A Sailor's History of the U.S. Navy (3 page)

All Sailors, from seaman to admiral, are guided in their everyday life in the U.S. Navy by three bedrock principles known as core values.

Those Sailors who have contributed the most to the great heritage of our Navy are those who have conducted themselves in the highest ethical manner: placing honesty and truthfulness above convenience, taking personal responsibility for their actions, and never compromising the high ideals of the great nation they serve.

The most obvious requirement for an effective fighting force is physical courage in the face of great danger. Less obvious is the need for moral courage. Yet both are absolutely necessary, and both are found in abundance in the annals of American naval heritage.

The record of achievements by the Sailors of the U.S. Navy reflects a deep sense of commitment to the nation, to the service, and to fellow shipmates.

 

The chapters that follow will clearly show that
honor, courage,
and
commitment
are not merely words, but
actions.

The United States Navy defends the nation's honor. The individual Sailor plays a crucial role in that vital mission by maintaining a personal sense of honor at all times. Sometimes this task can be challenging—for both the nation and the Sailor.

Like many other young people, nineteen-year-old Douglas Brent Hegdahl had joined the Navy to see the world. He grew up in Clark, South Dakota, and his travels had been limited to parts of the American Midwest. So, he was eager to expand his horizons, and he soon got his wish. In early 1967, just a few months after he had raised his right hand and promised to “bear true faith and allegiance,” Seaman Apprentice Hegdahl found himself on the other side of the world as a member of the gunnery crew in USS
Canberra,
a guided missile cruiser serving as part of the Seventh Fleet in Southeast Asia.

The Vietnam War was in full swing by this time, and the U.S. Navy was carrying the war to the enemy in a number of ways. In the south, Sailors wearing black berets took to the rivers and littorals to fight Vietcong guerrillas “up close and personal.” SEALs were involved in covert operations, and SeaBees built bases from the Cua Viet River in the north to the Mekong Delta in the south. Naval aviators shared the skies with U.S. Air Force pilots to pound targets in Communist North Vietnam. And cruisers, destroyers, and frigates of the surface Navy served on the gun line of Vietnam, striking enemy positions both north and south of that line.
Canberra
was one of those cruisers who had been called upon to bombard Communist targets with her six 8-inch, ten 5-inch, and eight 3-inch guns.

Although firing shells at enemy targets was exciting business, Hegdahl felt disappointed because his duties kept him down in the ammunition-handling spaces during the bombardments, where he could see nothing of the topside action. Some of his buddies told him that a night shelling was a spectacular event, kind of a Fourth of July celebration, except that it was more than symbolic—this was the real thing! Determined to get a look at this unique sight, Hegdahl decided to sneak a peek, even though he had been warned not to go topside during live firing. It was a decision that would change his life forever.

USS
Canberra
firing during a night mission against enemy targets in North Vietnam. Just one of the U.S. Navy's many roles in the Vietnam War.
U.S. Naval Institute Photo Archive

At about 0400 on the morning of 6 April, Hegdahl slipped out of his rack, quickly ate a cheese sandwich he had earlier stashed beneath his mattress, put on his uniform, and slipped out of the darkened berthing compartment. As he made his way through the passageways, lit only by the red lanterns designed to preserve night vision, he could feel the jarring jolts as
Canberra
's guns fired in anger. His heart was pounding with excitement at the prospect of actually witnessing the great flashes of flame leaping from the muzzles of the guns that friends had described to him. He felt his way through a darkened light locker on the port side and undogged the door. A rush of humid air washed over his perspiring face as he stepped into the tropical night. The South China Sea was black like coal, and he could see nothing as he felt his way along the open deck.

Suddenly, a battery of 5-inch guns opened fire just above him and, in a flash, Seaman Apprentice Douglas Hegdahl learned the hard way why he
had been forbidden to come out on deck when these weapons were at their deadly business. He found himself in the South China Sea, blown overboard by the concussion of the firing guns. Frantically, he began waving and yelling, but the darkness and the roar of the guns conspired against him; he watched helplessly as his ship steamed rapidly away.

Fortunately, he was a strong swimmer and had little trouble staying afloat. But as he slowly tread water there in the warm tropical sea, he suddenly remembered with horror the snakes he had seen making their way past the ship on bright sunny days. He had heard stories of their deadly poisons and now wished more than ever that he had stayed in his rack where he belonged.

As dawn broke, he was relieved that he could see no snakes, but he was discouraged that he could see nothing else but sea and sky. It was the loneliest feeling of his life. A few hours passed and then, to his relief, he caught sight of an object that at first he thought was a buoy. As he swam toward it, losing sight of it and then regaining it as he bobbed up and down in the swells, he realized it was a fishing boat. Within a short time, the Vietnamese fishermen saw him and hauled him on board. Hegdahl's hopes were soaring now as the six men treated him kindly, giving him a dry burlap sack to wear and offering him some clams to eat. Because of their apparent kindness, his hopes rose that they were friendly South Vietnamese rather than Communist enemies from the North.

Later in the day, however, when they passed by another fishing boat, the men yanked him to his feet and displayed him to the men in the other boat. The second group of men shook their fists and shouted things at him he could not understand, but he did not mistake their general meaning. It seemed certain that these were not South Vietnamese allies. His worst fears were confirmed when the fishing boat put in to shore. There, angry villagers attacked and might well have killed him had not local militiamen kept them at bay.

Hegdahl's nightmare was just beginning. It was one of imprisonment, interrogations, isolation, beatings, loneliness, fear, and horrible living conditions that would last for more than two years. He was moved to several different locations, eventually ending up in Hanoi, where he would share the ordeal with Navy and Air Force aviators who had been shot down over North Vietnam.

Early on, when the young seaman apprentice tried to convince his captors that he was not an aviator like the others, telling them that he had come from a ship, they accused him of being a commando, a “spy from the sea,” and threatened to execute him. When his interrogators brought out paper and pens, demanding that he write a confession of his “crimes,” he looked
at the pens as though they were some complicated piece of machinery and told his tormentors that he couldn't read or write, saying, “I'm a poor peasant.” The North Vietnamese believed him and then assigned a man to teach him. This did not go well. Hegdahl continued the ruse by proving to be a very poor student.

Continuing to act as though he was uneducated and slow-witted, Hegdahl was very convincing. The North Vietnamese began calling him something that translated to “the incredibly stupid one”; they soon gave him mundane camp duties that seemed fitting to his “limited” capabilities.

Hegdahl's captors moved him about quite a bit, but he eventually found himself sharing a cell with Lieutenant Commander Richard Stratton, a man who had caused his captors no small amount of trouble and who had been horribly tortured in return. In naval history there have not been many lieutenant commanders and seaman apprentices who have shared quarters, but these two men made the best of their unique situation and developed a strong friendship, based upon mutual respect and no small amount of humor. Stratton later described their first moments together.

During these siesta periods, the guards would often let Hegdahl out of his cell to sweep out the cell-block courtyard. Beak was at first relieved, “since it kept him from skipping and I could get some rest.” But one day, curiosity got the better of him, and Stratton decided to peer out through a peephole they had bored through the door. What he saw was “one for the books.”

Seaman Apprentice Doug Hegdahl sweeping out the cell-block courtyard as a prisoner of war in North Vietnam. This intrepid Sailor used such opportunities to sabotage enemy trucks.
U.S. Naval Institute Photo Archive

Despite their horrid circumstances and virtual helplessness, the POWs found ways to resist their enemies. It was essential that they not give in to despair, and one of the ways to keep it at bay was to fight back in whatever ways they could. Outright physical resistance was difficult under the circumstances—the Communists rarely hesitated to unleash extreme brutality when dealing with their helpless captives—but there were subtler ways to resist.