By Honor Bound Page 8

  “We got to a spot that looked like a good place to beach the sampan and close to where I thought he was. And then we got really lucky. Getting in and out of a sampan is tricky and you have to move slowly and carefully. Once out and onto the bank, I began to slowly make my way along the south bank of the river. I hadn’t gone very far and there he was, sitting by a bush some twenty-five meters from the river, waiting for us. He saw me and his face lit up; he started smiling and waving. And I’m thinking,‘Wow, I finally found this guy.’ It was sort of like it was with finding Clark. I don’t know who was more relieved, him or me. But that feeling came and went very quickly, because now that we had him, we had to get him into the boat and safely back downstream. And having just spent most of the night getting there, we knew there were a whole lot of bad guys between our location and the safety of the outpost—if it was still there.

  “My immediate concern was Hambleton’s condition and how we were going to handle him. He’d been on the ground for eleven days, and I could tell that while he was very glad to see us, he was weak and disoriented. Daylight was going to be on us very soon. I now had to decide if we were going to lay up here for the day and try to make our way back the next night, or to try for it now. There were risks to both, but I was worried about Hambleton’s condition. He had sores on his hands that looked to be infected, and he was scraped, bruised, and dirty. He also had injured his back. I wasn’t sure he could last another day, or if the three of us and the sampan could hide out for another fourteen hours or so before trying to get back to base. So I decided we would go for it, knowing that most of the journey would be made in the daylight.

  “Hambleton was not in good shape, but he was coherent enough to know who we were and that we had come to take him home. He did pretty much what we told him to do, and it didn’t take long to settle him into the bottom of the sampan and cushion him with the life preservers we’d brought with us. Then we covered him up with grass and nipa palm fronds. A sampan is a tricky boat, and, like a canoe, it can be very tippy. Once we were loaded, we had only three or four inches of freeboard, so all movement had to be done carefully or we would take on water. Before we left the bank, I checked in with the FAC on station overhead. I told him in so many cryptic words that we had Hambleton, that even though it would soon be light we were going to try to make a run for it downriver. I also told them that we were going to need some air cover, as there was no way we were going to make it past all those NVA troops and bivouacs without some help. We’d just pushed off the bank when this FAC came back to me and, in a very nice and conversational voice, told me he had no air support for us. I mean, here the whole U.S. Air Force has been trying to get this guy out safely and now that we have a good shot at it he’s telling me I have no air cover. I asked about fast-movers [jet fighter-bombers] and I got the same response. Later I learned that the airbase at Da Nang was under rocket attack and no aircraft from there could sortie, but at the time, it was very frustrating. Yet we had no choice but to keep paddling. It was almost dawn and we had to make use of every bit of the fading darkness.

  “We had two things going for us. One was the current. Paddling with the current yet staying close to the shore, we were moving quickly in relation to someone standing on the bank. If someone on the near shore saw us, we would hopefully be past them before they had time to react. Second, we looked like two fishermen out for a dawn catch, and we might pass out of sight before a closer inspection revealed who we really were. And that’s what happened. We heard movement along the banks and we were probably visible in the dim light, but they didn’t react. There were still some patches of fog on the river, and that helped.

  “After we were on the river for fifteen or twenty minutes, we were spotted by a patrol that was on the move. The light was good enough that I could see they were NVA regulars. They saw us and yelled at us to stop, but we were past them before they could do much. Kiet and I tried to act like we just didn’t hear them, but we were both digging a little harder with our paddles. They didn’t shoot, but they started chasing us along the bank. We were moving with the current and they had to crash through a lot of brush. Then we came to a bend of the river, and soon they were both well behind us and out of sight. However, it showed us just how easily we could be spotted on the water. Fishermen or not, they were not going to let us just coast down the river unchallenged.

  “Later on we passed some rocket and mortar emplacements, but they were abandoned or the NVA troops manning them were still asleep. I was pretty worried about that area where we encountered the tanks refueling, but when we got there the tanks were gone. The refueling tankers were there, and the soldiers around the trucks were busy camouflaging them. The fog was lifting with the sunrise, and it looked like they were trying to conceal the tankers from attack from the air. At any rate, they were too busy to pay us much attention, which was all right by me. I called in the coordinates to the FAC for future attention by our bombers, and turned off my radio. Right then I was focused on the next bend of the river and searching the shorelines for trouble. It was full daylight now, and very dangerous, but I was starting to think we might make it. Just a few more bends and twists of the river. Hambleton was now starting to moan and babble as he tried to talk. I kept whispering to him to keep quiet—to hang on for just a little while longer.

  “All the while, Kiet was doing a great job of paddling up in the bow and keeping a sharp lookout. He would spot something up ahead and signal us into the foliage along the shoreline, and we’d wait until the danger passed. Then we’d move on. Before we got to what I thought to be the last bend in the river, we crossed over to the southern bank so we could be on the same side as the outpost. We’d just cleared the bend when we came under fire from a bunker farther downstream and on the south side of the river. It was a heavy machine gun and it was tearing up branches overhead and putting up water spouts all around us. We had no choice but to put the sampan into the bank and take refuge under a tangle of roots and logs along the shoreline. Somehow Kiet and I managed to keep the sampan in close to shore using a tangle of vegetation for cover. I managed to scramble up the side of the bank to see if there was any infantry in the area. I was worried that they may have been alerted by the shooting and come to investigate. Now that it was light and the fog had lifted, you could see for quite a distance down the river. That NVA gunner had spotted us well upstream of his position. If he’d just waited until we paddled down to his position, he could have easily killed us all, but he engaged us way too quickly. I guess it was a good thing we crossed the river so he could see us coming from a ways off. I don’t even want to think what might have happened if we’d stayed to the north bank and come right past him. We’d have been at point-blank range.

  “I immediately raised my forward air controller and said we really needed some air support. He came back saying that he had some fast-movers [jet fighter-bombers] inbound. I gave him the coordinates of the bunker, which was in a deserted village on the south bank of the river. It stood to reason that if there was one gunner there, there would probably be others. We weren’t going anywhere until this gun emplacement got neutralized. The FAC then marked the target with a smoke rocket, and we waited.”

  Sometimes jets have a hard time spotting targets on the ground, as they’re going so fast, so they need the slow-moving forward air controllers to mark the targets. As it turned out, these fast-movers were F-4 Phantoms from the aircraft carrier Hancock. The USS Hancock (CVA 19) was one of the twenty-four Essex-class carriers built during the Second World War, and Hancock was brought out of mothballs for both Korea and Vietnam. The NVA antiair defenses were minimal that morning and in that area. The F-4s were able to saturate the bunker complex with bombs and rockets. But with friendly lines and safety so close, Norris was taking no chances. After the Phantoms had worked over the target, he again contacted the FAC.

  “I asked the FAC what else he might have available. I knew that a good bunker can often withstand a bombing and since we had to paddle right
by it I wanted to make sure that the gunner was out of action. The FAC said he had a section [two aircraft] of Sandys. Sandy was the call sign for the Air Force A-1 Skywarriors. They were propeller-driven close-support aircraft that could carry a whole lot of ordnance and had the ability to loiter on station for long periods of time. We loved it when the Sandys were overhead. I told the FAC to paste the target again as well as both riverbanks downstream from the village. By now, I had to figure the NVA forces in the area were on full alert, and we were not that hard to spot on the water in the daylight. I also asked for smoke, and I was in luck. One of the A-1s was carrying some smoke canisters. The wind was out of the east, so I had them put the smoke in on the north bank downstream from us. It was perfect. With the second pasting of the village and the smoke drifting over the water, we were able to continue along the southern bank of the river. When we came out from under the cover of the smoke, we were only about five hundred meters from the outpost. I thought we’d be safer on land and in the foliage than on the water, so we beached the sampan. Kiet helped me get Hambleton out of the sampan over my shoulder, and the three of us began to work our way along the shore and up the hill toward the outpost.

  “The smoke the A-1s delivered that day made all the difference. It was not until I attended an A-1 pilots’ reunion forty-three years later, in the summer of 2015, that I was able to thank the pilot who dropped that smoke. His name is Ron Smith. After all those years, it was an honor to finally thank him in person for his help during that rescue mission.

  “Of course, we again had to be careful coming into a friendly position, but Kiet went on ahead and signaled the ARVN rangers that we were coming in. Several of the rangers and our two Sea Commandos came down to help us up the hill and into the bunker. As we made our way up the hill, we came under small-arms fire from across the river. But with the help of the rangers and commandos, we made it back to the outpost, and to the bunker and safety. Once we got Hambleton into the bunker, we helped him to the floor and covered him with a blanket. He was in and out of consciousness, but I managed to get a little bit of warm liquid down him. I checked him over for any major wounds, as this was the first chance I’d had to carefully examine him in the daylight. Anderson had thought to bring a good medical kit with the team gear so we were able to dress some of his wounds. I kept telling him that he was safe now and that things were going to be all right—that we’d soon have him to a hospital. I think he understood, but he was totally exhausted. Someone gave him a cigarette and he seemed to respond to that. I guess if you’re a smoker and haven’t had one in a while, a cigarette can really help. It settled him right down.

  “With Hambleton safely in the bunker, I called for an armored personnel carrier to come and evacuate him, and wouldn’t you know it, we came under mortar and rocket attack again. This was getting to be a daily ritual, and this time it was very intense. I knew that the APCs would not come into the area while we were under attack. And I also knew that sooner or later, these attacks were going to be followed by an infantry assault. So I called the FAC, and he was right there. They knew by now that we had Hambleton at the outpost. The FAC pilot said he had some fast-movers code named ‘Garfish’ on call, but he didn’t know what or who they were. I knew exactly what they were and told the FAC to clear them onto the enemy concentrations across the river from us.”

  Garfish was the code name for Navy A-4 Skyhawk attack aircraft. These A-4s were also from the USS Hancock. In one of those odd twists of fate in war, this flight of A-4s was led by one Navy Lieutenant Denny Sapp. Denny Sapp and Tom Norris had become close friends while Norris and Sapp were both in Naval Flight School in Pensacola, Florida. Sapp finished his flight training and qualified as a naval aviator, while Norris left flight training for SEAL training. Neither Sapp nor Norris at the time knew of this coincidence until the incident was recalled years later. Following Vietnam, Denny Sapp went on to become the solo pilot with the Navy’s famed Blue Angels Flight Demonstration Team.

  “Once the A-4s cleared the target area, the FAC brought in more Air Force A-1 Sandys, and they continued to work over the NVA positions across the river. There now seemed to be no shortage of air cover for the outpost and Hambleton. The mortars and rockets stopped and the APC came into the outpost. The ARVN rangers helped us move Hambleton from the bunker into the APC. I think they felt that as soon as he was gone, the NVA across the river might lose interest in them. With Hambleton in the APC, I now had to start thinking about the third downed airman. He was out there and still evading capture. I called back to the base at Dong Ha, to the American advisor there, and they said he was still deep in enemy-controlled territory. I learned they were going to try to get him to move at night to a safe area, but that it would take some time and that he would be moving away from the outpost. It appeared that this outpost would not be a jumping-off point for any future rescue. So Kiet, myself, and the other two Sea Commandos were done there. I held up the APC while we hastily grabbed our gear and hopped aboard.

  “As the ramp of that APC came up, I could see the faces of the South Vietnamese rangers gathered around, waving good-bye. They were none too glad to see us descend upon their outpost, and now they were sad to see us go, which was surprising given that half of them had been killed or wounded during our three-day stay. Or maybe they were just sad to see us leave because we took with us the number-one highest priority for American air support in Vietnam. I often wonder how many of them lived through the NVA Easter Offensive. Or through the war, for that matter. My guess is not many.”

  The APC with Hambleton, Norris, Kiet, and the other two Sea Commandos rolled into Dong Ha in late afternoon on 13 April. Both the city and the base at Dong Ha were still under siege by the North Vietnamese. Hambleton was immediately airlifted to Da Nang, where a cordon of reporters was waiting for him. When questioned, Lieutenant Colonel Gene Hambleton issued his famous quote that captured the essence of his ordeal: “It was a hellova price to pay for one life. I’m very sorry.”

  At Dong Ha, Tom Norris, Nguyen Kiet, and the others were busy inventorying their gear, weapons, and radios. Tom was also looking for Lieutenant Colonel Lou Wagner. He knew there was another pilot out there on the ground, and he just assumed that they would be going back out to get him. Wagner, the senior American advisor for the ARVN 1st Armor Brigade, had been their primary contact at the Dong Ha base for the last few days. If a ground recovery operation were to be staged from Dong Ha or the shrinking perimeter around Dong Ha, Wagner would have to be a part of it. As they awaited events at the airstrip of the Dong Ha Combat Base, a reporter found Norris. He was the same reporter Norris had chased from the outpost at gunpoint just two days earlier.

  “I’ll bet you probably don’t want to go back and do that again, huh?” the reporter asked, obviously not knowing Tom Norris.

  “I couldn’t believe this guy. ‘No, you have it all wrong,’ I told him in no uncertain terms. ‘If another American is down and I can help him, then I’m going to do just that.’”

  At the time, both Dong Ha and Quang Tri City were threatened by NVA forces coming in from the west. The ARVN outpost at Camp Carroll had fallen on 2 April, which opened the door for a buildup of NVA armor and infantry in western Quang Tri Province. But the situation at Dong Ha was the most critical. They were threatened from both the west and the north. Civilians were streaming south from the city and clogging Route 1 while ARVN forces were leaving the Dong Ha Combat Base along the same route. In some cases, the withdrawal was orderly; in others it was chaos. With the imminent collapse of Dong Ha, the 3rd ARVN Division was positioning itself to make a stand at Quang Tri City. On the evening of 13 April, Norris and his three Sea Commandos were trucked south to Quang Tri City. There they briefed staff officers and an advanced party of the ARVN 3rd Armor Division on the disposition of NVA forces they had witnessed. Then they found a billet and got some sleep. The next day, Norris learned that Lieutenant Colonel Anderson was at Camp Fay in Da Nang, and checked in with him by phone. The tenacious
Anderson, who was still seriously wounded, had checked himself out of the hospital and was back on the job. Norris’s first question was about First Lieutenant Bruce Walker, Covey 282 Alpha. He was told that Walker was on the ground and still evading, but well north of the Mieu Giang River. There was no immediate chance of a waterborne rescue similar to the recoveries of Mark Clark and Gene Hambleton.

  That afternoon, Norris and his team caught a flight from Quang Tri City to Da Nang and their home base at Camp Fay. Also on that day, 14 April, the Cam Lo Bridge was finally bombed and a section of the bridge was dropped into the Mieu Giang River. And another plane was lost. A Navy F-4 Phantom was brought down by ground fire while attacking NVA targets just north of the Cam Lo Bridge. The aircraft was observed being shot down and crashing, with neither of the crew getting out. No search and rescue effort was mounted.

  Back at Camp Fay, Norris readied another team of Sea Commandos for a potential rescue effort, and tracked the movements of Bruce Walker. Walker was able to hide during the day, but moving, even at night, was difficult. There were simply too many enemy troops streaming south for him to work his way south to the Mieu Giang. On Norris’s recommendation, Walker was instructed to move east and to move only at night. The plan was for Covey 282 Alpha to get to one of the streams east of Route 1 or even to the coast, where Norris and a rescue team might go in over the beach and get to him. Walker did in fact cross Route 1, but a local villager spotted him and alerted the Viet Cong of the American pilot’s movements. In spite of yet another heroic effort by the airborne FACs and close-support aircraft, Bruce Walker was run to ground and killed by Viet Cong irregulars on the morning of 18 April.