From Missouri Roots to Washington State University

James P. Fleming came into the world on March 12, 1943, in Sedalia, Missouri, a heartland state that raises corn and character in equal measure. He grew up in the shadow of a father who was deeply dedicated to the Air Force. John H. Fleming was a career Air Force pilot, the kind of man who flew combat missions in the Pacific during World War II and later turned into a Cold War warrior with the Strategic Air Command. The elder Fleming wasn’t your average nine-to-five dad. Young James grew up on a steady diet of discipline, jet fuel, and stories from the front lines. That kind of upbringing doesn’t tend to produce hedge fund managers—it breeds warriors.

By the time Fleming hit college age, the writing was on the wall. He enrolled at Washington State University, but this wasn’t some soul-searching, beer-pong phase. He signed up for the Air Force ROTC program, committing himself to the kind of life most folks only read about. It wasn’t about glory or medals—it was about duty, plain and simple. He graduated in 1966 with a degree and a commission in the U.S. Air Force. From there, Fleming didn’t waste time. He strapped into a cockpit and kicked off a military career that would make even the old-timers sit up straight and take notice.

Answering the Call

Young Mr. Fleming got his gold bars as a Second Lieutenant in the U.S. Air Force on May 9, 1966, straight out of the ROTC program at WSU. A month later, on June 12, he was on active duty and already eyeing the skies. He headed down to Laredo, Texas, for pilot training, where most guys were angling for fast jets and glory. Not Fleming. When the Air Force put out the call for more helicopter pilots in Vietnam, he raised his hand. No hesitation. He wasn’t looking for a thrill—he was answering a need.

Once trained up, Fleming was assigned to Minot Air Force Base in the frozen flatlands of North Dakota. There, he flew the UH-1F Huey, pulling support missions for missile sites and various oddball assignments. This wasn’t all paint-by-numbers flying either. He did some unique work, like teaming up with the U.S. Forest Service, and even flew to Greenland on a wild mission to search for a crashed B-52 bomber that happened to be packing nuclear weapons. The realization of that will wake you up faster than a pot of black coffee.

Eventually, Fleming made his way to Hurlburt Field in Florida for special operations training—a finishing school for the serious and the brave. By June of 1968, he was in Vietnam, flying with the 20th Special Operations Squadron—better known as the Green Hornets. He’d spent the last couple of years sharpening his blade. Now, he was about to be thrown into the fire that would forge a Medal of Honor legacy.

The Mission That Defined a Hero

On November 26, 1968, LT Fleming earned his place in the pantheon of American warfighters the hard way—by flying straight into hell and dragging six men back out of it. He was piloting a UH-1F Huey with the 20th Special Operations Squadron near Đức Cơ, South Vietnam, when a call came in: a six-man Special Forces recon team, part of the infamous MACV-SOG, was pinned down. They were caught in a bad spot—trapped between a river and a swarm of enemy fighters who were closing in fast. One rescue chopper had already been shot down. Another had to bug out. Fleming was the last option.

1LT Fleming
1LT Fleming, right after the mission that got him the Medal of Honor.

So what did he do? He dropped that bird in like a surgeon under fire. The only place to land was a narrow strip of riverbank. He balanced the Huey like a tightrope walker—tail boom dangling over open water, skids wedged against the muddy bank. But the team couldn’t reach him. The enemy fire was too intense. Most pilots would’ve pulled chalks and headed for the horizon. Not Fleming. He backed off, took a breath, and came right back in, low on fuel and under a rain of gunfire.

Bullets were tearing through the windshield, cracking past his helmet, but he held that helicopter steady. It was the kind of flying you don’t train for—it was gut, instinct, and sheer will. The Special Forces team sprinted through the fire, piled into the Huey, and Fleming punched it out of there like a man possessed. He brought them all back in one piece, not a single casualty. This was so much more than another mission, even for the seasoned SF—it was a miracle pulled off by a pilot with ice in his veins and a refusal to let good men die on his watch.