Bravery in the Chaos: Operation Frequent Wind, April 1975

The jungle landscape was cloaked by a thick gray overcast and misting rain that blurred the view from the cockpits as the nine giant U.S. Air Force helicopters flew in a loose formation heading northwest from the sea toward the besieged capital city. 

It was Tuesday, 29 April 1975, and the Republic of South Vietnam was just hours from final defeat by the North Vietnamese army.

The air crews’ mission was on the very edge of combat: to evacuate the last contingent of Americans in South Vietnam and as many “critical” Vietnamese nationals whose jobs or affiliation with U.S. government agencies marked them down for prison or execution under communist rule. They also were bringing several hundred Marines ashore to beef up security. This was their second sortie from the aircraft carrier USS Midway (CVA-41) into Saigon, and would be the last in daylight. 

Also in the air were more than 50 Marine CH-46 Sea Knight, CH-47 Chinook, and CH-53 Super Stallion helicopters flying from the aircraft carrier USS Hancock (CVA-19) and the helicopter carrier Okinawa (LPH-3). Flying close escort were Marine AH-1 Cobra gunship helicopters; Air Force and Navy F-4 Phantom II and A-7 Corsair II jets were providing “top cover” high overhead.¹

Nine days earlier the massive Sikorskys had flown out to the Midway from bases in Thailand as the U.S. Pacific Fleet accelerated plans for the final evacuation of more than 7,000 Americans, Vietnamese, and third-country nationals. This was the last stage of an evacuation process that had begun a month earlier with commercial and military transport flights out of Tan Son Nhut Airport. 

The decision itself to stage the Air Force helicopters from a Navy aircraft carrier was a clear symbol of the unprecedented emergency confronting Admiral Noel Gayler, 61, Commander-in-Chief of U.S. Pacific Command, and his subordinates. 

Captain Lawrence Chambers, 45, had assumed command of the Midway just four weeks earlier. A 1954 U.S. Naval Academy graduate, as a naval aviator he had flown A-1 Skyraiders and A-4 Skyhawks and had commanded the first squadron to operate the A-7 Corsair II. As the first African-American selected to command an aircraft carrier, Chambers later wrote, “In the days ahead I knew I would be tested, and I prayed for the wisdom and courage to make the right decisions.” 

The sudden arrival of the Air Force helicopters marked a major challenge for all hands. Chambers recalled “cursing my luck” that there was not enough time to fully train with the newly arrived Air Force air crews. “None of these Air Force helicopter pilots had ever made a single night carrier landing,” he noted.²

It was but one of many instances where all those involved—from sailors in the 28 warships in the South China Sea, to the embassy staffers and Marine security guards in Saigon—were compelled to literally tear up the rule book to get the job done.³

At 1800, the Air Force helicopters landed at the sprawling Defense Attaché Office (DAO) compound at Tan Son Nhut Airport, six miles from the city center. Once there, they joined the Marine helicopters and dozen UH-1 Hueys flown by the CIA-controlled Air America airline. And it seemed every South Vietnamese Air Force (RVNAF) helicopter that could fly was airborne out of the city searching for refuge on the American ships.

For the men ashore, at sea, and in the air, the next ten hours would become an unprecedented decathlon of life-and-death decisions. 

An Unraveling Situation

Even a half-century later, the fall of the Republic of Vietnam remains a tragic milestone in the long Cold War struggle between the United States and Soviet Union. Eleven years after the United States sent U.S. military advisers to train the South Vietnamese Army (ARVN) in 1962, and eight years after the first of more than 500,000 American combat troops joined the fight in 1965, the Paris Peace Accords had brought an uneasy ceasefire to a bloody war of attrition that had killed 58,281 Americans and several million Vietnamese on both sides.

