Visiting Ta Con, a relic of a time of war and bloodshed.

A biting wind swept through the dry, bare trees, carrying the breath of time and the silent sounds of history. The atmosphere here was tinged with nostalgia, as if every raindrop was steeped in the memories of a time of war and fire.

Ta Con Airfield was once an air bridgehead in the strategic military complex of the US Army, a crucial link in the Khe Sanh complex during the 1966-1968 period. Standing amidst that scene, I—a young person who only knows about war through books and stories—still feel the weight of history etched into every remaining trace. More than half a century ago, this place was a fierce battlefield, where fire and bullets painted pages of history that were both tragic and proud.

Lighting an incense stick in the small shrine with my colleague, I silently observed everything around me. The wind swept through the bare trees, carrying with it a swirling cloud of red dust. It seemed as if the spirits of yesteryear still lingered, unwilling to leave this land.

The author at the Ta Con Airport National Historical Site ( Quang Tri ). Photo: QUYET THANG

More than half a century ago, this place was a blazing battlefield. Enemy C-130 aircraft roared in desperation, trying to take off amidst the night-shattering artillery barrages of our troops. Helicopters whirred and circled like cornered beasts. On the ground, layers of liberation fighters tightened their encirclement, step by step, advancing towards the flames of history. Bullets ripped through the air, bombs buried bodies, but nothing could stop the righteous revolutionary flow that a nation had chosen.

Ta Con is peaceful today, with only desolate ruins remaining against the sky. I reached out and touched the cold steel shell of the surviving C-130 aircraft, and it was as if I could hear the echoes of the past. Looking through the time-worn windows of the plane, I imagined the panicked eyes of the invaders and their collaborators who were present here in the final hours of the war. The marks on the aircraft's fuselage, the ruined bunkers, the trenches overgrown with weeds... all are indelible evidence of a brutal period of war.

I wasn't born during wartime, but touching these remnants, I feel as if I can hear the distant sound of gunfire, the shouts of "charge!", the calls of our fathers and uncles to their comrades amidst the flames. The heroic history of our army and people's struggle is still there, present in every stone, every tree, every breeze blowing across the rolling hills.

Amidst the Quảng Trị sky, I wondered: How many dreams lie buried beneath this soil? How many youths were sacrificed here to gain the peaceful sky we enjoy today? History is not dry numbers, not cold stone tablets. History is souls, blood and bones, echoes that seem to never fade from the air.

I left Ta Con, left Khe Sanh in the cold rain, carrying with me an indescribable feeling of nostalgia. Every breeze that blew through this place seemed to carry the whispers of the past. A glorious past of our nation that we must never forget.

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