18th Fighter-Bomber Wing in Korea

COURAGE, VALOR, HEROISM

Major Lou Sebille & 1st Lt. Don Bolt, A study of Heroic Contrasts, Summer & Fall, 1950

“Courage: 'The attitude, or response of facing or dealing with anything recognized as dangerous, difficult or painful; the quality of being fearless, or brave; valor."

“Valor: 'worth, hence courage; fearlessness, bravery, especially in battle".

“Hero: 'any man admired for his courage, nobility or exploits, especially in war."

Those definitions in Webster's were not ‘exactly’ the words I was looking for, and perhaps there are no simple words which can adequately represent the feelings which I am trying to describe. It is possible that there are no words, no paintings, and no photographs which can ever describe the sensations of warfare.

Those who have experienced the painful loss of dear friends in battle already know the feeling. Those who have not shall probably never know; for it is impossible to describe such heartfelt feelings ... but I will try to relate some of the circumstances which led me, personally, to endure those feelings.

Undeniably, for me 1950 and 1951 were vintage years for Courage, Valor and Heroism.

And, while I was associated with the 18th Fighter Group pilots of those old F-51 Mustangs, I can proudly state that: I ate with heroes ... I drank with heroes ... and to a certain extent, a part of me died with many of those heroes.

As a result of my Korean air war experiences, I am firmly convinced that valor and courage are not inborn; they are not hereditary. Instead, they are the result of their then-current environment:

WHEN YOU ARE SURROUNDED BY HEROES ... IT IS DAMNED DIFFICULT TO NOT PERFORM LIKE ONE!

Perhaps the personal experiences which I describe here will help to explain what I mean....

Following the North Korean invasion of South Korea on Sunday morning, June 25, 1950, I had gone into Korea in mid-July, 1950 with the first increment of volunteer fighter pilots from the US Air Force's 18th Fighter-Bomber Group, then stationed at Clark Field in the Philippine Islands. Initially we were identified as the 'Dallas Project', then became the '51st Provisional Squadron, ultimately being redesignated the 12th Fighter-Bomber Squadron.

As the full-time Squadron Intelligence Officer and a part-time F-51 Combat Pilot, it didn't take me long to realize that our gallant, but feeble, efforts, flying ten weary Mustangs from the dirt airstrip at Taegu, South Korea, were having little effect in slowing the North Korean's relentless drive toward Pusan.

Major Louis J. Sebille, my former Squadron Commander at Clark Field, in the Philippines was still commanding the 67th Fighter Squadron when they arrived, without airplanes, at Ashiya, Japan on July 31, 1950. They were to receive twenty-five of the "new" F-51 Mustangs which had arrived the previous week aboard the Navy Carrier, USS Boxer. But because there was insufficient physical space... real estate, to park their planes and house their troops, to base them at Taegu with the rest of us... the 67th would, by necessity, have to remain at Ashiya, on the southern Japanese island of Kyushu, and receive logistic support from the 8th Fighter-Bomber Group at Itazuke, 40 miles south of Ashiya.

It would be a crude, and probably unworkable wartime arrangement... with the 67th's parent organization, the 18th Group based at Taegu, but having to beg for vital support from a bunch of 'strangers' based forty air miles away.

Lou Sebille was not a bit happy with that arrangement, and told Lt. Colonel Ike Wintermute, our 18th Group C.O. what he thought the results would be. His angry response to the proposition was unlike the easy-going, friendly personality of Lou Sebille, and he was undoubtedly in a sour mood as he began re-indoctrinating his pilots... who, until that time had been flying the F-80C Lockheed jet fighters for the past year, as we had, training them once again to fly the propeller-driven F-51s, and rebuilding his combat outfit.

They started out with a bang, flying their first combat missions on the following day.

By August 2nd we could hear the "Elsewhere" flights operating alongside our elements all along the front lines. I could recognize many of the radio voices of pilots I'd flown with over the past couple of years, and it was hard not to exchange friendly greetings and small-talk over the busy tactical wave-lengths. I talked with Bob Howells, 67th Operations Officer, (an old-time P-51 instructor pilot who had given me my first P-51 check-out at Pinellas, Florida during World War II). Ross Cree, friend and fellow S-2 officer, Ed Hodges, Harry Moore, Joe Lane, Owen Brewer ...the whole bunch was up to Korea to help extricate us from the damned bucket of worms we'd gotten ourselves into. We were extremely glad to have their help, for they were capable, experienced, hard-driving fighter pilots.

Three days later, on August 5th, while each was leading separate flights near H'amchang* on the Naktong River, Lou Sebille and Bob Howells would both be killed within five miles and within minutes of each other... both within 15 miles of our base at Taegu! *[36 degrees,32'N,128 degrees,15’W],

H'amchang, the little village where Lou Sebille died, was just one of many small groups of mud and straw huts which dotted the countryside along every road and trail in Korea. On the preceding night, August 4th, the North Koreans had managed to establish a minimal beachhead across the summer-shallow Naktong River and, although we were able to stop all daylight movement across the river, the tanks, troops and artillery that had crossed during darkness were moving steadily toward their objective ...our nearby base at Taegu. Just a few more miles and they would be within artillery range of our primary airstrip.

Lou, leading a flight of 67th Squadron Mustangs out of Ashiya, wound up with but three airplanes when his wingman was forced to return to Ashiya with a rough engine.

Captain Martin Johnson, his element leader, with Lt. Charles Morehouse on his wing, split off as they approached the target area, and were informed by the pilot of a T-6 Mosquito spotter, of a Red tank or armored personnel carrier holed up inside a couple of houses in the village of H'amchang.

The fact of enemy armor so close to our airstrip, on our side of the river, coupled with an equally-strong, simultaneous drive from the north, near Yongch'on, made our military position at Taegu "very precarious", to say the least. Lou Sebille was well aware of our situation, and knew just how critical each of our fighter missions would be that morning in early August ... perhaps the success or failure of our stand in Korea hung by the thread of his fighter's contributions.

The T-6 fired a target-marker smoke rocket which lit near the huts holding the Red armor and, at that moment, their Red crews knew that they would soon be under air attack.

Sebille positioned himself for a medium angle dive bomb run, planning to drop both of his 500 pound GP (general purpose) bombs on the first attack. Diving from 5000 feet, he held the Mustang steady as he approached 2500 feet altitude above the ground, then, when the target passed under his nose, he punched the red bomb release button on his control stick to drop the two bombs, one from under each wing. He immediately started a sharp pull-up to the left, to stay away from his bomb-blast, and called to his flight that the enemy was firing machine guns while he was making his bomb run. Their element, meanwhile, was making an attack on the other hut, a short distance from Sebille's target.

Only one of Sebille's bombs had released on his first attack, and the heavy 500 pounds of extra, unbalanced weight under his left wing may have contributed to his near-miss on the target. But the enemy armor was still there, and was still firing it's machine guns at Lou's other element as they made their nearby attack. Sebille climbed for another dive-bombing run with his remaining bomb, making his attack from south to north ... the same direcion as he had on his first pass; he probably intended to pull the manual bomb release handle, to be sure of getting the bomb off.

Lou had a clear view as he came down the slot for the second time, but he also gave the Red gunners a clear shot on him as he did so. During his second attack, from a lower angle than the first, puffs of smoke were observed coming from the tank's cannon, as well as from the machine guns and, just before he reached the release point, Lou called over the radio that he was hit. But, instead of releasing his bomb at that point, he pulled up sharply to the left once more and, with a garbled comment over the radio that ended with: "...I'll get those dirty bastards...", he continued his turn and dove straight toward the armored carrier. This time he fired his six rockets in salvo, and his machine guns were blasting the whole way down, but, instead of pulling up as he reached the 2000 foot danger level, he continued to bore in to 1000 feet, then 500 feet ... he obviously had no intention of missing his own bomb blast, for he dove his airplane and his remaining 500 pound bomb straight into his target. There was a tremendous explosion....

Lou Sebille had, to be sure, "..'got the bastards...!"

"Why?" We asked ourselves, over and over, when we heard the account of his dive into the target ... why didn't Lou pull off the target and head for our nearby strip at Taegu, less than five minutes to the east. Knowing Lou as we did, we concluded that he must have been hit by one of the cannon bursts, and was so badly wounded that he knew he would not be able to land the airplane and still survive. And, since he knew he was undoubtedly going to die, he was determined that those who caused his death should die with him. And they did.

A year later I saw the heart-rending photograph of Jane Sebille, Lou's pretty young widow, and his young five-year old son "Flip", standing on the apron at March Field, California, while Air Force Chief of Staff General Hoyt S. Vandenberg presented the Medal of Honor, and the flag, earned by Lou on that August morning at H'amchang, in far off Korea. TIME magazine's editors wondered in print if the young Sebille boy would ever understand why his dad never came home; I had to wonder too. In fact, I wonder if it is possible for anyone to understand Lou's feelings on that sunny, dusty Friday morning along the Naktong River ... so far away from his home and family in Chicago.

Lou Sebille's death received nationwide notoriety; he was a true hero in every sense of the word, and he died courageously, doing his "job"; fulfilling the responsibilities, as he saw them, of his duties as a Squadron Commander ...a leader in the United States Air Force. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it, no matter what the price ."..it was expected of him."

A special corner has been set aside at the Air Force Academy's Harmon Hall, to commemorate the memory of Lou Sebille's selfless heroism, and to perhaps inspire our new, budding Air Force leaders by the courageous example of those who have gone before.

I was especially pleased to see that, for I take pride in having helped to co-author the initial draft of the Citation which accompanied Lou's Medal of Honor, and it too, was displayed in a place of honor at the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs.

But that Citation is a different story; the account of yet another ... completely 'unsung hero'... one who's valor is known perhaps only to God. I was privileged to observe some of the events which led me to this conclusion, and feel obligated to describe those factual incidents as best I can.

Here is the "story behind the story" of Lou Sebille's Citation for the Medal of Honor:

In mid-August, 1950, in addition to my duties as combat fighter pilot and 12th Sqdn Intelligence Officer, I was assigned the responsibility of Squadron Awards and Decorations Officer.

"It was logical", the boss had told me with a smile, because my "deep, probing interrogation" of returning pilots put me in the best position to identify and evaluate any meritorious acts which might have been performed on the missions. I could then write up a description of the details, complete with Citations flowery enough to convince higher-level headquarters to award the recommended decorations.

At that time there was already an existing backlog of some one-hundred Air Medals and twenty Distinguished Flying Cross awards waiting to be drafted and processed. I tried to insist that I could not do my Intelligence paper work (which, I had to admit, was by then almost taking care of itself, with the admirable help of Sergeant Dan Thornton), fly combat missions on a daily basis and draft awards ... without the help of a couple of officers who would have, at least, a minimum flair for writing.

I specifically requested that First Lieutenant Don Bolt be assigned full-time to assist me, whenever he was not flying combat missions, and solicited the part-time help of Lieutenants Lee Gomes, "Chappie" James and 'Spud' Taylor, to help out whenever they were free. Capt. Harry Moreland, our Squadron C.O., even volunteered to help when he wasn't busy commanding the squadron or flying missions.

Lee, Chappie and Spud immediately went to work, getting practice by writing the almost "canned" citations for the Air Medals, but then, with the war going as badly as it was, they became too busy flying missions to provide much other help. I was disappointed, but not too surprised ... flying combat is tough enough, without having the added paperwork of a tedious ground job; and the fact that they had written some citations relieved me of the need to do those few.

Don Bolt, on the other hand, jumped in with ... not both feet, but "all ten fingers", and was a real help, as I knew he would be. I had enough confidence in Don's ability that, when asked by Col. Ike Wintermute, the Group C.O., to see what it would take to get approval for the Medal of Honor for Lou Sebille's last mission, I asked Don to do the legwork and I would help him with the formal write-up ...which would eventually have to go all the way to the Secretary of the Air Force for approval.

Don Bolt was, if I recall correctly, a year younger than I, had graduated from flying training as a 2nd Lieutenant during mid-1945, just before the end of World War II, had gotten out of the Air Force in 1946 and had returned to college at the University of Maryland to get his degree in architectural engineering. He had then volunteered for recall to active duty in mid-1948, and after just a few months in the 'States, had been sent to the Philippines, to serve with me in the 67th Fighter-Bomber Squadron at Clark Field.

Don was a bachelor, about five foot six, and couldn't have weighed 125 pounds 'soaking wet'. His ground duty at Clark Field was Squadron Public Information Officer (PIO) at the same time that I was Squadron Intelligence Officer, so we worked together on many projects and became social friends as well. Some squadron pilots thought Don not 'macho', or aggressive enough to be a good fighter pilot and, I had to admit, he wasn't much of a challenge in a good simulated dogfight. But he was a dedicated, hard-working officer on the ground, and I respected his journalistic and artistic abilities. In 1949 Bolt was caught up in one of the Air Force's recurring economy drives ..."purges", we called them, and was grounded; his pilot's rating was indefinitely suspended. Those so caught, were given the opportunity to be placed on 'inactive duty' ...to become civilians again, or to remain on active duty in their current rank, but with no hope of regaining flying status. Such grounding was, of course, an automatic blemish on the victim's promotion records, through little or no fault of their own.

Despite all of the negatives, Don chose to remain on active duty as a 'ground-pounder', and continued to do a good job as Public Information Officer, for the 18th Fighter Bomber Group. Then, with the coming of the Korean hostilities in mid-1950, and the subsequent shortage of fighter pilots throughout the theater, those grounded pilots who had remained in the Far East were offered the opportunity to regain their former flying ratings ...provided they would "volunteer" for immediate combat duty in Korea!

Don Bolt headed the list of five names on a set of orders which included similar "volunteers" from all Far East Air Force units.

On July 30th Bolt was in Japan, enroute to Taegu, Korea, when he called to ask if there was anything he could bring over from Japan for me; at my request he promptly picked up two footlockers and filled them with canned beer (which I later used to expedite post-flight critiques, by offering a weather-cooled beer to the returned pilots, free, as long as they'd agree to sit and answer my questions until the can was empty!)

Don arrived at Taegu on July 31st, but because of our airplane shortage, he had to wait an additional three days before he could again check-out in the F-51. It had been a full year since he had flown an aircraft of any kind. Finally, thanks to the arrival of airplanes from the USS Boxer, Don was at last able to take one short test hop ...a familiarization flight, making sure that he remained south and east of Taegu, and well away from the front lines.

His next flight was a combat mission to the Chorwon area.

By September 1st Don had successfully flown eight or ten combat missions, and said the old Mustang was beginning to feel comfortable again...he said he could "point the nose where he wanted the bombs to go, and for the guns to fire".

Then, that afternoon, while staging out of Taegu, flying wingman for Captain Jerry Mau, Don's airplane was badly hit by machine gun fire and he was barely able to limp to the deserted airstrip at Pohang for a crash landing. He was not injured, but he had to wait several nervous hours waiting to be picked up from the isolated airfield deep in the middle of "no-man's-land". He was not happy when he learned that Mau did not know that he'd gone in ...it seems that they were using different radio frequencies when Don was hit.

Bolt's lack of self-confidence, the knawing uncertainty about his pilot ability ... and about his survivability in combat, was magnified at being shot down. To hide his concern, he tackled his ground assignment, helping me with the Awards processing with a fervor.

When told to find out all that would be needed in the line of paperwork for Sebille's Medal of Honor, Don dedicated himself to making sure that it would be a truly professional job. He persisted despite negative responses from the lower levels of Far East Air Force (FEAF) Headquarters, who gave the impression that Lou's death "...wasn't heroic enough" because there weren't more people involved... that he didn't wipe out an entire armored division single-handedly. But Bolt kept digging, collecting details about the flight and then, between us, we sat down to collaborate on the all-important descriptive Citation.

Periodically, Don began again to fly combat missions, and with each successful bombing or rocket attack, a small measure of his self-confidence returned. Following the Inchon landings, when the North Koreans were scattering to the four winds and racing for their lives toward the Manchurian sanctuary across the Yalu River, he told me that he finally was beginning to feel like a man again; that his flying efforts were beginning to pay their own way ...that he no longer felt like an "albatross among the eagles".

The next morning, after that discussion, on October 2nd, 1950, Don Bolt flew an early, pre-dawn mission to Pyongyang, North Korea's capitol city.

His airplane was once again hit in the engine by ground fire, and he was able to glide just clear of a low ridge of hills east of the city before having to belly-in on a small, open rice field which was surrounded by a mile-wide ring of trees. After the Mustang came to a stop, Bolt jumped quickly out of the cockpit, onto the wing, then started running across the dry rice paddies toward the nearest trees. He stopped abruptly, after covering about a hundred feet, according to his flight leader who was by then circling overhead, and Bolt ran quickly back to the far side of his crippled airplane, ducking low as he ran.

He pointed his arm toward the trees, and the flight leader could see enemy troops jumping out of a truck alongside the trees. The leader made a strafing pass, firing his machine guns between Don's aircraft and the North Korean truck, making sure not to hit the troops but, at the same time, giving them notice to stay back and leave Bolt's airplane alone. He called Mellow Control for help, giving Don's position and the fact that he appeared to be uninjured. He would remain overhead to keep the enemy away as long as his fuel held out... perhaps another forty-five minutes, then requested other flights to take over the top-cover until a helicopter could be dispatched from Kimpo Air Base, 85 miles southwest, to come pick Bolt out.

It was by then approximately 7:30 AM on a crisp, clear autumn morning ... when the air war over Korea stopped, 'came to a complete halt... to cover the downed Don Bolt.

Every Far East Air Force fighter airplane in the area was suddenly dedicated to the protection of Don Bolt ... who was by then sitting dejectedly on the wing of his downed Mustang, watching the ever-changing flights of fighters circling overhead.

Ground targets took second priority as Mellow Control coordinated the air effort to keep a minimum of four fighters circling the immediate area at all times, watching to assure that no troops attempted to close in on Bolt.

Meanwhile, attempts were being made to line up a helicopter and crew. We did not know, until then, however, that the maximum range of those ancient, early H-5 helicopters was less than 150 miles; there was no way that they could fly from Kimpo to Pyongyang to pick up Bolt, and have any chance of returning to friendly territory. Still, the combat air patrol (CAP) remained overhead all through the day, dipping low periodically to strafe between the trees and Bolt's ship, to remind the Red troops to stay away.

By mid-afternoon there were enemy troops surrounding the entire field, and Don lay hunched low behind the wing; he had apparently been shot at while sitting on the wing. Each succeeding flight of circling fighters found it necessary to fire a burst of machine gun fire to keep the troops back behind the trees.

Still, no means could be devised to pick Don out of his menacing circle.

Finally, as dusk turned to darkness, after scores of combat sorties were diverted to protect him, Major "Moon" Mullins flew our last patrol... when Bolt was last seen alive, and still crouched beneath his Mustang. Moon said that he was sorely tempted to strafe the entire circle of enemy troops and vehicles, but didn't dare; surely such action would be the single act to trigger the killing, on the spot, of Don Bolt.

He might just as well have strafed the Red troops. For, a week later, after our forces took Pyongyang, the Graves Registration people reportedly found Lieutenant Don Bolt's body buried in a shallow grave just a short distance from his airplane. He had been shot in the back of the head, execution-style.

First Lieutenant Don Bolt did not receive the Medal of Honor; nor the Distinguished Flying Cross or, most likely, not even the Air Medal. His parents were probably very proud to receive just the simple Purple Heart medal and a flag. There were no military formations held in his honor, nor is there a commemorative corner in his name at the Air Force Academy, or at any other Air Force base.

But in my book, if I were forced to make a reluctant comparison between my two heroic friends, Lou Sebille or Don Bolt, as to which was the most courageous, I would have to say that Don Bolt was my greater hero.

I would base my choice on the fact that Don Bolt, the insecure little First Lieutenant who volunteered to fly combat in Korea, even though he realized his own limitations, and lack of current flying experience. Then, after suffering the trauma of once being shot down, he had the temerity ...the plain, unadulterated 'guts' to fly further combat missions, one right after the other, until he was finally shot down once again. Then this little guy, who wasn't 'macho' enough to be accepted as 'one of the boys' in the squadron at Clark Field, sat next to his disabled Mustang for ten long hours, all the while surrounded by armed enemy troops ...when the best efforts of the entire Far East Command were unable to devise a way to pick this man from 85 miles behind enemy lines before darkness fell.

Tom Wolfe described the inner drives of men of the Fighter Pilot's profession ... he called it the "Right Stuff"; DONALD D. BOLT had it, but few people realized it, then or now.

So who was the greater hero? Whose citation should be honored by display at the Air Force Academy as inspiration to our fledgling leaders? I'll raise my glass to the frail little Reserve First Lieutenant who signed on for the "Whole Trip" when he pinned on those wings of the Air Force Pilot.

"May his winds be eternally from the stern, and may his skies be forever blue!!"

(Of the five pilots named on the orders to return to flying duty with Don Bolt, if they would "volunteer" for Korean combat in July, 1950, NOT ONE lived to see the next July 4th ...all were killed flying combat during the first year of the war, as were eight of Dean Hess's twelve original 'Bout One' people.... all True Heroes!)

Duane E. 'Bud' Biteman,
Lt. Col, USAF, Ret
‘...One of those Old, Bold Fighter Pilots’
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