REDACTED: Declassified Mysteries with Luke Lamana - Operation Tailwind: Valley of Death

Episode Date: November 26, 2024

It’s 1998 and CNN produces a documentary blowing the lid off of one America's most secret military operations in the Vietnam war, Operation Tailwind. But after the documentary airs, the news organization quickly learns that they got the story wrong. How does one of America’s most trusted names in news release such a flawed report? How did it impact the military? And why does one journalist still stand behind the story?Be the first to know about Wondery’s newest podcasts, curated recommendations, and more! Sign up now at https://wondery.fm/wonderynewsletterFollow Redacted: Declassified Mysteries with Luke Lamana on the Wondery App or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to new episodes early and ad-free on Wondery+. Join Wondery+ in the Wondery App, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Start your free trial by visiting https://wondery.com/links/redacted/ now.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can listen to redacted, declassified mysteries early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. On June 7th, 1998, CNN News Group CEO Tom Johnson sat at his desk in his corner office, overlooking the massive newsroom in midtown Atlanta. Below him, the workspace buzzed with energy. Journalists darted between desks, and banks of monitors flickered with breaking news reports. Johnson was in his element and loved his job. He was known as a no-nonsense leader, and he was well-respected by his team. In the nearly 20 years since CNN first launched,

the 24-hour cable network had become the most influential source in television news. It changed the landscape for how people learned about breaking news, with correspondents all over the world ready to report at a moment's notice. It was Johnson's job to build on CNN's dominance and drive up the ratings. Johnson turned when he heard a tap on his door. His secretary rushed in and said he had a call from a retired general who was CNN's military analyst. She warned him that the general sounded annoyed. But Johnson was used to putting out fires and dealing with people who were upset, so his secretary's warning didn't alarm him. As soon as Johnson picked up the phone, the general's bristling tone made it clear he was outraged.

He told the CEO he'd received some disturbing news. The general had been informed that a segment about a covert military operation in Southeast Asia was scheduled to air on CNN the next night. And apparently this report contained wild allegations about the U.S. military gassing villages, killing American soldiers, and even innocent civilians. Johnson tried to respond, but couldn't get a word in. The general railed that neither he nor CNN's other top military analysts had been consulted about such a damning report. Johnson took a deep breath and said that the general was right. They did plan to air a segment tomorrow night about a covert military operation during the Vietnam War. It was the first episode of a new show called CNN Newsstand, a collaboration with Time magazine. Johnson assured him the story had taken almost

a year of careful investigative journalism, but nothing Johnson said swayed the general. He insisted they pull the show. Johnson wasn't about to back down either. Too much work had gone into the episode about a secret military operation called Operation Tailwind. Besides, CNN had already been promoting it heavily. It was simply too late to pull. There was silence on the other end. Then the general spoke in an ominous tone. He told Johnson he was about to make the biggest mistake in the history of CNN. Johnson stood his ground. He ended the call by saying that the story was going to be a bombshell. Johnson would be right, but the story would explode in a way he never saw coming. From Ballin Studios in Wondery, I'm Luke LaManna,

and this is Redacted Declassified Mysteries, where each week we shine a light on the shadowy corners of espionage, covert operations, and misinformation to reveal the dark secrets our governments tried to hide. This week's episode is called Valley of Death. Imagine you're a journalist uncovering the shocking truth about a long-buried military operation, one that had been shrouded in secrecy for decades. But what if the so-called truth you discovered turned out to be completely different than what really happened?

Today we're going to examine a stunning media expose from 1998, when one of the country's most respected news organizations thought they were blowing the lid off a dark chapter of American history. The setting was the Vietnam War, a long, divisive conflict that pitted the United States and the government of South Vietnam against communist North Vietnamese forces and their allies, including the Soviet Union and China. By 1965, the U.S. was sending combat troops to South Vietnam,

and as U.S. was sending combat troops to South Vietnam, and as U.S. military casualties mounted, public opinion began to turn against the war. The war sparked protests, especially among young men who were facing the potential of being drafted into the military and sent to Vietnam. But far from ending the war, American leaders kept expanding the conflict. By late April 1970, U.S. forces had begun to secretly enter the neighboring countries of Laos and Cambodia while denying it publicly. Operation Tailwind, carried out deep in the jungles of Laos, was one of the most secretive

military missions of the Vietnam War era, but also one of the most pivotal. Those who took part in it thought they were doing something noble. They never imagined that almost 30 years later, an 18-minute news report would thrust them into an unwanted spotlight, portraying them as war criminals. It was almost 9 p.m. on June 7, 1998. An air of excitement filled the CNN newsroom. Journalists, staff, and crew were clustered around one of the large, bulky TV monitors. They were about to watch the premiere episode of their new series, CNN Newsstand.

