Recollections of a Case Officer in Laos, 1962-1964: Part 3

by Richard D. Holm

The Panhandle Project

Nakorn Phanom was a quiet, pretty town of several thousand inhabitants. Some streets were paved. A general store, a few small shops, the town's only restaurant, and some government offices were clustered around what appeared to be a central square. My house was near the airport, which had a laterite runway capable of taking large cargo planes. Thai Airways flights arrived twice weekly from Bangkok.

The "Panhandle" of Laos

I spent almost 20 months operating out of Nakorn Phanom. During that time, no one ever asked me what I was doing. My cover—advisor to the Border Police—was backstopped only minimally, but no one seemed too worried. Without fanfare, I had moved from being assigned to Laos to being assigned in Thailand. The Agency took care of all the paperwork so I was not illegal.

As the VC violations of the 1962 Protocol increased and were verified by photography and signals intelligence, Ambassador Harriman finally conceded that the communists were not abiding by the rules. Accordingly, restrictions on our activities gradually loosened. Early in my tour at Nakorn Phanom, I would have my team leaders come to Thailand to meet with me. Then, I began making trips into Laos at night. Finally, I began to cross the river into Laos regularly during the day. I never carried a passport or other identification. No one, least of all the border officials, ever questioned me about what I was doing.

Almost all Thais were concerned about the communist threat. They welcomed our support and resources and were eager to help in any way. Both of my Thai assistants—“Jimmie” and “Mr. Ambrose,” an interpreter—were good at their work. The six-man PARU team looked a lot like the PARU I had worked with in Laos. I also had a houseboy named Whet. This was to be my staff, and we got along well.

Turnover Briefing

Much of my first day was spent checking equipment, signing the required forms about gear and administrative matters, and looking around Nakorn Phanom. The next day, my predecessor walked me through the operational aspects of my responsibilities, beginning with the location of each PM team and his opinions about the mixed bag of team leaders. Mr. Ambrose, who interpreted at each meeting with the team leaders, also knew them well and was to be a great help in the months to come.

This introductory briefing took the whole day. Maps were everywhere. I became intimately familiar with the geographic coordinates of many places in central Laos—within months I could cite from memory the coordinates of specific towns or road junctions. From north to south, I was briefed on each team that we were supporting. My predecessor, who had started the project from scratch, had been obliged to work closely with Lao military officers, who were also a mixed bag—all corrupt to some degree. The team leaders, often nominated by the military commander of a given area, tended to be former military officers who allegedly had retired. Some were refugees who had been Nai Khongs or Nai Bans from key villages in the areas where they were now monitoring enemy activities.

Team members were all local villagers. Some had been displaced by the communist takeover of the areas along the border with North Vietnam, while others were from areas along the Mekong. Some had been in the FAR. The seven teams varied in size, from 15 men to more than 100. The level of training varied widely from team to team, depending on the quality and skills of the team leader. Each member had at least rudimentary weapons training—all were armed and had uniforms and boots. We also supplied medicines and rice by airdrop. All were paid more than Lao military personnel. Pay was according to rank or position. The team leader received cash and then distributed the pay to his group. Each team had a radio and stayed in regular (usually daily) contact with us. Two of our PARU were radio operators, and they maintained the base station for our project.

Evolving Mission

The 17th parallel—the demarcation line between North and South Vietnam —touched the southeastern edge of the Laotian Panhandle. This chunk of territory was of strong strategic interest to the North. At the time I arrived, the United States was just beginning to grapple with the importance of North Vietnamese control and use of the network of dirt roads and trails running along the eastern side of the Panhandle from north to south, later widely known as the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

The French-built road network in the Panhandle was sparse. Two passes through the Annamites provided access for roads to and from Vietnam. From the Tha Khek area in western Laos, Route 8 followed the upper edge of the Nakay Plateau and headed to Vietnam through the Nape Pass. Beginning in the same area, Route 12 moved eastward along the bottom of the Nakay Plateau and through the Mu Gia Pass. Further south, Route 9 headed east from Savannakhet and ran straight across the Panhandle, touching South Vietnam just below the demarcation line at the 17th parallel. Route 13, the only north-south road in the Panhandle, stretched all the way from Vientiane to Pakse, following the Lao side of the Mekong River. These roads all had crushed laterite surfaces, but none were reliable for year-round travel, primarily because of flooding during the rainy season.

