Pilots in 'Nam SAR Mission Meet 43 Years On
March 11, 2011
Knight Ridder
MODESTO, Calif. _ Wayne Hague always wondered whatever happened to the pilot whose crippled plane he refueled and escorted to safety over North Vietnam in 1967.
Ron Catton always wondered about that pilot who kept him from having to bail out of his F-4C Phantom fighter and literally right into a suite at the Hanoi Hilton.
More than 43 years passed since their meeting in the skies over Southeast Asia linked them even though they never knew each other's name. But fate has a way of working things out.
This head-spinner happened because two men who live more than 900 miles apart told their versions of same story to the same people who helped them finally connect.
Here's the gist of it:
Hague, 76, retired from the Air Force, spent 20 years teaching and now is a volunteer counselor at the Merced County Rescue Mission in Merced. Catton, 78, owns a financial services business in Spokane, Wash.
In December, Catton spoke to a group of students at Riverside Christian High School, which his grandchildren attend in Yakima, Wash. He regaled them with stories of flying with the Thunderbirds, the Air Force's precision aerial team. He also told them about his near catastrophe during the war and how a pilot and crew of a KC-135 refueling plane disobeyed orders by flying about 100 miles into North Vietnam to get him.
That story sounded very familiar to Rick Van Beek, the school's principal. Van Beek had heard it from his wife Lolly, who heard it from the tanker pilot during a medical missionary trip to Kenya. And then he heard it again from Paul Emmons, the Yakima doctor who helped organize the Kenya trip, during a dinner at the Van Beek's home.
"The bells started going off in my head," Van Beek said. "How can these be separate stories?"
Seeing Catton again at a basketball game a couple of weeks later, Van Beek went to his office and called his daughter, who also went on the Africa trip. She knew the tanker pilot's name. Van Beek then did a Google search on Wayne Hague. He printed out the info, returned to the gym and handed it to Catton.
"I said, 'Here's another pilot who seems to have the other half of your story,'" Van Beek told him.
Not so fast. Let's back up a bit, to the fall of 1967.
Catton served in the 8th Tactical Fighter Wing under the highly decorated Col. Robin Olds. Olds, military buffs will know, claimed 12 dogfight kills in World War II and four more over Vietnam. A football star at West Point, he later married actress Ella Raines and retired as a brigadier general in the Air Force. On this particular day, Catton flew the lead plane among Phantoms providing cover for bombers on a mission over Hanoi.
Once the bombers emptied their loads, they returned to their bases. Then the Phantoms zoomed down and dropped their bombs as well.
As Catton bombed a railroad bridge, enemy rounds ripped into the intake of his right engine.
"All of that debris went through the engine and wiped it out," Catton said. "My fire warning light was on. I jinked to the left, jinked to my right. I looked over my shoulder and there were three MiGs on me."
One MiG had drawn other U.S. fighters and acted as a decoy, leaving the other three to pounce on a crippled plane _ in this case, Catton's.
Catton took his fighter into a hard vertical climb, then came back down and flew right through their formation. Olds, who had been chasing another MiG, gave up a chance for a kill to run off the three that were after Catton's plane.
"Here he came, lobbing missiles over my head at the MiGs," Catton said.
The MiGs high-tailed it, with Olds in pursuit.
That threat subsided. Catton faced another: a plane with one blown-out engine and other major problems, including the fact that he was still above North Vietnamese real estate.
"I was heading back toward Laos, all shot up and leaking fuel," Catton said. "I wanted to bail out over Laos. If I bailed (over North Vietnam), I would have ended up in the Hanoi Hilton."
He put out what amounted to a "mayday" call, and Hague _ flying over Laos in his KC-135 _ answered.
"When I heard his voice," Catton said, "it was like the voice of God. I told him I was heading west toward Laos. He said, 'Negative, Cadillac Lead (Catton's code name). I'll come and get you.'"
Just one problem: Hague had strict orders not to cross over the border into North Vietnam.
With a pilot in trouble, though, he didn't hesitate. Hague didn't simply stick the nose of his plane over the border. He hooked up with Catton over the Black River, roughly 100 miles from Laos.
"I just went in and got him," Hague said.
As they positioned their respective planes to connect the refueling boom, Catton radioed: "Understand I've got a fire warning and smoke in the cockpit. You don't have to take me on."
Hague's response?
