Welcome To Air America
How Two Air America Helicopters Completed the Largest Combat Rescue of the Vietnam War
By the spring of 1972, the war in Vietnam had changed its complexion since 1965. America's role of providing fighting men had all but ended, and the lead belonged to the Army of Vietnam. The war in Laos had escalated. American ground troops were forbidden in the country, but the air war had increased significantly.
The road network along the Vietnam and Laotian border was commonly called Ho Chi Minh's Trail. It had previously been occupied by the North Vietnamese soldiers and supplies were streaming southward into the Vietnam Delta. Now, it was used to supply enemy troops in southern Laos. Air America used a simple term and called it the road. Only a few people have seen it. Those who worked the area long enough to know about its hazards really did not want to see it.
The North Vietnamese Army took personal offense at being bombed and strafed. They responded with 23 and 37-millimeter guns that could knock down any type of aircraft.
Increased firepower by the United States Air Force was badly needed.
One aircraft designed to meet this demand was the AC-130 Gun Ship. It looked like a fire-breathing monster when you watched it operate at night. No one
would believe that anyone or anything would dare its wrath. Still, the aircraft was vulnerable, and its mission was difficult.
These aircraft were designated with a call sign of Specter, which accurately described their mission and capability. Specter 22 launched out of Ubon, Thailand, on March 30, 1972, and headed east toward the road. It carried a crew of 15. The entire crew's attitude was serious and guarded.
Everyone knew there were no survivors on the Specter that went down the night before. There was probably vengeance on their mind, but these were professionals. Their mission was to interdict traffic on the road, stop it in its tracks, and return home safely. On this night, it was going to be a longer-than-normal mission.
They were hit sometime around midnight. The co-pilot looked out his right-side window and could see nothing but a sheet of flame engulfing the wing. It was obviously a mortal wound, and he thought to himself, "My God, they've got another one."
The aircraft commander ordered everyone to bail out. That was their only option.
The co-pilot, running on 90% adrenaline and 10% seven-up, beat a path through a darkened aircraft and leaped out the back into a black night. He floated down in the dark and hit the ground on the very road he had been strafing. As luck would have it, there was no visible traffic, and he found cover in some bushes while turning on his survival radio.
Although he did not know it at the time, when ordered to bail out, he had passed several others when he made his exit.
Another crewmember floated down in proximity, but on an elevated ridge, a few hundred yards to the West.
An airborne command aircraft scrambled from Korat RTAFB after the distress call and started coordinating appropriate aircraft. His call sign was King 27. Specter one and Specter 21 AC- 130 gunships were in the area trying to raise any survivors on rescue radio frequencies.
It had not been determined how many had survived. Specter 21 provided as much information to King 27 as was available until relieved by Specter 20. By this time, it had been determined there were survivors, but the actual number was unknown.
Specter 20 had made radio contact with some survivors and learned that the aircraft had traveled some distance between being hit and bailing out.
King 27 started to plan the on-scene operation with the assumption that most had gotten out of the aircraft and were potential survivors.
His objective was to start a communication network and night visually search for as many as 15 men in preparation for a night recovery or a first light attempt.
Thence began the largest and most complex combat rescue operations ever attempted in the Vietnam War.
King 27 requested multiple FACs. (Forward Air Control) aircraft with a call
sign of "Nail" to overfly the target area and attempt communication on each of the four rescue frequencies. Allocating one frequency to each of four Nail FACS as they arrived on scene, he began a nightlong process of gathering information and eventually made radio
contact with all 15 crewmembers.
Since the on-scene time was limited for each FAC, due to his fuel endurance, a cycling of aircraft was necessary. Replacement aircraft had to enter the
subject area to continue the operation after being briefed. Concurrently, King had obtained fighter-bomber resources to orbit awaiting a possible need to deliver ordinance on enemy forces, which might compromise the safety of the survivors.
