Memories are like acrid forest smoke that chokes the lungs. The observation deck on the top of a tall tree watches the gray smoke of a winter afternoon. Coordinate X is hidden in the deep green. When the memories flood back, I weep for my comrades who left their bodies in the border forest filled with smoke and fire, acrid from bombs and bullets.
I joined the army in the southwestern border battlefield, an infantry regiment pursuing the enemy, constantly moving the unit stationed in the deep forests and mountains. The memories of the war have not faded in my mind even though time has covered it with mist. Green military uniforms spread across the border. Sparse dipterocarp forests on rocky hillsides; old forests dense with big and small trees, dense vines that never see the sunlight all year round; streams soaked with mud after torrential floods; gray cat-ear rocks in the rugged mountains and forests.
The convoy of trucks rumbled towards the border. I felt warm in the soldier's heart when his troops were present on every battlefield. His hair was wet with dust from the long road. The call of his fellow countrymen was so loving. Waving hands in greeting. The fragrant cigarette and the generous smile.
In the war to defend the Fatherland, for the sole cause of abolishing the Pol Pot genocidal regime, the image of the Vietnamese volunteer soldiers was engraved on the glorious monument. But thousands of soldiers had to sacrifice their lives, including those of battle-hardened commanders. The enemy was once a treacherous and vicious friend. The enemy was a traitorous comrade. This painful lesson must be recorded in the heroic and heroic pages of history.
The green hammock swayed between the tree trunks, at night watching the starlight through the canopy of leaves, I hummed the lyrics: “When I think about life, I often think about the forest. When I think about the forest, I often think about many people, young as a cluster of roses, innocent as a thousand flames, when the wind blows in the evening…”(1). On the march, my comrades listened to me sing, lessening the anxiety of the harsh battlefield.
In the four seasons of spring, summer, autumn and winter, soldiers are attached to the forest. It is impossible to forget the life of soldiers in the forest during the difficult period. Lack of food, malnutrition, the soldiers' bodies are pale and emaciated. Improvement and increase in production are necessary.
In the peaceful moments after the battle, suddenly the spring sky is white with blooming khọt flowers, so the soldiers' meals have sour khọt flower soup with stream fish, the flavor is strange, refreshing, eating once is unforgettable. In the rainy summer, the bamboo rows along the stream are full of water, young bamboo shoots are erect, bamboo shoots are boiled with stream fish, bamboo shoots are stir-fried with pork fat. In the autumn, I carry my gun through the dense old forest to find ginseng, pick a backpack of ginseng leaves, come home, wash them, crush them, filter out the residue. The thick ginseng water is eaten with sugar, delicious and cool. In the winter, the khọt forest is rustling with fallen leaves. The red sky bakes the forest floor with smoke. The thick salty sweat sticks to the battle clothes, blotchy, streaked like a topographic map. I carry my gun and walk through the burnt forest, bare of bones, only the ox-hoofed tree has sour leaves to cook soup.
Soldiers patrolling on the border guard post suddenly softened their hearts before the mountain and forest scenery. I stopped by the hill, quietly contemplating the intense vitality of nature. Pink spring buds, green spring buds, young spring buds. Buds among buds, buds among buds, branches overflowing on the hills and forests. The morning dew was clear and sparkling, the sunlight shone brightly. The peaceful dawn scene was sublime and romantic. I dreamt of wandering my soul to my mountainous homeland where Xuan, my younger sister in the rear, was waiting for me to return.
After the sweep operation, late at night, my comrades and I carried guns to improve the unit's freshness, and carried flashlights to hunt wild animals. We had to avoid and not shoot the two bright red spots about a hand's breadth apart, which were the eyes of tigers and leopards. The two green spots clustered together were the eyes of deer and mole. I remember Lieutenant Ngoc was a good shooter. He shot a deer and mole, splitting their heads and hearts, and they fell down on the spot. The whole company came to receive the wild meat. I remember Corporal Tri, the cook who lit the Hoang Cam stove (2) to warm the late forest. The delicious, hot meat porridge nourished the soldiers. I also remember Lieutenant Huong, who was generous, "for everyone", exchanging new fatigues and new hammocks for the people to get young hens to cook porridge for the whole platoon to nourish their health. The comradeship loved each other like close brothers.
The 547 high point proudly rises among the rolling hills and forests. The jagged, gray cliffs seem to prick the soldiers' livers. The strategic road is like a snake's trail, winding through the dense dipterocarp forest. Transport vehicles move like iron bugs, appearing and disappearing behind sharp turns, crawling up and down the slopes on both sides of the dry stream. Smoke and clouds obscure the distant horizon, the sunset casts a fiery velvet curtain, then gradually sinks into the wild mountains and forests.
