1
Me and Nguyen Tin. The two of us held on to Uncle Muoi Phuc (Nguyen Van Ba) - the current Chief of Staff of Ben Tre Province on the way to Battalion 516. Hiding under the remnants of machine gun fire and rockets from enemy aircraft for a while, we were able to escape their firing range. When crossing the Giong Trom River (at Cay Me ferry) in a small boat with only one beam, we had to use coconut leaves as support to swim. Still camouflaged and swimming under the sight of the aircraft. By late afternoon, we reached the base of Battalion 516, in Luong Phu commune. Uncle Muoi Phuc stopped and went to the Command Center (due to the urgent need to have a role as a staff for the Provincial Team, closely following the battlefield, because since 1969, Ben Tre had an additional target of combat, the American infantry). Information and press were also placed in the same situation. I and Nguyen Tin - two reporters - went to the Battalion headquarters. Here, in addition to the Reconnaissance Platoon defending the front line, there was also a mixed unit: political , staff, operations, military, weapons... (the weapons unit was headed by Viet Liem - Tran Quoc Viet). The two of us were in this mixed unit. We saw Tan Hung - a member of the provincial Military Intelligence force coming down as reinforcement.
With Battalion 516, Nguyen Tin and I have long been like “family”, because we have participated in many campaigns together. When arriving, we do not have to show papers, sometimes when hungry, we ask “do you still have cold rice?”. When leaving, we smile and promise “we will come back in a few days”. This afternoon is different, we are hungry but do not dare to ask. Because, two large aluminum pots have been washed clean, attached to the backpack of the person who was assigned to be the cook that day. The guns are placed nearby. Instead of like usual, at this time, the brothers can lie down in hammocks, play tu-lo-kho, today the air is thick. You can see the waiting posture right away. Waiting to receive orders to march. But, waiting until dusk without seeing any orders, Mr. Chin Ha - a photographer from the Provincial Military Command who was sent down a few days ago, said:
- I'm so hungry. Let's get some bread and make something to eat.
(The cake was given to me by some close relatives on the way to the market by ferry along Ben Tre - Huong Diem at noon, still in the package).
- What do we eat with the cake? - Someone asked. Although the shop was nearby, there was no more canned sardines left, so we had to choose ground fish sauce to eat instead.
Each person, a small piece of bread sandwiched with thinly sliced banana and dipped in it. That's it!
We had to wait again! We waited until past midnight, many people fell asleep, then we were allowed to move. From Luong Phu towards Route 5 (now Provincial Road 887), we arrived at Ca Nuoi garden area and then defended in Hamlet Hai (Go Gia), Long My commune. The mixed unit of nearly ten brothers was arranged in a large hut, with a tran-xe occupying the entire hut (Later, we learned that this was the hut of Minh Tri's family - a person from the radio unit, belonging to the Provincial Military Intelligence Department). The hut was built next to the edge of the garden, adjacent to a small rice field of about a thousand square meters, his family used it to avoid bombs whenever enemy planes raided. The lid had just been reinforced, the soil was still wet. Camouflage vines crawled over the thatched roof.
2
Dizzy. I heard someone mention digging trenches. But here, the mix was all “young soldiers” so I “pretended” to forget. I slept in the cat, after a quick meal early in the morning, not knowing that Nguyen Tin had washed and dried his nylon clothes. When I heard the distant sound of an engine, I woke up with a start, seeing him delighted by the smell of baby soap still lingering on his collar.
- Wake up - He said - There is a fat helicopter (referring to the UH1B usually used by enemy commanders to inspect the battlefield).
- Where is fat? - I asked.
- Probably outside Luong Hoa.
- Well… never mind.
Half awake, half asleep, I dozed off for a moment that I could take advantage of because of the constant sleep deprivation of the battlefield. Until I heard the loud roar of an engine very close and felt a hand slapping my leg.
- Wake up! Wake up quickly! - Mr. Nguyen Tin called.
I regained my composure and realized that the “fat helicopter” had arrived, hovering overhead. A flare dropped from the plane exploded, followed by a column of smoke that stood upright in the middle of the concave rice field, right next to our hut.
- Get into the bunker. Quickly. Wait for my orders - Mr. Ba Thuan (Tuong) shouted.
(No one appointed him, now in the position of Battalion Chief of Staff, on the way from the companies and not yet back to the Command, he naturally became the person authorized to give orders to our mixed unit).
- Viet Liem, you...
His words were cut off by a series of machine guns from two "fish" (1) . The sound of bullets whizzed around the hut, even hitting the still wet roof.
Viet Liem rushed out, holding a machine gun in his hand, his head turned back.
- Yes, predestined relationship. Hurry up! - Mr. Ba Thuan urged.
From inside the tent, I noticed both him and Mr. Tan Hung running back and forth, occasionally peeking into the hole in the wall to observe, occasionally leaning against the corner outside the bunker, dodging bullets from the two "snapsacks". Bullets were stuck in the ground, in solid objects in the glowing hut. Sitting inside the tent, I thought there was someone outside holding a lighter and "snapping" continuously.
Suddenly, Ba Thuan said, “ah… it”. Then, following each cluster of bullets, three explosions occurred. Later, we found out that at the moment he said “ah… it”, Viet Liem saw two Americans, not knowing from which direction, approaching the wall of the hut. Both of them were still struggling in the ditch. One of them jumped up, reaching out to pull the wall to gain momentum. (If he could climb up, he would definitely throw a grenade into our trapdoor. And…). The machine gun in Viet Liem’s hand was a broken gun that had been transferred from the company and had not yet been sent for repair. It could only fire a shot (2) , not a shot (3) . But at this moment, it was a savior. Viet Liem fired. Fortunately, both of them fell.
- Get out. Get out now!
Leaving the camp under Ba Thuan's orders, having to leave a temporary safe place and run under a hail of bullets from an airplane, was truly chilling. But there was no other choice. The American soldiers had already entered the garden!
After walking ten steps, I met Ba Tich - the battalion's political commissar, with a backpack on his shoulder and a sharp-shouldered figure, swaying back and forth with each step; a pistol in his hand. Further away, Ba Trung - the battalion commander and Ba Thuan (Vay) - the deputy battalion commander were also similar. In general, they were passive.
Bullets whizzed past my head. I turned around and saw an American with a face as red as a fighting cock pointing his gun at me. “Brother Tin.” I called out and grabbed him. We rolled down the ditch. Bullets chased after us. Bullets plowed the ground. Bullets stuck in banana and coconut trees. My brother and I ran, sometimes down the ditch, sometimes up the bank, sometimes in straight lines, sometimes in sinuous lines, trying to keep the enemy’s aim from being unstable. After a while, thinking that the enemy had not caught up yet, Nguyen Tin and I stopped at an I-shaped bunker with no cover. We met Ba Tich again. There was also Vu Binh - the battalion’s typist - with a typewriter still heavy on his shoulder. Ba Tich said:
- Binh, you go out and cling to your past.
Vu Binh lost his voice:
- No, I don't have a gun. What about this machine?...
Perhaps it was only then that he realized that none of us had guns.
- Okay. Let me…
Then the “snake” dived down, accompanied by a bunch of M79 bullets and sharp bullets, leaving us speechless. After running a bit further, we came across an L-shaped bunker with a lid, half-empty at the mouth, and I jumped in. Coincidentally, two people (also cadres without guns) jumped in at the same time. Six legs crossed. Everyone said, “Okay, let me go up, you two”. But how could I go up, when the bunker was narrow, and above my head were two “rooftops” (4) swooping low, continuously firing sharp bullets and throwing grenades. Each time, the three heads huddled together, turning around as if they could see the bullets and knew how to dodge them. Finally, I escaped. Seeing that the bank was full of young banana trees, which was unsafe, I jumped into the ditch, running, relying on the young water coconut leaves to cover me. At the bottom of this shallow ditch, I met Tan Hung again. He was running about ten steps away from me. I could no longer see Nguyen Tin. One of the M79 shells from the “snake” exploded right in the middle of us. I felt a sharp pain in my groin, touched the warm blood, and tore off the bandana. After bandaging it, I caught sight of Tan Hung staggering, falling down like a child learning to stand. Blood was flowing from his back and chest. I rushed forward, trying to keep him balanced, not letting him fall face down on his infected wound. He was breathing heavily, gritting his teeth and struggling. I was holding onto the drawstring bag, which contained a radio, a beard trimmer, and a few other necessities. He was holding onto the sharp-edged sword, the pistol still in its holster. I quickly hid the drawstring bag and suggested that he also hide the sharp-edged sword so that I could accompany him. He shook his head “No,” implicitly letting me know that there were many secret documents in there, and that a military intelligence officer could only leave them behind when he was dead. He was tall, I was short and light. The embankment he walked in the muddy ditch, made it even more difficult when he had to lean against the bank's side to avoid bullets from the plane. Hearing footsteps on the bank, looking up and seeing Son Hai - a fellow unit member of his - carrying a PRC machine - I called out loudly: "Son, brother Tan Hung...". Son: "Yes, wait for me a moment, the machine that was damaged by bullets is hidden". I thought Son would say that and then leave, but unexpectedly, after a moment, Son turned back and gave me his strong back to lean against brother Tan Hung.
From here, I was alone. If I wanted to stick to the formation, which direction would I stick to, who would I stick to? Hesitating. I hoped to find Nguyen Tin and just kept running. Running amid the low-swooping sound of airplane engines and the ear-piercing sound of bullets. It wasn’t until I reached Ong Moc Point - a point on a river branch, branching from the Giong Trom River towards Huong Diem that I realized I was out of the battle zone. I heard gunfire from behind.
Now I couldn’t cross the river because the other side was an open field. I sat down and happened to see a big mangrove tree. The mangrove tree had been bombed, I didn’t know when, its branches had grown back sparsely, mixed with the leaves of the water coconut. The mangrove tree’s base was tilted, creating a shelter. If the enemy expanded the firing range, I could cling to it and avoid the bullets. Well, I accepted it and waited for the sky to darken.
3
Taking advantage of the two flare-offs from the enemy aircraft, I crossed the river and headed towards the church, also in Long My commune. I heard a small human voice coming from a house (possibly an abandoned house), and determining that it was not the enemy, I approached. Unexpectedly, I met a wing of the forward surgical team. I told a male nurse that the wound was in my groin. He examined it, said it was a soft tissue wound, removed a thin piece of flesh the size of a jackfruit seed, washed it, and bandaged it. A girl brought me a bowl of instant noodles, smiling and saying, “Eat all the burnt rice and you’ll be fine.” Seeing the pile of bandages and the smell of blood that had not yet been destroyed, I knew that the team had just treated some wounded soldiers and had moved on.
I stayed with the team. There were no more wounded. At 4am, the team marched. I followed. Along the way, we met several groups going in the opposite direction. Suddenly, there was a shout of joy:
- Phuoc, are you still alive?
It turned out to be Nguyen Tin. He said that, from the moment he lost me, he escaped the battlefield and thought about going to Uncle Tam's house in Hoa Loi hamlet, Luong Hoa commune to find me. Uncle Tam is the biological father of Ba Nhon, who is currently the Deputy Chief of the Provincial Propaganda Department Office - a large department to which our agency is a sub-committee. Yesterday afternoon, from here, after hiding the backpack, he and I held on to Uncle Muoi Phuc to go to Battalion 516. Not having news of me, not finding the backpack, suspecting something ominous, he went back to Long My Cemetery to ask permission to shine a flashlight to look at the faces of each fallen soldier, to see if I was among them.
My brother and I decided to go to the new base of Battalion 516, which was said to be in Tan Hao. Here, we met Uncle Muoi Phuc and the Battalion Command again. We just learned that, although Uncle Muoi had told us to set up anti-aircraft guns in small fields, they were too small, only over a thousand square meters, which they did not expect. Moreover, the Command was located right at the edge of the garden, next to the edge of the field, so when it was hit in the head, it was passive. The scouts had time to fill the holes, kill the Americans who had entered the garden right when the three commanders met again, consulted and gave orders. The battle changed to a different situation. The battles between the American infantry and the infantry of Battalion 516 took place right at the edge of the garden. The enemy withdrew when they lost more than a third of their troops. We also suffered losses, leaving behind a lesson on how to fight face-to-face with American infantry. Two new scouts, who were not used to moving their shooting positions while on the front lines, were killed by grenades thrown from the enemy. Brother Tan Hung was seriously injured and brother Hoa - the leader of the youth volunteer team serving the battlefield - was said to have died on the way to the Military Hospital.
I returned to Giong Chu hamlet - where the editorial office of Chien Thang Newspaper was located at Nurse Muoi's house to deliver the manuscript. Hearing that I was injured, Mr. Nam Thong - Editor-in-Chief (who had basic knowledge of medicine ) asked:
- Heavy, light? Where? I can help…
I can't show it to him in public, so I waved my hand:
- Very light, just a scratch. Eat all the burnt rice and it will be fine.
He smiled:
- Got it! Let me.
He took a stool. I went with him to the back porch. There was no one there!
May 2025
Memories of Han Vinh Nguyen
Source: https://baodongkhoi.vn/chien-truong-giap-mat-17062025-a148286.html
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