perryville, AR, a 
small town that rests just northwest of Little Rock in the foothills of 
the Ozarks. His father, Gordon, was a veteran of World War I, and he 
instilled in his sons the values and rewards of service to country. All 
4 would follow his footsteps into the U.S. Army.
  SGT George Bennett was trained in the Army as an airborne infantryman

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and served with the famed 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions, made up of 
some of the finest soldiers in the world. He earned his Master 
Parachute Wings and Expert Infantry Badge before volunteering in 1964 
for service in what was a relatively unknown area of southeast Asia 
called Vietnam. While deployed, Sergeant Bennett served as an infantry 
advisor to the 33rd Ranger Battalion, one of South Vietnam's best 
trained and toughest units. On December 29, 1964, they were airlifted 
to the village of Binh Gia after it had been overrun by a division of 
Viet Cong. Immediately upon landing, Sergeant Bennett's unit was 
confronted by a well-dug-in regiment of enemy forces and despite 
fighting furiously and courageously throughout the afternoon, their 
unit was decimated and overrun. Sergeant Bennett and his radio 
operator, PFC Charles Crafts, fell into the hands of the Viet Cong.
  Before being captured, Sergeant Bennett twice called off American 
helicopter pilots who were attempting to navigate through the combat 
zone to rescue him and his radioman. Displaying a remarkably calm 
demeanor, his focus seemed to be on their safety and not his own. His 
last words to his would-be rescuers were, ``Well, they are here now. My 
little people,'' his term for the South Vietnamese soldiers under his 
command, ``are laying down their weapons and they want me to turn off 
my radio. Thanks a lot for your help and God Bless you.''
  As a prisoner of war, the only thing more remarkable than the 
courageous resistance he displayed throughout his captivity was his 
steadfast devotion to duty, honor, and country. His faith in God and 
the trust of his fellow prisoners was unshakable. Sadly, the only way 
his captors could break his spirit of resistance was to execute him and 
today Sergeant Bennett lies in an unmarked grave known only to God, 
somewhere in the jungles of Vietnam.
  Recent efforts by a group of Vietnam veterans will ensure that 
Sergeant Bennett's valiant service will not be forgotten. Over the 
years, they have worked tirelessly on behalf of the Bennett family to 
secure the valor awards that should have been presented to Sergeant 
Bennett's mother, Pauline, in 1965. I am proud of all they have 
accomplished and have pledged my support to this effort. Most recently, 
their work helped lead to Sergeant Bennett's posthumous induction into 
the U.S. Army Ranger Hall of Fame at Fort Benning, GA, on July 8, 2004. 
Sergeant Bennett's brother Dicky, and his sisters, Eloise Wallace, 
Laura Sue Vaught, and Peggy Williams were in attendance. I hope this 
long overdue moment of recognition provided some sense of solace for 
his family. Although he may no longer be with us, the example and 
selflessness of this brave young Arkansan will forever live on in our 
hearts.
  The 40th anniversary of Sergeant Bennett's execution offers us an 
opportunity, not to remember the events of his death, but to reflect 
upon the life he led and the kind of person he was. He was a selfless 
young man who answered his Nation's call to service and placed duty and 
honor above all else. While a grateful nation could never adequately 
express their debt to men such as George Bennett, it should take every 
opportunity to honor them and their families for the sacrifice they 
have paid on our behalf.
  I would also like to ask for unanimous consent to include in the 
record the citation from Sergeant Bennett's posthumous induction into 
the Ranger Hall of Fame and an article titled ``Bad Day at Binh Gia,'' 
by retired Army COL Douglas E. Moore, that provides us additional 
insight into the heroic service of SGT George Bennett.

                          Bad Day at Binh Gia

                       (By Col. Douglas E. Moore)