But the seeds of North Vietnam’s ultimate victory were planted in the agreement, which allowed the North Vietnamese army—the People’s Army of Vietnam (PAVN)—to remain in the areas of South Vietnam its soldiers controlled at the time of the signing on 27 January 1973. By the fall of 1974, 18 months after the last U.S. combat troops had left the country, Hanoi had more than 150,000 battle-hardened troops inside the borders of South Vietnam and was secretly infiltrating tens of thousands more across the border from Laos.⁴

The brute reality, one historian later wrote, was that what was occurring in South Vietnam in 1975 “was no longer America’s war. It was a civil war the South was destined to lose.”⁵

What would escalate into the final North Vietnamese offensive against the South began as an “improvisatory” series of attacks in mid-December 1974 against a pair of provincial towns northeast of Saigon. Two results of that initial fighting triggered Hanoi’s resolve to push for final defeat of the South: The ARVN defenses immediately collapsed and—unlike the North’s “Easter Offensive” of 1972—the United States did not strike back with massive air power.

North Vietnamese General Secretary Le Duan now urged a more aggressive offensive against the South, with the goal of complete victory sometime in 1976. He was mistaken. 

It only took 136 days.⁶ 

Advance Planning Rendered Obsolete

The Saigon Embassy had retooled its evacuation plan in early 1973 after the ceasefire took place. But by early April 1975, the ongoing PAVN offensive had rendered much of the plan obsolete, particularly with the loss of all civilian airports north of Saigon.

While the U.S. presence in South Vietnam was a tiny fraction of the maximum wartime troop strength of 500,000, it was still large enough to seriously complicate any evacuation planning. There were two American installations in Saigon:

The U.S. Embassy was located on a 3.1-acre site at No. 4 Thong Nhut Boulevard in downtown Saigon. It shared a 10-foot-tall perimeter wall with the adjacent French Embassy. The Presidential Palace was less than a mile down the boulevard. The Ambassador and his staff occupied the bottom three stories of the chancery, while the CIA station had the top three floors. The compound included a separate consular office building and a large recreational compound. Other agencies such as USAID and USIA were in separate offices across the city. The total diplomatic and CIA staff numbered about 600 people.⁷

The DAO occupied what had been until 1973 the sprawling headquarters of the Military Assistance Command Vietnam (MACV) at Tan Son Nhut. The organization itself was a creation of the Paris Peace Accords. The agreement allowed the U.S. military to maintain a staff of 50 uniformed officers and 1,200 civilians in Saigon to manage military aid and training for South Vietnam. In addition, another 5,000 civilian U.S. contractors and 6,000 expatriates were in-country, bringing the total to more than 12,000. In 1975, the Defense Attaché was Army Major General Homer D. Smith, 53, a career logistics specialist.⁸

Nine-Week Blitz

Describing the final weeks of the Republic of Vietnam’s existence could be reduced to a simple progression: from tension to panic to chaos. 

In just nine weeks, the relentless North Vietnamese attacks had brought the government to its knees and the ARVN to the point of disintegration. In one assault after another beginning on 10 March, cities deemed all but immune from capture had fallen. The first was Ban Me Thuot, the largest city in the central highlands. Diplomats and Marine security guards at each consulate were forced to flee to safety.

Watching superior PAVN forces roll over his combat units, President Nguyen Van Thieu made a hasty decision on 13 March that only accelerated his nation’s downfall. He ordered all ARVN combat units, including four infantry divisions, to evacuate the northern two-thirds of the country and redeploy around Saigon more than 160 miles to the south. He did not tell the Americans.

Within two weeks, the North had captured the imperial capital of Hue, then encircled and occupied Danang, the second-largest city in South Vietnam. More than 2 million terrified civilian refugees thronged the cities or clogged the deadly highways. 

