THE IRANIAN HOSTAGE RESCUE MISSION
An introduction developed from online resources
by
Gene Adcock, CMSgt, USAF (CCT) Retired

"The mission was a complete failure, a disaster and an embarrassment to all involved.
However, something positive often comes from terrible disasters, and Desert One was no exception.
The National Command Authority realized that a special group of dedicated professionals was needed to
handle similar operations in the future. Thus, the Desert One failure was the driving force behind the
formation of the United States Special Operations Command (USSOCOM), AFSOC,
the 720th Special Tactics Group and other units."

APRIL 1980 - President Jimmy Carter sends a military mission into Iran to rescue 53 Americans held hostage in Tehran. Years of neglect hampered the mission at all turns. An elite US Army organization was exclusively tasked to carry out the mission instead of a joint task force (JTF). It quickly became apparent that other forces would be needed. Security concerns were not well planned with several elements training in isolation. Two separate CCT units were preparing for the mission, each unaware of the other. Fixed- and rotary-wing aircraft were trained separately. The strike element and the support element did not mesh. Each service jockeyed for a piece of the mission at the expense of the other.

At Hurlburt, Combat Controller Sergeant Rex Wollmann, was tasked to provide administrative ATC and technical expertise to the local MC-130 squadron as they conducted classified training. At the same time, Wollman’s commander was not cleared by JTF command authorities who determined that he did not have the “need to know.” The MC-130s and a select group of US Army Rangers were developing theories and procedures for blacked-out landings and rapid airfield seizures. Although not part of the original Desert One Team, Sergeant Wollmann, he was later deemed too essential not to be incorporated in the actual operation.

On the other side of the Desert Storm operation, Major John Carney was maneuvering his Charleston CCT into position and onto the mission. The Army did not want anyone accompanying its assaulters into the hit site. However, Carney knew the Army did not have the expertise to work the landing sites or the refueling points that would be necessary to refuel the task force’s helicopters. Additionally, a landing zone assessment would have to be accomplished on a remote patch of desert, deep inside Iran.

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER - RECONNAISSANCE MISSION IN IRAN
Combat controller performed secret mission to Desert One Iranian landing site

The Airman Magazine - May 2001

by
MSgt Jim Greeley

Before a C-130 or a helicopter ever touched down in the Dasht-a-Kavir, Iran's Great Salt Desert as part of a U.S. force to rescue 53 hostages in Iran, an Air Force combat controller had been there and back.

Maj. John Carney, the lead combat controller for Operation Eagle Claw, secretly performed a reconnaissance mission to "pave the way" for the Desert One rescue mission.

In March 1980, Carney, nicknamed "The Coach" because he spent eight years as an assistant football coach at the Air Force Academy, was "volunteered" to check out the proposed landing site.

"I remember Charlie Beckwith [the commander of the Army Special Forces team that was to perform the rescue at the American Embassy in Tehran] volunteered me at a meeting in North Carolina," recalled Carney. "He said, 'We need a set of eyeballs on that site, and Carney ought to go."'

Not too long after that meeting, Carney flew from Charleston, S.C., to Athens, Greece, where he met up with his CIA transportation. In a small aircraft, Carney and two CIA pilots flew to Rome and then to Oman.

On April Fools' Day, Carney - clad in black Levi's, a black shirt and black cap -- was secretly slipped into Iran to survey the Desert One landing site. The site would be a pivotal forward staging area for the rescue mission.

Despite the stakes and the circumstances, Carney said, "I was damn glad to get out of that airplane when we landed."

Their plane was a decent size for three people, but not when they're sharing it with a fuel bladder and a fold-up motorcycle. The motorcycle was his ground transportation.

Later Carney would lead a six-man controller team into Desert One and witness the accident that claimed eight American servicemen's lives [See "Desert One," it follows this article]. But before any of that transpired, Carney had to approve the site as a landing strip for the operation.

Carney's mission was to install runway lights, take core samples and perform several other tasks on the ground. His escorts were two CIA operatives who did this type of thing for a living.

He'd have one hour on the ground before the airplane left.

"It was the shortest hour of my life," said the now-retired colonel. "I had so much to do and so little time to do it, I didn't really think about anything but getting the job done."

The landing site was next to a road. Carney would use the road to set up the landing strip. He would march off a "box-and-one" landing strip. The corners of the box, where he would bury the lights, were 90 feet wide by 300 feet. Then the "one" light would be centered on the box and placed 3,000 feet in front. The concept: land in the box and stop before the "one."