My comrade was young, with a chubby face and fine hair. My comrade had never been in love. His original gender was as strong and beautiful as the statue of Hercules (3). Thu was as close as my lover. During the three months of training at Phu Tai military school, I loved him, shared joys and sorrows. Thu and I were assigned to the same regiment, marching to the border. Before the day of the campaign, the two young men hugged each other to sleep, complimenting each other on their fragrant bodies. Thu sacrificed himself in the battle at Hill 547, he stepped on an enemy KP2 mine that exploded and blew open the young man's chest. Thu was twenty years old, the most beautiful age of a person's life. I had to close my dreams and ambitions. I swallowed my tears. Many times, when I was alone at night at the guard post, missing Thu, my tears fell like pouring rain. Thousands of young soldiers like him had fallen on the forest floor of the border.
The battle where my comrades and I were defeated was the battle at Hill 547 in the dry season of 1983. In our division alone, hundreds of comrades died on the march through the forest due to thirst. In the dry season of 1984, the Vietnamese volunteer army won the battle and wiped out the Pol Pot army division command.
In front of the army, the 105mm cannons heroically raised their barrels to high points. The commanding general's forehead was wrinkled like a chessboard. He carefully studied the war map, called the soldiers, shouted orders, and prepared to attack.
Backpack, steel gun on shoulder, marching, my comrades sang: “Everyone chooses the easy job. Who will have the hardship? Everyone was once young. Also thought about their own life. It’s not like we have to accept the good and the bad. It’s not like we have to accept the bad and the good. Isn’t that right, brother? Isn’t that right, sister?”(4) … I remember the resounding “charge” shout of platoon leader Thanh, causing the enemy to tremble and retreat. I also remember battalion commander Nghi crossing the trenches to advance towards the front of the attack. The pungent smell of gunpowder stimulates the nerves, urges the muscles to become strong. The footsteps of the army’s battle boots rumble, shaking the mountains and forests.
Every inch of the mountainous border land is soaked with the blood and bones of our comrades and people. Soldiers fought to protect the Fatherland and sacrificed their lives all over the southwestern border. Bodies were buried in the forest. Flesh rotted, bones melted, blood watered the trees. Future generations must know history well in order to be grateful, act in a good and humane manner, and love our people.
The golden afternoon light evoked memories of my comrades, I went to the division cemetery to talk to the fallen. The rain soaked the ground, the young grass covered the green graves. The bodies of the comrades returned to the ground, their souls hidden in the trees and grass. The rows of graves were lined up in straight rows, the border forest spread its canopy to provide shade. My mind was immersed in the mist of the sunset, tears of pity welled up, I whispered a prayer: "Comrades! May your souls return to the motherland in peace."
After the war, I returned to my mountainous homeland. The few pieces of artillery shells that pierced my flesh were nothing. Xuan hugged me tightly, burying her face in my chest to hide her tears of joy at our meeting. In my sleep, I still dreamed of the sound of battle, the explosion of bullets, and the bloody bodies. I took her up Chop Mau hill to find memories. The purple-flowered tree on the hilltop towered and stretched its canopy to the sky like a solemn general guarding and preserving the green forest. The names of the couple who loved each other back then were carved on the tree trunk. Now it has become a lovely symbol of love, touching it makes my heart strangely happy. The lines of letters were bigger than before, rough and rugged, proving the steadfast love between her and me.
I looked at the green forest on the hill, the tree trunks grew bigger, the treetops grew taller, the leaves spread out. The three years I spent in the battlefield were like studying at a big university. Eating army food. Thinking about the army. Studying the army. Training myself to stand in the ranks of the army, my legs were strong, my mind was filled with knowledge. I was like a tree neatly lined up in a forest formation. Returning after the war, I loved life in the mountainous region even more.
I observed, touched, and counted the number of trees on the hill. Small trees that were previously hidden under the soft grass now stretched their branches as high as my shoulder. Some large trees were cut down by lumberjacks for wood, and their stumps were sprouting new shoots to regenerate. The forest survives most vigorously during the beginning of spring, when the weather is warmer. The forest hibernates fully, accumulates life sap, and sprouts thousands of spring buds. The immense mountain trees tower, showing off their broad canopy reaching high into the sky, their roots growing deep into the ground.
The cool, soft carpet of forest leaves makes me love you.
(1), (4): Lyrics of the song “A lifetime, a forest” by musician Tran Long An; (2): The stove is hidden underground, hiding the fire and smoke, invented by author Hoang Cam; (3): The god symbolizing power in Greek mythology.
Source: https://baobinhthuan.com.vn/rung-rung-nho-rung-129720.html
Comment (0)