As for the four ARVN divisions Thieu wanted for Saigon’s defense, only a small handful of smaller units ever succeeded in getting there. Confronted by overwhelming PAVN superiority in armor and artillery, the four divisions collapsed and disintegrated within days of contact. One CIA report concluded that by the end of March, more than 150,000 South Vietnamese soldiers had been either “dispersed, abandoned or annihilated” by the PAVN.⁹

On Monday, 31 March, the Politburo in Hanoi ordered North Vietnamese General Van Thien Dung to mount the decisive offensive against Saigon with the new goal of victory in 1975. With some PAVN units less than 50 miles from Saigon, the DAO staff now began crafting a revised evacuation plan. It had four phases: 

 

• Option I: Evacuation by commercial aircraft from Tan Son Nhut and other airports as required

• Option II: Evacuation by military aircraft from Tan Son Nhut and other airports as required

• Option III: Evacuation by ship from the port of Saigon

• Option IV: Evacuation by helicopter to U.S. Navy ships in the South China Sea.¹⁰  

Throughout the process, the number of “critical” Vietnamese and family members proved impossible to pin down. At one point the estimate reached 200,000.

That same week, Pacific Fleet commander Admiral Maurice F. Weisner ordered the 7th Fleet’s amphibious task force to sea. Designated Task Force 76, the ships were to take station 30 miles offshore in international waters south of Vietnam’s southernmost tip and await orders to launch the evacuation. Commanding Task Force 76 was Rear Admiral Donald Whitmire on board the command-and-control ship USS Blue Ridge (LCC-19).¹¹

It was a formidable collection of warships. Besides the Midway, Hancock and Okinawa, the task force included 13 amphibious ships with helipads and space to accommodate hundreds of refugees apiece. Embarked on the amphibious ships were 6,000 Marines of the Okinawa-based 9th Marine Amphibious Brigade under Brigadier General Richard Carey, prepared to deploy ashore in a dire emergency. Two other carriers, the Coral Sea (CV-43) and Enterprise (CVAN-65), were in the area to provide combat air support if needed. Protecting the formation were eight destroyers and frigates.

The Navy–Marine Corps team that had assembled in the South China Sea for Operation Frequent Wind totaled more than 29,400 sailors and 6,000 Marines.¹²

Ambassador Digs in His Heels

But even as the Task Force 76 ships with their embarked helicopters and Marines were proceeding to the evacuation zone, a crisis was brewing at the U.S. Embassy. Ambassador Graham A. Martin was adamantly opposed to any preparations for evacuation. And as the direct representative of the President, Martin could not be ordered about by the admirals and generals.

Despite the signs of imminent collapse, the 64-year-old diplomat fervently believed the ARVN could successfully defend Saigon and that a negotiated settlement between Saigon and Hanoi was still possible. He feared that any overt sign of American evacuation planning would spark widespread panic. His opposition went so far as opposing plans to cut down a huge tamarind tree in the embassy parking lot for a helicopter landing zone.¹³

“For God’s sake,” the Ambassador said at one point. “Don’t you see that once that tree falls, all America’s prestige falls with it?” 

On 9 April, PAVN units began shelling the suburban city of Xuan Loc, whose capture 12 days later meant that the North Vietnamese had totally cut Saigon off from the rest of the country. Admiral Gayler ordered a major expansion of the ongoing fixed-wing aircraft flights to increase the daily exodus from 500 to 3,000 per day. 

With the situation hopeless, on Monday, 21 April, President Thieu announced his resignation. Saigon became engulfed in panic. Two days later, President Gerald Ford in a speech at Tulane University said the Vietnam War was “finished” as far as America was concerned.¹⁴

For the stressed-out and exhausted Americans at the Saigon Embassy and DAO compound, however, the nightmare was just beginning.

Commercial aviation into the country was halted on 25 April, and military flights out of Tan Son Nhut became the only way out.

On Monday, 28 April, neutralist General Duong Van Minh was sworn in as the fourth president of South Vietnam, replacing interim leader Tran Van Huong. Ten minutes later, North Vietnamese aircraft bombed Tan Son Nhut Airport. C-130 flights were able to resume later, bearing 6,000 more evacuees to Guam and Wake Island, but the respite would be very brief.¹⁵

The crisis exploded at 0330 hours on Tuesday, 29 April. PAVN artillery launched a rocket attack on the airport that cratered the runway, destroyed or damaged several aircraft, and killed two Marine Security Guards. Corporal Charles McMahon and Lance Corporal Darwin Judge were the last two Americans killed in combat in Vietnam.¹⁶ 

The DAO staff had struggled to keep the airlift running smoothly, but the rocket attack forced General Smith to halt the Option II military flights. At that point, more than 50,000 people had safely evacuated, but three times that number were still in Saigon.