Decision makers in Washington had already begun discussing strategic options for cutting the North Vietnamese supply route through Lao. One proposal by the US military entailed fortifying and defending Route 9, which ran straight across the Panhandle. However, Washington policymakers rejected the military's proposal.

Generally speaking, those of us on the ground at the time believed that trucks were limited to the French-built road system for transporting anything in the Panhandle. We would come to know better. Even as early as 1962, the North Vietnamese were building and improving roads between Route 12 and Route 9 that would soon take truck convoys. Moreover, during the dry season, jeeps and sometimes trucks could move overland off the limited road network.

Sitting in Nakorn Phanom, I quickly realized that the Trail was the problem. My goal became to position teams at key points in the easternmost parts of the Panhandle to clandestinely monitor all traffic along the roads and trails being used by the VC after they entered Laos via one of the two passes through the Annamites. To do that, I knew that I would have to train, motivate, and support the villager/soldier members of my teams so that they would take the risks required to move into enemy-controlled areas and radio back reports to our base station. None of the teams had previously been located in positions that enabled systematic intelligence collection. Some intelligence was being provided, but it was sporadic and of minimal use, coming primarily from random patrols and villager debriefings.

Panhandle Planning

Looking at my maps, it was not hard to select the points where I wanted to establish road-watch sites. The Nape and Mu Gia passes were obvious locations, but it would be difficult, I knew, to get teams to those sites, especially since I would be working from the Thai side of the Mekong. But with goals and a plan, we would be moving from a passive organizational stage into a much more active and risky effort.

Rainy Season Movement of Supplies

During my first month in Nakorn Phanom, I met with all but one of the team leaders. Each made the journey to Tha Khek and then crossed over to Nakorn Phanom. These meetings became at least monthly events, ones that the leaders rarely missed because they collected their payroll at the same time. Using this as leverage, I was gradually able to develop a personal relationship with each one.

At those first meetings, I spent a lot of time briefing each leader on our collective mission to establish road-watch sites. As I anticipated, some reacted more favorably than others. It was about a 50-50 split. Those who hesitated, generally liked the security and comfort of living near the Mekong, well inside Lao government-controlled areas, and/or genuinely feared moving clandestinely into enemy-controlled areas to the east. It became clear that much cajoling and motivating, or team leader changes, would be required to move those teams to the watch sites. I knew that several would report promptly to their Lao military contacts, and I could expect questions from the latter concerning what I was doing.

Road Watching Team Selecting a Site

I decided that it was time to brief Lair and Landry in detail about my plans for the project. I told them that if we were going to get some useful intelligence, we needed teams—with radios—positioned a lot further east. I showed them the sites I had selected at the Nape and Mu Gia Passes. I said that I thought we could get daily reports on what was moving into Laos via the passes and also would be able to identify which portions were headed straight to South Vietnam.

Landry knew little about the infant project in central Laos, but I piqued his interest. We spent a couple of hours going over specifics. I told him about my meetings with each team leader and outlined what we had, team by team, showing him each team's location. I was pleased that he was so interested and impressed with the depth of the questions he posed. Finally, he told me to draft a cable to CIA Headquarters outlining the project.

Approval from the Chief

Early the next morning, I flew to Vientiane to see the chief there, Charles Whitehurst, or “Whitey,” as he was widely known. About 40, he had quite a history. A semipro baseball player in his youth, he ended up in OSS in World War II. He parachuted into North Vietnam with a team of commandos, intending to blow up a key bridge between Vietnam and China. That mission was abandoned when the war ended before the plan could be carried out. Pragmatic, smart, and unpretentious, Whitey handled the varied programs with aplomb. Lair and Landry had come to like him, and that was certainly good enough for me.

That night, before dinner at his house, Whitey and I talked in general terms, first about my background and then about the project in the Panhandle. His questions revealed that he already had a good idea what the problems were and a feel for what it was like to deal with Laotians. Savvy about Headquarters, he advised me on what I should emphasize in my cable. After reviewing the draft and suggesting a few changes, he decided it should be sent to Headquarters immediately. It was late when I left Whitey's house, but I was elated by what had transpired.

