The Sorrow of War (22 page)

young stoker supported him, wiping blood from Kien's chin with the inside of his glove. Kien looked at the blood on the glove disbelievingly.

"Cheer up, son," the old engineer told him. "This is kid stuff. The first whistle in the war. Nothing to it."

As the fog lifted Kien seemed also to regain his faculties. He suddenly remembered what he thought he had seen in the freight car and what could still be happening there. He was to remember that as his first war wound, not the blood from his injuries now staining the glove.

It was from that moment, when Phuong was violently taken from him, that the bloodshed truly began and his life entered into bloody suffering and failure. And he would understand true sacrifice: friends who would die to save others.

On the morning of 30 April, in the dying moments of fighting, when his scout units were attacking the Lang Cha Ca building in Saigon, Kien had hesitated for a moment in his run. And that second's hesitation was paid for with the life of the only other scout still alive in his unit. They were to have entered Saigon together.

Kien had hesitated when, from the vaultlike window of the ground floor of the building, he heard machine-gun fire. They had shelled the building so intensely it seemed unlikely any gunner was left alive. But there it was, machine-gun fire from inside.

Kien slowed in his advance, crouching, listening. Tu, behind him, did not slow up. Kien crouched and moved cautiously, but Tu raced past him and straight into the machine-gun fire.Tu s back burst open and blood showered into Kien's face.

Back came the memories of Oanh, dying on the third floor of the Buon Me Thuot police station, when the policewoman—a girl, really—had feigned death, then shot Oanh, sacrificing her own life in doing so.

And when Cu had laid covering fire to hold off an enemy regiment while Kien's scouts escaped after a failed raid on the ARVN Airborne near the Phuong Hoang pass, Big Thinh,Tarn, and of course Cu, who had given his life in order for them to get away, were lost.

Kien and the two others from his scout platoon were fleeing from the southern forces who pursued them relentlessly in the Khanh Duong area. They were trying to reach the foot of the pass to catch up with their own units. It was broad daylight, which made movement more dangerous.

Exhausted, they broke for a rest on the lower edge of a bamboo thicket. Tarn tore a sleeve from his shirt to dress Thinh's head wound. Kien, leaning against the bank of a ditch, rested his head between his knees. He had unslung his AK and placed it beside him. Behind them to the east the southern forces were now using artillery, setting their sights with ranging shots at the northern forces to the west, who were returning the artillery fire, also using trial shells to calibrate their sights. They were at each end of the Khanh Duong valley with the three scouts in no-man's-land between them. The whole area was alive with small-arms fire and the increasing thunder of artillery shells as each side bracketed their targets.

Tarn was tending Thinh's head wound. Kien, sitting close by, was upset at having to leave Cu behind. They would not have escaped without him giving his life for them. "Just the three of us left from the entire platoon," Kien moaned.

"You can worry about that later, Kien," said Tarn, dressing the wound. "Thank your lucky stars there's three of us still alive. It was damn close."

Without warning a black shadow passed over them, falling through the bamboo tops and landing with a whump! right in front of them.

A paratrooper had landed above their hideout; he stood over them on the top of a small bank, looking down at the startled trio and covering them with his AR15 rifle. Their own three AKs were still on the ground near them, but they were now useless.

The paratrooper was a tall young man with flowing hair. His red beret was tucked under his epaulets.The rest of his uniform was spotted with dark red splotches of earth, indicating he had been very active in this battle. Kien stiffened as the paratrooper put his finger on the trigger, expecting bullets to burst his rib cage open, rip his face, and send explosions of his blood around the jungle floor as he had so often seen it happen to others.

"Don't shoot, sir," said Tarn quickly. "I surrender. We surrender."

The southerner laughed. Gesturing with his free hand he gave orders: "Get up, quick! Sons of bitches, the three of you."

They rose, in fear of imminent death. Tarn, in front of Kien, started to clamber up the small embankment as he'd been ordered. Suddenly, he lunged and grabbed one of the paratrooper's legs, pulling him sharply. He started shooting but the shots went harmlessly into the air.Tarn and the paratrooper tumbled back down into the ditch and Thinh shouted to Kien,"Run, quick, run!"

Kien was torn between going to Tarn's aid and following Thinh. More paratroopers were landing and others were

now crashing through the thicket close to them.They took the only course and began running along the ditch away fromTam and the first paratrooper.The new arrivals starting shooting at them, too, and the bullets sprayed around Kien's head and behind him as he ran zigzagging. "Oh!" cried Thinh.

That was all he heard. Just a small cry as Thinh lifted into the air and buckled and died.

Kien continued through the bamboo cover. The paratroopers were throwing everything at him including bazooka fire, but they were wide of the mark.

Kien ran until he fell from exhaustion. As he crawled on towards his lines his emotions were storming; excruciating pain at having left and lost his friends, ecstatic elation at having survived death once more.

Strangely, that was not his most memorable escape. The most tragic, heartrending, and dangerous escape concerned Hoa. It was during the retreat after the Tet Offensives in 1968, an unfortunate time for them. For the infantry scouts even the sky was dangerous in those two weeks of withdrawal, carrying the wounded, dragging their feet through the jungles heading west towards the Cambodian border. In less than a fortnight they had been encircled twice, and twice in utter desperation had broken out of the traps, fighting fearlessly Kien's unit was in total disarray and badly beaten up. They fought a rearguard struggle as they headed west and together with three men from another company crossed the Poco river and wormed their way to Black Hill, which had been ground to powder by B-52S. From that relative safety they ran for their lives into the sunset.

As they were crossing some low-lying jungle areas at the foot of the Ngoc Bo Ray mountain, the group came across a team of stretcher-bearers heading for Cambodian territory. Against his better judgment, Kien and his men joined the stretcher-bearers from the SaThay river area and went along with them. They were all short of food and their units had been torn to shreds. They were exhausted and weak and seemed lost, although they were being led by a female guide. But she was not one of the Thuong minorities who knew the borderlands territory. She was from the North.

American troops were all around them in this area and their ragged unit saw traces of them having passed earlier at various points, and other signs of their presence. They expected to run into them at any time, especially near water-holes; it was the dry season and there were precious few fresh-water sources left, so they were natural ambush sites.

Overhead there were the spotter planes and bombers to contend with. After some unexpected encounters with the enemy they took on more wounded, including the stretcher-bearers. They re-formed with groups of three carrying two stretchers each. They dragged and wormed their way along, heading west for the Sa Thay river. It seemed they had been wandering aimlessly around the base of Ngoc Bo Ray mountain, for they listened in vain for the welcome rippling song of the river which would spell relative safety for them.

Hoa, the guide from the North, replied confidently to Kien's comment that they were lost. Having no compass or map he was forced to rely upon her. But his intuition told him they were lost, and by the third morning their situation had become desperate. Instead of arriving on the east bank of the Sa Thay near Cambodia they arrived on the bank of an immense, unnavigable lake.

"Heavens! Crocodile Lake!" Hoa wailed in disappointment.

Kien was disgusted; he stood moodily looking over the reedy lake, watching the stinking vapors rise and seeing several lurking crocodiles slithering around in the wet green scum along the banks.

"What's this? A sightseeing tour? You've led us to this stinking Crocodile Lake. Great!"

"My mistake," the guide said humbly.

"It's not a mistake, it's a fucking crime," Kien muttered cruelly."You ought to be shot, but bullets wouldn't be good enough."

Hoa's eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled. "I'll pay for my mistakes, please let me repay. I'll find the way," she blubbered.

"So, we'll have a wash in the mud here, shall we, while we wait for you?" he asked.

"No. It's not that bad. Crocodile Lake is close to the Sa Thay. I'll backtrack and look for the turning. It's not far. For now, lets get back under cover near the foothills we've just passed. I'll find the road and we'll march again at sunset."

She spoke rapidly, eager to redeem herself.

Spotter planes were circling overhead. Enemy mortars pounded another target on the other side of the lake with increasing intensity. The shock waves began arriving on their side of the lake's shoreline.

"It's my fault, comrades, I'll find the way. But first let's get the wounded under cover," Hoa repeated eagerly.

Kien by this time had no confidence in Hoa but saw her as the only hope, for none of them knew the area. The lives of scores of wounded men and their stretcher-bearers depended on her confidence in finding the way to the safety of the border. The wounded were ashen-faced, their bodies now wasted from starvation and exhaustion.

They withdrew from the lake shore to a creviced area where protective rock slabs shielded them from the harsh sun and the spotter planes. An unexpected and ominous calm fell on the area. The mortars had stopped, the roar of the jets could no longer be heard. The crackling sound of sporadic rifle fire was heard, but apart from that only the groans of the wounded broke the silence.

The heat and humidity oppressed them all. Kien scowled at Hoa as he spoke threateningly: "If you don't lead us to the riverbank . . . you understand the consequences . . ."

"Yes. Now, let me go now," she said.

Kien unslung his AK and handed it to a stretcher-bearer. "If the Americans come, use this. Not many rounds left.Take this pistol too. Still got four in it. I'll use grenades."

Kien handed another pistol to Hoa. "Avoid fighting. We've got to find the way out, not get into firefights, understand?"

"Let me go alone, you rest here," she said to Kien.

"No. I'm coming with you."

"You don't trust me. I'll find it, don't worry."

"I don't trust you. I'll believe it when I see it. Our only duty is to these wounded; we have to find a way out at any cost," he said.

"Understood," she said, looking at her boots.

They backtracked for some time. When a head-shaped rock appeared before them Hoa whispered urgently,"That's it. We turn here. This is where we missed the turning. Couldn't see the rock from the other side as we came in."

"Certain?" he replied.

She nodded. "Remember this rock. We're near the track now," she said quietly.

They headed off at an angle and found a lightly used track which led through a dry creekbed, and very soon they

could smell and hear the fresh water of the Sa Thay. The atmosphere had changed; it was fresher, the jungle was greener there, and they both regained their confidence. Hoa moved ahead through ponds and banks of shrubs blooming with red flowers.

The track they were meant to follow was by now almost overgrown, but the sound of the river was all they needed to guide them from there. They came across an abandoned cassava field overgrown with elephant grass and found themselves looking down towards the river.

"We needn't go right down," he said. "The path is clear now. Let's get back and bring them all over before dark."

"I've got to rest a bit first," she said.

"Agreed. I'm exhausted," he said.

They sat down out of sight, looking over the fields and river flats. Kien looked over at Hoa, his mood softening. "Like a smoke?" she asked.

"Yes. But where'd you get them?" he said, smiling.

"I found a Salem pack. Had one left."

She took the crushed pack from her top pocket and lit up, taking a few puffs to get it started, then handed it to Kien.

"The Americans are close, then," he said, looking at the pack.

"Not always. We get hold of Salems, too. But we should've brought the AK," she said.

"Yes. But I thought they'd need it if the Americans come across them. The wounded can't run so they have to fight. We're nearly out of ammunition, anyway. We have to avoid them, that's all. That's the only way we're going to get the wounded safely across."

She nodded agreement, making a hand signal for a puff on the cigarette. Kien placed it between her lips.

"I don't usually smoke. But I want to share one with you. I don't know why I'm so nervous," she said.

"How long have you been down here?"