Episode 31 of “Military Tales” delves into the extraordinary true account known as the Pardo Push, a remarkable feat performed on March 10, 1967, near Hanoi. Hear from pilot Bob Pardo as he describes the mission bombing a heavily defended steel mill and the moment a fellow F-4 Phantom was critically damaged by intense ground fire, leaving it with insufficient fuel to escape North Vietnam. Faced with his comrades’ almost certain capture, Pardo made the audacious and incredibly dangerous decision to position his own F-4 and use the fairing in front of his armored windscreen to push the disabled jet by its lowered tail hook, guiding it towards the Laotian border. Discover the perilous details of this mid-air push, the successful ejection and rescue of all four airmen, the initial threat of a court-martial, Colonel Robin Olds’ crucial intervention, and how, 22 years later, Pardo and his backseater Steve Wayne were finally awarded the Silver Star for this act that went “way past the call of military duty”.
“Military Tales” Episode 31 dives headfirst into a story so remarkable, it has its own name: The Pardo Push. This episode chronicles the astonishing events of March 10, 1967, near Hanoi, where an act of audacious bravery defied all odds and military protocol to save lives. Featuring the legendary pilot himself, Bob Pardo, this is more than just a war story; it’s a testament to duty, leadership, and the unbreakable bonds forged in combat.
March 10, 1967: The Target is Hot
The mission that day involved a four-ship formation of F-4 Phantoms heading north to bomb a steel mill near Hanoi. These weren’t easy targets, surrounded by intense defensive fire, including 183 guns within five miles. The F-4s were potent, capable of delivering about 18,000 pounds of explosives, each carrying as many bombs as a World War II B-17, but with significantly greater accuracy. The plan was simple: go fast, put the bombs on target, and get out. F-4s typically rolled in on their dive bomb runs at 14,000 feet, using a steep 60-degree dive for accuracy, reaching speeds of about 600 knots.
But as the saying goes, no plan survives the first 30 seconds of combat. On the ground, the North Vietnamese were equally determined, using everything from big hundred-millimeter shells (firing about one round every four seconds with supersonic shrapnel) to smaller 37 millimeters (firing about 16 rounds in the same time, each capable of bringing down an F-4).
When the Mission Went Sideways
Tragedy struck during the roll-in. The lead aircraft, flown by Earl Amen with backseater Robert Daughtrey, had already been hit once near the initial point. Then, they took a second, heavy hit, severely damaging their fuel tanks. Bob Pardo and his backseater, Steve Wayne, also had their fuel tanks hit, though their leak wasn’t as bad.
Earl’s situation was dire. He was “bingo minus 5,000 pounds,” meaning he had only 2,000 pounds of fuel remaining. This wasn’t enough fuel to get out of North Vietnam, much less reach a tanker. With their dying F-4, the only academic option was to point towards the Laotian border and prepare for the worst: ejection and the grim reality of potentially becoming POWs, facing assured torture.
The Unthinkable Decision
As Earl and Robert prepared for this fate, climbing towards the Laotian border, Bob Pardo made a decision that went “way past the call of military duty”. He stayed with them. They climbed to about 30,000+ feet. Earl was down to about 400 pounds of fuel. Bob initially suggested he shut down the engines to save the last 200 pounds for a controlled ejection.
Bob first tried putting the nose of his F-4 into Earl’s drag chute compartment to push, but turbulence from Earl’s sputtering engines made it impossible. As he backed out, Bob saw the big old tail hook. He had another idea. He told Earl to lower his hook.
The Pardo Push: A Feat of Piloting and Courage
The plan was breathtakingly simple and terrifyingly dangerous: Bob would use the fairing in front of his armored glass windscreen to push against Earl’s lowered tail hook. An F-4 weighs about thirty thousand pounds. Pushing 15 tons, focused on a hook no bigger than a football, with the fragile fairing, required incredible precision. One slip, and the hook could smash into Bob and Steve at 16 tons at 250 knots.
They started pushing, staying on for 10 or 15 seconds at a time. They watched as the rate of descent began reducing. They kept pushing. Finally, after reaching about 6,000 feet, they had crossed over into Laos out of North Vietnam. Bob told them they had gone as far as they could, and it was time to get out. All four men ejected and parachuted into the jungle.
Rescue and the Aftermath
Landing in Laos wasn’t exactly “safety”. Laos was also a warzone, and they were immediately marked and hunted. They could hear people shouting, hollering, and shooting rifles. Deciding against making contact, they remained hidden. Fortunately, Laos was closer to American bases. Within two hours, all four were in helicopters and heading home.
Back in Ubon, they debriefed their squadron, who thought the feat was “absolutely magnificent”. But the next morning, a different reality set in. Bob was taken to the command post. The general at 7th Air Force headquarters in Saigon wanted to court-martial him. They had to replan the flight to see if there was any way they could have made it back on their own, but the conclusion was clear: Earl couldn’t have.
Colonel Robin Olds Intervenes
Fortunately, a true leader returned from R&R. Colonel Robin Olds, a World War II ace and, at 44, an “old man” by Vietnam standards, was the “antithesis of the dogmatic political and bureaucratic leadership”. Universally appreciated, Olds stopped everything, flew to Saigon, and talked to the commanding general.
The general agreed not to court-martial Pardo, but with a condition: neither pilot would receive any recognition whatsoever. Bob and Steve were fine with this; they got what they wanted โ their two buddies back.
Recognition, Decades Later
The story didn’t end there. 22 years later, at a reunion, a friend of Bob’s who worked as a military aid for Senator John Tower learned they had received no recognition. Using his one favor, he pushed for their story to be acknowledged. Finally, Bob and Steve were awarded the Silver Star, the third highest military decoration for valor. Bob notes the medal was simply a recognition for the event itself, not the reason they did it. They weren’t thinking of medals in that moment; they were focused on saving lives.
Pushing Beyond the Cockpit
The drive to help didn’t stop with the Pardo Push. Years later, when Bob learned that Earl Amen had been diagnosed with ALS, he sprang into action. Earl, a fighter, was losing muscle control and needed a wheelchair. Bob felt they had to do something. He started calling friends, initially raising $100 from the first seven people. A friend suggested selling t-shirts. Word spread, and they sold thousands, raising close to $120,000 just selling t-shirts for Earl’s motorized wheelchair and a van. A call to the vice chairman of General Motors even led to Earl receiving a van. Bob gets particularly animated when talking about how the community rallied around Earl.
Bob’s willingness to help extends further; he even used a Coors corporate jet after Hurricane Mitch in 1998 to deliver diapers and facilitate water purification efforts in Honduras. As he puts it, he “just likes to save people’s butts”.
When asked where this drive comes from, Bob attributes it to a “very careful choice of parents”. He knew his father would have asked if he tried to help a friend who was in trouble. He couldn’t have gone home and said no. He tried because his dad would have expected him to do something. This profound influence is the deeper “push” Bob Pardo followed. This episode is proudly dedicated to that man, William Roland Pardo.
The story of the Pardo Push is a powerful reminder of the extraordinary courage and dedication found in military service, and how the bonds of camaraderie can inspire individuals to push boundaries, both in the air and on the ground, for decades to come.