"Cadillac lead, get your sorry ass in position for a hook-up before I change my mind!"
Catton's plane leaked the fuel as quickly as the tanker could pump it in. So they stayed connected for more than 200 miles until Catton detached to land at the Udon air base in Thailand while Hague returned to his own at Takhli. Just as Catton touched down, his left engine quit, too.
Hague never told anyone at Takhli about the incident. Someone must have. His superiors knew, and the rumor mill soon began to churn.
A day or so later, on the ground at Udon, Catton heard that the tanker pilot likely would be court-martialed for going over into North Vietnam, putting his crew and plane at severe risk. So Catton went to Olds, who had a simple solution to the problem: He'd recommend the tanker pilot for a Silver Star.
Neither Hague nor Catton can say this for certain, but both heard the Silver Star recommendation arrived at headquarters the same day as the court-martial papers, leaving the brass to weigh an act of heroism that saved a pilot's life against the military crime of blatantly disobeying orders.
Hague never got his Silver Star, but he didn't get court-martialed, either.
"It washed," Hague said.
Through all of this, neither Hague nor Catton learned each other's identity. Catton, in fact, later wrote about the incident, referring to Hague as "Big Boy 31," a name he made up for Hague in lieu of knowing his real one. It stayed that way until Feb. 6, 2011, when Hague got a phone call that went something like this:
"Are you Wayne Hague?"
"Yes, I am," he answered.
"Were you in Vietnam in 1967?" the caller continued.
"Yes, I was."
"Did you enter North Vietnam to pick up a fighter pilot, shot up and going down?"
"Yes, I did."
"I'm the pilot."
Only then did Hague learn the name of the man he'd rescued more than 43 years ago.
They met a few days later. Hague already planned on traveling to Lewiston, Idaho, to watch grandson Jason Hague play baseball at Lewis-Clark State College. So he drove two more hours to Spokane, and they saw each other face to face for the very first time _ safe, sound and on the ground.
Indeed, Hague always wondered about the fighter pilot whose life he saved so long ago.
Likewise with Catton.
"All this time, it's been, 'Gee, I wish I knew who it was,'" Catton said. "Then to have it happen like that. He's a really nice guy."
And a lifesaver.
© Copyright 2011 Knight Ridder. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
March 11, 2011
Knight Ridder
MODESTO, Calif. _ Wayne Hague always wondered whatever happened to the pilot whose crippled plane he refueled and escorted to safety over North Vietnam in 1967.
Ron Catton always wondered about that pilot who kept him from having to bail out of his F-4C Phantom fighter and literally right into a suite at the Hanoi Hilton.
More than 43 years passed since their meeting in the skies over Southeast Asia linked them even though they never knew each other's name. But fate has a way of working things out.
This head-spinner happened because two men who live more than 900 miles apart told their versions of same story to the same people who helped them finally connect.
Here's the gist of it:
Hague, 76, retired from the Air Force, spent 20 years teaching and now is a volunteer counselor at the Merced County Rescue Mission in Merced. Catton, 78, owns a financial services business in Spokane, Wash.
In December, Catton spoke to a group of students at Riverside Christian High School, which his grandchildren attend in Yakima, Wash. He regaled them with stories of flying with the Thunderbirds, the Air Force's precision aerial team. He also told them about his near catastrophe during the war and how a pilot and crew of a KC-135 refueling plane disobeyed orders by flying about 100 miles into North Vietnam to get him.
That story sounded very familiar to Rick Van Beek, the school's principal. Van Beek had heard it from his wife Lolly, who heard it from the tanker pilot during a medical missionary trip to Kenya. And then he heard it again from Paul Emmons, the Yakima doctor who helped organize the Kenya trip, during a dinner at the Van Beek's home.
"The bells started going off in my head," Van Beek said. "How can these be separate stories?"
Seeing Catton again at a basketball game a couple of weeks later, Van Beek went to his office and called his daughter, who also went on the Africa trip. She knew the tanker pilot's name. Van Beek then did a Google search on Wayne Hague. He printed out the info, returned to the gym and handed it to Catton.
"I said, 'Here's another pilot who seems to have the other half of your story,'" Van Beek told him.
Not so fast. Let's back up a bit, to the fall of 1967.
Catton served in the 8th Tactical Fighter Wing under the highly decorated Col. Robin Olds. Olds, military buffs will know, claimed 12 dogfight kills in World War II and four more over Vietnam. A football star at West Point, he later married actress Ella Raines and retired as a brigadier general in the Air Force. On this particular day, Catton flew the lead plane among Phantoms providing cover for bombers on a mission over Hanoi.
Once the bombers emptied their loads, they returned to their bases. Then the Phantoms zoomed down and dropped their bombs as well.
As Catton bombed a railroad bridge, enemy rounds ripped into the intake of his right engine.
"All of that debris went through the engine and wiped it out," Catton said. "My fire warning light was on. I jinked to the left, jinked to my right. I looked over my shoulder and there were three MiGs on me."
One MiG had drawn other U.S. fighters and acted as a decoy, leaving the other three to pounce on a crippled plane _ in this case, Catton's.
Catton took his fighter into a hard vertical climb, then came back down and flew right through their formation. Olds, who had been chasing another MiG, gave up a chance for a kill to run off the three that were after Catton's plane.
"Here he came, lobbing missiles over my head at the MiGs," Catton said.
The MiGs high-tailed it, with Olds in pursuit.
That threat subsided. Catton faced another: a plane with one blown-out engine and other major problems, including the fact that he was still above North Vietnamese real estate.
"I was heading back toward Laos, all shot up and leaking fuel," Catton said. "I wanted to bail out over Laos. If I bailed (over North Vietnam), I would have ended up in the Hanoi Hilton."
He put out what amounted to a "mayday" call, and Hague _ flying over Laos in his KC-135 _ answered.
"When I heard his voice," Catton said, "it was like the voice of God. I told him I was heading west toward Laos. He said, 'Negative, Cadillac Lead (Catton's code name). I'll come and get you.'"
Just one problem: Hague had strict orders not to cross over the border into North Vietnam.
With a pilot in trouble, though, he didn't hesitate. Hague didn't simply stick the nose of his plane over the border. He hooked up with Catton over the Black River, roughly 100 miles from Laos.
"I just went in and got him," Hague said.
As they positioned their respective planes to connect the refueling boom, Catton radioed: "Understand I've got a fire warning and smoke in the cockpit. You don't have to take me on."
Hague's response?
"Cadillac lead, get your sorry ass in position for a hook-up before I change my mind!"
Catton's plane leaked the fuel as quickly as the tanker could pump it in. So they stayed connected for more than 200 miles until Catton detached to land at the Udon air base in Thailand while Hague returned to his own at Takhli. Just as Catton touched down, his left engine quit, too.
Hague never told anyone at Takhli about the incident. Someone must have. His superiors knew, and the rumor mill soon began to churn.
A day or so later, on the ground at Udon, Catton heard that the tanker pilot likely would be court-martialed for going over into North Vietnam, putting his crew and plane at severe risk. So Catton went to Olds, who had a simple solution to the problem: He'd recommend the tanker pilot for a Silver Star.
Neither Hague nor Catton can say this for certain, but both heard the Silver Star recommendation arrived at headquarters the same day as the court-martial papers, leaving the brass to weigh an act of heroism that saved a pilot's life against the military crime of blatantly disobeying orders.
Hague never got his Silver Star, but he didn't get court-martialed, either.
"It washed," Hague said.
Through all of this, neither Hague nor Catton learned each other's identity. Catton, in fact, later wrote about the incident, referring to Hague as "Big Boy 31," a name he made up for Hague in lieu of knowing his real one. It stayed that way until Feb. 6, 2011, when Hague got a phone call that went something like this:
"Are you Wayne Hague?"
"Yes, I am," he answered.
"Were you in Vietnam in 1967?" the caller continued.
"Yes, I was."
"Did you enter North Vietnam to pick up a fighter pilot, shot up and going down?"
"Yes, I did."
"I'm the pilot."
Only then did Hague learn the name of the man he'd rescued more than 43 years ago.
They met a few days later. Hague already planned on traveling to Lewiston, Idaho, to watch grandson Jason Hague play baseball at Lewis-Clark State College. So he drove two more hours to Spokane, and they saw each other face to face for the very first time _ safe, sound and on the ground.
Indeed, Hague always wondered about the fighter pilot whose life he saved so long ago.
Likewise with Catton.
"All this time, it's been, 'Gee, I wish I knew who it was,'" Catton said. "Then to have it happen like that. He's a really nice guy."
And a lifesaver.
© Copyright 2011 Knight Ridder. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
