Valor Friday

Lt. Col. Iceal “Gene” Hambleton

Where last we left Lieutenant Colonel Iceal “Gene” Hambleton and 1st Lieutenant Mark Clark they were trapped in South Vietnam, amidst the largest North Vietnamese Army (NVA) combined arms offensive of the war. It was April 5, 1972, and Hambleton had been alone on the ground for three days after being the lone survivor from his RB-66 Destoryer getting shot down. Clark had been part of the rescue effort when his OV-10 Bronco had been shot down. The two men had linked up, as they were surrounded by tens of thousands of NVA troops. NVA troops that were using them, quite successfully I might add, as bait for USAF and Army aircraft.

Rough positions of Cam Lo Bridge, Hambleton, and Clark

After a day of bad weather on the 5th, the 6th saw another concerted attempt to rescue the stranded aviators. The mission was of particular import as Hambleton (nearing retirement after a career dating back to the Second World War) had significant experience with American ballistic missile systems. His capture would be a major boon for the North Vietnamese, and even moreso to their communist allies in the Soviet Union.

A-1H Skyraiders and HH-53C Super Jolly Green Giants over Vietnam. Sandy mission: Locate, Identify, and Protect

A flight of four A-1 Skyraider “Sandys” softened the area with bombing and strafing runs, to drive the enemy back from Hambleton’s location. Two HH-53 Jolly Green Giants were also dispatched. Around the greater battlespace, American fighters flew 52 sorties, and B-52s were bombing nearby Cam Lo. In response, the NVA launched at least 80 surface-to-air missiles. It was estimated that Hambleton and Clark were in the midst of five or six NVA air defense battalions.

The pilot of Jolly Green 67, Captain Peter Chapman, was directed by the on-scene commander in Sandy 01 to pick up Hambleton first, and then attempt to grab Clark. Coming into the area at about 1700 hours, after hours of aerial bombardment to soften up the enemy defenses, Sandy 01 gave the go ahead for Jolly Green 67 to make the attempt. Enemy activity had been reduced, and even though he feared a trap, they had to try.

Coming in over the river, Jolly Green 67 had flying above and behind him the other HH-53, Jolly Green 60. As Chapman came over the river, they started taking fire from all sides. Arriving near where Hambleton was hidden, Chapman called for him to pop his smoke grenade so they could locate him. The big helicopter was being pummelled by small arms and anti-aircraft fire. Hambleton hesitated in lighting his grenade, enough to see that Jolly Green 67 wasn’t going to make it.

The lumbering chopper was critically damaged before they even got to touchdown. Captain Chapman and his co-pilot struggled to get more altitude, but the relentless enemy fire just did more and more damage to their ship. They flew east, further into enemy held territory before turning southeast and towards friendly ground. They only made it a few kilometers before the left engine showed fire. The massive 1,400 horsepower turbine’s failure precipitated the breakup of the airframe, as parts of the helicopter’s tail boom struck the main rotor. The ship rolled over and crashed hard on its left side, sparking a massive fire that burned so hot it melted the airframe and didn’t self-extinguish for three days. No rescue signals were ever received, and all six crewmen were listed as missing in action;

Pilot – Captain Peter Hayden Chapman II
Co-Pilot – Captain John Henry Call III
Para-Rescuemen – Tech Sergeants William Roy Pearson and Allen J. Avery
Crew Chief- Tech Sergeant Roy D. Prater
Combat Photographer – Sgt. James Harold Alley

The remains of Jolly Green 67 and her six crew were recovered in the 90s and officially accounted for in September 1997. Captain Chapman had volunteered for the mission despite being set to rotate home soon.

Hambleton and Clark, about a thousand yards apart but still not linked up due to the heavy enemy movement in the area, both had just watched their last chance of rescue go down in flames. Six more men just died in what looked to be a hopeless effort to save them. Hambleton considered surrender. When he voiced this concern, the then on-scene commander, Capt. John Van Etten flying an F-4 out of Da Nang reminded him that the sacrifice of those who’d died would be in vain if he were to surrender. Hambleton resolved himself, “Hell, I’m going to get out of this, regardless.”

Hambleton camouflaged his hiding hole and sat there for seven nights and six days. He only left twice to scavenge for food, and thought he was discovered on his second trip out when spotted by a bot and his dog. Twice the prowling enemy moved to within 20 feet of his hiding spot.

After five days of rescue attempts, the operation was called off for a time. Ten men had been killed, two captured, and two remained behind enemy lines. Five aircraft had been lost, and another 16 were seriously damaged. The LZ to get Hambleton and Clark was just too hot. The airmen that flew over this area, men who had spent years conducting missions over contested LZs, were surprised by the sheer volume of enemy resistance.

General Creighton Abrams, in command of all US forces in Vietnam was briefed on 8 April about the rescue operation and the high losses. He ordered no more aerial combat search and rescue (CSAR) should be attempted, but with Hambleton’s top secret knowledge, every effort should be made to get him out.

Marine Colonel Al Gray (who would eventually become Commandant of the Marine Corps in 1987) recommended a covert ground exfiltration. The mission was handed to US Navy Lieutenant Thomas Norris. Norris was a Navy SEAL, one of just three SEAL officers and nine enlisted SEALs left in Vietnam. Norris fell under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Andy Anderson, Commander of the Joint Personnel Recovery Center, who would be instrumental in the planning of the operation.

Norris recruited five South Vietnamese frogmen. The operation was supported by a RVN Ranger platoon that set up 20 men and three M-48 Patton tanks in a forward base within observation range of the Cam Lo bridge. For his part, the RVN brigadier general coordinating these resources with the Americans thought the rescue op was insane, and refused any responsibility for what would happen when the rescuers crossed the river.

In order to effect their ground rescue, the team would have to first get Hambleton to the river. How could they guide him through the enemy positions, mine fields, and villages to get him to the pick up point? Moreover, how could they do this over an open frequency they knew the enemy was monitoring?

Somehow the rescuers were made aware that Gene Hambleton was an avid golfer. Moreover, he and his wife had used their time as an Air Force family to play courses the world over, and memorized many of them. The rescuers developed a code that would be absolutely meaningless to literally anyone else. They’d use a golf course tee that he knew to indicate to the seasoned navigator where he should go, and what he should do.

When Hambleton’s radio squawked with the line, “You’re going to play 18 holes and you’re going to get in the Swanee and make like Esther Williams and Charlie the Tuna. The round starts on No. 1 at Tucson National,” his first response was “What have you been smoking?” After mulling it over, he started to see through the code. “It took me a half-hour to figure out they were giving me distance and direction,” Hambleton explained. “No. 1 at Tucson National is 408 yards running southeast. They wanted me to move southeast 400 yards. The ‘course’ would lead me to water.”

It was 10 April, and Hambleton moved through the abandoned Vietnamese village that had held the anti-aircraft guns that shot down his comrades. Though bombed to hell and back, there was one enemy soldier on patrol that confronted Hambleton. The exhausted, sleep-deprived, malnourished 53 year old man wrestled with the NVA soldier and killed him with a knife in hand-to-hand combat.

Using the golf code, Hambleton was guided forward, past enemy locations. At one point he was told there was a “refreshment stand” where he would have to “tap his own keg” nearby. He found a banana plantation, the trunks of banana trees can be tapped for water. Getting some fresh water was a brief respite, as Hambleton soon got disorientated, lost, and fell off a cliff, breaking his arm.

Meanwhile, Clark was similarly being guided to rescue, but he and Hambleton were still worlds apart. The Air Force directed B-52 strikes on nearby targets to distract the enemy from looking for the two stranded aviators. Anderson and Norris called in airstrikes to weaken enemy positions before they made their attempt across the river. The enemy responded with mortar and rocket fire, hitting the team’s position. Anderson, who spoke Vietnamese, was wounded. So too were several of the RVN troops with them. They needed to be evacuated.

Norris was now the officer in charge of the operation, and he was left with five RVN Commandoes that spoke little English. Since Clark was closest to their starting point, Norris made to rescue him first. They initially planned to swim up river, but Norris tested the current and found it too strong. They directed Clark to enter the river and float down to them, which in his weakened state after days alone hiding must have seemed like the biggest leap of faith.

Anderson had left Norris with orders not to go any further than 1km up river. He ignored that order, and moved twice that far with his small team. They crept past frequent NVA patrols, trucks, and tanks. If they were discovered, they’d have been killed, or worse, and the rescue for the two fliers would face a final, deadly setback.