As the night progressed and more survivor locations were detected, SAR forces were launched from Nakhon Phanom and Da Nang in case rescue attempts could be made before first light. These included Jolly Green helicopters using LNRS (Limited Night Recovery System) techniques (night vision goggles) and A-1 Sky Raiders for close air support.
Because of the scope of this rescue operation, all airborne resources (SAR, fighter-
bombers, FACS of all sorts) were made available for this mission.
Additionally, Air America helicopter resources were requested to aid in the effort.
Bruce Jachens had been operating a UH34D all day out of Savannakhet, a few miles to the North. He had settled in for the night at the L-39 Air America hostel when the call came for him to launch south. Bruce was a veteran pilot with Air America and had been called upon several times to rescue downed military pilots.
Normally, though, it was done during daylight hours. A night rescue in hostile territory is dangerous, and you stand the chance of having to be rescued yourself.
Almost all southern Laos was hostile territory, and going to the road at night, well, you may stand a chance of being rescued if you survived, but there were no guarantees. Bruce talked it over with his Filipino flight mechanic, and both said, "What the hell" and headed south in H-59.
Just north of Pakse, he joined up with a helicopter from Pakse. H-45 was crewed by me, Chuck Frady and Jimmy Nakamoto. I was the senior pilot and in charge of both aircraft. Bruce was a single pilot in his aircraft. We were operating with two pilots in Pakse due to the increased enemy situation.
We had been working out of Pakse for the last several days. There was no moon, and it was blacker than the inside of a cave. Flying in a night formation without any reference to the ground is not a piece of cake. As luck would have it, both aircraft were ordered to maintain radio silence and stand by. In this case, standing by meant flying in a circle in a virtual Inkpot.
King 27 learned that two survivors had exited the aircraft shortly after it was hit, and they were located approximately 40 miles east of the main congregation of survivors. These two were in deep trouble. King 27 did not know it, but the rest were in a relatively safe area.
He assigned support to this secondary SAR area to determine as much information as possible. Now they had, in effect, a SAR within a SAR. Since the threat to the two survivors on the road was unknown, King decided that if their situation was stable, he would concentrate the search and rescue efforts in the area with 13 known survivors. He would delay the East Side pickups until the primary area recovery operations were underway.
By doing this, King hoped to avoid complications, which would happen if the East Side recovery went badly.
Now that all the crewmembers had been identified, it was decided to wait until first light to pick them up. We were told to stand down and headed to Pakse to secure for the night. It was well after midnight by the time we got to bed. We had no way of knowing about all the preparation and assumed the Air Force was doing its thing without us.
Bruce arose early, breakfasted, and had the Air America kitchen to prepare a bag lunch for later. He did not know at the time that he would be sharing his lunch.
Before Bruce could head back to L-39, the Pakse customer advised us that we were needed to rescue the two survivors on the road.
Once the main group of 13 was in the process of recovery, King had released the East Side recovery and asked for Air America assistance. It was not understood why the USAF SAR aircraft did not go to the trail for the remaining two. Their aircraft were equipped with door gunners and far better for the situation. While the Air America aircraft were antiquated piston engined helicopters with no guns and nothing but guts.
As the saying goes, we are not always allowed to know the reason why. We simply did what was asked. I asked everyone if they were willing to go, and no one hesitated. We launched and headed east.
Halfway to the pickup zone, Bruce experienced a battery fire. His flight mechanic put it out, burning his hand in the process. Under normal circumstances, that would have been reason enough to abort., but Bruce and his flight mechanic agreed to finish the job and continued.
When we arrived in the zone, we contacted both crew members. Using their survival radios. We had F-4 escorts overhead. No one hesitated; we needed to get in and out as quickly as possible. Bruce held his altitude and served as SAR for me, and I picked up the co-pilot without incident. He came running out on to the road and waved at me when I approached.
Once I was was safely away, I instructed Bruce to pick up the other crewmember, and I acted as his SAR.
