Người thương binh trong nghĩa trang

Bố tôi, người thương binh bước ra từ khói lửa chiến tranh hơn năm mươi năm về trước. Cũng như những người may mắn trở về, suốt bao nhiêu năm qua, bố tôi luôn đau đáu nỗi niềm về chiến trường, đồng đội,…

(AI)

My father, a war veteran who emerged from the flames of war more than fifty years ago, like those fortunate enough to return home, has always been deeply concerned about the battlefield and his comrades. Whenever he had the time and opportunity, he never missed a single program on radio or in newspapers seeking out fellow soldiers or veterans.

The images of comrades who fell on the march or in every battle... from the Truong Son mountains to Duc Hue, Ben Cau Ba Thu, Moc Hoa ( Tay Ninh ) and even Ta Bang Da Boong, Bo Hoc (Cambodia) always haunt my father's mind.

Throughout our childhood, every night my sisters and I would listen to our father tell stories of combat and the battlefield. He told them over and over again, so many times that we knew every little detail by heart. Then he taught the whole family to sing and recite poetry. He learned songs and poems from the political commissar of this company, that platoon leader, and even his comrades: “We hung hammocks together in the Truong Son forest. Two of us at opposite ends of the vast distance. The road to the battlefield this season is so beautiful. Truong Son East remembers Truong Son West”... “I met you high up in the windy mountains. The strange forest rustled with red leaves. You stood by the roadside. Like home. Your faded jacket draped over your shoulder, carrying a rifle”...

That July morning, I took my father to visit the Vinh Hung - Tan Hung Martyrs' Cemetery, near the border guard post where we worked and also close to where my family lived. This is one of the largest and most well-maintained cemeteries, the resting place of heroes and martyrs from the two wars of resistance against French colonialism and American imperialism. Notably, it was also chosen as the final resting place for Vietnamese volunteer soldiers and experts who sacrificed their lives in Cambodia during the fight to prevent the Pol Pot genocide. It was a noble, selfless, and pure act of international duty in the history of the Vietnamese nation and the modern world .

Amidst the swirling incense smoke and the pink lotus blossoms adorning each tombstone, my father searched for and read the names of comrades he had never met. His aged, rough hands, scarred by skin diseases and the lingering effects of Agent Orange, slowly traced the surface of each tombstone. Sunlight streamed across his shoulders, and every now and then he would wipe away the tears, preventing them from falling.

I saw my father pause for a long time before the martyrs from Thai Binh province who died in 1968. Overwhelmed with emotion, he recounted: "If, during the Tet Offensive in Moc Hoa, the two enemy bullets hadn't hit my left arm and hip, but somewhere else, I might be lying here today, alongside my comrades." Moc Hoa, along with Vinh Hung and Tan Hung, are adjacent places in the Dong Thap Muoi region. Countless young men from North Vietnam, who had just arrived here and never had the chance to taste the famous sour soup with water lilies and wild sunflowers, fell in the vast swamps and sprawling mangrove forests. Because of the unfamiliar terrain and tactical conditions, and lack of combat experience in the flooded areas, many of our soldiers perished. In some battles, when our operational plans were exposed, the enemy launched surprise attacks or carpet bombing, and our troops were almost wiped out.

Standing before the mass grave of 120 martyrs from the 9th Division, who died on the Cambodian border in 1970, my father couldn't hold back his tears. He said: "This is my division from back then. But back then, it wasn't called a division, but 'Construction Site 9.' The unit had a large number of soldiers and a wide area of ​​operation. Therefore, it's very possible that in this grave are my comrades who fought alongside me in the same trenches. Because that same year, my father was wounded and brought from Gia Dinh to be treated in Cambodia, near Tan Bien district, Tay Ninh province. If he hadn't been discovered, taken to a military hospital, and given timely emergency treatment, he would surely have remained here. During the war, there were so many termites in the forest. Wounded soldiers would lie under trees or on mounds of earth, sleeping soundly, and when they woke up or were discovered by their comrades, termites would have eaten away at parts of their bodies. The bodies of fallen comrades, if not wrapped in canvas and buried promptly, would be reduced to mere fragments of bone within three days."

In front of the memorial to the heroes and martyrs, I heard my father softly calling out the names of each person from each battle. It was as if he were talking to them… I don't know if the uncles and aunts could hear my father's prayers, but I know for sure that this was a moment when my father was very close to his comrades. From the depths of his soul, from distant memories, he seemed to be reliving the lives of those who had once faced life and death together. They fought for only one goal: to bring independence and peace to the Fatherland.

I don't know when it started, but my tears have been flowing so sweetly…

Nguyen Hoi

Source: https://baolongan.vn/nguoi-thuong-binh-trong-nghia-trang-a199451.html