"As a football coach, marching off yards was easy," he said. What was hard was the ground. "I had to use a K-bar [knife] to chip away the ground to bury the lights."

After setting up the airfield, Carney went back to check his work. He discovered his escorts landed in a different spot than they had discussed. Hence, the road, his only orientation point, wasn't where it was supposed to be.

One hour. After that his escorts were out of there.

"There wasn't time to go back, and I wasn't missing that plane out," Camey said.

If he missed the plane, he had two options to get home. One was to walk. The other was to use the Fulton recovery system. The system was an ingenious, albeit dangerous, recovery device. The person needing rescuing puts on a harness -- attached to a wire, attached to a balloon. The balloon goes up and then a specially equipped MC-130 swoops in, snags the wire, and whisks the person away.

Carney didn't fear being in Iran in the middle of the night, but he was afraid of the Fulton "thing."

"I was getting on that plane," he reiterated.

In his hour on the ground, four vehicles drove past.

"It was surprising," Carney said of the vehicles. "All I could do was hit the dirt. There's not a whole lot of places to hide in a desert."

Carney had people counting on him for his special mission.

"I was praying that all would go well for John -- that he would return safely with a good report on Desert One," wrote retired Col. James Kyle in his book, "The Guts to Try." Kyle was one of the lead planners and the on-scene commander at Desert One. "One thing I was sure of -- if anybody could do it, John could."

Out and back

Carney made it out of Desert One, only to return 23 days later with the rescue force.

When he left Iran the first time, he was worried about the landing lights. But, after jetting back to America on the Concorde, Carney said, "When I saw the satellite imagery, it was a perfect diamond-and-one."

Not quite the plan, but it worked.

"I was happy to see those lights come on," said retired Col. Bob Brenci, who flew the lead C-130 into Desert One. He was relying on Carney's lights to help him land in the Iranian Desert. They worked. He landed.

"He is a true American hero," Brenci said about Carney. "Crazy, but a hero."

Crazy, maybe, but Carney said he's no hero.

"I was just doing what needed to be done," Carney said.

Today, Carney is the president of the Special Operations Warrior Foundation in Tampa, Fla., a nonprofit organization that helps children who have lost a parent in a special operations mission or training accident.

At 61, his hair is a little gray, but he still looks like he could jump out of planes and take down airfields. The former controller has a presence about him.

"He's a natural leader with tremendous charisma," said Chief Master Sgt. Rex Wollmann, the superintendent of the 22nd Special Tactics Squadron at McChord Air Force Base, Wash. Wollmann has known Carney for more than 21 years. Their first mission together was Desert One. "He's the kind of guy you'd follow anywhere," Wollmann said of his former boss.

"Men like Carney are worth a hundred planes or ships," Kyle said.

Coach went on to participate in operations in Panama, Grenada, the Persian Gulf War and others he can't talk about. But, he'll always remember his "volunteer" reconnaissance mission to Iran.

"It was the shortest hour of my life," he said.

Born from the ashes

Air Force Special Operations Command is here as a direct result of the failed hostage mission.

Today's military has a robust special operations capability. But, according to experts, the only reason that s the case is because of the failure of U.S. forces to rescue American hostages in Iran more than 20 years ago.

"The capability we have today is written in blood said Brig. Gen. Richard L. Corner, Air Force Special Operations Command's vice commander. We're much better equipped, better funded and better trained today as a result of Desert One."

In fact, Corner's current job wouldn't exist if it weren't for the congressionally mandated restructuring within the Department of Defense following investigations into the tragedy. The ultimate outcome of those investigations and lessons learned was the creation of U.S. Special Operations Command and eventually AFSOC.

"We always learn more from our failures than we do from success," Comer said.

A lot of the people who took part in Operation Eagle Claw -- the Air Force code name for the rescue mission -- agree with the general, and take solace in the fact something good came out of their mission.

"We failed," said retired Chief Master Sgt: Taco Sanchez. A staff sergeant then, Sanchez was a loadmaster on the lead MC-130 that landed on the powdery sands of Dasht-e-Kavir, Iran's Great Salt Desert, more than 20 years ago. "We left eight dead in the desert, but had we succeeded I don't think there would be special operations today."

The Air Force learned valuable lessons about joint operations, communications, command and control, and many other mission facets.

"We train and operate differently today as a result of the lessons we learned," Coiner said.

Some participants carried their own lessons learned and applied them to future operations.

"It became my benchmark," said retired Col. J.V.O. Weaver. Weaver was a C-130 navigator during the mission. He'd flown combat missions in Vietnam and was one of the few aircrew members with combat experience. He also spent the remainder of his career, 13 years, working in special operations in the Pacific and at Hurlburt Field, Fla.

"Every operation I participated in was weighed against that," Weaver said. "Equipment and technology-wise, we're light years away from what we used at Desert One. We've come a long way."

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DESERT ONE

The mission to rescue Iranian Embassy hostages in 1980.

The Airman Magazine - April 2001
by
MSgt Jim Greeley

A mission of hope turned tragic. A case of what could've been.

April 26, 1980 -- Staff Sgt. J.J. Beyers lies unconscious in a Texas hospital bed. The Air Force radio operator was one of the lucky few C-130 aircrew members to survive a ghastly collision and explosion between his aircraft and a helicopter on Iran's Great Salt Desert. The accident took place after the rescue team was forced to abort its mission at a location from then on known as Desert One.

The living room walls in J.J. Beyers' Florida home tell a story of intense pride and patriotism -- a shrine to days and friends long past. The dark paneling in this modest, single-story house is the canvas for a riveting collection of photos, citations and plaques. Although faded over the years, the collection possesses an unspoken power.

Beyers' hands and arms tell another side of the story. Settling into his favorite recliner, the former Air Force sergeant rolls up the sleeves of his checkered shirt. The scars on his arms and his disfigured hands tell their own harrowing tale. Even after all these years, the tale of courage, hope, pain, fear and disappointment jump out and scream, listen!

In 1980, Beyers was part of an elite group of airmen, soldiers, sailors and Marines who volunteered for Operation Eagle Claw -- a bold and daring rescue attempt of Americans held hostage in Tehran, Iran.

Beyers' scars and mementos are emblematic of the rescue mission. They're constant reminders of the friends he lost. A reminder of the disaster he survived. A reminder of what could've been.

Five of his cremates from the 8th Special operations Squadron at Hurlburt Field, Fla., died in the Iranian desert, along with three Marine helicopter crewmen (See "Remembering Heroes," Page 9).

"They were a brave, courageous and determined group of guys," Beyers said. "I miss them."

The countdown to Desert One began in spring 1979 when a popular uprising in Iran forced longtime Iranian ruler, Shah Mohammed Reza Pahlavi, into exile. After months of internal turmoil, the Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeni, a Shilte Muslim cleric, took power in the country.

On Nov. 4, 1979, just a few weeks after President Jimmy Carter allowed the Shah to enter the United States for medical treatment, thousands of Iranian students stormed the American Embassy in Tehran, taking 66 hostages and demanding the return of the Shah to stand trial in Iran.

American diplomatic efforts to release the hostages were thwarted by Khomeni supporters. At the same time, Pentagon planners began examining rescue options.

The original intent was to launch a rapid rescue effort. But, every quick-reaction alternative was dismissed. For planners, the situation was bleak. Intelligence information was difficult to get. The hostages were heavily guarded in the massive embassy compound. Logistically, Tehran was a city crammed with 4 million people, yet It was very isolated -- surrounded by about 700 miles of desert and mountains in every direction. There was no easy way to get a rescue team into the embassy.

One scenario was parachuting an elite Army special forces team in. The team would fight its way in and out of the embassy, rescuing the hostages along the way. That plan was deemed suicidal.

After realizing there was no infrastructure or support for a quick strike, planners started mapping out a long-range, multifaceted rescue.

What emerged was a complex, two-night operation. An Army rescue team would be brought into Iran with a combination of helicopters and C-130s. The "Hercs" would fly the troopers into a desert staging area from Oman. They would load the rescue team on the helicopters, refuel the choppers, and then the helos and shooters would move forward to hide in areas about 50 miles outside Tehran.

On day two, the Army team would be escorted to the embassy in trucks by American intelligence agents. The Army team would take down the embassy, rescue the hostages and move them to a nearby soccer stadium. The helos would pick up the shooters and hostages at the stadium and evacuate them to Manzariyeh Air Base, about 40 miles southeast of Tehran.

MC-130s would fly Army Rangers and combat controllers into Manzariych. The Rangers would take the field and hold it for the evacuation. Meanwhile, AC-130H Spectre gunships would be over the embassy and the airfield to "fix" any problems encountered. Finally, C-141s would arrive at Manzariyeh to fly the hostages and rescue team to safety.