       When friends or family visit for the first time, we usually 
     take them to Washington to see the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. 
     Although I have been there many times, I am still impressed 
     with the large crowds. Most are tourists with cameras at the 
     ready; others appear to be more somber, perhaps because they 
     served in Vietnam themselves or lost friends or family in the 
     war. It troubles me to see fellow veterans there wearing all 
     sorts of military attire from that era. Many of them have 
     pain written across their faces, which makes me wonder what 
     terrible burdens they carry after all these years.
       For me, Vietnam is now a collection of mostly good 
     memories. As a young medevac helicopter pilot, I had the 
     opportunity to sharpen my flying skills to a level that was 
     never matched again. I was blessed to be able to work with 
     some of the finest people I have ever known, and my job was 
     satisfying. During my tours in Vietnam and Japan, I evacuated 
     more than 11,000 casualties in one of the best flying 
     machines ever built, the Huey helicopter. It is gratifying to 
     know that some patients lived because we were able to help.
       The bad memories have mostly faded with time. In fact, 
     there is only one event that I still think about, and it 
     occurred more than 34 years ago. In late December 1964, we 
     were rushing to join the crews of two helicopter gunships in 
     an attempt to save an American advisor. Unfortunately, we 
     failed.
       Vietnam in 1964 was as different as night and day from the 
     later years. Back then, it was still a Vietnamese war, and 
     there were only about 20,000 Americans assigned to the 
     various headquarters, advisory teams and a handful of 
     aviation units scattered around the countryside.
       Ours was strictly an advisory and support role and not one 
     of direct combat. In fact, some of the senior officers still 
     had their families in Saigon, and many Americans lived in 
     hotels and other civilian buildings. The old-timers may 
     recall a memo published by one headquarters stating its 
     concern that some living areas were taking on the appearance 
     of armed camps.
       We operated on a shoestring. We did not have U.S. Air Force 
     aircraft or U.S. Army artillery to prestrike the landing 
     zones in support of our operations. The only firepower 
     available was a few lightly armed helicopter gunships flown 
     by a group of extraordinarily brave pilots. Needless to say, 
     we left several of the landing zones littered with downed 
     helicopters.
       The communication systems were terrible. Since most medevac 
     requests came by telephone and passed through several 
     Vietnamese headquarters before reaching us, delays were 
     common. On occasion, we would rush to a tiny village located 
     a hundred miles away only to discover the casualties had been 
     picked up a day or so earlier by a resupply aircraft making 
     its weekly rounds.
       All new pilots found it disconcerting that they could 
     easily lose radio contact with other Americans during the 
     longer flights. Weather permitting, the only alternative was 
     to gain enough altitude to talk to our old standbys, Paris 
     Control and Paddy Control, operated by the Air Force out of 
     Saigon and Can Tho, respectively. Otherwise, we were 
     completely on our own at times.
       The character of the war was different, too. While there 
     were a few major battles between the Viet Cong and South 
     Vietnamese, most of the contact was on a small scale and 
     ended quickly. It does not seem possible now, but the number 
     of Americans killed in the war had not reached 200 until July 
     1964.
       In late October, I was flying past Bien Hoa Air Base when 
     several B-57 Canberra bombers suddenly broke through the 
     clouds ahead of me. Several days later, I learned they had 
     come from Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines to attack 
     Viet Cong strongholds in the jungles north of Saigon.
       The crews of the newly arrived Canberras had barely settled 
     in when the Viet Cong struck. I was dozing in our alert shack 
     at Tan Son Nhut Air Base when the radio operator began 
     yelling, ``Bien Hoa's been hit!'' As we ran to our helicopter 
     for the short flight to Bien Hoa, we could see flashes of 
     rockets and mortars on the horizon.
       Burning aircraft and ammunition were exploding everywhere 
     as we landed to evacuate the wounded. To our horror, we 
     watched a Vietnamese A-IE Skyraider crash as the pilot tried 
     to take off during the melee. The plane's huge engine and 
     other burning parts rolled to a stop a few yards behind us. 
     Four Americans were killed, several others were wounded, and 
     13 U.S. aircraft were destroyed that night in one of the 
     first major attacks that seemed to be specifically targeted 
     against the Americans.
       Not long afterwards Bob Hope arrived for his first 
     Christmas tour. While his group was traveling from the 
     airport to downtown Saigon, two Viet Cong saboteurs drove an 
     explosive-laden truck into the parking lot of the Brinks 
     Hotel. Two Americans died in the blast and more than 50 were 
     wounded. I missed Bob's show the next day because I was 
     flying, but I understand that he quipped, ``A funny thing 
     happened on the way in last night--a hotel passed us!''
       As 1964 was ending, the North Vietnamese apparently 
     concluded that they could not win the war with the hit-and-
     run tactics they had been using. Instead, a major shift in 
     their strategy occurred when they sent two veteran Viet Cong 
     regiments to an assembly area about 50 miles southeast of 
     Saigon. Coastal freighters brought new rifles, mortars and 
     rocket-propelled grenade launchers. In the jungles of Phuoc 
     Tuy province, the dreaded 9th Viet Cong Division was born, 
     and Binh Gia was chosen to be its first test by fire.
       Binh Gia was a peaceful village surrounded by jungle and 
     populated mostly by Catholics who had fled to the South 
     following an earlier partition of their country. In late 
     December, one regiment of the 9th Division attacked the 
     village and quickly overran its

