The clearing in Kien Tuong Province, Vietnam, is barely visible from the cockpit when Chief Warrant Officer Mike Novosel sees him—a wounded soldier, lying next to an enemy bunker. The tree line flashes with muzzle fire. The air is thick with smoke and the thwack-thwack-thwack of incoming rounds. Even gunships are keeping their distance today.

But Novosel pushes his unarmed Huey helicopter closer to the fight.

A few more feet. A few more seconds. That’s all the men on the ground have left.

He lowers the helicopter until the skids almost touch the grass—hovering in the kill zone, absorbing fire, refusing to turn away. It’s a decision he has made hundreds of times before, but today the margin is even thinner than usual.

Later, people would point to this day—October 2, 1969—as the defining moment of his service. Those who knew him well would say this mission wasn’t an exception. It was the inevitable result of a lifetime shaped by hard beginnings, a devotion to flying, and a quiet determination to bring others home.

Humble Beginnings, High Aspirations

Mike Novosel Sr. was born on September 3, 1922, in Etna, Pennsylvania, the son of Croatian immigrants who worked long hours and instilled in him modesty, resilience, and a strong work ethic. Like many who came of age during the Great Depression, he learned early how to contribute, endure, and stay humble.

He enlisted in the U.S. Army Air Corps in February 1941, just months before the attack on Pearl Harbor. He wanted to be a pilot, but he faced an immediate obstacle: he was just shy of the minimum height requirement for aviation cadets. According to multiple historical accounts and oral histories, he and his friends came up with a solution. They carried him straight from bed to the height check on a borrowed stretcher, hoping to take advantage of every fraction of an inch before gravity compressed his spine for the day.

The effort paid off. He was accepted into the program.

By age 22, he was flying B-29 Superfortress bombers in WWII and rose to the role of squadron commander after the war. That promotion came with something he didn’t expect: A jeep.

“Here I was, a B-29 aircraft commander — a squadron commander at that. I’d flown five different trainers, three pursuits, four transports, and four bombers. But I couldn’t drive a simple automobile,” Novosel wrote in his autobiography titled Dustoff: The Memoir of an Army Aviator.

“This is one of my favorite parts of Novosel’s story,” said Kali Schick, Senior Historian at the National Medal of Honor Museum. “As a squadron commander, he had a jeep available to him—only he didn’t know how to drive a car. Fly a B-29 in tough combat conditions? Sure! But he had to ask a first sergeant to teach him to drive.”

The contrast captures him perfectly: extraordinarily skilled in the air, humbly human on the ground.

A Life in Service: Three Wars, Many Missions, One Calling

Michael J. Novosel’s career spanned three major American wars — from the final days of WWII, through reserve service during the Korean War, and into Vietnam — reflecting a lifelong commitment to flight and duty. 

During WWII, Novosel flew B-29 Superfortress bombers in the Pacific. In July 1945, he joined the 58th Bombardment Wing on Tinian, flying combat missions late in the war. After Japan’s surrender, he piloted aircraft in the massive flyover during the signing aboard the USS Missouri and later flew supply drops to Allied prisoners of war—missions focused on relief, not combat.

After the war, he remained in uniform as the newly formed U.S. Air Force took shape, eventually moving into the Air Force Reserve. When the Korean War began, he was recalled to active duty, serving in non-combat assignments that kept him in the cockpit and connected to aviation even as the nature of the conflict shifted.

By the early 1960s, career pathways in the Air Force left fewer opportunities to fly. For many, that would have signaled retirement or a move into staff roles.

Not for Mike Novosel. In 1963, he made an extraordinary decision: he voluntarily gave up his lieutenant colonel rank in the Air Force Reserve to join the U.S. Army as a warrant officer—solely for the chance to fly helicopters. It was an unusual move on paper, but a perfectly logical one for a man who wasn’t done flying or serving the mission. And the mission, he believed, was in Vietnam.

The Medal of Honor Mission: Valor Under Fire

The Vietnam War found Novosel in the cockpit of the UH-1 Huey, where he carried out some of the most demanding and courageous medical evacuation missions of the war.

By 1969, Novosel was flying with the 82d Medical Detachment in Vietnam, piloting medevac “Dustoff” helicopters. On October 2 of that year, he volunteered to fly unarmed—and without gunship escort—into a heavily fortified region in Kien Tuong Province. The area was under such intense fire that other aircraft were holding back.

Enemy automatic weapons fire tore through the trees, striking his Huey repeatedly. Six times he was forced out of the landing zone. Six times he circled back. Each approach was at tree-top level, exposing the aircraft to staggering risk. Yet he continued, landing again and again to evacuate wounded soldiers who otherwise had no chance of survival.

Near the final extraction, while backing toward a wounded man lying near an enemy bunker, Novosel was hit, and the helicopter was heavily damaged. For a moment, he lost control—but he recovered, steadied the aircraft, and lifted out with his crew and the wounded aboard.

In total, he completed 15 separate extractions and evacuated 29 men under fire. For these actions, he received the Medal of Honor, presented by President Richard Nixon on June 15, 1971. 

Father and Son — A Unique Bond in the Skies

His son, Michael J. Novosel Jr., born in 1949, grew up on flight lines and around aircrews. By the time he reached high school, he knew he wanted to fly like his father. He earned his wings on December 15, 1969—exactly 27 years to the day after his father earned his.

When he volunteered for Vietnam, he requested assignment to the same medevac unit. His father, already serving in the 82d Medical Detachment, gave him his in-country flight clearance and the traditional “dollar ride.” Together, they became the first father–son pilot team to serve in the same helicopter unit in Vietnam.

Their story deepened weeks later. First, Novosel Jr.’s Huey took enemy fire and crash-landed in hostile territory. Novosel Sr., already carrying wounded patients, landed under fire to retrieve his son and his crew. It was a moment of relief, gratitude, and quiet acknowledgement of the risks they both carried.

Exactly one week later, the roles reversed. Novosel Sr.’s helicopter was grounded in a rice paddy. As he waited for rescue, he saw a Huey approaching—and recognized the pilot. As his son came in to rescue him, he had a single thought: “I’ll never hear the last of this. They’re not going to let me forget it, especially after I made them buy me drinks for picking them up last week.”

Between them, father and son evacuated more than 6,000 wounded. But the story of how they rescued each other—each stepping into danger to pull the other out—remains one of the most extraordinary accounts of devotion and family in wartime aviation.

Legacy After Service — More Than a Medal

By the end of his career, Michael Novosel Sr. had flown 2,543 medevac missions in Vietnam and evacuated nearly 5,600 people. He accrued more than 12,400 military flight hours, including 2,038 in combat. When he retired in 1984, he held the distinction of being the last World War II–era aviator still on active flying status in the U.S. military.

“As admirable a record as the figures implied, they would always be barren numbers,” recounts Novosel in his book. “They could never show how much misery I had seen, how many cries of pain I had heard, and how many deaths I had witnessed. They could never address man’s inhumanity to man. They can’t describe the overpowering loneliness experienced during the moments of reflection upon home and family. The figures didn’t – couldn’t – list the times I cursed the war and all its misery.”

In retirement, he remained involved in aviation and veteran communities, speaking to young pilots and participating in ceremonies that honored Dustoff crews and the history of medical evacuation. 

His legacy continues today—not only through those he saved and served with, but also through the street at the Army’s aviation center that has borne his name since his retirement, a lasting reminder of the impact he made on Army aviation.

His life was long, dedicated, and deliberately humble. He didn’t seek medals; he sought the wounded. And he never stopped believing that if he had the ability to bring someone home, then he had the responsibility to try.

Mike Novosel Sr. passed away on April 2, 2006, at age 83. By then, he had spent more than four decades in service, influenced generations of aviators, and left a legacy defined not only by the lives he lifted from danger but by the humility with which he carried every chapter of his career.

Experience This Story at the National Medal of Honor Museum

You can explore Novosel’s story firsthand through several elements of the Museum experience:

• See the UH-1H Huey on display—the same type of aircraft he flew on Dustoff missions throughout Vietnam.

• Take part in the VR Huey Dustoff Rescue Mission, where you’ll encounter the urgency and split-second decisions medical evacuation crews faced under fire.

• Step into Novosel’s audio shower and hear him describe parts of his service in his own words, connecting the history on the page to the voice of the man who lived it.

Extraordinary awaits. Plan your visit today.