Later that morning, Ambassador Martin fought to get the airlift resumed despite the rocket damage and a total breakdown in security at the airport. He finally accepted the shutdown after Admiral Gayler promised General Smith that the Joint Chiefs of Staff would override any State Department order to reopen the airport. At 1025, an exhausted Martin gave in and ordered the Option IV helicopter airlift to begin.  

The only exit out of Vietnam now was through the besieged embassy.¹⁷

Enter the Midway

The Midway had left its home port of Yokosuka, Japan, on 31 March for routine training, although Captain Chambers and his crew were well aware of the PAVN offensive that had just captured Danang and threatened Saigon. On board was Rear Admiral William L. Harris Jr., who as commander of Task Group 77.4 had overall authority over the Midway and its escorts. The routine did not last long.

That afternoon, the Midway had an encounter with a Soviet frigate that crossed ahead, then went dead in the water in her path just as Chambers and his flight deck crew were scrambling to land an F-4 Phantom II with an in-flight emergency. Chambers ordered his helmsman to maintain course directly toward the stopped frigate. At the last minute, the Soviet warship hastily went to full power to avoid being sliced in half. Relief on the bridge over the successful “trap” of the Phantom and the Soviet’s hasty retreat was interrupted when a Pacific Fleet message came in ordering the Midway to prepare for Operation Frequent Wind.

The carrier sprinted south to Okinawa, where she loaded two Marine helicopter squadrons for transfer at sea to the Hancock. Chambers then proceeded to Subic Bay for a ten-day dockside repair pause and to offload 20 aircraft and 500 Air Wing 5 personnel to make space for refugees. Orders to the evacuation zone came after just three days in port. 

Several days later, on 12 April, the Hancock and Okinawa with seven other ships carried out Operation Eagle Pull, the evacuation of the U.S. Embassy in Phnom Penn, Cambodia. Marines flew into the besieged city and rescued Ambassador John Gunther Dean and 288 U.S. Embassy staff, third-country nationals, and Cambodian officials.

Arriving on station 100 miles off South Vietnam on Wednesday, 23 April, Chambers and his department heads began a week of intensive preparations for receiving and processing several thousand evacuees. Some of the steps were straightforward: The Marines installed two M-60 machine guns on the island structure covering the flight deck and mapped out several guard posts where armed Marines would deter unruly behavior or violence. All refugees would be searched for weapons, which would be confiscated.

Realizing that the evacuees would be coming aboard faster than the Midway’s SH-3 Sea King helicopters could transfer them to other ships as planned, Chambers ordered the forward hangar bay and forecastle set aside as berthing areas and designated a number of junior officer bunkrooms for use by families with small children and babies. Cot-sized sheets of bubble wrap were issued as sleeping mats.

To safely move the evacuees off the flight deck, the crew cut 20-foot lengths of rope; two crewmen would hold on to each end of the line, and when refugees disembarked, they would be told to hold on to the rope as they were walked over to the processing station behind the island.

To process and accurately account for each evacuee, the Midway’s print shop created a three-page form handed to each refugee. The document, in both English and Vietnamese, identified each person, where he or she was from, and the names of any family members or contacts in the United States. The ship kept one copy, and as each evacuee transferred out, each form would be checked to confirm the arrival and departure.

As the planning continued, the Midway’s crew also devised a number of “out-of-the-box” solutions for some problems that suddenly materialized.

Since UH-1 helicopters rested on skids when grounded and would be all but impossible to move out of the way, machinists took lengths of “channel iron” and attached wheels underneath. When placed under the skids, the helicopters would then be towed away.

