JERRY SURVEYED HIS NEW HOME the next morning when a guard escorted him to wash. Like a lunar explorer making first prints, Jerry walked into a landscape he’d never seen. He entered an open dirt courtyard. Other than two almond trees, little grew in the packed earth. He observed low yellow buildings with long, barred windows that arched under the overhanging terra-cotta tiled roof. A ten-stall bathhouse occupied the area’s center; that’s where his escort nudged him. Inside, he found a large metal basin fed by a feeble trickle from an iron pipe. With his thin washrag and sliver of soap, he cleaned himself as best he could.

The permanence of the area worried Jerry most. It looked like the Camp Authority had refurbished this section of Ha L for long-term residence. The Zoo had been a temporary, makeshift camp; this space seemed designed to hold American POWs for years and years. That dreadful prospect deflated Jerry entirely.

Within a few days, each cellblock had received a nickname. The names came tapping through the wall and Jerry matched names and buildings; most shared names with famous casinos. He and his fellow rabble were in Stardust, next to the Desert Inn, on the courtyard’s east side. Cellblocks Riviera and Golden Nugget formed the southern and western borders. Thunderbird bordered the yard to the north. The latrine was called the Sands. Jerry sensed air force fliers familiar with Las Vegas’s Nellis Air Force Base had heavily influenced the naming; Little Vegas became the section’s collective nickname. Within several hours, the POWs had counted off fifty-four prisoners across the cellblocks.

The propaganda system came next. With a sense of resignation, POWs watched workmen wire speakers throughout Little Vegas. The POWs may have escaped the Zoo, but they would not escape Hanoi Hannah. By 1967, she had begun reporting civil unrest and opposition to the war in the United States, something that profoundly unsettled the POWs. In April, she reported civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr. had spoken out against the war. Dr. King delivered a speech that decried the destruction the war visited upon the poor in Vietnam and in the United States alike. He called for America to stop the war.

“In order to atone for our sins and errors in Vietnam, we should take the initiative in bringing a halt to this tragic war,” King said. “We must stop now. I speak as one who loves America, to the leaders of our own nation: The great initiative in this war is ours; the initiative to stop it must be ours.”

King’s protest added another US leader to the list Hannah reported had turned against the war. The POWs were left to wonder what had changed in America and what that meant for them.

In Hanoi, the POWs had no choice but to press the fight. The imprisoned army grew steadily, with new American shootdowns arriving regularly; frequent diatribes from Hanoi Hannah welcomed them. Jerry attributed the increase in prison population to heavier American bombing efforts. Perhaps, he mused, intensified bombing would drive North Vietnam to negotiate. Maybe homecoming would arrive soon. Jerry tapped his optimistic views to others. Few shared them.

Newer POWs had a difficult time applying the Code of Conduct to their specific situation in Hanoi. To help, Jim Stockdale, Jerry, and other leaders implemented a set of rules. They made the aspirational Code of Conduct into a tactical guide for actions in Hanoi. The acronym BACK US helped everyone remember:

Several days after the initial BACK US rules were announced, Rabbit raised the ante. The young political officer’s voice came ringing over the camp speakers. He said, “You are criminals. You must work for us. You must pay for your keep. You have obligations to the Democratic Republic of Vietnam. You must atone for your crimes and thereby enjoy the historic lenience and generosity of the Vietnamese people.” He repeated the statement twice more.

Then Rabbit took aim at Jerry Denton, Jim Stockdale, and other American leaders. He warned, “A place is being prepared for those black criminals who persist in inciting the other criminals to oppose the Camp Authority. It is a dark place to which they will be banished. And those who repent, [who] show true repentance in actions as well as words, will be permitted to go home even before the war is over.”

Damn Rabbit. He’d threatened Jerry and the POW leadership. He’d also aimed to split the POWs. Jerry knew that after up to three years in prison, some POWs would become susceptible to the Camp Authority’s enticements. A cooperative few would wreck the POWs’ collective unity. It would be every man for himself, all competing to win early release.

Within minutes of Rabbit’s broadcast, Jerry heard taps. Stockdale had dubbed the Camp Authority’s offer the “Fink Release Program,” or FRP for short. If you leave early, you’re a fink. He issued a related corollary to BACK US: “No early release. We all go home together.”

Less than a week later, an additional corollary came tapping into Jerry’s cell: “No repent, no repay. Do not work in town.”

Jerry puzzled over the command. Then he heard Rabbit make a new announcement over the camp speakers. “Criminals will be given an opportunity to atone for their crimes in a meaningful way,” Rabbit promised. “They will be allowed to help the Vietnamese people clean up the debris of bomb damage. Work parties are to start among volunteers and the work will afford you the opportunity of fresh air and exercise. A bath will be available to each volunteer after returning from the bomb-site area. You will be approached individually.”

Now the new corollary made sense. Jerry encouraged his men to resist working in town. They would not give North Vietnam’s propaganda doctors images of penitent criminals helping the enemy. Jerry reminded his men they were American officers, not common criminals. They would not work on a chain gang in Hanoi. During the next weeks, Cat and Rabbit asked nearly every American in Little Vegas to participate; not one said yes.

In May of 1967, Jerry found himself in the prison commandant’s office with Jim Mulligan once again. An officer known as “Flea” for his small size and irritating nature said, “The camp is very crowded with American prisoners. The camp commander permits you to live together. You must obey the regulations of the camp and not communicate. My guard will take you to your new room.”

Jerry bowed and said, “Thank you.” He picked up his gear and followed the guard to Stardust cell 5.

The room was eight feet long and four and a half feet wide. Two bunks occupied most of the space. A typical bamboo mat covered the window, stifling any circulation. The cell felt like a steam room.

“I’ll take the upper bunk, Jim,” Jerry said, climbing up. “You’ll never be able to climb up there with your bad arm.”

Jerry rushed to erect the mosquito netting he’d been issued; Mulligan did the same. Outside the netting, the voracious little insects swarmed, awaiting their chance.

Once settled, the two former roommates resumed their conversation from January. They lay sweating in the stagnant air, talking quietly to avoid attracting guards. Mulligan related an interesting story that reminded Jerry that the Americans and North Vietnamese were ultimately both doing their jobs. As Mulligan finished a quiz that winter, an opposing officer had said, “You and I are military men. I do my job and you do yours. I hope you will be with your family before too much longer. This war is a hardship on us all. Good luck to you.”

By the next morning, Jerry could stand the heat no longer. He couldn’t sleep, nor could he breathe. He yelled “Bo co!” to a passing guard, who soon returned with Flea. The Vietnamese phrase bo co could mean I submit or to report.

“Our room is too hot,” Jerry stated. “We need to have the cover taken off the window.” To Jerry’s surprise, Flea agreed. Within ten minutes, guards removed the mat. Jerry and Jim looked out the barred window into the courtyard and felt the glorious breeze. Then they staged a small war, killing as many lingering mosquitoes as they could.

From the summer’s many new arrivals, Jerry learned Operation Rolling Thunder had lasted more than twenty-five months since its start in March 1965. General William Westmoreland had 448,000 troops in South Vietnam fighting Communist guerrillas who would attack and then vanish into the countryside. The air campaign continued, yet the war seemed no closer to ending. More than 10,000 Americans had been killed in action; by Jim Mulligan’s count, more than 350 had landed in North Vietnam’s prison system. Perhaps more disturbing, new POWs corroborated Hanoi Hannah’s reports that many Americans were turning against the war. Jerry found that particularly hard to accept, especially as he battled Communists each day. He wouldn’t change his mind about the war. And if he were to change his mind, a gulag like Ha L was the last place he’d do it.

On June 28, Jerry began whispering back and forth with a neighboring POW, Hugh Stafford, their voices carrying from window to window. Stafford whispered that he shared a cell with Red McDaniel, a good friend of Jerry’s from Virginia Beach.

Happy to be in contact with an old friend, although sad McDaniel had wound up in Hanoi, Jerry asked, “Does Red have any messages for me?”

The reply came back, “Your son is burning up the Little League again!”

Jerry forgot himself and nearly shouted, “Hot dog!”

“Jerry, get off the wall!” Mulligan half yelled and half whispered from the floor, where he’d been watching for guards. Jerry kept talking.

McDaniel asked if Jerry knew Jim Mulligan. “Hell yes. He’s lying on the deck clearing under the door for me right now.”

“Tell Jim his wife is in Virginia Beach and knows he is a POW. Father Gallagher says they are all praying for him aboard the Enterprise.”

Mulligan yelled at Jerry again. He kept talking.

Mulligan sprang to his bunk just as a guard burst through the door. The irate guard pointed at Jerry and shouted, “You communicate!” He left hurriedly. Jerry saw trepidation on Mulligan’s face. “Hell, Jim,” he said, “I’ll tell them you were asleep and I was comming on my own out the window.”

Minutes later, Jerry sat in a quiz room facing off against a new officer who seemed to have taken a position of importance in the prison system. POWs had nicknamed him “Rat.”

“We have caught you,” Rat said. “Who were you communicating with?”

“No one,” Jerry said. “I was just calling out my name. Mulligan warned me not to do it, but I did it anyway. He had nothing to do with it.”