April Oliver, the 36-year-old lead producer of the show's most anticipated segment, stood in the center of the group. old lead producer of the show's most anticipated segment stood in the center of the group. During April's career, she'd been proud to cover international affairs, reporting from Nicaragua, South Africa, and the Middle East. It was exhilarating, but her ultimate goal was to be an investigative reporter, and she never stopped pushing to achieve it. When she was asked to take the lead on an important investigative story for a high-profile news series, April felt like she'd landed her dream job. Her team had poured eight months of blood, sweat, and tears into this moment. Now the 18-minute segment, called Valley of Death, was about to be broadcast to the world. Some of April's peers had already hinted there could be a Pulitzer Prize in her future, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

The piece began with an introduction. Good evening. Welcome to Worldview. A secret U.S. mission with a secret weapon and a secret target. Tonight, newsstand CNN in time breaks the story of Operation Tailwind. Based on eight months of reporting and interviews with more than 200 people. The segment flashed to black and white photos of American choppers, U.S. soldiers holding machine guns, and a painting on a wall of a skull wearing a military hat. Then the interview subjects, many of them Operation Tailwind veterans, started talking. Our motto in Special Forces was kill them all. And what God saw in them?

Nerve gas. The government don't want it called that, but it was nerve gas. Death. This was the valley of death. As the documentary kept playing, another Vietnam veteran appeared on the screen, saying that troops used sarin gas, an extremely potent nerve agent that can be fatal even in small doses. He alleged that they used the deadly gas twice, once on a village killing innocent women and children, and later as a cover to get American troops out. These allegations would be a violation of international treaties banning the use of poison gas, especially on civilians. Essentially, CNN was accusing these soldiers of being war criminals. April watched, transfixed by the footage.

In her mind, she wasn't finished with her reporting on Operation Tailwind. This was only the tip of the iceberg. As the credits rolled, the team popped bottles of champagne to celebrate their amazing success. CNN Special Assignment Leader Pamela Hill congratulated members of her team. The praise meant a lot coming from her. Many of Hill's documentaries had won coveted journalism awards, and hiring her away from ABC was considered a coup for CNN. But most celebrated of all was April. She glanced over at her desk, which was covered in gifts and notes. April was filled with pride. Not only had she brought these heinous war crimes to light, but her young career as a journalist was exceeding her wildest dreams.

At 9 p.m. that same night, down in Key West, Florida, 48-year-old Keith Plancich settled into his Lazy Boy recliner after dinner and flipped on CNN. He had seen a promo for CNN Newsstand and was looking forward to watching the first episode. The announcer described the lead report, titled Valley of Death, as a sensational story uncovering a 30-year-old government secret. It was about a mission called Operation Tailwind. A shiver ran down Keith's spine. He had been a special forces squad leader for an army team in the Vietnam War who'd been boots on the ground in Laos, where Operation Tailwind took place. Now, after all this time, it was the featured topic of a news show. Keith sat up in his chair, his eyes riveted to the TV. Just then, a photograph

of several soldiers popped up on the screen. When Keith saw his own face on television, he thought he was dreaming. Then CNN claimed that Keith's unit didn't just kill North Vietnamese Army soldiers during tailwind, they killed numerous civilians, including women and children. wind, they killed numerous civilians, including women and children. Keith was stunned. He knew there were people on this mission killed by U.S. forces, all of them were enemy soldiers. His unit did not encounter any civilians, women or children, whatsoever. He wondered why no one from CNN reached out to him for an interview, especially since they repeatedly used pictures of him. The longer Keith watched the report, the worse it got. It was one long lie. He couldn't escape seeing his face on screen as the narrator described these alleged horrors. By the time the program ended, Keith was angry and hurt. He had served his country proudly, and this was an attack on