Less than a week later, Landry cabled me in Nakorn Phanom to say that Headquarters had agreed to the concept, the goals, and the plan itself. He sounded happy, and I sure was. The new project had been given an official cryptonym for use in cable traffic: henceforth it would be known as HARDNOSE. Landry and I both thought it was a good crypt.

Making HARDNOSE Work

In early 1963, my activities were still circumscribed by US support for the Geneva Protocol. Nonetheless, meetings with my team leaders started to produce results and I stepped them up.

Team leader debriefing patrol returning from the
Mu Gia Pass area

To improve my access, I traveled to Mukdahan, the Thai town across the Mekong from Savannakhet, for meetings with two team leaders operating in the southern Panhandle. As constraints eased, I slipped into Laos at night for additional meetings with my team leaders to discuss logistics, training, reporting, communications, and team location. Getting agreement to move their teams into enemy-controlled areas to the east was always touchy.

Moving eastward made it even more difficult than usual to confirm team locations and often we just had to take their word for it. Sometimes we could use collateral information to double-check reporting from our teams. If we had overhead coverage of the Mu Gia Pass, for example, we could cross-check it with reporting from a team on the ground along Route 12. Our colleagues in Udorn often did this for us. I was always pleased when our team reported trucks on a particular road and air coverage on the same day confirmed the position of the convoy. Occasionally, independent reports from villagers could also be used to confirm our road-watch reporting.

Food drops also served to confirm team locations. No drop was made unless the proper signal was displayed in the drop zone, and the team had to be there to display the correct signal. We changed the signals periodically to keep the teams' attention. They definitely wanted to receive the rice and supplies and were careful about the coordinates they gave and the signals they were to use. Later, when teams were inserted by chopper, we knew exactly where they were.

VC Countermeasures

In about mid-1963, the VC became increasingly aware that our teams were watching them and began using countermeasures. They patrolled areas along the roads that they were using and planted spies in the villages in the area. Our teams sometimes discreetly purchased food locally, which occasionally proved dangerous. If discovered by a VC patrol, our teams could only run. They lacked the firepower to stand and fight. In the later 1960s that changed as bigger teams with heavy firepower were inserted.

The VC sometimes used sniffer dogs, which caused lots of problems. One of the reports that we forwarded to Udorn and Headquarters mentioned that the presence of tigers in a given area appeared to make a difference. The VC's dogs seemed to be less effective if they smelled tiger excrement or urine. We had no way of knowing if this was true. At Headquarters, an office in the Directorate of Science and Technology decided to try to produce a countermeasure. Years later, when I was about to retire, I learned that the office had analyzed samples of tiger urine and excrement from the National Zoo and manufactured a substance that resembled and smelled like what the tigers produced. But it did not fool the dogs in the Panhandle of Laos.

HARDNOSE Headway

As the months passed, our teams became more aggressive and more effective. “Stay away from the enemy” was the message I preached to all of my teams. None had any problem with that concept. “Find a spot away from the road but with clear vision, on a hill or bluff, if possible, and stay hidden.” “Rotate small teams from a base camp every couple of days, and always stay out of sight.” “Move at night.” Nothing particularly brilliant, just common sense, and slowly it started to work.

We handed out cameras and trained team members to photograph passing traffic. We also produced laminated plastic cards identifying various kinds of trucks and other vehicles to systematize the reporting terminology.

From the spring of 1963 onward, our coverage of the Ho Chi Minh road and trail network in the eastern Panhandle of Laos increased steadily in quantity and quality. In addition to the daily reports that we received by radio, we started getting cassettes of film, which we sent to Udorn. Our photo coverage became pretty good. Some of it was useful in confirming VC presence, which led to further relaxation of the restrictions on our activities. The teams took photos of enemy patrols, trucks, bicycles, and even elephants laden with sacks and cans.

As the situation changed, I was able to cross the river more frequently and travel by day instead of at night. I saw the senior Lao Army officers more regularly, but primarily for reasons of courtesy. We did not discuss what our teams were doing, but they had a good idea. They raised few objections, usually indirectly. I traveled a few times to see their camps and strong points on the road leading into Tha Khek from the east. On a few occasions, I was able to help them with communications support or logistics. In turn, they provided transport, approved landings at airstrips for resupply purposes, and selected men for our teams.

In late spring, Landry had me come to Udorn for discussions. He was expecting a senior visitor from Headquarters and wanted an update on HARDNOSE. At that point, I was feeling comfortable about how things were going. There were still problems, but progress had been steady. We went over everything, including the budget, a subject that I did not know much about. In the field, when I asked for something, it appeared. Landry handled all the financial and administrative aspects of the project for me.

At the end of my briefing, he surprised me by saying that he wanted to ask Headquarters to extend my assignment until the summer of 1964, making it a full two-year tour. I had to think a minute before responding. Africa Division was expecting me back. But I was enjoying my work and felt like I was making a contribution. So I said yes.

For the remainder of 1963, the Laos program, including my project, made significant progress and prospects were bright for 1964. Attitudes were positive and our confidence was high. The original game plan of organizing small, well-trained mobile units for use in hit-and-run operations designed to harass and tie up VC units was only then starting to shift incrementally toward more ambitious tactics aimed at actually seizing and holding ground. Few saw any potential dangers. We were certain that our actions would cause setbacks for the VC. In Washington, President Johnson increased overall US support for South Vietnam. Both in Washington and in Southeast Asia, despite ceaseless political machinations in Saigon and Vientiane, Americans continued to view the situation through rose-colored glasses. That a superpower could be tied down and ultimately rendered impotent in its conflict with North Vietnam was inconceivable. Some harsh political lessons had yet to be learned.

A Welcome Addition

Early in 1964, Lair and Landry sent a second officer, Dick Kinsman, to Nakorn Phanom to backstop me and ultimately take over the project when I left. Dick, who was from upstate New York, was a Syracuse University graduate and had joined the Agency a few years earlier. He was a volunteer like the rest of us and had arrived at Udorn in the fall of 1963. He stayed in Udorn awhile to get a feel for things, and his presence was most welcome. Dick was a low-key guy and I could see right away that we would get along.

Around the time that Dick arrived, we started thinking about moving management of the program back into Laos. We rented a small house in Tha Khek, and I sometimes stayed there overnight while in Laos for meetings.

And Old French-Colonial Building in Tha Kaek

Dick sat in on all of the meetings with team leaders and frequently traveled with me when I crossed into Laos. He caught on quickly. Much of our success depended upon personal relationships, and he established rapport easily. Persuading the team leaders, and sometimes the members as well, of the wisdom of our suggestions was important and Dick had a knack for listening and explaining without being condescending. This was just the right approach with our Lao counterparts.

Dick and I discussed several possibilities for the future of the project, including one that would move us into a more aggressive mode in the eastern Panhandle. That option would call for bigger teams with more firepower. At a minimum, we would need company-size units if we hoped to mine the roads that the VC were using, or ambush and destroy truck convoys.

This would be a big step beyond road-watching and would have to be carefully planned. We would need to recruit and train more men, and we would need additional PARU support for the training. Things were heating up in Vietnam and southern Laos was becoming more critical, for both sides. At that time, we had no hope of impeding traffic on the Ho Chi Minh Trail and only wanted to harass the VC to make their tasks more difficult. We sent an outline of our thinking to Udorn. They approved the outline, as did Headquarters. “Go slow,” was Landry's guidance.

As a first step, we needed a place to do our training. Dick and I went to see the Tha Khek military commander. Corrupt and ineffective as a commander, he was nonetheless a nice enough guy. He agreed to let us take over a former Lao Army training facility just outside Tha Khek. It had all that we would need to get started.

Recruiting new members for our teams was the next step. We made it clear that recruits would have to meet our standards. Being a cousin, brother, or family friend of a team leader was not a sufficiently qualifying factor.

Overambitious

With our sights aimed much higher than ultimately proved reasonable, we developed a plan to hit Route 12 just as it passed through the Annamites at the Mu Gia Pass. The VC would be shocked, we believed, to see the Mu Gia Pass closed to truck traffic. But, as we soon found out, not nearly as shocked as the leader of Team Bravo when we explained the objective.

Our plan involved some complicated logistics. It was the dry season, so we explained that we would send cratering charges by truck and boat to Team Bravo's base camp. Then a 15-man patrol, carrying a dozen cratering charges, would walk across the Nakay Plateau to the place where Route 12 entered Vietnam via the Mu Gia Pass. The patrol would pick a spot along a ravine or another vulnerable place, and, at night, plant all 12 of the cratering charges. The road would be cut for weeks.

The team leader started spewing out one reason after another why such an effort would not be possible. He had so many reasons that he didn't even have to include “evil spirits.” He pleaded with us to reconsider. We finally did, and no patrol was sent.

Years later, I learned that B-52 bombers dropped tons of high-explosive bombs and cratering bombs all along the Trail and in the strategic passes, including Mu Gia. The road was never cut for more than a few days. The Vietnamese did an incredible job of repairing and rerouting to keep supplies flowing southward. Our 12 cratering charges, even at that early stage, would not have had much effect.

Career Decisions

On one of my trips to Udorn in about May 1964, Bill Lair called me in for a chat. This was unusual as he mainly concerned himself with the Hmong program and let his deputy handle the others, so I was curious as I walked into his office. He asked what I was going to do when I got back to Headquarters. I said I guessed that I would go to Africa Division, where I was supposed to go before I volunteered for Laos. Lair said that if I would like to return to Laos after home leave, I would be most welcome.

The offer was tempting—I enjoyed what I was doing. But it would probably mean a career of running PM operations rather than the classical intelligence work that I had envisioned before coming to Laos. So I held off making any commitment until I could talk to people at Headquarters. Landry, of course, was aware of Lair's conversation. He predicted that I would not return to Laos after consultations in Washington. In the end, he was right.

I left Nakorn Phanom in July 1964, traveling to Bangkok via Udorn. I was happy with the previous two years. I felt that I had been part of an effort that was doing the right thing. Beyond that, we had been productive and successful. I had met many intelligence officers whom I liked and respected, and I believed that my career was off to a good start.

A Backward Look

Now, some 35 years later, I lament many of the unintended results of our efforts from 1961-1973. The ignorance and the arrogance of Americans arriving in Southeast Asia during that period were contributing factors. We came to help, but we had only minimal understanding of the history, culture, and politics of the people we wanted to aid. The discussions in Geneva were about big power issues more than about Laos or Vietnam. Our strategic interests were superimposed onto a region where our president had decided to “draw the line” against communism. And we would do it our way.

US policies in Laos are largely responsible for the disaster that befell the Hmong. Vang Pao's meeting with Bill Lair in late 1960 was the beginning of more than a decade of warfare and hardship for his people, although neither man that day could have foreseen the outcome. From its origins as an effort to organize and train the Hmong in guerrilla tactics to resist communist encroachment, our program gradually evolved into a direct confrontation not only of the local PL, but also of North Vietnamese forces. More training, larger units, increased firepower, and air support were introduced little by little. But it remained a mismatch. Despite our best efforts, the Hmong were slowly decimated.

Vang Pao, Hmong Leader

US policies in South Vietnam drove decisions in Laos. The Hmong had to have seen what was happening, but they pressed on. Vang Pao, confident that with our support he would carry the day, actually pushed for many of the offensive actions undertaken as the conflict wore on. But his decisions were clouded, I believe, by the “stars” around him—his own, when he was promoted to lieutenant general, and those of the generals and ambassadors whom he saw as equals. He believed that US power ultimately would save him, and the Hmong.

When the war ended in South Vietnam, it also ended in Laos, where we forced a political arrangement in Vientiane that virtually guaranteed communist control. And then we left.

Many Hmong have come to the United States as refugees, but thousands still languish in Thai refugee camps. Their way of life has been destroyed. They can never return to Laos. In the end, our policymakers failed to assume the moral responsibility that we owed to those who worked so closely with us during those tumultuous years.

Richard L. Holm, a career CIA officer, served in America's "secret war" in Laos, then in 1965 was transferred to the Congo where he was injured in a plane crash and suffered appalling burns. This near-death experience had a profound effect on him, and after two painful years of recuperation he went to Hong Kong to run agents into China, then returned to CIA Headquarters as Chief of the Counter Terrorism Centre. In this role he played a key part in tracking down Carlos the Jackal, and when he was posted to Paris as Station Chief he participated in his arrest in the Sudan.

Holm's work in Paris proved highly controversial when a French source became a double agent and compromised the CIA station, resulting in Holm's expulsion from France and his forced resignation from the Bureau. Two months later he was invited back to receive an official Medal of Commendation. Working under 13 different heads of the CIA in theatres of operations across the world, Dick Holm's memoir is the eventful life of one of the CIA's most celebrated officers and diplomats.