A couple days ago I pulled my dusty old copy of John Del Vecchio's "The 13th Valley" off the shelf, am reading it with a very different perspective than when I first read it 20+ years ago.

There is really three layers to this story. There is the war story of small unit tactics vs the NVA in the Central Highlands in 1970. Great stuff. (and what I primarily remember from my first read). Then there is the personal dramas of deployed soldiers and their strained relationships with their significant others, with all of the complicating factors of distance, politics, and the barrier created by the changes a man goes through in that type of combat situation that are as significant as they are impossible to explain. Lastly, he uses the wise company commanders guided debates between the street smart platoon sergeant, the long-suffering, well educated Vietnamese scout, the angry black soldier with ties to the civil rights movement back home, and the studious Chicano RTO and the culturally shocked new guy to weave in a very sophisticated debate about the nature of insurgency, the problems of intervention, etc. It is that third story line that has me re-reading this book today. I highly recommend it to senior policy leaders.

When I read "Street Without Joy" during the Q-Course in '90 I thought "How could we have made all of the huge mistakes we made in Vietnam when we had these tremendous lessons learned from the French experience to guide us?"

As I read "The 13th Valley" I am having a Deja vu experience, thinking "How could we be making all of the huge mistakes we are making in the GWOT when we had these tremendous lessons learned from the U.S. experience in Vietnam to guide us?"

I guess every guy figures he's smarter or better than the last guy and can overcome the inherent problems of such operations; even when the last guy was himself.

(Fond memories of my days as a Deputy DA in Portland. I'd commute 12 miles in from Tualatin on my bike 2-4 days a week over Terwilliger. One wet, snowy day, with those icey winds blowing down the Columbia Gorge like they do, I mentioned in a down moment in court that it had made my bike ride in interesting that morning. The judge looked at me increduously and declared "you're a Jackass Mr. Jones" (meaning she believed such behavior to be suicidal). I took it as a complement. Plus burning all those calories allowed for guilt-free enjoyment of all the tremendous microbrews available there).