the soldiers who had fought by his side. Keith wasn't sure what he would do about the situation, but he wasn't about to let it go. In Atlanta, Georgia, later that same night, another veteran was about to watch Valley of Death. 51-year-old Barry Pensick popped the VHS tape into a VCR at his in-law's house. He was eager to see any documentary about the war. Barry had served proudly as a helicopter pilot in Vietnam. Now he was a commercial pilot for United Airlines and married with four sons. Barry pressed play, and the show's introduction started. But as soon as the host mentioned Operation Tailwind, he was anxious. Barry had

participated in the operation and wasn't expecting to relive the experience. He suddenly felt like he was in 1970 all over again. But what Barry saw on CNN that night bore almost no resemblance to his memories. He took issue with pretty much everything depicted in Valley of Death. One of Barry's main concerns was the claim that the CIA was partially responsible for Operation Tailwind. He didn't remember any CIA involvement at all. If the CIA wanted to hunt down American defectors, why would it send American soldiers deep into neutral country to do it? The agency already had thousands of mercenaries right there in Laos. Barry thought the whole idea was ridiculous. But his biggest concern was the allegations that they used nerve gas. CNN reported that U.S. soldiers used sarin gas, a lethal chemical weapon banned by international law. Sarin paralyzes

and suffocates its victims, penetrating clothes, creating blisters and burns on the skin. And when inhaled, it creates blisters on the lungs and damages membranes, causing an agonizing death within minutes. But Barry didn't recall using nerve gas at all. He did remember dropping CS gas, better known as tear gas. CS gas was used regularly in Vietnam and only caused distressing symptoms that lasted 15 to 30 minutes, unlike the deadly damage of sarin gas. And the notion that the military was hunting down and killing American defectors? Barry could only shake his head. As Barry drove home, he couldn't stop thinking about what he'd seen. Veterans like Barry Pensick and Keith Plancich weren't the only people getting upset.

Thousands of viewers who watched CNN that night were disturbed, and they weren't the only people getting upset. Thousands of viewers who watched CNN that night were disturbed, and they weren't about to let the report go without saying something. It was Monday morning, June 8th, the day after the CNN newsstand pilot aired. April Oliver sat down at her computer in the newsroom, still on a high from the accolades the night before. The blinking red message light on her phone prompted her to check her voicemail. It was full. Her email inbox was flooded too. She assumed people were calling and writing to congratulate her. April clicked open the email at the top and found a request for an interview. She felt a rush of excitement. But as April read further,

her excitement evaporated. The email was from a competing news outlet. A journalist was inviting her for an interview to defend her story, saying that several of his sources claimed she got the facts totally wrong. She reasoned that maybe it was something to bait her, maybe jealousy about being scooped. Just then, April looked up at the monitors in the newsroom playing other media outlets. She saw the news ticker scrolling across the bottom of one screen, mentioning Operation Tailwind. April grabbed a remote and raised the volume. The story was calling CNN's claims about Operation Tailwind into question.

She could feel the eyes of some of her colleagues looking over at her. April told herself to stay calm, but her stomach was starting to twist into knots. It only got worse. Over the next few days, multiple news organizations were reporting on inaccuracies in the Valley of Death story. Seasoned journalists with military expertise who had seen the segment sensed something was wrong and weren't afraid to say so. who had seen the segment sensed something was wrong and weren't afraid to say so. Veterans groups, the Department of Defense, and other high-ranking former government officials all strongly condemned the story. Then April got a call from CEO Tom Johnson, and he didn't waste any time on small talk.

He said he received a phone call from the former chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Colin Powell, protesting the legitimacy of the broadcast. of the Joint Chiefs, Colin Powell, protesting the legitimacy of the broadcast. Johnson said he also spoke with Henry Kissinger, who was Nixon's national security advisor in 1970. Kissinger was upset about the report as well. But April was adamant. She knew her sources were solid and the story was 100% accurate. She hung up, hoping Johnson had her back. Lucky for April, he and the entire network did. Johnson announced that the accusations were unfounded. They doubled down on the report by producing an update that was set to air the next week. It would lay out even more details of their findings. Meanwhile, April and her co-producers on the project agreed to do a series of interviews to defend their controversial investigative reporting.

April couldn't understand what they'd gotten so wrong. Why was everyone attacking the story? Barry Pensick and Keith Plancich could explain why. They were there. It was September 11, 1970, another hot, sticky morning at Dock 2 Base Camp in South Vietnam. 23-year-old Barry Pensick wiped the sweat from his forehead and swatted a mosquito. He was a long way from Scranton, Pennsylvania, where he grew up in the heart of coal country. That day, Barry was preparing for a top-secret mission into Laos called Operation Tailwind.

He'd been briefed just one day before and given only the information he absolutely needed to know. Barry was ordered to go sterile, meaning he couldn't bring anything that could be used to identify him. No wallet, no dog tags, no pictures of American friends or family. To Barry, this made no sense. He thought to himself, even if, God forbid, something happened to him, he was a white guy flying a big green helicopter with U.S. Marines stamped on the side. Not much plausible deniability there, but he wasn't going to question it. The goal of this mission was to insert troops deep into Laos to disrupt the enemy. Operation Tailwind would send in a special operations team called Hatchet Force,

comprised of American and South Vietnamese soldiers who frequently worked together during the war. Tailwind's Hatchet Force had 16 American Green Berets and 120 South Vietnamese mercenaries known as Montagnards. This raid would be the largest and deepest behind enemy lines in the team's history. Barry's job was to fly the team 60 miles across the border into Laos, where U.S. forces were technically not supposed to be. He and the other pilots would drop the foot soldiers off. By the end of the four-day mission, Barry and his squad mates would be called back to extract them.

While they were in Laos, the hatchet force was under orders to blow up bridges to disrupt the North Vietnamese supply line, which ran through the country on the Ho Chi Minh Trail, and collect intelligence. Barry looked up at the sky and prayed for the weather to hold. The initial drop-off mission had been delayed for several days due to storms, so when a break came just before noon, they got their chance. As the other troops piled into their choppers, Barry and his machine gunner were alone in a smaller helicopter. Their job was to provide cover for the larger aircrafts dropping off men.

He felt a sense of urgency, not just because of the enemy that would be lying in wait, but also because they were flying into a neutral country that none of them knew very well. Meanwhile, the skies were still gloomy, and he knew the storms could return at any moment. Meanwhile, the skies were still gloomy, and he knew the storms could return at any moment. A few minutes later, as he was flying over stunning waterfalls and green landscape, he almost forgot this was a war zone. But as the choppers approached the landing zone, he could hear a thunder of gunfire in the distance. Barry knew those bullets were meant for them. The North Vietnamese army was in Laos, and they had spotted the fleet of helicopters. Barry and his squad mates were now flying directly into a hot zone. Bullets hammered the thin metal of the aircrafts, leaving dents and holes. Hunkered down in the smaller, flimsier

chopper, Barry knew that a crash could be a single bullet away. As gunmen kept firing and the other helicopters unloaded, Barry had to hover in the air, his machine gunner firing back at the ground below. He felt like he was in a glass cage that would shatter at any second. Barry finally returned from the drop-off, safe but exhausted. He grabbed a pen and piece of paper and started writing a letter to his brother barry needed to describe the hell he just experienced he wrote that his helicopter got hit five times and his friend's chopper was hit ten times but even though their helicopters took a beating so far the mission was successful miraculously no one was seriously wounded the only

thing he didn't like about the mission, Barry wrote, was a feeling that the worst was yet to come. Hours later, deep in the Laotian jungle, 20-year-old Army squad leader Keith Plancich guided his squad through the dense forest. They were the boots on the ground who had just been dropped from the transport choppers. The enemy gunfire had abruptly stopped, and everything around them was eerily silent. Keith was on high alert, his eyes darting left to right. He didn't spot anything, but he felt surrounded by eyes watching from the shadows. The American

ground troops kept moving quickly through the thick brush, so the enemy couldn't get a good fix on where they were. As they climbed higher into the lush jungle, Keith inhaled deeply. The pungent smell of jungle and animal life, mixed with damp moss and wet leaves, filled the air. To Keith, it was the smell of life and death.

The rugged terrain was shaped by steep slopes and massive limestone and granite formations, making it difficult to maneuver. The men had to walk single file and keep 10 feet apart from each other to prevent multiple casualties if they encountered a booby trap or an ambush. After less than a mile, Keith and his squad hit a worn-out road, almost sunken into the ground. They spotted a complex not far ahead made up of 20 small bunkers. They were camouflaged with palms and foliage so they couldn't be detected from the air. It was clearly a North Vietnamese base.

Keith held up his hand, signaling everyone to freeze. They slowly approached the first bunker, where the muffled ring from a telephone could be heard. As they got closer, no one appeared to be there. The men spread out to carefully search the complex. Their search paid off when the team uncovered an enormous cache of arms inside one of the bunkers. They needed to destroy the ammunition so it could never be used. Keith and his team rigged the bunkers to blow, then promptly evacuated the area. A few minutes later, the complex went up with a boom that shook the ground. The explosion didn't just destroy the arms,

it sent a message to the North Vietnamese Army that the Americans had infiltrated their bunkers. Over the next two days, as Keith and his unit pushed deeper into Laos, it felt like a game of cat and mouse with the North Vietnamese Army. They were on constant alert, which meant they were always tired, but they had to keep moving. On the fourth day, the troops heard dogs barking in the distance. Keith thought if there were dogs, there were most likely people around too. They quietly followed the loud barks to an enemy base camp. This one appeared to be a major headquarters complex with a substantial number of buildings.

The troops froze, afraid they'd make a sound, until the sergeant ordered them to move in. Keith tried to keep his breathing even as they drew closer to the building. Everything was still. Then the North Vietnamese opened fire and all the men dove for cover. They caught a break. The buildings where the North Vietnamese soldiers were hiding were flimsy and not built for defense against ground attacks, and the enemy soldiers they encountered looked young and inexperienced. So as Keith and his fellow soldiers returned fire, the North Vietnamese scattered and ran away, and those who didn't were shot. In total, the Americans killed 50 NVA troops. So far, their side had only counted a single casualty. Once the area had been cleared, Keith moved closer and spotted an underground bunker. He and his men carefully approached the area.

They descended down some wood stairs and reached the first room. It was clearly a command bunker. The walls were covered in maps and charts. A framed photo of the late communist leader Ho Chi Minh hung on one of the walls. The next room contained a treasure trove, foot lockers full of documents, records, code books, currency, and logs. The sergeant ordered Keith and the troops to take as much as they could carry. Keith emptied his backpack and filled it with documents. After an hour of clearing all valuable papers from the buildings,

they blew the place to pieces. With the North Vietnamese secret documents in the Americans' possession, Keith knew their mission was close to an end. There was just one thing left. He and his squad mates had to escape from Laos alive. mates had to escape from Laos alive. That same day back at Dock 2 base camp in Vietnam, Barry Pensick and the other pilots were urgently called into the briefing room. The officer in charge said that hatchet force was surrounded. The North Vietnamese knew that valuable intel had been taken and were desperate to stop them from escaping.

Making matters worse, the men were now low on ammunition, energy, and food. They were drinking muddy swamp water that had been treated with iodine tablets. Even though a dense fog was going to make extraction efforts of the ground troops difficult, one of the pilots made it clear they had no choice. If you don't get them out now, he said, they're not getting out. The other pilots agreed, but knew they needed some sort of an edge so that the helicopters wouldn't be sitting ducks. One of the pilots suggested they fire canisters of CS gas, commonly known as tear gas, into the enemy. CS gas was a non-lethal weapon that caused eye pain,

burning in the throat and nose, coughing and retching, and was frequently used during the war. The officer in charge of the briefing warned Barry and the other pilots that he expected around 40% casualties. This time, Barry would be the gunner on the chopper. As he and the pilot flew the 60 miles towards the landing zone, he had time to contemplate his own mortality, but he said his prayers for all the other men on this mission. He called it outsmarting God. As Barry's helicopter approached the landing zone, he could see the Americans on the ground below, struggling through elephant grass twice as tall as an average man. With his chopper getting closer and closer, Barry could tell the grass was so sharp that it was tearing his fellow soldiers' uniforms.

Over the radio comms, he could hear coughing and retching in the background. That meant the North Vietnamese troops were feeling the effects from the tear gas as planned. It was now or never. As the pilot landed, troops climbed in and their helicopter quickly took off again. The bullets hitting Barry's chopper sounded like popcorn popping. He pressed himself down deep into the armored seat and blasted his chunker, or machine gun, towards the NDA. Two more helicopters arrived, landed, and collected more men with rucksacks stuffed full of documents as gunfire pelted the aircrafts. Against all odds, the helicopters evacuated everyone, including the secret documents

Barry smiled to himself Maybe they had all outsmarted God, this time After four days of battling in the jungle, Keith Plancich and his squad were finally rescued from Laos But not before Keith's escape helicopter crash-landed and he suffered grenade shrapnel wounds. Still, he counted himself lucky to have made it out alive. Roughly 850 pages of documents were seized by Keith and the hatchet force. More than 400 pages were given the highest rating for intelligence. Officers said they had made off with the most significant collateral intelligence since the beginning of the war. Keith and the

troops achieved a mission impossible. The casualties occurred during the operation amounted to three Montagnards killed in action and 33 South Vietnamese and 16 Americans wounded. Not a single American was killed. Keith was proud of these statistics. 144 North Vietnamese Army troops were killed. Another 49 were wounded. An estimated total of 288 enemy troops were killed by airstrike. No civilians were killed. One week after the Valley of Death segment aired in 1998, CNN News Group CEO Tom Johnson paced in his office. Then he rubbed his eyes, feeling the strain of the past few sleepless nights since

this debacle began. But he didn't have time to be tired. He was hoping their follow-up report, scheduled to air that night, would silence the critics. But it wouldn't. CNN faced a tsunami of public criticism. Other news outlets presented evidence that the explosive claims made in CNN's original segment and its update were largely unsubstantiated rumors and most likely false. Now, Johnson was gravely concerned. This wasn't a simple fact-checking error. This seemed to be a complete journalistic failure. Then, on December 26th, TV Guide published the first part of a four-part series on Operation

Tailwind. It was the longest series in the history of the magazine and the most comprehensive examination of the controversial CNN story. Johnson read each issue the second it hit the newsstand. Any hope of salvaging the PR nightmare quickly vanished. TV Guide claimed that everyone involved in Newsstand was under enormous pressure to produce a spectacular premiere episode. They also said that CNN hoped to build an audience for its failing Sunday night lineup. Johnson was upset,

but he understood TV Guide's suggestion. His network had lowered their journalistic standards to juice ratings. It was true that CNN's ratings were dropping, while rivals MSNBC, CNBC, and Fox News Channel were all seeing significant audience growth. But Johnson would never condone shoddy reporting in an effort to boost viewership. Time was running out for Johnson to save CNN's reputation. So he called Pamela Hill, April Oliver, and the newsstand team into his office and ordered them to stop publicly defending Valley of Death. Then he dialed First Amendment lawyer Floyd Abrams. By the time he hung up, Johnson had hired Abrams to lead CNN's internal investigation

into the team's work. Johnson thought back to when he started at CNN in 1990, after founder Ted Turner asked him to be the president of the network. Since then, Johnson had been in charge of the network's coverage of the Persian Gulf War. He was even in the room when Mikhail Gorbachev signed his official resignation letter in 1991. But now, Floyd's report was going to be the most pivotal moment of Johnson's career. Two weeks later on July 2nd, Abrams returned to Johnson's office with his findings. The news veteran could see it in the lawyer's eyes.

This wasn't good news. Abrams methodically broke down the data. Abrams' team had investigated the sources used for the broadcast. They consulted with current and former military and government officials. They also reviewed published criticisms of the report. The conclusion? The statement that the United States troops used nerve gas in Operation Tailwind designed to kill American defectors was insupportable. Investigators could not even confirm that American defectors were anywhere near the location in Laos. CNN needed to retract the story and apologize. Johnson sighed and looked over the detailed report. He should have listened to the military analyst when he first warned Johnson not to air

Valley of Death. Less than a month after CNN aired what newsroom leaders thought would be a landmark story, the network released a 54-page retraction, hoping it would save the network's credibility and end the PR crisis. Even with the results of his internal investigation, Johnson remained perplexed as to how they had gone so far down the line utilizing incorrect sources and flawed information. He knew from top to bottom that the newsstand team faced major pressure to turn their new show into a ratings juggernaut like ABC's Primetime Live, CBS's 60 Minutes, and Dateline NBC. And as the lead producer, overachiever April Oliver wanted to deliver for her network. However, April had not

done extensive investigative reporting on military affairs before tackling Valley of Death, which in effect accused the United States of committing war crimes. It was also reported that April exhibited a tendency towards confirmation bias. Allegedly, she tended to interpret evidence in a way that confirmed her existing beliefs. And many of the sources April put on camera might not have been strong candidates for interviews. One was 86 years old, living in an assisted care facility. Another was notorious for bending the truth. And yet another person seemed to have not even taken part in Operation Tailwind. In early July, just after the network issued their apology,

April was called into Tom Johnson's office. She knew what was coming and had steeled herself for it. But still nothing could stop the feeling that she had been punched in the gut. When the CEO asked her to resign, she took a deep breath and said no. Not that it made any difference. A few minutes later, she was escorted out of CNN's Midtown Atlanta office by security. She felt lost and angry. But April Oliver wasn't about to give up. She didn't earn her nickname the linebacker without good reason. CNN could fire her and make her a scapegoat, but she would keep rushing until she broke through the offensive line and sacked the quarterback. On Charlie Rose, she defended herself in front of attorney Floyd Abrams and the world. I absolutely do stand by the story. I'm so delighted to be able to speak out

now after having been muzzled by CNN for three weeks. Part of the great frustration for me in all of this has been that CNN asked us not to speak to the press when the criticism started. This turned into a much bigger controversy than it ever would have been had they let us speak out and defend our reporting. We had the answers. There were very specious allegations. April also wrote a 77-page response to CNN's investigation. She addressed every accusation point by point. She also stated that Tom Johnson and another executive had been faced with pressure from Henry Kissinger and Colin Powell to retract the program. CNN executives feared that defending the program could provoke a boycott by veterans

groups. This pushback from powerful political players was proof to April that CNN would have to back down. April even hired an independent investigator, a military veteran who, after a six-month search, supported April's findings. April also sued CNN in 1999 for wrongful termination, charging that the network fired her primarily on business and public relations concerns. Eventually, the case was resolved out of court. Sources speculated that April's payout could have been worth as much as $3.5 million. In the early 2000s, April pivoted careers and got a law degree with the goal of becoming a First Amendment attorney. But now, she works as a VP at a tech company.

April still believes that what she reported was true and accurate. The fallout from the Valley of Death report continued in the months and years following its release. Today, it's taught in journalism classes as a case study on journalistic ethics. Valley of Death also led to multiple other lawsuits. Army veteran Keith Plancich sued CNN for defamation, but CNN was not found liable and Keith lost his lawsuit. However, because of the extensive investigation into his service during Operation Tailwind, Keith ultimately received two long overdue awards, a Silver Star for Valor and a Purple Heart. Keith passed away in December 2022 at the age of 72. For his part, former chopper pilot Barry Pensick wrote a book called Operation Tailwind, Memoirs of a Secret Battle in a Secret War, which was published in September 2022.

But as messy as scandals are, they can also bring clarity that would be impossible without all the investigations, lawsuits, and finger-pointing. One positive outcome from CNN's misguided reporting on the Valley of Death segment is this. The U.S. government ultimately declassified intelligence surrounding Operation Tailwind, and the soldiers who served on the mission were finally properly recognized, including one soldier who was even awarded a Congressional Medal of Honor. No wonder they say that the truth is the best disinfectant. or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to every episode of Redacted Early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Before you go, tell us about yourself by completing a short survey at wondery.com slash survey.

From Ballin Studios in Wondery, this is Redacted Declassified Mysteries, hosted by me, Luke LaManna. A quick note about our stories. We do a lot of research for our stories, but some details and scenes are dramatized. We use many different sources for our show, but we especially recommend Operation Tailwind, Memoirs of a Secret Battle in a Secret War by Barry Pensick.

This episode was written by Michael Seldich. Sound design by Andre Pluss. Our producer is Christopher B. Dunn. Our associate producers and researchers are Sarah Vytak, Teja Palakonda, Adam Mellion, and Rafa Faria. Fact-checking by Sheila Patterson. For Ballant Studios, our head of production is Zach Levitt. Script editing by Scott Allen. Our coordinating producer is Samantha Collins. Production support by Avery Siegel.

Produced by me, Luke LaManna. Executive producers are Mr. Ballant and Nick Witters. For Wondery, our head of sound is Marcelino Villapando.

Senior producers are Loredana Palavoda, Dave Schilling, and Rachel Engelman. Senior managing producer is Nick Ryan. Managing producers are Olivia Fonte and Sophia Martins. Our executive producers are Aaron O'Flaherty and Marshall Louis. For Wondery.