Secrecy and surprise were critical to the plan. The entire mission would be done at night, and surprise was the Army shooters' greatest advantage.

"This mission required a lot of things we had never done before," said retired Col. (then-Capt.) Bob Brenci, the lead C-130 pilot on the mission. "We were literally making it up as we went along."

Flying using night-vision goggles was almost unheard of. There was no capability, or for that matter, a need, to refuel helicopters at remote, inaccessible landing zones. All these skills and procedures would be tested and honed for this mission.

"These capabilities are routine now for special operators, but at the time we were right there on the edge of the envelope," said retired Col. (then-Capt.) George Ferkes, Brenci's co-pilot.

The aircrews weren't the only ones pushing the envelope. Airman First Class Jessie Rowe was a fuels specialist at MacDill Air Force Base, Fla., when he got a late night call to pack his bags and show up at the Tampa International Airport. He met his boss, Tech. Sgt. Bill Jerome, and the pair flew to Arizona. They were now a part of Eagle Claw. Their job? Devise a self contained refueling system the C-130s could carry into the desert to refuel the helicopters at the forward staging area.

"No one told us why," said Rowe, who's now a major at Hurlburt Field and one of just two operation participants still on active duty. "But, you didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure it out.

"We begged, borrowed and stole the stuff we needed to make it work," he said. "We got it done. In less than a month, we had a working system."

The Eagle Claw players were spread out, training around the world. The Hurlburt crews spent most of their time training in Florida and the southwestern United States. The pieces were coming together.

At the same time, negotiations to free the hostages continued to go nowhere. By the time April 1980 rolled around, the Eagle Claw team had been practicing individually, and together, for five months. The aircrews averaged about 1,000 flying hours in that time. In comparison, a typical C-130 crew dog would take three years to log 1,000 hours.

After a long training mission in Arizona and a flight to Nellis Air Force Base, Nev., to pick up parts, Col. J.V.O. Weaver (a captain then) and his crew, returned to Hurlburt Field to an unusual sight.

"We rolled in and noticed the maintenance guys were on the line painting all the birds flat black," Weaver said. "They painted everything. Tail numbers, markings. Everything."

The plan was moving forward. Less than a day later, six C-130s quietly departed Florida bound for Wadi Kena, Egypt. The president hadn't pulled the trigger yet, but the hammer was cocked on the operation.

The Army and Air Force troops were in Egypt awaiting orders. The Marines and sailors, the helicopter contingent, were aboard the USS Nimitz afloat in the Persian Gulf off the coast of Iran.

The first challenge would be to find the make-shift landing strip. Only 21 days earlier, Maj. John Carney, a combat controller, had flown a covert mission into Iran with the CIA to set up an infrared landing zone at Desert One. Carney was perched over Brenci's shoulder as the C-130 neared the landing site. The lights he had burled in the desert would be turned on via remote control from the C-130's flight deck. The question was, would they work?

Brenci was a couple miles out when in slow succession a "diamond-and-one" pattern appeared through his night-vision goggles. The bird touched down in the powdery silt, and the troops went to work.

The choppers, eight total, left the Nimitz and were supposed to fly formation, low level, to the meet area. Because of the demands of the mission, at least six helicopters were needed at Desert One for the mission to go forward. Two hours into the flight the first helicopter aborted.

Further inland, the Marine helo pilots met their own private hell. Weather for the mission was supposed to be clear. It wasn't. Flying at 500 feet, the helicopters got caught in what is known in the Dasht-e-Kavir, Iran's Great Salt Desert, as a "haboob" -- a blinding dust storm. The situation was bad. After battling the storm for what seemed like days, one of the helicopters turned back.

At Desert One, all the C-130s had landed and were taxied into place. They were waiting for the choppers. An hour late, the first helicopter arrived.

"We weren't on the ground that long, but my God, it felt like an eternity waiting for the helos," Beyers recalled. The first two helicopters to roll in pulled up to Beyer's aircraft to be refueled. When the sixth chopper showed, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Fire engulfed the plane. Training kicked in. The flight deck crew began shut-down procedures. The fire was Outside the plane. Beyers headed down the steps toward the crew door. That's when someone opened the escape hatch on top of the aircraft in the cockpit, Beyers said. Boom. Black out.

Tech. Sgt. Ken Bancroft, one of three loadmasters on the airplane, knew he had troops to get off the plane. He went to the left troop door. Fire. Right troop door. Jammed shut.

He did. One after another, this hulk of a man tossed the Army troops off the burning plane like a crazed baggage handler unloading a jumbo jet.

Beyers had been knocked out. The flight deck door had hit him on the head as he went down the steps. When he came to, he was on fire. Conscious again, he crawled toward the rear of the plane.

"I made it halfway," Beyers said. "I quit. I knew I was dead." Somehow he moved himself closer to the door. Then he saw two figures appear through the flames. Two Army troopers had come back for him. He was alive, but in bad shape.

Beyers always had the bad habit of rolling up his flight suit sleeves. He finally paid the price. His arms, from the elbows down, were terribly burned. His hands were charred. Hair, eyebrows and eyelashes, gone. Worse were the internal injuries. His lungs, mouth and throat were burned. Yet, he clung to life.

At the same time, the squadron needed to bury its dead, and start healing the wounds from Desert One. Beyers survived the tragedy. After spending a year in the hospital, and enduring it surgeries, he was medically separated from the Air Force.

The bodies of the eight men were eventually returned to the United States, and a memorial service was held at Arlington National Cemetery.

Memories of that ceremony are still vivid for many of the rescue team. Weaver, who was an escort officer, still recalls when President Carter visited the families prior to the service. After talking with a Marine family, the president made his way to the family Weaver was escorting.

"He came up to the family, then he looked down at those two little boys, and he just got down on his knees and wrapped his arms around them," Weaver said. "Tears were streaming down his cheeks. Here's the president of the United States, on his knees, crying, holding these boys. That burned right in there," he said pointing to his chest.

A memorial was placed at Arlington National Cemetery honoring the eight men killed. Subsequently, other tributes have been made remembering the men who died at Desert One. Hurlburt has dedicated streets in their honor. New Mexico's Holloman Air Force Base Airman Leadership School is named for Tech. Sgt. Joel Mayo, the C-130 flight engineer killed at Desert One.

Mayo and Sanchez were good friends. "I talked to him that night," Sanchez said, flashing back to a time long ago. "It's important people understand. Joel had no idea he was going to give his life that night. But, if you told him he was going to die, he still would've gone."

Sanchez's words capture the essence of every man on the mission. They were a brave, courageous group of men, attempting the impossible, for a noble and worthy cause. They came up short and have lived 21 years with the demons, or gremlins, that sabotaged their mission of mercy.

"They tried, and that was important," said Col. Thomas Schaefer, the U.S. Embassy defense attache and one of the hostages. "It's tragic eight men died, but it's important America had the courage to attempt the rescue."

In his living room, Beyers gazes at the photos on his wall. Pointing to the picture of his crew, he says, "How I survived and they didn't, I don't know. I was lucky."

Even having lived so long with the horrible outcome of that mission, Beyers never doubts his choice to take part.

"We do things other people can't do," he said. "We would rather get killed than fail. It was an accident. But, I have no doubt, had the Army guys gotten in there, we would've succeeded."

Editor's note: For more on the behind-the-scene actions setting up for the Desert One rescue mission, keep your eyes open for "A Night to Remember" in the May issue.

Eight men died during the aborted attempt to rescue American hostages held captive in Iran. Five of them were airmen from the 8th Special Operations Squadron at Hurlburt Field, Fla. Three were Marine helicopter crewmen.

"Take solace in the fact [that] what they did only a few could even attempt," said Lt. Gen. Norton Schwartz, the commander of Alaskan Command, at a 20th anniversary commemorative ceremony at Hurlburt Field, Fla. "What they did was keep the promise. They had the guts to try."

Schwartz was a pilot in the 8th SOS at the time of the rescue mission and went on to command Hurlburt's 16th Special Operations Wing.

Another special operator and now chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Gen. Hugh Shelton, expressed similar sentiments during a speech at an April 2000 ceremony at Arlington National Cemetery honoring those killed.

"The sheer audacity of the mission, the enormity of the task, the political situation at the time. When I reflect on the results -- both positive and negative -- I'm awed," Shelton said.

"The very soul of any nation is its heroes. We are in the company of giants and in the shadow of eight true heroes," he said.

Three MC-130s, three EC-130s, and eight helicopters departed their forward operating base (FOB) in Masirah, Oman, under cover of darkness. The Pathfinder MC-130 with the CCT and the Rangers touched down safely and taxied into the pre-briefed position just as rehearsed a hundred times. Everything went as planned. The CCT quickly cleared landing area and marked two parallel runways. They set up a portable tactical-air-navigation (TACAN) system and prepared to clear the mission aircraft for landing. The goal was to get the fixed wing aircraft on the ground quickly before the first helicopters arrived. They knew things would get very busy when the eight helicopters landed and began to refuel from the EC-130 tanker aircraft.

