View from Above
Carl Nelson
Captain Michael G. Slattery’s article, “Conspicuous Gallantry Under Fire” (April, pp. 24–27), was a well-written account of then–Lieutenant (junior grade) Tom Richards’ incredibly heroic conduct on 30 January 1971 while under heavy fire from the enemy. I know, because I had a front-row seat at an altitude of approximately 80 feet, as I was the fire-team leader of a flight of two Navy UH-1B Seawolf helicopter gunships and the coordinator of a UH-1L Sealord “slick” helicopter. Lieutenant (junior grade) Ed Dyer was the commander of the slick, which transported SEAL Team One’s Zulu Platoon to and from the landing zone (LZ).
While the policy of Helicopter Attack Squadron (Light) Three (HA[L]-3) was that only flights of two or three helicopters were permissible to allow for proper mutual coverage in combat, on 30 January, we covered Zulu’s insert and extraction with a single helicopter gunship. After leading the slick into the LZ, I entered a left orbit to provide fire coverage and to allow the platoon to exit the helicopter and get into position. I then covered the slick’s exit from the LZ to orbit in a safe area nearby. My wingman should have been 180 degrees opposite me in the orbit, but he was not in sight and failed to answer my radio calls.
I continued to call him with no response, but with Zulu in a rapidly deteriorating situation, I could not search for him. As I went back to cover Zulu, Richards came on the radio and asked for a strike, as the platoon was under heavy fire.
We placed an airstrike with M134 mini-guns (fired by my copilot, Lieutenant [junior grade] Earl Shaut) and 2.75-inch rockets. We then continued a low orbit over Zulu while taking heavy ground fire. From overhead, I could see Richards pulling his wounded team across dikes in the rice paddy to safety. I literally did “pedal turns” over Zulu to allow my door gunners (Petty Officers Mike Dobson and Tom Klavon) to place accurate cover fire with their M-60 machine guns.
Richards called for immediate extraction, and Dyer came into the LZ “hot,” making a great approach under heavy enemy fire. Meanwhile, Richards dragged his men to the slick and loaded them inside. After a head count, my gunship led the slick out of the LZ while providing cover fire.
My intent, after getting Zulu Platoon back to our base, was to return and search for my missing wingman. As we cleared the LZ and headed south with the wounded SEALs, Petty Officer Dobson called out, “Sir, our wingman just joined up on us.” My wingman later explained that he had lost power and landed a few kilometers short of the LZ and troubleshot the problem while on the ground. By the time he got airborne, the operation was over.
HA(L)-3 Detachment One had many action-filled days flying in support of two SEAL platoons; the missions almost became routine. However, watching Tom Richards that day drag his platoon across those dikes with no cover while under heavy fire was the single most heroic action I ever witnessed. His actions obviously warranted an award. I had always assumed he received a Silver Star or possibly a Navy Cross. I only learned of the Bronze Star award decades later. That injustice should be rectified.
The Wisdom of Holloway
Harlan Ullman
I had the great fortune to know Admiral James Holloway III briefly while he was Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) and more so after he retired (“A Strong Hand on the Helm,” April, pp. 18–22). Three anecdotes reflect on his character. While I was in OP-96 (Systems Analysis Division, Office of the CNO), the head of a well-known think tank regarded some advice I had given him about a contract with the Defense Department as an affront to his organization. He was dead wrong, and my advice proved correct. However, politically connected, he appealed to Admiral Holloway to have me censured. The admiral thanked this person for the input and then said he would be better advised to stick with running his think tank and not interfering with the running of the Navy.
After the admiral retired, we became close in his capacity as president of the Council of American-Flag Ship Operators. He remarked to me that after his last carrier night landing, he gave up smoking—something that only a very secure person would admit.
His former executive assistant, Vice Admiral John Poindexter, was President Ronald Reagan’s National Security Advisor when the Iran-Contra scandal broke. Knowing this would not end well, Holloway invited his former EA to lunch at the Metropolitan Club. During the meal, he asked Poindexter who his lawyer was. Poindexter said he did not think he needed one. The old CNO rendered the best advice: “Admiral, if you do not have a lawyer by COB, I will find one for you.”
These vignettes are small insights in comparison to his service on board destroyers in World War II battles, flying missions over Korea, and taking the Seventh Fleet into Haiphong Harbor. But they speak volumes about a very distinguished and great man.
The Enterprise, not Nimitz
Boatswain’s Mate First Class Gregory E. Hausler, U.S. Navy (Retired)
“A Strong Hand on the Helm” was an informative salute to a fine naval officer who was CNO when I started my naval career. However, the author’s description of the USS Nimitz (CVN-68) as the first nuclear-powered aircraft carrier is in error. That honor belongs to the USS Enterprise (CVN-65). I ended my career on board the USS John F. Kennedy (CV-67), one of the last two fossil-fuel carriers. My daughter honorably served in two carriers, one of which was the “Big E.”
Listening in on Rumrunners
Merlin Dorfman
In his article, “Busting Smugglers & Breaking Codes” (February, pp. 42–49), William Thiesen mentions the radio intelligence activities that were part of the anti-liquor-smuggling effort. To learn more on the subject, readers can download a National Security Agency historical document: “Listening to the Rumrunners: Radio Intelligence during Prohibition,” available at www.nsa.gov/Portals/70/documents/about/cryptologic-heritage/historical-figures-publications/publications/pre-modern/rumrunners.pdf.