Clark took the plunge into the cold river, and began his float to freedom. Some time betweeen 0200 and 0300, Norris could hear the pilot’s labored breathing out on the water. He was about to get in the water to go get him when a six-man NVA patrol wandered by between him and the river. He had no choice but to hold back and hope that the enemy didn’t hear the stricken airman’s breathing. Any of use of Norris’s weapons would alert the enemy, who numbered in the hundreds if not thousands and completely surrounded them.

By the time the patrol had passed, so too had Clark. Norris radioed to Clark to exit the river. He’d come find him. Norris left the safety of his team and floating down the river himself, alone, to look for Clark.

Near dawn, Norris spotted some movement, and saw Clark hiding behind a sampan on the riverbank. The SEAL must have looked a bit…wild shall we say…as Clark needed to be convinced to come out of his spot so that he and Norris could go back up-river to link up with his team. They did just that, with Clark brought back to the RVN Ranger observation post, where Clark was treated and evacuated to Da Nang.

Elsewhere along the river, after Hambleton’s fall, the FACs flying above continued to maintain radio contact with him. They directed one of the Sandys to drop a rescue pack over his position, which would give him some food and water. The Skyraider came in admirably close to target, dropping the lifeline about 50 yards above his position. Weakened, battered, and bruised, he coudln’t climb to get it.

Two of the Skyraiders flying low over his position were shocked to see Hambleton leave his hiding spot and stand in the open on a sandbar in the river and wave a white flag to them. They didn’t know just how bad it’d gotten for him. After more than a week in hiding and fighting for his life he’d lost 40 pounds.

On 11 April, Hambleton was too weak to move at all any more. He was missing his scheduled radio calls, and the ones he was making were increasingly unintelligible. Norris, well aware of the overwhelming enemy presence up river elected to attempt the trek again to get Hambleton. It was obvious to Norris that he would have to go to Hambleton.

The special operations outpost was targeted by the NVA with mortars, killing two of the RVN commandos. Norris was left with only three men to help him. On the night of the 12th, they travelled four kilometers up river, into the thick of the thousands of enemy. Having braved this far, two of the commandos were unwilling to go any further. They “refused to follow an American just to rescue an American.” With friends like these…right?

Norris convinced them to stay as it was the only way they’d all make it back. They looked for two more hours before they reluctantly returned to their FOB. The next night, 13 April, Norris went back again, but left behind the two men who’d faltered the night before.

Norris was going to alone when RVN Navy Petty Officer Nguy?n V?n Ki?t, the one RVN commando that hadn’t threatened to leave, insisted on joining him. Norris bluntly told him that he wasn’t sure either of them would make it back, but Nguy?n joined him all the same. They moved now through the heavy enemy coverage alone to find the needle in the haystack that was Hambleton, a man that would likely need to be bodily carried to safety.

Norris and Nguy?n moved slowly up river. They came to an abandoned village and found some clothing and a sampan. Donning native clothing (including Norris, who was on the lean side for an American), they disguised themselves as fishermen and continued up the river. Rowing upstream, they could see enemy troops all around, including enemy tanks. At one point when Norris stopped to check his map, he was startled to see two enemy troops just 10 yards away. Luckily, they were both asleep, so they carried on.

Breaking through a fog, they found themselves more than four kilometers north of their starting point, and directly under the strategic Cam Lo Bridge, which was held by the enemy. They’d passed Hambleton’s last known location some 30 minutes previously, so they turned around and went back downstream. They put ashore and began to look for Hambleton.

They found him hidden in a clump of bushes. He was delerious and down to just 128 pounds. With sunrise coming soon, the smart choice was to hide for another day, but the SEALs knew that Hambleton might not make it another 24 hours. They got their sampan, and despite the risk, loaded Hambleton in the bottom of the boat, covered him with leaves, and made like fishermen again.

With daylight now upon them, the enemy wasn’t having their ruse. They were soon spotted by enemy troops, some of whom fired at them, but Norris and Nguy?n didn’t dare draw even more attention by returning fire. They paddled furiously downriver in a desperate attempt to make it to safety. As they rounded a bend in the river, the enemy attacked them with a machine gun.

The frogmen took to the shore and flipped over the sampan for some cover. Overhead the FAC heard a call for air support, and vectored in four A-4 Skyhawks from USS Hancock, that blew the fuck out of anything they could around our heroes. A-1 Skyraiders also assisted, dropping still more bombs and smoke to create a screen. The SEALs disappeared into the smoke and soon linked up with some RVN troops.