The Eagle Claw CCT
The Coach, retired Col. John Carney (sitting on dirt bike), with members of his combat control team at Masirah, Oman,
prior to taking part in Operation Eagle Claw in April 1980. L to R: Mitch Bryan, John Koren, Mike Lampe,
Bud Gonzalez, Dick West, Carney, Bill Sink, Rex Wollmann, Doug Cohee.
(Courtesy Sgt Mac's Bar)

From the very beginning, mechanical problems plagued the Marine helicopters. Only six of the eight original helicopters made it to “Desert One” landing site. The mission commander felt confident that the rescue could be accomplished with only six healthy helicopters. As final takeoff preparations were being completed, a radio call came that would end months of work and training. Another helicopter was broken and could not be safely flown. This meant that unless operators were cut from the rescue phase of mission, the entire operation would have to be canceled. It was decided that the Army could not perform its mission without the full complement of soldiers. The abort signal had to be given. Major Carney was given the word to get the aircraft off the ground, to police up the TACAN and the runway lights.

However, before the departures could begin, one of the Marine helicopters required refueling in order to make the return flight to the USS Nimitz. This required a repositioning the lead helicopter. As the chopper began to taxi clear of the area, it was totally engulfed in blinding dust. Without warning, it veered right and crashed into the parked EC-130, setting it and the airplane on fire. The fireball could be seen for miles. One enormous flame was incinerating every thin within its reach, including the hopes of rescue for the American hostages. Dejected men and machines departed the lonely Iranian airstrip that was to have been the key to a daring special operations mission. Despite the confusion, the combat controllers remained calm and continued with the mission. They taxied the remaining aircraft around the smoldering wreckage and then cleared them for takeoff. After thoroughly searching the area for survivors, the combat controllers boarded the last plane out and headed home.

Five airmen and three Marine aviators died that night. The mission was a complete failure, a disaster and an embarrassment to all involved. However, something positive often comes from terrible disasters, and Desert One was no exception. The National Command Authority realized that a special group of dedicated professionals was needed to handle similar operations in the future. Thus, the Desert One failure was the driving force behind the formation of the United States Special Operations Command (USSOCOM), AFSOC, and other units. Major “Coach” Carney continued to lead Combat Control and Special Tactics units and today is known as the father of Air Force Special Tactics.

The Special Operations Warrior Foundation (SOWF) began in 1980 as the Col. Arthur D. "Bull" Simons Scholarship Fund. The Bull Simons Fund was created after the Iranian hostage rescue attempt to provide college educations for the 17 children surviving the nine men killed or incapacitated at Desert One. It was named in honor of the legendary Army Green Beret, Bull Simons, who repeatedly risked his life on rescue missions.

Following creation of the United States Special Operations Command, and as casualties mounted from actions such as Operations "Urgent Fury" (Grenada), "Just Cause" (Panama), "Desert Storm" (Kuwait and Iraq), and "Restore Hope" (Somalia), the Bull Simons Fund gradually expanded its outreach program to encompass all Special Operations Forces. Thus, in 1995 the Family Liaison Action Group (established to support the families of the 53 Iranian hostages) and the Spectre (Air Force gunship) Association Scholarship Fund merged to form the Special Operations Warrior Foundation. In 1998 the Foundation extended the scholarship and financial aid counseling to also include training fatalities since the inception of the Foundation in 1980. This action immediately added 205 children who were now eligible for college funding.

The Special Operations Warrior Foundation mission is devoted to providing a college education to every child who has lost a parent while serving in Army, Navy, Air Force and Marine Corps Special Operations during an operational or training mission.

FALL 1983 - The invasion of Grenada in the fall of 1983 was another major turning point for the CCTs. In the eyes of the special operations community, Combat Control had become a key participant whose contributions “to the fight” could not be replicated by any other organization. The invasion, codenamed Operation Urgent Fury was a strike by the United States with support from Barbados, Jamaica and other members of the Organization of Eastern Caribbean States (OECS).

In 1979, Maurice Bishop launched a revolution to overthrow the existing government and replace it with a Marxist-Leninist government. Under Bishop, Grenada began a military buildup of significant proportions, when compared to its previous low profile.

