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Chained Eagle: The Heroic Story of the First American Shot Down over North Vietnam
On August 5, 1964, while Lt. (jg) Everett Alvarez was flying a retaliatory air strike against naval targets in North Vietnam, antiaircraft fire crippled his A-4 fighter-bomber, forcing him to eject over water at low altitude. Alvarez relates the engrossing tale of his capture by fishermen, brutal treatment by the North Vietnamese, physical and mental endurance, and triumphant repatriation nearly nine years later in 1973. Alvarez spent more time as a prisoner of war in Vietnam than any other flier. As Senator John McCain, a fellow POW, has written, “During his captivity, Ev exhibited a courage, compassion, and indomitable will that was an inspiration to us all.” Indeed, the book, which was written with Anthony S. Pitch, is remarkable for its lack of rancor. Alvarez directs his strongest words against the small number of POWs who broke ranks and collaborated with the enemy. As one reviewer wrote, Alvarez “relates the misery of his condition with a detachment that robs it of its shock value.” Chained Eagle also tells the story of the Alvarez family’s ordeal during his years of His sister became an anitwar activist, his wife divorced him, and relatives died. Yet throughout his time as a prisoner of war, Alvarez remained duty-bound and held steadfast to his religious faith and the values enshrined in the U.S. Constitution.
320 pages, Paperback
First published May 18, 2005
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
March 27, 2022
On August 11, 1964, an American pilot arrived at the soon to be famous "Hanoi Hilton." LTJG Everett Alvarez, Jr. would spend a stunning 3,113 days in captivity, becoming one of the longest-held American POWs.
Alvarez’s troubles began on August 5, when his plane was damaged during a bombing run. He was forced to bail out. Only a few minutes later, he was captured by Vietnamese fishermen, and found himself in a tricky situation. Was he a prisoner-of-war with all the protections of that status? Since war had not yet been declared, the North Vietnamese claimed that he was only a common criminal. How was he supposed to answer questions? At first, Alvarez gave only his name, rank, and serial number, but he soon realized that Vietnamese authorities had obtained information from the American media. How this changed what he could or could not reveal he had no clue.
For months, Alvarez had nothing to rely on except for his own wits. There were no other American POWs around. He was barely surviving in a small cell on a starvation diet. "Sometimes I lifted the cover off a plate and found a chicken head floating in grease,” he writes, “or in a slimy stew or soup smelling of drain-water. At other times an animal hoof . . . More than once a blackbird lay feet up on the plate, its head and feathers intact and the eyes open.”
He had to develop survival strategies of his own. He scratched a cross into a wall and hosted his own Catholic Mass. He etched the passage of time on walls. He did complex math problems and played chess against himself, just to keep his brain working. He had daily cleaning rituals, which warded off the cat-sized rats that roamed around – kind of.
In 1965, other American POWs began to arrive. They made Alvarez's live both better and worse. On one hand, he now had companions. The men developed a tap code that worked through walls. Their communication system, Alvarez describes, “became our lifeline. . . . It fueled our morale and stiffened our backbone. Above all, it kept us informed. . . . To be forewarned was to be forearmed.”
On the other hand, the North Vietnamese intensified interrogations of prisoners. They wanted letters and recordings for propaganda purposes. Americans were tortured if they refused to cooperate. On one occasion, Alvarez was told to write an apology. His arms were contorted and painfully bound until he finally complied. “For the first time in my life,” he writes in his book, “I felt sheer hatred. . . . It took a few hours before I could hold the pencil and when I did, my writing looked like a drunkard’s scrawl. . . . I took pains to misspell words to make the confession as phony as possible.” The arm torture left the skin on Alvarez’s hands deadened and black. Natural color didn’t return for two years.
On another occasion, Americans were marched through a frenzied crowd. They were tied to each other, defenseless, as the mob beat and kicked them mercilessly. “Our emaciated bodies, lacking nutrition, sunlight and exercise for so long, were ill-equipped to withstand this kind of ordeal,” Alvarez describes. The treatment of prisoners improved, but not until after Ho Chi Minh died in 1969. Finally, in 1973, the POWs were released.
Alvarez had been a captive since the very beginning — but he had also been a pillar of strength for everyone else. Another prisoner remembered that all the POWs looked up to Everett. “He was one of those optimists who always thought we would get out the next day.”
Alas, homecomings weren’t always as rosy as Everett Alvarez's thoughts, at least not his own homecoming. During his absence, his wife had obtained a divorce, married another man, and had a baby with him. But the reader should not despair: the hero's story had a happy ending: Alvarez remarried, earned graduate degrees, and founded a wildly successful company.
