Valor Friday

We discussed yesterday the recent passing of Brigadier General Clarence “Bud” Anderson. He was the last American triple ace still living. He shot down 16 German Luftwaffe planes in the skies over Europe between 8 March and 5 December 1944. He earned five Distinguished Flying Crosses for his successes. Read them here.

Post-war, Anderson remained in the Air Force, was a test pilot during the Korean War (including working on the project that put parasite fighters on the wingtips of B-29/B-50 bombers), served as a F-105 Thunderchief wing in Vietnam, and retired as a colonel in 1972 after 30 years of service. He’d later receive an honorary promotion to the flag ranks. He was also a good friend to Chuck Yeager, who he had served alongside in the 357th Fighter Group in WWII, and then served with him while a test pilot in the early-50s.

You might wonder how a man with so many enemy kills to his credit would have “only” the DFC. Reading through the list of American aces of WWII, I see some trends. The highest scoring “Ace of aces” in each branch of service received the Medal of Honor (Bong [USAAF], Campbell [USN], and Boyington [USMC]). Exceptionally high scoring aces also were awarded MoHs (McGuire, Foss). Many aces (and aviators in general) received the MoH, but most of those awards were for individual acts of bravery.

Most of the “Ace in day” men (those who shot down five enemy in a single day of flying) received the Distinguished Service Cross or Navy Cross for the act. Shooting down five enemy fighters was usually good for at least a Distinguished Flying Cross.

We also lost another American hero with the name Clarence. Clarence Sasser was a private first class combat medic in Vietnam. He was drafted by the Army after losing his student deferment. He’d only spend 51 days in Vietnam, but there’s a reason for that.

Assigned to the Headquarters and Headquarters Company 3rd Battalion, 60th Infantry Regiment (assigned to the 9th Infantry Division), on 10 January 1968, they were conducting a helicopter assault near n Dinh Tuong Province, South Vietnam.

As they were arriving, the men of the 3/60th Infantry were caught in an ambush. The enemy had surrounded the landing zone on three sides, and was dug into defensive positions. They opened fire on the American troops with mortars, automatic rifle fire, rockets, and small arms. In just the opening salvos, more than 30 men were cut down. The Americans were a disorganized mess, with cries of “DOC!” going out all around.

Without hesitation, Sasser ran through an open rice paddy, taking heavy fire from the enemy while exposed, to come to the aid of the wounded. He helped one man to safety, but Sasser was struck in the left shoulder by fragments from an enemy rocket blast. Sasser said he learned early on in this fighting that if you stood up, you died, so he grabbed the stalks of rice and pulled himself around. He didn’t dare get high enough that his pack were visible, as the medics are a prime target for the enemy.

Sasser refused treatment of his own wounds, and returned through a hail of enemy rocket and rifle fire, to provide aid to the other casualties. Moving from man to man, Sasser provided medical care for all he could find. He even searched around to make sure that he found all of his stricken brothers. He didn’t even let another wound or a third stop him. Even when those subsequent injuries rendered his legs completely immobile.

Though in excruciating pain, his legs useless, and going into shock from blood loss, Sasser dragged himself 100 yards through the mud as enemy fire continued without pause above him. Was he returning to the line for his own care? Absolutely not. The medic, you’ll remember they fight unarmed, crawled even further into the melee of battle to answer the screams of a wounded comrade.

Arriving at his next patient, Sasser began to address the man’s wounds. When he heard more Americans calling out for help, Sasser was by now unable to move. He could still shout though, so he continued calling to these two wounded American soldiers, encouraging them to get to him so he could help. When those men made it the 200 yards through the battle, Sasser used his remaining strength to tend to their wounds and kept all three of these men (and himself) alive for more than 2 hours until a relief force was able to retrieve them.

Sasser recalled in the din of combat that he told one man, after dressing his wounds, “Here man, take your weapon.” Then encouraged him with “Let’s try to get out of here.” They’d ultimately spent the whole day fighting in that rice paddy, then hunkered down for the night, as Air Force planes dropped napalm and munitions on the surrounding trees to keep the enemy from overrunning them.

Sasser was evacuated, and would largely recover. He was promoted to specialist five, received the Medal of Honor from President Nixon in 1969, and left the Army. He returned to his native Texas, went to college, worked at an oil refinery, and then had a career working for the Department of Veterans Affairs.

Sasser led a quiet life after his time in Hell. You can tell by listening to him speak of his experiences that he never got over it. Some four decades later, he gave an interview to the Medal of Honor Book project. During the piece, Sasser tears up several times as he recounts the horrors of that day. You can see he’s still haunted by the cries of the men for help that he was just incapable of answering, though he answered far more than any one man would ever be epected to.

Sasser is also humble. He says he was just doing his job, and doesn’t think he did anything “above and beyond.” I’ll disagree, Mr. Sasser, you definitely went above and beyond the call of duty.

Sasser died on 13 May 2024 in Sugar Land, TX at age 76. He was the last living Medal of Honor recipient from the 60th Infantry Regiment. Only four men of the regiment had received the honor for action in Vietnam, and only nine in the regiment’s history (2 in WWI, and 3 in WWII).

Category: Air Force, Army, Historical, Medal of Honor, Valor, We Remember