Within months, Bishop ordered the construction of a new international airport, with the help of Cuba. President Ronald Reagan pointed to the new airport with its sophisticated support facilities as evidence of the growing potential threat posed by Grenada. Pointing to the 9,000-foot runway and the oil storage tanks, Reagan said that these were not needed for commercial flights and could only mean that the airport was to become a Cuban-Soviet airbase.

At 0500 on 25 October 1983, the United States invaded the island of Grenada, the first major operation conducted by the US Military since the Vietnam War. Fighting continued for several days and the total fighting force reached some 7,300 troops from the United States and the OECS coalition. The opposing force was estimated at 2,100 troops, including 600 Cubans.

Combat controllers were instrumental in the success of the operation. Rangers and the Special Operations CCT jumped into Point Salinas at 500 feet in a futile attempt to avoid antiaircraft fire. Once on the ground, the Rangers and the CCT began to clear the runway while under enemy fire. Vehicles and concrete littered the landing surface. TSgt Rex Evetts’ hot-wiring knowledge helped immensely when the forces were confronted with a bulldozer that was too large for the Rangers to push off the runway.

Conventional combat controllers arrived on some of the first assault landed aircraft and took over ATC duties. Their ingenuity under fire was noteworthy.

As examples:
* SSgt Brad Glade constructed a terminal instrument approach with an old tourist map and several aerial photos.
* TSgt John Jones completely disassembled an MRC-108 radio pallet, carried it piece-by-piece up more than two stories, and then reconstructed it in the airfield control tower. All airfield traffic and coordination could then be accomplished from the tower cab.

JUNE 14, 1985 - IN FLIGHT BETWEEN ATHENS AND ROME - TWA Flight 847 was hijacked en route from Athens to Rome and forced to land in Beirut, Lebanon, where the hijackers held the plane for 17 days. They demanded the release of the Kuwait 17 ¹as well as the release of 700 fellow Shiite Muslim prisoners held in Israeli prisons and in prisons in southern Lebanon run by the Israeli-backed South Lebanon Army. When these demands weren't met, hostage Robert Dean Stethem, a U.S. Navy diver, was shot and his body dumped on the airport tarmac. U.S. sources implicated Hezbollah.

In what was widely perceived as an implicit, never explicit, quid pro quo, the hostages started being released by the hijackers, followed some days after by Israel starting to free some of its hundreds of Shiite prisoners. At the time, U.S. officials denied there was a deal and said Israel had already committed to releasing the prisoners.

Imad Mughniyah, a senior officer with Hezbollah, was secretly indicted for the TWA hijacking in 1987, along with three others. One of those indicted, Mohammed Ali Hamadei, was arrested in Frankfurt, Germany. In 1989 he was convicted in a German court and sentenced to life in prison.

As stated earlier, on June 14, 1985, TWA Flight 847 (from Athens to Rome) was hijacked by Lebanese Shite Muslim extremists. The plane was first diverted to Beirut, then to Algiers and back to Beirut, Lebanon. There, a US Navy Seabee diver, SW2 Robert Dean Stethem (November 17, 1961 – June 15, 1985) was murdered and his body dumped on the tarmac. This triggered a response from the National Command Authority (NCA). As a result, Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC) elements were immediately alerted and soon deployed.

A JSOC SEAL Team was first deployed to Sigonella, Italy as the primary responder. The SEALS were supported by a command and control element; several combat controllers and a PJ.

The original plan called for an aircraft takedown of TWA 847 in Algiers. The JSOC Special Tactics CCT (ST/CCT) was to control the airfield and bring in a C-141 to evacuate the hostages. The JSOC plan was immediately disapproved by the American ambassador in Algiers, fearing an unwanted international incident.

The hijackers soon moved TWA 847 back to the international airport in Beirut. At about the same time the JSOC force followed, moving to a NATO airbase on Cyprus - just minutes away by helicopter - from the Beirut airport. In Cyprus, a Delta Force Squadron, elements of Task Force 160 - with little bird helicopters- and additional JSOC planners arrived to support the JSOC force already on the ground.

During the operation, Combat Controller, LTC Charlie Tappero was deployed to Beirut to coordinate actions with the US Embassy. His job was to coordinate the potential airlift evacuation and to survey helicopter landing zones (LZ) through out the city and around the airfield. At the same time, Combat Controllers, Captain Jeff Buckmelter and SMSgt Mike Lampe became key members on Maj Gen Carl Stiner's planning staff as they assisted the planning an anticipated takedown of the target aircraft.

