CSM Marion S. Howell, -a Solider, a signalman and a hero

“The Radio Never Went Silent" - The Story of CSM Marion S. Howell and the Son Tay Raid

Marion S. Howell's life was forged in discipline, service, and the unseen language of airwaves—where every syllable transmitted could mean life or death. Born in South Carolina on November 5, 1935, Howell grew up in a nation soon to be reshaped by war. By the time he enlisted in the U.S. Air Force on January 11, 1955, he had chosen a life in which the signal never dropped and the mission always came first.

He began his military career as an Air Rescue Specialist, braving peril to retrieve the fallen. After active duty, he continued in the Air Force Reserve until 1962. But Howell wasn't done. In 1963, he joined the U.S. Army—a decision that would place him in the heart of America's most elite and dangerous missions.

Over the next two decades, he would serve with the 1st, 5th, 7th, and 8th Special Forces Groups, deploying to Vietnam in multiple rotations, leading communications operations, and mentoring generations of Special Forces soldiers. He went from jungle operations in Kontum Province to the frozen clarity of a radio panel in the dead of night. But one mission would etch his name into the deeper narrative of American special operations: The Son Tay Raid.

Operation Ivory Coast: “The POWs Are Not Forgotten"

In the early hours of November 21, 1970, Marion Howell was not just a soldier—he was a lifeline. That morning, under the call sign Redwine, a handpicked group of 56 Army Special Forces soldiers and 92 airmen stormed into North Vietnam under the cover of darkness. Their objective: Son Tay prison, just 23 miles west of Hanoi. Intelligence believed that more than 60 American POWs were imprisoned there, held in silence behind enemy lines.

The mission, known as Operation Ivory Coast, was a gamble of the highest order—a joint effort by the U.S. Army and Air Force, planned in secret and rehearsed to surgical precision on a full-scale model of the prison at Eglin Air Force Base. The risk was enormous. The message to America's prisoners, and to the world, was clear: You are not forgotten.

Howell, now a seasoned Senior Radio Operator, was at the heart of the operation. He was inserted alongside the mission commander into the objective itself. In the moments that followed, what unfolded was a chaos of fire and steel—automatic weapons fire lit up the Vietnamese night as enemy forces responded with ferocity.

Despite the barrage, Howell established the command post's communications net without hesitation. He operated flawlessly, weaving together the strike team's movements and calls for support even as enemy troops threatened to overrun their position. At one point, he returned fire himself, suppressing attackers with one hand and keeping the lines open with the other. The radio stayed active. The mission—though compromised—did not fall apart.

But when the raiders reached the cells, they found them empty. The prisoners had been moved months earlier due to flooding. On paper, the mission had failed. In reality, it had sparked a tidal wave of consequences.

The raid forced the North Vietnamese to consolidate POWs into central facilities, improving their conditions and ending their isolation. More importantly, it told every captured American that rescue would be attempted—that they were not invisible.

For his extraordinary gallantry during the Son Tay Raid, Sergeant Howell received the Silver Star, the nation's third-highest award for valor in combat. But medals only scratch the surface of what he gave.

He went on to serve as Chief of Communications for multiple Special Forces groups, deployed again to Vietnam, and later held senior leadership roles in the 25th Infantry Division in Hawaii and the 22nd Signal Brigade in West Germany. He trained at the U.S. Army Sergeants Major Academy and retired as a Command Sergeant Major at Fort Monmouth, New Jersey in 1987.

CSM Howell passed away on May 7, 2007. His uniform bore the weight of a nation's conflicts, his chest the ribbons of wars fought in shadows and jungles. But perhaps his proudest moment came in the pitch black outside Hanoi—when bullets flew, the mission faltered, and one man refused to let the line go dead.

We are honored beyond measure to preserve the legacy of Command Sergeant Major Marion S. Howell—a soldier, a signalman, a hero who never dropped the line, and whose story will echo forever within the halls of Ghosts of the Battlefield.

Click here to learn more about the restoration of Commander Howell’s uniform.