Concerned that the influx of several thousand evacuees could overwhelm the ship’s plumbing system, the damage control team erected a trough privy on the edge of an Aircraft Elevator 2, with screens for privacy. A fire hose mounted at one end continuously flushed the waste overboard.

Chambers and his officers were confident the Midway could handle the task ahead.¹⁸ 

At the other end of the evacuation pipeline, the abrupt cancellation of all fixed-wing flights forced the Option IV helicopter evacuation to shift from the airport to the embassy grounds, where the undermanned Marines were struggling to contain thousands of desperate Vietnamese hoping for the flight out.

Physical protection at the embassy was the responsibility of the elite 64-man Marine Security Force led by Master Sergeant Juan J. Valdez, 37, whose 20-year career had included a combat tour in 1965. He reported to Major Jim Kean, his Hong Kong–based company commander who supervised embassy Marines in 23 countries in the Indo-Pacific region. Two weeks earlier, with Saigon on the verge of collapse, Kean had flown in from Hong Kong to supervise embassy security in person. Before joining the elite embassy Marines, Kean had served two combat tours as an artillery forward observer, receiving the Purple Heart in each one.  

By sunrise on Tuesday, 29 April, the situation both inside and outside the embassy was total chaos. Instead of Martin’s estimated 200 evacuees, there were about 2,000 Vietnamese already cleared for evacuation inside the compound. Another 5,000 desperate Vietnamese clogged Thong Nhut Boulevard and jammed up against the locked gates trying to get in.¹⁹

It was time to play Bing Crosby. For weeks, the American community had been quietly advised that when Armed Forces Radio announced, “The temperature in Saigon is 105 degrees and rising,” followed by the crooner’s ballad “White Christmas,” it signaled that the evacuation was on. Thirty minutes after Martin okayed Option IV, Lieutenant Colonel Al Gray, Carey’s deputy, telephoned the Armed Forces Radio Station and told news announcer Chuck Neil to broadcast the not-so-secret alert.

Time to go.²⁰

An Airlift for the Ages

Everyone involved in the helicopter evacuation hoped to have the maximum number of daylight hours available, but the execute order did not arrive until several hours had passed. While Martin had okayed the airlift at 1025, the Midway’s nine “Jolly Green Giants” did not lift off for Saigon until 1452. The airlift would take place primarily after sunset. 

On board the Midway, it was the disintegrating RVNAF helicopter fleet that won the race to sea. That morning a Vietnamese-crewed CH-46 and a UH-1 Huey approached and landed with a handful of passengers.

A third helicopter, also a Huey, touched down at 1417. To Captain Chambers looking down from the bridge, the arrival served as concrete proof that the Saigon regime was gone. “With deep sorrow I recognized the [former] Vice President of South Vietnam, General Nguyen Cao Ky, when he disembarked on my flight deck. At that moment, I knew it was all over.” 

Dressed in his tailor-made flight suit with a white silk scarf about his neck, Ky still looked to be the fierce anti-communist who had risen to become the second-most powerful general in South Vietnam. Yet like every other evacuee, Ky was searched for weapons; his three handguns were confiscated and tossed overboard. Only then were he and a half-dozen senior officers with him allowed to cross the flight deck for processing and a quick transfer by SH-3 to the Blue Ridge. It was a moment of deep irony: Nine days earlier, speaking at a packed rally near the Presidential Palace, Ky had thundered, “Anyone who flees our beloved country while the enemy advances upon us is a coward!” Now he was just one of countless refugees fleeing Vietnam.

Elsewhere across the swath of water, other Task Force 76 ships were also inundated by RVNAF helicopters and even a few light aircraft. Many of the small planes would swoop down close to a ship, a door would open, and men, women, and children would jump into the water as the pilot ditched. Scores drowned.²¹

While the Embassy airlift did not get up to speed until about 1800, the Midway flight deck crew handled a steady flow of arrivals and departures during the afternoon. The nine Jolly Green Giant transports returned from Saigon with their first loads nearly two hours later. They would pause on the flight deck, their giant rotors whirling, only to disembark evacuees, change flight crews, and to refuel. Interspersed with the nine Sikorskys were Air America and RVNAF Hueys, and the ship’s SH-3 Sea Knights ferrying evacuees to the other ships. 

The primary airlift helicopters would continue making the 45-minute flight from Task Force 76 to Saigon and back until shortly before sunrise.²²   

At 2250, the Marines at the DAO compound boarded helicopters for the embassy and the Task Force 76 ships. In the last eight hours, 50 Air Force and Marine helicopters had carried 295 Americans and 4,500 Vietnamese out from the compound without a casualty. As the last helicopter lifted off, one passenger saw a long column of PAVN tanks crossing the flight line, illuminated by the massive fires set by Colonel Gray and a squad of Marines to burn down the former MACV headquarters.²³

The embassy evacuation continued nonstop as the clock stuck midnight on Wednesday, 30 April. Marine CH-46 helicopters touched down on the rooftop helipad every ten minutes to pick up a load of evacuees. The larger CH-53s were doing the same down on the landing zone where the tamarind tree had once stood. Each type carried between 100 and 250 passengers. 

At this point, concerned that the fatigued helicopter pilots might prove a safety threat to themselves and their passengers, the White House ordered a pause in the airlift until dawn. But after a brief but fierce debate up and down the chain of command, the flights resumed.

The end finally came when President Ford personally ordered the airlift to end at 0345 hours Saigon time. He also ordered Ambassador Martin to leave on the next-to-last flight out. Stubborn to the end, Martin refused. When the perplexed Sea Knight pilot returned to Blue Ridge and reported this to Carey, the enraged brigadier general sent him back. This time, Martin boarded the CH-46 without protesting for the 45-minute flight out to the Midway. 

It had been a hectic evening, with no less than 30 helicopters arriving on board the Midway with evacuees and lifting off again for more. So far, the carrier crew and aviators had managed to land and process 1,977 evacuees, including 164 Americans, 20 reporters, 1,174 Vietnamese, and two Dutch Embassy staffers.²⁴

The lull abruptly ended at 0200 when a helicopter crash on board the nearby Hancock rendered her flight deck temporarily unusable. Eight Marine helicopters assigned to the carrier were in the air and all reported they were critically low on fuel. 

Chambers directed the flight deck crew to clear two landing spaces at the bow and orchestrated a careful refueling ballet. He allowed each one to land and receive just enough fuel to continue flying for a short period while servicing the next ones. This continued until the flight deck crew had been able to “bootstrap” all eight helicopters with full fuel tanks to orbit the Hancock until her flight deck was cleared.²⁵

The embassy airlift ended as it had begun—in chaos and violence. With the President’s abrupt order ending the flights at 0345, Major Kean and Master Sergeant Valdez were told that only the 60 Americans still there would be flown out, leaving more than 400 Vietnamese stranded. Kean ordered the guards forming a cordon to clear the embassy courtyard landing zone to slowly fall back and enter the chancery. Seeing that, the enraged Vietnamese charged, and the guards were forced to climb the six stories to the roof while barring each door and setting off tear gas.

One last Charlie Foxtrot: When pilot Captain Gerry Berry was airborne with Ambassador Martin, he had radioed the Blue Ridge, “The tiger is out of his cage,” confirming Martin was on board. The Blue Ridge air staff misunderstood and thought all Americans were out, and the airlift was canceled. A frantic call to CINCPAC got the final helicopters moving, and at 0735, Kean and his men boarded a CH-46. Master Sergeant Juan Valdez was the last to board . . . and was the last American serviceman to leave Vietnam.²⁶

A Bird Dog’s Precious Cargo

Even though the Frequent Wind airlift had concluded at 0345, the Midway’s mission was far from over. Lookouts scanning the rainy skies after sunrise on Wednesday, 30 April, could see dozens of RVNAF helicopters overhead searching for a safe landing place.

Chambers later recalled that, during the two-day evacuation, a total of 55 Hueys and five twin-rotor CH-47s had landed aboard the carrier. In addition to the 2,297 evacuees brought aboard on Tuesday, at least another 1,200 refugees would reach the carrier on the second and last day, for a total exceeding 3,500.²⁷

The most spectacular arrival occurred at 1100. The Midway lookouts spotted a small Cessna O-1 “Bird Dog” spotter plane approaching the ship. “The flight deck at that time was extremely crowded with people and helicopters,” Chambers recalled. Most of their Vietnamese crews had already departed with the other evacuees.  

As the Bird Dog circled overhead, its lights on, signaling the intent to land aboard, Chambers and his air boss tried to determine what could be done. Rear Admiral Harris told Chambers he should maneuver the ship to create a calm swath of water and have the plane ditch alongside. But as the Cessna flew by again, the lookouts could see at least four people in the two-seat aircraft. Ditching was out. Attempts to reach the pilot by radio were unsuccessful.

The pilot made several attempts to drop a message onto the flight deck. On the third try, he stuffed a note into a leather pistol holster, which was retrieved by a crewman and rushed up to the bridge. It read, “Can you move the helicopter to the other side, I can land on your runway. I can fly one hour more, we have enough time to move. Please rescue me! Major Bung Ly, wife and 5 child.”

Fearing that in desperation the pilot would attempt a crash-landing into the helicopters near the fantail, Chambers got on to the 1MC loudspeaker, and his voice thundered through the ship as he asked for as many volunteers as possible to the flight deck to clear the landing zone by pushing the Vietnamese helicopters overboard. To his surprise, nearly 1,000 sailors, pilots, and Marines came pouring up from belowdecks. As they began pushing helicopters overboard, Chambers turned his back on the scene.

“I wanted to be able to answer truthfully that I did not know how many we sacrificed in our attempt to rescue the Bird Dog,” he said.

Chambers then ordered the Midway to make 25 knots to give the pilot a 40-knot wind down the deck as he landed. He also ordered the arresting cables removed.

The attempt would have to wait. Seeing the newly cleared area, eight hovering RVNAF Hueys immediately landed, again fouling the flight deck. They too went over the side.

As every man and woman on board the Midway held their breaths, Major Ly rolled out on final approach, descended, and crossed over the flight deck, touching down on the centerline. The Cessna came to a stop abeam of the island and was met by a wildly cheering crowd who surrounded the plane and handed out Ly, his wife, and five young children.

Ly was escorted to the bridge, where Chambers congratulated him, took off his own “wings of gold,” and pinned them on the young Air Force major’s chest, telling him he was now an honorary naval aviator. The Midway’s crew were so impressed with Ly’s bravery they raised more than $10,000 for the family to help them settle in the United States.²⁸

Thousands Rescued

In the end, the 60 U.S. helicopters in Operation Frequent Wind flew more than 630 sorties between Saigon and the ships at sea over a nearly 18-hour period during 29–30 April 1975. They evacuated a total of 1,373 Americans (395 from the DAO and 978 from the Embassy), and 5,595 Vietnamese (4,475 from the DAO and 1,120 from the Embassy). 

The total rescued did not include the thousands of Vietnamese arriving by RVNAF helicopters or rescued by Task Force 76 from small craft bobbing in the water. Earlier, more than 50,000 Vietnamese safely left the country on civilian and military aircraft during Options I and II.

Despite the chaos in the streets and in the air, there were only a few American casualties linked to the evacuation. In addition to 35 DAO staffers killed in the crash of an Air Force C-5 transport jet on 4 April that also killed 78 orphans, and Corporals Judge and McMahon who died in the PAVN rocket attack, two Marine pilots—Captain William C. Nystul and 1st Lieutenant Michael Shea—were killed when their CH-46 crashed into the South China Sea. The two enlisted crewmen on board survived. 

Operation Frequent Wind drew praise from a most unlikely source: PAVN General Van Thien Dung, the captor of Saigon, praised the airlift in his postwar memoirs as a spectacular success, “the largest evacuation operation by helicopter in U.S. history.”²⁹