CMSgt Charlie McCarthy, LTC Charlie Tappero, SMSgt Mike Lampe and Captain Jeff Buckmelter
are pictured in this 1985 photograph. The 24th Special Tactics Squadron is assigned to JSOC.
(Photo from Tappero collection)

During the planning phase, Lampe experienced problems with Military Airlift Command when General Stiner requested the two C-5s at Sigonella be repositioned to Cyprus. The C-5s were filled with TF-160's helicopters and their crews; assets that were scheduled to play a major role in the planned assault. MAC maintained the taxiways and runways did not meet C-5 minimums.

Lampe argued that they did meet wartime criteria and this was essentially a wartime mission. Eventually Lampe's argument prevailed and the C-5s were repositioned. This confrontation was only one of several incidents where General Stiner recognized both Lampe and Buckmelter's professional capabilities and quick thinking.

In the end, the TWA rescue was not initiated because Muslim leaders lobbied for the release of all the hostages on the promise of no reprisals from the US and Israeli governments.

Combat controllers deploying on the TWA Flight 847 mission were: LTC Charles Tappero, CPT Jeff Buckmelter, SMSgt Mike Lampe TSgt John Bringoff, MSgt Bob Kelly, MSgt Rick Caffee, TSgt Dick West, TSgt Tim Brown, TSgt Jack McMullen, TSgt John McReynolds and MSgt John Pighini, a Special Tactics PJ.

Credits: John T. Carney Jr. and Ben Schemmer, "No Room For Error" Ballantine Books, 2002, pgs 171 - 172.
Quoted with permission.

Ironically, when Iraq invaded Kuwait in 1990, the Iraqis unwittingly released the imprisoned Badreddin and the remaining members of the Kuwait 17. Press reports vary about Badreddin's current whereabouts.

JSOC’S ACHILLE LAURO RESCUE MISSION
by
Charles P. Tappero, Colonel, USAF (CCT) Retired

OCTOBER 7, 1985 - Four men members of Palestine Liberation Front (PLF) take control of the Achille Lauro cruise ship - while it was sailing from Alexandria to Port Said - in Egyptian waters. The hijackers had been surprised by a crew member and acted prematurely. Holding the passengers and crew hostage, they directed the vessel to sail to Tartus, Syria, and demanded the release of 50 Palestinians then in Israeli prisons. When refused permission to dock at Tartus, the hijackers shot one wheelchair-bound passenger – a Jewish American named Leon Klinghoffer, and threw his body overboard. The Achille Lauro headed back towards Port Said - and after two days of negotiations - the hijackers agreed to abandon the liner for safe conduct and were flown towards Tunisia aboard an Egyptian commercial airliner.

The plane was intercepted by United States Navy fighters on October 10 and directed to land at Naval Air Station Sigonella, a NATO base in Sicily, where the hijackers were arrested by the Italians after a disagreement between U.S. and Italian authorities. The other passengers on the plane (possibly including the hijackers’ leader, Abu Abbas) were allowed to continue on to their destination, despite protests by the US. Egypt later demanded an apology from the US for forcing the airplane off course.

Most of the combat controllers and pararescue team members are pictured in this 1985 photgraph
of the 24th STS, Ft. Bragg, NC. The 24th Special Tactics Squadron is assigned to JSOC.
(Photo from Tappero collection)

The special tactics (ST) concept was implemented at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. Combat Controllers and Pararescue men (PJ) were combined on teams tailored for the special operations mission. A robust support structure was constructed to allow the operators to train instead of dealing with time-consuming additional duties. For example, riggers and life support specialists took over the parachute shop instead of a pararescueman (PJ) or controller running it between deployments. On the purely Air Force side of the house, Military Airlift Command (MAC) claimed all PJs and combat controllers as the missions of air rescue, tactical airlift, and weather services were consolidated under one command. The 1721st, 1722d, and 1723d Combat Control Squadrons (CCS) were formed and the era of CCTs as part of the aerial port squadrons ended. Combat controllers won a few key administrative battles as a unique AFSC was created. All remaining CCT-qualified radio maintenance personnel had to attend ATC school. MAC regulations on training, standards and evaluation, and assault-zone procedures finally applied to all controllers, minus the few in joint billets at the newly redesignated 1724th Special Tactics Squadron (STS). Training, funding, tactics, and morale were finally on the rise. In 1988 combat controllers and pararescue training pipelines were melded as the march toward special tactics continued. For more about the 720th Special Tactics Group and its mission, follow the link below: