“Friendly Fire Isn’t”: The Song Be Tragedy, SP4 Walter R. Winder Jr. Lost to Friendly Fire April 21, 1968

On the night of April 21, 1968, paratroopers from the 3rd Battalion, 187th Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division—known as the “Rakkasans”—had settled into a night defensive position along the north bank of the Song Be River, about seven miles southeast of Phuoc Vinh Air Field in Binh Duong Province, South Vietnam. The terrain was dense and volatile, and contact with enemy forces was always a looming threat. To support their position, nearby U.S. howitzer batteries were tasked with providing indirect fire support in case of enemy engagement. However, as the guns thundered in the dark, something went terribly wrong.

That night, four 155mm artillery shells, meant to fly overhead and land beyond the American perimeter, instead fell short. They crashed directly into the Rakkasans' own position. In a matter of seconds, the calm of the night was shattered by friendly steel. The massive shells tore through tents, ripped apart sandbag positions, and brought instant devastation. It was not the enemy that claimed lives that night—it was a deadly miscalculation from their own side.

Six American paratroopers were killed in the friendly fire incident, and at least nineteen others were wounded. Those who lost their lives were: PFC Michael B. Alvarez, PFC Ronald D. Griffin, PFC Robert L. Johnson Jr., SP5 Kenneth E. Kotyluk, SP4 Felix Vazquez Jr., and SP4 Walter R. Winder Jr. These soldiers had trusted in the firepower designed to protect them. They died not in battle with the Viet Cong or North Vietnamese Army, but because of a breakdown in coordination and the brutal truth that even the most sophisticated systems are not immune to human error.

Among the fallen, SP4 Walter R. Winder Jr. had served with dedication and honor. A seasoned paratrooper of the 187th Infantry, Winder had survived the unforgiving demands of Vietnam’s terrain, operations, and combat zones. He placed his trust in his training, his unit, and the system that supported them. That trust ultimately cost him his life. His name now rests on Panel 51E, Line 12 of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial—a solemn reminder that not all casualties come from enemy fire, and not all sacrifices are visible to the public eye.

The tragedy of that night is a living example of the grim military adage: *“Friendly fire—isn’t.” It was not the first such incident in Vietnam, nor the last, but it remains one of the most devastating. Those men were not killed by accident; they were killed by war’s reality—that chaos is ever-present, and even our best intentions can carry fatal consequences. The survivors of that night—those who were wounded, those who bore witness, and those who lived to carry the memory—have carried the burden of that incident for over half a century.

Today, we remember not only that it happened, but to whom it happened. We remember SP4 Walter R. Winder Jr. and his brothers who perished—not as nameless statistics, but as men, sons, and soldiers who did everything asked of them and more. Their lives were not lost in vain. Their stories remain etched in the legacy of the 101st Airborne Division and in the sacred obligation we all carry: to remember them, to honor them, and to learn from what took them.