The U.S. Navy honored four Sailors from a Vietnam-era helicopter crew during an interment ceremony at Arlington National Cemetery on Thursday, May 2.

Lt. Dennis W. Peterson of Huntington Park, Calif., was the pilot of an SH-3A helicopter that crashed in Ha Nam Province, North Vietnam.

Peterson was accounted for on March 30, 2012. Also aboard the aircraft were Ensign Donald P. Frye of Los Angeles, Calif.; Aviation Antisubmarine Warfare Technicians William B. Jackson of Stockdale, Texas; and Donald P. McGrane of Waverly, Iowa.

The crew was interred in its final resting place in Arlington National Cemetery.

"Taking care of our Sailors and taking care of our family members is important today, just as it was back in 1967," said Cmdr. Anthony Roach, former Commander of Helicopter Sea Combat Squadron 12, which was HS-2 during the Vietnam War. "We could not do what we do without the legacy that they have built for us and we just wanted to show them how important it is to us that they are not forgotten in any way, shape or fashion."

The crew was lost July 19, 1967 when their SH-3A Sea King helicopter was shot down in Ha Nam Province, during a 125 mile at night mission in North Vietnam in an attempted rescue of a downed fellow aviator.

For their actions the crew was posthumously awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and Purple Heart. Peterson was awarded the Silver Star.

"He deserved it. I don't know how else to say it," said Kirsten Peterson, daughter of Lt. Dennis Peterson. "He gave the ultimate sacrifice. We sacrificed. His grandkids sacrificed, so it was overdue. Full honors means a lot."

(This video was shot and edited by Steve Hebert for ProPublica and produced by Steve Hebert for ProPublica and Krista Kjellman Schmidt, ProPublica)

By Peter Sleeth, Special to ProPublica and Hal Bernton, The Seattle Times

WELLSVILLE, Kan. -- The day after Jim Butler learned his son had died in Iraq in 2003, a U.S. Army casualty officer showed up at the family's small ranch to explain what happened.

Your son was hit by a rocket-propelled grenade in the city of As Samawah, the officer said. But he had no other details to offer, nothing about how the fighting came about or what Sgt. Jacob Butler was doing when he was killed. For the grieving father, it wasn't enough. The question of how Jake died gripped him in the days after, in part because he'd made an unusual promise before his son left: If you are killed, I will go and stand where you fell.

So Butler made a simple request to the Army for Jake's casualty report. Rules require one when soldiers are killed in a war zone. Unit commanders are supposed to create and maintain them, along with numerous other field records.

"They said, 'We'll have to see,'" Butler recalled, "because one should have been made."

Nine years later, Butler is still waiting for a report he may never get. As an investigation by ProPublica and The Seattle Times revealed, the Army has lost or failed to keep that document and many other field records from Iraq and Afghanistan.

The 1st Armored Division Jacob Butler's unit is among those lacking many of its records. Documents and interviews show that dozens of units are in similar shape, and that U.S. Central Command in Iraq also lost records related to joint-service operations in the theater.

History is cheated when front-line records are lost. And without them, veterans can face delays securing benefits for combat-related disabilities.

But missing records can have another after effect, creating uncertainty and confusion as survivors struggle with the heartbreak of loss.

Family members of soldiers who die in war are entitled to casualty reports if they request them. That fact did not help Jim Butler. He pressed the Army repeatedly in the months after Jake's death for his casualty report, but got a series of conflicting and perplexing responses instead.

"I felt hurt because I felt they should be truthful," Butler said of the Army. "Is that too much to ask?

"If it turned out Jake was killed by friendly fire, it would hurt, but I could handle it," he said. "If he died by suicide, it would hurt, but I could handle it."

The truth turned out to be far different, but Butler had to dig out the story himself. And he never saw the most complete official account of Jake's death until a reporter provided it.

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