I did not die

Cao-Đắc Tuấn (Danlambao) - The following is the short story "I Did Not Die" ("Tôi Không Chết Đâu") (Cao-Đắc 2014, 210-255) in the short story collection “Fire in the rain,” (Cao-Đắc, Tuấn. 2014. Fire In The Rain. Hellgate Press, Oregon, U.S.A.) "I Did Not Die" is a story about the last days leading to April 30, 1975 in South Vietnam.

Đà Nẵng airfield, late March 1975

The sound of the helicopter flying overhead woke Toàn and most of the people who were sleeping on the grassy field around the runway. It was still early in the morning. The sun was just about to rise on the horizon in the East Sea, sending orange rays into the bluish sky.

Toàn sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked at his watch. 6:15AM. He’d just slept for three hours.

“Captain, the helicopter is going to pick up some people,” Hoài, a sergeant in his company, said.

Dozens of people around them stood up and looked in the direction of the helicopter. It was circling above the far end of the runway, near a small tent, where what appeared to be a family was waiting. It looked like a Huey but its white body and blue tail indicated it was a civilian chopper, an increasingly familiar sight in the coastal cities recently. It actually didn’t matter whether it was civilian or military. The fact that it was about to land was enough to raise everybody’s hopes.

The crowd quickly livened up. Men and women picked up their belongings; some women carried their children in their arms or in baskets strapped on their backs. Several people, mostly soldiers of the ARVN, rushed to their motorbikes, which were parked on the grass. Some jumped into their jeeps and trucks. They revved the engines and sped toward the chopper, their faces beaming with hope and excitement. Everybody wanted to be the first one to get to it.

“Let’s go,” Toàn shouted to Hoài.

They hopped into their jeep, parked at the curbside. Hoài started the engine and was about to drive away when a young woman carrying a baby about two years old rushed toward them.

“Can you take us?” the woman asked.

“Jump in. Quick!” Hoài shouted.

She immediately climbed into the back seat and put her baby next to her. The jeep roared forward.

Toàn turned and smiled at her and the baby. She smiled back. It was a strange exchange of smiles under such dire circumstances.

“What’s your name?” Toàn asked.

“Mai,” the woman said curtly.

“Where’s your husband?”

“My husband is in Huế. He told me to run away from Đà Nẵng as soon as possible. He will join me later.”

“What is he doing in Huế?”

Mai looked at the insignia of three gold blossoms on Toàn’s shoulder and his name. “Captain Toàn, he is a Marine Major.”

Toàn nodded. A Marine Major. He must be a battalion commander. He had probably been fighting the enemy, together with his men, most likely till the last of their bullets were spent. Poor guy! Huế had probably been overrun. The communists had been all over the Northern provinces with tanks and cannons. Mai probably didn’t know how bad the situation was.

Toàn felt sorry for her and her baby, but at this point he didn’t really care. If her husband hadn’t cared for them earlier, he found no reason to worry about them. He had sent Liên, his wife, and Kiệt, their son, to Saigon as soon as news of collapse of the Highland had reached him. He hadn’t wanted to worry about them during the fighting. Then, the disastrous withdrawal order had come. He, like many officers and soldiers in his Division, had thought the Saigon High Command had sold out the country to the communists. The dwindling supplies of ammunition, fuel, equipment, and replacement parts had added further to the anxieties. The withdrawal had been doomed from the start by poor logistical coordination, compounded further by the flood of refugees with vivid memories of the communist cold-blooded killings of civilians in the 1968 Huế massacre and the 1972 Highway of Horror in Quảng Trị. Soldiers had abandoned the withdrawing columns to return to their families as the troops moved along the coast. Within a few days, his company had disintegrated. By the time they reached Đà Nẵng, everybody had disappeared, leaving only Hoài and him remaining as the last two men in the company.

He now had one single goal: seeing Liên and Kiệt in Saigon. Let the politicians and the Generals worry about dividing the country.

A mortar explosion reverberated through the air in the distance. It probably came from the city, at least a few kilometers away, but the sound was loud enough to cause panic in the caravan. A motorbike carrying a man and a woman slammed into the side of a jeep. The woman flew out off the back seat and fell to the ground. The jeep swerved, hit another motorbike, and the three vehicles entangled with each other, skidding on the runway.

“Motherfucker!” Hoài screamed. He slammed on the brake while veering his jeep away from the fallen woman who was crawling on all fours and crying hysterically.

The accident didn’t stop the caravan. In fact, it fueled their determination to reach the helicopter even more. Motorbikes raced by. Nobody stopped for the woman and the men, three of whom were climbing out of the overturned jeep, blood dripping down their faces.

At the end of the runway, the helicopter, an Air America Bell 205, had landed. Two men, two women, and three children ran from the small tent toward the chopper, each carrying a small bag. A huge American, in civilian clothing, slid the rear door open and waved at them. He then turned his head, shocked at the sight of the approaching crowd on motorbikes and jeeps. He hurriedly shoved the people inside the cabin as soon as they climbed in.

The pilot stuck his head out of the cockpit. “My God, John. Where did they come from?”

John, the huge American and a mechanic, yelled back, “Do you want to take them?”

“Five max.” The pilot paused. “Maybe ten.”

“OK.”

A truck heading the caravan stopped and four ARVN soldiers, all young men in green uniforms without insignia, M-16 rifles in hands, jumped out and rushed toward the chopper.

John waved his hand. “Quick!”

As the four soldiers approached the cabin entrance, a dozen men in civilian and military outfits on motorcycles converged on the chopper. The four soldiers from the truck quickly climbed up into the cabin while the men on motorcycles yelled, “Wait for us.”

They jumped off their motorcycles and swarmed to the chopper. Chaos instantly ensued. They jostled, pushed, and shoved among themselves, trying to get in. John tried to slide the door shut, but it was stopped halfway by an M-16 rifle held by a dark-skinned soldier who was climbing up. John hunched across the entrance, blocking him, but the dark-skinned soldier pushed him backward.

Enraged, John took out his pistol and shouted, “No more. Get out!”

Nobody was intimidated by the pistol. In fact, they could have shot John with their own firearms, but they knew better than that. John was part of a team that was going to rescue them. They just ignored the pistol and kept pushing their way in. John held the pistol upward on his right hand and pressed it, together with his left hand, against the dark-skinned soldier’s chest, driving him backward with all his strength. The soldier struggled to squeeze by, his face distorted with agony. His slender, short frame was no match for the heavyset mechanic, but a dozen determined men teemed behind him outside the chopper, their bodies pressed against one another, propelling him forward.

“We can’t take you all!” John screamed.

It was too late. By sheer numbers, the men soon subdued him. As soon as the dark-skinned soldier slipped through, the rest gushed in like a torrent breaking through a dam, shoving John aside. They swarmed into the cabin, a small compartment designed to accommodate a maximum of twelve passengers. The men filled up the cabin quickly and squeezed in tightly, making use of all the available space, ignoring the horrified expressions on the faces of the women and children.

John shouted to the pilot, “Go! Go!”

He didn’t need to. The pilot had already begun the take-off. The “whop-whop” sound from the rotor blades became steady. The tail rotor blades were rolling at full speed. John slid the door partway closed but there were still a few men who were trying to climb up.

Hoài stopped his jeep behind the truck and sprinted out to the chopper. Toàn quickly followed him, oblivious to Mai and her baby. They joined the four soldiers who were struggling with John. Mai, with her baby in her arms, climbed out of the jeep and ran behind Toàn, but she knew it was impossible to get through the six men crowding the cabin entrance. She stood by on the ground, hopelessly looking on. Strands of her long hair flew around her pale face, her loose-fitting blouse and black silk trousers fluttering in the downwash from the rotor blades.

John punched and kicked the men vigorously. “Stay back! It’s overloaded!” But nobody listened to him.

From the other end of the runway, another group of ARVN soldiers, on motorcycles and in jeeps and trucks, rushed to the chopper. Some brandished their rifles.

John shouted to the pilot. “More are coming. Haul ass!”

The pilot turned the throttle clockwise on the collective pitch control stick. He needed to add more power to the chopper.

Toàn pressed his feet down on the skid to have solid support in case the chopper lifted off. He leaned his body forward against the edge of the cabin floor. Hoài was trying to push himself inside but was pushed back by John. The American mechanic threw a kick at Toàn’s face, but missed. Toàn lowered his body, his hands pinned down on the cabin floor, but the soldier on his right grabbed his neck and pressed his weight on him. He shouldered the soldier away but the man persistently clung to his body. Another soldier was squeezing by Toàn and the other soldier, but his face was knocked sideways by John’s knee. John pushed, shoved, and punched left and right, determined not to let any more of the men get on board. Sandwiched between Hoài on his left and two soldiers on his right, Toàn couldn’t move up; he stretched his arm forward, trying to grab a steel post attached to the cabin floor but John kept flinging his arm away. Toàn looked at the men inside the cabin, searching for a sympathetic face or a friendly gesture; but none of the men, who had been watching the struggle with remarkable indifference, made any move to help him.

“Please take us,” Mai screamed.

John looked up at her with surprise on his face, then stretched his arm out to her. She quickly grabbed it.

Toàn felt Mai's elbow forced down on his back. She was holding onto John’s arm, but appeared to be losing her grip. Her left arm was holding her baby. John moved to his left, trying to get a firm grip on the floor to pull the woman forward, but the soldier on Toàn’s side grabbed his shoulder. John turned sideways, jerking up the soldier’s hand with his shoulder. His left arm still stretched out to Mai, but he raised his right hand. Toàn saw John’s bulging eyes and his giant hand with the pistol flying at his face. He ducked and the pistol slammed into the face of the soldier on Toàn’s side. The guy screamed in pain, blood dripped from his forehead, but he stubbornly clung on. John stood up, hunching his back to avoid bumping up against the cabin ceiling, while still holding onto Mai’s arm, but he too was losing his grip.

The skids moved slightly. The rotor blades made a steady “whop-whop” sound, but the steel bird remained in the same position. It was unclear whether the chopper could lift off with such a heavy load, but one thing was certain. It had to fly away soon because the mob of ARVN soldiers on motorcycles was closing in. A few of these soldiers fired several M-16 rounds in the air.

Toàn knew he had to act fast. The chopper would lift off any minute. Mai now clung to his back. He felt her heavy breathing on the nape of his neck. He shoved her away with his elbow and felt her hand slipping down John’s arm. John fell down on his knees. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead. His face turned red as veins popped out of his neck. He dropped the bloody pistol on the floor and stretched out his other arm, trying to hold Mai’s arm, but Hoài knocked it away with his shoulder.

Mai dangled behind Toàn. She pushed her baby to the cabin floor over Toàn’s head. The baby squirmed, his hands frantically grabbing at Toàn’s hair. Then, he stopped. He recognized something familiar. He tapped his fingers on the short spiky hair as if he was playing with his favorite toy. His frightened face instantly turned into a happy one. His eyes brightened and he smiled an innocent smile.

“Ba (Daddy),” the baby exclaimed with excitement.

Toàn froze.

The baby’s utterance sounded exactly like Kiệt’s first spoken word. It was short with a strong pronunciation of the letter “B” like in “P,” but not quite as strong as a heavy “P.”

The baby played with Toàn’s hair and rubbed his head while repeating. “Ba! Ba!”

Toàn melted. The insanity evaporated.

What am I doing? Why am I not letting Mai and her baby get in?

He was stunned at his unspeakable acts. How could he, a Captain in the most elite Infantry Division of the ARVN, who had received one of the most decorated medals for his valor and bravery in the Tết Offensive, be so selfish and cowardly? The shame struck him like lightning from the sky, burning his body and exploding in his brain.

Like a flash, he knew exactly what he had to do. He raised his arms backward, groping for the baby. He clutched the baby’s under the armpits, pushed him forward and let the tiny creature slide over his head. The baby cried hysterically.

“Pull him in,” Toàn shouted.

John immediately grabbed the baby and handed him to an ARVN soldier in the cabin. Toàn squeezed himself out of the cabin entrance. His hands held Mai’s waist and pushed her up. She stepped on the cabin floor and John quickly shoved her inside. She snatched her baby from the ARVN soldier and held him tightly in her arms as if she was afraid of dropping him. The baby stopped crying and looked at his mother’s face. The smile on her face brought him instant joy. He smiled back and babbled some incomprehensible words.

Hoài and the other four soldiers took advantage of the distraction to climb up through the half-closed entrance, but they couldn’t get inside because there was no more space. They staggered at the edge of the cabin floor, shoving among themselves. John looked at Toàn, his eyes begging for help.

Toàn stepped back, pulled out his pistol, and pointed at the struggling soldiers.

“Get down or I’ll shoot!” he shouted.

The men stopped shoving. They turned their heads, looked at Toàn, and hesitated. They all carried firearms; each of them carried a rifle or pistol and had grenades hanging around their waists, but the gold-blossoms insignia on Toàn’s shoulder, his grave face, and the threatening pistol commanded a genuine respect, bringing back the discipline they had lost in their frantic flight.

Hoài resignedly stepped down from the edge of the cabin floor, followed by the other four.

John slid the door closed, nodded to Toàn, extended a thumbs-up, and gave him a military salute. Toàn smiled at the happy faces of Mai and her baby through the small window on the door, and he waved at them.

The chopper shook violently. Its rotor blades whirled to a complete blur, sending enormous downwash all around. The “whop-whop” sound grew more intense with occasional hisses. The noise became unbearable and the chopper continued shaking as if it was about to explode. Toàn and the rest of the men rushed away from the chopper, not knowing what was going to happen.

The chopper started to slide forward on its skids like a duck gliding on the surface of water. The “whop-whop” from the rotor blades, the occasional hisses from the engine, and the grinding sound made by the skids as they slowly moved on the uneven asphalt runway, gave everybody goosebumps. As Toàn and his men looked at the skidding chopper with amazement, the ARVN motorbike mob was approaching in the opposite direction. They swerved their motorbikes toward either side of the runway to avoid a head-on collision with the chopper. They stopped and stared at the chopper skidding by with stupefied faces. Isn’t a helicopter supposed to take off vertically? As the white and blue chopper skidded farther away from them, they realized that it was about to take off. The mob turned their motorbikes around and sped behind it. They waved their rifles and screamed in vain to tell the pilot to stop, but the chopper continued its slide faster and faster. Soon, the bird nosed down slightly, picked up enough translational lift, and climbed up into the air. The pursuing soldiers stopped their motorbikes and watched the climbing chopper with obvious disappointment. One soldier angrily fired several shots in the air and shouted profanity.

Toàn watched the chopper flying away until it became a tiny speck in the sky. He let out a sigh of relief and turned around, catching Hoài’s guilty gaze. The two men didn’t say a word to each other and returned to their jeep.

A series of mortar explosions near the airfield rumbled the earth. The ARVN mob bustled about, shouted loudly, and sped away in all directions.

Toàn looked at the fleeing soldiers in disgust, lit up a cigarette and handed Hoài the crumpled pack.

Somewhere in Virginia, early April 1975

The park was half full on this rare bright day. Children played on the grassy meadow under the watchful eyes of their parents. Mothers pushed strollers along the paved road circling the periphery of the park. Couples holding hands walked leisurely, enjoying the sunlight and the crisp air.

Sitting on a bench, a bespectacled old man was reading a newspaper, absorbed in the quiet activity. He was dressed in a dark long coat, a blue tie, white shirt, and black trousers. Together with his white hair and wrinkled face, he had the distinguished look of a professor of an Ivy League college.

A middle-aged man with a thick moustache and thick hair, dressed in faded jeans, walked up to the old man.

“Is this space occupied?” the moustached man asked.

The old man shook his head, without looking up. “No.”

He moved to the edge of the bench. The moustached man sat down and put a brown lunch bag between them. He took out a napkin from the bag and spread it on his lap. He then took out a cheeseburger, a small bag of fries, and a can of soda.

“You don’t mind me eating, do you?” he asked, glancing at the old man.

“No, not at all,” the old man replied, his eyes still fixed on the newspaper.

The moustached man ate in silence, sipped the soda occasionally and watched the children playing. Soon, he finished his burger and fries. He wiped his mouth with the napkin, and put the dirty napkin in the bag.

“How much did you pay for that cheeseburger?” the old man asked.

“One ninety-seven.”

“Not bad for a lunch.”

The old man finished reading the newspaper. He folded it and gave it to the moustached man. “You want to read? There is an interesting article on microprocessor technology.”

The moustached man smiled. “No, thank you.”

A brief silence.

“I am glad we are finally meeting in person,” the old man said.

“Me too, Chief.”

“You look younger than I thought you would.”

“Thank you. I am actually an old man. I am only sixteen years younger than you.”

The old man laughed. “I bet you know how many mistresses I have.”

“More or less.”

“But not my real name.”

“That’s true. I respect your institution and there is a line I don’t want to cross.”

“Actually, the head of our institution has always been referred to as ‘the Chief’. We don’t need names.”

“Same with our organization. We name people alphabetically. You know my name. Frank Gallagher.”

“Of course. The silly alphabet rule. When I worked with Charles Dickens Edwards, he didn’t tell me about it. I had to figure it out for myself.”

“Yes, Charles Edwards. Nice fellow. Too bad he retired. Will you retire soon?”

“Perhaps in a few years. But we have started looking for my replacement, for the next Chief.”

“I hope you will find one as good as you.”

The Chief’s face turned serious. “What’s your plan with the mole?”

“Nothing.”

“Is he still of value to you?”

“I don’t know. For now, we are just going to ignore him for a while. Our contact in Hanoi is much more valuable than he. We will just let him enjoy the blunder.”

“Sooner or later, he will be discredited.”

“Well, it would take decades before the information becomes declassified. By that time things will have become moot.”

The Chief shook his head. “It’s unbelievable.”

“Yes, beyond comprehension.”

“How could Hanoi be so naïve? Thinking that the U.S. President could be persuaded by a South Vietnamese Congressman?”

“These people are inept in diplomacy and foreign affairs. They live in their little world and know nothing other than their own thinking.”

“Is there anything your contact in Hanoi can do?”

“No, nothing. It’s too dangerous. When he read the Congressman’s report of fabricated facts, he was furious, but he couldn’t discredit it. After all, he was the one who spoke highly of him.”

“I guess we will have to do the best we can.”

“Is your operation at the White House intact?”

“Yes, fully so. Believe it or not, the White House is not that sophisticated when it comes to record keeping. They still use old typewriters.”

“Did you find out more about what’s behind Ford’s statement of ‘expediting military assistance’?”

“He was just trying to sound assertive.”

“Assertive is an understatement. Thiệu was ecstatic. He even celebrated after hearing about it. His people assure him that the Americans don’t expedite something if it is not in progress. That’s why he still sticks to his guns and refuses to resign.”

“And the mole turned things around, claiming credit for doing nothing, sitting with his mouth shut the entire meeting.”

“I told you, it’s fate. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Poor Thiệu. He will find out the truth about ‘expediting military assistance’ soon.”

“When will they vote?”

“In two weeks or so.”

“It’s too bad. If the mole reported the truth, including Ford’s statement about ‘expediting military assistance,’ Hanoi would have had to think twice. We intercepted the cables sent to Văn Tiến Dũng and they were maintaining the cautious approach. Then, right after receiving the mole’s report, boom, things changed one hundred and eighty degrees. From ‘cautious’ to ‘non-stop vigor in the attack all the way to the heart of Saigon’.”

“Do you think if there had been a delay, things would have been different?”

“Yes, most definitely. Three weeks would be more than enough for the South to turn the tables.”

“If that’s true, then as far as I know, in the history of mankind, this is the first time that the fate of a country, and millions of its people, has been determined by three blunders: a misstatement of a president, a self-serving report of fabricated facts from a spy, and the stupidity of party leadership.”

“Yes.”

“Plus three additional blunders: the Paris Peace Accords, Watergate, and Thiệu’s tactical withdrawal order.”

“Too many things went wrong.”

“Historians will throw their arms up in disbelief.”

“Historians will never know.”

“Do our Langley friends know about this?”

“No. Like you and your institution, we are an invisible force. We have our own funds and our own people. We don’t work for the government. We don’t share information with the Langley people.”

The Chief nodded and smiled. A couple walked by and the two men fell silent.

“Give me your honest evaluation of the situation,” the Chief said.

“In what aspect?”

“Militarily. Any chance our friend can fight back?”

“In the short term, there is a good chance. In the long run, it’s anybody’s guess.”

“How good is it?”

“With our help, it’s more than ninety percent.”

“What kind of help?”

“Equipment, fuel, ammunition. Just replacements and resupplies.”

“No troops? No additional air power from us?”

“No troops. No additional air power. Just straight replacements and resupplies.”

“What makes you think the South Vietnamese can fight back?” the Chief asked.

Frank stood up, walked away with his lunch bag and tossed it into a trash bin. He returned to the bench, sat down and crossed his legs.

“I breathe the hot and humid air there,” he said. “I speak their language like a native, fluent in all three regional dialects. I watch their opera, the modern folk opera, laugh at their dull jokes. I wear their peasant pajamas, sleep in their bamboo bed. I eat their rice, noodles, steamed fish with rice paper and shrimp sauce, the stinkiest sauce on earth. Other than my white appearance, I am Vietnamese. I know what it’s like to be a Vietnamese.”

“So? The North Vietnamese believe they can win the war. The South Vietnamese believe the same. Which side are you on?”

“Neither.”

“So, tell me in English, what makes you think the South Vietnamese can fight back when more than half of their land is now in communist hands?”

“You will not appreciate my answer if you keep referring to them as two distinct peoples, two distinct races. You have to understand that they are the same people, having the same genetic make-up, the same basic traits, the same culture and history. They only differ in their ideology. Take away the difference in ideology, and they are the same.”

“But it’s the difference in ideology that makes them different.”

“True, but I am talking about the core of these people. They have the same core. They fight the same. It’s like our Civil War. Do you think the Yankees fought better than the Rebels?”

“OK, I get that part. But we are not talking about the core here. We are talking about the reality of the fighting forces. Our Generals and even some of the advisors often say that the North Vietnamese soldiers are tenacious, disciplined, and determined, while the South Vietnamese soldiers and officers, including some of their Generals, are cowardly, corrupt, and incompetent.”

“You have been drugged too much by the anti-war movement. Our Generals must come up with an excuse for their failure. What can be better than blaming it on our ally and praising our enemy?”

“That seems to be an unfair accusation.”

“Alright, then. Let me ask you a question. Do you think the Nazis are tenacious, determined, and disciplined?”

“Of course not. They are fanatics.”

“That’s the answer to your question. Like the Nazis, the Communists are propagandists. They brainwash their people and turn them into single-minded people who believe in only one simple thing, and nothing else. The North Vietnamese soldiers are not tenacious, determined, or disciplined. They are a bunch of fanatical fighters who know nothing other than blindly following their Party’s orders.”

“What about the South?”

“The South Vietnamese are beginning to learn and appreciate freedom and democracy. In the learning process, there are bound to be some missteps. True, there are elements in the South Vietnamese fighting forces, including the commanders and the generals, who are cowardly, corrupt and incompetent, but that’s not the overall picture. It’s like saying that all the American soldiers are murderers simply based on the Mỹ Lai massacre.”

“I am not a theorist. I just need a bottom line. Is it worth American dollars to save South Vietnam from a communist take-over?”

“If you are that blunt, then I will give you a blunt answer: Yes.”

“You understand we have a very hostile Congress.”

“I do. Not just hostile, but also powerful.”

“What if we cannot get the support from Congress?”

Frank paused. “This answer may surprise you, but I think if we can’t save South Vietnam from communism now, it’s still OK. In fact, it will be better for Vietnam as a country in the long run.”

The Chief removed his eyeglasses, took a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the lenses. He put the glasses back on. “Are you saying that Vietnam will prosper as a communist country?”

“No, of course not.”

“So, why is it better?”

“Because the Vietnamese people will overthrow their communist government. The North alone cannot topple it, but with the help of the South, together they will be able to do it. Like any other totalitarian regime, communist governments will collapse eventually. I predict that the Soviet bloc will collapse first, then the smaller ones like Vietnam will be next, and finally China.”

“That’s an interesting theory.”

“I am not a theorist either. But I understand the Vietnamese people. They will not tolerate oppressive government. Sooner or later, they will overthrow them. They did that to the Chinese after a thousand years of domination, to the French after eighty years. If South Vietnam falls into communist hands, the Vietnamese people will suffer for some time, but they will have a chance to know the true face of communism, and they will rise up. Twenty years, fifty years, a hundred years. They will rise up.”

“I am not interested in Vietnamese history. What I want to know now is whether I should push for saving South Vietnam at this point.”

“Do the best you can. It’s worth it. But if you fail, it will be OK. Either way, your institution’s returns on investment will be the same, but one is short-term and one is long-term.”

“I want to believe that the South Vietnamese can fight against the North Vietnamese by themselves.”

“You will see it soon. In fact, it’s happening right now.”

“Where?”

“Xuân Lộc.”

Xuân Lộc, April 9, 1975

According to Vietnamese folk tales, more than two thousand years ago, in the kingdom of Văn Lang of the Vietnamese ancestors, Thục Phán, a tribe leader, defeated the last Hùng King of the Hồng Bàng dynasty around 257 BCE. He proclaimed himself An Dương Vương (King An Dương) and changed the state name Văn Lang of the Hồng Bàng dynasty to Âu Lạc, and set up the capital at Phong Khê, where he tried to build the Cổ Loa Citadel, a spiral fortress located about 20 kilometers northeast of present-day Hanoi, to defend the country from foreign invasion. The construction of Cổ Loa Citadel had been delayed for several years because of its complex design.

One day, An Dương Vương went on a boat outing on a lake, wondering how he could finish building the citadel. A huge golden turtle emerged and gave him a claw. Thanks to the magic claw, Cổ Loa Citadel was finally completed. Believing the claw represented a supernatural power from Heaven, An Dương Vương asked Cao Lỗ, his weapons minister, to build a magic crossbow using the claw. The crossbow turned out to be a powerful weapon, which could shoot thousands of arrows at the same time, killing thousands of enemy troops in one shot. With his magic crossbow, An Dương Vương successfully defended the invasion of Triệu Đà, the king in a neighboring country. Unable to subdue Âu Lạc, Triệu Đà came up with a nefarious scheme. He successfully negotiated a peace treaty with An Dương Vương and arranged for a marriage between his son Trọng Thủy and Princess Mỵ Châu, An Dương Vương’s only daughter. He entrusted Trọng Thủy with a mission to spy on An Dương Vương’s secret weapon. Through Mỵ Châu, Trọng Thủy found out about the magic crossbow. He stole it and replaced it with a normal crossbow that looked exactly like the original. Trọng Thủy gave the stolen magic crossbow to his father. Triệu Đà, having obtained the secret weapon, launched an attack on Âu Lạc with the magic crossbow. Defeated, An Dương Vương fled the battlefield, taking Mỵ Châu with him on his saddle.

He rode to the river and encountered the giant golden turtle. “What happened to my magic crossbow?” he asked the turtle.

The turtle replied, “The enemy is sitting right behind you!”

Realizing his own daughter had betrayed him, An Dương Vương took out his sword and killed her. He then plunged into the water and rode the turtle away. Trọng Thủy, in his pursuit of the fleeing king and his wife, arrived at the scene and found his wife’s dead body. He committed suicide to be with her eternally. Having defeated An Dương Vương, Triệu Đà merged the newly conquered Âu Lạc territory with his own and created the state of Nan Yueh. He then proclaimed himself the new emperor of the Triệu Dynasty.

This tale had been told for centuries and become part of the rich Vietnamese folk tales about ancient times. The An Dương Vương’s magic crossbow had become a symbol of invincible power.

That symbol was used by the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) as an emblem for one of its infantry divisions. Together with the color of light blue representing the sky and dark blue representing the earth, the artistic rendering of An Dương Vương’s magic crossbow and its arrow was used as the emblem of the ARVN 18th Infantry Division, the division assigned to defend Xuân Lộc, a small town located about 60 kilometers northeast of Saigon in the Military Region III (MR III), from a major assault by the North Vietnamese Army (NVA). An Dương Vương’s magic crossbow would have a chance to test its invincible power against the enemy. However, the six-thousand-man defense force of Xuân Lộc didn’t know that they were about to face a formidable enemy force of forty thousand well-armed and well-supported troops in the largest assault ever assembled by the North Vietnamese in the history of the Vietnam War.

The morning of April 9, 1975, appeared to be a normal day.

The sun had just risen. At the center of the city of Xuân Lộc, throngs of civilian men and women in pajamas and cone hats carried goods-laden bamboo baskets of all sizes to the market, ready for another day of hawking and selling. Christians flocked to the city Catholic Church for an early morning Mass. Despite being aware of an imminent major battle, the war-hardened people of Xuân Lộc carried on their affairs as usual. It was a normal day, like any other day.

The salvos started at precisely 5:40AM.

The explosions rumbled the earth, their sounds deafening. The destruction was instantaneous. Blocks of the walls inside the church fell. Windows shattered. Trees crumbled. Dirt flew. People collapsed. Screams of pain pierced the smoke-filled air. Bloody-faced men and women staggered on the streets.

The first round of attacks on Xuân Lộc claimed the lives of dozens of civilians. Among the first shells that fell into Xuân Lộc, one landed on the home of Brigadier General Lê Minh Đảo, the commander of the 18th Division. His home was used as one of the three command posts. The shell crashed through the roof and exploded in the bedroom. Fortunately, nobody was at home. Đảo was away at Long Bình, about ninety kilometers west of Xuân Lộc, to discuss various logistical matters with the chief of the III Corps. As soon as he received news of the attack, Đảo flew back to the battlefield in his helicopter.

While Đảo was coordinating by radio with his commanders on his way back to Xuân Lộc, non-stop artillery shells rained on the streets, buildings, schools, markets, houses, and government compounds, in preparation for the largest assault ever undertaken in the history of the Vietnam War.

The center of the city of Xuân Lộc received more than three thousand artillery shells within one hour, averaging fifty shells per minute. Houses and structures were crumbled. Piles of shattered tree branches, fallen walls, and brick blocks were scattered everywhere. Unknown to the communists, the Xuân Lộc defenders had moved out of the city center and set up a solid defense line at the outskirts of the city. Three thousand artillery shells devastated the city, killed civilians and destroyed houses and buildings, but left most of the ARVN troops unscathed.

Several hundred meters south of the destruction site, behind walls of sandbags and barriers of barbed wire, at stronghold 181 near the airfield of the Cessna observation L-19 aircraft, the remaining three hundred men of the 82nd Ranger Battalion had taken cover in blockhouses, trenches, dugouts and bunkers. They had arrived two days earlier after a harrowing mission through the jungle and mountains. Exhausted and reduced in number, they thought they would be able to rest at Xuân Lộc before returning to Biên Hòa. Instead, they were assigned to block the advance of the enemy to the administrative headquarters of the Long Khánh province. Never had they expected to be the first target of the enemy attack that morning.

The Vietnamese Ranger, or Biệt Động Quân (BĐQ) in Vietnamese, was a special force of the ARVN. Trained by the American Special Forces and assisted by the American Ranger advisors, the Vietnamese Ranger units had been instrumental in many battles that needed highly effective and mobile troops. The 82nd battalion was originally from Plei Me in the highlands, part of the II Corp. In the last mission, the battalion had assisted the 24th Ranger regiment in linking up with friendly units at Phan Thiết, and since they were close to Long Khánh province at the time, they were flown to Xuân Lộc.

Corporal Định had been with the 82nd battalion for more than a year. Known for his valor in combat, Định had been assigned to be part of one of several three-man teams responsible for destroying enemy tanks. He had been trained quickly, in less than ten minutes, on how to destroy a tank and had been anxious to apply his training on real targets. That morning, he was awakened amid the ear-splitting sounds of artillery explosions. He had only enough time to carry his gear and run to the nearest blockhouse.

“Motherfucker,” Định shouted. “These bastards woke up early.”

Kỳ, his teammate, laughed. “You can go back to sleep; they are shelling the city center.”

“How can I sleep through all those explosions?”

As if the enemy heard his complaint, at 6:40AM, two thin streaks of red flares sparkled in the early morning sky. The shelling suddenly stopped.

The men at base 181 looked at each other. Having been through similar attacks before, they knew what was going to happen. The enemy was about to launch a human wave attack.

Commanders of all units screamed into their radios to get the latest information on enemy movements. Soldiers in camouflage uniforms of green and patchy brown and black colors, accentuated by an emblem depicting a snarling black panther on a yellow background on the upper arms, ran back and forth, occupying firing positions.

Định, Kỳ and dozens of men were about to move out of their blockhouses when Lieutenant Hùng, their company commander, strode toward them, shouting, “Lieutenant Nam of the 43rd just radioed me saying that the Commies are attacking their position with PT-76s and T-54s. Another column will come here soon. You guys spread out to the road to take them down.”

The men yelled out with excitement and darted to their positions.

Định pointed to a clump of mango trees on the side of the field. “Let’s go there.”

Kỳ and Phan, his teammates, nodded and the three trotted to their positions. Lieutenant Hùng shouted after them. “Don’t waste ammo. We don’t have much left.”

Định, Kỳ and Phan squatted behind a tree.

“What did he say?” Phan asked, his face confused.

“Motherfucker,” Định shouted in his ear, “are you deaf?”

Kỳ laughed. “He lost his ear-plugs.”

“Lieutenant said we have to save our ammo,” Định said, moving his face to Phan’s ear. “The Americans didn’t leave much for us.”

Phan nodded. “What’s new? Motherfucking Americans.”

“Fuck Nixon. Fuck Kissinger.”

“Fuck Uncle Hồ. Fuck his Party.”

“Fuck Thiệu. Fuck Kỳ.”

Kỳ protested. “Hey, leave me out.”

A succession of heavy sounds in the distance shook the earth and stopped their conversation. They looked at each other. They had heard those sounds before. It was the sound of heavy steel treads crunching the ground and rumbling through the underbrush. The sounds became clearer and more distinct.

Soon, they became visible.

Định, Kỳ and Phan gasped at the imposing blocks of steel emerging at the far end of the vast field of barbed wire.

“Motherfucker!” Kỳ exclaimed. “Here come the steel crabs.”

In Vietnamese army slang, “crab” was a word referring to a tank.

The men of the 82nd Ranger Battalion were about to face the deadly amphibious PT-76 and T-54 tanks. Flanking the tanks and closing in behind them were hundreds of eager NVAs of two battalions of the 209th regiment of the 7th division. The leading PT-76s and T-54s confidently rolled onto the open field, their long guns pointing directly at base 181.

Định held up the M-72 LAW (Light Anti-Tank Weapon) with both hands, grabbed the sight holder at the end and yanked the tube all the way back. Two sights popped up, one at the front and one in the middle. He pulled the safety tab on top of the tube. A click told him that the rocket was now armed and ready to be fired.

“Anybody behind me?” he asked, minding that when fired, the M-72 would generate a massive back blast area that could extend forty meters to the rear, enough to seriously injure anybody standing in the area.

“Are you going to fry the crabs from here?” Kỳ asked.

“I am not going to chase them out there.”

“Motherfucker, if you wait till they come closer, we are all dead.”

Định hesitated. He looked at the approaching row of tanks and NVAs. They were still several hundred meters away. The effective firing range of the M-72 was about two hundred meters, but to guarantee a hit, a range of fifty meters was more effective. Looking at the NVAs flanking the tanks, he realized Kỳ was right. If the tanks came within firing range of the M-72, the enemy troops would be too close to the base and it would be very hard to aim at the tanks for a direct hit. It was because he could only aim at the side or the rear of the tank where the armor was the thinnest. His fellow Rangers had told him the best spot to shoot at the T-54 or the PT-76 was the rear near the engine exhaust. For a forward moving tank, in order to be able to aim at this spot, he would have to approach the tank from the side, facing dozens of the flanking NVA troops.

“OK, we will run to them,” Định said.

He held the M-72 with two hands and put the tube on his shoulder, thankful for its compact size and light weight of less than three kilograms. He squinted his eye, peeped through the rear sight and moved the tube to align one of the tanks with the red line on the front sight. Everything appeared to be in order. He just needed to press the trigger, a black rubber button on top of the tube, and the rocket would fly. He could feel his adrenaline rising.

His eyes fixated on the menacing steel blocks moving slowly toward them. Farther away at the base, the men of the 82nd Ranger battalion aimed their guns at the approaching enemy, waiting for the right moment. The helmets with the snarling black panther insignia and the maroon berets went up and down the foxholes, trenches and behind the sandbags.

The NVAs advanced at increasing speed. The tanks accelerated. The open field now teemed with troops in green khaki and pith helmets jogging beside and behind the tanks.

The first deafening rounds from the 100-mm cannons of the T-54s knocked out a few pieces of the blockhouses and tore through a wall of sandbags. The ARVN Rangers ducked in their trenches; some ran for cover, shouted noisily, but nobody returned fire. The NVAs paused momentarily, confused. They had passed through the first barbed wire barrier and there was no response from the enemy. But after a short pause, they gained confidence. At a loud order from their commander, the young men of the 209th regiment screamed in unison and boldly sprinted forward like a bunch of wild dogs. Dozens of them jumped over the barbed wire, darted to the ARVN Rangers, and fired their AK-47s like madmen.

They were the first to die.

From the foxholes, trenches, sandbags, and tree bushes, the ARVN rangers showered their M-16 bullets at them like a squall of rain. Bodies of North Vietnamese teenagers fell down on the barbed wire, their AK-47s flung away, their eyes wide open in sudden death.

The men of the 82nd Ranger Battalion screamed in unison, “Rangers, kill! Rangers, kill!”

Now, the NVAs knew who they were running into.

The battle quickly turned into a bloody scene. The tanks rolled forward, crushing everything in their paths, even the bodies of their fallen comrades. Their turrets turned left and right, with the menacing D-10T 100-mm guns looking for targets. The 7.62-mm machine guns and even the 12.5-mm anti-aircraft guns spit merciless bullets at the ARVN Rangers. Emboldened by the tanks, the NVAs spread out and swarmed the field, their AK-47s firing non-stop.

The two sides exchanged bullets and grenades with ferocity. Screams of agony and shrieking howls of death mixed with loud explosions of grenades and cannon shells.

Squatting behind a thicket and a clump of mango trees on the side of the field, Định and his teammates were shielded from the enemy’s view. The tank formation was now about two hundred meters from them. They had practiced their tank destroying routine the day before, but they now faced real targets with fanatic enemy troops.

Định knew he had to act fast. But he hadn’t found a target yet.

“Here is our crab,” Kỳ said, pointing at a T-54 entangled in a cluster of barbed wire. The tank driver was trying to move his armored vehicle from the cluster. A PT-76 was standing about fifty meters behind. Its machine gun was unleashing a storm of bullets into the bunkers.

Định looked at the tank and assessed the situation. It was a bit risky because enemy troops were surrounding the tanks. But he knew he couldn’t wait.

“You guys ready?” Định asked.

“Yes,” Kỳ and Phan said.

“Let’s go.”

Định held the M-72 on his shoulder and sprinted out from behind the tree. He darted to the T-54. A group of NVAs hunched down behind the tank, dodging the bullets from the trenches. They didn’t pay attention to the three ARVN soldiers running toward them. Kỳ ran to the PT-76, tossed the M-15 phosphorous grenade, rolled on the ground and fired automatic rounds at its turret. White smoke spread out quickly, filling the air. The smoke would signal their fellow Rangers not to fire at the location to avoid hitting them and at the same time destroy the enemy’s visibility.

Phan ran to the right, emptying his M-16 at the NVAs behind the T-54.

Định bit his lip. It’s time. His target was now only about a hundred meters away. He saw the NVAs around the tank screaming and dispersing in all directions, some falling down. Some turned their heads and were startled when they saw three ARVN soldiers running toward them.

Định stopped, knelt down, took aim and pressed the trigger button.

The rocket flew out of the tube and hit the rear of the tank squarely. A booming sound tore the air. The T-54 jolted. Black smoke spurted into a giant ball. Two smaller explosions followed. Fire erupted on the hull and the turret.

“Motherfucker!” Định screamed with delight. His first shot was a direct hit.

He heard cheers from his fellow Rangers from the bunkers together with their screams. “Rangers, kill! Rangers, kill!”

Not too far from stronghold 181, a few hundred meters north and northeast, the defense locations of the 1/43 (Battalion 1 of 43rd regiment), 3/43 of the 18th Division and two companies of the Regional Forces (Địa Phương Quân) had avoided the vicious artillery shells, but they now faced the massive assault of the 165th regiment of the 7th NVA division.

Confident that the three-thousand-shell artillery firings had destroyed the Xuân Lộc defenders, eight tanks and more than two thousand five hundred NVAs crossed the sloping open fields with an audacious determination to go through the minefields and run directly to the ARVN trenches.

This was the first time Private Dũng had seen that many tanks in a battle. From a distance, the tanks didn’t look that intimidating, but he knew the devastating damage they could inflict on anything blocking their paths. The thick armored hulls formed a formidable moving fortress, shielding the men striding behind them. The two machine guns and the anti-aircraft guns had a combined power of a dozen AK-47s. The 100-mm cannon could knock out brick houses, break blockhouses, and crumble trenches. He would not want to face the tanks with his rifle. But he had a much more powerful weapon that could destroy them. It was the 2.75-inch folding-fin aerial rocket (FFAR).

Used as an air-to-ground unguided missile, the FFAR had been primarily used by the Americans on helicopters. With a variety of high-explosive warheads and an effective range of more than three thousand meters, the FFAR could be used as a highly effective anti-tank weapon. It could, of course, be used to kill enemy troops or blast armored structures. When the Americans left South Vietnam, they had left behind a huge stockpile of FFARs. But the FFARs had not been of much use to the South Vietnamese in battle. That changed after an accident that gave the South Vietnamese a way to use the FFARs efficiently as a ground-to-ground missile. During a check for a short circuit in one of the rocket pods, a technician used a voltmeter to measure electrical voltages on the circuits. Somehow, the battery-operated test equipment ignited the rocket. The rocket flew through the body of another technician standing nearby, killing him instantly, before it plunged into a bunker on its flight path. Luckily, the warhead didn’t detonate. From that incident, the South Vietnamese discovered a simple way to fire the rocket without a helicopter or an expensive rocket launcher. The rocket would be mounted on a bipod and connected to a battery-operated triggering mechanism. An operator could position the bipod-mounted rocket in the direction of a flight path to the target and fire the rocket by activating the triggering mechanism. This simple trick had been tested with amazing success.

Dũng and a dozen soldiers of the 1/43 and 3/43 were assigned to launch the FFARs to destroy the enemy tanks using makeshift triggering circuits. Lieutenant Nam, his company commander, ordered them to do the job.

“You guys now have the honor to fry those crabs for our victory celebration,” Nam said.

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant,” Dũng said, patting his shoulder where the crossbow insignia of the 18th Division was sewn to his uniform. “These rockets are arrows of An Dương Vương’s invincible crossbow.”

Everybody laughed.

Dũng now looked at the tanks, wondering if his arrow would do the trick. While he was surveying the enemy approach, a spectacular scene unfolded before his eyes. A leading T-54, in its eagerness to come close to the ARVN position, crushed a mine on the landmine field. An explosion startled the surrounding NVAs. They jumped on the ground for cover, only to be blown apart by more mines. The left track of the tank was destroyed, paralyzing it. The tank now stood alone on the field, its turret rotating around, its 100-mm cannon shooting a few useless shells that were off target. The NVAs continued their advance, leaving the crippled tank and its crew behind.

But they didn’t advance far.

The ARVN artillery counter-fire began its destruction. From the Thị Mountain at a few kilometers from the west, ten 105-mm and 155-mm cannons of the artillery battalions, guarded by the 2/43, fired shells into the open field that was now swarming with the men of NVA 165th regiment. With limited ammo supply, the ARVN artillery fire didn’t strike the enemy as much as the early hour NVA shelling, but it was enough to temporarily halt the advance and inflict some serious damage on the troops. But after a pause, the seven T-54s continued to climb down the slope and rolled forward. Amid shell explosions, the pith-helmeted NVAs jogged alongside the tanks. They were fanatically determined to crush the Xuân Lộc defenders at all cost.

Dũng and his comrades were shocked at the enemy’s persistence.

“Motherfucker,” Private Học screamed. “Why are they so stubborn?”

“They are not stubborn,” Dũng replied. “They are stupid.”

“They haven’t been hit by the arrows of An Dương Vương’s crossbow yet.”

“Motherfucker, how about the fire arrows of the flying dragons?”

The flying dragons, or the airplanes of the South Vietnamese Air Force, had begun their attack. The roar of the aircraft engines could be heard in the distance. Dũng looked up at the sky. In the grey sky of the early morning, the shapes of two Tiger II F-5E’s were unmistakable. The birds were flying high in the sky, then dove to low altitude toward the advancing NVAs and fired rockets and air-to-surface missiles to the ground. As they curved upward, they dropped bombs on the smoke-filled ground. Dark plumes of smoke and fire billowed on the horizon against the silhouette of the Chứa Chan Mountain in the background. The NVAs dove for cover, but they found none in the open field. Dozens of bodies lay flat on the ground. The 12.5-mm anti-aircraft guns on the tanks hurriedly pointed up to the sky, shooting in vain behind the F-5E’s, which now flew away.

Watching the scene from their trenches, Dũng and his men cheered loudly. But the enemy continued their advance, with even more speed, in their haste to reach the target. The tanks were running at almost full speed, and the foot soldiers spread out across the entire field, darting to the Xuân Lộc defenders with loud screams. “Charge! Charge!”

The 100-mm guns on the T-54s began their assault. The first shelling missed the targets, but as they moved closer, their destructive power was devastating. The explosions rumbled the earth, shaking the bunkers and the blockhouses. The 1/43 suffered their first casualties. Two men were hit. Medical personnel immediately carried them away.

The tanks were now within the FFAR firing range.

“Motherfucker,” Dũng shouted. “Let’s fry some crabs.”

He jumped out of his trench and positioned the one-and-a-half-meter blue-tipped white slender rocket to point to the rows of the T-54s. The four fins at the rear end had flipped out around the nozzle in four directions. The rocket carried a powerful anti-armor warhead.

“Move it a little to the left,” Học shouted.

Dũng nodded and moved the bipod to the left, aiming at the tank formation. He gazed at the tanks, picked out a target, a T-54 surrounded by a cluster of NVAs. He figured if the rocket missed the tank, at least it would cause some damage to the enemy troops. He knew the rocket was not accurate and there was no point trying to aim at a precise location on the target. There was no need. The explosive power of the rocket was powerful enough to penetrate through the armor regardless of where it hit. With an impact temperature of two thousand degrees, it would melt anything it struck. The crew members would be fried in their confined space.

“Get out of the way,” Dũng screamed to his men. “I am going to fire An Dương Vương’s crossbow.”

The men spread out. Dũng looked at the target tank for the last time. He then pressed a button on the triggering mechanism, a simple circuit that activated the batteries.

The rocket flew out, gushing a white narrow plume to the rear. Dũng held his breath, watching the rocket spinning and flying in its remarkably straight flight path. At a maximum speed of six hundred meters per second, the rocket would strike the target in less than two seconds.

“One, two,” Học counted.

It was a direct hit. The tank stopped and the explosion was instantaneous. Fire erupted on the hull of the ill-fated T-54. In the orange and black smoke, the hatch opened and a helmeted man climbed out, but collapsed halfway.

“Motherfucker!” Dũng yelled.

Dũng, Học and the men of An Dương Vương’s army jumped up and down with spontaneous cheers. The magic crossbow worked its magic in its 20th century version.

Added to the cheers, in the sky, the Dragonfly A-37’s and Tiger II F-5E’s roared with thunderous booms, unleashing rockets, missiles and bombs down on the earth. Another T-54 was blown up by a missile fired from one of the flying dragons. Then, more arrows of An Dương Vương’s crossbow flew out, falling mercilessly on the tanks and NVA troops.

The men of the NVA 165th regiment stood in awe at their fallen comrades and the burned tanks. They slowed their advance and looked at each other in confusion, waiting for the order to withdraw.

By then, the first day of the battle of Xuân Lộc had reached its peak. The attacks on the eastern side of Xuân Lộc were stopped by the 82nd Ranger Battalion and the 1/43 and 3/43 of the 18th Division. On the western side, the NVA assault fared no better. For several hours, the city of Xuân Lộc was savaged by bullets, cannon shells, and grenades. Fires, smoke, and explosions were everywhere.

After several hours, in the afternoon of the first day, the fighting had subsided. Firing almost stopped. The NVAs paused to lick their wounds. General Hoàng Cầm, commander of the NVA 4th Army Corp that was charged with the onslaught of Xuân Lộc, was shocked at the dogged defense of the 18th Division. General Lê Minh Đảo let out a sigh of relief. His carefully planned defense had worked.

Each side tallied their casualties. The NVAs suffered more than seven hundred casualties, the ARVN fifty.

On the first day of the battle, An Dương Vương’s magic crossbow had lived up to its name after two thousand years.

DAO, Saigon April 14, 1975

Located in Tân Sơn Nhứt airport, the Defense Attaché Office (DAO) Saigon was organized by the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Pacific Command, and the U.S. Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV), and was activated on January 28, 1973, to replace the MACV, which had disbanded sixty days after the signing of the Paris Peace Accords. The functions of the DAO were unambiguous, at least on paper. Its basic function was to manage American military affairs in Vietnam after the ceasefire. Its additional tasks included monitoring ceasefire violations and gathering and generating intelligence information on which high level decisions could be based.

On the morning of April 14, 1975, five days after the start of the battle at Xuân Lộc, a secret encrypted radio conversation was taking place between an officer in the DAO in Tân Sơn Nhứt airport and an American official from an unknown location.

“Yesterday, Trà decided to withdraw his troops from Xuân Lộc and redirect them to advance directly to Saigon.”

“Is this information reliable?”

“Yes, our agent has first-hand information. The withdrawal plan was actually drawn up three days ago.”

“Does the ARVN know?”

“Not yet.”

“We can’t let the Commies take over Saigon that soon.”

“Why?”

“The evacuation has not been completed. We were counting on Xuân Lộc to delay their advance. We didn’t expect Xuân Lộc to inflict such great damage on the Commies that they would now decide to abandon it.”

“How do we stop them?”

“The 18th division has to withdraw from Xuân Lộc to Saigon to establish a line of defense before the Commies arrive there.”

“Sooner or later they will have to consider that option.”

“They will be mauled by the four NVA divisions once they get out of Xuân Lộc.”

“Not if they plan carefully.”

“We have to send a message to Hanoi. It’s time for us to use the CBX-11. How many CBX-11s do we have?”

“We have six in stock, but we can have more shipped to us within a day or two. Do you want to use all six?”

“No, let’s take one step at a time. Drop one first and see if they listen to us. If not, we can use all and more if necessary. Let the ARVN know about it so that they can initiate the request. It’s their war.”

“What if they want to use all six at once? I am sure their Generals are thrilled about this.”

“Tell them you don’t have enough fuses.”

“When do you want to use it?”

“Wait, let’s start with the Daisy Cutters first. If that doesn’t slow them down, we’ll use the CBX-11.”

“OK, when do you want to use the Daisy Cutters?”

“As soon as possible, today even.”

“OK. We’ll proceed with it.”

Xuân Lộc, April 19, 1975

Lương was hungry. What he wanted now was a bowl of rice with salt and sesame, but he had already used up his rations and there was no more left. He sat on the ground with his comrades, helmets removed, AK-47s on their laps, all exhausted. Their fighting spirit had evaporated with the food supply. They were quiet and only exchanged a few words once in a while.

At sixteen, he looked his age. His round face and his smooth skin gave him a girly look. The loose wrinkled green khaki uniform, the long trousers tightened well above his waist by a red nylon belt, and the rubber sandals only made him look more like a character in a school play than a soldier. He didn’t really care, although secretly he wished he could wear a more awe-inspiring outfit with colorful patches or insignia, like the enemy soldiers did. But the enemy’s uniforms and gear were only for show, the political cadre in his company had said. The puppet government wasted money on decorating their soldiers but they couldn’t buy their courage and determination.

He had participated in battles for only a few months. His division had just been formed for three years and most of the recruits were in their teens. Many of them had fought no more than a year, but dozens of men in his regiment were war veterans, the survivors of previous battles. These battle-hardened veterans had taught the younger soldiers how to fight, how to attack the enemy. He and his newly recruited comrades had been given the honor to lead the troops in the vanguard positions, to be the first wave of the attack. He had been shown how to run in a zig-zag pattern to avoid enemy bullets, and how to use bodies of dead comrades as shields.

He didn’t understand much about the war, but he knew it was his duty to join the armed forces to fight against American imperialists and rescue his Southern people from the puppet regime. He trusted Uncle Hồ and the Party’s wisdom. He didn’t need to learn from the boring indoctrination lessons he received during his training that Uncle Hồ was a respected figure of the people. He had been taught in elementary school how Uncle Hồ, the father of the Party, had sacrificed his entire life for independence and freedom for Vietnam. He loved Uncle Hồ dearly. He didn’t think twice about joining the army. He wanted to follow the footsteps of his senior comrades who had died for the heroic fight against the French colonialists and now the American imperialists.

He didn’t mind walking on treacherous roads, hiding in the bushes from enemy aircraft, crossing riverines, climbing mountains, carrying heavy bags, or crowding in Molotova trucks snaking through the Bạn +1 mục này công khai. Hoàn tácHồ Chí Minh Trail. He had traveled thousands of kilometers to fight for the noble cause, to liberate the people of South Vietnam from the oppressive puppet government and the American imperialists. His heart ached for the South Vietnamese people. The peasants, the mothers, the fathers, the children. They had been robbed by the military forces of the puppet government and the Americans for years, and now it was time for them to be liberated.

He had been told the Americans had withdrawn from Vietnam and the puppet government was going to collapse soon. His division would be one of the first divisions to enter Saigon and seize the capital of the puppet government. News of victory had arrived day after day. The cowardly soldiers of the puppet government of the Republic of Vietnam had retreated from major provinces en masse, abandoning the cities without a fight. His comrades and the political cadres had been joyful with the imminent victory. With enthusiastic energy, he and his comrades had marched toward Saigon. Xuân Lộc would be another easy target. That was what his political cadres had said.

But the fighting had been gruesome. Hundreds of his comrades had died from artillery shells, bombs and bullets. In wave after wave, he and his comrades attacked the enemy’s positions, only to be driven back by stubborn firing from the enemy. Worse yet, many of the invincible T-54 and PT-76 tanks had been destroyed by enemy rockets.

His regiment had to move from position to position and was instructed to withdraw from Xuân Lộc. Now, it was rumored that the enemy had abandoned Xuân Lộc as well. His company commander had been vague and confused when asked what was going to happen. Are we going to abandon Xuân Lộc or occupy it? Are we going to pursue the enemy? They hadn’t given a clear-cut answer.

He was tired and hungry. He just needed a good meal and a good night’s sleep. He dreamt of his thatched house in the village near Thái Bình where he would sleep on the bamboo bed or on quiet grassy ground under the shady trees by the paddy field. He thought of his mother and father. At this time, his mother was probably preparing dinner while his father was busy with the pigs in the pigpen.

He looked at the road. Trucks of the convoy lined the paved road pockmarked with craters left by artillery shells and bombs. His tired comrades surrounded the trucks. Several sat in the shade and smoked cigarettes, avoiding the brutal heat. Farther down the road, about one kilometer, on the right side was a structure temporarily used as the command post of the division regiment. The regiment commander and his staff were having a meeting to decide on their next moves.

He stretched his legs, leaned against the tree, and looked at the sky. The sun was high. Clumps of white clouds floated by. It was hot. He closed his eyes and craved for a swim in the riverine.

As he was about to doze off, the sound of an aircraft engine instantly woke him.

He opened his eyes and instinctively grabbed his AK-47. His comrades shouted loudly. “Airplane. Airplane.”

Everybody around him looked for cover. There was not much shelter around, but many of them found scattered dugouts and jumped in. He looked up at the sky and saw an airplane flying high from the west. On the road, his comrades ran in all directions. They had been trained to disperse as much as possible to reduce casualties in case the bombs hit.

“Where are the anti-aircraft guns?” somebody shouted.

“They are in the rear.”

He panicked. He had seen the devastating power of bombs and rockets. He got up quickly and ran to a ditch nearby. Tùng and Huy, two comrades in his company, were waving to him. “Jump in, quick.”

As he leapt over a rock he almost tripped, but he managed to jump into the trench, squeezing next to Tùng. They hunched down and looked up to the sky.

His comrades were moving the anti-aircraft gun and getting ready to fire at the approaching airplane, which was a four-engine turboprop like one of the gunships that had unleashed non-stop bullets at them in previous battles. But it was flying at a fairly high altitude. Maybe it was a recon aircraft. Nevertheless, the gun comrades started to fire at the airplane. The sound of the firing gave him a sense of security. We will shoot it down sooner or later.

The airplane was approaching fast, still high in the sky. The anti-aircraft fire didn’t seem to have any effect. Maybe the airplane was flying out of its range. But his comrades kept firing.

The airplane continued its flight, passing their location. The squad stopped firing and looked at each other. Everybody let out a sigh of relief. It had to be a recon aircraft. No bombing. But nobody moved out of the trenches. They wanted to wait until the airplane was out of sight.

The airplane was now above the regiment command post. He heard anti-aircraft guns on that side, firing non-stop at it. The airplane banked a little and descended slightly. Then, a large barrel fell out of the airplane. It didn’t look like a bomb. The barrel fell quickly and something like a parachute opened up. Maybe the airplane was dropping supplies and it mistook the command post location as the location of the troops of the puppet government.

He blinked.

What happened next was a grotesque snapshot of hell on earth.

An orange blast from the barrel started small and instantly spit out dozens of blinding flares in all directions. They merged into a huge cloud spreading out horizontally to several hundred meters and grew into a giant petal. Dozens of brilliant white and orange jets squirted from the giant petal like violent quills shot from a porcupine. Plumes of smoke formed into colorful balls rolling and chasing one another in descending curved paths. The sky trembled at the spectacular and vicious light show. Deafening explosions shook the earth with ear-splitting thunderous booms in a staccato outburst. Destruction was instantaneous. At the command post, everything shattered. Trees fell, trucks crumpled, houses collapses, cannons fragmented, bodies flew. The air pulsated and sizzled. Boiling streams spurted all over.

Tremendous air pressure weighed on Lương’s chest. A burning sensation spread throughout his body. He was thrown into a dazzling whirlwind of brightly lit particles and blazing heat. His skin vaporized. His hair flew off his scalp. His face was twisted. His eardrums were torn. His eyes popped out of their sockets. It was a nightmare in hell.

He didn’t know how long it lasted, but he came into and out of a strange brief coma several times. He heard groans and moans, footsteps staggering, and all sorts of strange sounds. Dirt flew around him.

Slowly he recovered. The vicious heat stung his eyes. The air suffocated him with an intolerable smell of a mixture of petroleum and wine. His ears were ringing with an infinite and distant tune of undulating high frequency noise. His muscles were strained as if he had run hundreds of kilometers. Sweat soaked his uniform.

He didn’t know how, but he finally climbed out of the trench, together with Tùng and Huy, and watched the bizarre scene around them in horror. On the road, trucks were tossed all over in disarray like toys. Trees were bent down in the same direction as if an invisible huge block was pressing down on them. From a distance, they could see that the area around the regiment command post had been flattened. All the trees were gone. Houses and buildings disappeared. Huge plumes of smoke billowed, darkening the sky.

They leaned on each other, walking slowly. His comrades were getting out of their dugouts, faces painted with dirt. They looked at each other, dazed.

“The regiment command post was obliterated,” one of his comrades said, while running back from the command post.

“What happened to the regiment commander and his staff?” one comrade asked.

“Gone, everything is gone, wiped out completely,” the comrade replied, his face pale, sweating.

Lương was shocked. Heavens! What is happening? Why did the commanders say we are victorious? We are so close to Saigon. We are supposed to take over the capital of the puppet government. Why are we dying?

“Will their bombers come back?” Lương asked.

“I don’t know,” the comrade said and ran away.