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     lightly armed defenders. Another regiment slipped into ambush 
     positions around a nearby clearing. They knew the American 
     helicopters would be coming soon, loaded with Vietnamese 
     soldiers and their American advisors.
       The casualty toll mounted quickly. About midafternoon, I 
     took a load of wounded Vietnamese to Cong Hoa General 
     Military Hospital in Saigon and was diverted from there to 
     pick up an American who had been hit in an ambush about 40 
     miles to the west, near the Cambodian border. Because there 
     was no tactical operations center or any of the ubiquitous 
     command and control helicopters hovering over the 
     battlefield, as was the case in later years, we had to refuel 
     at Saigon and return to Binh Gia to see if we were still 
     needed.
       About 25 miles away from Binh Gia I began trying to contact 
     other aircraft in the area. I switched through several 
     frequencies that we had used earlier in the day before 
     hearing a gunship pilot talking with an American advisor on 
     the ground. It quickly became evident that the advisor was in 
     trouble because the gunship pilot kept telling him he could 
     not identify the disposition of his troops and was concerned 
     about firing on ``friendlies.''
       The advisor said he was sorry but that he had used up all 
     of his smoke grenades and had nothing to mark his positions. 
     At that point, the advisor began identifying objects on the 
     ground in an attempt to guide the gunships. Finally, I heard 
     him say something to the effect of, ``Listen, I'm standing on 
     a small mound near a large clump of bushes and waving a white 
     handkerchief. You have clearance to fire anywhere more than a 
     hundred meters from my position.''
       Shortly thereafter, the gunship pilot reported that he and 
     his wingman had fired all of their rockets and had little 
     machine-gun ammunition remaining. At this point, the gunship 
     pilot told the advisor to begin moving toward the Southwest 
     because he planned to land and pick him up. The advisor's 
     response was quick. ``Don't try it! They're all around me 
     down here, and all you'll do is get shot down.''
       The gunship pilot encouraged him to move, but the advisor 
     was adamant that it was too dangerous for any rescue attempt. 
     After hearing this, I called the gunship pilot and told him 
     we were about 10 or 12 miles out and would pick up the 
     advisor if he could guide us into the area. The advisor 
     answered first: ``Negative; Dustoff. You can't make it, so 
     don't even try it!''
       I thought we had a chance because I remain convinced to 
     this day that some of the earlier Viet Cong commanders would 
     not have allowed their troops to fire at our medevac 
     helicopters--whether out of respect for the red crosses or 
     because they knew we went to the aid of anyone who needed 
     help, I do not know. Many of the civilian casualties and 
     pregnant women whom we had evacuated from the villages had 
     husbands or relatives serving in the Viet Cong. As a result, 
     I honestly believe they took it easy on us during the early 
     part of the war. When U.S. combat units were introduced the 
     following spring, we became fair game like everyone else.
       In any case, my crew and I planned to approach at treetop 
     level and touch down just long enough to haul the advisor 
     aboard. We had already begun descending when we heard him 
     say, ``Well, they are here now. My little people [slang for 
     South Vietnamese soldiers] are laying their weapons down, and 
     they want me to turn off my radio. Thanks a lot for your 
     help, and God bless you.''
       With those words, he was gone. The gunship pilot reported 
     movement around the advisor's position, so we pulled up and 
     began orbiting the area. The gunship pilot then told me that 
     he and his wingman had to depart to refuel and rearm. I 
     called an approaching Army L-19 spotter plane to ask if more 
     gunships were on the way. The Bird Dog pilot said no.
       The late afternoon sun began casting long shadows across 
     the jungle clearing below us, and it looked so peaceful from 
     our vantage point. At the same time, it was heartbreaking to 
     know that an American soldier had been captured and we were 
     helpless to do anything except orbit outside of small-arms 
     range.
       Several minutes passed before our radio crackled to life 
     again, ``Have no fear, blue-eyed VNAF is here!'' The call 
     came from a flight of Vietnamese air force AI-E Skyraiders, 
     piloted by U.S. Air Force advisors. They were rushing to help 
     but were simply too late.
       I left Vietnam the following summer and spent two years in 
     Japan before I returned to Vietnam. While in Japan, I was in 
     another medevac unit whose mission was to ferry casualties 
     from the air bases at Yokota and Tachikawa to several Army, 
     Navy and Air Force hospitals scattered around Tokyo. After 
     the more seriously wounded were sufficiently stabilized, we 
     returned them to the airheads for the long flight home.
       One afternoon, I was reading a copy of The Stars and 
     Stripes while waiting for an inbound flight at Yokota. My 
     attention was drawn to an announcement by the North 
     Vietnamese government that an American POW had been shot in 
     retaliation for the slaying of a Viet Cong terrorist by South 
     Vietnamese forces. The article identified the POW as Army 
     Sgt. Harold G. Bennett, who had been captured at Binh Gia.
       It suddenly dawned on me that I had never learned the name 
     of the soldier we were trying to save that afternoon, and I 
     began wondering whether it was Sgt. Bennett.
       I am still troubled because our rescue attempt was 
     unsuccessful and I never learned the name of the soldier we 
     were trying to save. I have often wondered whether it would 
     have made a difference if the gunships had had more 
     ammunition or if we had arrived a few minutes earlier. After 
     many years of curiosity, I began trying to reconstruct the 
     events of that fateful day.
       First, I contacted the Pentagon's MIA/POW office and was 
     referred to the Library of Congress. After obtaining several 
     microfiche from the library, I discovered that three 
     Americans had been captured at Binh Gia. Two of them were 
     Army enlisted men and the third was a U.S. Marine Corps 
     captain. While I cannot be certain, it appears the person 
     whom we were trying to save was Sgt. Bennett.
       The data I have gathered contains little information about 
     Sgt. Bennett's actual capture, but there are several stirring 
     accounts about his later actions as told by other POWs who 
     were held with him in various camps. Their reports indicate 
     that Sgt. Bennett stubbornly resisted his captors at every 
     opportunity and that he participated in frequent hunger 
     strikes. These disruptions may have led to his being shot.
       Like most of my compatriots, I have witnessed many heroic 
     acts over the years, but the person we were trying to save 
     that day ranks with the most courageous. I cannot imagine 
     what his thoughts were when things began to collapse around 
     him, and there is no way to fathom the despair he must have 
     felt while he was being led from the battlefield with 
     American helicopters circling a few hundred feet overhead.
       I am still amazed that he could remain so calm during his 
     radio transmissions. To the end, his focus seemed to be on 
     our safety and not his. The willingness to sacrifice himself 
     instead of risking others was a remarkable demonstration of 
     valor. If I ever have to face a life-or-death situation 
     again, I hope I can find some of his courage.