Hambleton was too weak to even move and needed to be carried back to their bunker where he and his two rescuers were soon evacuated by armored vehicle to Dong Ha. By now the news media in-country was well aware of the significant resources expended in the Bat 21 rescue operation, and a reporter commented to Norris, “It must have been tough out there. I bet you wouldn’t do that again.” Norris replied, “An American was down in enemy territory. Of course I’d do it again.”

Which is why Norris would receive the Medal of Honor for his actions these past few days. He was the second SEAL to receive the medal during Vietnam, and one of only three SEALs to receive the honor during the war. Interestingly, a few months later, Norris would be nearly killed and dramatically rescued by another American SEAL, then-Petty Officer First Class Michael Thornton. Thornton would receive the Medal of Honor for that rescue.

Nguy?n was enthusiastically recommended for the Navy Cross by Norris. He received that honor, the only man of the South Vietnamese Navy to ever receive it. It is the highest award that can be given by the US military to members of foreign militaries for gallantry in action. Post-war, Nguy?n made it to America after the Fall of Saigon, became a US citizen and worked for Boeing for more than 20 years.

Norris would medically retire from his war wounds, but was able to pass the entry exams for the FBI. He worked as a Special Agent for the FBI for 20 years before retiring. He was a founding member of the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team (HRT), the agency’s version of SWAT.

Hambleton was evacuated from Vietnam to the Philippines. He spent a month there recuperating. He retired from the Air Force, and had received the Silver Star, the Distinguished Flying Cross, an Air Medal, and a Purple Heart for his actions during the ordeal. The book and movie about it did not feature Norris’s rescue, as at the time that was still classified.

Hambleton retired to Tucson, where he died in 2004 at age 85. His wife of 61 years, Gwen, preceeded him in death by nine months. Unsurprisingly, Gwen had been active in the local golf community, and held several positions in the Arizona Women’s Golf Association and the Davis Monthan Golf Group.

The other men of Bat 21 were;
Pilot – Major (Promoted to Colonel while listed as MIA) Wayne Bolte
Co-Pilot – 1st Lieutenant (now Captain) Robin Gatwood Jr
EWOs:
Lieutenant Colonel (now Colonel) Anthony Giannangeli
Lieutenant Colonel (now Colonel) Charles Levis
Major (now Lieutenant Colonel) Henry Serex

All five men remain listed with the DPAA as missing in action.

In 1997, at the memorial service for the recovered crew of Jolly Green 67 at Arlington National Cemetery, Hambleton was unable to attend due to ill health. A letter was read from him instead, that said in part, “They deserve all the accolades that we, the living, can bestow upon them. Again, I thank them, I honor them, and I will always hold great faith in my heart with them.” Clark was present, and he told the families, “Each of you played a distinct role and forming the character of these men who so willingly paid a very dear price to help me get out of the jungles of Vietnam. You have my deepest sympathy—you and these six brave men.”

Military service was a trait in the Hambleton family. Though Gene and Gwen didn’t have children, Gene’s younger brother also joined the Air Force during World War II. Gilbert Hambleton (1920-2008) was a B-17 pilot in the European Theater with the 8th Air Force during the war. He flew 30 missions during the war, and continued to serve post-war and retired from the Air Force in 1965 as a colonel. Gilbert’s son (and thus Gene’s nephew) Michael (1949-2010) continued the family tradition. He attended the US Naval Academy, graduating with the class of 1971. He became a naval aviator and retired in 1994 as a commander.

If you remember from Part 1, Bill Jankowski was a young 1st Lieutenant and FAC flying an O-2 Skymaster on the day Gene Hambleton was shot down. He was the first person to make contact with Gene as he was descending from 30,000 feet. Jankowski was twice shot down in the same day (once in his O-2 and then minutes later in the helicopter sent to rescue him) and left Vietnam with a DFC, a Purple Heart, a Bronze Star, and three Air medals. He moved to the reserve components in the late 70s, and despite being scheduled to retire in 2000 as a lieutenant colonel, took a one year extension due to pilot shortages, then a three year extension. Which led him, after 33 years of service, to be on active duty flying B-52s for the Iraq War.

Category: Air Force, Historical, Medal of Honor, Navy Cross, Search and Rescue, Valor, Vietnam, We Remember