Lương trembled. He looked at Tùng and Huy, who didn’t say a word, but the frightened look on their faces shook him.

He touched his face, feeling the roughness of dirt. The anguished bloody faces of his dying comrades flashed through his mind. The convulsive bodies, the delirious screams, the hysterical cries, the wide-open eyes staring at the sky.

“I want to go home,” he said to his comrades, tears rolling down his face.

The CBX-11 had not only wiped out the entire command post of a regiment of the 341st division, but it had also shattered the spirit of its soldiers. The devastating power of the air fuel explosives killed two hundred and fifty NVA soldiers instantly and wounded hundreds of others. It was like B-52 bombardments all over again.

The bombardment temporarily stopped the advance of the NVAs, but by that time, it was too late to stop the collapse of South Vietnam.

Eleven days later, T-54 tanks of the NVAs rolled through the streets of Saigon. A leading tank crashed one of the heavy wrought-iron gates of the Independence Palace at 12:15PM, April 30, 1975.

Cần Thơ, April 30, 1975

Forty-two-year-old Brigadier General Lê Văn Hưng sat quietly behind his desk in his office, his eyes staring at the wall. The brief radio broadcast announcement of President Dương Văn Minh echoed in his mind:

“I, General Dương Văn Minh, president of the Saigon government, appeal to the armed forces of the Republic of Vietnam to lay down their arms and surrender unconditionally to the forces of the National Liberation Front. I declare that the Saigon government is completely dissolved at all levels.”

Earlier, at 10:24AM, he had heard Minh’s broadcast radio message that called on all sides to cease hostilities in preparation for the transfer of power to the Provisional Revolutionary Government (PRG) of South Vietnam, or the Vietcong (VC). He had been devastated after that morning announcement. Although it was not a surprise, the reality of the collapse of South Vietnam began to sink in. Now, four hours later, Minh’s order of unconditional surrender had pushed that sinking feeling to its lowest point.

That was the end of it.

Before Minh’s morning broadcast, he had predicted what would happen. But he had not been terribly distressed. In fact, he had been enthusiastic. He and his commanding superior, Major General Nguyễn Khoa Nam, Commander of the MR IV, had planned a counteroffensive against the communists. Coded Linking Hands, the secret plan would provide for a systematic redeployment of all fighting combat units under their command to the jungles and the delta region in the MR IV. From there, they would establish a command center to reorganize the army and fight back against the communists. With at least ten thousand men, they would be able to sustain a prolonged insurgency and eventually build up their strength. The plan had been drawn up with detailed maps and retreating routes, and allocated personnel for transport of ammunition and supplies. All commanders at the company levels had been informed of the plan. They only needed to receive the final specific instructions of locations and routes of retreat.

The plan would have been a complete success if the Colonel they had entrusted to coordinate all units had carried out his task. At the last minute, Hưng found out that the Colonel had left his post with his family in their haste to flee from South Vietnam with other officers. A Captain who had been delegated for the task had also left.

The plan had been doomed. The unit commanders hadn’t received the instructions and the maps. The complete package of the logistics of the plan had been carried away with the Colonel. Without receiving any orders, the unit commanders had been confused, believing that the plan had been canceled. Minh’s broadcast message ordering a ceasefire had further compounded the problem. By the time he contacted his commanders, they had sent their soldiers home.

Nam and he had been infuriated after discovering the plan failure. They comforted each other and hoped for a miracle that would save South Vietnam. That hope had been shattered by Minh’s broadcast ceasefire message. And now, nothing was left for South Vietnam after Minh’s unconditional surrender.

It was clear to him he now had only one option.

Days earlier, his American liaison had urged Nam and him to evacuate with the Americans and other South Vietnamese officers through the Mekong River to the sea, but Nam and he had flatly refused.

“We can’t abandon our men,” he said to the liaison. “We are their commanders. We will stay and fight together with them till death.”

After repeated pleas, the American liaison had given up and reluctantly left without them.

Now, his soldiers had dropped their weapons at the order of their highest commander, President and General Minh. Nam and he had no more soldiers to fight.

Actually, it was not too late to leave South Vietnam. The MR IV had remained calm and undisturbed by the collapse of MRs I, II and III and Saigon. The VC concentration was very low and the NVAs had not infiltrated the area yet. But leaving South Vietnam had never been an option for him.

He looked out the window. It was dark outside. Evening had fallen on Cần Thơ. It was a day of remarkable calmness after the official collapse of Saigon.

He swallowed hard. How had it come to this? How could the military regions I, II, and III collapse within weeks, almost without a fight, except for the heroic battle of Xuân Lộc?

He thought of his days at An Lộc in 1972, the most intensive fighting he had experienced in his career. For almost two months, under constant enemy artillery shelling, the tiny town of An Lộc had repelled the massive assault by the NVAs. During the siege, there had been desperate times when he had thought his life would soon be over, but the thought of abandoning his men or surrendering to the enemy had never crossed his mind. Having been in the military for twenty years, now as the second-in-command of the entire MR IV, covering the entire Mekong Delta region, his life had constantly been dedicated to fighting against the communists. How could he leave his men? How could he surrender unconditionally to the enemy? But as a military commander, he also knew the strict rule of the army: follow the order of the superior commander. President Dương Văn Minh was now the supreme commander of the Army of the Republic of Vietnam. He had ordered all combat units to surrender.

It was the stupid tactical withdrawal order of Thiệu. The former President of South Vietnam had announced his resignation on TV on April 21 with a promise to stay to fight as a soldier, only to flee the country a few days after his resignation speech. Poor Thiệu. He cried like a baby on TV, admitting that he had been duped by the Americans.

He sneered at the thought of the Americans. They could not be trusted. Regardless how much Nixon and Kissinger embellished their accomplishments for the Paris Peace Accords, the U.S. was the main culprit for the collapse of South Vietnam. Peace with honor. What a joke! Unilateral withdrawal of troops in a war was an act of admitting defeat, not peace. Abandoning the ally in the middle of the war was a disgrace, not honor. Leaving the ally to fight with dwindling ammunition and supplies against the enemy with escalating aid from two military superpowers was a cruel act. But the U.S. had never treated South Vietnam as their ally anyway. The American Generals had always considered the South Vietnamese army as an extension of their forces, and had to depend on them. To them, the little people didn’t know how to fight. Worse yet, many American officers believed that the South Vietnamese didn’t have the fighting spirit. What did they know about the logistical problems of troop movements, the vulnerability of an over-extended defense belt, the difficult problem of protecting the civilians from enemy attacks, and the worries about their own families? The Americans only believed the Americans. The U.S. Congress listened to their Generals while being influenced by the manipulative media, infiltrated by the cowardly anti-war activists, and fearful of their ignorant and misinformed constituents. They didn’t give a shit about their South Vietnamese ally.

But at this point, everything had become moot.

He stared at the words Honor – Homeland - Responsibilities below the eagle holding two swords in its claws on the service banner of the Army of the Republic of Vietnam, which hung on the wall. The words had been ingrained in his mind for so long that they had become part of his life. He had vowed to follow these words the day he entered the military life. But now, he couldn’t keep all three of them. His homeland had been lost to the enemy. His responsibilities had been overridden and taken away by Minh’s order of unconditional surrender. He now only had Honor.

Honor. The real honor.

Many people didn’t fully understand the meaning of this word. Some even called one’s act of keeping honor a stupid act. Others would abuse it. Like Nixon’s peace with honor.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Come in,” he said.

Hoàng, his wife, stepped in.

“How is everything, dear?” she asked.

He paused and wondered if he should tell her what had been going on. What’s the point? But she was his wife and she deserved to know. Besides, there was a change in his plan with her and the children. He had to tell her. He had to convince her.

With controlled calmness, he began telling her about the failed plan and the current situation. She listened to him attentively, as always. As he finished, Hoàng looked at him with tears in her eyes. They had talked about their plan, the contingencies, and about dying together with their children. To keep honor.

He took a deep breath, and his eyes shone. “You have to live to take care of the kids.”

“Why?” she asked, puzzled. “Why have you changed your mind?”

He sighed in resignation. “Our kids are innocent. I can’t let them die.”

She cried. “You know we cannot let our children live under the communists. It’s like having them tortured. Let them die with me peacefully, in their sleep. We will die together.”

“No,” he said, his voice firm. “Parents cannot kill their children. I beg you. Bear the humiliation in order to live. Stay behind in my place and raise them to be righteous. Watch out for wealth, glory, and fame. Those are things that can blur your conscience. Remember, our motherland is the most important thing. Bear to abase yourself and put up with humiliation to raise our kids and ingrain in them the will to restore honor for our motherland.”

She sobbed. “If you don’t want them to die, why don’t you flee like the others?”

He glared at her. “You are my wife. How could you ask me such a question?”

She trembled. “Please forgive me. It’s because I love you so much.”

He gazed at her. In one brief moment, emotion overwhelmed him.

“Listen to me,” he said. “Other people can flee, but I cannot. I have served with thousands of soldiers, living with them through life-and-death moments. How can I abandon them? I will not surrender. The VCs are coming. I know when I face them, I can’t control myself and will shoot them. But that will cause bloodshed and more people and soldiers will die.”

“I know, but what should I do?”

He squeezed her hand. “We understand each other well. I know you are physically fragile but your will is like iron. Put up with humiliation. Disguise, change yourself. I trust you. For my sake, for our children’s sake, for our homeland’s sake. You can do it. Please listen to me. I beg you. I beg you.”

Tears rolled down her face. “Yes, I will.”

“Promise me. Promise me.”

“Yes, I promise.”

He smiled.

At 8:45PM, April 30, 1975, Brigadier General Lê Văn Hưng, 42, the hero of An Lộc, shot himself in his locked room after saying farewell to his family and his commanders, leaving behind his wife and two young children, ages five and two.

Less than a day later, his superior, Major General Nguyễn Khoa Nam, 47, shot himself at 7:30AM, May 1, 1975.

Brigadier General Lê Văn Hưng and Major General Nguyễn Khoa Nam were not the only officers who committed suicide.

On April 30, 1975 and May 1, 1975, several more military and national police officers of the Republic of Vietnam preferred death to seeing the communist flags flying in South Vietnam. Brigadier General Lê Nguyên Vỹ, 41, Commander of 5th Infantry Division shot himself at 11:00AM at Lai Khê. Brigadier General Trần Văn Hai, 49, Commander of 7th Infantry Division committed suicide by taking poison at Ðồng Tâm center. Major General Phạm Văn Phú, 46, Commander of MR II, committed suicide by poison at his home in Saigon. Lieutenant Colonel Ðặng Sĩ Vinh of the National Police shot himself, his wife, and their seven children at 2:00PM at his home in Saigon. Lieutenant Colonel Nguyễn Văn Long of the National Police shot himself in front of the Marines Statue at 11:00AM in Saigon. Second Lieutenant Nguyễn Thanh Quan of the Air Force shot himself at 3:15PM at his home. Master Sergeant Nguyễn Ngọc Ánh, 21, shot himself at 10:25AM on May 1, 1975 at Mộc Hóa airfield, Kiến Tường Province. Private Hồ Chí Tâm, 490th RF Battalion, shot himself with an M-16 at Đầm Cùn, Cà Mau.

The list went on. Lieutenant Colonel Vũ Đình Duy, Lieutenant Colonel Nguyễn Văn Hoàn, Lieutenant Colonel Nguyễn Đình Chi, Lieutenant Colonel Hà Ngọc Lương, Lieutenant Colonel Phạm Đức Lợi, Lieutenant Colonel Nguyễn Xuân Trân, Lieutenant Colonel Phạm Thế Phiệt, Air Force Major Nguyễn Gia Tập, Major Lương Bông, Major Mã Thành Liên, Major Nguyễn Văn Phúc, Navy Major Lê Anh Tuấn, Major Đỗ văn Phát, Major Trần Thế Anh, Captain Vũ Khắc Cẩn, Captain Tạ Hữu Di, Captain Nguyễn Văn Hựu, Captain Nguyễn Hòa Dương, First Lieutenant Đặng Trần Vinh, First Lieutenant Nghiêm Viết Thảo, First Lieutenant Nguyễn Văn Cảnh, Second Lieutenant Nguyễn Phụng, Airborne Second Lieutenant Hoàng Văn Thái and his seven comrades, Warrant Officer Đỗ Công Chính, Master Sergeant Phạm Xuân Thanh, Master Sergeant Bùi Quang Bộ, Military Police Sergeant Trần Minh, Attorney Trần Chánh Thành.

An unknown number of officers, soldiers, government officials, and citizens of the Republic of Vietnam committed suicide as a result of the collapse of South Vietnam on April 30, 1975.

Cần Thơ, August 14, 1975

They didn’t blindfold the prisoner because they wanted him to face the people and the gun that would take his life. Together with other prisoners, he was sentenced to death by the People’s Court. His execution was held at the Cần Thơ stadium and open to the public. His enemy didn’t just want him to die. They wanted to humiliate him publicly and they wanted to use his death to warn others. The spectators, men and women, came to see him for the last time. His crime had been vaguely described, but it had to do with his stubborn fighting when the order of surrender had been announced. He and his men had fought till they used the last of their bullets, one day after the collapse of Saigon. Unlike others, he didn’t commit suicide, due to his Catholic faith.

He was dressed in black pajamas. His hands were tied behind his back and onto a tall wooden pole. He looked calm and dignified.

“Is there anything you want to say before your death?” the leader of the execution team asked.

The prisoner’s eyes glared at the execution team leader. “I didn’t surrender. I just want to wear my military uniform and salute the flag of the Republic of Vietnam.”

“That’s out of the question,” the team leader shouted at him. His face reddened.

The prisoner smiled. He had expected his captor’s reaction. He looked at the spectators, at the men and women with tense faces. Some bowed their heads and clasped their hands in prayer. Some wiped away tears. His heart tightened when he recognized many familiar faces of those who were residents in his province. He thought about his military life of more than twenty years, his fallen comrades, his hair’s breadth escapes from death on numerous battlefields, and his last battle. His family. His country.

His face hardened.

“Long live the Republic of Vietnam! Down with the Communists!” the prisoner shouted.

The team leader’s eyes widened in shock. “Shoot him,” he screamed.

The spectators gasped. Several closed their eyes.

The executioner, dressed in black with a black and white checkered scarf around his neck, pointed the pistol at the prisoner’s temple and pulled the trigger.

Colonel Hồ Ngọc Cẩn, Province Chief of Chương Thiện Province was executed by the Communists on August 14, 1975. His subordinate officers, including Major Trịnh Tấn Tiếp, District Chief of Kiến Thiện District; Lieutenant Colonel Võ văn Đường, Chương Thiện Chief Police; and Captain Phạm văn Bé, Commander of recon company, were also executed after their capture. Colonel Cẩn’s aide, Sergeant Vũ Tiến Quang, had been executed on May 1, 1975 right after he and Colonel Cẩn were taken prisoner. Hundreds of other fighting men of the Republic of Vietnam didn’t surrender and fought the Communists till their last bullets. Many were executed on the spot after being captured. Such was the case of Major Trần Đình Tự, 32, Commander of 38th Ranger Battalion, and his men, who were brutally executed on April 30, 1975.

News of the execution had spread all over town.

The sky was cloudy after a brief rain. The sun had descended. Evening began to fall in Cần Thơ.

The young woman was dressed completely in white. At first, people didn’t pay attention to her. They walked by her, glanced at her, and walked away. But when she took out a bundle of incense sticks, lit them, and knelt down in a prayer position, people began to gather around her.

She closed her eyes, prostrated herself three times and put the burning incense sticks in a pot.

She stood up and walked away, ignoring curious stares of the surrounding people and passers-by.

Somebody reported the strange incident to the people’s police. Soon, two security men arrived.

On the sidewalk, the incense sticks had burned halfway. A folded piece of paper stuck out underneath the pot. One of the security men removed the paper. He opened it.

On the sheet, the following lines were neatly written:

To the fallen soldiers, men and women of the Republic of Vietnam who fought for freedom and democracy.

The heroes died, but their heroic spirit will never die. (Anh hùng tử, khí hùng bất tử.)

Xin đừng đứng khóc bên mộ tôi.

Vì tôi không ngủ, đã đi rồi.

Tôi là ngàn gió bay thoang thoảng,

Là kim cương trên tuyết sáng ngời.

Tôi là thái dương trên hạt chín.

Là giọt mưa thu đọng nhẹ nhàng.

Khi người thức giấc mai bịn rịn,

tôi như cơn lốc bốc huy hoàng

của đàn chim bay quanh lặng lẽ.

Tôi là sao đêm ánh dịu màu.

Đừng đứng bên mộ tôi rơi lệ.

Tôi không ở đó; tôi không chết đâu.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.

Mary Elizabeth Frye, 1932

HISTORICAL AND FACTUAL NOTES

The fall of South Vietnam in April 1975 has been extensively reported and described (Veith 2012; Todd 1990; Isaacs 1984, 342-487; Willbanks 2008, 223- 276; Karnow 1997, 678-684; Sorley 1999, 372-386; Lam 2009, 334-398; Ha 2008, 189-259; Duiker 1996, 329- 350). Ignoring the 1973 Paris Peace Accords, North Vietnam continued sending troops to the South. “What is also clear is that the Communists, soon after the signing of the Paris Peace Accords, quickly and secretly moved to break them” (Veith 2012, 498). “[O]ne hundred thousand fresh troops advanced southward in 1973, and another eighty thousand were headed to the battlefields during the first half of 1974” (ibid., 69).

The Đà Nẵng evacuation and the role of Air America:

Air America played an instrumental role in evacuating civilian, military personnel, and government officials during March and April 1975, in South Vietnam (Burke 1989; Cates 2012, 116-125). As unsung heroes, many employees of Air America performed admirably against dangerous conditions and without the cooperation of people in power in Saigon (Burke 1989).

The situation at Đà Nẵng in late March 1975 was shockingly chaotic. As an example, a World Airway Boeing 727, designed to carry 133 passengers, ended up with 358 people on board on March 29, 1975 (Engelmann 1997, 7). Most of these passengers were soldiers; only 11 women and children were among them (ibid., 6).

When a helicopter cannot take off by the normal hover maneuver, due to overload, it may take off by a maneuver called running take-off (Cantrell; Mason 2005, 198-199).

The story about Đinh Văn Đệ:

The unfolding events during late March and early April 1975 appear to indicate there was a sudden change in the North Vietnamese attack strategy from a cautious approach to unremitting vigor in the attack, all the way to the heart of Saigon (Todd 1990, 248). At the time, there were fighter bombers and B-52s on U.S. bases in Thailand and the Philippines and the NVA command was not sure whether or not U.S. aircraft would intervene (Todd 1990, 248; Bui 1999, 82). The timing of the sudden change coincides with the timing of a report by Đinh Văn Đệ, a Communist undercover agent who was a Representative of South Vietnam, regarding President Ford’s response to the South Vietnamese request for aid (Veith 2012, 7, 224-225, 518-519 n28). On March 25, 1975, a six-member South Vietnamese congressional delegate led by Trần Kim Phượng, South Vietnamese Ambassador to the U. S., met with President Gerald Ford to present Thiệu’s request for aid. As a Representative, Đinh Văn Đệ was one member of the delegation. In a 20-minute meeting, after listening to Phượng’s presentation, President Ford said, “We will expedite military and economic assistance and we will try to get the Congress to make additional funds available.” The language appears to slightly deviate from the talking points prepared in advance by Kissinger and exaggerated the level of determination of American military support (The White House 1992, March 25, 1975, declassified). Đệ didn’t speak a word during the entire meeting (ibid.; Veith 2012, 518-519 n28). However, after the meeting, Đệ reported to the Politburo in Hanoi that it was he who cleverly persuaded Ford not to intervene in Vietnam. In recounting this event during an interview in 2007 (Mạnh 2007), Đệ said that he was the one who made a presentation to President Ford. According to him, he decided to talk about the military affairs and not about the ‘diplomatic’, ‘friendship’, ‘camaraderie’, ‘ally’ that President Thiệu used to mention. Đệ claimed that he used the information published by newspapers, plus the statements of the officials and the puppet Generals, and the documents about the forces and weapons, and painted the picture without any comments. He further claimed that at the end of his presentation, he expressed that he and the delegates were all patriotic and were very fearful of losing the country. According to Đệ, he and the delegates then suggested the President and the U.S. Congress act immediately. Đệ observed President Ford and knew that Ford would not think about bringing the American troops back into Vietnam. When shaking hands with Ford, Đệ was sure the Americans would not return. After that presentation, Đệ sent to the North Vietnamese Politburo the message that the Americans would not bring their troops back to the South (Mạnh 2007). Đệ’s story was not only a blatant lie but also a double talk. His fabricated version of the meeting was comical, preposterous, and unbelievable. How his presentation on the situation in South Vietnam in a 20-minute meeting, assuming he was indeed the one who made the presentation, persuaded President Ford to decide not to bring American troops back to Vietnams is a mystery. Yet, the North Vietnamese Politburo believed in Đệ’s account and decided to change the strategy and launched an all-out offensive against the South.

Trần Bạch Đằng, a high ranking official in the National Liberation Front (NLF), reiterates Đệ’s version of the meeting with President Ford and confirms Đệ’s role that reflected the change in the North Vietnamese attack strategy in April 1975:

After the fall of Phuoc Long, the South Vietnamese president Thieu sent a congressional delegation to the U.S. to ask for more ammunition and supplies. The delegation was led by Mr. Dinh Văn Dê, the chairman of the military committee in the Congress. He asked President Ford for $300 million in military aid and represented the picture of South Vietnam, and when President Ford listened to what he had to say, Ford knew there was nothing that he could do to prevent defeat in the South. When the delegation came back to Vietnam, Mr. Dê prepared a report and sent it to the revolutionary force in Hanoi to let them know what happened... Dê presented his case in such a way that the U.S. government said no, that aid would do no good. When we got Dê’s report we knew there was no way that the U.S. government would intervene again in Vietnam. (Engelmann 1997, 306. Emphasis added.)

On the other hand, it appeared that the Politburo had decided to launch the offensive with swiftness before March 26, 1975, which is the earliest time Đệ could send his report after the meeting. Nevertheless, even if Đệ’s report didn’t have a direct influence on the Politburo’s decision to change the strategy to an all-out offensive, it most likely reinforced the Politburo’s confidence in an imminent victory.

The 18th Infantry Division Emblem and An Dương Vương’s magic crossbow:

The emblem of the ARVN 18th Infantry Division includes a background of light blue and dark blue (SĐBB18 2013). The light blue represents the sky and the dark blue represents the earth. On the background is the magic crossbow (“NỏThần”) of An Dương Vương.

Figure 1: The emblem of the ARVN 18th Infantry Division

The establishment of the state of Âu Lạc by An Dương Vương is a historical event, as is the subjugation of Âu Lạc by Triệu Đà (or Zhao Tuo) (ĐVSKTT, I:132; Taylor 1983, 19-20; Trương 2010, 20-23; Đào 2002, 54-55; Buttinger 1958, 70), but the story about the magic crossbow is a folk tale (Taylor 1983, 19-22; LNCQ, Chapter 13, “The Story of the Golden Turtle”; Trương 2010, 21-22).

The battle of Xuân Lộc:

The notes about the battle of Xuân Lộc has been published on the Web page of Dân Lảm Báo:

Cao-Đắc, Tuấn. 2015. The battle of Xuân Lộc. April 15, 2015.

http://danlambaovn.blogspot.com/2015/04/the-battle-of-xuan-loc.html (accessed April 24, 2015).

The last days of South Vietnam:

Despite the loss of MR I and MR II and lack of ammunition, the South Vietnamese soldiers and their commanders fought till the end. Bill Laurie (2006) describes the situation as a few little “Alamos” with the an epic battle of Xuân Lộc, the virtually unknown presence and role of the 1st Airborne Brigade, the ARVN 7th division troops defeating an NVA attempt to cut Highway 4, the heroic efforts of Lieutenants Thanh and Tran Van Hien who flew an AC-119K to provide fire support for the last units engaged in Saigon on the last day, and the valiant struggle of a Major Truong Phung and a Captain Phuc who piloted two A-1H Skyraiders accompanying the AC-119K. All fought to the very end until they ran out of ammunition and fuel. Toward the end of the war, the “ARVN soldiers, knowing that they had no hope and no longer any allies, fought valiantly for their lost cause” (Siemon-Netto 2013, 70).

The ARVN Generals and officers in the last days of South Vietnam:

Brigadier General Lê Văn Hưng was said to be anti-American (Andradé 2001, 351). However, this comment appears to be directed to his approach in fighting, and not necessarily to his attitude toward the American military. Parker, a CIA agent, described him to be warm and friendly (Parker 2000, 246, 250). Hưng’s relationship with his American advisor, Colonel Miller, during the Easter Offensive of 1972, was good initially but worsened as the battle dragged on. In 1971, when Hưng was commander of the 5th Infantry Division, Miller reported that Hưng displayed outstanding leadership, was aggressive, organized, and forceful (Andradé 2001, 351). But during the An Lộc battle in 1972, Miller was frustrated by Hưng’s lack of control and hesitation (Andradé 2001, 399; Lam 2009, 53). Compared to Colonel Trần văn Nhựt, the chief of Binh Long province in the An Lộc battle, Hưng looked weak and indecisive (Andradé 2001, 454). Colonel Ulmer, Miller’s replacement, had a different view. According to him, Hưng seemed weary and cautious, lost his composure a few times, but he was clearly in command and never buckled (Andradé 2001, 430-431). Miller’s comments about Hưng were also refuted by other sources (Lam 2009, 209-210).

Regarding Gen. Hưng and Nam’s “Linking Hands” plan in April 1975 to redeploy the troops in IV Corps to fight the communists, it is unclear if this was a realistic plan. According to Parker (2000, 281), Hưng said to him on April 15, 1975 that the South Vietnamese could not defend the delta because they didn’t have the right supplies and felt they had been abandoned. If the Linking Hands plan was Hưng’s serious plan, one can only surmise that he didn’t tell Parker the truth because he wanted to keep it secret.

Colonel Hồ Ngọc Cẩn was known as ARVN “soldier of the year” for his heroism in battles. Parker remarked that he was a soldier’s soldier, brave and incorruptible (ibid., 250; Cẩn’s name is mis-spelled as Canh). Brig. Gen. Hưng and Colonel Cẩn were known to be dedicated South Vietnamese patriots (ibid., 248).

The suicides of Generals Lê Văn Hưng, Nguyễn Khoa Nam, Phạm Văn Phú, Trần Văn Hai, Lê Nguyên Vỹ, and other national police and ARVN officers, and the execution of Colonel Hồ Ngọc Cẩn are reported on many Internet postings, Websites (See, for example, Vnafmamn), and several books (Parker 2000, 327-328; Butler 1985, 507; Lam 2009, 238-241; Veith 2012, 495-496; Vo 2004, 18-21; Duong 2008, 220). In particular, the widow of Brig. Gen. Lê Văn Hưng, Phạm Thị Kim Hoàng, recounted her husband’s final day in great detail (Phạm 2003; Parker 2000, 327-328). The story of Colonel Hồ Ngọc Cẩn and a picture of his execution (in his black pajama with a pistol pointed to his temple by a VC in black and a black and white checkered scarf around his neck) are posted on various Websites (QLVNCH 2012). An on-line article published in 2013 by Công Lý, an SRV government news agency of the “supreme people's court,” recounts the court trial and the execution of Colonel Hồ Ngọc Cẩn that took place in July 1975 (Congly 2013). According to the article, Colonel Cẩn’s “crime” was his stubbornness to “defend till death” in spite of Dương Văn Minh’s order of surrender.

There is a Website that provides a list of known ARVN Generals and Officers who committed suicide on April 30 and May 1, 1975 (Tranhung 2010).

The poem “Do not stand at my grave and weep”:

Mary Elizabeth Frye (1905-2004) was confirmed in 1998 to be the author of the poem, “Do not stand at my grave and weep” (“Xin đừng đứng khóc bên mộ tôi”) (Wikipedia-Frye 2013). She wrote the poem in 1932 but didn’t publish or copyright it, and the poem was attributed to an anonymous author for more than sixty years (see, for example, Parker 2000, 329). The poem addresses the reader/audience through the voice of a deceased person, invoking spiritual imagery (Wikipedia-Frye 2013). My Vietnamese version of the poem does not literally translate the poem word for word because I wanted to capture the poem in the Vietnamese style of poetry using a mixed style of 4-verse stanzas of standard and alternating rhyming patterns. My Vietnamese version conveys essentially the same meaning as the original American poem.

List of References

Andradé, Dale. 2001. America’s Last Vietnam Battle, Halting Hanoi’s 1972 Easter Offensive, University Press of Kansas, Kansas, U.S.A.

Bui Tin. 1999. Following Ho Chi Minh, Memoirs of a North Vietnamese Colonel, Translated and adapted by Judy Stowe and Do Van, University of Hawaii Press, Honolulu, U.S.A.

Butler, David. 1985. The Fall of Saigon: Scenes from the Sudden End of a Long War, Dell Publishing, New York, U.S.A.

Buttinger, Joseph. 1958. The Smaller Dragon, A Political History of Vietnam, Frederick A. Praeger, Inc., New York, U.S.A.

Cates, Allen. 2012. Honor Denied – The Truth About Air America and the CIA. iUniverse, Indiana, U.S.A.

Duiker, William J. 1996. The Communist Road to Power in Vietnam, Second Edition, Westview Press, Colorado, U.S.A.

Duong, Van Nguyen. 2008. The Tragedy of the Vietnam War – A South Vietnamese Officer’s Analysis. McFarland & Company, Inc., North Carolina, U.S.A.

Đào Duy Anh. 2002. Lịch sử Việt Nam - Từ Nguồn Gốc đến Thế Kỷ XIX (History of Vietnam: From Its Origins to the 19th Century), Văn Hóa Thông Tin, Hồ Chí Minh City, Vietnam.

ĐVSKTT. Ngô Sĩ Liên. 2004. Đại Việt Sử Ký Toàn Thư (ĐVSKTT), “Nội các quan bản" edition (1697). Dựa trên Lê Văn Hưu, Phan Phu Tiên; Vũ Quỳnh, Phạm Công Trứ, and Lê Hy bổ sung. Dịch và ghi chú bởi Ngô Đức Thọ (Quyển I), Hoàng Văn Lâu (Quyển II & III) (1697), Quyển I, II, and III, Khoa Học Xã Hội, Hà Nội, Việt Nam.

Engelmann, Larry. 1997. Tears Before the Rain: An Oral History of the Fall of South Vietnam, Da Capo Press, New York, U.S.A.

Ha Mai Viet. 2008. Steel and Blood: South Vietnamese Armor and the War for Southeast Asia, Naval Institute Press, Maryland, U.S.A.

Isaacs, Arnold R. 1984. Without Honor: Defeat in Vietnam & Cambodia, Vintage Books, New York, U.S.A.

Karnow, Stanley. 1997. Vietnam; A History, Second Edition, Penguin Books, New York, U.S.A.

Lam Quang Thi. 2009. Hell in An Loc: The 1972 Easter Invasion and the Battle that Saved South Vietnam, University of North Texas Press, Texas, U.S.A.

LNCQ. Trần Thế Pháp, Lĩnh Nam Chích Quái (LNCQ). Tác giả không chắc chắn.

Mason, Robert. 2005. Chickenhawk. Penguin Books, New York, U.S.A.

Parker, James E., Jr. 2000. Last Man Out, A Personal Account of the Vietnam War, Ballantine Book, New York, U.S.A.

Siemon-Netto, Uwe. 2013. Đức, A Reporter’s Love for the Wounded People of Vietnam. CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, U.S.A.

Sorley, Lewis. 1999. A Better War, Hartcourt, Inc. Florida, U.S.A.

Taylor, Keith Weller. 1983. The Birth of Vietnam, University of California Press, California, U.S.A.

Todd, Oliver. 1990. Cruel April: The Fall of Saigon, translated from the French by Stephen Becker, W.W. Norton and Company, New York, U.S.A.

Trương Bửu Lâm. 2010. A Story of Việt Nam, Outskirts Press, Inc., Colorado, U.S.A.

Veith, George J. 2012. Black April – The Fall of South Vietnam, 1973-1975. Encounter Books, New York, U.S.A.

Vo, Nghia M.. 2004. The Bamboo Gulag: Political Imprisonment in Communist Vietnam, McFarland & Co Inc, North Carolina, U.S.A.

Willbanks, James H. 2008. Abandoning Vietnam: How America Left and South Vietnam Lost Its War, University Press of Kansas, Kansas, U.S.A.

Internet Sources:

It should be noted that Internet sources may not be permanent. A blog may be taken down by the author, a news article may be deleted, or a Website may be closed.

Burke, Marius, Jr. 1989. Part 1 – Danang Evacuation.

http://www.air-america.org/Articles/Burke_Danang.shtml (accessed September 29, 2013).

Cantrell, Paul. Running Takeoff.

http://www.copters.com/pilot/run_takeoff.html (accessed September 29, 2013).

Công Lý. 2013. Phiên tòa đầu tiên ở Cần Thơ sau ngày giải phóng (The first court trial in Cần Thơ after liberation). Đăng 1-9-2013.

http://congly.com.vn/phap-dinh/phien-toa-dau-tien-o-can-tho-sau-ngay-giai-phong-29260.html (accessed October 11, 2013).

Laurie, Bill. 2006. The Republic of Vietnam Armed Forces 1968-1975.

http://vnafmamn.com/ARVN_68-75.html (accessed September 29, 2013).

Mạnh Việt. 2007. Gặp người “Việt cộng” từng đối diện Tổng thống Mỹ tại Lầu Năm góc. February 2, 2007.

http://www.tienphong.vn/xa-hoi-phong-su/gap-nguoi-viet-cong-tung-doi-dien-tong-thong-my-tai-lau-nam-goc-75511.tpo (accessed September 29, 2013).

Phạm Thị Kim Hoàng. Không rõ năm. Hồi ký của bà Lê Văn Hưng (Memoir of Madame Lê Văn Hưng).

http://www.nguyenkhoanam.com/tam_tu3.html (accessed September 29, 2013.

Phạm Thị Kim Hoàng. 2003. The Final Day of My Husband's Life, Tran Thi My Ngoc and Larry Engelmann translated. October 19, 2003,

http://lde421.blogspot.com/2012_10_01_archive.html (accessed September 29, 2013).

QLVNCH. 2012. Đại Tá Hồ Ngọc Cẩn Là Biểu tượng cho Danh dự vả Uy dũng của QLVNCH (Colonel Hồ Ngọc Cẩn represents the honor and valor of ARVN). Posted January 10, 2012.

http://lhccshtd.org/LHCCSHTD_LS/QLVNCH/HNC/LHCCSHTD_LS_QLVNCH_HNC_DaiTaHoNgocCan_BieuTuongChoDanhDuVaUyDung_Cua_QLVNCH_2012JAN10.htm (accessed September 29, 2013).

SĐBB18. 2013. Sư đoàn 18 Bộ binh Quân lực Việt Nam Cộng hòa (The 18th Infantry Division of the Republic of Vietnam Armed Forces).

http://vi.wikipedia.org/wiki/S%C6%B0_%C4%91o%C3%A0n_18_B%E1%BB%99_binh_Qu%C3%A2n_l%E1%BB%B1c_Vi%E1%BB%87t_Nam_C%E1%BB%99ng_h%C3%B2a (accessed September 29, 2013).

Tranhung. 2010. DANH SÁCH CHIẾN SĨ VNCH TỰ SÁT NGÀY 30/4/1975 (List of ARVN soldiers who committed suicide on April 30, 1975). Posted April 15, 2010.

http://www.haisystem.com/webportal/html/modules.php?name=Forums&file=viewtopic&p=1768 (accessed September 30, 2013).

The White House. 1992. Memorandum of Conversation, Tuesday 11:00AM, March 25, 1975 (20 minutes). Declassified 9/25/92.
http://www.ford.utexas.edu/library/document/memcons/1553001.pdf (accessed September 30, 2013).

Wikipedia-Frye. 2013. Do not stand at my grave and weep. Last modifications: September 16, 2013. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Do_not_stand_at_my_grave_and_weep (accessed September 30, 2013).

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