The UH-34D was primitive by most helicopter standards, even then. Its radial engine had nine large cylinders. At sea level, it produced 1,525 horsepower at 2,800 RPM and 56.5 inches of manifold pressure. It was a basic stick-and-rudder aircraft with a hot-rod engine.
Bruce’s pickup was more difficult than mine. The survivor was near a ledge, and Bruce had to hover close to the ridge above him. On flat ground, a helicopter benefits from the cushion of air created by rotor downwash. Hovering in ground effect allows far more lifting capacity than hovering out of ground effect. The elevation was not extreme, but any elevation reduced the Wright Cyclone’s horsepower.
Bruce could see that, because of the uneven terrain, he would not have the benefit of ground effect. He also faced another problem: the survivor’s parachute lay beside him, and rotor wash could billow it into the blades. Bruce made a pass and motioned for him to move clear of the chute.
He approached into the wind, reducing airspeed while increasing manifold pressure as he descended. This required advancing the throttle to 2,800 RPM and offsetting the increased torque with rudder. He could feel that the helicopter would safely hover over the survivor at full power and zero airspeed.
Bruce then had to hold position while ensuring the RPM stayed constant and that he had enough power to avoid settling into the ridge or onto the survivor. At that point, he was oblivious to everything else and could not have reacted even if fired upon. The survivor’s safety depended on Bruce maintaining an exact position. On cue, the flight mechanic lowered the hoist and collar.
The survivor needed to place the collar around himself and wait to be lifted.
Understandably, he hesitated.
Most of his adult life had been spent in the Air Force. He had been trained in rescue techniques and knew almost instinctively how to respond. But all that training had involved people in Air Force uniforms and aircraft bearing Air Force insignia. Now he was looking up at a pilot who could pass for Russian and an Asian flight mechanic in a civilian uniform.
The helicopter was old and had no visible markings. Who were these people?
Where were his people? He wasn’t sure he wanted to go.
Bruce had his hands full with the controls and knew he was exposed to anyone with a slingshot, much less a 23- or 37-millimeter gun. It was time to get out of there, and the survivor had to decide. Because of the hover height and noise, there was no way to talk or explain.
Finally, reason prevailed. The survivor placed the collar around himself and allowed himself to be hoisted aboard.
Once safely airborne, Bruce joined up with me, and we skedaddled to the west and safety
Bruce asked the flight mechanic, “How’s our passenger doing?”
“He looks a little white around the gills,” he replied.
Bruce reached for one of the sandwiches the cook had made for him that morning and handed it over.
“Give him one of these.”
Leaning toward the frightened survivor, the mechanic handed him the sandwich and said with a smile, “Welcome to Air America.”
This completed the successful recovery of all 15 crew members. The mission would go down in history as the largest successful aircrew recovery of the war. We dropped our survivors at a small airfield near Pakse. I was told later that due to the 1962 Accords, they didn’t want to advertise their presence in Laos. The silliness was blatant. They and many others were bombing the trail nightly, but they didn’t want to be seen in Pakse? The Stars and Stripes wrote the story. There was no mention of Air America.
Acknowledgments:
Donna M. (Tisron) Inman was the wife of one of the survivors, who is now deceased. At first, she believed Air America had rescued her husband. We later learned he had been with the larger group. Her letters to me prompted this story.
David J. Preston was King 27. His letter to Donna provided information about the coordination effort.
Bruce Jachens and Chuck Frady are now deceased. Chuck was an excellent pilot, and if he was ever unnerved, I never saw it. His assistance that night was greatly appreciated.
Jimmy Nakamoto was a Japanese American. He was well respected and participated in several SAR missions while serving with Air America. He was later employed by Boeing.
Allen Cates
Former Air America Pilot
Author
Honor Denied
Above the Rice
The Girl with a Silver Necklace
Integrity’s Conundrum
The Uncertainty Protocol
Copyright © 2026 Allen Cates. All Rights Reserved.