                    STAFF SERGEANT HAROLD G. BENNETT

       Staff Sergeant Harold G. Bennett is inducted into the 
     Ranger Hall of Fame for extraordinary courage against 
     numerically superior forces on the battlefields of South 
     Vietnam, and for his conspicuous gallantry while held in 
     captivity by the Viet-Cong. While serving as a Ranger Advisor 
     to the 33rd Vietnamese Ranger Battalion, SSG Bennett 
     volunteered, on Christmas Day, to lead a seven man Ranger 
     combat team on a helicopter (named the ``Suicide Chopper'') 
     into a one-ship landing zone near the Cambodian border in an 
     effort to free three Americans held captive by communist 
     forces. Ranger Bennett and his snatch team landed and quickly 
     worked their way through the camp. The VC had moved the 
     prisoners prior to their arrival.
       While this mission to liberate the captured Americans was 
     not accomplished, in no way did it detract from the heroic 
     efforts of SSG Bennett to free them. Four days later, on 
     December 29th, 1964, SSG Bennett, with his American RTO, 
     accompanied the 2nd Company of the 33rd Ranger Battalion on 
     the first airlift into Operational Area of the Legendary 
     ``Battle of Binh Gia.'' As the rangers were being overrun by 
     elements of the Viet Cong 9th Division, SSG Bennett remained 
     on the radio refusing any attempt to evacuate him and his RTO 
     from the overwhelming enemy forces and their firepower. After 
     SSG Bennett's capture at Binh Gia, he was labeled a 
     troublemaker by his captors because of his constant 
     aggressiveness in the brutal conditions of the jungle pow 
     camps. He verbally berated his guards, daring them to 
     confront him man-to-man. On one of his three unsuccessful 
     escape attempts, a Viet Cong soldier almost bit off SSG 
     Bennett's finger as he punched the guard. Driven by 
     dedication to duty, personal honor, and his religious faith, 
     the enemy could not break him. In June of 1965, the Communist 
     National Liberation Front announced that they had executed 
     SSG Harold G. Bennett, reportedly in reprisal for actions of 
     the South Vietnamese government; he was the ``first'' 
     American soldier to be executed in Vietnam. Ranger Bennett's 
     exemplary boldness, complete disregard for his own safety, 
     and his deep concern for his fellow fighting men at the risk 
     of his own life, reflects the highest traditions of the 
     United States Army; his actions are the embodiment of the 
     Ranger Spirit.

                          ____________________