CHAINED EAGLE was a delight to read. Although Alvarez emphasizes patriotism way too much for my taste, his is an inspiring story. This book reads like a well-written novel. I highly recommend it to anyone looking for a good POW memoir.
Alvarez’s troubles began on August 5, when his plane was damaged during a bombing run. He was forced to bail out. Only a few minutes later, he was captured by Vietnamese fishermen, and found himself in a tricky situation. Was he a prisoner-of-war with all the protections of that status? Since war had not yet been declared, the North Vietnamese claimed that he was only a common criminal. How was he supposed to answer questions? At first, Alvarez gave only his name, rank, and serial number, but he soon realized that Vietnamese authorities had obtained information from the American media. How this changed what he could or could not reveal he had no clue.
For months, Alvarez had nothing to rely on except for his own wits. There were no other American POWs around. He was barely surviving in a small cell on a starvation diet. "Sometimes I lifted the cover off a plate and found a chicken head floating in grease,” he writes, “or in a slimy stew or soup smelling of drain-water. At other times an animal hoof . . . More than once a blackbird lay feet up on the plate, its head and feathers intact and the eyes open.”
He had to develop survival strategies of his own. He scratched a cross into a wall and hosted his own Catholic Mass. He etched the passage of time on walls. He did complex math problems and played chess against himself, just to keep his brain working. He had daily cleaning rituals, which warded off the cat-sized rats that roamed around – kind of.
In 1965, other American POWs began to arrive. They made Alvarez's live both better and worse. On one hand, he now had companions. The men developed a tap code that worked through walls. Their communication system, Alvarez describes, “became our lifeline. . . . It fueled our morale and stiffened our backbone. Above all, it kept us informed. . . . To be forewarned was to be forearmed.”
On the other hand, the North Vietnamese intensified interrogations of prisoners. They wanted letters and recordings for propaganda purposes. Americans were tortured if they refused to cooperate. On one occasion, Alvarez was told to write an apology. His arms were contorted and painfully bound until he finally complied. “For the first time in my life,” he writes in his book, “I felt sheer hatred. . . . It took a few hours before I could hold the pencil and when I did, my writing looked like a drunkard’s scrawl. . . . I took pains to misspell words to make the confession as phony as possible.” The arm torture left the skin on Alvarez’s hands deadened and black. Natural color didn’t return for two years.
On another occasion, Americans were marched through a frenzied crowd. They were tied to each other, defenseless, as the mob beat and kicked them mercilessly. “Our emaciated bodies, lacking nutrition, sunlight and exercise for so long, were ill-equipped to withstand this kind of ordeal,” Alvarez describes. The treatment of prisoners improved, but not until after Ho Chi Minh died in 1969. Finally, in 1973, the POWs were released.
Alvarez had been a captive since the very beginning — but he had also been a pillar of strength for everyone else. Another prisoner remembered that all the POWs looked up to Everett. “He was one of those optimists who always thought we would get out the next day.”
Alas, homecomings weren’t always as rosy as Everett Alvarez's thoughts, at least not his own homecoming. During his absence, his wife had obtained a divorce, married another man, and had a baby with him. But the reader should not despair: the hero's story had a happy ending: Alvarez remarried, earned graduate degrees, and founded a wildly successful company.
CHAINED EAGLE was a delight to read. Although Alvarez emphasizes patriotism way too much for my taste, his is an inspiring story. This book reads like a well-written novel. I highly recommend it to anyone looking for a good POW memoir.
December 4, 2025
Got this after visiting the “Hanoi Hilton” on our trip to Thailand and Vietnam. Some of the stuff they endured was just absolutely jarring. I thought it was really cool how descriptive his memory was. Not the typical book I’d read but I did enjoy this.
Some things/storylines seemed too thorough and some I would have liked more detail.
Some things/storylines seemed too thorough and some I would have liked more detail.
July 2, 2008
My dad recommended this book to me which means that it's probably a pretty good picture of what some of the circumstances were facing POWs in Vietnam. Not incredible, but informative. 4-stars for being an informative first-hand account.
Brutal. Absolutely brutal. I'm glad at least this guy got a warm welcome when he came home. War is such an interesting, demented thing.
Welcome home, Everett.
Brutal. Absolutely brutal. I'm glad at least this guy got a warm welcome when he came home. War is such an interesting, demented thing.
Welcome home, Everett.
May 14, 2008
This gives one an understanding what Senator John McCain went through in his captivity in North Vietnam.
June 10, 2009
A great memoir of what being a POW was like during Vietnam. I also liked how it described how the family was affected by the situation.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews