Sleeping at Khe The

The old men looked around, then nodded and discussed amongst themselves. Of course, it had been fifty years. Half a century had passed with its upheavals and changes. That era was like a distant past, anchored in the hearts of these old men.

Memories are nestled in the mind, overflowing with longing with each passing season. But this time, these old men are determined to return one last time; who would have known that at their age, nearing seventy, they could sleep one night and wake up the next day wandering through the white clouds?

The autumn winds have reached the end of the road; if we don't hurry, we might never get there. On Tet (Lunar New Year), the old men called out to each other, then arranged to meet again in March.

Someone insisted on sleeping there tonight. They had to relive the exact moment the bombs rained down, to lie flat on the ground, to hear the earth breathe, to feel the earth shielding them from the fury of the gunfire.

The boisterous chatter in the car made the young man, the tour guide for the trip back to his homeland, nod repeatedly, explaining that he had already asked the district authorities for permission, and that the men were veterans, people who had fought glorious battles on this land.

The district agreed, so you guys will definitely sleep in the forest tonight. Hearing this, the old men started clamoring again. Who knows if their comrades from those days will come back and sleep with them tonight?

Back then, the forest was lush and green, and the Khe Thẻ stream was crystal clear. Those were the spring days of 1972. The night was thick and silent, then suddenly a series of B52s dropped bombs on Thạch Bích, Đá Ngang, and then Tý, Sé, and Dùi Chiêng.

Around a hundred helicopters circled, descending to low altitudes, swooping close to the mountain peaks, and began dropping troops to block the daily corridor our troops used for going up, down, and back. The forward outpost immediately reported to their superior to move to the B Dai Loc area.

The enemy dropped troops onto the summit of Hon Quap. At the foot of that sheer cliff were the Quang Da Special Zone Committee Office and the Propaganda Department. A young scout from Duy Loc, after a while of scouting the situation, reported back that it was definitely not the 5th Marine Regiment or the 196th Brigade, but the 51st Regiment.

The enemy was dropping reconnaissance probes with dangling wires. Our troops were ordered to hold their ground, maintain their positions, and not move or stir. Immediately after the rustling sound of dry sand falling on the leaves, a barrage of bombs rained down on the Mặt Rạng area.

Everyone held their breath, waiting for the helicopters to disappear into the chilly night. It was a dry, parched spring. The cold seeped into the young soldiers' skin as the night progressed. Late at night, when the moon was pale and they sensed the enemy had finished their assault, under the protection of the forward detachment, they quietly retreated to the Xuyen Hiep border, to cross the Duy Loc pass and ascend Duong Thong hill.

Silently, in the darkness, using forest leaves for cover, clinging to the ground, and making their way up the hillside, they reached the My Son sanctuary. Exhausted and numb with cold, once they felt they were safely nestled in the Khe The stream, the whole group took shelter to rest.

The babbling stream and the blooming jasmine flowers filled Khe The with their fragrant scent throughout the night. The Special Zone Party Committee's security team, consisting of a few young soldiers, shared their rations, drank from the stream, and drifted into a restless sleep on a spring night. But it didn't last two days. On the third day, while the spring breeze still blew strongly, the young scout discovered that the enemy had dropped troops from planes on the summit of Hon Chau, and they were now descending through the forest.

Less than ten minutes later, a burst of gunfire rang out very close by. The advance team retreated with the bad news that a radio operator had been hit by a bullet and was buried forever in this land. The Special Zone Party Committee's security team decided that the only way was to sneak up on the enemy and attack stealthily. Moving too far from the enemy outpost would certainly lead to minefields. Mines were planted everywhere.

A comrade from the Postal Service, a native of Xuyen Phu, who knew the area well, led the group. "Well, we won't celebrate Tet in the mountains anymore. Let's go back to the village for Tet." The young soldier's voice, with its strong Quang Nam accent, sounded like a blessing before battle. "We'll use defense as offense. As long as we get back to the village, everything will be fine."

The group walked in a line. The moon was high in the sky. It was exactly two o'clock in the morning. The young soldier leading the way neared Phu Duc village and signaled for everyone to sit down so he could assess the situation. When he seemed to think everything was calm, they continued on.

But then, a deafening explosion rang out, and the young soldier spun around before falling into the field, his AK rifle slung over his shoulder, his heavy backpack still slung over his back. Then came a barrage of gunfire. Submachine guns roared like firecrackers. Bullets whizzed overhead. That night's battle was fortunately supported by guerrillas from Xuyen Hoa, allowing the entire group to retreat safely to My Luoc village. However, the Special Zone Party Committee's security detail lost seven men, and more than half of the forward outpost was left behind in this area.

Now, in the flickering firelight of the night, the forest leaves still shelter the veterans of yesteryear, the Khe Thẻ stream remains green, and the My Son sanctuary stands silent after half a century since that war. Spring has arrived peacefully. A dozen or so veterans sit here. It is now exactly two o'clock, with their rations, their cigarettes, and the names called out in the deep forest. The veterans sing again. They sing loudly in the forest.

This land is sacred! The spirits of people from millennia ago still reside here to protect us. Were the words of that young soldier on the front lines true? The veterans sat by the flickering firelight, waiting for their comrades. The moon was high in the sky. The wind rustled the dry spring leaves like the footsteps of someone marching…

Source: https://baoquangnam.vn/ngu-o-khe-the-3152223.html