“You sure?” Rat asked.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Rat still pressed to know what Jerry had said. Jerry refused to disclose more, so Rat ordered guards to apply rear cuffs and leg irons. Rat then sent Jerry outside to the bathhouse. Guards left him kneeling in the hot midday sun; he felt heat reflected onto him from the barren ground and each surrounding building. As he baked in the courtyard, he closed his eyes against the heat and prayed the rosary.

Hours passed. The courtyard grew hotter; he felt a fever take root. His ankles and wrists swelled against their iron bonds. He desperately needed food and water. Gradually, however, heat, pain, thirst, and hunger faded from Jerry’s mind. He thought it odd, but toilet paper replaced them as his most pressing concern. He’d reached his limit of dirtiness. Using the nearby latrine bucket—which he badly needed to do—without toilet paper seemed one disgrace too many. Acknowledging the triviality of his request, he bowed his head and asked the Lord for assistance.

Jerry opened his eyes and saw a large, fuzzy leaf drifting toward him. It landed nearby and he maneuvered his body to snatch it with his hands, which were still cuffed behind him. He shuffled on his knees to the bucket and put the leaf to use. In Jerry’s mind, the Lord had delivered a substantial victory.

It proved a short-lived one. Jerry wilted just like one of the weeds scattered about the courtyard. A doctor arrived later that day and took him to the Riviera cellblock. There, he removed Jerry’s irons and cuffs. Jerry felt relief until guards blindfolded him, reapplied rear cuffs, and sat him on a low stool. For several days, he remained on the stool, fighting for sleep and suffering from fever. Worst, he wasn’t resisting to avoid signing a confession or revealing communication secrets. He faced plain vindictiveness.

Finally, the doctor interceded and ended the punishment. Jerry could scarcely remember guards hauling him across the courtyard to Thunderbird. Likewise, he was only vaguely aware of them removing his cuffs and clothes. He collapsed on the floor and once again engaged in a struggle to maintain coherence. He did a poor job. He routinely flailed at the wall in a state of semiconsciousness, beating out his initials in code with his fists. Neighboring POW Bob Peel finally responded with some exasperation, “Okay, okay, we know you’re in there!”

On July 8, 1967, guards arrived and ordered Jerry to stand up. His punishment had now lasted five days. For how many more would it continue? The guards walked him back to Stardust. They opened the door to Stardust 5 and ushered him into the dark interior. Jerry’s eyes adjusted and he saw his friend Jim Mulligan. Mulligan seemed like a midsummer’s Christmas present.

The Camp Authority still watched Jerry closely, even in his weakened state. He deduced guards were under orders to stifle his influence by shutting down communication to and from his cell. They proved maddeningly effective. Jim Mulligan and Jerry became ever more isolated, even amid so many Americans.

From the information that trickled into Jerry’s cell, he discerned the Camp Authority was even more determined to crush the American resistance. They’d focused on its two nodes—Jerry Denton in Stardust and Jim Stockdale in Thunderbird. Pigeye or other guards put nearly every POW in Little Vegas through the ropes. They didn’t want military intelligence, apologies, or propaganda statements. They wanted the unfortunate subjects to name Jeremiah Denton and Jim Stockdale. They wanted to know which lieutenants worked closest with these disrupters. They wanted to know how the resistance worked. They wanted evidence.

Jerry heard from many POWs that the summer of 1967 was the worst of their lives. Nobody would willingly give up their commanding officer, but many became afraid they’d die if they didn’t. The torture proved unrelenting. Jerry observed that the Camp Authority oddly seemed to need proof that he was behind the resistance before coming after him. Why else wouldn’t they have just sent him away already?

On August 8, a guard Jerry recognized as “Pimples” opened the peephole to Stardust 5. He motioned for Mulligan to come closer. Mulligan complied and Pimples spat in his face. Jerry watched Mulligan spit a glob of phlegm right back at Pimples. Jerry knew trouble was coming. “Jim, they’ll be here in minutes; the comm purge must be on good,” Jerry said. “Pimples didn’t come here to do that; he was sent here.” They both used the bucket while they weren’t confined to irons or stocks. Sure enough, Flea soon appeared and had both inmates clamped into leg stocks. The Camp Authority aimed to stymie the POW communication system and they went after its central nerve.

“We’ll be out in twenty-five days,” predicted Jerry dourly. He was thinking about September 2, the day North Vietnam celebrated its initial independence from France. The occasion had brought clemency for POWs in past years.

“Oh, I don’t think it’ll be that long,” Mulligan replied.

“Yep,” Jerry said with an uncharacteristic lack of optimism, “it’ll be that long.”

Guards soon confiscated their mosquito nets. The two friends remained in the stocks day and night, constant prey for Hanoi’s bugs. Jerry could feel his already weak muscles atrophying further. Guards at least allowed Mulligan out of their Stardust cell for several minutes each day to empty the one latrine bucket the two men shared; Jerry stayed locked onto his bunk. His legs could barely move. Flea and Rat seem to share responsibility for the Hilton that summer and allowed both men a weekly bath. At least they could talk to each other. Guards still yelled at them, demanding they keep quiet, but the POWs didn’t care. What more can they do to us? Jerry reasoned.

Life was not comfortable. One night, Jerry awoke needing to urinate. The one bucket the men shared lay on the floor. If Jerry didn’t find an option quickly, Jim Mulligan below would get a shower. Finally, Jerry said, “Jim, I have to piss so bad I can’t stand it!” He heard Mulligan drink from his cup. “Use this,” Mulligan said. He handed up his drinking cup. “It’s the only thing I can reach. Besides, I don’t want to get wet down here.” Jerry took it and soon felt much better. His bunkmate stayed dry. The next morning, a guard unlocked Mulligan, who emptied the cup and bucket. Jerry had to stay put.

Jerry came to know Jim Mulligan even more intimately. With weeks of uninterrupted time together, Jerry shared his life’s story and his innermost concerns. Mulligan did the same. They considered each other through the lens of their common Catholic faith, which also helped sustain them hour by hour. Jerry would pass vast blocks of time in prayer, reciting the rosary over and over. He tried to remain thankful; many other aviators had died at shootdown. Jim Mulligan and Jerry believed their ordeal had purpose; they couldn’t let themselves think otherwise. Perhaps God intended them to emerge as better men. They made themselves open to those lessons: They couldn’t control their circumstance, but they could control how they responded.

Immobilized on his bunk day and night, tormented by mosquitoes, and covered with perspiration, Jerry’s mind drifted to various parts of his life. He often returned to his years at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. He’d decided to attend during his sophomore year at McGill Institute. He saw the 1937 film Navy Blue and Gold, starring Jimmy Stewart and Lionel Barrymore. After that, he didn’t want to go anywhere but Annapolis. He admitted to himself he loafed along in high school. He thought the challenge of becoming a naval officer would summon his very best. He applied for admission.

After long months of waiting, he earned an acceptance and arrived on the Yard, as the Naval Academy calls its campus, in 1943 with brimming confidence but little understanding of his new world. He made an unfortunate entrance. Jerry had been a high school quarterback and never lacked swagger. First year midshipmen, called plebes, weren’t supposed to show any swagger, however. Jerry arrived in Annapolis with an empty stomach. Before registering, he sauntered into the dining hall, filled a plate, and sat at a table with several upperclassmen. Galled by the temerity of this plebe, one upperclassman began a personal campaign to drive Jerry out of the Brigade of Midshipmen, the student body. Throughout the fall, he had Jerry running drills in the rain, counting out endless push-ups, and reciting naval knowledge and trivia. Finally, Alan Shepard, who would become the first American in space, feared the relentless hazing would, in fact, run this promising young plebe out of the Academy. He finally told Jerry’s tormentor to leave Midshipman Denton alone.

Thinking back to those miserable months, Jerry abruptly proclaimed out loud, “Jim, if this place gets any worse it will be almost as bad as my plebe year at the Naval Academy!” Both men burst into laughter. Guards yelled at them, but they kept laughing. They had companionship. They had a common enemy. And they had little to lose. Release and homecoming seemed ever more distant and even unlikely.

As Jerry had predicted, guards released him and Mulligan from the stocks on September 2, North Vietnam’s Independence Day. They mercifully returned the precious mosquito netting too.

The Camp Authority did not extend mercy for long, or to many. Several weeks later, guards arrived and dragged Jerry through the adjacent cellblock—the Desert Inn—and into a dark corner of Little Vegas. He thought he’d arrived in the Mint, a special punishment section about which he’d heard. Guards pulled his hands behind his back and cuffed them. A blindfold went over his eyes and a gag went into his mouth. The guards pushed Jerry through one small door into a small anteroom. They opened yet another door and shoved him into a filthy cell; to Jerry, all the Hilton’s cells looked alike now. Worse, they smelled and felt alike: pungent, steamy, and hopeless.

He continued to suffer for the BACK US directive; the united POWs were maintaining their hard line against the Camp Authority. Nearly every quiz Jerry had in September and October focused on the POW leadership and its resilient communication system. Cat, Rabbit, and their henchmen seemed to obsess over framing POW leaders and exposing the command structure. POWs thwarted them at every chance; many paid a stiff price to protect Jerry, Jim Stockdale, and other leaders. After pumping Jerry unsuccessfully for information in one session, Flea said with some resignation, “Denton, I think that no matter what we do, you will not tell us anything [about the POW organization].”

“That’s right,” Jerry responded boldly. Flea looked at Jerry for a long moment, then sighed. “Get up. Go back to your room,” he said, waving his arm. Jerry sensed a change for the worse was coming.